Horse People: Stories

The Colored Horse Show

119 The Colored Horse Show A fter a long dry spell comes a rainy season of creatures that slither and spin. Spiders crochet over Nelle’s doors. Richard says, “Run into a spider web, and you’ll run into a friend.” Frogs glory in the rain that falls on the yellow grass and the brick terrace baked by months of heat. The green-striped canvas awnings sag and drip. At night, bats squeeze through holes in window screens and bobble in the hallways until Philip and Edmonia sweep them outside with brooms. Between drizzles, Iris sits on a garden bench reading. From the porch, Nelle observes a blacksnake drop from a tree and land beside her sister-in-law. Iris jumps up and sprints toward the house, screaming. Nelle takes pleasure in withholding sympathy. “It was harmless.” “How could you tell from up here?” “I have good eyes.” Iris huffs past her and inside. It is August 1945. The war is over in Europe and will soon end in Japan. Nelle’s boys are coming home, yet her spirit is heavy. Richard is recovering from a heart attack. He and Nelle argue so bitterly these days. He is angry that she refuses to sell a horse to a colored man named Bootney Sims. Twice the man has come by, and twice Nelle has sent him away. “He wouldn’t take proper care of her,” Nelle tells Richard. They are 120 in the garden, beside the bench where the snake scared Iris. Nothing is blooming except a few daylilies. “Bootney Sims is a good man,” Richard says. “He was in my court, and I believe he’s a man of his word.” It’s time to feed the goldfish. Nelle goes to her shed and fetches a box of Quaker Oats. “Why was he in court?” She tosses oats into the pond, and fish kiss the water with orange lips. “His wife was beating him,” Richard says. “He wanted a divorce. I granted it. She’s a violent woman.” Nelle pops the lid back on the box. “You should be resting.” “Have you ever listened to anything I say?” “I have the right to approve the buyers of my horses. I don’t believe most Negroes know how to treat Thoroughbreds.” “Some of the best trainers in the county are colored,” Richard says. “Look at the Ellis brothers. Their standards are as high as yours.” “Nobody’s standards are as high as mine.” The Ellis brothers own the track where the Colored Horse Show is held. Until the war the show was an annual event, drawing crowds of Negroes and whites alike. It was almost as well attended as the regular shows held in Orange and Culpeper, the ones organized by whites. Nelle and Richard went to the Colored Horse Show every year. There were jumps, mule races, sulky races, and prizes for best draft horse, harness horse, yearling, brood mare. It was a pageant, with bands playing and black jockeys in colored silks flying around the track, the animals all curried and groomed, their manes plaited. During the war, the show was canceled. Now the Ellis brothers are reviving it. Well, this year Nelle isn’t interested. “Let Bootney Sims buy a horse from the Ellis brothers. For that matter,” she jeers, “he can go to Montpelier and ask Marion duPont Scott for one of Battleships’s foals.” Nelle admires Marion duPont Scott, who is the daughter of a pharmaceutical baron and is divorced from a movie star. Battleship was sired by none other than Man o’ War. “I don’t want to do business with him.” 121 “You’re wrong, Nelle. You’re wrong about so many things,” Richard says and walks off. She can’t bear to watch how slowly he trudges up the lawn. She really does want to go to the Colored Horse Show. It was fun to bet on the races and eat fried fish from paper plates. If Richard turned around and asked her to go, she’d say yes. Hasn’t she provided for the family, doing as much as Richard or more? All during the war, her household suffered few privations. Iris promoted foolish economies, digging up wild greens to put on the table, never mind that the gardens were bursting with crops. When Philip ran out of vanilla extract, Iris convinced him to put peach leaves on a...