Chapter 7: The Study

The note came to the north barn at ten that night, folded in a groom's hand.

Mr. Redmond would like a word, Miss Linden, in the study.

I read it twice under the aisle light.

Abel, forking hay behind me, said nothing, but I saw his shoulders set.

"I'll be fine," I said.

"I'll be in the feed room," he said, "with the door open."

I crossed the yard in the dark.

The main house glowed on its hill, every ground floor window lit for the Cup guests.

The study at the east end was dark except for a single lamp.

I knew that room.

I had done my homework at the corner table for ten years.

My father had signed checks at the big desk while my mother read the racing form on the sofa.

The sofa was gone.

So was the corner table.

In their place stood a glass cabinet full of silver cups, with a spotlight on each.

My father sat behind the desk with a bourbon, still in his gray suit, his tie loosened.

He looked ten years older than he had at the finish post.

"Sit," he said.

"I'll stand."

He shrugged.

He opened a drawer, took out a long envelope, and slid it across the leather.

"Open it."

I opened it.

A cashier's check, drawn on a Lexington bank, made out to Rae Linden.

One hundred thousand dollars.

"You are a very good rider," my father said.

"I've watched a great many.

"A talent like yours should be on a bigger stage than my track.

"This will see you to the next season, and any barn in the country would take you."

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