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 schoolteac
hers 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 ta
bles 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.