Twin Blessings and Toward Home: Twin Blessings / Toward Home. Carolyne Aarsen

      Sandra’s answer was a dismissive shrug.

      Right then the girls came out of the building, pretending surprise to see Logan and Sandra.

      “Let’s look at the rest of the site,” Sandra said, forestalling any recriminations or feeble explanations.

      The girls followed Sandra while Logan lagged behind, listening as she explained the history of Fort Walsh.

      “Later, in the nineteen forties, the RCMP purchased this site and set up Remount Ranch to breed and raise their horses. They also raised and trained the horses for the Musical Ride here.”

      “I’ve heard of the Musical Ride,” Logan said. “But what exactly is it?”

      “A riding display developed from traditional cavalry drills. It’s very impressive. I believe 32 horses and riders are involved.”

      “We saw that,” Bethany offered. “In Texas. At a rodeo. It was awesome. Those black horses. And the riders in those neat red coats.”

      Logan wasn’t surprised at that. Linda and her husband traveled enough different places, they were bound to have crossed paths at one time or another with the RCMP’s Musical Ride.

      The rest of the tour went fast. To her credit, Sandra could tell when the girls’ interest waned, and would quickly move on to the next place. They walked through barracks and living quarters, then took a picture by the flagpole in the center of the fort. Logan operated the camera, smiling as Bethany and Brittany crowded right up beside Sandra.

      He looked through the lens and adjusted the zoom lens, bringing the little group in closer. Sandra looked up, smiling, and Logan couldn’t suppress the tug of attraction. Sandra’s open smile suffused her entire being and made him want to laugh along with her.

      He snapped the picture, recognizing Sandra’s beauty and at the same time realizing that any man would be attracted to her. And that was all he felt, he reminded himself. Just a basic recognition of her appeal. He didn’t have the time or the inclination to take anything further from there. Not with someone like Sandra.

      The drive back was quiet. Both girls slept in the back seat, which meant, Logan thought with a sigh, that they would be awake and giddy for most of the evening. Looked like he wasn’t going to get much done tonight.

      Sandra didn’t say much. Just looked ahead, her expression serious. Logan couldn’t help but glance at her once in a while, wondering what she was thinking.

      Logan wondered if his comment about church had made the usually loquacious Sandra Bachman retreat into silence. He doubted it. Someone as self-possessed as Sandra wasn’t the kind of person to be intimidated by someone else’s opinion.

      But her silence made him feel uncomfortable. As they neared Elkwater, she picked up her knapsack, fiddling with the zippers and buckles.

      “Just drop me off at the gas station,” she said as he made the long turn into the town.

      “Tell me where you live and I’ll drop you off,” Logan said.

      “No. Please. I want to go for a walk. Maybe even a swim,” she said with a forced laugh, pushing her hair from her face.

      Logan slowed and stopped at the gas station as she had requested. “Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you to your house?” he asked once again, feeling most unchivalrous.

      “No. Thanks. I really want to walk.” She glanced at the girls, who were still sleeping, their cheeks flushed with the heat and the sun. “Say goodbye to the girls. Tell them I’ll see them on Monday.”

      Logan nodded, bending over as Sandra got out of the van. She paused, holding on to the door, and glanced at him. “Thanks for driving us to the fort,” she said. “I had a good time.”

      “You’re welcome. I learned a lot today,” he said with a quick grin. “Thanks for that.”

      “Nice to be able to put my expensive education to some use,” she returned. “Have a good evening.” She turned and walked away, her skirt swaying.

      Logan knew he should drive away. Knew he shouldn’t be watching Sandra, shouldn’t be allowing his basic attraction to her good looks take over his common sense.

      But he had enjoyed the day with her, and even though part of him disapproved, he had to laugh at her quick tongue, her pert responses. Once again he smiled at some of the things she had said.

      Then he glanced at the girls, dismayed to see Brittany awake and looking at him with frank interest.

      “What are we waiting for, Uncle Logan?” she asked, her voice radiating innocence.

      “Traffic,” he replied, deadpan. Then, without a second glance, he drove to their house.

      

      Sandra pulled out her last sheet of ruby glass, setting it carefully on the light table. With a felt pen she marked the places she would cut, working with the striations and the patterns inherent in the glass.

      She smiled as she envisioned how the completed lamp would look, how the light would play through it.

      So far she had enough glass for one lamp and a few pieces left over for a second. She had hoped to pick up her glass shipment, still sitting in a warehouse in Medicine Hat. But she would have to wait until she got her first tutoring paycheck. It surprised her that Logan was willing to pay her more than Florence had offered. Of course, he could probably afford it, she reasoned.

      She didn’t know how long the job would last, but so far she calculated that if she worked one more day, she would have enough money to pay for the glass. Three more days would pay for her car, and four more days would earn a few more groceries that would last until the lamps were finished.

      A small thrill of excitement fluttered through her at the thought of completing the lamp and what the job represented. Money earned on her own and maybe, perhaps, the beginning of a new career.

      For now, it looked as if she would be able to prove her father wrong, after all. Her life was finally coming to a place of her own choosing.

      She pulled out the patterns for the petals of the flowers, and as she laid them on the glass, she happened to look out the window.

      If she angled her head slightly, she could see the front door of the church in Elkwater. She had never attended. As she had told Logan, her preferred place of worship was up on a hill, away from other people. Alone and away from the harsh expectations she’d grown up with.

      But today she caught herself looking at the church more than once as she worked. Wondered what kind of people went. Wondered if they sang any of the traditional songs that were sung in her church.

      She hadn’t been to church since she left home five years ago. She had thrown off the stifling expectations of her father, and church attendance was one of them.

      She’d been in Elkwater for four months, and only in the last two had she started eyeing the church.

      And that was mostly because Cora, her good friend and fellow traveler, had left again.

      If anyone could talk her out of going, Cora could, Sandra thought, looking at the glass she was preparing to cut. She and Cora had been through a lot together. California, Minnesota and at the end, Hornby Island and Henri Desault.

      Sandra shivered. Henri was too vivid a memory still. She wouldn’t be in the financial pickle she was in if it wasn’t for Henri and his smooth talking. A consummate salesman, she thought, curling her lip in disgust. She set the pattern on the glass, tracing it with quick, decisive strokes as if trying to eradicate the memory.

      She had spent time with Henri. Had dated him and thought she’d found someone who cared about her. Who accepted her without expectations. Then one day she let him see the stained glass work she did in her spare time. Time she’d eked away from the mindless day jobs she needed to pay for her supplies. She’d planned on selling her work when she had enough inventory