Chapter 15

My Worst Fears

I was too fidgety to play checkers with Johnny and too sad to write a letter about Spot to Daddy. Besides that, Daddy missed us the same way we missed him and didn’t need to hear anything to make him sadder. Instead, I sat on the settee and listened to the wireless, along with Grandma. When the newsman talked about a battle, a chill shivered down my spine. Enough scary news for me. I jumped up and ran out the door to check on my sweet mutt. No Spot.

A little while later, Mom called to Johnny and me to get ready for bed. I walked to my room, pulled on my pajamas and then peeped out the window to see if Spot had come back home. I tapped on the glass panes. If he had been out there, he would have plopped his paws on the windowsill and yipped a loud one. He didn’t plop, and he didn’t yip. No Spot.

Mom walked into the bedroom, leading Johnny by the hand. She helped him into his pajamas. As we each curled up in our beds, Mom told us about the time she and Daddy visited her Uncle Bob in Louisville for the weekend.

“The year was 1936,” she said. “Grace, you were a tiny thing, only three years old.”

I could tell by the tone of Mom’s voice, all dreamy and sweet, that she enjoyed remembering the weekend. “It was the first Saturday in May,” she said. “Uncle Bob surprised us with tickets to the Kentucky Derby.”

“You got tickets for a hat?” Johnny asked.

“A derby is a hat like your daddy wears when he gets dressed up,” Mom explained. “The Kentucky Derby is a horse race in Louisville. I bought a fancy hat for the occasion, red with yellow feathers. Your daddy wore his brown derby. He looked quite handsome, I must admit.” Mom’s smile widened. “I packed a picnic lunch, and we watched races all day long. The last race was the one everyone had been waiting on. The horses were lining up. I held a racing form in my hands and looked at each Thoroughbred as they paraded by on the way to the starting gate.”

“Why were you waiting on the last race?” I asked.

“Because the best race is the Derby,” Mom explained. “The finest three-year-old Thoroughbred horses run for the roses.”

“Run for the roses?” I was full of questions.

“The Kentucky Derby is also called ‘The Run for the Roses,’” Mom answered. “After the race, a beautiful blanket of red roses, hanging almost to the ground, is draped over the winning horse’s neck, and the jockey is given a bouquet of roses. Anyway, your daddy and I were trying to decide which horse to cheer for. We checked them out as they walked by. I saw this big horse, Bold Venture. He was restless, twisting his body like he wanted to run, so I picked him.”

“What horse did Daddy pick?” Johnny asked.

“Your daddy picked a horse named Granville,” Mom answered. “He said he was a good judge of horseflesh and Bold Venture had better stay out of Granville’s path as Granville bolted to the finish line. He predicted that Granville would run past Bold Venture like he was standing still.”

“Who won?” Johnny wanted to know.

“The bugler played ‘Call to the Post,’” Mom said. “The gate opened, and the horses shot out. Bold Venture got off to a slow start. He was caught in close quarters with other horses on the track. I screamed, ‘Go Bold Venture!’”

“Who won?” Johnny asked again.

Mom looked at Johnny and ruffled his hair. “Your daddy told me to yell louder, that my horse needed all the help it could get. I kept screaming. Bold Venture’s jockey steered him to the outside, away from the other horses.”

“Where was Granville?” I asked.

“Granville was still caught in the group of horses running the track and not making a lot of progress either,” Mom answered. “But he did manage to throw off his jockey.”

“Granville didn’t have a rider?” I couldn’t imagine a horse in the Kentucky Derby with no jockey.

Mom laughed. “That’s right. Bold Venture was one strong horse. His jockey kept him on the outside where he had room to run. The farther he ran, the faster he traveled. He traveled to sixth place. He passed a horse and moved to fifth. I cheered him on, screaming, jumping and clapping my hands. Bold Venture hit fourth place. I screamed louder. Everyone around us screamed and cheered, too, for their picks. I watched Bold Venture move into third place, still on the outside. He was giving it all he had when he took second place. At last, Bold Venture grabbed the lead, and I screamed like a mad woman. When my horse crossed the finish line first, most of the cheering stopped, except for those of us cheering for Bold Venture, of course.”

“Your horse won?” Johnny asked with wide eyes.

“My horse won,” Mom answered, smiling as she remembered the day. “I was jumping, shouting and shaking my racing form when I noticed your daddy still had his eye on the race. His horse hadn’t crossed the finish line. Poor Granville finished last. I looked at your daddy and said, ‘Good judge of horseflesh, huh?’ He laughed and called me a showoff.”

“Where was I while you were at the Kentucky Derby?” Johnny asked.

“You weren’t born yet,” Mom answered. “Grace Ann stayed with Uncle Bob and Aunt Lucy for the day.”

“Shucks,” Johnny grumbled. “I miss all the fun.” Mom suggested that when Daddy made it back home, we could all go to the Derby together.

“Yep,” Johnny said. “I’ll pick Bold Venture so I’ll be sure to win.”

“Bold Venture won’t be running again, Johnny,” I said. “The race is for three-year-old horses. That was eight years ago, so Bold Venture is eleven now. He and I are the same age.”

“Then I’ll get Mom to help me pick a winner,” Johnny said. “She’s a good judge of horseflesh.”

Mom may have been in the mood to talk, or maybe she was simply trying to cheer me up before I went to sleep. Either way, she enjoyed remembering her time with Daddy. So did I. She kissed us goodnight and told me to try not to worry. “Spot might be home by morning,” she said.

“Mom, do you think we’ll get a letter from Daddy soon?” I whispered low.

“Soon,” she answered as she turned off the light and walked to her bedroom.

I heard Johnny’s soft snores almost immediately. I couldn’t go to sleep. All I could think about was my sweet mutt. I waited a few minutes and eased out of bed. I slipped to the kitchen and opened the door. The full moon glowed like a beacon, shining a dim light over the backyard. Dark shadows hovered.

I stuck my head out the door and saw Spot! I dashed across the yard barefoot and called in a low voice, “Spot, you sweet mutt, you’re home!” But it wasn’t Spot. A raccoon nibbled on the food I had set out early that morning. When the coon saw me, it scampered away up the hillside.

Spot had left either last night or this morning. Even though that was a long time to be missing, I willed myself to think positive thoughts. Spot would come back home. I imagined him trotting up the road and into Grandma’s yard. I imagined him running in circles and yipping at anyone who passed by. I imagined him understanding every word I said. But I refused to imagine anything bad happening to him.

I walked back into the house and crawled into bed. “Think positive thoughts.” Grandma’s words swirled through my mind. “Have gumption.” I closed my eyes and tried to relax. Still, sleep was like the wind: I couldn’t grasp it.

Sometime during the night, a bark woke me. I sat up in bed and listened. Not Spot’s bark; too high pitched. It sounded like a smaller dog. I peeped out my window. With the light of the full moon, I saw the half-eaten food in the bowl. Spot hadn’t been home, and the raccoon hadn’t returned.

I tossed and turned until daybreak; then I changed out of my pajamas and put on my pants and shirt.

“You’re up bright and early,” Grandma said. “Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes.”

I hurried out the back door to check on my sweet mutt. I yelled, “Spot, Spot, come here boy!” But he was nowhere to be found.