The Mare

Velvet

When we were finished with the stall and the fence, Pat told me we could bring the mare, that I could go get her and lead her into the trailer. We hooked Pat’s car to a little trailer that looked like a toy from a machine, and I was afraid to think about my horse in that thing, with nothing but a piece of metal moving between her and the road going faster than she could understand. But Pat said not to worry about it, and we got in the car.

Beverly wasn’t there, but Estella was. She said good morning to Pat and nodded her nose at me. Pat positioned the trailer outside the barn door and I helped her put out a ramp for the horse to walk up. Estella stood and lit a cigarette, smoking with flat eyes, thin lips wrinkled.

Pat went into the barn first and got a small whip that was different from a crop. “You’re gonna lead her, and if she doesn’t go up the ramp, I’ll tap her with this. Don’t worry, I won’t hit, just tap. Only if I need to. Maybe she’ll go without it. Estella will be on her other side just in case.”

Fiery Girl came out with her head up and ears forward; when she saw the trailer, her neck got stiff and she pulled on the chain. I put my hand on her neck; there was something in her I hadn’t felt before, something little and hurt, too hurt to be bad. I tried to find it with my hand, and talked to it soft. “Just come with me,” I said, “like before.” She listened; she put her head down to study the ramp and snorted at it like she recognized it and did not like it. It was almost funny — then I remembered the little girl. The girl she loved brought her to a trailer and she thought she was going home and — that was the hurt. Right then the mare shied off to the side, pulling me off balance.

Estella put her cigarette in her mouth and held her arms out, blocking the mare. Fiery Girl turned back to the ramp, but crouched and tensed in her legs. I got my balance back and tried to lead. She moved away from the ramp again. Estella held out her arms and Pat clucked with her tongue, then she must’ve tapped with the whip because the mare whinnied and started forward. I relaxed my lead arm and fixed my eyes on the trailer. Her head went up and I felt her mind on me, but she didn’t follow me. I told her it was safe. She looked to be sure I meant it, then calmed, her eyes deciding to trust me. “Good girl,” I said. “Good, beautiful.” Pat said, “That’s right.” Head high, the horse looked at the ramp again. I touched her neck. She relaxed and dropped her head a little. I rubbed her neck like I’d rub my mom’s legs. I got onto the ramp. So did she. Then it was like she took a deep breath and banged up it with high, wild feet.

Estella looked at me fully then, and not like I was a little girl that she had to lift up. She took her cigarette out of her mouth and said, “Good job.”