I pull up in front of her house, crumple the printed map, and reach across to the passenger seat for the clutch of flowers I had brought. Exiting the ...ar, I close the door softly so as not to give away my presence too soon. I stand in front of the car, still for a moment, the ticking of the cooling engine loud in the early evening air. Looking around, I soak in the brick facade of her home, exactly as I had envisioned it from the house plans she had sent me. I smile wryly to myself. Soaking it. Broken in but not worn. A little prettied up, but not gaudy. I knew because that was the kind of thing I liked to see. I hoped to be a saddlemaker, one day. Ma always said I was addled to think so. It wasn’t ‘fit woman’s work’. But, from haunting the local saddlery, I knew a saddlemaker had to know about all kinds of leather gear, not just saddles, and sometimes he – she – had to make it pretty. ‘I sure admire that beaded scabbard. Never saw anything like that before.’ ‘It’s Kiowa made.’ I. More

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