For a few seconds, all Linda Morgan heard were her heartbeat and the sound of her bare feet slapping the dirt road. She felt the red Georgia dust poof between her toes, and then sound exploded in her ears. The nine year old girl had no hope of keeping up, but she ran after them anyway, excitement and hope churning through her body and driving her skinny arms and legs like pistons. Around her, all the kids in Appalachee were gathered on the straightaway that headed toward her family's ramshackle white wooden house, cheering the two horses racing toward the finish line. The Morgans cheered the loudest.
Everyone knew about them. Eleven kids altogether - although anyone over sixteen had already fled the homestead - all packed into that one house at the end of the road. They were poor, of course. On top of eleven kids, the Morgan kids had a mama in a sewing factory and a drunk daddy who never held a job for very long. They moved frequently, and the present wooden house at the end of the road was a step up from the last house by the garbage dump.
When their daddy brought Friday the horse home, the Morgan kids might as well have won the lottery. He told them he’d bought them the horse, and they all believed it until the wisdom of passing years made it obvious he’d probably won it in a card game. It was a big deal because all the Appalachee kids rode horses. They rode in little herds, exploring the countryside and showing off down the main drag of the sleepy town. The Morgan kids had begged for a horse, but didn’t really expect one.
But now they had Friday, and they loved him. He was old, swaybacked and mean, but they loved him. He was contrary, knock-kneed, and usually did mostly what he pleased, but they loved him. The Morgan kids looked at Friday and saw a marvelous steed. They took turns riding him on the local promenades and all fought to feed him goodies and care for him.
But the other Appalachee kids didn’t have on blinders of love, and after a while the secret snickers became overt teasing. One of the older boys started it. Billy Hadley was the kind of fourteen year old who hung around groups of kids a year or three younger and picked on them. He swaggered and thought himself tough because he could push around some preteens. When he started in on Friday, though, the Morgan kids became bold in defense of their horse.
Then Darren Morgan, who was old enough to know better but always had trouble keeping his mouth shut, said “I don’t care what you say about Friday, he can beat the pants off your stupid horse.”
Billy turned around and looked at Darren with his sneer already in place. “That broken down nag couldn’t beat nobody,” he drawled.
Darren, his usual cleverness deserting him, clenched his fists and yelled, “Can too!”
“All right fart-head. Let’s see him do it,” Billy said, glaring.
“Fine. After lunch, on the road by our house. If you ain’t shamed to get beat by Friday.”
The terms were settled, the handshake was given, and Darren ran home to confer with his siblings. Laughter from the other kids made his ears burn as he raced off.
There were about four Morgan kids really concerned in the matter: Darren, Jimmy, Linda, and Jeff, in order of birth.They squatted in a huddle in the dirt yard as Ann and Eddie, two of the younger ones, crowded agaisnt their backs trying to find out what was going on.
The four looked at each other and looked at their chances.
“Who gets to ride?”
“I can ride,” Jeff said. “Friday likes me best anyway.”
“Does not!” Linda interrupted angrily. She had an empathetic nature, and was certain she and Friday shared a most precious and secret bond of friendship.
Darren, as eldest, asserted his authority. “Jimmy is the smallest, so he should be the jockey.”
They all fell silent and looked at Jimmy. Jimmy had it rough. He was small and wiry in a family of tall reedy kids, and he was a bed wetter. Big families often have one kid who is the butt of all the jokes, and the Morgans had Jimmy for that. Their mama and daddy were the most merciless; whether it was because he was a bed wetter or whether he was a bed wetter because his mama and daddy picked on him, no one cared to dissect. Mostly the other kids were just glad when it was someone else getting picked on.
Now they all looked at birdlike Jimmy with eager speculation in their eyes. Jimmy turned pink and said, “I can do it. Lemme ride him.”
The other three looked at each other for a minute. The family honor wasn’t much, but they were reluctant to trust it to the least of them. With more confidence than she felt, Linda said, “I vote for Jimmy.” Just like that, it was settled. Then Darren laid out his strategy.
They ate a hurried lunch and then Jimmy took Friday out for a walk around the fields before the race. Darren had told him, “Nothing too fast, but walk him around for a while.”
At race-time, kids began gathering along the road. Billy brought his handsome brown horse out, stepping high. Linda and Jeff started to fidget until finally Jimmy and Friday came ambling up with muffled laughter following them up to the starting line. Friday turned an irritated looking eye on the crowd and stood, working his mouth. He looked skinny and shabby next to the sleek, glossy Hadley horse.
Anticipation was running high, even among those least concerned. In a sleepy town where you usually had to make your own excitement, a horse race was Big News, even if the conclusion was foregone. A few kids tried to wager baseball cards or candy on the outcome, but no one wanted to bet on Friday.
Linda had watched Jimmy and Friday walk up to the starting line with her stomach in her throat. She looked at her brother, and felt her insides twist a little further. Jimmy perched on top of a fourth-hand saddle looking nervous but excited to be in the limelight. His bony arms stuck out like wings, and he looked so delicate. Suddenly Linda wanted Friday to win for Jimmy's sake as much as anything else.
A few kids jogged to the end of the improvised track, and the racers got ready. Alice Bone said in her big booming voice, “Ready!” Jimmy hunched down even smaller. “Set!” Billy Hadley sneered at the general audience. “Go!” And they were off, and Linda couldn’t restrain herself. Heart full and pounding, she raced after the horses.
What no one saw coming was Friday’s affinity for home. He liked the place where little loving hands were always ready to caress him or smuggle him apples. Darren set up the race so that Friday was pointed towards that ramshackle white house with its little patch of grass that Friday knew was his own. Not one of the Morgan kids hadn’t been on Friday’s back when he realized he was headed toward home. He ran for home like wolves were nipping at his heels. In fact, Linda's legs and arms still bore the thin brown lines, scabbed over, from the previous week when Friday took off for home through Alice Bone’s loose hedge of thorny shrubs.
It was over quickly. When Linda reached the end of the road, panting and dusty, Darren and a few Morgan allies were hoisting Jimmy over their heads. Linda's triumphant victory yell went unheard in the clamor. Friday strolled over to his picket to start munching grass. Jimmy looked as wildly happy as she’d ever seen him, grinning from ear to ear and holding on to Darren's shoulder. No one could believe the rickety Friday had won the day, and both horse and boy were wreathed in a fleeting glory. Linda ran to her brothers, jumping and whooping, and forgot every indignity of her life. For a moment, the least were first and her heart was joyful.