Welcome to Paradise by Rosalind James Page B

little water out of the well, eat this lunch you ladies packed us, and rest up before we tackle the rest of it.”
    “If y’all will grab the lunch,” he said to Zara, “the boys and I’ll unhitch the horses, be over to join you as soon as we tie up the animals in the shade and get them a drink of water themselves. Don’t eat all the sandwiches, now.”
    He winked at Zara, and she laughed in return. “We’ll do that,” she said. “See you in a bit. Come on, Melody. You’ll feel a lot better once you’ve rested and cooled off.”
    “I have to go to the bathroom,” Maria-Elena said plaintively to Mira.
    “Alma said there’d be a privy,” Mira said with a tired sigh. “Probably around back. Let’s look.”
    When the men joined them again under the willows and cottonwoods lining the stream, Melody had recovered some of her spirits. All the women had their boots and socks off and were soaking their tired feet in the creek, drinking ice-cold well water from the enamelware tin cups that they’d found in the back of the wagon next to the lunch. And Danny was already set up across from them, taking in the scene with his camera.
    “Saved the sandwiches for you,” Zara told Stanley as he sat down next to her. “We decided that getting cool came first.”
    “That looks like a great idea,” Gabe said, taking a spot between Mira and Maria-Elena despite Melody’s inviting smile. All the men began stripping off their own footwear with eager haste.
    “Ah,” Gabe sighed as his feet hit the water. “Cold. Beautiful.” He took the cup of water Mira held out to him and took a deep swig. “At least they gave us good boots,” he said.
    “You’re thankful for these boots?” Melody asked with disgust.
    “I sure am,” Gabe responded firmly, receiving a thick ham sandwich and an apple from Mira with a smile of thanks. “If they’d gone period with those, we’d all have had blisters by now, and I’d be busy doctoring you all up with my limited first-aid supplies, instead of relaxing. And imagine trying to do everything we have to do when your feet hurt. That would’ve made this a whole lot harder.”
    “I guess,” Melody said doubtfully. “They’re so ugly, though.” She looked with disgust at the clunky brown leather things with their many rows of thick laces. “And we’re supposed to wear them every day? One pair of shoes? We don’t even get sandals?”
    “How many pairs do you have at home?” Kevin asked lazily, lying back on the grassy stream bank. “Tell the truth, now.” He took a bite out of his apple and gave Melody a stern look.
    “I don’t know. Maybe a hundred?”
    “You have a hundred pairs of shoes?” Martin asked in astonishment.
    “Maybe more,” Melody confessed. “Maybe two hundred. I haven’t counted.”
    “Hey. Looking good’s serious business,” Kevin said at Martin’s snort of disgust. “Why, how many pairs do you have, Martin? Counting boots. Don’t forget those. Because I know you’ve got boots to do all your manly practicing in.”
    “No more than seven or eight,” Martin replied proudly. “I make sure I really need something before I add to my possessions. A hundred pairs of shoes seems like excessive consumerism to me. Think of all the resources they use. Arlene doesn’t have many more than that either, so you can’t tell me that women need them.”
    “Yes, but think of all the beauty Melody adds to the landscape,” Kevin pointed out. “It all balances out, surely. How about you, Mira? Got a hundred pairs of shoes?”
    “No,” she smiled. “Twenty, maybe.”
    “But here’s the $64,000 question,” Zara called out from her spot at the end of the line. “How many do you have, Glamour Boy?”
    “Ah,” Kevin said, waggling his eyebrows, mischievous brown eyes dancing. “That’s telling. And I don’t want Martin to report me to the Resource Police. More than Mira, fewer than Melody. And that’s all I’m going to say.”
    “Do you want a