Chapter Three
Bay
Three nights later I head to town with Sean. Tonight is the night that the all the men on Thisby with intentions to participate in the Scorpio Races pay their entry fees and unofficially declare their mounts. All the men—and me. I'm excited, but also nervous. I have no idea how others will react to my decision. Sean walks beside me in silence. I still can't tell whether he approves of me racing or not. He's yet to tell me that he disagrees, but he hasn't agreed with me either.
It's dark before we reach Skarmouth. As we walk through town, I can feel the excitement of the races already settling into the streets and buildings. Laughing groups of boys stand on the sidewalks, daring each other to enter the races and boasting of what they would do if they won. Tonight, Skarmouth is full of racers, braggarts, and want-to-be heroes. People call to Sean as he walks down the street. Most of the time, he doesn't answer. Excitement and tension run in equal amounts in the air. Sean and I make our way to the butcher's shop, where the chalkboard will already be full of potential riders. As we get closer, my stomach lurches. I'm about to change history tonight. I'm going to be the first girl ever to ride in the Scorpio Races and, for reasons I can't explain, this is the most daunting challenge I've ever undertaken. We enter the heat and the bustle of the butcher shop. It is a sharp contrast from the cold, open quality of the streets. Sean takes his place in the line of men waiting for Peg Gratton to sign their names on the board.
When I don't join him, he gives me a quizzical glance. I motion helplessly towards the wall and mutter something unintelligible, even to me. Standing here in the butcher's shop puts an unexpected twist of nerves in my belly. Sean shrugs and goes back to surveying the board of riders. I walk over to the wall and lean against it, observing the people. There's lots of Skarmouth residents packed into the small space. I know most of them, but there are a few unfamiliar faces. They might even be mainlanders, come over early for the Scorpio Festival and then the Races.
Several minutes pass and Sean is nearly in the front of the line when Puck Connolly slips in. She's the last person on Thisby I ever expected to come through that door. Immediately, my interest is piqued. Her appearance is just too coincidental to be ordinary. No one seems to pay her much attention as she steps into the room. She's jostled into line by the crowd of people but she stays there. I watch curiously as Puck slowly advances towards the front of the line. A few people say a word or two to her and she responds briefly. By now Sean has made it to the counter and Peg scrawls his name in chalk, right at the top of the board. It's a space she left blank for just that purpose. And then, to the side, she scribbles Corr. Sean turns away from the counter and I notice Puck watching him warily. A few more riders give Peg their names and then it's Puck Connolly's turn. There's an audible hush as she steps up to the counter. Peg gives her a smile and asks her what she wants to order. Puck pulls a face and says, nearly too quiet for me to hear, "I'm here to enter the races."
Those are the last words I ever expected to come out of Puck Connolly's mouth. Apparently Peg shares my sentiments, as does most everyone else in the room. Puck blushes as the room goes from quiet to silent, all attention focused on her. But she remains firm and lays her entry fee on the counter. It's like she's daring someone to contradict her, but I see her hands shake before she stuffs them in her pockets. She's afraid. Peg scoops the money off the counter with a slight frown, but she turns and writes Puck's name on the board nonetheless.
"And your horse's name?" she asks, turning back to Puck.
"Dove," Puck says quietly. There's something about the way she says it that rouses my suspicions, but who am I to say anything against her?
Peg says something to Puck, but the conversations in the room have started up again, some in outrage against Puck, and I can't hear exactly what she says. Puck answers and frowns, but Peg writes the name on the board. I step closer to the counter to hear better.
"Um…" Puck clears her throat. "Are there any rules?" she stutters. "About the horses, I mean?"
"Here, dear," Peg reaches under the counter and pulls out a rule sheet. She hands it to Puck with a look of concern.
Puck scans the rule sheet briefly and I see something lift from her face, like a worry of hers has just been erased. "Thanks," she says, crumpling the sheet into her sweater pocket. Then she turns and walks outside. For a moment, no one moves, as if they can't quite believe that a girl just entered the races, and then business continues as usual. Race business. That's when I make my move. If Puck Connolly can enter the Scorpio Races (and there are absolutely no reasons on earth that I can think of why she would) then so can I. I wipe sweaty palms on my pants and step in line. Like Puck, no one pays me much attention. Someone brushes my shoulder. It's Sean.
"I'll be outside." He motions toward the door with his head.
I nod. "Okay," I whisper.
"Good luck," he says. It's the first thing he's said to me that has anything to do with the Races, positive or otherwise, since the night I first announced my decision. He turns and strolls out the door, parting the crowd as easily as if they were grass underfoot. But Sean's two simple words give me the guts I need to put my name on the big chalk-board behind Peg Gratton.
The closer I get to the counter the more voices I hear whispering behind my back. They ignored me for as long as they could, but there's no hiding my intentions now. Because of Puck I'm causing a bigger scene than I really wanted. I regret waiting to put my name up now. I keep my head up and disregard the comments as I get to the counter. Peg turns from writing the last name on the board and comes face to face with me. She looks startled at first, but then hides it with a smile.
"What can I do for you, Bay?"
I lean on the counter in what I hope is a casual fashion, but I'm really trying to stop my knees from trembling. "Put my name on that board, Peg," I answer.
Peg sighs as she fingers the chalk in her right hand. "You too, dear?" she asks, sighing like all the girls in Thisby have gone crazy. Maybe we have.
"Yes, ma'am," I say quietly.
"Are you sure about this, Bay? This isn't a girls' game, you know. It's dangerous. And deadly."
"I know. I'm sure," I say. I wonder if this is what Peg told Puck earlier.
"Do you have the entry fee?" Peg sounds resigned, like she's giving me one more chance to back down, but she knows I won't listen.
In answer, I pull the fee from my pocket and slap it on the counter. Peg gathers it up with a sad expression then turns and writes my name on the board. The board is almost full so Peg squeezes my name under Sean's. I think it looks good under the name of the champion of the Scorpio Races.
"And your horse?" Peg looks over her shoulder at me.
"Tempest." When I answer, my voice is proud and strong and I know I've made the right decision.
Peg has a bold, clear hand and when she writes Tempest's name, she seems to give it the full emphasis of all his character. I smile and turn away, striding confidently from the room. I'm now a part of the Scorpio Races.
When I step outside the first thing I notice is Mutt Malvern. He and Sean stand like statues, staring at each other in the light spilling from the butcher shop windows. The second thing I notice is Puck Connolly. She's still in town, lingering on the corner of the street, watching the little scene between Sean and Mutt with something bordering apprehension on her face. I don't know what Mutt just said to Sean, but they both have hatred written clearly on their features. Mutt wears his anger openly, in the discord of his movements, and the intensity of his gestures. By contrast, Sean is subdued and controlled but I can read his frustration in the ramrod tension in his back.
"Think you're better than me, do you? Think you can dictate who I ride again this year?" Mutt growls as I start toward them.
Sean doesn't reply. Instead he turns on his heel and begins to walk away. Mutt reaches out and grabs his arm, spinning him back towards him.
"Answer me when I'm speaking to you!" he snarls. Then he spits. In Sean's face. And that's the last straw. I was mad before, but I am not about to stand aside and watch Mutt insult Sean like that. I march straight up to Mutt.
"Good evening, Mutt," I say, and when he turns toward me, I punch him in the face. If there's one thing my father taught me, it's how to throw a punch. I feel the shock up to my elbow as Mutt howls in pain and clutches at his face, blood welling between his fingers. It's likely I just broke his nose.
He shouts, a wordless cry of rage, and grabs me by the front of my sweatshirt. I squirm frantically in his grip, but can't break it. I didn't think he'd hit me back. Apparently no one ever taught him not to hit girls. Sean jumps in front of me just as Mutt throws his punch. At the same time, Thomas Gratton steps out of the butcher shop and yells across the street, "Boys!"
Mutt lets his punch slide to the side and Sean takes it in the shoulder. It still knocks him back a step or two, jostling me. Mutt lets me go, but there's a bloody handprint on the front of my sweatshirt now. There's no denying Mutt's intentions.
"That's no way to treat a woman, Matthew Malvern." Gratton glares at Mutt. Mutt starts to protest. Gratton cuts him off, "I don't know what this is about and I don't know who instigated it." This time he levels his gaze on me. "But it's late. Don't you think it's time for the three of you to get home?"
Mutt glowers at Sean and me then turns and slouches off. Thomas Gratton stands in the doorway until Sean and I walk away as well. When I look back to the street corner, there's no sign of Puck.
When we get out of sight of the butcher shop, Sean stops. I turn back to find him massaging his shoulder and staring at me with an unreadable expression. "Why?" is all he says.
"Because you wouldn't," I answer. I'm still riled up from the scuffle.
"I wouldn't?" Sean repeats me mockingly. "You forget who I work for, Bay Fisher."
"And sometimes you forget to stand up for what's important." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Sean narrows his eyes and looks past me to a point over my shoulder. He keeps a close rein on his face, but I know there's disappointment written there somewhere.
"You've made yourself an enemy," Sean finally says in a low voice. For a split second I wonder if he means himself.
I'm silent for a long while, listening to the faint sea breeze wind its way between the buildings around us. "I'm sorry," I finally whisper.
Sean grunts and starts walking again. I let him get ahead of me and trail behind him. When we reach the edge of Skarmouth, we split ways, me to my house and Sean to the Malvern Yards. He doesn't say anything to me as we part so neither do I. I feel bad for driving this division between us, but, at the moment, I don't know how to undo it.
I'm already in a bad mood as I approach the house. As I get closer I can see lights shining through the dark and my heart sinks. I didn't leave those on, so it can mean only one thing—my father has come home. Suddenly I hear a scream - the husky scream of a capall uisce. I break into a run, my feet flying over the packed dirt of the road. If Dad found Tempest, it can only be bad. I skid into the yard and angle myself toward the fence. Dad is out in the pasture with an old pitchfork from the shed, shouting at Tempest. Tempest has him pinned against the pasture fence, pacing in front of him. Dad makes threatening jabs with the pitchfork whenever Tempest gets too close. I can tell that Tempest is more angry than frightened, but that's not a good thing. Provoke a capaill uisce long enough and, just like any other animal, it fights back. But most other animals aren't one ton of pure muscle and fangs. If it were any other capaill uisce in the enclosure with my father, Dad probably wouldn't still be alive. As it is, Tempest is nearly to his breaking point. I can see three long scratches across Tempest's chest where Dad must have hit him with the pitchfork. They aren't deep, but they drip red blood onto Tempest's grey coat. I run up to the edge of the fence. If Dad notices me, he doesn't say anything. I've got to intervene, and quickly. I climb to the top of the fence and perch on the highest rail.
"Dad, stop!" I shout. "He won't hurt you!"
"Bay!" he yells, as if he's surprised to see me. "You stay out of this!"
"No!" I cry as Tempest passes close to Dad and Dad swings the pitchfork at him.
Tempest rounds the pasture again, and I know, this time, he means to harm my father. I can't let that happen. Tempest comes straight toward me now. I coil myself on the rail and wait for just the right moment. Tempest draws level with me and I spring, landing square on his back, digging my fingers into his mane to keep my seat. I wrap my legs tightly around him.
"Tempest!" I call, but he doesn't listen at first. I lean forward as far as I dare and begin whispering in his ear. As I do, I pull an iron rod from my pocket and start tracing the veins in his neck and rubbing counterclockwise circles across his shoulders. I twist his mane around my fingers and use every ounce of influence I have over him. Even so, I don't get him turned away from my father in time. Tempest stops so suddenly that I slide forward over his neck and roll off into the dirt. I'm on my feet again before I even stop falling. Tempest rears up, and Dad backs away from him as quick as he can, but then his back hits the fence and he has nowhere else to go. I do the stupidest, only thing I can think of. I throw myself in front of Tempest, between those deadly hooves and my father. For a moment, time freezes and I see everything around me in sharp clarity. I see the anger on my father's face replaced with fear, the powerful aggression in Tempest's eyes, his sharp, deadly hooves hovering almost directly over my head. Then time speeds up again and my brain remembers how to communicate with my mouth.
"Tempest! No!" I shout. I brace myself for the impact of death, but Tempest starts at my voice and twists away at the last second. His hooves crash into the ground mere inches from where I stand. Tempest draws his lips away from his teeth and makes a deep thrumming sound from his chest. It's the angry version of his contented purr and it almost sounds like a growl.
I put a restraining hand on his chest, pressing the iron solidly against him. I slide a length of red ribbon from my pocket and tie it around one of his ears. I now have Tempest under some control but if Dad does anything sudden I won't be able to hold Tempest back.
"Just get out of the pasture, Dad," I say. "Please." My voice is not steady.
To my surprise he slowly crawls between the fence rails and walks back across the yard. I stay with Tempest, rubbing circles on his nose and whispering to him. I hear the door to the house slam shut and I let the tears I held back well up and fall across my cheeks.
After I calm Tempest and get him back in his stall, I clean up the scratches on his chest. There's not much I need to do because they've already stopped bleeding. When I'm done, I walk to the house with leaden footsteps. I know what I will have to face inside and it is the last thing I want to do right now. Dad is waiting for me at the kitchen table when I step through the door. At first I walk past him with no intention of speaking to him, but he calls my name, "Bay Fisher." He says it quietly, with absolutely no emotion. I know I'm in trouble.
"Yes, sir?" I ask as if I don't know the reason he wants to talk to me.
That's when he explodes. "Where the devil did that thing come from?!"
"That 'thing' is my horse and I caught him." I feel a flush of anger rise to my cheeks.
"You caught him? Without asking me first?" he demands.
"And what was I supposed to say? 'Dad, can I bring home a capall uisce?' Besides, I can't ask you anything when I don't even know where to find you," I return defensively.
"You know perfectly well what I would have told you. What I'll tell you now." He doesn't mention why he has been gone, which means he hasn't been up to any good.
I know he wants me to get rid of Tempest.
"That's precisely the reason I didn't ask your permission in the first place!" I snap.
"So you're just going to ignore me?" he growls.
"This time, yes," I say.
We're quiet for a long time. I can see Dad's jaw working like he wants to say something, but can't decide what. At the moment I think he's too upset to get his words out. Since he is quiet, I decide to drop one more bomb on this already explosive situation. I've got to tell him sometime and it might as well be now, when I'm mad enough to be reckless already.
"I'm riding in the races," I speak all in one breath, running the words over themselves in the process. But Dad understands me. I can see it in his face.
Dad looks stunned, then angry. "What?" He suddenly stands up, knocking over his chair.
"I'm riding in the races," I repeat. This time my voice is stronger, steadier and I remember how I felt as Peg Gratton wrote Tempest's name on the chalkboard down at the butcher's.
"You are not." Dad's brow is drawn together with disapproval.
"I already put my name on the board, Dad. And paid the entry fee."
"You used my money to deliberately disobey me?" he thunders.
"No!" I answer indignantly. "It was my money. I saved it just for this."
"You've been planning this?" He sounds surprised.
"Yes."
Dad picks up his chair again and sinks into it with an angry sigh, but there is a trace of sorrow hiding in his eyes too. "What would your mother think?" he finally asks. It's what he always says when I've done something he doesn't like and he tries to make me feel bad for it. This time, I've heard it enough.
"I didn't know my mother well enough for that!" I shout. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. That's the second time tonight that I said something I don't mean. Dad looks pained and suddenly old as he sits at the table in a faded, wrinkled t-shirt and jeans. Under the single light over the table, I can see the gray in his red-brown hair and the stubble that covers his jaw. I feel like I've been the cause of more than my fair share of that gray.
"I did." Dad whispers into the silence.
I don't know what to say or do, so I turn and run from the room, tears welling in my eyes again. This is usually when I would sneak out and run to Sean's house, but I've already cut off that escape. Instead I lock myself in my room and bury my head in my pillow. When Dad knocks on my door I don't answer. He stands in the hall outside my room for a minute or two then I hear his footsteps walk away and the door to his room shut decisively. Nothing is going well tonight.