Gardens in the Dunes

Part Ten

THE LEVEL of the river rose a little higher each morning Indigo took the monkey and the parrot to forage for seeds and roots. The little black grandfather was teething and cried irritably at the least sound, so Indigo kept her pets away for a good part of the morning. At first the tamarisks and willows perked up from the extra water, but as the water began to cover the base of the trees, the leaves yellowed and died.

Once the watercress and other tender plants were submerged, they stayed higher on the sandy bank, where she let Rainbow down to walk with Linnaeus to browse among the sunflowers. She kept a close watch for hungry foxes, who looked for rabbits and water rats displaced by the rising water; a great many tortoises and water snakes hid in the tall grass above the water.

At first the girls all made fun of Indigo for speculating on how high the water would rise; they didn’t see the river every day. But the morning they all took buckets to bring water from the hydrant by the church, the twins and Sister stopped in their tracks when they saw how high the water had risen in such a short time. Even the little grandfather, tied piggyback on Sister’s back, gazed at the high water.

“It’s all going to be flooded,” Vedna said. “I didn’t believe it before.” They stood in silence a moment before Maytha whistled slowly and shook her head. The irrigated river bottom land was the best land, where the winter crops of beans and peas, already knee high, were about to be drowned.

At this rate, all the houses and the little church with the hydrant would be underwater too; then where would they get their drinking water? Maytha joked their land would become prime irrigated farmland soon. The sprouts in their dry garden were tiny compared to those in the river bottom fields. Vedna said this must be what the Bible meant about the least shall be first. Sister Salt looked at the houses, where people watched them but never came outdoors or spoke to them. She shook her head. When the land here was flooded, the people would hate them even more.

They hauled water all morning to fill the iron kettle and the two tin washtubs to boil for beer. After the water cooled to lukewarm, they added the yeast cakes just as Big Candy did. Vedna wondered aloud what became of him, chasing after that Gypsy. Sister Salt shrugged as if she couldn’t care less, but she wondered sometime too; the one she loved to dream about was Charlie, even if he was married in Tucson. Sometimes she caught herself daydreaming his wife got ill or had an accident and died; no, she didn’t want to get him that way. Probably he didn’t even remember her now.

Their house reeked of green beer; every available pot and pan was full of it; Sister and Indigo gathered dried gourds and cleaned them out for beer containers. Candy used glass bottles to get the fizz in the beer, but the glass sometimes exploded. At worst, the gourds only fizzed and foamed.

The twins went to visit their old aunt upriver and took some beer samples with them to give away. They were gone overnight; it was the first time the sisters were alone since Indigo returned. Indigo put the parrot and monkey to bed and joined Sister, who was outside nursing the baby and watching the stars. They shared Sister’s shawl over their legs; later there was a chill in the breeze that made them scoot closer together. Sister couldn’t resist tickling Indigo’s ribs, and she squealed and they both laughed. The little grandfather let go of Sister’s nipple and studied both their faces; he and Indigo were jealous of each other, which made Sister laugh. He was rounder now, with fat little wrists and ankles that would have pleased Big Candy. She still felt sad he didn’t give the little grandfather a chance. The baby was crawling now, and beginning to try to pull himself upright. He was a serious baby who didn’t smile often but who cried only when he was angry; wet or hungry, he remained silent because he was a grandfather and not someone new.

Indigo wanted to make friends with him, and started to help Sister care for him. At first she only watched; each time Sister gently scooped the warm water over his legs and bottom in the shallow basin, he took deep breaths and held them. He screamed if Sister tried to put him in Indigo’s arms, so that day Indigo picked up Linnaeus, then cradled the monkey close to her face. The little grandfather watched, then screwed his face up in fury.

“Did you see that?” He knew Indigo was mocking him. Sister nodded. That was why she called him grandfather; they must not tease or mock him.

The twins returned the following evening with a dozen or more guests, mostly Chemehuevi relations but also Walapai and Havasupai friends. Sister and Indigo heard their laughter a half mile away the evening they showed up. They all sat on their blankets on the smooth-packed ground in front of the house; when it began to get chilly, the twins built a fire. They celebrated the new beer and their new friends. They told stories about the old days when the people drank cactus fruit wine in late July to contact the ancestors to rain down their love on them. They made jokes about the rising river, the government’s plan to drown all the Indians, and they all laughed and laughed until tears filled their eyes. The only good land left to them now was about to be taken away by the backwater of the dam.

The next morning their guests woke up in the front yard with ailments from drinking so much green beer. The girls cooked up the rabbits they’d snared with the last of the beans and used the last of the flour for tortillas to feed the guests breakfast. As they departed, their new friends promised to say good things about the beer to people with money or things to trade.

Later that day as they rinsed clean the beer gourds, Sister asked Indigo if they could sell her big trunk for money to get food and supplies to make more beer. That evening Indigo began to remove the few remaining clothes from the trunk, and her color pencils, notebooks, and gladiolus book. She had room in the two valises to keep what remained. She didn’t need the trunk any longer. It was a fine leather-and-wood brassbound trunk with compartments and many small drawers, which Indigo loved to open and close. She gave it a pat and hoped they could get a lot of food in trade for it.

In a few more weeks they’d have baby peas to eat; Indigo checked their garden every morning to see how many rabbits they’d snared. At the old gardens they used to sleep out with the plants to keep the rabbits away, but here snares seemed to be enough. That morning, though, as Indigo approached she saw at once something had eaten rows and rows of baby pea plants.

Maytha and Vedna shook their heads in unison when Indigo proposed she and her pets sleep down in the garden. This wasn’t the old Sand Lizard gardens, this was Road’s End, where wicked men prowled at night and jumped on sleeping women.

After their morning excursion along the river to look for tidbits, Indigo took the parrot and monkey to the garden. First they checked the rabbit snares; in the beginning they caught two and three rabbits a night, but as the river rose, rabbits were scarce. Birds became the main threat, so Indigo would bundle up her color pencils and notebook, some stale tortillas, and a gourd canteen of water, to guard the plants all day. Old Man Stick, the scarecrow they made out of twigs and horsetail hair, scared the newcomers for a while, but the resident birds perched on Old Man Stick.

Patiently she taught the monkey and parrot to leave alone the garden plants but to pull the weeds. She always stayed with them to be sure they didn’t get confused. Later when they got tired of weeding, they went to the little lean-to for shade and rest. She drew gladiolus flowers of all colors, and sunflowers, even datura flowers.

The gladiolus corms sent up bright green blades that grew far more quickly than the bean sprouts and peas. When Sister and the twins asked what those rows were, Indigo told them it was a surprise.

The water kept rising, creeping closer and closer to the best fields of tall beans and peas; the people banked the soil higher and higher to protect them. One morning when Indigo started down the trail toward the river, Rainbow began to squawk as if he spotted a hawk or eagle. She looked up at the sky first but saw nothing; but as she gazed all around she was shocked to see a bright sheet of water had flooded the riverside fields during the night. She ran back at once to tell the girls the news.

They left off the beer making to come look from the ridge; down below they watched as a group led by the Chemehuevi preacher approached the flooded fields to pray. “How high would the water rise?” Sister wondered out loud. The twins shook their heads. By the following week, more fields were flooded; all the people could do was pull up the wilted plants and boil them for lunch.

Steadily the water advanced, and began to threaten the church and the small, neat houses and gardens. The twins no longer made jokes about their cheap dry land becoming irrigated bottomland. Now Sister came along with the baby on her back when Indigo went to check on the water’s level. Off in the distance they watched the people help one another move their belongings to higher ground. Wagonloads of church pews and Bibles were unloaded on the old floodplain not far from the twins’ house.

The girls went down and pitched in to help unload the wagons. The people did not smile, but they did not object to the girls’ help. Sister leaned the little grandfather’s bundle against a big rock a safe distance away so he could watch her and the others. His black shining eyes took in everything and one look at him made Sister feel so happy — buoyant with overwhelming love she felt for him and so proud of his special qualities. She had never loved anyone so much before; she always wanted to know her ancestors, and now the little grandfather had come to be with her and to love her.

When the wagons were unloaded, the girls politely excused themselves, but their neighbors ignored them. The twins walked in front and Sister and Indigo with the baby on her back followed. No one spoke. Just then they heard a man’s voice call out behind them: the wantonness and drunkenness of them and others had angered God so much he sent this flood!

They turned and suddenly were face-to-face with a short fat Chemehuevi gentleman in a black preacher’s suit and white shirt. The exertion of hurrying after them left him breathless and sweaty across his brow. While he mopped at his forehead and caught his breath he glared at them; they were not really Chemehuevis but Lagunas and didn’t belong there. They were damned, contaminated — a risk to all others.

The twins took off running and the girls followed; even with the baby on her back Sister was a strong runner; Indigo ran beside her. The preacher got winded and when he stopped, so did his congregation.

When they got back to the house, they were cheered to find the yard full of visitors camped for the night. The guests kept their word and spread news of the beer makers up and down the river. The new batch of beer was barely old enough to drink but they filled the gourds for the guests to sample. The guests shared the venison jerky and parched corn they’d brought along.

After the baby and the pets were put to bed, Indigo sat outside with the girls to listen around the campfire to the news the visitors brought. The backwaters from the dam were going to make a giant lake and everything, even this land here, would be flooded. No! other guests disagreed; the water would not come this far, but the Chemehuevi reservation superintendent was going to send the flooded-out families to live on the reservation at Parker. The night was clear and still but cool enough that everyone wrapped themselves in blankets and shawls around the fire.

Indigo didn’t like the smell or taste of the new beer, but Sister and the twins drank along with their guests wholeheartedly; Indigo liked to listen. As the midnight stars rose and fell, they talked and laughed about the old days before the aliens came with the fevers and killed so many. Some who drank too much beer started to cry for loved ones lost.

Indigo didn’t like to hear the crying and arguing that seemed to follow the beer; she was tired and about to excuse herself to go to bed because she knew the monkey and parrot woke early and wanted to go browsing for breakfast. But Vedna brought out her Bible, so Indigo stayed up.

Vedna closed her eyes and turned the Bible around and around in her hands, then opened it with one finger and looked to see what passage her finger touched.

“And this house which Solomon built for the Lord was in length sixty cubits and in width twenty cubits and in height thirty cubits,” she read, then laughed out loud, and Maytha joined her. Soon the visitors joined, and they laughed because the twins barely kept a roof over their own heads, and the Bible asked them to build the Lord a big house. One of the visitors pointed out the last house built for the Lord there was up to its steeple in water, and they laughed some more.

Sister Salt waited for the laughter to pass, then she told them “a house” means a circle of stones, because spirits don’t need solid walls or roofs; but it must have two hearths, not one, to be the Lord’s house. The visitors all looked at her, but no one joked because Sister was serious. The circle of stones must be made at the same place as before on the riverbank below the big sandhill near Needles.

“Too bad for the Lord,” Maytha said. “We can’t go to Needles now. If we leave for even one night, the flooded people will call our place abandoned and move in.”

The conductor commented it was early for so much snow in Flagstaff. The tall pines were blanketed and Hattie shivered though the train compartment was warm. How pure and quiet the snow was, how inviting the forests and the great mountain peaks above the town. The conductor asked if Flagstaff was her stop, and seemed surprised to learn her stop was Needles.

Outside the station at Needles, Hattie saw the buggy and sullen young driver but ignored him and hired a porter with a handcart. The townspeople of Needles took notice of her return; though she’d been in Albuquerque more than six weeks, the stationmaster remembered her, and the hotel desk clerk recognized her and even asked if Mr. Palmer was going to join her later. She sensed at once the clerk was prying, and imagined them all — the stationmaster, the clerk, their wives — exchanging rumors and observations of a white woman traveling alone.

How odd it was to think, only weeks before, Edward signed that hotel register, alive and excited by the prospect of seeing the meteor crater. She felt a melancholy creep from her heart over her body. Human life was woefully short and ended so suddenly; she fought back the tears, aware she was the center of attention.

The porter had to make three trips with his handcart from the station to the hotel. The trunks and boxes of supplies with her own luggage filled every corner of the hotel room. As soon as she was alone, she unpacked the carved gemstones Edward gave her from Bath; if she acted at once the gloom might not overtake her. She unwrapped the lemon carnelian carving of the long-neck waterbird with her chick bright with yellow translucence; the birds appeared almost alive. Carefully she set the bright orange carnelian of Minerva and her snake next to the cloudy chalcedony of the three cattle under the tree. One look at the carvings and Hattie felt the immediate joy their beauty and perfection gave off.

Despite the snow on the tips of the distant mountain peaks, the weather in Needles was mild and dry. After dinner in the hotel dining room she slipped on a light coat for a walk around the small commercial district next to the train station and hotel. She hoped to find a different livery service to take her to Road’s End the next day, but she soon realized in a town that small, she would not find another. She resolved to ask the owner to drive her himself even if she had to pay extra.

She had just crossed the street before the train station when she heard loud laughter and voices; at the end of the dark alley she saw a small fire with four or five figures warming themselves. The instant she heard the voices clearly she knew they were Indians, all women, she thought, by the tones of voice. One started singing and the others joined, and Hattie realized the women were drunk. The twilight was fading to darkness, but she lingered to watch them from a safe distance; how terrible it was to see — had Indigo and her sister lived like this with their mother?

The owner of the livery service charged her extra and sent his hired man to drive her; she recalled then the sullen driver was his son. The hired man stole glances at her and she wondered if the sullen driver had talked about her and the visit to the girls. But she was so happy to be on her way to see Indigo, she scarcely noticed the man.

They reached Road’s End well before dark. Hattie did not want to spend another night on the horsehair mattress or see the expression in the trader and his wife’s eyes, so she directed the driver along the river, then up the old floodplain to the twins’ house. As they drew closer, Hattie felt excited but anxious too — what if her nightmare of the empty house came true?

She was never so happy to hear the parrot’s screech as she was at that instant; a moment later out came Indigo with Linnaeus on her hip and the parrot on her shoulder. Hattie began to wave wildly, but the child paused before she waved back. That hesitation made Hattie anxious. She knew she was an intruder here, but she only planned to drop off the blankets and supplies, perhaps spend a night or two, then return to Needles on the mail wagon.

She wasn’t able to give Indigo a proper hug because of the monkey and parrot but she kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair. She was aware she was being watched and looked up to see the sister with the baby. Indigo’s sister didn’t trust her; that was apparent from the expression on her face.

Once they carried indoors all the parcels and bundles from the wagon, the one-room house was crowded; the tubs of new beer needed the warmth of the house now that the nights were cold. Hattie felt a bit more relaxed as the twins joked about having their own trading post now as they stacked the canned goods and sacks of sugar and flour, onions and potatoes along the walls.

Vedna teased Hattie about forgetting the sack of barley they needed for beer, and they all laughed except Sister. Indigo was delighted to find sacks of millet and sunflower seeds for the parrot, and a big bag of special biscuits for Linnaeus. Indigo unpacked the two new lamps, filled them with oil, and lit them before it was even dark.

Sister sat on her bedroll and nursed the baby while Maytha and Vedna fried up the onions and potatoes Hattie brought with the jackrabbit they found snared that morning.

Hattie waited to tell Indigo about Edward until they’d finished eating and the older girls went outside to smoke. Indigo was bedding Linnaeus and didn’t react to the news but continued to arrange the parrot’s cage. Hattie was embarrassed by the sound of her voice in the little room as she repeated the news of Edward’s death. Indigo looked down and shrugged her shoulders before she looked at Hattie.

“Are you sorry?” Indigo asked.

The question took Hattie by surprise, but she recovered quickly. Yes, she was sorry because Edward once meant a great deal to her. Indigo looked into her eyes as she spoke, and did not blink; she had not thought about Edward since they said good-bye at the train station. The world Edward lived in seemed distant from the world of Road’s End. Indigo recalled the day he gave her Linnaeus and how he showed pictures of parrot jungles and orchid flowers. Except for the big glassy eye of his camera, Indigo thought he wasn’t a bad man.

“Poor thing. I guess he was old,” Indigo said.

Hattie nodded and fought back tears. She was shocked at the awkwardness between them in a matter of only six weeks. What a fool she was! Indigo returned to the life and sister she had before she was taken away to boarding school. Hattie realized, oddly enough, she was the one who no longer had a life to return to. Although they would welcome her, she could not return to her parents’ house.

Hattie looked very tired so Indigo showed her how to make her bed with three of the new blankets — two on the bottom, roll yourself up in the top blanket. When Hattie took her nightgown from the train case, the book of Chinese monkey stories was under it. She held up the book for Indigo to see, and her face lit up with anticipation. She scooted close to Hattie on the blankets and looked down at the page. Now at last she and the child resumed their former ease with each other as she began to read aloud.

Awhile later, Hattie looked over and saw that Indigo was asleep; the girls were sitting near the doorway listening. The twins were curious to know more about the adventures of Monkey and his companions, but Sister Salt said nothing.

The next day Indigo took Hattie along on her morning excursion with the monkey and parrot along the water’s edge. Hattie was saddened at the sight of church steeple rising out of the water. Didn’t anyone ever tell the people here about the lake made by the dam? Indigo shrugged; they told the people the water wouldn’t come that high.

Indigo showed Hattie the sprouts from gladiolus corms; the corms sent up long green blades, but they wouldn’t bloom until after Christmas, when the days got longer.

The beans and black-eyed peas in the girls’ garden looked promising, but even with the amaranth and greens the garden seemed meager. Hattie thought some chickens and goats might be good for the girls, too, or one of those pigs her father raised. She did not want to antagonize Indigo’s sister on her first visit, so she made it short. The following morning Indigo and the twins walked with Hattie to the trading post, where the mail wagon took on passengers or freight for Needles. The mail wagon driver recognized the twins and was friendly enough as he took Hattie’s valise and helped her up into the wagon. The store man and his wife brought out the sacks of mail. They stared past Hattie as if she were invisible, even after she murmured hello to them. The twins whispered to each other and laughed out loud; the storekeeper and his wife stiffened their backs and glared as Indigo started laughing too. The driver clucked to the horses and the wagon creaked, and the harness jingled as they pulled away from Road’s End. Hattie turned on the seat and waved at the girls, who waved back until the wagon went over the hill.

The mail wagon driver was a talkative man who didn’t seem to mind Hattie’s reluctant replies. He asked if she was a missionary of some sort and if she planned to settle around there. He added non-Indians weren’t allowed to reside on the reservations without government permits, and only merchants, missionaries, and schoolteachers could obtain them.

To change the subject Hattie asked about farmland for sale in the area; the driver launched into a long account of locations and prices and availability of irrigation water or wells. If she didn’t mind being around Indians, the cheapest way to go was to lease Indian land from the Indian Bureau. Forty-year leases were cheaper than the ninety-nine-year leases and just as good, with options to renew for another term.

By the next day, the hotel clerk knew about her interest in land, and so did the bank manager when Hattie went to arrange another transfer of funds. The banker had a list of real estate, mostly farmland for sale and for lease, which he would be delighted to show at her convenience. By the end of the week Hattie had received two dinner invitations — from the banker’s wife and the minister’s wife. But before she could respond to the invitations, unsettling news came in a note from the bank. Her bank in New York indicated the amount of the cash transfer she’d requested exceeded the balance in the account.

“But that can’t be!” she said aloud, and began to fumble with the valise that held the account book.

Delena thought she must have reached the edge of the land of the dead or some kind of hell because a terrible howling wind stung her face with grit and dust. When she choked and coughed it hurt so much she knew she wasn’t dead. A moment later big cold raindrops began to slap her face and arms. She heard the dogs stir; they’d been without water longer than she had, and she feared she might lose some of them. Her arms and legs were so stiff they hurt to move, but she managed to roll over on her back. Her lips and tongue were swollen and cracked; at first the raindrops stung. She leaned her head back so the rainwater bathed her dried-up eyes; if eyes dried out too long they were blind forever.

The wind increased with the rain and carried with it grit the size of seed beads, then the size of peas; as the wind’s scream increased even pebbles the size of small acorns were blasted against her, and she felt her clothing about to be torn from her body. Then the deluge came as if someone was dumping water from canteens, then from barrels, and suddenly it was as if a river in the sky cascaded down; even the wind got washed away.

The rainwater ran down her face into her mouth; at first her tongue and throat were so dry she almost choked on the water. Before long she felt rain seep along the ground beneath her, and rolled over to put her lips to the ground to suck the glorious cool water until her thirst was satisfied.

After a while she felt the water rise, up to her ribs, then to her ears. She rolled over again on her side with her legs drawn up, shivering in the cold stream of water. Once moistened, her eyes began to burn; they felt swollen so she did not try to open them; she could wait to find out if she was blind.

When she woke again, a light rain was falling and the dogs were standing over her licking her face; one dog licked her eyes with special vigor, gently using its teeth to remove the matter that caked them. She reached out and felt the crooked legs of the mother dog, the money sniffer. She let the dog saliva work its healing power for a while and then she had to find out.

It was so dark at first she feared she was blind; then she realized it was only dawn, and the storm clouds covered the rising sun. Gradually she could make out light and darkness in the sky, but the light hurt and caused tears to stream down her cheeks. Still she could make out forms — all seven dogs were there and she could see the motion of their tails as they wagged to greet her. “Well we made it, after all, didn’t we?” she said, but was shocked at the croaking sound she made when she spoke.

All morning she and the dogs rested, getting up only to drink water from the standing pools; she tried not to open her eyes unless it was to see what little rodent the dogs caught. After the rain, the desert creatures all came out and the dogs made short work of any cottontails or rats they saw. She let them have the first three or four before she took a rabbit for herself; by that time the sun dried the grass and twigs enough she was able to kindle a fire; she was so hungry; she didn’t care who saw the smoke. A big man needed more water so her pursuer was probably dead before the rain came.

Delena and the dogs stayed as long as there were puddles of water, and she filled all the water bags while the water was fresh and plentiful and saved it for the journey. The dogs and she alternately rested and hunted rabbits and birds for the first few days, but as she and the money-sniffer dog regained their strength, she took the dog to the soggy pile of dog packs and the wet cloth of the bundles she’d opened as gifts to welcome the storm clouds. The fierce winds took away all the cards of both decks and all the currency; bless the silver and the gold coins, they sank in the wet dirt but stayed put even in the driving rain and runoff.

A short distance away, wedged tightly between two rocks, was one of the Mexican tarot cards, terribly curled as it dried out. This will be the last reading of my poor cards, she thought as she leaned down to pick it up. She was encouraged to see it was La Estrella, the Star, companion and guide, the one who brought the rain. She found another card stuck in prickly pear needles — El Tambor, the Drum; its dicho, “Don’t crinkle the old leather, I want it for my drum,” made her think of the father of the Sand Lizard girl’s baby; now he was wrinkled up and dead for lack of water. The Sand Lizard girl didn’t want to be married to him anyway.

A short distance from the card the dog sniffed out a $20 bill blown around the spiny base of the ocotillo, which wore small holes in the paper. Nearby the dog sniffed out two $5 bills. The storm winds swept the money and cards ahead of the storm in the direction of the mountains they’d come from. She and the dog searched every day, and by the time the pools of rainwater began to dry up, the dog had found all but $40 of the cash. She was not so lucky herself finding the cards, which were too stiff to snag on branches and rocks the way the currency did. She found the Deer, the Mandolin, and the Soldier, but not even one of the Gypsy cards. When she studied the cards, the appearance of the Soldier card with the Deer persuaded her the fat man was still alive. Oh well, he wouldn’t be in any condition to trouble her for a while.

The rainstorm left large pools of standing water all the way to Tucson. They kept to the dry washes and game trails to avoid soldiers and other criminals who might endanger the cash the dogs carried. Delena had not seen the desert so green in early autumn. Wild amaranth sprouted in stands as tall as she was in some places in the washes. The rains brought newborn rabbits and rats, so she and the dogs ate well too. Still, she was relieved to reach the safe house in Tucson to eat beans, red chile, and tortillas after so many little roasted rodents.

♦ ♦ ♦

The big baked ham had a thick shell of honey sugar glaze garnished with small garnet cranberries and fat brown raisins. All around the ham, side dishes brimmed with baby peas in butter cream sauce, candied yams in apple butter, baked pears in lemongrass pudding, and black-eyed peas in ham gravy, and a platter of biscuits puffy and light as clouds flanked with little dishes of strawberry, blueberry, and raspberry preserves.

There was no one in the room to serve him, but the ham was sliced and he was about to fill his plate when he realized what he really wanted was a drink of water; but the fine crystal goblets above his plate were empty. He circled the table but found no water or wine, which annoyed him enough that he opened the door.

Before him was a much larger room, a wonderful dining hall with high ceilings and big bay windows with snowy mountain peaks in the distance. The great long table was laden with racks of lamb and veal, a pheasant and a suckling pig, platters of crab legs and lobsters still hot, casseroles of wild rice, baby onions in walnuts, green beans with corn, and squash with pine nuts. Loaves and braids of bread — sweet fig bread, apple bread, zucchini bread, and spicy rolls — surrounded fruit pies and cream pies, and towering cakes iced in whipped cream and chocolate fudge.

The odors of the food were sublime but he could find no wine or water or coffee anywhere on the great table; now his hunger was exceeded only by his thirst. The snow out the windows looked so inviting! He would gladly forgo the tables of luscious food for a handful of snow, and looked for another door out of the room; but the only door led back to the smaller dining room. He would have to smash the bay window and find a rope or way to let himself down to the ground some twenty feet below.

He kicked the glass and was shocked to see the fragments splash and rain down like water; he tore loose a thick green velvet panel of drapery and tied it to the window frame before he let himself down to the ground. It was freezing cold outside but the stony ground was dry; he could find no snow, and he could not control the shivering.

The last he remembered was the animated voices in a heated discussion louder than the drumming he heard; they talked about him. The Africans and the Indians — all his ancestors argued whether they should bring him home or let him stay longer. He didn’t remember his ancestors or care about their feelings; yes, he was a good boy and loved his mama, but once a grown man he wasn’t worth a damn except for moneymaking. He didn’t remember the ancestors with even one drop of liquor or even corn pollen or a plug of tobacco. He abandoned the little grandfather, his son, to chase after money. That’s how he got himself in this predicament in the first place — so crazy over the money he didn’t carry enough water. Any human that weak might as well be dead.

Candy was saddened at the unfairness of the spirits, who seemed not to know that these days money was necessary to buy one’s freedom day after day. Part of the stolen money belonged to Sister Salt; he always intended to return it to her. He was the one who assured her the safe was better than a hole in the ground. His eyes would not open anymore, and he could hardly swallow; but he spoke to them silently: If it was too late to save him, what were they arguing over? He had almost crossed over and was relieved to be finished — life was certainly more difficult than death. The voices ignored him; maybe he wasn’t as far gone as he hoped.

No one was going to come along with water in time to save him — with the last of his strength he pulled the shotgun up beside his face. Now the drumming was so loud it deafened him and he no longer heard the voices; he felt the gusts of wind grow stronger until tiny pebbles stung his face and hands.

At first he feared the odor of rain in the wind was another hallucination, but a crash of lightning and thunder shook the ground beneath him.

He drank and drank, then tore a rag from his shirt for a wet compress on his eyes; it seemed like he slept for days before he drank enough water to need to urinate. After the storm passed, the sun came out and warmed him. He drank but oddly he wasn’t hungry; he recalled the strange mountain dining hall tables of food without any desire for it. Instead he lay on his belly, his back to the sun for hours as he looked into the clear shallow pool of rainwater that collected on the flat stones. How magical water was — shifting its form endlessly, embracing the sunlight with little rainbows above its surface.

He was grateful his kidneys weren’t damaged by the long thirst. During his army years he heard stories of agonizing death — burns, impalement, and poisons — but dying of thirst in the desert haunted all the troops. Now he had to agree; he got so weak toward the end he couldn’t even lift the shotgun or pull its trigger. Gradually he regained his strength; when he pulled himself up to lean against a boulder, his denim pants slipped down around his knees. He looked down at himself and realized the past weeks and then these last days had whittled him away; he felt himself and found only skin and bones.

He was dozing when the odor of horseshit woke him; when he pulled the damp rag from his eyes he saw blurred blue outlines but there was no mistaking the rifles; he was surrounded by soldiers. They had orders to find a black soldier AWOL from Fort Huachuca. Candy told them his name and where he came from; the sergeant listened but was not convinced. They’d tracked him from Tonopah after reports a black man stopped there. Candy pointed out he was too old to be the man they sought, but they handcuffed and loaded him onto a mule anyway.

He asked for food and they gave him hardtack — as much as he wanted; the flat hard biscuits tasted far better than he remembered from his army days. Later when they camped for the night, they brought fried salt pork, but after a few mouthfuls he felt his stomach turn, and he was able to finish only the hardtack and boiled coffee. They took the long way around; all the way to Tucson he tried to eat the fried salt pork they offered him, but the mountain ordeal weakened his stomach, and all he could tolerate was hardtack and flapjacks.

♦ ♦ ♦

Indigo marked a dot in her notebook for each day that passed after Hattie left, but even when there were forty-six dots, there was no sign of Hattie. Sister Salt stole a peek over her shoulder and realized she was counting days until the white woman returned. Didn’t Indigo remember how white people came, claimed they’d stay, but then later they were gone?

Sister hoped the woman never came back; yes, she was kind to Indigo and generous to all of them. But Sister felt uneasy whenever the woman came around; she knew the woman thought about taking Indigo away for good — she could tell by the expression in Hattie’s eyes whenever she looked at Indigo.

Before she left on the mail wagon, Hattie promised Indigo to write in care of the trading post if she was delayed. Indigo wanted to see if there was a letter. The weather was changing; it was overcast and windy that morning, and Sister didn’t want to take the baby out in the dust. But Maytha and Vedna came along with Indigo to buy more sugar to make beer.

The trader’s wife barely skimmed the surface of the bushel basket where mail for the Indians was kept, but said Indigo had no mail. Indigo knew Hattie preferred small fancy sheets of paper with small matching envelopes, which might easily slip to the bottom of the basket. Indigo stayed put in front of the counter, and after a while the trader himself asked if there was something else she wanted.

“I know she was going to write,” Indigo said.

“Oh. Her,” the trader said and shook his head. He looked at Maytha and Vedna, who held sacks of sugar, waiting patiently for Indigo.

“Someone better tell the girl. Those society women come out from back east, interfere, and then they leave and never write.” He turned his back to them and shoved the basket of mail back in its corner. Indigo’s heart pounded so loudly she hardly noticed Maytha’s hand around hers; she didn’t cry until they stepped out into the dust and grit driven by the cold gusts of wind.

When the girls returned from the trading post, Sister saw streaks down Indigo’s cheeks, where fine dust stuck to the tears. Despite the monkey’s somersaults and the parrot’s screeches to be let out, Indigo went straight to her bed. Sister was so angry at that white woman tears filled her eyes, and she could not stop herself.

“She’s not coming back!” Sister used a loud whisper not to disturb the little grandfather’s nap. Both twins nodded solemnly at Indigo.

“She’s really nice—”

“She’s really generous, too,” Vedna interrupted.

“But the thing is, Indigo—”

“She wasn’t lying—”

“No! She means well, poor thing.”

Sister Salt angrily shook her head. Maytha and Vedna hurriedly wrapped themselves in their shawls and took the axes to go cut kindling above the riverbank while the sisters worked things out. They were expecting guests later that evening and the twins didn’t want the party spoiled with arguments or tears from Sand Lizard girls.

Indigo sat up on her blankets; the little grandfather was wide awake, propped up in his bundle, listening and watching everything. Good, Indigo thought, let him see how his mother-granddaughter repays the kindness and generosity of a stranger.

“I notice you eat the food she brought; you see by the light of the lamps and oil she brought,” Indigo said.

“You sound like a white girl! Listen to yourself!”

“Listen yourself! You’re the one! You hurt feelings without a second thought just like white people!”

Indigo watched the little grandfather’s eyes move from one to the other as they argued, but could not tell whose side he was on. Sister said even if Hattie came back this time, and the next time, someday she wouldn’t come back.

How do you know?

Stories Grandma told, about a long time ago. People worked for the Mexicans for money, and bought their food and clothing. For years these people were wealthy, but one day the Apaches came and killed all the Mexicans and took all the sheep and the goods. The people who got rich working for the Mexicans began to get hungry. Crops were meager that year so the people with corn traded a handful of corn for a handful of silver coins; before long the rich were poor like everyone else.

As Indigo listened she realized her sister was right; Hattie couldn’t live there and she couldn’t come month after month or year after year. Grandma Fleet did use to warn them to remember other locations of water and places of shelter, just in case something happens — as it happened to Mama, or to Grandma Fleet, who didn’t wake up.

The baby did not seem to mind but the argument upset the monkey and parrot; it was too windy to take them outside, so she let them out of their cages to quiet their noise. Sister Salt frowned but said nothing as long as Indigo stayed right there with them to stop any mischief. Sister was afraid the pets might bite or scratch the baby, but Indigo was confident they wouldn’t harm him. She could not be so sure about the tubs of new beer — both the parrot and monkey liked to perch on the rims of the tubs, and she caught the parrot nibbling at the orchids on the window ledge.

Fortunately she stopped Rainbow before much damage was done — he peeled some green skin from two or three leaf tips. The orchids became everyone’s favorites because they put out fragrant white-winged blossoms for weeks since the fall equinox, just like Edward promised. They had survived Indigo’s anger — tossed and dumped from their pots — and even neglect; their stick-shaped leaves stored water like a cactus, and the flowers lasted weeks.

How strange to think these small plants traveled so far with so many hazards, yet still thrived while Edward died. Grandma Fleet was right — compared to plants and trees, humans were weak creatures. Indigo wondered how Grandma’s apricot trees were. The shallow sandstone cave at the spring above the old gardens was a perfect place to keep the orchids when the hot weather came next year.

She had been thinking of the old gardens more and more. She didn’t tell Sister or the twins, but the other day, while she and her pets were weeding the garden and keeping the birds off, two or three of their flooded-out neighbors came and began to pace off the perimeters of the garden and set marker stones at each corner. A few days later the Indian preacher from the flooded church came with some others to look at the new fields planted next to theirs. The Indian preacher looked right at Indigo and even from a distance she saw his anger. Of course their beans and peas were already blossoming, and their amaranth was tall, while the crops in the new fields had barely sprouted. The twins said it didn’t matter that the flooded people planted late because white churchpeople sent them a wagonload of food once a month.

Maytha and Vedna returned around sundown after the wind died down; not long after, the guests began to arrive with their bedrolls and bundles of firewood. The little grandfather was awake and Sister asked Indigo to watch him on his blanket while she helped the twins serve gourds of beer outside. As it got dark, Linnaeus curled up next to Indigo on her blankets and Rainbow climbed on top of his cage and tucked his head under his wing to sleep.

The argument with Sister left Indigo exhausted. She did not remember falling asleep, but when she woke the sun had been up for a while but so had Linnaeus and Rainbow. She forgot to shut them in their cages before she fell asleep and now both of them were gone. Indigo could see where the monkey played with the empty beer gourds and the parrot chewed off the gourd rims soaked with beer. They found her notebook and scattered her color pencils, but none were chewed. The orchids on the window ledge were untouched.

Sister was asleep with the little grandfather in her arms, and the twins slept outside with the guests, but Indigo woke them. Had they seen the monkey and the parrot? No. They rolled over again — even Sister didn’t care.

She walked among the sleeping guests and the campfire burned down to white ash but saw no trace of them. If only the weather had been colder, they would not have wandered out of the house. She felt the panic rise up her spine. Linnaeus would be killed by the neighbors’ dogs, and poor Rainbow torn apart by an eagle or a hawk. She had to find them fast.

Indigo ran to the garden. Around the pea plants she found parrot-shredded remains of pea pods, and neatly opened bean pods — the work of the monkey fingers — all freshly picked; good thing the girls didn’t come down to the garden very often. They left the garden to Indigo now that they had guests nearly every night.

The parrot and the monkey were probably in the amaranth now because it was tall and thick enough to hide them; she called their names as she waded into the thick stands, shoulder high in some places. The amaranth grew all the way to the back boundary of the field where they set their horsehair snares for rabbits; maybe she’d find them trapped. But the web-like snares were empty, and her heart began to pound in her chest as she realized the two had gone into their neighbors’ gardens, where the plants were smaller and more tender.

As she stepped over the low sandy ridge that formed the boundary, she saw the damage at once. Limp, wilted pea and bean plants were strewn all around; in the rows of beans closest to the road she spotted them side by side; the monkey had both fists full of baby plants; the parrot worked rapidly, tasted only the tendrils, then dropped the rest. The monkey picked the seedlings more carefully and ate all but the roots.

“No!” she called out. “Stop that!” They both looked at her calmly and went on with their feast until she reached them. Linnaeus looked up at her with big eyes and extended a fist full of bean seedlings to her, and Rainbow waddled over and grabbed hold of the hem of her dress with his beak to climb onto her until she lifted him to her shoulder. They were so dear; she loved them so much, she couldn’t bear to scold them; how could they know these plants belonged to the neighbors?

Quickly she removed all the evidence she found — torn plant remains and any parrot and monkey tracks she saw. She looked around but saw no one and hurried back to the house; she hoped the neighbors would blame ground squirrels or sparrows for the missing seedlings.

♦ ♦ ♦

Hattie did not intend to stay in Albuquerque so long, but there was little the bank officers there could do, except advise her to contact her New York bank directly. Though she was low on funds she hired a lawyer, Mr. Maxwell, to make sense of what the bank had done when Edward over-drafted the line of credit. Mr. Maxwell was an older man, whose announcement that he was a widower left Hattie feeling uncomfortable, especially after he sent a dinner invitation to the hotel.

The wait for a reply from the bank in New York left her sleepless with anxiety; she never bothered to ask about liability if the line of credit were somehow exceeded. At the time of the wedding her parents quarreled over the sum released from the family trust; her mother wanted to retain half the sum until the birth of a child, but her father’s generosity prevailed. The remainder of the trust was just enough to see her parents through. How clearly she recalled her father’s pride as he persuaded her mother Hattie was a bright educated young woman who deserved to dispose of her legacy as she saw fit. Oh misplaced trust! Her father’s and hers!

As the weeks passed, she regretted her promise to Indigo. She could not get back to Road’s End in thirty days as she thought; a dozen letters and telegrams were sent and received over the bank account.

It was much colder now in Albuquerque and she wished for the warm boots and clothing she’d left behind when she moved from New York. She waited until the sun warmed the air around midday for her walks down Central Avenue; fragrant piñon fires scented the crisp air; she hoped Indigo and the girls had enough firewood. Road’s End was much farther south and at a lower elevation, so the winter was milder. The hotel clerk commented it usually wasn’t that cold in early December.

Most days it was too cold to walk all the way to the old town square and the church, but now she slipped in the back of the church behind the pews to warm herself. She passed the holy water font by the door, and ignored the crucified Jesus in the center of the altar; instead she stood in the alcove with the statue of Mary with the baby Jesus in her arms. How false they seemed after the terra-cotta madonnas in Laura’s black garden. My Mother, my Spirit—words from the old Gnostic gospels sprang into her mind. She who is before all things, Grace, Mother of Mythic Eternal Silence—after months in the oblivion of its shallow grave, her thesis spoke to her. Incorruptible Wisdom, Sophia, the material world and the flesh are only temporary — there are no sins of the flesh, spirit is everything!

Though she declined his invitation to dinner, the lawyer worked diligently on her behalf. Since her loan was secured by Edward’s interest in the meteor ore venture, Mr. Maxwell, the lawyer, suggested they go to the crater to see for themselves what the mine might be worth. Hattie was adamant about avoiding any contact with the Australian doctor, and the lawyer assured her he would take care of everything.

The train arrived in Winslow in a snowstorm the morning before Christmas. While Hattie got settled in her room, Mr. Maxwell made inquiries around town and learned the Australian doctor had not been seen for weeks. He left behind two small crates of rocks, which the hotel manager seized for the unpaid balance the doctor owed.

It became her practice to first unpack the box of carved gemstones to arrange them on a bureau or bedside table where she could see them. Given the least backlight, the gems had an almost magical translucence. How she envied the timeless space they occupied while mortals stumbled along in disgrace. She was weeks late to see poor Indigo! If the lawyer was encouraged by what they saw at the meteor mine site, Hattie planned to try to sell her entire interest to him for a modest sum — enough to provide for Indigo and to take her to England to Aunt Bronwyn.

Christmas morning was sunny, but as the snow melted, the roads in and around Winslow became nearly impassable. They were the only guests in the hotel dining room for Christmas dinner, but the hotel manager and staff were quite hospitable; perhaps they hoped Hattie or the lawyer might want the crates of rocks and pay the bill.

The following morning Mr. Maxwell hired a buggy complete with a heavy wool rug to cover them during the drive to the meteor crater. The snow was not deep but transformed the plain and the low hills and mesas beyond. The view from the crater rim dizzied Hattie, and the sharp winding trail into its depths unsettled Hattie’s stomach and gave her a headache. What had Edward’s last letter said about a meteorite fragment buried as if it were a baby? She wished she had stayed at the hotel — too much of Edward and the Australian were still here.

No one seemed to be at the mine site at the bottom of the crater. After a brief inspection of the machinery, Mr. Maxwell doubted much of the money went toward the purchase of new mining equipment. The only new piece of equipment was a giant spring-loaded cutter used to slice open the meteor irons; beneath the heavy sharp blade Hattie saw piles of fragments left over from poor meteor irons guillotined to reveal any diamonds or precious metals. Nearby, other crates of meteor irons awaited the blade.

The mud and standing water at the bottom of the crater lapped at the edge of the wagon road. The drilling rig and other equipment looked old and poorly maintained; Mr. Maxwell pointed out the hoses and pumps and speculated the shaft constantly flooded. While he walked around the ramshackle tents and shed, Hattie directed the driver to load the two crates of meteor irons into the buggy.

Mr. Maxwell gave her his assessment on the drive back to Winslow: except for the cutter, the equipment was nearly worthless, and the mining lease devalued by the seepage, which must be pumped constantly to keep the shaft dry. He thought he would be able to sell the cutter and the other equipment to cover his fees and her expenses thus far, with some money to get her on her way — but that was all.

Mr. Maxwell expressed concern about her plan to go to Needles; it wasn’t safe for a woman to travel alone out here. He wanted her to return to Albuquerque.

Nonsense! She’d been traveling alone for months quite safely.

After Mr. Maxwell departed, Hattie asked to see the rocks left behind by the Australian doctor. As she suspected, they were meteor irons, and despite her limited funds, she paid the hotel bill to get them.

At the depot in Needles the crates of meteor irons proved too heavy for the luggage cart even for the short trip around the corner to the hotel. The station attendant went for help, and to Hattie’s discomfort, returned with the sullen young man and his buggy. She gave the station man a dollar to send the crates and her valises ahead — she preferred to walk.

The hotel desk clerk appeared surprised to see her again; he handed her a letter that arrived weeks before from her father. The desk clerk asked she pay for the week in advance, which seemed odd until she realized the banker or the telegraph clerk alerted the others to her financial difficulties. After he struggled to bring the crates, her valises, and the trunks of supplies, she tipped the bellman a half-dollar to dampen the rumors about her insolvency.

Her father’s letter brought her to tears. He begged her to come home to them; they loved her so much and they were so proud of her no matter what anyone might say. They both were getting on in years and one day the house and land would be hers — she might as well come live there now. He knew about Edward’s overdrafts on her bank account from Colin, who was executor of Edward’s estate. She mustn’t worry — it was only money. Please come home.

She put the letter on the bed, and unpacked the little box with the carved gemstones. She held up each one to enjoy the play of light through the chalcedony and carnelian. She arranged them on the night table with Minerva and her snake flanked by the three white cattle and the waterbird and her chick.

No, she’d rather wander naked as Isaiah for years in the wilderness than go back to Oyster Bay to endure the stares and the expressions of sympathy. She refused to serve as the living example to frighten young girls judged too fond of studies or books.

♦ ♦ ♦

The Sand Lizard sisters packed up and left Road’s End after a guest revealed the flooded minister had contacted the Chemehuevi reservation superintendent about unauthorized Indians living at Road’s End.

The twins didn’t want them to go, but Sister and Indigo knew if they stayed there’d be trouble; they didn’t belong there. The twins lied for them, and told everyone the Sand Lizard sisters returned to the reservation at Parker. The day they took the mail wagon to Needles, they covered the cages with a tarp and hid themselves, crouched down in the deep bed of the freight wagon. Linnaeus and Rainbow both sat solemnly in their cages as if they understood their garden crimes had contributed to the trouble.

The twins stayed to care for the garden and assert their rightful ownership of the land their old auntie sold them. Their flooded neighbors wanted that land for gardens to feed themselves. The twins didn’t blame the neighbors; good farmland was in short supply. But Maytha and Vedna had to eat too. They paid old auntie two hundred silver dollars, and they had proof.

No one lived on the riverbank south of Needles after that winter the soldiers and Indian police broke up the dance for the Messiah. The driver of the mail wagon was kind enough to stop south of town to let them off and even helped unload the cages and some of the bundles. Sister showed Indigo the very same hearthstones they’d used before with Mama and Grandma.

While the weather was still dry, they got busy building. They used sturdy pieces of crates and other scrap lumber they found in the town dump, which was full of useful materials. Of course the Mojaves and Walapais and others who lived around Needles searched the dump every day too. The girls didn’t find any large pieces of tin, but they patiently pounded tin cans flat, and with nails they pulled out of the old lumber, they were able to cover the scrap lumber entirely with tin.

On the shortest day of the year a big storm came with much rain and even sleet and hail to test the lean-to they built on the riverbank. The wind whined and the wood creaked and groaned and the rain and sleet whipped against the walls; it wasn’t snug like the little stone house at Road’s End, but it kept them dry.

They stuffed the cracks with Indigo’s stockings and arranged their bundles and Indigo’s remaining valises against the thin walls for added warmth and protection. They all huddled together — the girls and baby with the monkey and parrot — wrapped in the good blankets Hattie gave them.

Sister felt a little regretful for the mean feeling and thoughts she’d had about the white woman who was so generous to her sister and her. They’d been so busy packing their last week at Road’s End, Indigo didn’t have time to check at the trading post for letters.

The morning after the storm, the girls woke to the sound of dozens of crows calling from the bare white branches of the cottonwood trees along the river. The girls were overjoyed; the Messiah and his family must be on their way! They drank the last of the coffee as they discussed the preparations that must be made.

Later they took turns carrying the little grandfather, who watched intently as the sand over the stones was brushed away and missing stones replaced in the big circle that formed the spirit house of the Lord.

More crows still had to come, and of course the girls had to get people to come dance or the Messiah and his family could not appear. Once the stones of the circle were in place, the girls began to gather firewood. On days the mail wagon went south, they watched for Chemehuevi people going as far as Road’s End; a girl about their age agreed to get this message to the twins: The first crows have arrived.

While the girls scoured the riverbank for snags of driftwood under the tamarisks and willows closest to the river, the racket of the crows accompanied them. Linnaeus clung to Indigo’s side until he saw some plant delicacy and slid to the ground; now that Rainbow’s wing feathers had grown out, he flew ahead to reach plant sprouts ahead of the monkey. Indigo recalled how the crows in Aunt Bronwyn’s garden welcomed her and Rainbow, and again in Italy the crows reminded her the Messiah and his family were not far away. Sister didn’t say anything; from her expression Indigo saw she didn’t believe her.

“Maybe those were a different kind of crow,” Sister said. They stopped to rest on the sandy bank in the sunshine. Sister unbundled the little grandfather from the shawl on her back and spread it over the ground so he could crawl. Indigo shook her head slowly; no, it was true; she’d seen for herself. In a little town the people gathered to pray and the Messiah’s Mother showed herself on a stone wall.

Sister made no comment as she offered her arm so the little grandfather could steady himself as he tried to pull himself up. Now the monkey and parrot rejoined them; Linnaeus was fascinated by the baby, but Rainbow only wanted to chew the edge of the blanket they were sitting on.

Indigo described the old stones Aunt Bronwyn cared for in her gardens; these stones used to move and to talk until the churchgoers smashed them. Sister nodded; she believed that. One night the stones even called Hattie out of her bed and she woke up in the garden! Sister laughed and Indigo joined her. Grandma Fleet knew stones that played tricks! Remember the stone that sweats and the other that urinates? They laughed again.

Indigo said in England there were a great many Christ Churches but the Messiah and his family seemed to travel most of the time. Sister nodded. That was because so many greedy and cruel people did damage only the Messiah could repair. Trouble was in so many places, he had to travel constantly, and so did the Mother of God, who often went to help alone.

The warm sunshine felt so good after the cold weather that followed the big storm; Sister stretched out on the blanket and the baby crawled up on her chest and pulled at her dress for a breast until she unbuttoned and gave him one, then lay back to stare up at the sky. Indigo described the stone figures, half man and half horse or bull, hidden in shady green woods, and how they startled her and Hattie. There was even a giant head of a woman who kept baby snakes in her hair. Sister was interested but not shocked: Grandma Fleet always said humans were capable of sex with anything and on rare occasions these strange creatures were born. The stone figures were proof of the strange offspring.

The wind came up and small puffy clouds began to move across the sky; the baby was asleep with her nipple half out of his mouth, so Sister gently laid him on the blanket beside her and buttoned up.

Indigo told Sister about the gardens. All flowers? Nothing to eat? Yes, like the little flower gardens in front of houses in Needles. Only their friend Laura had big, big gardens — one was all black flowers, black gladiolus Laura raised herself. The black flowers honored the first mothers — half human, half bird, half bear, half snake, their clay figures carefully placed in little spirit houses in the black garden. Best of all was the rain garden of sand and tall succulents; their spikes of yellow, orange, and red flowers towered above the snake girls with basins on their laps to call the rain.

The sun moved around and left them in the shade and it got chilly. Sister sat up, her face bright with enthusiasm; Grandma Fleet always said snake girls and bird mothers were everywhere in the world, not just here!

News traveled up and down the river about the return of the crows and the encampment near Needles. People came from up and down the river; some Paiutes claimed no one told them about the camp but a big flock of crows led them south as they had before, when the soldiers attacked the holy family and the dancers. Soon small campsites with lean-tos of willows and cottonwood branches appeared on the riverbank not far from the sisters’ tin shack.

Flocks of crows continued to arrive; the leafless cottonwoods were black with them roosting. They scavenged for oats and milo in the freshly harvested fields the white farmers had along the river.

Sister Salt brought out the practice baskets she made at Road’s End, and pronounced them good enough to sell to tourists off the trains. She didn’t want the baby around the strangers and left Indigo and her pets to watch the little grandfather while she went to the station. As long as the weather stayed dry, the tourists got off the trains during the stop, and each day Sister sold all the baskets she brought.

With her turkey, dog, and turtle baskets set out on the ground in front of her, Sister waited with the other Indian women on the driveway next to the station platform. Now the stationmaster barred the Indians from the passenger platform, but allowed them on the driveway for the amusement of the passengers who liked to photograph the Indians and their crafts. While she waited, Sister worked the damp yucca strips into turkey figures because those baskets always sold out first.

All morning, though, even before the train from the east arrived, Sister had an odd feeling of worry and sadness despite everything going along so well since their move from Road’s End. The train from the west was due, but its passengers usually bought less than the easterners, so Sister packed up her remaining baskets and went home early.

Even before she reached their shack, she could see a pile of bundles outside so she was not surprised to find Maytha and Vedna inside; but she was surprised to find Indigo with tears streaming down her face even as she gently bounced the little grandfather on her lap. Sister greeted the twins, then asked Indigo what was wrong.

Tears welled up in Indigo’s eyes and she looked at Maytha and Vedna.

“They took away your land?”

“Not yet!”

“Well why’s she crying?”

The twins seemed hesitant. It was something about the white woman, wasn’t it? They nodded. She’d been found wandering naked and dazed beside the road near Topock, at the northern edge of the Chemehuevi reservation. The twins heard about it from a guest at the beer-sampling party. The guest, an off-duty Indian policeman, said someone had beaten her head with a rock, then left her for dead beside the road. They later found the place it happened — her luggage was dumped and rifled and scattered in the ditch. Blond hairs and crusted blood were found on the heavy iron rock her attacker used; they found other, similar iron rocks nearby, dumped and scattered from small wooden crates.

“She must have been coming to Road’s End,” Maytha said, “because they found sacks of flour and sugar torn open—”

“Even fresh things like bacon and apples—”

“Wasted! Dumped out on the ground!”

Sister knelt next to Indigo and put her arms around her while the little grandfather grabbed hold of her and crawled into her lap to nuzzle her breasts.

“There, there, little sister, don’t cry. We’ll pray for your friend.”

♦ ♦ ♦

She was frozen in the gray ice swirling around her head; it drilled into her skull until she screamed, but hands pinned her arms and a sharp weight pressed her flat until she lost consciousness. Later she woke to the taste of blood; her tongue and lips were bitten and bleeding. How did this happen? What sort of dream was this where the pain only increased as she woke? She slipped back from the pain into the comfort of the dim gray light and did not try to surface again for a long time.

Later she woke in the sand beside a road with a crushing pain in her skull so terrible she could not see clearly at first. She attempted to stand but the pain and dizziness brought her to her knees. The sun overhead warmed her, and after a while she was able to stand but the pain made her vomit, and she went only a few steps before she sat down by the road to wait for help.

Indians found her. She remembered that. Had she managed to walk a bit farther down the road? Men and women approached, then dropped their rakes and hoes to run to help her. From the shocked expressions on their faces, she realized she must look terrible. It wasn’t until one of the Indian women wrapped a piece of cloth around her shoulders that she realized she was naked. She felt something warm running down the back of her head, and when she reached back to touch it, fresh blood smeared her hand. She felt hard crusts matted in her hair. One of the women spoke English and told her not to be afraid, they would take her to their house and send for help. They steadied her between them as they slowly walked; even then the pain and dizziness caused her to stumble and she had to vomit again. They helped her down to a soft pile of blankets and quilts, where she sank into the gray light again.

Later the women helped her into a blue gingham dress much too large for her before the men lifted her into the back of an old wagon they filled with blankets and quilts. The wagon went slowly enough, but even the least bump sent fiery pain through her skull, so she had to hold it tight in both hands.

When the wagon finally stopped and she opened her eyes, she saw the familiar downtown storefronts of Needles. As soon as the deputy sheriff came out, the store clerk, bank teller, and others gathered around the wagon to stare. Another deputy helped carry her from the wagon to the barber’s chair.

As he gently snipped the hair from around the wound, the barber explained he’d studied medicine for two years in Philadelphia; the nearest doctor was in Kingman. She was lucky to be alive because her skull was cracked. The alcohol stung and ran into both her ears as he flushed the wound of dirt. The barber and his wife kindly offered a cot in their pantry until she got back on her feet. The barber offered to send a telegram to her family but she felt too dizzy and weak to reply.

For three days Hattie slept, waking only to drink water or use the chamber pot. On the fifth day her appetite returned and she ate a bowl of potato soup. Later the barber’s wife heated water for a bath; as soon as she sat in the warm water she felt the other wounds her attacker inflicted, and tears of anger filled her eyes. She found so much sand with weeds in her clothes she put on the blue gingham dress again.

Her rescuers had gathered up what they could of the scattered clothing and belongings, but the little wooden box with the carved gemstones were gone. In a way, the loss of the carvings was worse than the outrage done to her body; she had no recollection of that, but her anguish over the carvings grew by the hour. The gemstones were perfect and beautiful, yes, but in their presence Hattie felt cherished in the way her father loved her. Now they were gone.

She cried so bitterly the piercing pain returned to her head and made her vomit; the barber gave her laudanum, which dulled the pain. The low ceiling of the pantry resembled a tomb. She was sorry she survived the attack — how much easier death would be than this.

The deputy came to make the report the next day. She was careful to move her head slowly and to answer his questions slowly or the pounding pain in her skull came back. The last thing she could remember was checking into the hotel from the train station the day she arrived; she lost all memory of the day of the attack. The deputy asked if there were other injuries beside the blow to the head, and Hattie could tell by the deputy’s averted eyes he wanted to know if she’d been raped. She hesitated, then nodded, but she didn’t cry; she didn’t feel anything.

The deputy did not look up from his report.

“All your money and other valuables were taken?”

She nodded, then as she described the little box of carved gemstones, tears filled her eyes.

Though she could not remember, it seemed obvious she was on her way to Road’s End the day of her attack. Surely the desk clerk at the hotel remembered who drove her — after all, she checked out that morning with a good many bundles and all her luggage. The deputy kept writing. At last he looked up, and promised to get back to her after his investigation.

The deputy completed his inquiry in one afternoon. The desk clerk recalled her checking out but neither he nor the bell captain saw her leave the lobby. Hattie was incredulous — the hotel staff would have had to help load all her luggage and the crates of meteor irons. The deputy looked her in the eyes: the livery stable had no record of a fare from the hotel on the day of her attack.

“But that can’t be!” she cried as she realized the townspeople protected one another. The deputy said the case would be left open for one year from the date of her attack; any new information she might have as her memory returned should be submitted to his office.

So this was how it was done in Needles, California — it wasn’t terribly different from the way it was done in Boston. Now it was clear to her, she could never return to her former life among the lies. She had to leave at once.

The barber’s wife was kind enough to wash and iron her clothes, but Hattie insisted on wearing the blue gingham dress even when she slept. The woman tried to persuade Hattie people would think her strange if she continued to wear the dress — a squaw dress — much too large for her. When Hattie made no reply, the woman warned if she wore that dress around town, it wouldn’t help matters.

“What matters?”

“You and the Indians,” she replied. “People here don’t welcome outsiders who meddle.” She looked away from Hattie. A new Indian encampment started down along the river about a week ago; her attacker was probably one of them, full of green beer.

Hattie was so happy to learn of the encampment, she ignored the woman’s last remark. She knew she would find Indigo there. Hadn’t the girls talked about a winter gathering near Needles? She felt so much better just to know Indigo and the girls were nearby.

Hattie wired her father collect to ask him to please send the barber the money she owed for her treatment and room and board. She took her winter coat and all the warm clothes she could layer under the blue dress but left her luggage and all the rest with the barber as collateral until the money arrived. Her telegram told her parents how much she loved them, and please, not to worry. She was in the hands of God and no harm would come to her.

The sun was bright and the air mild and dry the morning she set out on foot from the barbershop for the encampment down along the river. As weak as she still was, she was glad to have nothing more to carry than a thick wool blanket and a sack of hard candy balls.

What idiots these military police were! The U.S. magistrate saw at once they brought in the wrong Negro. This man was twice the age of the deserter. He asked Big Candy if there was anyone in Tucson who might verify his identity.

In Tucson? He couldn’t think of anyone. He would have to send a telegram to the address Wylie gave him, though it might be weeks before he got a reply. Then he remembered that construction worker from Tucson — Charlie — what was his name? — Sister Salt adored him — he might even be the baby’s father — Charlie Luna! If they could find him, he would confirm Big Candy’s identity.

Big Candy expected he might have to wait a day or two before Charlie Luna could be located, but later the same day, he was brought before the magistrate again. There stood Charlie Luna. For an instant Charlie almost didn’t recognize Candy because of all the weight he’d lost. Charlie broke into a big smile.

“Yes sir!” He knew this man!

The magistrate ruled Big Candy was free to go. He was flat broke and he still didn’t feel fully recovered from the ordeal. He walked out of the courthouse with Charlie to thank him.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Charlie said. Candy nodded and smiled. He didn’t recognize himself the first time he stood in front of a mirror.

“You took a wrong turn?”

“You could say that. Ever hear of the Sand Tank Mountains?”

Charlie nodded; he used to worry Candy hated him over Sister Salt, so he was relieved to be able to help him. Now it was clear there were no hard feelings; Charlie felt so happy he invited Candy to dinner.

Both men avoided any mention of Sister Salt. Charlie’s house was full of children and in-laws and relatives from three or four generations. Candy was reminded of his cousins’ houses in Louisiana.

On a long bench flanked with old women and children, Candy ate three bowls of posole and a small stack of tortillas, which pleased Charlie’s wife immensely. Charlie rattled on in Spanish, using his arms to show her how big around Candy’s belly used to be. He told them how Candy cooked all sorts of roast poultry and rich meats — the odors used to waft through the workers’ tents at night and made their mouths water because all they got was tortillas and beans.

Candy explained since his ordeal without water his stomach somehow was affected and he no longer was able to digest any meat or poultry. From time to time he tried a bite of lean pork or venison, but a second bite brought nausea. Even the odor of cooking meat and grease made him feel weak and ill; his passions for new recipes and unusual game or seafood were gone. Wylie wanted him to go to Los Angeles to open a restaurant, but that wasn’t possible now.

Charlie Luna shook his head slowly; yes, he’d heard similar stories about people who suffered a terrible event and overnight their hair turned completely white or they no longer went outdoors or never left their beds. Everyone agreed: a person really could be changed overnight if an incident was drastic.

In the big yard next door, Candy noticed freight wagons and corrals of mule teams outside a big warehouse. Charlie’s aunt owned a freight line between Tucson and Caborca, Sonora. He needed a relief driver to go with him to Hermosillo in the morning. The cargo was something special — Charlie raised his eyebrows expressively — and the pay was very generous.

Candy figured it was some kind of contraband but he didn’t care as long as the job paid good money.

♦ ♦ ♦

Delena’s mission was finished as soon as the Tucson contacts finished the purchases and made the arrangements to ship the rifles to Hermosillo. Her orders were to return to Caborca. The dogs had regained all the strength they’d used up in their travels and were becoming restless, unaccustomed to the inactivity. They smelled a rat under the floor of the barn and chewed away one edge of a warped plank while she was in the house at dinner. She slept in the barn with them to keep them from barking and howling at night; they piled around her and wrestled one another for the honor of sleeping across her legs; twice their wrestling with one another resulted in loud dogfights that brought the neighbors out to the alley. It was time to go.

The last evening at the safe house an old man leading a mule loaded with firewood stopped outside. The man of the house went out immediately to pretend to buy the wood so the neighbors didn’t get suspicious. Delena did not recognize him, but he was sent by their people in the south to find out if she was alive and if they could expect any supplies soon.

They sat up late into the night in the kitchen to hear the old man’s accounts of recent skirmishes with the federal troops in the mountains. While they talked, Delena threaded her bone awl to mend the burlap dog packs as the woman of the house busied herself cooking and packing food for Delena’s long walk south.

The last thing she did was fill the canvas water bags from the well in the yard; free of the cargo of money, the dogs could carry all the water they might need and bones to eat. A light wind out of the southwest carried a faint scent of rain — a good companion for the desert crossing. After midnight, the woman finished packing the food, and Delena went out to the toilet and was amazed the sky was so bright with stars. She didn’t need any Gypsy cards to know this was the best time to set out.

The old man was already asleep in the barn as she checked the ties on the dogs’ packs a last time to make sure they were firm. Delena thanked the Tucson couple for the food and the safe haven but also for their tolerance of her dogs. The man of the house shook her hand and the woman embraced her. They prayed for the people and the struggle every day, and they would not forget her.

In the brightness of the stars at that hour, the silhouettes of the black dogs with their backpacks were plainly visible in the gateway; she heard the dogs pant eagerly for the signal to go. As she turned to go she said, “We will outlast them. We always have.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Just ahead of the storm clouds came more flocks of crows, followed by people in groups of three and four. The encampment was not nearly as large as the one before, but Sister said that didn’t matter; maybe with a smaller gathering, the authorities would leave them in peace to dance for the Messiah. So far no old-time Mormons showed up like they had last time; but who could blame them after their punishment?

Off in the distance on the road from town, the twins noticed a figure coming slowly their way. They thought at first it might be some old Mormon woman brave enough to join them, but as she came closer, Maytha recognized Hattie; so their prayers for her had done some good!

Vedna ran to tell Indigo, who instantly looked at Sister Salt for her reaction to the news. No one may be turned away from the gathering, Sister said; otherwise, the Messiah will not come. Indigo shut Linnaeus and Rainbow in their cages for safekeeping, while Sister bundled the little grandfather onto her back, and they went to greet Hattie.

Even from a distance they could see her face was bruised and swollen, and she moved unsteadily on her feet. Indigo was shocked at the swelling of her face — she hardly looked like the Hattie Indigo knew. She seemed to have trouble with her eyes and did not seem to recognize Indigo at first, but then she gave a shout and dropped the blanket and sack of candy to hug Indigo. The twins dropped to their knees at once to pick up the spilled candy balls and wipe the sand off before returning them to the sack.

Hattie started to cry and hugged Indigo so hard and long Indigo finally had to pull loose from her embrace, and left Hattie wobbling on her feet until Maytha and Vedna steadied her between. Sister Salt watched Hattie’s shaking hands and the difficulty she had focusing her eyes.

They nearly killed her, Sister Salt said bitterly after they helped Hattie lie down on Indigo’s blankets. Poor woman! She was in bad shape; she might not recover. She told Indigo to sit awhile with her until she got settled. Don’t talk about what happened — talk about good things.

Linnaeus sat on Indigo’s lap and watched Hattie solemnly; he didn’t even try to tease Rainbow by pulling his tail feathers. She held Indigo’s hand in hers and lay back with her eyes closed and moaned softly. Indigo began to talk about the crows and the snow clouds and the people who came to dance for the return of the Messiah.

Gradually Hattie’s grip on her hand relaxed, and Indigo saw her body relax as if the intensity of the pain was beginning to subside. Sister said Hattie should not have walked even a short distance, as badly hurt as she was. After Hattie fell asleep, Indigo gently slipped her hand loose from Hattie’s. “We will pray for you every night of the dance,” she said softly, then took the monkey and parrot outside to stretch her legs.

Outside the shack around the fire, they passed around the sack of candy balls Hattie brought them; big snowflakes began to fall and hissed in the fire. Hurt as she was, still she brought them a gift. Big tears welled up in Indigo’s eyes. Vedna offered to consult the spirits about Hattie; she took her Bible and closed her eyes and turned it round and round, then stuck her finger on a page, then read aloud: “Do you see this, O Son of Man? Turn around again, and you shall see greater abominations than these.

“Ezekiel,” Vedna said. “I don’t know — it doesn’t sound so good if it’s about Hattie. Maybe it’s about us — Ezekiel’s trying to warn us.”

“I think it means if we camp here too long they’ll come after us,” Sister said.

The girls shared a cigarette Maytha rolled, and watched the snow clouds push in above the river. In only a few more hours the two fires would be lit, and the dance would begin. Already they were applying the white clay paint to faces and hands, and a Walapai man shared the sacred clay Wovoka gave him and blessed each camp and lean-to with a pinch of the red dust. Sister watched the tall sandy hill above the river where last time the Messiah and his family walked out of the falling snow.

Sister went to nurse the little grandfather inside the lean-to before the dance started; he was bright eyed and nursed heartily but refused to fall asleep, as if he wanted to see the dance. You’re too little, she told him; I might see Grandma Fleet or someone and fall to the ground or drop you. She rocked him in her arms as she stepped over to check on Hattie. The skin was terribly pale around the swollen purple bruises on her forehead; Sister had to watch carefully a long time before she was even sure Hattie was still breathing. The swellings around her lips and cheeks were going down, but all she did was sleep. Wasn’t there anyone who cared about Hattie but them?

As the fires were lit, the snow seemed to fall faster — a sign the Messiah and his family were on their way. They did not all have white shawls — some shawls were burlap or old army blankets, but the Messiah would understand. They had to make do with what they had. Wovoka the Prophet could not be there because the soldiers wanted to arrest him.

As everyone prepared for the first dance of the night, Sister nursed the little grandfather and Indigo offered Hattie water mixed with a little blue cornmeal, which was all she could eat because her mouth was injured. She seemed more alert as she sat up; she watched Sister change the baby’s wrapping and noticed Linnaeus and Rainbow in their cages by the bed. When Indigo told her the first dance was about to begin, Hattie managed a bit of a smile despite her swollen lips.

Maytha and Vedna promised to look after the little grandfather, and to watch Hattie and the parrot and monkey if Sister or Indigo were visited by the spirits. What if they all were visited at the same time? That was not likely, Sister said, but if that happened, then the baby, Hattie, the pets — all would be blessed and protected by that presence.

The snow covered the ground and continued to fall lightly as the drum called them to the spirit house, where they sang the new songs, each in a different language — Sand Lizard, Paiute, Chemehuevi, Mojave, and Walapai — because in the presence of the Messiah, all languages were understood by everyone.

They all joined hands and moved in the direction of the sun around the circle of stones.

“Across the snowy stars,” they sang. More voices joined as they repeated the words, “Over the Milky Way bridge — oh the beloved return!”

They danced slowly, careful to trail their feet gently to caress Mother Earth. The wind was still but now the snow fell faster, and it was difficult to see the lean-to and the camps on the far side of the circle.

Bare cottonwood

Black with crows.

They call

Snow clouds on the wind.

Snow clouds on the wind.

As the snow clouds closed around them and reflected the light of the fires, Indigo noticed how the white paint transformed their hands and faces, and the white shawls wrapped around them made the dancers almost invisible in the snow.

We danced four nights.

We danced four nights.

The fourth dawn Messiah came.

The fourth dawn Messiah came.

They stopped dancing around midnight, and stood around the big kettle to share cups of hot tea made with sweet grass and little mountaintop herbs. Although they danced for hours, no one seemed tired, especially not the older women and men, who talked excitedly about their dear ones they hoped to visit on the fourth night. A Mojave man passed around a big basket of goat jerky and a Walapai woman passed a basket of roasted blue cornmeal; then they returned to their lean-tos and tents to sleep.

The girls all piled together under the old quilts and all the blankets, which they moved toward Indigo’s corner so they could keep Hattie and the parrot and monkey warm.

Midmorning the sun pushed through the clouds briefly and fog clung to the riverbed and drifted near their camp. Later, most of the snow melted, but by early afternoon the wind brought low gray clouds, and before sundown, sleet mixed with snow whipped against the shacks and tents.

Hattie slept like the dead for hours on end; after the wind came up, she woke. She was weak but the pain in her head was not so sharp as before. She drank roasted blue corn flour in water and went to sleep again.

♦ ♦ ♦

The storm clouds moved on; the afternoon was sunny and mild, so Indigo took Linnaeus and Rainbow for a walk along the riverbank to browse on the fat seed heads of rice grass and to dig cattail roots. The crows in the cottonwoods scolded as they passed by, so Rainbow fluffed his feathers and flexed his wings to appear larger to discourage attacks. He gripped her shoulder firmly and pressed close to Indigo’s head, and did not reach for the monkey’s tail as he often did.

Indigo stopped to look up at the crows. Their glittering black eyes were merry as they tussled and hopped along the branches. What did they know about the Messiah and the others? Would Mama return with them tonight?

The sound of her voice silenced the frolicking crows; the silence lasted for as long as she looked up at the crows until finally Linnaeus tugged at her dress, impatient to dig roots in the shallows of the river.

The crows’ silence left Indigo discouraged even after they gathered a fine load of seeds and roots for Rainbow and Linnaeus on their journey downriver tomorrow. As she neared the lean-to, she was heartened to see Hattie, a blanket around her shoulders, outside in the sun with Maytha and Vedna. Sister Salt was on a blanket, helping the little grandfather stand up in the little moccasins their Paiute friend gave him.

They watched the baby as he cautiously took a step and then another around his mother while he gripped her hands for support. Sister confided to Indigo his desire to walk so young was another sign he was the old grandfather’s soul returned.

The girls took turns walking the perimeter of the campsite every morning to check for signs the townspeople were spying on the gathering. Sister Salt worried someone would come looking for Hattie and make trouble, but no one came. After the first night, they found four sets of boot prints at the edge of a willow grove; but after the second night they found no trace of spies. Their gathering was too small to concern the white people of Needles.

♦ ♦ ♦

The sky was clear and the stars’ light reflected off the sandhills with patches of snow on the third night. The waning moon did not rise until after midnight, but suddenly the night became so bright the willows along the riverbank and the sandy hillside were clearly visible in a pale blue silver light. Freezing air descended from the mountains, and ribbons of steam rose around the dancers’ heads as they sang.

I saw my slain sister, Buffalo.

I saw my slain brother, Condor.

Don’t cry, they told me.

Don’t cry.

A dancer sank to her knees moaning, then lay flat to embrace the ground; her companions pulled her shawl up to keep her warm while she visited with her dear ones. They stepped over her and the others who fell to the ground twitching and babbling, and kept dancing as the starry bridge of the Milky Way arched over them.

The dancers stood near the fires to keep warm as they rested before the last song; Indigo went with Sister to the lean-to to check on the baby and to see if Hattie and the pets were keeping warm. They all were asleep and snugly covered; Sister put a small piece of wood on the fire outside and they returned to join in the final round of songs.

As they sang and danced the circle, Indigo lifted her eyes to the high sandy hill above the river to the northwest, and sang with all her heart for Mama to come. Just as the morning star rose above the mountain horizon, Indigo felt her sister’s grip on her hand tighten before Sister Salt sank to the sand and lay crying softly and moaning. Indigo felt her heart pound with the drum until she was enclosed by the sound that shook the ground under her feet. Now the Messiah and his followers were near, prepared to come bless the dancers on the last night. She held on to the twins’ hands even tighter to keep her balance on the pulsating earth.

Winds dance

In the green grass.

Winds dance

In the yellow flowers.

They covered Sister Salt with a blanket while she lay motionless on the ground, and later helped her back to the lean-to to sleep. Visits left the dancers exhausted.

Indigo had difficulty getting to sleep and wanted to be up early when Sister woke to feed the little grandfather. If it was Grandma Fleet who visited Sister last night, did she have any news about Mama? It was still dark when she woke and heard the others snoring; outside a crack between the wood and tin, dawn was approaching behind low foggy clouds. Faintly, in the distance, she heard beautiful singing and realized the singing she heard was not from the encampment — all the dancers were asleep. The sound was in the distance but closer now. Careful not to wake anyone, Indigo took her shawl and stepped outside before she wrapped herself against the freezing air. On the high sandy hill she thought she saw some movement in the mist and fog.

As she began to climb up the deep sand of the slope, the fog and mist swirled down to meet her; now the singing was near and very beautiful — a song in the Sand Lizard language she’d never heard before.

Dance, little clouds, your sisters are fog!

Dance, little clouds, your brothers are mist!

Play in the wind! Play in the wind!

Mama was rocking her — she was so snug and warm. What a happy, beautiful song! Mama kissed her and held her so close.

Indigo woke in her bed and saw it was still dark. She felt so much love she wept; she knew then where Mama was and always would be. Dance, little clouds, dance! Play in the wind!

For an instant Hattie did not know where she was, then she heard the drum and the voices. Outside the soft yellow glow must be the approach of dawn; the lemon yellow light was the same color as the lost carnelian carved with the waterbirds. The crushing pain was gone and her head felt clear; all her senses were alert for the first time since the assault. Dawn was the time the Messiah and his family were expected to come. She wanted to see for herself.

In the soft light she could make out the sleeping baby, the quilt carefully tucked around him; the parrot and monkey both were awake in their cages and watched her put on her shoes. As she approached the blanket over the lean-to entrance, the light outside became brighter and more luminous — she recognized it at once and felt a thrill sweep over her. How soothing the light was, how joyously serene she felt.

She lost all sense of time and of how long she stood at the entrance, the luminous glow streaming in all around the edges of the blanket. She was too awed to step outside to face it.

The girls were surprised to find Hattie up when they returned to the lean-to after midnight. She told them how she woke feeling so much better and then noticed the beautiful glow outside the lean-to, so much like the strange light she saw before.

The light she saw was the morning star, who came to comfort her, Sister explained. How could she have seen the same light in the garden in England and in a dream on board the ship? Oh the Messiah and his family traveled the earth — they might be seen anywhere. Tomorrow he would come as the Messiah with the others and speak to them.

But on the morning of the fourth day, three white soldiers and two Apache policemen rode up; while the soldiers watched from their horses, the Apaches went around to question all the people about their assigned reservations. The policemen were polite, even friendly when they spoke to the dancers, but they let them know they must break up the gathering at once or be arrested.

Many wept at the news, and Sister and others pleaded with the police to let them dance just one more night — the Messiah and the others were so close now. But no, the Apache cops pretended they didn’t know what the people were talking about.

People started to cry as they realized they would not be permitted to dance home their ancestors and the Messiah that night. Sister Salt was furious and cursed the policemen and soldiers in English: Masturbators! Donkey fuckers! Maytha spat at them but Vedna brought out her Bible and waved it in the cops’ faces. The soldiers moved in on their horses to protect the cops but Vedna stood her ground and let the Bible fall open, then began to shout the words on the page: “Even though you make many prayers I will not hear you. Your hands are full of blood!”

The Apaches retreated quickly to their horses to confer with the soldiers; they were afraid the girl shaking the Bible might put witchcraft on them. Many people were crying and all appeared stunned; only the girl with the Bible appeared to resist.

Indigo cried and cried; now they’d never find Mama or get to see Grandma Fleet except in dreams. The Messiah and the others were so close, but now they could not come. Her tears were hot and bitter and burned her eyes, so she had difficulty seeing what it was Maytha was pointing at in the distance. A wagon! Was it more police coming to haul them away?

Hattie was shocked to see her father beside the Indian policeman in the doorway. His expression of joy at finding her quickly faded to concern over the bruises on her face. He hesitated before he stepped inside to kneel on the quilt beside her to get a better look. The parrot squawked loudly and the monkey screamed; the baby woke and began to cry. Hattie burst into tears — her father knelt and gently put his arms around her but she pulled away.

At the baby’s first cries, Sister Salt burst into the lean-to past the Apache cop and white man, to pick up the little grandfather. Indigo followed, and recognized Mr. Abbott at once and greeted him politely. The monkey and parrot calmed when they saw the girls.

Mr. Abbott said Indigo grew so much he almost didn’t know her. Sister held the baby close to her chest and stood ready to flee even after Indigo reassured her Hattie’s father was kind.

Now one of the white soldiers joined the Apache cop in the doorway; Sister spat in their direction and turned her back to them. Outside she could hear people pray, and some wept softly for the losses — their hopes to be blessed by the Messiah were dashed. How they dreamed and yearned to see beloved ancestors and dear ones passed on, and that was not to be.

Hattie realized the police and soldiers came to break up the Indian gathering because of her — because they came looking for her there. She already knew the townspeople blamed Indians for her assault. Hattie stopped weeping to beg her father to intercede for the dancers. She did not hide the anger she felt as she told him the authorities might have ignored the gathering one more night if he had not come looking for her there. Her father seemed shaken by the fury of her accusation, and the others were motionless as she went on; this fourth night of the dance she hoped to see the Messiah. Don’t let the authorities interfere!

Her father seemed overwhelmed, even a bit dazed, to find himself in the middle of such a conflict. He gestured out the door; her mother and the Albuquerque lawyer, Mr. Maxwell, were waiting in the buggy. “Get the lawyer to do something!” She got to her feet with her father’s aid; she told the girls she’d be right back; she held her father’s arm as she slowly made her way out the door.

Hattie looked the driver of the buggy in the eyes; no, he wasn’t the one; she knew it was either the son or the owner of the stable. She felt furious and strong; her attacker walked free in that wretched town!

The lawyer removed his overcoat and Hattie’s father put it over her shoulders and rolled up the sleeves that were too long. It smelled vile — stale tobacco smoke and man sweat — but a chill wind had come up and she had to keep warm in order to keep going.

She barely greeted her mother before she began to argue: This fourth night of the dance was to bring the Messiah! Didn’t they understand? The urgency in her voice unsettled her mother and the lawyer, but her father patted her hand.

The dancers’ prayers saved her life — each night of the dance she recovered a bit more as the Messiah drew nearer. She wept with fury when she saw her mother and the lawyer whisper to each other — they believed she was ill, out of her head.

“Oh Hattie! Just look at you! You’ve suffered a terrible shock!” her mother exclaimed. Hattie knew she meant the Indian dress and her unkempt hair. That was enough for Hattie. She let go of her father’s arm and turned to go back to the camp. But her mother cried out for them to stop her — her daughter was ill and needed help! They must get her on the next train to Albuquerque to the hospital. Her head injuries required treatment at once.

Hattie managed to break free of her father and left the lawyer holding the empty coat; but the soldiers dismounted and helped them subdue her. She saw the people who were packing up stop to watch, then hurry on their way, as if they feared they’d be seized next. Sister Salt and Indigo watched outside the lean-to as Hattie struggled with her captors. After they lifted her into the buggy and Mr. Maxwell and mother held her arms, Mr. Abbott, his face pale with distress, hurried over to say good-bye to Indigo, who wept for Hattie. Inside the tent, the parrot shrieked, furious his beloved was crying, and the monkey called Indigo frantically.

Just as Mr. Abbott spoke, Sister Salt stepped forward and spat in his face. For an instant he seemed shocked, but then he closed his eyes and stared down at the ground; he made no effort to wipe his face before he got back into the buggy.

In the train station lobby Hattie pretended to collapse long enough for her father and the lawyer to leave her alone with her mother while they saw to the tickets and luggage. She waited until they were out of sight and her mother rummaged in her purse to make a run for it.

Her fury gave her strength and will to run down the alley and cross another street; but instead of returning to the river where the girls were, she headed down another alley; she didn’t want to bring any more trouble for the dancers.

She stopped behind a stack of oak kegs in the alley to catch her breath and to listen for her pursuers. Piles of dirty snow lined the north side of the alley and made the footing there treacherous. The fresh air did her good; her head felt clear, and the excitement of the escape gave her strength.

Now the breeze down the alley chilled her and she shoved her hands deep into the coat pockets and felt objects in both pockets. In the right pocket she found a fresh starched handkerchief and a small box of matches; in the left pocket she found a key that she tossed into a dirty snowbank and a small pouch of tobacco she threw down. But she kept the little pack of cigarette papers, and pulled one out and struck one of the little matches to it. For a moment the warmth of the flame around the paper was delicious before she had to let go of the bright ash.

She looked both ways before she continued down the alley, which was cluttered with trash and debris — rotting garbage and overturned barrels — filthy just like the town and its people. She caught the odor of horses and saw corrals up ahead; manure and old straw were piled outside: it was the back of the livery stable. Her heart began to pound wildly; she could turn back and go down a side alley, but she crept closer, careful to remain in the deep shadows as she listened and watched. The horses were calmly chewing their hay and paid no attention as she crept up.

What a disgusting stinking mess outside the back door — she stepped over dirty rags and manure. Straw and hay were strewn everywhere. The smell of rotting urine and manure was terrible as she peeked around the corner of the wide barn door. She listened and watched, but no one was there. Inside it was almost dark, but she could see the buggies and wagons parked along the far wall; above them big metal hooks held the harnesses. Everywhere the floor was littered with hay and straw; along the near wall by the door were the haystack and burlap sacks of feed, and a workbench. Something familiar caught her eye and sent the hair on her neck straight out: among the scattered tools was a big steel vise, and clamped in it was a meteor iron partially sawed in half. She saw other fragments of meteor iron among the chisels and saw blades on the bench. She shivered — from the cold or from the sight of meteor irons, she didn’t know.

She knew exactly what must be done; the crumpled cigarette papers flashed under the match; all the starch in the handkerchief caused it to flare up nicely in the loose hay on the floor. Little wings of flame gave off a lemon yellow glow that recalled the lost carving of the waterbirds. What a lovely light the fire gave off as she warmed her hands over it; but as the rivulets of fire spread to the haystack, the heat drove her outside.

At the corrals, she let the terrified horses run free, and followed them to a hill east of town, where she watched — amazed and elated by the beauty of the colors of the fire against the twilight sky. As the flames snaked over to catch the roofs of buildings on either side of the stable, the fire’s colors were brilliant — the reds as rich as blood, the blues and whites luminous, and the orange flame as bright as Minerva’s gemstone.

♦ ♦ ♦

By the time they got everything packed and took down the lean-to, it was too late to get very far downriver. Even with the help of the twins it was a struggle to get all their belongings, the pets, and supplies to the road where they could catch the mail wagon the next morning.

Indigo still cried when she thought of Hattie lifted bodily into the buggy, though the twins reassured her Hattie was strong; she’d been blessed by the light of the morning star. Sister Salt was still too angry to speak; only the little grandfather’s laughter at the antics of the monkey softened her fierce expression.

They made a little campfire just as the sun went down and shared cold tortillas and bits of mutton jerky in silence. The turmoil left them exhausted. Rainbow noticed the flames to the north first and flapped his wings and squawked excitedly as he clutched Indigo’s shoulder.

All night the flames lit the sky, and they sat bundled in blankets and quilts to watch. At first they didn’t know what was burning, and Maytha joked the town dump must have caught fire, but later the flames went so high, Vedna said it had to be the town that was burning. At first they didn’t mention what night this was to have been or that somewhere in the mountains the Messiah and the ancestors still waited and loved them.

The next morning a line of blue-gray smoke still rose above the town, and Vedna joked whatever else happened, at least they got to watch the white town burn to the ground. Or maybe it was only the town dump — they didn’t know until they flagged down the mail wagon and loaded their belongings. The driver said it was no joke — half the town of Needles burned that night, though no one was injured.

Maytha and Vedna came to visit in the early spring before it got too hot. They found their way back without any trouble, although they’d been there only once before to help the girls move to the old gardens.

The twins arrived around midday. Even from a distance the bright ribbons of purple, red, yellow, and black gladiolus flowers were impossible to miss, woven crisscross over the terrace gardens, through the amaranth, pole beans, and sunflowers.

Sister warmed rabbit stew for them while the twins teased them about the waste of precious garden space and rain on flowers. Remember how outraged their neighbors were when they found out Indigo’s plants produced only flowers?

They brought Indigo the two orchid plants she had to leave behind. They teased Indigo they’d kept the two biggest plants for themselves. They had grown and filled their pots nicely despite being thrown out the door last year and nibbled by Rainbow.

The little grandfather was shy and hid his eyes from them at first, but then he began to play peek with Vedna, and Maytha finally persuaded him to toddle over to her so she could pick him up. What a big boy he was now!

With the gourd bowls of stew, Sister unwrapped red amaranth tortillas, cold but freshly made earlier that day. The little grandfather took a bite from his tortilla, then offered some to Maytha; he was more shy with Vedna; then he handed Linnaeus a piece of tortilla and gave Rainbow the rest. He was too excited by the visitors to eat; he began to bring out his toys — his corncob doll and a small gourd dish of round pebbles.

The twins remarked what good stew it was. Sister motioned with her chin at Indigo, who smiled proudly. They asked the ingredients beside rabbit, but she would only tell them, “A little of everything.”

The twins brought all kinds of news from Road’s End, and a letter for Indigo from Hattie. The envelope was covered with strange stamps and a smeared postmark from England. Inside Indigo found a lovely tinted postcard of Bath and a folded blank sheet of paper that held a folded $50 bill and a glassine envelope of postage stamps.

The postcard showed the big pool at the King’s Bath dotted with the tiny figures of white men wading and swimming. They took turns looking and laughing at the picture before Indigo read the message.

Hattie sent her love to Indigo and the girls and, of course, the little grandfather. The weather was too cloudy and cool for anything more than pussy willows, snowdrops, and pink ladies.

Next week they would take the train to Scotland to visit the old stones. In September they’d cross the channel and go by train to spend the autumn with Laura in Lucca.

Indigo broke into a big smile. What a relief it was to know Hattie was all right. She unfolded the money and the girls passed it around. They’d never touched a $50 bill before. The stamps Indigo would use right away. She would write Hattie and send the reply back with the twins.

Now for the news from Road’s End, Sister teased the twins. Were they at least pregnant or engaged yet? They all laughed and shook their heads. It sure was good to see one another again. Yes, the news was they’d managed to save up enough money so they didn’t have to live in a wallow of green beer anymore. Rumors had it they were about to be arrested for bootlegging anyway.

They used the money to buy two milk goats, six turkeys, and two dozen chickens. With egg and milk money they bought peach and apricot seedlings out of a California mail-order catalogue. Only thing was, now when they wanted to be gone more than a day, they had to hire a neighbor to sleep at their house to care for all their livestock.

Remember all those gladiolus spuds Indigo planted in their garden and everyone scolded her for planting useless flowers? Guess what? Big spikes of buds appeared in the first warm days after Christmas, and in no time white, lavender, red, and yellow flowers opened. People passing by on the road stopped to stare — the flowers were quite a sight.

When no one was around, the twins took an old bucket full of freshly cut flowers to the brush-covered shelter the flooded Christians used as a church. At first the twins weren’t sure if their peace offering would be accepted by their neighbors. But the next week, they found the old bucket at their gate, so they refilled it with flowers. Their neighbors received all sorts of food donations from other churches each month; but no one up or down the river had such tall amazing flowers for their church. So those flowers turned out to be quite valuable after all.

Indigo scooped up some stew with a piece of tortilla.

“Look,” she said to the twins. “Do you recognize this?”

“Some kind of potato, isn’t it?” Vedna fished one out of her stew and popped it into her mouth.

“Ummmm!”

Maytha stirred her stew with a piece of tortilla and examined the vegetable — it was a gladiolus spud! She laughed out loud.

“You can eat them!” she exclaimed. Those gladiolus weren’t only beautiful; they were tasty!

After the twins finished lunch, they all walked up the path to see the gardens and the spring. Now Rainbow flew along above them until he saw a hawk and returned to Indigo’s shoulder. Linnaeus walked ahead of the little grandfather to scout for any danger, Sister liked to say. Their parrot and monkey warned them if strangers approached even a mile away.

The twins especially like the “speckled corn” effect of the color combinations Indigo made with the gladiolus she planted in rows to resemble corn kernels. Maytha agreed with Indigo; their favorite was the lavender, purple, white, and black planting, but Sister and Vedna preferred the dark red, black, purple, pink, and white planting. They were closed now, but in the morning sky blue morning glories wreathed the edges of the terraces like necklaces.

Down the shoulder of the dune to the hollow between the dunes, silver white gladiolus with pale blues and pale lavenders glowed among the great dark jade datura leaves. Just wait until sundown — the fragrance of the big datura blossoms with the gladiolus flowers would make them swoon, Indigo promised.

When the girls first returned to the old gardens the winter before, Grandma Fleet’s dugout house was in good condition but terrible things had been done at the spring. Fortunately Grandma Fleet had warned Sister Salt during her visit the third night of the dance, so the girls were prepared for the shock. Strangers had come to the old gardens; at the spring, for no reason, they slaughtered the big old rattlesnake who lived there; then they chopped down the small apricot trees above Grandma Fleet’s grave.

That day they returned, the twins helped Sister Salt and Indigo gather up hundreds of delicate rib bones to give old Grandfather Snake a proper burial next to Grandma Fleet. They all wept as they picked up his bones, but Indigo wept harder when she looked at the dried remains of the little apricots trees hacked to death with the snake.

Today Indigo and Linnaeus ran ahead of the others with the parrot flying ahead of her. At the top of the sandy slope she stopped and knelt in the sand by the stumps of the apricot trees, and growing out of the base of one stump were green leafy shoots. Who knew such a thing was possible last winter when they cried their eyes sore over the trees?

They took turns drinking the cold water from the crevice in the cave wall and sat on the cool sand on the cave’s floor to listen to the splashing water for a while.

They sat so quietly the twins and the little grandfather dozed off; something terrible struck there, but whatever or whoever, it was gone now; Sister Salt could feel the change. Early the other morning when she came alone to wash at the spring, a big rattlesnake was drinking at the pool. The snake dipped her mouth daintily into the water, and her throat moved with such delicacy as she swallowed. She stopped drinking briefly to look at Sister, then turned back to the water; then she gracefully turned from the pool across the white sand to a nook of bright shade. Old Snake’s beautiful daughter moved back home.