Crossing Lines

In retrospect, it had been a spectacularly crappy year. A dreadful cross-country train ride rounded it all out nicely. Chela slept for two days once she reached the prairie. Not like she was going to miss anything exciting.

When she awoke, she was still homeless, wishing for divorce, and living off charity and friends. But there was good coffee, real cream, a pack of smokes, sunshine and Gabby working in the yard. That was a better start to the day than she’d had in a long time.

“Why here, of all places?” Chela asked, lighting up. It was nothing like New Bedford.

“Magic Dirt.” Gabby cut some herbs.

“Excuse me?”

“Magic Dirt. Stick a mitten in the ground and you’d grow a sweater. Dave says you could grow a person from a boot, but I think you’d probably get a cow – or something like it.”

“Prairie humor?”

“You think? Look at my garden and tell me how I managed to get all this with no experience or skill. There’s more magic than just the dirt, but no one says anything about it. They don’t say much at all.”

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