Velda Brotherton

In 1920, six-year-old Edna accompanied her parents to New Mexico to homestead 640 acres of land given by the US Government to veterans of World War I. A victim of Tuberculosis, her father hoped to restore his health while doing what he loved most. Running a ranch.

This is the story of a family’s struggle to tame an arid land and remain together while a disease ravages one of its members. Further, it is the story of a small child who grows to love the stark and beautiful high desert country even as her parents struggle against adversity. Today Edna oversees ranches in both the Tusas River valley of New Mexico and the San Luis valley of Colorado. At the age of ninety-two, she visits her beloved Tusas whenever she can.

Excerpt:

Prologue

In this, my ninetieth year, I’ve returned once again to the New Mexico ranch I’ll forever call home. To this day, I get a thrill out of topping the hill between the sagebrush flats and the Tusas River valley. In the early light of dawn, the adobe house waits in the shadows far below, and I hurry to reach it, the car’s tires clattering over the wooden bridge that spans the Tusas river. I park, get out and move through the yard. Over the Sangre de Cristos, the sky is splashed with a brilliant glow that spreads crimson over the mountains. In my valley the darkness retreats, stirs a breeze that touches my cheek.

If I turn from the rising sun, quickly and without warning, I see those who’ve left me behind—Mom and Pop, my one and only love Calvin and our precious Ann. The shimmering morning light offers them, real and alive, their laughter echoing across the San Juans far to the west. A high desert painting where shades of ochre contrast sharply with dense umbers.
The mournful song of the doves and the chatter of swallows swooping in to deposit small dabs of mud beneath the eaves of the stucco house, speak of another time. A time when my world was young and filled with hope.

Every spring I come home to cook my breakfast on the wood cookstove and eat on the porch and watch the elk drink from the snow melt of the river. Drawn back year after year by forever memories, leaving behind that little tin can of a trailer down in Espanola for sanctuary at the only place I’ve ever called home. Now a deserted ranch where no one but ghosts live. Where cattle graze the high pastures, raising their heads to glimpse spirit riders as they pass.
The sun climbs higher, the sloping porch roof casts a cool shadow that makes me hug myself and shiver. I breathe in the fragrance of desert air, spiced with pinon smoke from the cookstove and the spring blooming chamisa, the sage and blue-balled juniper. And remember the beginning.

Cassie’s Journal - 1920

At times I wonder if it does a woman any good to have dreams. All my life I’ve wanted to be a nurse, and now that I finally have that chance, Finas tells me we are going to Taos County, New Mexico to homestead 640 acres. What can sagebrush desert possibly have to offer?

First it was Montana, and living with our baby over a drug store while he built us a house on that homestead. I know I married a cowboy, but I couldn’t take the loneliness. Scared half out of my mind over the idea of living in that wilderness.

In the end none of that matters. He’s home from the war, I’m a nurse, and we are going to New Mexico.

We leave tomorrow and I’m going to hate it, I know. This time, though, I have to do what is right for Finas. For him and our child. Our family.

The train car swayed and clacked, wheels screeching against the narrow gauge rails that curved from Alamosa to Santa Fe. Chilled by the brisk November air, Cassie gathered her coat close and peered through her glasses at her husband.

“Tell me again why we’re homesteading land in New Mexico,” she said.

Finas turned those solemn brown eyes in her direction, and she experienced the same soul-stirring as she had the night they’d met. Because they couldn’t bear to part, they’d taken so long walking home the short two blocks from the dance in the brittle North Dakota cold, that she’d literally frozen her nose.

“It won’t be the same as Montana, I promise. I know you were lonely and scared when I dragged you and little Edna off to the ends of nowhere. This won’t be the same.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say. True, he had soon seen her misery and abandoned his plans of homesteading the Montana land to take a job in Minneapolis with Western Union. She loved him for that. But love was indeed a strange condition, and sometimes she resented that it bound her so tightly to this man.

The train lurched, throwing her against him. Six-year-old Edna stirred in her lap, but continued to sleep. For a moment, Cassie kept her head against his shoulder. He cupped the side of her face, his palm warm against her cheek.

“Cassie, I’m sorry.”

She twisted to look into his eyes, sunken in the pale face. Dark circles smudged his cheeks, and she felt shame. “It’s not your fault. But I just wonder if there isn’t fresh air and sunshine in Casselton or some other civilized town.”

When the doctors in Salt Lake City had diagnosed him with tuberculosis she’d felt her heart shrivel in her chest. This healthy, robust man surely couldn’t be so ill.

He stiffened against her. “Your parents don’t like me, Cassie. We’d soon be miserable.”

She translated that as ‘He’d be miserable,’ but he spoke the truth.

Her mother and sisters had whispered and tut-tutted about poor Cassie falling for such a man as he. A cowboy, for goodness sake. And from Kentucky? Who ever heard of such a thing? But that’s what he was, through and through. A cowboy and a southern gentleman. And despite their differences she had fallen hard the minute she laid eyes on him. And she loved him dearly, even though he strode through life sweeping aside all barriers while ignoring the consequences.

Review from Reader Views
Reviewed by Olivera Baumgartner-Jackson for Reader Views (6/​07)

Velda Brotherton’s “Fly With The Mourning Dove” is a true story, based on the early life of
Edna Smith Hiller, who–according to the author –is now92 years old. The story starts with the
move of Edna’s family to New Mexico in 1920, where they went to homestead 640 acres of land,
given to Edna’s dad, a war veteran.

Her father’s struggles with tuberculosis, as well as the harsh conditions on the homestead, result
in young Edna’s frequent moves to different places, causing her to keep making and losing
friends at a rapid rate. Each new place brings some joy, but invariably she has to move again,
leaving behind those new friends and fretting about the next place she’ll have to adapt to. But
Edna is a brave little girl, who grows into a brave young woman.

Ms. Brotherton’s writing is engaging and pulls the reader in quickly. She manages to show how
much Edna loved (and still loves) the life on the ranch. Her descriptions of day-to-day life on
such a ranch are eye-opening, especially when it comes to relationships with neighbors and the
hardships of being so isolated from the rest of the world. Some of the scenes are truly funny, with
my favorite being the one where Edna’s mother and a neighbor are preparing the turkey for a
Thanksgiving dinner. It made me truly glad that we have supermarkets nowadays.

I have truly enjoyed this excursion into the past. My only regret is that the story ends in 1940,
with the exception of an epilogue that very briefly explains some of the later events in Edna’s
life. I would have loved to hear the rest of her story though.

I would highly recommend “Fly With The Mourning Dove” to anybody curious about women’s
role in taming of some of America’s wildest and cruelest parts. This is a book to be shared with
young and old.