Like an oasis in the desert, an assortment of trees grew along the banks, stretching in a line as far as the eye could see in either direction. As Emmy and the Rawsons drew closer, the sparse ground cover and mesquite gave way to lush green grass and live oak trees, a scene not unlike the banks of the San Jacinto River back home. It was hard to believe the two environments were part of the same landscape. Once Emmy thought about it, she realized the South Texas terrain had been as fickle as a female since she got off the train in Uvalde. The horses picked up speed as they neared the slope, and Cuddy winked. “They smell the water.” Emmy didn’t blame them. If she were on foot, she’d be trotting, too. If Cuddy considered the morning cool, she dreaded the ride home. The sun shone directly at them from above the eastern horizon, already so bright Emmy couldn’t bear it in her eyes. Greta had grudgingly lent her a straw hat that Emmy pulled low on her forehead, grateful for the band of shade it provided.
