Page 70 of Cherry Tree Ranch

My eyes scan across each face in the photo. I don’t say it aloud, but it echoes through my heart when I find Dottie’s face… She’s the other woman I see in my dreams, I’m sure of it – the woman I imagined dancing with the pearls, the woman at the train depot, the woman on the other horse. How is it possible that I know her face? Sure, I suppose she has a look of Emery somehow – but we don’t have any photos of them in the house.

“Remember when you told me about your scar?” I venture.

“Yeah.”

“And how your mom said it might be an injury from a past life?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, the other day I was talking to my mom, and she told me she thinks I may be the reincarnation of this girl.” I point to the photo. “Daisy.”

“Really? Why?”

“Apparently, I used to tell her stories about Daisy falling from the cliffs, like the legend you know. I was a toddler. No one ever said anything to me about it.”

“Whoa, that’s… Whoa. I mean, my mom believes in it, but she’s never had any proof.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s proof, just a theory. My mom also said it could be my imagination, and that I feel the energy of this place deeply.”

“She may be on to something, though. Did you know dahlias are in the Asteraceae family of flowers?”

“I’m not following.”

“Asteraceae is the botanical name for the daisy family. Dahlias are in the daisy family.”

“Dead ass?”

“Yep. Did your mom know that when she named you?”

“I … I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I absorb his words. My name has always felt unique, too unique most of the time, but now it feels like a piece of a puzzle, helping me understand.

I lay the photos down and find a stack of envelopes tied with a sapphire-blue ribbon. I pick at the tightly tied knot and pull out the first letter. The handwriting is delicate and loopy.

September 15, 1925

Daisy,

Please tell me how your travels are going. I can be sure you are breaking records and riding out the best of them. Mama is well and I’m healing, but I will never walk the same again. It’s hard to bend, but I help Mama harvest the garden while Charlie covers himself in dirt.

The cattlemen have been quieter. I believe they are running out of ranches and shepherds to target. Mama and I sleep with pistols under our pillows, and Joaquin keeps as close to the house as he can at night. We rarely go into town, hoping that being out of sight will keep us off Earl’s mind.

Love,

Dottie

“Look at these,” Cash says, handing me two full pages of newspaper.

Most of the first page is filled with a photograph of Daisy blowing a kiss to a rodeo crowd with a bronc in the background.

Cash points at the heading. “She won World Champion at Madison Square Garden. It tells about the bronc she rode and how she wanted to win for Dottie.”

“Let’s get everything off the desk so we can properly see what’s here,” I suggest.

“And we can organize it into categories, open the letters to see who they are from and then make a timeline based on the dates.”

“Um, yeah… That’s exactly what I was thinking.” I laugh and elbow him.

We begin separating everything into piles on a ratty old blanket I lay on the ground. It’s all so beautiful – the colourful ink stamps on the envelopes, the antiquated colour of the paper and the delicate array of ribbons.