What Once We Loved by Jane Kirkpatrick

to stop blaming. It just kept her stuck in the muck.
    Mazy had stood at a distance when her mother held Ruth the morning after Jumpers death. She noticed that her friend would not look at her and turned away when Mazy started toward them. Then, still wearing a blanket Matthew had draped across her shoulders, Ruth had disappeared into the dark of the barn. Mazy followed, finding her friend bent over a pack box half filled with her bridles and spade bits and spurs.
    Ruth straightened at the sound of Mazy s entrance, but she kept her back to Mazy. Mazy moved around so she could see Ruth fingering silver bells that lined the leather of a Spanish bridle. The tiny silver globes ended at the spoon spade bit.
    “That looks like it would hurt a horse,” Mazy said, nodding toward the steel hump of the bit meant to touch a horse's tongue. “But Seth said the vaqueros use them because a horse can go farther without water with that bit. You probably knew that. I guess it keeps their mouths moist. The Indians use little pebbles the same way. Have you heard that? Funny that something that looks to hurt could have anything good in it.
    Ruth remained still, gazing down. She wore a shirt and pants meant for miners she'd probably bought at Adora and Charles Wilson's mercantile. She just kept rubbing the bridle, not saying a word.
    “Of course your animals are tough anyway. They weathered the trip across in fine form,” Mazy babbled. “Seth was amazed when I told him that you let Mariah ride Jump…” She cleared her throat.
    Ruth just kept rubbing that bit.
    “Can I help you? That's what I came to do,” Mazy said. “Just tell me what you want in which pack box. I'm good at organizing things.”
    Ruth stayed silent.
    Mazy looked out through the open barn door, her heart pounding with the disappearing of a friendship. “Koda looks good,” she said. “Maybe you should go for a ride. It always made you feel better.”
    The little bells at the bridle in Ruth's hands shook.
    Mazy just wanted to hold her, to take her in her arms and make the hurt go away. Instead she said, “You're a good horse trainer, Ruth. Those yearlings, they'll need some work, won't they? That'll keep you busy. Keeping busy is good for grieving, it is.”
    Ruth threw the bridle into the pack box then and pushed past Mazy into the morning sun.
    Later in the day, with Ruth and Elizabeth and a few others standing about, Ruth spoke to someone else when Mazy asked a question. Ruth turned to answer Elizabeth when Mazy was talking or nodded toward Matthew to have him hand something to Mazy that was easily within Ruth's reach. Her friend didn't want to talk to her, or look at her, and surely not touch her. And Mazy couldn't bring herself to say what she feared most, that she'd somehow lost a friend in this, just as Ruth had lost her horse.
    Maybe it was just as well, her not being able to bring the subject up. Ruth was leaving, and Mazy would have to live without her friend around. Maybe this was God's way of making it easier for Ruth to leave. Something good rising from the rubble. She'd keep telling herself that.
    Mazy grabbed at the cow's tail just before it swatted her in the face. “Almost done here, girl,” she said. The cow danced a bit, raising her back hooves up and setting them down. “Almost finished.”
    What good could come from this? Mazy wondered. There had to be something. Maybe she'd spend more time with her mother this way. But Mazy would have done that just with Ruth's leaving anyway. Shemight take Mariah under her wing. The girl was quick with her letters and such and compassionate with David Taylor and Oltipas little Ben. And she was a good hand with stock, had always liked riding and looking after the animals. They might find something more in common now that Ruth was leaving. Mazy thought she'd put the lamb's ears cutting into Mariah's hands instead of giving it to Ruth. Ruth might not want to take anything Mazy had to offer her.
    Maybe Jumpers