Regret Not a Moment (63 page)

John, reading her thoughts, placed a hand on each of her shoulders and turned her toward him.

Brought back from her memories, Devon found that her face was covered with a thin sheen of perspiration, as when she awakened from a nightmare.

“Francesca is an excellent rider. She’ll make you proud today. I promise,” John said. He punctuated his words by leaning down and giving Devon a soft kiss on her cheek.

Devon nodded. Turning to Jeremiah, she said quietly, “Why don’t we go and give her the news.”

Francesca was taller than the other jockeys, though she had maintained her adolescent weight of one hundred and ten pounds. Still, the extra height gave her confidence. And so did King of Hearts. He was, she believed, one of the greatest Thoroughbreds that had ever lived. It had been her dream to ride in a major stakes race, but beyond her wildest imagination that that race should be the Belmont Stakes, and that it should happen so soon!

She looked left and right at the jockeys beside her. She had drawn a good position, second from the inside. Her only concern was to rein King of Hearts in so that he conserved his energy enough to outlast the others in the final furlong. He was naturally a fast starter, and so was she. But it was a sign of immaturity to handle a long race in such a fashion. No, she would follow the instructions of her mother and Jeremiah. She would prove to them that she could handle this monumental responsibility. She knew they had their doubts about her, though they had tried to hide them. They just didn’t realize how good she was, but she would show them! And her grandmother, who Francesca sensed had perhaps more faith in her. When the decision had been made a few hours before to let Francesca ride King of Hearts, they had all decided that Laurel and Alice should be present. The old woman and her companion had dressed hurriedly and trundled to Belmont in the chauffeur-driven 1952 Rolls-Royce that transported them everywhere.

The tension Francesca felt vibrated through her like an electrical impulse and transmitted itself to King of Hearts. He had been like a devil going into the starting gate. Now she was having trouble keeping him from moving about, possibly injuring her or himself. She could feel sweat trickling down her armpits, causing her silks to cling to her. The horse, too, already had a lacy stripe of foam on his neck. It was as though he knew that this was the biggest race of
his
career as well!

Francesca almost didn’t hear the starting bell, so nervous was she. Then the gate slammed open and King of Hearts bolted. She could feel him uncoiling joyfully under her, springing in front of his competitors in the fashion she had come to expect from him. But she had to control him! Beside her, the man acknowledged as the world’s greatest jockey was similarly holding back his horse, Dragon Slayer. He was on the inside, but drawing nearer to her as though to force her over. From her other side, a second jockey was trying to force her to the rail. Desperately, Francesca searched for a solution. She had mapped her strategy carefully for this race. Run it a hundred times in her mind during King of Hearts’ daily exercise. But it had been impossible to predict the actions of the other jockeys. And it was this that she had to grapple with now.

She let her horse fall behind, let the other two jockeys fight it out between themselves. The inside man realized her strategy and tried to edge back over to the rail, but Francesca was too quick. With the inside position hers, she urged King of Hearts forward, and in a burst of speed, he surged past his two attackers. Colors blurred, she saw nothing but the track in front of her as she looked straight between her colt’s ears. Dirt splattered her goggles, almost blinding her. Like most jockeys, she wore several pairs. Now, she lifted the dirty pair to her helmet and stared ahead through a clean pair. She readied her crop, but didn’t use it. A little while yet.

She sensed rather than saw Dragon Slayer gaining on her. She was fourth in the field, but she knew she had no worries from the horses ahead. Dragon Slayer was her main opponent. The black horse was beside her now. Again he drew near, too near, but this time Francesca fought back. She moved to meet her opposition, forcing him to go wide on a crucial turn, losing precious seconds.

She regained her spot as fourth in the field. Now it was time for a burst of speed; she used the crop, and King of Hearts, exultant and finally permitted to release his energy, lunged forward, chasing the horses ahead. It was something King of Hearts could not bear, seeing horses ahead of him. Francesca’s job now was to maintain a good inside position while King of Hearts did his job and gained on the horses in front of him. She urged him back to the rail, but not so close that she would risk a too-tight turn.

In the background, she could hear the track announcer, the thundering hooves. She smelled dirt, sweat, grass, horse. None of it made her lose focus. Her horse under her was all she felt. The line she wanted to take was all she saw.

“She’s doing it!” cried Devon, on her feet in the stands. She was gripping the binoculars, oblivious to anyone around her. Leaning hard against the rail in front of her, she trained the field glasses on her daughter, admiring the way she handled the challenge from Dragon Slayer. The odds on King of Hearts had been two to one until the change in jockeys had been announced. Then they had jumped to seventeen to one. We’ll show them, Devon thought to herself, all her earlier misgivings forgotten.

Then, as though she were watching a film of an earlier episode in her life, she saw a flash of color, a tumble of silks. A horse was down! The first horse was down, his rider thrown into the rail. The field was pandemonium for what seemed like an eternity, but it took only seconds for another horse to stumble over the accident, another rider to become a splash of bright color on the track.

Where was Francesca? “Francesca!” screamed Devon, leaning over the rail. Then she saw them! King of Hearts, like the best of hunters, was sailing over the trapped jockey as though he were no obstacle at all. Devon saw the jockey curl into a fetal position, protecting his head with his arms. Now King of Hearts had the lead. Dragon Slayer had avoided the accident altogether and was only a nose behind him. Now Dragon Slayer moved toward King of Hearts. Dragon Slayer’s jockey whipped him frantically, but Francesca concentrated instead on pulling inside. As they reached the turn, Francesca, in a bold, challenging move, pulled King of Hearts directly in front of Dragon Slayer. Now she used the crop.

She was ahead! The finish line was there before her. Francesca heard Dragon Slayer’s hooves directly behind. Pounding to catch up. Threatening to catch up. She could see his ears, his head as he drew nearer. They were neck and neck. She had to pull ahead. She made her body a flat, aerodynamic sheath, bringing her arms in tightly, and urged King of Hearts forward.

And then they did it! King of Hearts’ strong chest snapped the ribbon apart, and like a victory streamer, it flew through the air proclaiming them the winners! Francesca’s vision blurred as tears of pride and joy streamed down her filthy face. It took her several seconds before she remembered to stand up and slow the horse. She could hear the crowd, wild with surprise and admiration. They had known King of Hearts could win, but not with Francesca as his rider. They were cheering her!

She looked up at the stands, instinctively searching for her mother’s box, but all she saw was moving flashes of color, banners, hands waving at her. At the winner! She circled the track. Headed for the winner’s circle. A throng of people holding cameras crowded toward her. The first Willowbrook horse to win the Triple Crown! Ridden by a woman! A black man, the head trainer! A woman, its owner! So many firsts! Editors around the world would have a difficult time choosing which was the most important.

And then the people Francesca loved most broke through the crowd and surrounded her. Her mother and grandmother, John and Jeremiah, Alice.

In the background, Francesca saw Jesse, grinning, proud of her. She knew a part of him wished that he could be in her place. He had also once dreamed of being a jockey, but had given up his childhood dream. In its place, Francesca realized that he had found something far more valuable to him. But in that moment she knew that there was nowhere she would rather be than where she was now, celebrating a victory that she had earned.

She beamed with elation as reporters shoved microphones in her face and photographers screamed commands.

“Let’s get a shot with her parents!” yelled someone. And Devon and John found themselves yanked into position beside Francesca, one of her arms around each of them.

“You must be very proud of your daughter,” said a reporter to John.

“Very!” John replied with a broad grin.

But the reporters were not really interested in John, and he soon found himself pushed into the background, Devon clinging to his arm so as not to lose him in the throng.

“They want to talk to you, not me!” John yelled above the noise of the crowd.

“This is Francesca’s day!” she cried back. “Let’s escape!”

And they did. Back to their box, now deserted. From that vantage they could look down on the commotion on the field but remain undisturbed.

Feeling like truants, they opened a bottle of champagne. John filled the glasses and handed one to Devon. “Well, here’s to Francesca,” he said, clinking his glass to Devon’s. “I was so proud that everyone thought I was her father,” he admitted, taking a sip.

Devon’s face filled with love for him. “She thinks of you that way, too.”

“I know, and it makes me very happy.” John was silent after that. Then he sighed and said, “When I think of the years we missed…”

“No regrets,” Devon admonished gently. She held her glass aloft so that the sunlight sparkled off the pale liquid. She gazed into her husband’s eyes and gave him a radiant smile. “Let’s drink to our future instead.”

NICOLE MCGEHEE began her career as a legislative aide and deputy press secretary in the US House of Representatives. From there, she moved to the White House Office of the Counsel to the President. After leaving the White House, she started her own publication on trade and business in Latin America and the Caribbean. She sold the publication after being offered a contract for two novels by Little, Brown and Company. In addition to her fiction, Nicole's travel articles have appeared in the
Washington Post
, the
Miami Herald
and
Honeymoon
magazine. She also co-authored
The Insiders’ Guide to Washington, DC
, 3rd edition. She lives in Colorado with her husband, David.