“We Two Girls IT’S NOVEMBER, A cold day. Five-year-old Frances Mary Moon, wearing new blue mitts and a matching toque her mother knit for her, sits on an old tractor tire filled with sand and surveys the yard around her: the white house that used to be just a log house but now has a modern addition on the back; the red barn with its hayloft on top and Kaw-Liga, the wooden Indian, standing guard by the side door, the one you can use to avoid walking through the cow muck; the bins and sheds and ma...chinery, all lined up neatly along the fence; the caragana hedges and poplars that surround the yard and line the approach from the road. Everything is in its proper place, ready for winter. The sky is grey, as though today is the day winter might come, and even Kaw-Liga looks cold. The cows out in the pasture are all standing in one direction, facing away from the wind. Frances doesn’t like cows. She’s allergic to milk (which her father says is tragic for a dairy farmer’s daughter), plus she doesn’t trust them not to kick in that sneaky way they have, out to the side.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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