Free Sisters of Grass by Theresa Kishkan

be mended or planning to look at a horse at Pooley’s, Angus Nelson stopping the stage briefly to discuss the possibility of matches for the upcoming winter. It was Angus who told William about Madame Albani’s concert: “You’ll not have the chance again, Stuart. She has a stop-over en route to a concert in Vancouver, and she’s giving this concert as a kindness, really. Bring the family, why don’t you? You and I could meet for a drink at the Inland Club and talk about next winter.”
    Margaret had never attended any function at the Opera House. She’d seen the building on trips to Kamloops and loved its facade, imagining the opulent interior. She would wear her deep rose muslin dress and the pearls Father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. Musing and dreaming, she rode on until Daisy stopped in her tracks and nickered softly.
    Three men sat under a ponderosa; one of them she recognized as George Edwards, who worked, as far as she knew, at the Douglas Lake ranch. He rose and walked toward her, holding his palm flat for Daisy to sniff.
    â€œIt’s Stuart’s girl, isn’t it? I’ve seen you with your dad. Where are you bound for?”
    (From my distance ahead of her, waiting in history, I want to tell her, Yes, take pleasure in pearls, yes, show kindness to acquaintances and strangers taking the morning air under a patterned shadow of pines.)
    â€œYes, I recognize you, Mr. Edwards. I’m going to our spring range, to see if there’s anything the men need. It was too nice when I woke up to do anything but saddle my horse and think of somewhere to ride.”
    She’d always liked George Edwards. He played fiddle sometimes at the socials, and he often had candy for children he met. People said he’d been a cobbler, and in fact he made shoes for some of the poorest families in the area, never charging them anything. It was odd to see him away from Douglas Lake, though. As if he read her thoughts, he said, “I’m not working for Greaves anymore. There was an accident with the irrigation team, some Chinaman thought I’d killed his brother and threatened to poison me. And who can blame him if he really believed I was responsible, though I wasn’t. But Joe and I thought I should make myself scarce, so I’m doing a little prospecting now with Shorty, here, and Louis. We’ve got our eye on a creek over towards Tulameen. Here you go, young lady, something to sweeten your ride.”
    Mr. Edwards handed her a peppermint stick, a swirl of red and white stripes, and she tucked it into her pocket for later. The other two men nodded to her and began gathering up their gear. She waved goodbye and went on her way, thinking how nice Mr. Edwards was, how gentle his eyes under the brim of his hat, which he’d raised to her as if she were a grown woman. She liked to listen to his drawl, and when he sang “My Old Kentucky Home” there were always tears.
    The next morning was overcast, some rain and then periods when the billowing clouds parted enough to let the sun through. In the higher parts of the plateau, on Hamilton Mountain, for instance, it would be snowing, the clouds shaking down gusts of it to dust the new flowers and grass. When Margaret’s father asked her to take some pinkeye medicine for the new calves to the spring camp, she readily agreed. Daisy had returned home from yesterday’s ride with a bruised frog as a result of picking up a sharp pebble in her hoof, so Margaret saddled the blue roan gelding, a bigger and stronger mount. Like Daisy, he was very fresh and wanted to run. They finished the errand quickly, and Margaret decided to take the longer way home, around Chapperon Lake, to see if the cranes had returned to the marsh at the end of the lake. She loved to watch them flying on the thermals in a V like geese but then dispersing in the warm air, gathering again in formation as they met the next current. Sometimes