Until the moment she read the brief note written in her great-aunt Mary’s scrawling hand, she’d believed what her father had told her all her life — that her mother was dead.
Evie knew the words of the note by heart:
Dearest Evangeline,
I wish you a very happy birthday. Sweet sixteen already! How the time has flown. Your mother always tells me how very proud she is of you. Please send me a picture! I’m sure you’re a beautiful girl, since you were such a beautiful baby, and so much like Angela.
With much love, in hopes that this card will get to you,
your great-aunt Mary
Aunt Mary had written that Angela tells her, not told her how proud she is of her daughter. And that Evie’s mother is proud of her, not was. Present tense, not past!
Immediately, Evie had called the number that was on the bottom of the card. It had a Toronto area code. Aunt Mary instantly invited Evie to come for a visit. And she said she could lead her to Angela. Evie was thrilled.
She’d run to her father to tell him, expecting him to be happy to get rid of her for a weekend, but he’d shut her down. He’d called Aunt Mary “an interfering old trouble-making bat,” adding that she was “deranged and delusional.” According to Grayson Gibb, any relative of Angela’s was mentally ill.
To tell the truth, Evie had considered this possibility. She’d heard nothing good about her mother’s side of the family. Ever. Could Aunt Mary be in denial, unable to accept the fact of Angela’s death? Or could she be trying to cause trouble, like her father said?
Evie resolved to cast caution to the wind. Aunt Mary sounded very nice and perfectly sane. The way Evie saw the situation, she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. All she needed was the money to get herself to Toronto.
That’s where Kazzam came in, and the Caledon race.
That same night, on the evening of her sixteenth birthday, she’d started taking Kazzam out on the practice track, late, when nobody saw. She couldn’t ask for advice. Nobody must know what she was doing. So she’d watched how the experts did it and copied them as best she could.
And they’d won! Evie sat up in the saddle and straightened her shoulders with a full inhalation. Winning the Caledon Horse Race sure felt good. The money in Evie’s pocket felt good, too. She patted the large envelope to be sure it was still there. If her mother, Angela, was alive, Evie would find her, starting with a visit to Aunt Mary in Toronto. Kazzam had done his part already. And nobody would ever know.
A familiar voice broke into her reverie.
“Hey, Evie!”
She emerged from her daydreams and looked around.
The waving arm of Yolanda Schmits protruded from the open window of a royal-blue truck hauling a royal- blue horse trailer with the white lettering “Maple Mills Stables.”
Evie waved back. “Hey, Yoyo!” Yolanda had worked at Maple Mills ever since Evie could remember. She’d run away from home at fifteen and had worked at the track until she’d got the job with them.
“Need a lift? I got the rig safety-checked this morning and I’m heading home.”
“Great!” The truck’s air conditioning was a nice thought, and Kazzam would probably appreciate a ride back.
Yolanda stepped out and opened the back ramp of the trailer, while Evie slid to the ground and removed Kazzam’s saddle. Yolanda took it from her and put it in the tack section.
Evie led the tired horse onto the trailer, slid the bridle over his ears, and let him spit out the bit. Kazzam licked his mouth and rubbed his forehead on her arm.
“You’re a great horse. Nobody can say otherwise now.” Evie clipped on the halter, scratched his ears, and then gave his neck a hug. “See you at home.” His watchful right eye followed her out.
Once Evie had lifted the ramp and fastened the clamps, they were on their way.
“Soo, what are you doing so far from the farm?” asked Yolanda, casually looking her over.
Evie removed her helmet and shook out her sweaty, long red hair. “Thought I’d take No Justice for a hack. He never gets out.”
Yolanda made a phuh noise with her lips. “Only because he’s the spookiest horse on the planet.”
“Not always.”
Yolanda raised an eyebrow. “He never dumps you and races home. That’s why the jocks hate you.”
“Lucky me, I guess.”
“Okay, Evie. Truth time. You’re a mess. You were racing.” It wasn’t a question.
Evie didn’t answer.
“You want clues? Grimy streaks down your face. Dust and dirt all over your clothes.” Yolanda shot her another sideways glance. “I won’t tell anybody. You know I won’t. The truth, Evie. The Caledon Horse Race.”
The old black sedan came up fast, passing on their left and spraying gravel. Evie ducked in time. He would’ve caught up to them for sure if Yolanda hadn’t picked them up. Evie pulled some McDonald’s napkins from the glove compartment and worked at removing the dirt from her freckled face.
“You think a spit bath will help?”
Evie pursed her lips and said nothing. It would be much better for Yolanda if she didn’t know. That way she wouldn’t be an accomplice if Evie was caught.
“I was listening to the Erin station while I was waiting at the garage. Heard the Caledon Race. The whole thing.”
“Oh?” Evie pretended innocence. “Who won?”
“A sixteen-year-old girl named Molly Peebles. Riding a small black horse. It’s all over the news.” Yolanda glanced at Evie for a reaction. “They say she’s deaf.”
Deaf? Evie found a brush in the console and started the job of disentangling her matted hair. “Really.”
“Go ahead and admit it.” Yolanda’s voice was serious. “Everybody and his brother is wondering about Molly Peebles. It’s a big mystery. A curiosity. Hard to keep it secret for long.”
“I can trust you, Yoyo. I know I can. But I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Like it would be the first time?” Yolanda snorted.
Evie was sorely tempted to tell her all about it. In fact, she was bursting to share the thrills and all the details, from sneaking Kazzam out of the field early that morning to eluding the reporters. The shaky start. Losing her stirrups. Catching up. Crossing the finish line first.
But this was bigger than just racing her father’s horse without permission. Evie was about to run away from home. If Yolanda knew anything about it, she’d lose her job.
Up ahead, the old black sedan sat idling on the side of the road. Evie pretended to be busy looking through some imaginary papers on her lap and snuck a peek as they drove past. The driver, a man, was on his cellphone, and he was definitely one of the reporters. The one with the scruffy chin. She watched through the side mirror as he pulled out and followed them.
“Okay,” said Yolanda. “Why do you care who that is?”
“I don’t.”
Yolanda sighed. “You’re such a bad liar.”
They drove in silence as they turned onto the side road and travelled along the white, four-board horse-fences that enclosed the pristine pastures of Maple Mills Stables. At the entrance, they waited while the big white gates, activated by the remote on the dash, slowly opened.
Evie