A Storyby Elizabeth Spencer
Every day Edward walked down to the village. Joclyn saw him go, usually with a list from her in his pocket. It was a long walk. If she was going to walk, she said, staying near the ridge was preferable. She could stop and talk to some of the children in the native houses, out of sight but not so far away. She could practice her Spanish. She had learned it wasn’t wise to hand out favors. Even when she did go to town, she did not go with Edward, as a rule. He always asked her, “Anything from below?” It would be hot there. Up here on the ridge, cool nights, temperate afternoons.