Gabriel's Horses by Alison Hart Page B

that long ago
you
was cleaning stalls.”
    â€œYup, now I’m a fancy-riding free man.”
    A year ago, Jackson used purse winnings to buy his freedom from Master Giles. Now, if he pleases, he can ride for other Thoroughbred owners in the area.
    Jackson reaches back and pulls a rolled-up newspaper from his waistband. “Last Saturday’s race is written up in here. Annabelle read it to me. There’s lots ’bout Tenpenny.”
    â€œThere is?” Eyes wide, I lean on the handle of the pitchfork.
    Mister Winston Giles’s colt Tenpenny leads down the stretch with no sign of tiring
, Jackson recites from memory.
    â€œWhat’d they write ’bout
me
?” I grin, picturing Annabelle’s surprised expression when she read my name.
    â€œWell . . .” Jackson spits out the stalk of straw.
    Hanging my head, I start pitching manure again.
    â€œGabriel,” Jackson says, “reporters don’t write
my
name, and I’ve been winning for two years. Reporters write ‘Mister Giles’s colored rider’ or ‘the darky rider.’” He points the rolled-up paper at me. “Gotta head north if I want folks to read ‘Jackson’ in the paper.”
    â€œThat ain’t fair,” I grumble.
    â€œWell, I ain’t lettin’ it get to me, and you shouldn’t either. You keep riding as good as you did last Saturday, and maybe one day, when the Yankees free the blacks, they’ll write
both
our names.”
    That cheers me a speck. “You reckon I’ll be racing more horses for Master Giles?”
    â€œAin’t Mister Giles put you on more horses this week?”
    I nod. “I’ve been galloping Captain Conrad and Savannah, and yesterday I started Penny back to work.”
    Crossing his arms, Jackson grins slyly. “Sounds like Mister Giles is getting his horses ready for another big meet in Lexington. Sounds like he might let you jockey one of them.”
    â€œHe is? He might? When? Where?”
    Jackson chuckles. “Kentucky Association track is having a meet two Saturdays from now. Mister Giles is talking about taking a herd of horses. I’m contracted to ride some for Major Wiley, so I can’t ride them all.”
    â€œI’ll ride!” I prop the pitchfork against the wall, all thoughts of stall mucking banished from my mind. “And this time I’ll have a pair of gloves and riding boots.”
    Jackson arches one brow. “You’d best get in good with the new trainer before you start making big plans.”
    I know Jackson’s right. Just yesterday, Master Giles rode over to the Midway depot to pick up the man he hired from the North to replace Pa. But I’m not worried about making a good impression on the new trainer. “I will,” I tell Jackson. “He’ll think I’m the finest rider in Kentucky. ’Cept for
you
,” I add with a laugh.
    â€œGet him to put you on Tenpenny again. If you win, Mister Giles might even slip you some purse money. So think on
that
, Gabriel.” Smacking the paper against his palm, he saunters down the barn aisle.
    I don’t have to think on it long. Purse money means freedom!
    Then I scowl, wondering what good freedom would do me. Freedom sure ain’t changed Ma’s life. She’s still fetching and doing for Mistress Jane like before. And didn’t Corporal Blue say the colored soldiers are digging latrines and chopping wood for the white soldiers? Free jockeys like Jackson don’t even get their names in the papers. The reporters write Tenpenny’s name and he’s only won one race. Jackson’s won more than I can count.
    Sighing, I pick up the pitchfork. Freedom sure is all jangled up. When I look at it one way, freedom don’t seem so powerful. Yet then I look another way, why, it’s
everything
powerful.
    â€œNew trainer’s comin’! New trainer’s comin’!” Jase thumps