Maizie saw the Wembleys and Sugar make their way to the party on the veranda. She walked over. “You all will be sitting at the head table with the Glidewells. Mrs. Glidewell insisted,” said Maizie.
“Why, we’d be obliged,” said Wil. He nodded to both Capp and Sugar.
“Would you like a wine cooler?” Maizie offered.
“Think I’d prefer whiskey, if you got it.”
“We sure do.” Maizie smiled.
“None for me,” said Capp as he scanned the veranda.
“You lookin’ for someone, Capp?” Maizie asked.
“Yes, a friend. Excuse me.” Leaving Maizie standing there, he walked back into the house and found Leon checking table place settings.
“Leon, glad I found you. I might have a guest join me at the head table. Could you set an extra place next to me, just in case?”
“Mais oui, Capp. I’ll let the Glidewells know.”
At the conclusion of the outdoor cocktail party, the guests were invited into the ranch house and found their pre-assigned seats. Leon, Ruby, and Claire made their way around the room pouring glasses of water and making sure all guests were comfortable. Waiters opened bottles of Theo Tillerman’s offering of French champagne, the guests cheering as the first cork flew across the room.
Maizie was seated next to Mary at the head table. The place card for the empty seat next to her was Capp’s. Her heart took a leap. A soft smile formed on her lips. And it wasn’t long before Capp stood near talking with Leon. After a brief conversation, Capp took his seat without so much as a hello. Maizie couldn’t help but notice sweat on Capp’s brow.
“Where you been?” she asked, realizing immediately it really was no business of hers.
“I ran back to the backside. I thought my friend might have gotten lost.”
“Who’s your friend, Capp?”
“Just a gal I met at a horse auction a while back,” he said, gazing into his champagne glass and tapping his fingers. “You want this, Maizie? I’m not drinking.” She quietly shook her head. She was hesitant to bring up the letter from Louisville. While the waiters continued to distribute champagne to all fifty guests, Maizie felt as though she was being ignored. Not wanting Mary to hear, she whispered, “Capp, are you mad at me?”
“Why you askin’ that?” Capp asked while fiddling with his table service.
“You seem angry is all.” Maizie’s voice was quiet and raised no eyebrows, but Capp’s agitation was evident in the pitch of his voice.
“I guess I’m still upset about losing,” said Capp a little too loud. Guests at the head table now turned their heads to the young couple. Some stared with great interest while pointing at them.
“Understandable. Don’t take it out on me,” said Maizie.
“I don’t like people trying to make me feel better. Like they are sorry for me.”
“Did it seem like I felt sorry for you? I was just trying…”
“It gets irritating when everyone says I almost won, like that should be enough.”
“I was just trying to make you feel better. That’s what friends do.” Suddenly Maizie looked up and saw that all the people at the head table were quiet and looking their way. She lowered her head and stared woefully at the table cloth, embarrassed.
Capp did not seem to notice. Waving his index finger at Maizie he added, “There. That’s what irks me. I lost. I’m still smartin’ about it. No amount of sympathizin’ talk will change that. So stop tryin’. Besides that, Miles got my goat. I have no chance to beat that guy now.” Maizie could hear Capp’s disappointment and anger in his tone and noticed his interest in the clock on the wall. “Why do you keep looking at the clock?”
Capp looked surprised at Maizie’s observational skills. Hesitating, he finally said, “My friend is late. Maybe I am worried about her.”
“I see. Capp, will you be leaving the ranch soon? You know to go away for a while?” she asked, almost in a whisper.
“Hope so. Don’t know for sure. Dad sent a letter to Churchill Downs. They might have something for me.”
Maizie nodded, knowing what Capp was saying was true. “Do you want to go?” Maize’s throat had grown tight. The words were hard to say.
“I want to go real bad. I want to learn about raising thoroughbreds. Help bring them to Glidewell. But Mr. Glidewell didn’t like me losing today, so maybe he won’t send me.” Capp frowned, his hand in a fist. At the end of the table, there was a rustling as James stood, ringing his glass with a fork.
“Welcome, everyone. Mary and I are honored you are all here. I’d like to make a toast. Here’s to a Glidewell victory tomorrow. We’ve got three in the running.” The guests all stood with glasses raised and cheered. Capp kept his seat, took his napkin and rearranged it on his lap, looking again at the clock on the wall.
After the toast, Leon, Ruby, and Claire brought in trays filled with plates of slow-roasted lamb and potatoes. The chef, Philippe, walked from table to table explaining the dish and fishing for compliments. He demonstrably kissed his fingertips and looked to each guest as he proclaimed, “C’est bon. Non?”
“Oh yes, delicious.” The guests nodded as they wiped their mouths.
“It’s called gigot d’agneau pleureur, which means ‘crying lamb.’ Succulent, non?” He went on to explain how the lamb weeps as it bakes over sliced potatoes, creating a savory summer classic. There were a few who took delight in learning about French cuisine, but most just nodded and kept on eating.
Those at the head table were talking about the races scheduled for the next day. Capp appeared to be listening as people expressed predictions on Sunday’s outcomes. There was no talk of Capp and his fine quarter horse. Instead there was a great deal of talk about Moser and his incredible quarter horse, Scout’s Honor.
Leon came behind Capp and whispered into his ear. Capp put his napkin on the table and slid
