The one bright spot was Ginny. She was a bright child with a curious mind, and Emily looked forward to spending time with her each afternoon. Sometimes, they sat on the veranda, drinking lemonade and enjoying the shade. Other times, they’d take a walk and Emily would describe as best she could the world around them.

Today, she sought the child out earlier than usual and found her in the parlor with her building blocks. “Want to go for a walk?” she asked.

Ginny’s face brightened. “How come you’re walking funny?” she asked, jumping to her feet.

“I’m wearing new boots,” Emily explained.

“What do they look like?” Ginny asked.

“Well, let’s see. They have flowers and leaves etched on them. Here, feel.” Emily guided Ginny’s hand to her foot. “What do you think?”

“They feel soft,” Ginny said. “Do you like them?”

“Yes, I do,” Emily said, surprised at how much. The sturdy boots gave her surefooted confidence, and the heels kept her feet from slipping out of the stirrups.

She and Ginny left the house, walking hand in hand. Somehow, Ginny had learned to identify birds from their calls and never failed to amaze Emily with her knowledge. Today was no different.

“That’s a warbler,” Ginny said as they walked side by side through the prairie grass. After a while, she stopped. “Listen, do you hear it?”

“All I hear are cattle,” Emily said. The lowing of cattle was almost constant, and she’d all but managed to tune out the sound.

“The one making all the noise is a Hereford,” Ginny said.

“Oh? I thought the ranch ran longhorns.”

“It does, but Boomer said they’re trying to see how Herefords like it here.”

“How do you know it’s a Hereford?” Emily asked. “Don’t all cattle sound the same?”

“Listen,” Ginny said, cocking her head to the side. “A Hereford sounds like it has marbles in its throat.”

“Marbles, huh?” Emily laughed.

Ginny lifted her face to the sky, and her mouth formed a perfect circle. “Oh, listen! There’s the windmill.”

Emily stilled and strained her ears. “I can’t hear it. Your hearing must be better than mine.”

Ginny looked surprised. “Really? You can’t hear the arms turning in the wind?”

“No,” Emily said. Shading her eyes, she stared at the stilted windmill in the distance. “It’s too far away.”

“I asked Beanpole Tom if he would take me up to the top of the windmill, and he said he would one day, when I’m older.”

Emily studied Ginny with thoughtful regard. “I noticed that you seem to recognize the cowhands even before they speak.”

“That’s easy,” Ginny said matter-of-factly. “Beanpole Tom smells of tobacco. And Kansas Pete walks funny. Mama says it’s because he’s bowlegged and his toes point in.”

“What about Rusty?” Emily asked. “How do you recognize him?”

Ginny wrinkled her nose. “He smells like he fell in a bottle of perfume.”

Emily laughed. “Actually, he smells of shaving lotion.”

Ginny lowered her voice to a whisper. “That’s because he likes my mama.”