her gaze roam over the cactus- covered hills. In the far distance, purple-tinted mountains rose majestically, while closer mountains beckoned with the promise of coolness on their tree-covered slopes.
March’s startled gaze came to rest on an adobe house set in the base of the hill. She knew immediately that it was uninhabited, its general appearance being one of neglect and disuse.
This house, with its flat roof and walls nearly the same color as the sand, seemed to be a part of the land, unlike the castle Jim now called home. Following the well-worn path down the hill, March eagerly explored the old building.
The roof extended out enough to create a wide porch on the two connecting sides of the L-shaped structure. Windows, with heavy wooden shutters, opened out onto what must have once been an inviting patio.
The ornately carved wooden door opened easily, and feeling only a little guilty, March entered its inviting tranquility. She shivered at the delicious chill of the room. After being in the heat of the morning sun, the temperature change was a welcome relief. The eighteen-inch adobe walls seemed to have captured the coolness of the night and held it for its own.
March had expected the room to be empty, and was surprised to discover that it was well furnished. Except for a heavy coating of dust lying undisturbed on tabletops and the cobwebs draped in lacy intricacy in the corners, it was easy to believe that the owner had just stepped out for the day.
Exploring curiously, March wandered from one room to the next. There was a contiguous sequence of rooms in single file, one room opening directly into another. The main room led into the kitchen, the kitchen into a bedroom where the connecting leg of the L-structure led into the other two bedrooms. Each was fully furnished, including the spreads on the beds and curtains at the windows.
The house felt welcoming, an old friend delighted by her return. It was as different from the other house as night was from day, and it suited March’s tastes more comfortably than the house she still considered to be a castle. In this house she already felt at home, while she knew she’d always be only a visitor in the other one.
“What do you think, Jamie boy?” she asked the baby who had begun to squirm as hunger brought him awake. “All I’d need is a dust rag and a broom to knock down the spiderwebs, and it would make a great place for us to spend our time.”
She stood in the open doorway and looked out at the patio. A rosebush climbed lazily up the far wall, its dark green leaves not yet burned by the sun as they would be by late summer. That it had survived without attention was a miracle, but March was too drawn to it to consider that blessing. Living too long without beauty in her life, she was struck by the enchantment of the single bloom that gleamed blood red against the adobe brick. Gently stroking its petals, she leaned over and inhaled its sweet fragrance.
“Ah, Jamie, this is home,” she murmured softly.
When the baby wiggled and squirmed, mew-
ing against her breast, March reluctantly turned and headed back toward the homestead. She patted the mound of his bottom, grimacing at the wetness that met her hand.
“Next time we come, we’ll bring some of your towels and then we can stay awhile.” The baby rooted against her breast, searching in vain for his source of nourishment.
Reluctant to climb the hill again, March chose to walk around it and considered opening her dress to let the baby nurse. She had done it before when they had been out of sight of the house, but as she began to open the top button she rounded the hill and discovered that the other ranch buildings were much closer to the old house than the new. In fact, they were barely hidden by the incline.
The two old men, Woods and Hank, sat in their usual place on the porch of the bunkhouse. They looked up and nodded as March walked past. With Jamie’s frustrated complaints to be fed growing
March’s startled gaze came to rest on an adobe house set in the base of the hill. She knew immediately that it was uninhabited, its general appearance being one of neglect and disuse.
This house, with its flat roof and walls nearly the same color as the sand, seemed to be a part of the land, unlike the castle Jim now called home. Following the well-worn path down the hill, March eagerly explored the old building.
The roof extended out enough to create a wide porch on the two connecting sides of the L-shaped structure. Windows, with heavy wooden shutters, opened out onto what must have once been an inviting patio.
The ornately carved wooden door opened easily, and feeling only a little guilty, March entered its inviting tranquility. She shivered at the delicious chill of the room. After being in the heat of the morning sun, the temperature change was a welcome relief. The eighteen-inch adobe walls seemed to have captured the coolness of the night and held it for its own.
March had expected the room to be empty, and was surprised to discover that it was well furnished. Except for a heavy coating of dust lying undisturbed on tabletops and the cobwebs draped in lacy intricacy in the corners, it was easy to believe that the owner had just stepped out for the day.
Exploring curiously, March wandered from one room to the next. There was a contiguous sequence of rooms in single file, one room opening directly into another. The main room led into the kitchen, the kitchen into a bedroom where the connecting leg of the L-structure led into the other two bedrooms. Each was fully furnished, including the spreads on the beds and curtains at the windows.
The house felt welcoming, an old friend delighted by her return. It was as different from the other house as night was from day, and it suited March’s tastes more comfortably than the house she still considered to be a castle. In this house she already felt at home, while she knew she’d always be only a visitor in the other one.
“What do you think, Jamie boy?” she asked the baby who had begun to squirm as hunger brought him awake. “All I’d need is a dust rag and a broom to knock down the spiderwebs, and it would make a great place for us to spend our time.”
She stood in the open doorway and looked out at the patio. A rosebush climbed lazily up the far wall, its dark green leaves not yet burned by the sun as they would be by late summer. That it had survived without attention was a miracle, but March was too drawn to it to consider that blessing. Living too long without beauty in her life, she was struck by the enchantment of the single bloom that gleamed blood red against the adobe brick. Gently stroking its petals, she leaned over and inhaled its sweet fragrance.
“Ah, Jamie, this is home,” she murmured softly.
When the baby wiggled and squirmed, mew-
ing against her breast, March reluctantly turned and headed back toward the homestead. She patted the mound of his bottom, grimacing at the wetness that met her hand.
“Next time we come, we’ll bring some of your towels and then we can stay awhile.” The baby rooted against her breast, searching in vain for his source of nourishment.
Reluctant to climb the hill again, March chose to walk around it and considered opening her dress to let the baby nurse. She had done it before when they had been out of sight of the house, but as she began to open the top button she rounded the hill and discovered that the other ranch buildings were much closer to the old house than the new. In fact, they were barely hidden by the incline.
The two old men, Woods and Hank, sat in their usual place on the porch of the bunkhouse. They looked up and nodded as March walked past. With Jamie’s frustrated complaints to be fed growing
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