“Can almost hear the grass growing, she thinks, and she does hear the blended orchestra of insects swarming the puddle of water outside the door. With the number of new faces in town it seems as if twenty-eight days have passed instead of four since gold was found. It seems to her that the poppies should be blooming, but time always did have a funny way in California. Hatches miners like insects. Bends a young man’s back and gnaws at his knees, doing ten years of damage in a sliver of the time. ...She can hear them now, trooping up from the creek. Her boys, hungry, smelly. Still she languishes a moment more. The saloon door opens. Familiar footsteps pause in the kitchen doorway. “Been meaning to talk to you,” says Jed, his voice soft but firm. “No one stopping you,” she says, but doesn’t turn to face him. She has been avoiding him with busyness, baking twice as much bread, boiling four times as much coffee and using her cycle as an excuse at night, which she never does. Her cycles were short and violent, and Jed knew the moon wasn’t right for them.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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