in the middle of the road, eyes aimed straight ahead.
"Is that pretty horse yours, dear?" Mattie asked Jan. "I've forgotten your name. When you get old as me, you're lucky you can remember your own name. Right, Amelia?"
"I remember fine," Amelia said. "I just can't see anymore."
"Amelia's legally blind," Mattie said, "but she can see her way to the table for meals just as good as you and me."
"Hmm," Amelia said without much heat.
"My name is Jan. Jan Wright. And my horse's name is Dove," Jan said.
"Wright? That's the name of the family that owned this ranch," Amelia said.
"We still own the working part of it," Jan was quick to point out.
Mattie had approached Dove and was stroking his neck. He allowed her touch while he waited patiently for Jan's next signal.
"Why, was it you, then, who carved your name inside of our closet door?" Mattie asked Jan. "I saw that name there, and I remember thinking, I bet some girl wanted us to know this was her room."
Jan felt a blush coming on. Luckily her skin was tanned enough to hide it. She remembered defiantly carving her name on the door the day Mom told her that their house had been sold. "Yes, that was me," she admitted.
"So where do you live now, honey?"
"In the casita." Jan swiveled her slim hips and pointed back over her shoulder at the tiny building with its postage-stamp ramada.
"That itty bitty place?" Mattie said. "My, you must be mad at us for taking over your nice big house."
Jan felt her cheeks heating up again, but she mumbled, "I'm not mad at you."
Mattie shook her head doubtfully. "I guess I would be."
Amelia said nothing.
"Want to pet this horse, Amelia?" Mattie asked. "I used to have a pretty, mahogany-colored quarter horse like him when I was a girl in Mississippi, you know."
"You told me," Amelia said dryly. "More than once."
Unfazed, Mattie turned back to Jan to say, "My daddy got me a horse for my fourth birthday, and was I ever wild about him! Right from the start, when I was too small to ride him."
"Wild about your daddy or your horse?" Amelia asked sharply.
Mattie's answer bypassed the sarcasm. "Both. I was wild about both. You know that horse of mine lived until I got married? Then I had to leave him behind on my mother's place, and he up and died. Mama said he missed me. But I don't know. He was old by then."
"So are we old," Amelia said, "and we're not dying."
"Some of us are getting pretty close, Amelia." Mattie turned to look up at Jan and said confidentially, "You know Sadie, that woman you rescued yesterday?"
"Yes," Jan said.
"Well, we didn't get away with hiding that she'd wandered off again. This morning they took her off to the nursing home, that one in the middle of Tucson." Mattie shook her head sadly.
"Was she sick?" Jan asked.
"Just up here." Mattie pointed to her head.
Jan felt a cold ripple down her spine. How awful, she thought, to be carted off against your will just because you got lost easily. "Will she come back soon?" she asked.
"Next step after the nursing home's the grave," Amelia said. She still hadn't moved from her position in the middle of the road.
"Well," Mattie said, "at least they don't have us yet, Amelia. Come on. I best get you out of the sun before you get heatstroke." Mattie took the tall woman's hand and said to Jan, "She won't wear a hat. I always tell her when we go for a walk, she should wear a hat, but she won't." Mattie laughed. "Stubborn, that's what Amelia is."
"That's what all old people are. Keeps us alive," Amelia said. She took a step in the direction Mattie had turned her, back toward the main house.
They would have to walk down the dirt road a quarter of a mile and then cross a field to get into the desert garden at the back of the house, where one could sit on the patio out of the hot afternoon sun. Jan missed the patio almost as much as she missed having her own room. She missed the cave-like cool inside the thick walls of the baked-brick ranch house, which hugged the ground and
"Is that pretty horse yours, dear?" Mattie asked Jan. "I've forgotten your name. When you get old as me, you're lucky you can remember your own name. Right, Amelia?"
"I remember fine," Amelia said. "I just can't see anymore."
"Amelia's legally blind," Mattie said, "but she can see her way to the table for meals just as good as you and me."
"Hmm," Amelia said without much heat.
"My name is Jan. Jan Wright. And my horse's name is Dove," Jan said.
"Wright? That's the name of the family that owned this ranch," Amelia said.
"We still own the working part of it," Jan was quick to point out.
Mattie had approached Dove and was stroking his neck. He allowed her touch while he waited patiently for Jan's next signal.
"Why, was it you, then, who carved your name inside of our closet door?" Mattie asked Jan. "I saw that name there, and I remember thinking, I bet some girl wanted us to know this was her room."
Jan felt a blush coming on. Luckily her skin was tanned enough to hide it. She remembered defiantly carving her name on the door the day Mom told her that their house had been sold. "Yes, that was me," she admitted.
"So where do you live now, honey?"
"In the casita." Jan swiveled her slim hips and pointed back over her shoulder at the tiny building with its postage-stamp ramada.
"That itty bitty place?" Mattie said. "My, you must be mad at us for taking over your nice big house."
Jan felt her cheeks heating up again, but she mumbled, "I'm not mad at you."
Mattie shook her head doubtfully. "I guess I would be."
Amelia said nothing.
"Want to pet this horse, Amelia?" Mattie asked. "I used to have a pretty, mahogany-colored quarter horse like him when I was a girl in Mississippi, you know."
"You told me," Amelia said dryly. "More than once."
Unfazed, Mattie turned back to Jan to say, "My daddy got me a horse for my fourth birthday, and was I ever wild about him! Right from the start, when I was too small to ride him."
"Wild about your daddy or your horse?" Amelia asked sharply.
Mattie's answer bypassed the sarcasm. "Both. I was wild about both. You know that horse of mine lived until I got married? Then I had to leave him behind on my mother's place, and he up and died. Mama said he missed me. But I don't know. He was old by then."
"So are we old," Amelia said, "and we're not dying."
"Some of us are getting pretty close, Amelia." Mattie turned to look up at Jan and said confidentially, "You know Sadie, that woman you rescued yesterday?"
"Yes," Jan said.
"Well, we didn't get away with hiding that she'd wandered off again. This morning they took her off to the nursing home, that one in the middle of Tucson." Mattie shook her head sadly.
"Was she sick?" Jan asked.
"Just up here." Mattie pointed to her head.
Jan felt a cold ripple down her spine. How awful, she thought, to be carted off against your will just because you got lost easily. "Will she come back soon?" she asked.
"Next step after the nursing home's the grave," Amelia said. She still hadn't moved from her position in the middle of the road.
"Well," Mattie said, "at least they don't have us yet, Amelia. Come on. I best get you out of the sun before you get heatstroke." Mattie took the tall woman's hand and said to Jan, "She won't wear a hat. I always tell her when we go for a walk, she should wear a hat, but she won't." Mattie laughed. "Stubborn, that's what Amelia is."
"That's what all old people are. Keeps us alive," Amelia said. She took a step in the direction Mattie had turned her, back toward the main house.
They would have to walk down the dirt road a quarter of a mile and then cross a field to get into the desert garden at the back of the house, where one could sit on the patio out of the hot afternoon sun. Jan missed the patio almost as much as she missed having her own room. She missed the cave-like cool inside the thick walls of the baked-brick ranch house, which hugged the ground and
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