Willow King

Willow King

Chris Platt

To Buck Buchanan and King Hark
,

two true champions
.

And in memory of Rhoda Katz
,

one of the original trailblazers for women jockeys
.

One

“Destroy him? What do you mean ‘destroy him'? He was just born!” Katie stared at the bay colt that lay nestled in the thick bed of straw. Grey Dancer, his dam, nuzzled his still-wet coat and nickered softly to him, encouraging him to stand and nurse.

Katie leaned her forehead against the cold wood of the stall door and listened to the drumming of the Oregon rain on the barn roof. The gloom of the day settled over her like a wet blanket.

Old John, the trainer for Willow Run Thoroughbred Farm, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I tried, missy, but it's the boss's orders, and what he says goes. There's nothing either of us can do about it. This is a farm for racing stock. With legs like that, this colt will be lucky to stand and nurse, let alone race someday.”

Katie looked down at her own legs. Where would she be if her parents had felt the same way about her at her birth? With one leg almost an inch shorter than the other, it wasn't a great handicap—but it was enough to set her apart.

She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, fighting the burn of tears. She was thirteen now, too old to break down and cry like a baby. But she felt so helpless. She had no claim to the farm. She didn't live here. She was just the neighbor girl who had bugged Mr. Ellis until he had finally given up and let her help with the horses.

She pushed her long brown curls back over her shoulders and turned pleading blue eyes on the old trainer. “But it's not right, John. Look at how big he is. He's the best-looking colt foaled this season. So what if his legs are crooked? The rest of him is perfect.”

“You're right about that, Katie girl.”

Together they watched the colt struggle to rise. A gentle nudge from his dam sent him scurrying to stand. Legs tangled and buckled, but eventually he got to his feet, teetering as he stretched his neck to suckle.

“Attaboy, Willow King.” Katie spoke words of encouragement to the new foal. His ears flickered at the sound of the human voice and he turned his head to stare in her direction, milk dripping from the curly whiskers under his chin. But the effort was too much for him, and his legs collapsed under him like a folding chair snapping shut.

“See? He knows his name already,” Katie said as she knelt quietly beside the mare and foal, intent on helping him to stand and nurse again. Fortunately, Grey Dancer was a kind mare. She wouldn't turn on Katie for entering the stall when there was a new foal inside. Many mares would.

“Don't you be namin' that colt now, Katie,” John said testily. “No need for you to go gettin' attached to him when Mr. Ellis has ordered him put down.”

Katie stood and brushed the straw from her jeans, then limped to the edge of the stall. She had forgotten to wear her orthopedic shoe this morning. Her back would pain her later, but it would be worth it. She wouldn't have missed this birth for anything.

But now it might turn into a funeral. “I'm not going to let him do it,” she told John determinedly. “So what if his legs are too crooked to race? He could be a trail horse or a carriage horse, couldn't he?”

John tilted his head and settled his felt hat more firmly into place. “Now, missy, this colt's got some of the finest racing blood this farm has to offer. You think he'll ever be content to be an ordinary cart horse?”

Katie thought of her dream of becoming a ballerina. That dream had vanished when she hadn't outgrown the clumsiness of her disability. She could handle the fact that she would never be a dancer, but how would she feel if someone wanted her
dead?

“Being a carriage horse is better than being put to sleep!” Katie exploded. She turned from John and helped the foal to stand. He wobbled and bobbled but soon found the food supply again and resumed sucking greedily.

“That's it, King, drink all you can,” Katie urged. “It'll help you to grow up big and healthy.” She knew how important it was for the foal to get that first milk from his mother. It contained all the antibodies he would need to survive and grow strong.

Katie surveyed the colt's crooked limbs. “What about leg casts, John?”

Old John took off his hat and scratched his head. “I've seen it done,” he admitted. “But it's hard on the little ones. They can't run and play like the other foals when they have those heavy casts on. And the things have to be taken off every couple of weeks and tightened for them to work. Sometimes those casts do more harm than good.”

Katie sighed and went back to the foal. King stopped nursing and turned his big brown eyes toward her, seeming to size her up, determining if she might be a worthy playmate once he learned how to work his legs properly. He made a faint attempt at a nicker and took a step toward her, but his legs tangled and he fell in a heap at his dam's feet.

Katie laughed at the surprised look in his inquisitive brown eyes. King floundered for a moment in the bedding, then lay back in the deep straw and closed his eyes. Only the rhythmic chomping of Grey Dancer at her hay and the chickens scratching at the dirt on the barn's floor disturbed the quiet.

“Look at him,” Katie said. “He's so trusting, he doesn't even know that death is near. Isn't there anything that can help him?”

“Well,” old John began as he forked some hay into the stall. “I tried to tell the boss, but he didn't want to listen. I've seen a few colts born with crooked legs. Of course, none of them were as bad as this little colt's. The best remedy I've seen is good food, plenty of sunshine, and lots of pasture to run in.”

“That's it?” Katie's eyes widened in surprise. “No medicines or bandages?” That seemed far too simple to work. She wished the problem with her own legs could be fixed that easily.

“That's it,” John repeated. “It's best to let Mother Nature take her course. Those legs will straighten of their own accord. Most of those colts went on to win races.”

Hope fluttered in Katie's heart. “But if that's all it takes, then why won't Mr. Ellis give it a try?”

“The final decision rests with the boss, and he thinks the colt's legs are too crooked for it to work.”

The sound of tires grinding on the gravel driveway announced the arrival of the veterinarian. Katie's heart sank again and her stomach felt as if a large, cold stone lay inside it.

Dr. Marvin, the stable's vet for as long as Katie could remember, ambled up the shed row, shaking the rain from his hat and coat. “Morning, John. Katie.” He tipped his head in their direction. “So where is the little fella?”

Katie stepped aside, and the vet entered the stall, shrugging off his raincoat and throwing it over the door. “Not a, very good day to be born,” he noted as he dried his hands before picking up his instruments and beginning his examination of the colt. “But it's also not a very good day to die.”

Katie heard the sympathy in Dr. Marvin's voice and pounced on it. “Oh, Doc, you can't put him down. He could be a champion someday!”

The vet paused and turned to Katie. “I wouldn't get my hopes up that high,” he cautioned. “He's got some of the worst legs I've seen on a colt.

“But,” he added, “I think they might straighten enough for him to be of use somewhere.”

“See!” Katie beamed, turning to John. “Now all we've got to do is make Mr. Ellis understand.”

“I've already tried that, Katie,” Dr. Marvin said. “It's breeding season, and having a bad-legged colt out of your prize stallion's first crop doesn't go over well with buyers or breeders. Mr. Ellis has high hopes for Beau Jest's offspring, and he doesn't want anyone to know this colt of his exists.”

Katie shook her head, tossing her brown curls over her shoulder impatiently. “I didn't know Mr. Ellis could be so heartless.”

“He's really not being that cruel,” Dr. Marvin said, pulling a stethoscope from his bag. “He doesn't expect this colt to be able to stand and nurse. A quick death is preferable to slow starvation.”

“But he's already stood and nursed.” A note of hope crept back into Katie's voice.

“He has?” Dr. Marvin's brows rose to a point in the middle of his forehead, giving him the appearance of a wise old owl.

“Yes, he nursed for about a minute.”

“That's a good sign.” The vet put the stethoscope to the colt's chest and listened. King shifted in the straw and Dr. Marvin put a steadying hand on his side. “He's got a strong heartbeat, and his lungs are clear. If he could get enough milk into him to gain some strength, he would make it.”

“Do you really think so?” Katie was getting more excited by the minute.

“Too bad his legs are so crooked. This is one of the best-looking colts I've seen come off this farm.”

“We've got to convince Mr. Ellis that Willow King is worth saving!” Katie huffed an exasperated breath. So what if the colt had a handicap? He could overcome it.

“Here he comes now,” John warned. “If you've got a plan, it's now or never, my girl.”

Katie jogged awkwardly down the barn's shed row to greet the owner. Tom Ellis sloshed into the barn through the mud, his wide-brimmed hat set against the rain. Behind him, a splash of yellow daintily picked its way between the puddles, a large umbrella turning back the onslaught of rain.

Only Cindy Ellis would wear her best school dress to the barn, Katie thought sourly. She and Cindy had been neighbors for the past eight years, but they could hardly be called friends. They tolerated each other, and that was about it. What was she doing here? Cindy only came to the barn when her horse was bridled, saddled, and ready to ride. Today was definitely not a day for a gallop over the fields.

“Hello, Katie. What brings you out on such a miserable morning?” Mr. Ellis's voice always sounded so businesslike.

Cindy closed her umbrella and daintily brushed at the water spots that speckled her dress. “Yes, Katie, what
are
you doing here?”

Ignoring Cindy's curious gaze, Katie managed to get a few words past the lump in her throat. “It's Grey Dancer's foal, sir…”

“Ah, yes. She's always been your favorite of all my horses, hasn't she? It's too bad about the foal. I had great hopes pinned on that colt.”

“He could still be a winner, Mr. Ellis.” Suddenly, Katie lost all control of her tongue. “He stood and nursed. Dr. Marvin says he will live if he just gets some milk down him. Old John says he just needs lots of sunshine.” The words tumbled out of her mouth like water over a fall.

“Hold on there, Katie. What are you getting at?”

“Please don't put Willow King down,” she pleaded, looking to Cindy for help. The two of them didn't see eye to eye on too many things, but surely Cindy wasn't so horrible that she'd want to see the colt die.

“Willow King?” Tom Ellis stared at Katie. “That's a powerful name, but I'm afraid he won't be able to use it. There's no hope for that colt, Katie.”

“Nothing is ever hopeless,” Katie said.

Cindy stepped forward and pushed her straight blond hair out of her eyes. “Are you sure, Daddy? Maybe he'll outgrow it?”

Katie managed a weak smile for Cindy. She was grateful for the help.

“No, girls. There's no sense getting your hopes up. The colt's too deformed to make it on his own. He'd take a lot of extra work, and even if he did make it, he'd still be worthless. No legs, no racehorse. You two run on up to the house now. I promise you, the colt won't feel any pain.” He shooed them toward the barn door.

“Wait!” Katie yelled. She had to make them see that the colt didn't have to be perfect to be of use. “You can't do this! If it's too much work for you, I'll do it. Just let him live. Please!”