Bridget's Cup

"I think we'll be ready for the pony cart race this weekend, Brushes," Bridget called to her pony, as her red hair streamed out behind her. Seated in her blue and gold Irish cart, she and her pony were racing along the walled lane that led to the village two miles away from her house. Just think, she thought, if I win this race the prize money w'l pay for the harp I've always wanted and the lessons to play it. The sale of the eggs in this basket w'l pay for my last installment on the entrance fee. I can hardly wait until Saturday, the day of the race. I c'n see myself now, my cart of bright blue, my small Irish flag flapping in the breeze as Brushes and I speed down the race course and across the finish line. Bridget had been practicing racing for two years now and she felt she was ready to challenge the yearly winner of the pony races, Shamus.

Suddenly out of the side of her eye, she saw a movement. There was Shamus and his pony and cart. Coming out of his drive, with a sinister grin on his face, he was racing directly toward her. She swerved her cart before he could hit her which made her cart scrape the stones on the wall on the right side of the lane. The screeching and scraping of wood and metal against stone and the bouncing and shuddering of the cart sounded loud in her ears. I must stop this cart, she thought as she gripped the reins with one hand and the brake with her right. She only just managed to stay on the seat as she pulled on the brake stick as hard as she could.

When the cart finally came to a stop, sitting there she felt her heart beating a mile a minute and she was shaking all over. She could see that the egg basket had fallen on the floor of the cart. Looking into the basket she saw that all of the eggs were broken. As she weakly got down from the cart she thought, I've got to check on Brushes. Her brown long-haired pony stood there his sides heaving. Good, he's alright, no scrapes, just a bit shaken.

Shame on that Shamus. What's gotten into him, she wondered. She could see Shamus' back, racing down the lane helter-skelter as if nothing had happened. She felt dazed. Did he do that on purpose? I know he saw me, and was that a smirk on his face? Did he know I was tak'n eggs to the market to pay the rest of the entrance fee? A boy at school had told her that Shamus always won the race every year and that he had said he wasn't going to let any one, let alone a girl, beat him this year. It now looked like he would try underhanded ways to stop her from racing against him. I'd better watch out for him. He might try someth'n bad in the race, too.

She knew Shamus just a little from school. He was in a grade above her's. His family lived one mile down the road from her. He lived with his widowed mother and a brother and two sisters. His mother took in washing as a living and Shamus did odd jobs on the farms around the town after school.

She examined the side of the cart. Look at all the paint that's scraped off of my wheel and one of the spokes is broken! She cleaned up the egg mess as best she could and dejectedly turned the cart around and headed back home.

"You're home s' soon, did someth'n happen?" asked Mother.

"Shamus ran me off the lane, that's what happened! And Oh, Mother, the paint is scraped off my wheel and a spoke is broken. And worse of all, all my eggs are broken and today's the last day to pay for the entry fee." She couldn't help crying in defeat.

Her mother folded her arms around her twelve-year-old daughter and said,

"Oh, m' dearie, you'll come up with the rest of the fee. I know y' will. Y'r uncle will be here in an hour, he w'l be glad t' fix the wheel, I'm sure, and you can paint it. I know t'will be dry by the day of the race"

Suddenly it dawned on Bridget, "Maybe I can take two of m' chickens to the village and sell them for the fee. Though I will be loosing some of my egg money with the loss of the two chickens. Thank you, Mother for encouraging me. I couldn't see na way out as I was so mad and disappointed."

She went right out, put two chickens in a covered basket and drove to the village. She sold her chickens at the grocery store, went to the town hall, payed the fee and sped home.

Days later, the cart was painted and the spoke repaired. The preliminary runs of the course went well, the day before the race, and now here she was sitting in her cart at the starting line with all the other racers. She fidgeted with the reins, and smoothed out the flag several times, smoothed out her hair, and tried to find the comfortable place on the seat. She patted Brushes. I've practiced this run so many times, I almost could do it with my eyes closed, she thought to encourage herself. I know I am better than most of the boys lined up here. I just hope I can beat Shamus today. She glanced down the row at the other eager contestants. She caught Shamus glaring at her and a shiver went down her spine. She looked away, then steeled herself for the shot of the gun that would release all of the racers down the road.