Myra Owens returned to the feed room and set two buckets on the cement floor near her friend Kate Brown, who was stooped over a wooden bin. She continued her pitch for a new student body for the stable. “The program even has family days, so the soldiers can spend time grooming or walking the horses with their kids and spouses.” Myra leaned against the door frame while Kate measured scoops of grain into each bucket. Even though Kate was the owner of Portland’s Cedar Grove Equestrian Center and could afford to hire stable help, she chose to do most of the hands-on work with the horses herself. Myra shared the barn chores as often as she could, mostly because she loved being around the horses, but also because it gave her more time with Kate, who was often busy with her new girlfriend, Jamie, and Jamie’s niece, Anna. Some of Myra and Kate’s best conversations took place while they mixed feed or cleaned tack together.
“Riding gives them a topic of conversation,” Myra continued. “A quiet way to reconnect with their loved ones, with the horse as a sort of mediator. Rebuilding relationships.”
Kate nodded and emptied a pouch of herbal joint supplement into one of the buckets. She added a scoop of vitamins to each, and Myra grabbed the metal handles and left the room. She walked down the aisle to a chorus of neighs from the horses that hadn’t been fed yet. Frosty, an older school horse, got the supplemented feed, and one of the boarders got the regular mix. Myra dropped the buckets near Kate again.
“Some of the wounded vets need more support while riding, but the ones who are dealing with emotional issues like PTSD are usually able to ride on their own, so we won’t need as many volunteers as we do for our regular therapeutic lessons.”
Myra paused in the middle of her speech while she took feed to the next two hungry horses. She was accustomed to carrying on conversations with Kate in this disjointed manner while they did barn chores—whether they paused to empty a full wheelbarrow of manure or to return a cleaned bridle to a tack-room hook. When she had been planning how to broach the subject of a new riding program to Kate, she had automatically memorized the facts in separate sound bites. Kate was paying attention to the rations she doled out, making sure each animal got supplements and grain in the proper amounts, but Myra had no doubt that Kate was also listening to every word she said.
Myra dumped feed into her own horse’s bucket and paused briefly before her next trip to the feed room. She leaned against Dragon’s neck and felt the rhythmic tensing of his muscles as he chewed the grain. The sound of his contented munching was soothing, but Kate’s horse Topper banged a hoof against the adjoining wall, reminding her that the other horses were still impatiently waiting for dinner. She gave Dragon another pat and left his stall. The last part of her talk was the impassioned plea for them to make this program work here at Cedar Grove. Myra had discovered the Bright Stars riding program when she was at a conference in Washington State last week, and she had been struck by her overwhelming need to help establish another like it as an adjunct to Kate’s already thriving therapeutic riding school. Myra knew why she needed to make this happen, and she also was acutely aware of how difficult it would be for her to work with the returning soldiers who came there to ride. Still, she couldn’t let her own discomfort keep her from doing what she felt compelled to do.
A loud whinny accompanied by the sound of a metal horseshoe striking a wooden stall door broke Myra free from the weight of her memories. She walked down the aisle with determination and started talking as soon as she came through the door.
“We have to do this, Kate. We have the infrastructure in place, we have volunteers, and we have enough horses to fill the extra classes. Not only would it be a great opportunity to help more people, but it’s a chance to give back to our community and support our local troops.”
“And a way to honor Jeffrey’s memory,” Kate added in a quiet voice. She and Myra each picked up two buckets and returned to the stall-lined aisle.
They fed the last four in silence. Myra inhaled the scent of horses and fresh cedar shavings, but her breath came in shallow and rapid gulps as she felt the constricting fist of sorrow tighten her throat. The barn and horses had been a safe haven for her, and she needed to repay the favor somehow. Assuage the guilt because she had survived and had found some peace here while her brother Jeffrey hadn’t. Possibly keep another family from facing the stupefying shock of welcoming back a loved one, only to lose them at home. Myra had witnessed plenty of miracles while working with Kate and her therapy program. Maybe they could squeeze out a few more.
Kate closed the latch on Topper’s stall, and she draped her arm over Myra’s shoulders as they took the empty buckets back to the feed room.
“I think it’s a great idea,” she said. “Jamie will be out of town next weekend, so why don’t we take Anna for a drive and visit this Bright Stars program together? You’ve wanted to take on more lessons since you got certified, and this would be a good place to start. You can do the lesson plans from scratch instead of just taking over the ones I’ve already created. Really make the program your own.”
Myra—still reeling from the onslaught of memories she felt whenever Jeffrey’s name was mentioned—took a few moments to realize what Kate was saying. She stopped walking and turned to face Kate, breaking the contact with her to get a little distance.
“I don’t want to be the teacher. I thought I could help out if you need me. I’ll take on some of your regular lessons so you have the time to do these.”
Kate frowned. “If this will be too difficult for you…”
Myra shook her head. She felt her brow tighten in an answering frown as she searched for a way to express the conflicting emotions she felt. “I want the program to happen. It matters to me more than I can say. But I don’t know if I can be the instructor and interact with the riders. I couldn’t help the way you could.”
“You can help them in ways I can’t.” Kate said. She stopped in front of the white boards that covered the walls where they stood, just outside the feed room. Both barns were full of boarders and lesson horses, and Myra and Kate had detailed charts listing when horses had training sessions and turnout time in the paddocks, when students had lessons, and what horses required veterinary or farrier care. Splotches and smears covered the boards as old schedules were erased and new ones added almost daily, but the one constant was the amount of work required to run a training barn this size, plus a full-time therapeutic program.
“I have a full load of classes right now,” Kate continued, gesturing toward the boards with a green dry-erase marker. “If we expand, it will need to be with you as the instructor, but I’ll understand if you don’t want the extra responsibility. The barn as it is couldn’t survive without your help, let alone if we added an entirely new therapy protocol. You’re always here for classes, you do all the insurance billing, and you take over when I’m at shows or traveling. I don’t know when you find time for your regular job. Why don’t we wait until next summer for this project?”
Myra sighed. Kate might be exaggerating when she talked about Myra’s indispensability, but she wasn’t overstating her own workload. Kate taught the therapy classes, traveled to shows with her training horses and students, and served as barn manager and chief stall cleaner. Add Jamie and Anna, and Kate barely had time to take a breath of her own. Myra juggled full-time school teaching with barn work, and she had recently qualified to teach in the barn’s therapeutic program. Her goal had been to lighten Kate’s responsibilities, and here she was suggesting they expand with a different kind of program. Kate was willing to add the classes for service members—she was always willing to help someone in need—but Myra recognized the signs of strain on her longtime friend’s face. If Myra wanted the military program, she’d have to take charge of it herself.
Myra’s attention shifted around the barn while she considered whether she could go forward with the project. Could she teach the lessons? Face the constant reminder of what Jeffrey was like when he returned from his second deployment to the Middle East? Keep going forward when it was too late to go back and help him like she should have done? She had won the right to start the program using Kate’s resources and arena, but she felt as if she’d lost the tight grip she always held on her memories. Her work with the therapy students was unwaveringly personal. She got attached to them and celebrated small victories and defeats as if they were her own. But with these new riders—the veterans and active-duty military members who would come to the program with both mental and physical wounds—she’d need to remain detached.
She watched as Kate wrote out the next day’s agenda. Perhaps the distance Myra would need to maintain would help her be more effective as the program’s teacher. She’d be able to observe as an outsider, not allowing her personal pain to get in the way of the students’ progress. Myra sighed. She wasn’t fully convinced of her logic, but she had to hold on to the shaky confidence it gave her.
“I’ll do it,” she said.
Kate grinned and pulled her into a tight hug. “I knew you would. Come up to the house and we’ll start doing some research. I’ll contact the Bright Stars people so we can observe some lessons and get more details about the structure of the program.”
Myra unresistingly followed as Kate pulled her toward the house, but her mind was shouting at her to run. To escape. Kate—in her usual enthusiastic way—had taken hold of the new idea and was running with it, conversely energized by the idea of more work. She chatted about the equipment they might need for the lessons, and the modifications they’d make to the existing arena space, seemingly happy to have a new project to plan and organize. Myra tried to focus on the details and facts rather than her own gnawing misgivings. She only had herself to blame for bringing up the idea in the first place.
“Remember when we took Jeffrey on the trail ride?” Kate stopped on the gravel driveway and gave Myra a smile that seemed as tinged with sadness as with humor at the funny memory. “He jumped off when his horse started trotting, and then thought she was chasing him around a tree.”
Myra choked back a laugh that threatened to turn into a sob. Her brother, three years younger than she was, had begged for weeks to be invited to ride with them. He’d been enamored of beautiful, blond Kate—who hadn’t been?—and Myra had finally relented and let him come on one of their weekend trail rides. He’d panicked at Snoopy’s bouncy but sedate trot and had jumped off the little mare. She’d been confused by his abrupt dismount but had obediently followed her rider as he ran around a sapling, convinced the horse was chasing him with malicious intentions. Jeffrey had given up on riding after that experience. He gave up on Kate after he found out that she and Myra were caught kissing beneath the school bleachers.
“He didn’t want to ride again, but he still enjoyed being around horses. He’d hang out at the barn with me even when he realized he didn’t have a chance of dating you.”
Kate laughed. “He had your touch with animals. I remember coming to your aunt’s barn when you first got Dragon. Jeffrey would be sitting on the grass with all the barn cats draped over him while Dragon grazed nearby.”
Myra nodded, easily able to picture the exact scene Kate was describing as if it had happened just this afternoon. It seemed to define her brother, who had been able to charm animals and humans with equal ease. If only she had been better able to see the pain beneath his charm. If only she had known how to reach him when he had disappeared so deep inside his memories. If only…She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek and brushed the wetness away on her worn denim jeans.
“I love that about you,” Kate said quietly. “You take your own sadness and use it as a way to help other people.”
Myra shook her head wordlessly, unable to speak. She hooked her arm through Kate’s and started walking toward Kate’s house again. She wasn’t a saint, wasn’t someone as altruistic as Kate believed her to be. She pushed her grief back inside, deep in her heart, and changed the topic of conversation from Jeffrey to which horses would be best suited to her new program.