Sisters of Grass by Theresa Kishkan Page B

evening, I watched from the window, hoping to see her return down the golden hill, swim up from the depths of Nicola Lake, float from the sky in the arms of the wind. No one came, though the little bats swooped under the generous eaves and geese settled in the rushes for the night.
    The suite of rooms at the Grand Pacific hummed with excitement as the Stuart family dressed for the concert that evening at the Opera House. Margaret had taken her rose muslin gown out of its case when she’d arrived the night before, and its creases had been eased out with the help of a hotel chambermaid. A simple dress, it suited her dark colouring, and the single strand of milky pearls she wore at her throat was a comely touch. Jenny wore her one formal gown of grey taffeta, sewn from a length brought from Astoria by Aunt Elizabeth, with a cameo on the high collar, a gift from William’s mother. She had coiled her long braid into a coronet around her head and fixed it with tortoise-shell combs.
    â€œYou will be the loveliest ladies at the concert,” William told them, admiring the two as they finished dressing.
    â€œWhat about us, Father?” Jane and Mary had been ready for some time, having bathed upon their return from the river. Each of them wore a dress of fine white organdy, Mary’s gathered at the waist with a blue sash and Jane’s with a pale pink sash dotted with rosebuds. Margaret had brushed out their hair from their customary braids and held it back from their foreheads with bands of velvet ribbon she had purchased with her mother that afternoon.
    â€œYou look like wild flowers on the slope of Hamilton Mountain, fresh and sweet,” he assured them.
    Tom wore a suit given him by a Nicola Lake family whose son had outgrown it, and he fidgeted and pulled at the tie which William had helped him to knot. Since returning with his father from the river, where he’d seen the SS Peerless beached on the bank, he’d been dreaming of the sternwheelers. William had explained to him that the boats were long past their heyday, the railways had taken over the work of carrying cargo and passengers from one community to another from Shuswap to Savona, and now the sternwheelers were mostly used to move logs. But Tom loved the look of the boats and imagined himself as captain of the Peerless , venturing down the Thompson River, as Captain Irving had, taking flour to the Canadian Pacific Railway crew at Spences Bridge. He was allowed to climb on the Peerless in Riverside Park, and his father had paid a man to take Tom’s photograph, posed on the portside deck like a sailor.
    It wasn’t far from the Grand Pacific to the Opera House, just one block south on Fourth Avenue and then west on Victoria Street for slightly more than two blocks. But William had arranged for them to go by carriage so they could arrive in style. Margaret was speechless with excitement as the carriage proceeded along the wide road, past the Fire Hall, the Federal Building, the Bank of Commerce with its ornate stone window headers and rosy brickwork, until they arrived at the Opera House. The driver had to wait his turn to pull up in front of the building, there were so many conveyances delivering concert-goers.
    Entering the building and ascending the stairs, Margaret could hardly breathe at the sight of the electric lights, the luxurious wall coverings, and the beautifully dressed people waiting to be shown to their seats. Such gowns and jewels! Margaret had not supposed the women of Kamloops she had seen on her explorations that morning would possess such finery. She felt humbled in her simple muslin dress, but then she remembered how excited she’d been when Father had told the family of the concert and resolved to enjoy every moment of the evening.
    William helped them to their seats with the assistance of an usher and then excused himself to return to the lobby to speak to several acquaintances he’d nodded to as they’d