Page 16 of Where the Rivers Merge

A gymkhana is an equestrian event involving various timed races or games that showcase the teamwork between the horse and rider. It typically consists of a series of obstacles that test the horsemanship skills of the riders and the agility, speed, and responsiveness of the horses.

1914

The morning of the gymkhana, our family, Wilton, and Covey traveled together by boat to the race site. It was an easy journey cruising past great houses that faced the water and a blur of pink and white azaleas. I led Capitano directly to the horse stalls erected for the race. A crowd was already gathering, and the air was festive.

Once Wilton settled Capitano, he and Daddy left the stalls to make arrangements for the race, and Heyward and Mama made their way to the spectator area. Lesesne, Covey, and I immediately snuck into the back of the horse’s stall like barn rats. As Lesesne unbuttoned his blue flannel shirt, Covey knelt to open her large basket. She pulled out a fresh shirt for Lesesne and a pair of trousers for me. When she stood, she had a pair of shears in her hand.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

she asked me.

I finished buttoning Lesesne’s shirt and pulled my hair out from the braid. It fell over my shoulders in riotous curls. “Just do it before I change my mind.”

“What? You’re going to cut your hair?”

Lesesne looked ill.

“I have to, if I’m going to look like a boy. Besides, my hair’s too thick to fit under a cap.”

I sat resolutely on a bale of hay and Covey began sawing at my thick dark hair. I closed my eyes and visualized the race.

“That’s as good as it gets,”

Covey said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “I don’t have a mirror, so you’ll have to take my word for it.”

I looked at Lesesne. I knew if it looked funny, he’d laugh. Lesesne’s long face was thoughtful, but I saw approval in his eyes.

Covey hid the long shank of dark hair in her basket while I tightened the trousers around my waist with Lesesne’s belt. My brown boots were good enough to pass scrutiny. When done, I looked up to see Captain eyeing me with uncertainty. He whinnied and shook his head.

“I don’t look the same,”

I said. “Oh, that’s not good.”

“He’ll be fine,”

Covey said with authority. “But we’re missing one important piece of our disguise.”

She lowered to pull out a boy’s cap from the basket and slapped it on my head. Then she walked around me, tucking in wayward hairs, tugging down the cap, straightening my collar. Then she covered her mouth and laughed. “Actually, you make a pretty cute boy.”

“Thanks a lot,”

I scowled while Lesesne hooted.

As the other riders came into the stalls to saddle their horses, Hugh found Captain and our stall. He was dressed for the race in riding breeches and boots. He squinted and peered in. “There you are.”

I came closer, staying out of sight of the others. I smoothed the plaid shirt and asked, “How do I look?”

His eyes crinkled. “Like a girl in boys’ clothes.”

After a laugh he said, “No one will think you’re not Lesesne. Well done.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Now hurry. I’ve come to help you get saddled up.”

He easily lifted the saddle onto Captain’s back and quickly tightened the girth. He handed me the reins. Captain snorted and stepped back.

“Whoa,”

Hugh said, giving me a surprised look. “What’s spooked Cap?”

Was it my fear he sensed? Or because I looked different? I removed the cap from my head, and stepping closer, let him sniff me. “Hey, boy. It’s me,” I cooed.

“What did you do to your hair?”

Hugh asked, staring at me with eyes wide.

“Shh . . .”

I whispered, looking over my shoulder. My hand darted up to the shorn hair at my neck. “Covey cut it. It wouldn’t fit in the cap.”

Seeing his distress I blurted, “I had to do it!”

“Yeah, okay,”

Hugh said, clearly shaken and trying to recoup his composure. “Captain seems fine now. We should get you up.”

I replaced my cap and led Captain to the threshold. Hugh bent with his hands joined. I set my boot in his hands and swung my leg over the saddle. Hugh adjusted the stirrups, his hands taking firm hold of my boot. At knee level, his hair was so blond it looked white. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers through it, to tousle it like Daddy used to do with Heyward. But Hugh wasn’t a little boy. Definitely he was not.

“Why do you root for me?”

I asked him. “Not even my mother roots for me.”

Hugh’s fingers paused and he looked up at me. His blue eyes radiated sincerity.

“When you do well, it makes me want to do well.”

He took a breath. “I believe in you.”

My mouth dropped in astonishment. I could only look back at him in wonder.

Hugh swung his head at the sound of approaching horses. The moment was broken.

“Now you hurry,”

I said, “or you’ll miss the race.”

Hugh laughed. “No way I’ll miss the chance to see you race.”

He turned and hurried off to his stall.

Lesesne appeared at the stall entrance and gave the okay sign.

Covey approached, her face raised and her palm on my boot. “You can do this,”

she said earnestly. “There’s no one who can ride like you. And there’s no better horse out there than Capitano.”

I nodded. I knew Captain would take his confidence from me, and I’d take my courage from him. Together, we’d give this race our best.

The sun was merciless yet as many as one hundred people lined both sides of the beach from pole to pole dressed in light colors and straw hats, the women holding parasols. I kept my head down as we walked to where a portly man stood sweating in the sun holding a large red kerchief. Captain was young and inexperienced, full of himself as he pranced and pawed aggressively. I struggled to keep him in line. The stallions eyed each other, snorting, challenging, eager to bite. The riders clenched the reins tightly to hold them steady as the seconds seemed to tick by like minutes.

Hugh leaned closer, keeping his stallion in check. “Good luck.”

“Good luck,”

I replied. I squeezed the reins and lowered my cheek to rest against the fur of Capitano’s neck. I could feel my blood racing as I breathed in his scent. “It’s you and me, Cap. Let’s run for the fun of it, same as always.”

I stroked his neck, feeling the muscle ripple, then straightened and took a deep breath.

The heavy-set man came to stand in front of the waving line of horses. He raised his arms. In one hand was the red kerchief. I felt Captain’s muscles pulling tight beneath me, like a giant coil about to spring.

His arms came down. A cheer went up. Captain sprang forward, pushed by the power of his hind quarters. The stretch of beach glared in the sunlight, but in my mind I was in the meadow, heading to my tree with her outstretched limbs.

When we reached the pole we were a length ahead of the other horses, but I made a dreadful mistake and overshot the turn, losing critical time. Captain wanted to keep running straight ahead so I pulled him in firmly and gently. As we made the turn my heart sank seeing the three other horses galloping far ahead. I bent low to his neck, buried my hands in his thick mane, and tucked up my knees. “Go, Cap. Run for us!”

Captain didn’t like to see the rears of other horses. As he stretched out his legs, sand flew up in clumps from his hooves, and he handily passed the palomino, then the black-and-white Walker. We reached Hugh and matched each other stride for stride. I turned my head to glance at him. That was my second mistake. My cap flew off and I felt the air rush through my short curls. Too late now, I thought, and focused again on the race I had yet to win.

Captain found another reserve and I felt his energy surge beneath me, even faster, as he pushed forward. I cried out with joy as we passed the finish line first by a head and heard the roar of the crowd.

Captain didn’t just win, he won with a flourish.

Hugh caught up to me on his stallion, finishing second. “You did it!”

he shouted, beaming in a way unsuitable for someone who’d just lost the race. I loved him for it.

I ran my hand through my hair and shook my head, laughing with pure release and joy. Together we trotted back to the starting point where a small group of men gathered. My father was the tallest one in the group, and he stood wide legged with his arms open in welcome. As I neared, his face shifted from joy to shock of recognition. Beside him, Wilton’s eyes flickered from my face to my father with worry. Heyward could not contain his joy. He fist pumped the air as Captain came to a halt.

A crowd gathered quickly around us, and I heard repeatedly the exclamation, “It’s a girl!”

Daddy came to Captain’s side and let his hand glide along the horse’s strong neck. Then he looked up at me. His eyes searched mine.

“Lizzie, are you hurt anywhere? Are you okay?”

I shook my head, my curls free. “I’m fine.”

He reached up for me and I slid off the horse into his arms. My legs felt so watery I could barely stand. Daddy held me tight for a moment, then released me. After a quick swipe at his eyes, he took the reins from me and handed them to Wilton.

“That was a fine ride, Miss,”

Wilton said.

“The Captain takes all the credit,”

I replied. “He’ll need a hearty rub.”

“I’ll take good care of our champion,”

Wilton said, then led a tired and compliant horse to the stalls.

The conundrum began as word spread from lips to lips that a girl had ridden the race—and won! The stout man with the red kerchief called for the panel of judges to convene. Heyward fought his way to my side and put a protective arm around me. I could see the other horses being led from the beach to the stalls by groomsmen and looked for Hugh, but I couldn’t find him.

“Watch her,”

Daddy told Heyward and pushed his way close to the panel of judges. Mr. Rhodes was already there, and beside him I spotted Hugh. Everyone was shouting and I couldn’t make heads or tails of gibberish.

A short while later, Daddy returned with a coterie of men. His face was solemn. Heyward dropped his arm from my shoulder but remained at my side.

A short, slender man in a gray suit and striped waistcoat lifted a clipboard. Poising his pen, he asked, “What’s your name, young lady?”

I cleared my throat. “Eliza Pinckney Rivers. Sir.”

He looked at me through narrowed eyes. “That’s an important name. Not one to shame.”

“No sir.”

“Your age?”

“Fourteen. Almost fifteen.”

“Are you the owner of the stallion you rode?”

“No, sir. My father is the owner. Mr. Rawlins Heyward Rivers.”

The man wrote all this down. “Did he know you were the rider of this race?”

“No sir.”

“Why did you ride in the race?”

“To win,”

I replied honestly.

A wave of laughter followed my reply. The official didn’t appreciate my answer. “I mean to say, did you realize you were breaking the rules?”

“But I wasn’t,”

I replied. “Respectfully, sir, nowhere in the rules does it state that a girl—or rather, a female—cannot ride in the race.”

Somewhat flustered, the official rifled through the papers. “Says right here in your registration that a Mr. Heyward Rivers was to ride in the race.”

Heyward stepped up and answered in a clear voice. “Yes sir. I’d intended to. But I broke my arm.”

He indicated his cast. “Eliza, my sister, filled in for me. No harm intended. Sir.”

The official looked at the cast and scratched his jaw in consternation. He turned and walked away, signaling to his fellow judges to follow.

A moment later, the panel of judges returned to the center of the raceway. The stout man waved his red kerchief and shouted, “Quiet! Attention!”

The crowd gradually silenced.

“The winner of the stallion race is Mayfield’s Capitano.”

Daddy hooted, picked me up, and swirled me around while a great cheer rose. On the wind was the cry “A girl won the race!”

My head and heart were swirling as Heyward took his turn hugging me, then Lesesne, who must’ve heard the commotion from the horse stalls and came running. Last was Hugh. He squeezed me with jubilation. I felt like a candle was glowing inside of me, bright and incandescent. I couldn’t stop smiling. I won the race for Captain. For Daddy. For Mayfield. Pride made me confess, at least in my head, I had won the race for myself as well, and for girls everywhere.

The crush of spectators surrounded us. Many were looking at me with curious eyes, turning to one another and speaking behind palms. Some were smiling. But there were also some delivering hateful looks. I felt more like a creature in a freak show than a victor of a race.

“Eliza!”

My mother’s voice rang out above the clamor. I spun around to see her bearing down on me, three women at her side. They all were stylish in snug-fitting spring frocks and broad-rim straw hats embellished with flowers and feathers. Mama looked regal in a dress of white lace, her dark hair upswept under a dramatic hat. But her face was thunderous.

I felt Hugh’s grip tighten on my shoulder before he dropped his hand.

Mama stopped before me and tightened her lips. She knew she had to hold her temper in front of her friends, who were listening intently for the exchange that would serve as fodder for gossip for weeks. I felt their critical gazes sweep over my britches, my shorn hair and shivering. I might not have broken the race’s rules, but I saw clearly that I was guilty and condemned for breaking a significant rule of conduct for women. Mama’s worst fear had been realized.

Suddenly Mama released a high-pitched laugh and threw up her hands with dramatic flair. “Lord, help me, look at my girl. Isn’t she a spitfire?”

she exclaimed as she took a step toward me. She reached out with her lace handkerchief and began to dab away the bits of sand and dirt from my face. Then bent close, her dark eyes seethed as she reached out to touch the short curls. Quietly, so only I could hear, she whispered, “Eliza, I swear you were born to shame me.”

The words struck true. I shrank within myself, the joy of my success withering in my heart. I watched, silent, as Mama returned to her friends exclaiming with exaggeration, “I swanny, what’s a mother to do?”

They walked off, chattering like a flock of birds.

* * *

We remembered that night as the night of the banshee. Mama was once again in her cups, which sparked another row with Daddy. Even for them, this one could wake snakes. Mama wailed and shocked us using a vocabulary that Heyward derisively called, “no better than a fishmonger’s.”

We each found our escape route. Heyward left to go to some friend’s house. Lesesne remained in his room behind a closed door. I pictured him lying in his bed, quivering with a pillow over his head. I fled to the stable.

The late night’s damp chill went straight to my bones as I made my way to the barn. A great horned owl pierced the quiet, hooting its melancholy call from somewhere high in the trees. A heartbeat later, softer hoots replied from the juveniles, ready to fledge. I tightened my white flannel robe over my nightgown that appeared slightly bluish in the moonlight. I thought how we Rivers children were like those owl fledglings. Tonight, we were all flying from the nest. Which of us would succeed on the wing? I wondered. Which of us would fall to the earth?

Inside the barn it was dark, and heat from the horses warmed the air. Soft knickers sounded from the dark as I passed by with my lantern. The Captain stood in his stall, his liquid brown eyes alert.

“Hey there. Surprised to see me at this hour?”

When he gave a soft whinny and shook his head, I laughed. “So, you hear the war being waged up the hill, huh?”

I reached up to stroke his nose. “Don’t be bothered by it. They’ll be lovey-dovey by morning. I brought your favorite.”

I pulled an apple from my robe pocket. He took it greedily.

A figure stepped out from the shadows. I gasped as I jumped back, nearly dropping my lantern. The tall height and blond hair were a welcome sight.

“Heyward, you scared me,”

I said, putting a hand to my breast.

The boy stepped closer into the lantern’s light. His features were not chiseled but soft. The smile not thin lipped, but full. The blue eyes hesitant.

“Hugh!”

“I . . . I had to see you,”

he said haltingly.

I stared back and licked my lips, awash with confusion that he would be here, in our barn, at this time of night. To see me. “Why?”

Hugh tilted his head and searched the barn ceiling, as if to find his answer in the rafters.

I spoke again, collecting my wits. “How’d you know I was here in the barn? At this time of night?”

“Well,”

he said with a shy grin, “I, uh, went to your window first. Thought I’d throw a pebble or something like that. I’d heard somewhere that was a way to get a girl’s attention. I tried, and my aim was true. But you didn’t appear. When I heard the—”

he paused “—commotion, I thought you might be in the barn.”

He smiled sheepishly. “And here you are.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“Aw, don’t be. Do you think you are the only one whose parents argue?”

I moved to sit on the hay bale outside of Captain’s stall. “There’s an argument, and then there’s that,”

I said, indicating the direction of my house with a jerk of my chin. I set the lantern on an adjoining hay bale and leaned back against the wood stall. “It’s bad tonight,”

I said in a soft voice. “Worse than usual.”

I plucked some hay from the bale and tossed pieces to the floor. “It’s my fault.”

I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.

Hugh grabbed his jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

“Thank you.”

He rocked on his heels and stuck his hands in his pockets.

I scooted over. “There’s room for two.”

Hugh slid on the hay bale beside me, so close his thigh rested against mine. He seemed nervous and looked at the stalls rather than at me. I felt every nerve ending in my leg tingle where it touched him. Only then did I realize I was alone with a boy in the barn at night—in my nightclothes. If the banshee were to find out, she’d howl even louder.

“You didn’t answer my question,”

I said in a small voice. When he looked at me, I asked, “Why did you have to see me?”

Hugh released a sigh, and he leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. I felt the pressure against my thighs increase and swallowed.

“I . . . I didn’t get to talk to you after the race.”

He shook his head with a snort. “It was crazy.”

“Yeah.”

Memories rushed back.

“I wanted to tell you . . .”

“Oh Hugh, wasn’t it wonderful?”

I gushed, interrupting him. I sat straighter and my words flowed out. “Your plan was genius! No one suspected it wasn’t Lesesne on Captain. I waltzed right up to the starting line. What a moment that was. I could feel Cap’s will to run. When that flag dropped . . . Did you see him? Of course you couldn’t . . . He leaped forward and ran his heart out. I just held on for the ride.”

“I didn’t see much but the curve of his behind smack in front of me,”

Hugh said with a chuckle. “And you tucked in like some professional jockey. Where’d you learn to ride like that?”

I shrugged. “I just do what comes natural and pay attention to what Captain tells me he wants. And he told me he wanted to run. Once the race started,”

I said, stretching out my arms like I was holding the reins, “I was both holding on tight and at the same time, inside, I was letting go. It’s like I was flying.”

I turned my head to see him watching me, a quizzical look on his face. I felt my cheeks flame and let my arms drop. Looking down I said, “You’re probably laughing at me.”

Hugh shook his head and said in a serious tone, “I’d never laugh at you, Eliza. I think . . . well . . .”

I tilted my head to glance at him. His blue eyes bore into mine and he was struggling with his words. This time I did not interrupt him.

“I . . . think you’re wonderful,”

Hugh blurted out, then quickly looked away.

I put my hands to my cheeks, feeling their heat. No one had ever said such a thing to me before.

“And you’re brave,”

Hugh continued. “I don’t know any other girl who would have done what you did. Or could have.”

Hugh faced me again and I saw his gaze move to my hair. A small smile appeared as he reached up to tug gently at a small curl at my temple. “Even this.”

My hand flew to the short hairs at the nape of my neck. “Oh, my hair,”

I cried feeling shame and sorrow.

“I like it,”

he said. “It’s . . .”

He averted his gaze. “It suits you.”

I felt his eyes on me again as he studied my curls.

“In school, we read a book called Red Badge of Courage,”

he said. “In it, this young soldier sees the bloody wounds of other soldiers as badges of courage. I see your shorn hair as your badge of courage. You went to battle too. And you came out a victor.”

He lowered his head.

“Cutting my hair is nothing for me to boast about.”

I reached up to brush locks from my forehead. “Why, I only did what I had to so I could win the race.”

“And that’s the definition of courage.”

I dropped my hand and looked into his eyes and the admiration I saw there. And something more. My heart quickened.

“Ignore all those who mock you or criticize your hair. They don’t appreciate what you accomplished today. You are the first girl . . . the first female who raced in—and won—the gymkhana. And on a Marsh Tacky to boot!”

Hugh shook his head with a grin. “You gave your daddy bragging rights for the rest of his life. And won the pond back to boot. And my daddy’s already ponying up with stud fees in hand. I’m sure others will too.”

A short laugh escaped my lips. “Is he? He’s not mad? About me, a girl, besting his son?”

Hugh scratched his head ruefully. “That you did.”

“I thought he might challenge the result.”

“Nah, he’s not happy but he’s a fair man. He even said you were the best rider in these parts. For a girl.”

“I reckon that’s true enough,”

I said, then added, “Boy or girl.”

I reached up again to rake my mop of curls. “But my hair . . .”

I moaned. I felt as shorn as a sheep. “Mama says it was my best feature.”

“No. Your eyes are,”

Hugh said. “They’re right pretty. You can get lost in them.”

I looked up, astonished.

“Your hair will grow back,”

he continued. “You’re still you.”

He took my breath away. I sat motionless, speechless. Hugh turned his shoulder from me then reached into his pocket. Facing me again, he put his two closed palms in front of me. “Pick one.”

I loved this child’s game and smiled eagerly. After pondering a minute, I tapped his left hand. Opening it, the palm was empty. I clicked my tongue and sat back, crossing my arms.

Hugh laughed and opened his right hand. A long blue ribbon sat coiled in his palm. “I figured your daddy would keep the blue ribbon from the race. I bought this to give you after the race. To wear in your hair.”

He looked again at my short curls and held back another laugh. “That was before you cut your hair.”

I snatched the ribbon and held it dangling between my two fingers. I gazed at the slender silk with wonder. Hugh bought me a blue ribbon. “I love it,”

I gushed. “It’s beautiful.”

His smile spread across his face. “Maybe you can wear it when your hair grows back.”

“I have a better idea.”

I gave him the ribbon then stuck my arm out and pushed back my robe sleeve. “Tie it on my wrist. Please. That way, I’ll be able to see it all day long.”

He clumsily tied the ribbon, both of us chortling at his failed attempts. When at last he succeeded, he held my wrist with a proprietary air. He lifted his face so close to mine I could feel his breath on my cheeks. The air thickened between us, and my breath came quick. Then, slowly, he tilted his head, and his face drew even closer to mine. I measured his progress in breaths till his lips hovered over mine.

That was a leap too far for me. I pushed back the jacket and sprang to my feet. “I best get back,”

I blurted, then grabbed my lantern and ran back to the house. I could face the mayhem within those walls better than the turmoil going on in my heart.