As the rain beat on the roof, the girls stretched and rubbed their bodies with relief and walked about the bin.  Then Cassie made an attempt to nurse Chickey’s wound, and Chickey inspected Cassie’s breast abrasions, using her spittle on them in an attempt to soothe.  Then, the women gratefully ate – had been a while.  Settling down in the hay, they talked with commiseration about their plight, their lives and experiences.  Simply being alone and able to talk was such a welcome thing.

Cassie never even considered taking off the boots, because she saw how difficult it was for the boys to put them on initially and, therefore, if she was surprised, and was forced to put them on in a hurry, she would be caught and severely punished.  They would be sure to check on them now and then.

But, in any case, release from her bindings, especially the corset, was heaven.  Despite the stench of the stable, she enjoyed taking in full breaths of air, made all the easier by the removal of the detested pear bit.

“Chickey, I must ask you something:  Every once in a while, I have heard hints that this was to be my last season racing.  Do you have any idea why that might be?  I mean…I’m young, and have been a winner… could it be because of the kicking thing?  I told you how horribly they punished me for that already.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m miserable doing this, as you are, and I miss Papa in the summers, but I keep thinking this would be a bad thing.  If the white folk liked me, they’d keep me racing, wouldn’t they?  And why did they hook us up?  Not too many double carts around, you know…”

“My, girl! You’re a talker. Slow down.  Maybe they know best keeping you gagged,” Chickey grinned.

Cassie looked down, shyly. “Sorry, Chickey.”

“No, no!  Just kidding ya, doll!  Tell ya, the whole thing is strange…  Girl… you must know they kill slaves for what you did...”

“But the boy kept hurting me – I lost my mind.”

“No excuse. But what’s done is done. Thank the Lord he’s all right – and not dead or really hurting!  Binding our legs together is something new to me…sure keeps you from kicking if you were that kind.”

“I’m not of that mind…”

“I know, but they think you are!  Truth, dear? I never heard of a slave these parts not being hanged for what you did.  Mighty odd.”

“Hanging?  But they punished me already!”  She began to tear.

“I’m sorry, Cassie, I didn’t mean to upset you.  It’s just that…”  She trailed off.

“Why would they kill me now, after punishing me?  Why would they punish me if they were going to kill me?”  She was clearly distraught, and placed her head on Chickey’s lap. 

Chickey petted her forehead as she fell asleep and, soon, she was out herself.  She had terrible premonitions for poor Cassie’s future – in her dreams she saw ten bodiless black heads on sticks, pulled back with posture straps, their mouths stuffed with pear gags, blinders bent over their eyes.

CHAPTER SEVEN  - PHILBERT’S

The next morning was bright and sunny, a harbinger of the summer to come.

All through that relatively painless summer, the pony girls got to know each and became close, running as a team and sharing their pains.  At the end of that summer, they were quite proud of themselves, and their reputation as a team grew throughout southeastern South Carolina.  Of course, the Hawkins family, along with Silas Boucher, Chickey’s owner, was the recipient of that nascent fame.   They were fast becoming the proud co-owners of a team that was making history throughout the region.

So this year’s competition was eagerly looked forward to by many, not the least of whom were the owners, who stood to make a lot money and, of course, fame.

It was another bright, sunny day, the first week in September.  Philbert’s Racetrack was decorated like never before, blue South Carolina flags with their palmetto tree and crescent on poles all over the place.  The crowd was immense, overflowing the area – no one ever expected such a large number of people; they came from all over the region, and many even from Georgia and the northern part of the state.  The team’s reputation had quickly spread far and wide.

The team only won one prize, being that there was one category race for double carts, they being rare.  But the stories of the spectacle they exhibited spread quickly, far and wide.

All that notwithstanding, breaking his vow to Mrs. Brady never crossed Mr. Hawkin’s noble Southern mind.   He had made a deal, and even though losing Cassie would cost him money and fame, he would keep it.  

Prancer was doomed. 

But before he proceeded to keep his deal, he took as much recognition as he could.   He and Silas traveled about that fall, showing off their celebrity team.                   

Silas implored him to reconsider, even beseeching Mrs. Brady to relent, but she would have none if it, stubborn as she was, and overflowing with hatred of slaves.

And so the team was separated, and Cassie “put to winter” as they called the process of ‘de-ponying’ at the end of the season.  She still had no idea of what was to come, and continued to wonder, especially with the fine showing Chickey and she had made.  Don’t they want to continue? She wondered what was in store for her, and she missed her erstwhile partner, becoming depressed as she spent day after day in the stable, dressed in only a shift, with a manacle about her wrist.  It was like being in jail.  Why don’t they let me go back to Papa?  She wanted to see her father again.

So it surprised her one day, when Sean and Horace came in to put her into tack again.  She was attired as she was before she met Chickey, with no blinders, but with the addition of the hooves.  No words were spoken.  They just came in, put her into pony-mode, tethered her to a stable rail, and then departed.  She was left like that for the rest of the day. Why?  She was once again uncomfortable, re-introduced to the familiar gasping feel of the tight corset, the awkwardness of the arm and posture straps, the rod through her nose, and the annoying pear bit and harness.

CHAPTER EIGHT AND NINE