Wil stopped his watch, read the time, and recorded it on his clipboard. “Two minutes, ten seconds and the horse wasn’t even working hard. We are going to race him for sure in some of the lesser races this spring.” Wil turned to face the chief. “What you got, Chief?”
“This mare’s udder is swollen. Damkins hasn’t mated here at Glidewell, has she?” asked the chief.
“Never had a heat cycle. You thinking she might be getting ready to foal?”
“Looks like it to me. Maybe three, four weeks out.”
“We’ll know more, if the teats drop. If she’s pregnant, it’s a gall-dang miracle,” said Wil.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking, if she’s pregnant she was that way when we bought her. The timing is right. They’d been trying to breed her at Rising Star but thought it didn’t take. Guess she wasn’t much interested. But she looked thin, real thin. That’s why we bought her. We took a chance, but look how healthy she looks now. Tell the grooms to keep an eye out. I’ll check on her when I’m through here.”
Within three weeks the men at the Glidewell backside had their answer. Damkins was showing signs of foaling. The first Glidewell thoroughbred delivery was thought to be biblical in some ways. “Could be the horse version of an immaculate conception,” joked some. Of course it wasn’t, but it was fun to talk about. “You don’t see a virgin birth every day,” said one wrangler, winking as he did. “If it’s a colt, let’s call it Baby Jesus!” said another.
The night that Damkins was expected to foal, the weather was crisp and dry. On display in the cloudless, moonless sky was a starry showing of twinkling points of light. In a large birthing stall, the mare was lying on her side, breathing steadily. Having known Capp and Wil for months now, she relaxed in their presence, stretching and pressing as her contractions dictated. The chill in the air made the fog of her labor clearly visible. Wil and Capp were there to tend to the birth should she run into any trouble. “Capp. Call James. He’ll want to see this.” Capp ran to get James.
When James and Capp returned, James focused on the scene in front of him. He said nothing and stood back as Wil and Capp soothed the horse. The mare seemed to understand what drama was unfolding. After hours of vigilance and tenderly soothing Damkins, Wil and Capp saw a hoof. James stepped closer for a look himself. Eventually, following one final hard press by the mare, the foal, a colt, was born.
Capp and Will carefully dragged the foal and positioned him near his mother’s head. The bonding process could now begin. After a period of time, the mare stood and the umbilical cord snapped two to three inches from the foal’s abdomen as nature intended. Wil lightly swabbed the foal’s detachment area with iodine. The newborn horse was finding his legs and attempting to stand. The mare waited as her afterbirth was delivered. Her foal teetered, wobbled, and fell but eventually found his balance. He succeeded in getting up on his legs and attempted to find his mother’s underbelly. It didn’t take him long and, staggering on newborn legs, he began to suckle.
“Glory be,” Wil said quietly, shaking his head. “Who would have thought that skinny mare would give us a fine, strong colt like this? Look at him. He’s a champion already.”
“I don’t know what to say. Seems unreal. Damkins kept her secret well,” said James. The moment was so tender, his eyes were moist.
“I know horses. This little colt is a winner,” said Wil.
“What should we call him?” asked Capp. Wil waited for a moment, removed his Stetson and scratched his head. He placed his hat back on his head and glanced at Capp and then to James. James threw up both his hands.
“Don’t ask me. Your call. You two saw the potential in that mare,” said James.
“Has to be something special. Don’t you think, Dad?”
In true Wil Wembley style, the man of few words began with certainty, “Glory Be, that’s what we’ll call him, Glory Be. I’m feeling this here is a glorious event.” James and Capp nodded and smiled. Father and son stood together with their arms on each other’s shoulder looking at the little foal and his dam. James watched in wonder. Could it be that the Glidewell legacy of racehorses would start with this happenstance birth? He knew enough to know it was highly unlikely, but he would not entertain any skepticism now, not in this moment. He looked upon this birth as a sign of good fortune. The birth was so easy, so normal, the colt so impressive. For now, they all could dream that glory may be on its way to Glidewell in the form of a little colt named Glory Be.
Chapter 87
A Letter to Mama
February 1933
Dear Mama,
The first Glidewell thoroughbred foal arrived early this morning. They named him Glory Be. I ran to tell Jebediah, my yearling, the good news. I love saying that name, Jeb-eh-di-ah. I say it slow. Why it is like saying a whole sentence in just one word. The little horse’s ears twitch when I say his name. Seems he likes it too. He works for me. He wants to please me. Tommy is going to help me learn to ride him with a race saddle when he’s old enough. How to stand in the stirrups. How to hold the reins. Tommy says I don’t need any help with the training. Capp isn’t helping me with horses anymore. He’s too busy with the older thoroughbreds. But he does come have tea with us. He still makes my heart beat faster.
Capp and I, we talk and go for walks sometimes with Mary’s permission. But seems like she doesn’t like it. Capp kissed me one night. I felt like I was being swooped up in this soft billowy cloud. He stopped.
