Daybreak In New Jersey - Part 1

Original article written by The Steward posted 15 years 0 weeks ago

The gallop lane undulated over rolling hills and through fields of green, marked only by red and white striped poles every quarter mile. An occasional hedge crossed the path, the only sign that this wasn’t a typical turf course. Emily Shields felt mildly annoyed and was breathing a tad heavily as she hiked alongside the lean and lithe Karen Shields (of no particular relation) towards the top of one especially grueling hill. Situated on wood chips was a bench overlooking the training track and the long straight away completing the steeplechase training course at Forever Magic Farm in Maryland. It was a crisp, sunny Monday in early November at about eleven a.m., approximately thirty hours prior to the running of the Steward’s Cup Steeplechase.

The conversation between the women was animated and casual, but neither looked at each other. One by one, long and muscular Thoroughbreds thundered by, eager to be completing their morning workouts and head back to the barn.

After waiting only a moment, Shrouded in Myst galloped around the corner, his bright bay coat glistening in the sun and his head up, ears forward. A handsome gelding with a white face, Emily had always been a little attached to the now nine-year-old who was bred by one of her friends, the legendary Eric Nalbone, who had acquired the gelding’s dam, Mysterious Myst, from Emily herself.

“He looks good, right?” Karen asked, gesturing to the gelding as he slowed to a jog.

Emily nodded in answer, half smiling.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Karen agreed. “Until I saw that.” She pointed opposite to the other side of the course where a more compact and more athletic chestnut gelding was tucked up over a hedge, his powerful neck stretched out to balance the rest of his body. Emily recognized Evacuee immediately, and bit her lip. “Ali’s horse does look good,” she admitted.

Unable to watch the competition, Karen retreated back down the hill. Emily followed even more cautiously – the only thing worse than scrambling up steep hills was the descent that followed! She took time to admire the rich green grass and spotting of dying fall flowers. Although it was quite warm in the sun, the temperature couldn’t be more than sixty-five degrees, a lovely morning.

An homely chestnut gelding named Legendofthepeople, yet another nine-year-old, grazed peacefully outside one of the barns they passed, painted in the pale purple colors of trainer Angie Smoo. Smoo herself was at the end of the lead shank, fielding questions from the reporters gathered around her. Controversy surrounded the gelding’s final race in the Steward’s Cup, his fourth attempt at the crown. After his old trainer’s sudden disappearance, Angie Smoo had rescued the true “legend” of the racetrack for $1,000 at a questionable stable dispersal in Kentucky. If she hadn’t spotted the gelding, he could have ended up in dire straights. Still, the decision to get “Legend” back into racing shape after many years of dedicated service on the racetrack was one met by contempt from many loyal fans, who thought the horse deserved a fair retirement right away.

The Steward’s Cup Steeplechase was the first of nineteen championship races that would be held that week. Friday afternoon would bring the other eighteen: a non-stop, action-packed day of racing that signaled the close of the season. Emily’s stomach did excited flip-flops at the thought of a few solid weeks off at her Trial By Summer Stables in Kentucky. She followed Karen into her barn, adorned with green and purple and yellow polka dots, and absently stroked the nose of steeplechaser Neko Bay while Karen directed her rider, Tina, to cool Shrouded In Myst out for thirty more minutes.

“Coffee?” Karen offered when Tina and ‘Myst walked off to the tow ring behind the barn.

“No, thanks, I can’t have any caffeine,” Emily answered automatically. “Water, though, maybe?”

They settled into Karen’s cozy barn office, Karen at her desk and Emily with her legs crossed on a plush red couch. “Alright, this is the last time I’ll ask,” Emily prompted, already knowing the answer. “I will give you $750,000 for the Wheelaway mare, I really want her.”

“I know you do,” Karen shrugged, “but I can’t sell. We are looking at breeding her to Chart or maybe Yume Senshi – you know we’ve been offered a discount there. She’s special to us!”

Emily sighed and nodded. “I figured you’d say that, and I really can’t go any higher. Thanks for your time, though.” She swallowed some water.

******************

On Tuesday evening, Emily boarded a plane from Maryland to New Jersey. She sat in the last seat in the last row, sandwiched between the window and bulkhead, bobbing her head rhythmically to the smash hit “I Kissed a Girl” by Katy Perry on her iPod. The past performances for almost 200 horses were settled on her tray table, and she flipped through them with only cursory glances. A remarkable number of trainers who had attended the ‘Chase were also on her flight, bound for the Steward’s Cup as well (all of them had better seats, it seemed). The flight wasn’t full, and as soon as the seatbelt sign dinged off, people began to move about and mingle, much like an annual family reunion.

Norman Architecture, a pleasant and kind Englishman, plopped into the seat beside Emily, startling her from listening to Meat Loaf’s “Alive.” She hit pause and pushed her headphones to her neck.
“Good evening, Mrs. Shields,” Norman smiled amicably.

“Hello, yourself,” Emily grinned back. “What’s the buzz?”

Norman glanced down the aisle where AR Roberts and Dr. Hacklu were arguing in raised voices. “As far as I know, the good doctor is trying to talk AR out of running on Friday.”

Emily eyed the arguing pair several rows ahead. “Ah, I think I shall go have a chat with Dr. Hacklu, he seems particularly irritable lately,” she sighed. “Thanks for the warning though, we’re due to have dinner tomorrow and I’m not sure I can stand another minute of him complaining about poor Gime. The girl wants to be an artist, you know, and he’s convinced she’s going to be a vet.”

Norman scooted in the seat and tucked his knees awkwardly to his chest to let Emily pass.

AR Roberts stood in the aisle, his finger pressed against Hinede’s chest, his neck reddening. “You can’t tell me when I should and shouldn’t run my horse!” AR snapped.

Dr. Hacklu looked scared, backing into the seats and almost sitting on poor Katy Turner’s head. “I’m just saying, she didn’t look sound to me, that’s all!”

“Hi, boys, are you playing nicely?” Emily said, stepping in between them and holding out her hands to separate them. “Or do I have to get the Stewardesses?”

Everyone giggled tensely at her sub-par joke. “Come on, let’s sit down,” she urged, directing the two men back to their seats. “It’s another hour for the flight and it’s a long week! You can beat each other up on Sunday.”

As she scooted back to her seat, where Norman was waiting, she heard Laura Smith hiss, “My money’s on AR!”

** ** ** **

The alarm buzzed at 3:45 am, and Emily was already dressed in jeans and a jacket, simply waiting for the noise, a signal to get up and go. She hardly slept Steward’s Cup week, despite constant exhaustion and the demands of her many jobs. She tucked her pony tail into a “Loki Flame’ baseball cap that she’d worn for fourteen years (and was, regrettably, falling apart ). No one else stirred in the parking lot where a mix of rental cars and dirty farm trucks littered the aisles. Emily’s rental, a blue Subaru, was close to the exit, so it was only a minute before she was on the road (and making several wrong turns due to her acute unfamiliarity with New Jersey roadways and rules. Who turns right to turn left?).

The brick security shack just inside the main stable gate housed a portly security guard who stopped her upon entering. “Ma’am, may I see your credentials?”

Emily fished about in her bag for her International Racing License. She handed it over and tapped her foot impatiently. The clock gleamed a neon blue 4:02 am.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you, this license doesn’t work this week. It’s Steward’s Cup week,” the guard looked apologetic.

“I would be the Steward in question,” Emily snapped, tempted to just drive through the barrier arm in front of her. “This is ridiculous.”

“You need a proper Steward’s Cup car hanger and official credential,” the guard explained, shrugging. “I’m afraid I can’t let you through.”

“Sir, you are doing a fantastic job I’m sure, and you should probably be given a raise. However, I AM Garden State Park this week. I AM the Steward’s Cup. If you don’t let me through NOW… do you know who I AM!?” Emily’s fingers tightened against her steering wheel. “My credentials are at the pony barn, with my horse who shipped in yesterday…”

“Actually, Mrs. Shields, they are right here,” the guard grinned, handing her a white envelope with her car hanger, credential, and associated stickers. “Chris Briggs brought them by for you, he also slipped me a twenty and said he’d double it if I gave you a hard time getting in here… that’s forty dollars, Mrs. Shields!”

Emily fumed momentarily, then reached into her own wallet for another twenty dollar bill. She handed it over to the intrigued security guard. “When Briggs gets here this morning, tell him the police have confirmed he is a felon on the run and there is a big reward for his capture. I’ll double it if you make a realistic wanted poster!”

The guard grinned and saluted. “Have a good morning, Mrs. Shields!”

** ** ** **

Lionize stood squarely in the back his stall, hooked to the wall via a line on his halter. The three-year-old colt twisted his head around to glare purposefully at Leonard Beagle, his jovial trainer who was attempting to check the colt’s tack. Leonard caught Lionize’s angry stare and patted him apologetically on the neck. “Sorry, big guy, but I want you to be the first horse on the track today, and that means we have to get up earlier than normal.”

In response, Lionize kicked out with one hind leg, which struck only air and made no noise. Leonard didn’t bother to correct the colt for his foul behavior, instead he only tightened the girth one more notch and set the reins over the pommel of the saddle.

“It’s four thirty, boss!” Leonard’s main exercise rider, Mike, complained, shuffling about in the cold and gripping a Starbucks cup close to his chest. “I thought we were going to the turf!”

“We’ll go to the turf tomorrow,” Leonard promised, knowing they would do nothing of the sort. The earlier Lionize was finished, the earlier he could leave, and the less likely the chance that he would run into any of the other Steward’s Cup Turf contenders on or off the track. What Leonard didn’t know didn’t scare him, and so he preferred not to know how well any of the other horses were training.

Lionize, winner of the Barbados Triple Crown earlier in the year, looked exceptional in his own right. His muscles were hard under his shiny bay coat, and he had a fantastic shoulder. After examining his charge – somewhat proudly – Leonard gave Mike a leg up and patted the grand colt on the rump.

“Shedrow for fifteen minutes, then we’ll go to the track,” he said, retreating to hide in his office.

“Yo, Leo,” a familiar voice hollered from outside. Leonard tentatively poked his head out, knowing with absolute conviction that the voice belong to Emily Mitchell and for some reason the undefeated superstar Atlantis would be with her. Instead, Emily Shields sat perched aboard her plain bay gelding, one hand resting comfortably on the horse’s neck and the other on her thigh.

“Good morning, Em,” Leonard smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“You want me to pony that horse of yours to the track? And maybe around?” Emily offered.

“Aren’t you busy?” Leonard frowned, checking his watch again. “Shouldn’t you be walking the track like you always do?”

“Been there, done that, it looks fantastic,” Emily smiled, gesturing with her hands to show what Leonard presumed to be a smooth track. “You just look a little anxious,” Emily added, “I mean, the track doesn’t open for twenty minutes and you’re already shedrowing.”

Leonard finally caught on to what Emily was proposing, and felt grateful and a little nervous. “Are you sure you should do that? I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Emily nodded seriously. “You’re right. I don’t want my boss to get mad at me. Oh… wait. I AM the boss. Let’s go. C’mon, Mikey, bring that stud out here.”

Leonard followed willingly behind the pair of horses and riders as they towards the gap in the fence across from the five furlong pole. At this rate, they would be off the track before it was officially open. Perfect! “Are there any media types here yet?” Leonard asked, glancing across the track to the dimly lit grandstand.

“Sure, they are waiting for sneaky people like you,” Emily admitted, “but they can’t see anything right now. It’s too dark, the cameras won’t pick up the horse.”

Sure enough, within a few strides, Emily and her pony and Mike and Lionize had disappeared up the backstretch and were swallowed in the darkness.

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