Chapter 14.

Lunch was a noisy affair, mainly because the twins were so hyped-up by their riding lesson, that they could hardly stop talking about it. This was especially because by the end of the session, they had actually been shown how to break from a jog into a slow canter or lope, a pace with which the western horses were most comfortable and could keep going for hours if necessary.

Neither girl had actually fallen off, which was Miranda's bottom line for controlling her anxiety levels, and they were keen to carry on immediately they had consumed their soup and hot rolls. Andy had other ideas.

"Look my darlings, all these horses are old, and out of condition. They haven't had riders on their backs for months, maybe years. I want them to have at least two hours' rest with their hay-nets before we take them out again. Meet me at the barn at 3pm, and I'll take you on a trail-ride then, up through the woods. We can go out again tomorrow as well."

"I think a quiet hour on your beds with a book wouldn't be a bad idea," said Miranda. "You'll stiffen up too, if you ride too much. How about a little siesta?"

The twins didn't argue, and she took them up to their room. It was warm and cosy, and she soon noticed their eyes begin to droop. They lay on the beds, and Miranda drew the drapes across their window half way. By the time she turned back, they were already asleep. She tiptoed out, and closed the door.

Downstairs, Jenny turned the television on, and Momma and Andy cleared up the lunch pots. Andy was sad to see how her grandmother had slowed up somewhat from the extremely energetic old soul she had been nine months earlier.

"Darned arthritis," Momma explained. "I'm going to have to have a hip replacement sometime next year. I just keep putting it off. Never could stand hospitals, but Ed says he knows a good surgeon."

"If you know when you're going in, I'll come home and be here for you. I want you at my wedding, fit and well. We're hoping it can be in May."

Momma looked sideways at her favorite grandchild and decided to jump off the high board.

"I wanted to marry a woman, you know, before your grandpa Diamond rode into town."

"Whaat?"

"Yep, if things had been then like they are now, I'd have married a pretty little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, and none of you would have been born. So good things did come out of bad. Though Andy, it did hurt at the time, and it's hurt ever since, losing my first Jenny."

Andy found the words somehow to encourage her to explain, and Momma, while they dried the dishes, told her the whole story. She had always loved girls, watched girls, enjoyed the way they moved and looked, and how soft their skin was. She'd always known she was, well, what everyone understood today as a gay woman. But there was just a silence about it in the twenties and thirties. Her parents said nothing, and never commented apart from accepting her as a tom-boy.

But Jenny, the preacher's daughter in their small country community, had been special. She had loved her back, unreservedly, and they had had three glorious years together between the age of sixteen and nineteen. No one had ever known what they had done together up in the corn fields, and between the acres of the barley.

Then the Second World War had started, and Jenny's father had been re-assigned to a large city church in Cleveland, and Jenny had to move with her parents. She eventually joined up as an army nurse. They'd tried to keep in touch, but travel was restricted, and then Jenny had been part of a contingent of nurses sent out to the Far East. In 1945, having heard nothing for two years, Momma had found a way to trace the Minister and his wife, who told her their lovely daughter had died in an attack on a US base in the Philippines, back in early 1944.

"I knew from the start that she'd died, felt it in my bones, but when they told me, I almost died myself. Then I knew I had to carry on, and create something good out of all that hatred and warfare, something in her memory. So I married Ted and had your Mom, the most beautiful baby this side of the Mississippi."

"Oh Momma, I want to cry! And to think that all these years you've kept that grief to yourself."

"Well, your Grandpa Diamond knew. I told him from the beginning, and he understood. He felt an outsider, too, on account of being half Indian. After a year or two, we knew it wouldn't work out between us long term, so we got divorced and he moved west, married a girl in South Dakota, and raised a new family. I stayed here with Jenny."

"Wow, so our family history is almost as complicated as Miranda's! Who would have known? Can I tell her your story? She seems very fond of you already."

Momma confessed. "I've already told her, yesterday, while we were prepping the vegetables. I needed to tell her that because of her, I had felt brave enough to tell your Mom why she was raised in a one-parent family. And now you know. You have a proud heritage of being queer, pipsqueak. So you can hold your head up high in the next Pride parade you decide to go to. Your Miranda told me I should share the story with you, so you don't have to worry, you're not gay enough, or something. You have it in your DNA!"

Andrea held her grandmother close. "I love you Momma. Thank you for sharing this with me."

"Aw, go on. Now if you want to take those children out on the horses again today, you'd better go and wake them. The nights draw in so early this time of year."

So Andrea did just that.

Through the afternoon mists the three riders took their horses down the track behind the barn, alongside Grandpa's orchard, and then up the gentle slope into the woods. The girls concentrated on sitting just as Andy had shown them, with longer stirrups than would be usual for eastern style riding, and very loose reins. The horses followed in file, with steam rising from their warm bodies, and the crunch of the dry leaves under their feet. Andy led the way, and half a mile from home, nudged them all into a very slow canter, what the westerners called a lope. She was proud of the girls, who rode sensitively and very quietly. By the time they were descending the hill once more, the stars had come out, and Cassidy gazed up at the heavens in amazement.

"Andy, Caro, look, it's magic! There are thousands and thousands of stars! Why aren't there stars like this in new York?"

"There are, darling, but the city lights block them out. You can see the lights of Cincinnati city over there in the distance, but otherwise, out here you can see the heavens much more clearly. This is what all the ancient people must have seen every night. You can understand why they were so interested in astronomy."

"I never knew it was like this. How many stars?"

"In our galaxy, the Milky Way, maybe 260 billion. And they now think there may be as many galaxies, over 250 billion."

Cassidy was completely silenced, and remained silent for the rest of the ride. She had had a revelation of the wonder of Space, on that first ride with Patches, up a small hill in Ohio' which was to change the future course of her life. When they returned to the light and warmth of the red barn, she untacked him, and put his saddle on the tree where Andy showed her. Then she quietly and gently brushed him down, talking to him all the time, but she never shared their conversation. It was just for her, and him, to know.

Some conversations are not meant to be overheard, but Patches was an old pony, who had watched the stars most nights of his long life, and it had given him much horse wisdom. He nuzzled against Cassie's chest, as she brushed out his mane, and helped her deal with the enormity of her feelings. Like another little girl's, fifteen or so years ago, he became her special friend.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Pumpkin! How have you been? We've missed you so much!" On Sunday evening, the Priestly family fell through their front door in Upper East Manhattan, to find their very small house cat sitting patiently on the stairs waiting for them. Roy had fetched them all from JFK, and was now unloading suitcases and bringing them into the hall.

Miranda stretched her slightly stiff neck after the flight, and breathed a sigh of relief. They were all home safely, and no-one had wrecked the house or stolen the art collection.

Cara came out of the kitchen to greet them all. A very pleasant smell of something hot and spicy followed her.

"You've cooked for us! Enchilladas?"

"Yes. How are you all? How did you get on? The kitten and I have had a great time, house-sitting. And he hasn't messed up once."

Miranda smiled. So her pep-talk had worked. She looked around at Andrea, her twins, Roy, Cara and Pumpkin, and breathed in and then out with contentment.

"We had a wonderful time. All's well. No-one fell off their pony, and Thanksgiving went amazingly smoothly. Your timings were spot on."

"Well dinner's ready for you, whenever you are. Oh, I mustn't forget. Sophia called to ask if she can postpone the next Italian lesson. She's been given three more hours' teaching a week at the local college, and is saving up to take her kids to Italy next summer. She says it's all down to you, whatever that means. She'll call tomorrow to reschedule."

Miranda smiled yet again. It was becoming a worrying trend.

"Fine," she said. "I'll make a note. Now Bobbsies, let's get organised. You have school again tomorrow, don't forget!"

"As if we could!" Caroline sighed dramatically. "But wasn't it the best Thanksgiving ever?"

"Sure was," agreed Andrea, hugging her lover and kissing her flagrantly in front of Cara and Roy.

Cassidy said nothing though. She just picked up Pumpkin and went across to the Kitchen patio glass doors.

"You can't see them," she said to him, "But out there, up in the sky, there are 260 billion stars. Who do you think you are, little Pumps, underneath all of that?"

Pumps couldn't put into a meow his answer to that, but he could feel his heart beating against Cassie's hand, which still smelt faintly of horse, and hay, and he started to purr. It was so good to have them all home again. It had been a long weekend without them.

THE END.