Home at Chestnut Creek

by Laura Drake

  I explain how to shift, how to drop the breaking plow, and explain turn rows. She’s a quick study, and before long, we’ve switched places, and she’s laying down only slightly wavy rows.

  “Hey, this is kinda okay,” she yells.

  Tell me. The smell of turned earth—it holds the potential for new life. I’ve spent hundreds of hours on this seat, daydreaming, sweating, getting rained on—and enjoyed them all. If only I could spend all my days doing this.

  I’ve put my application for a grant in with the government; I meet all the requirements, but there’s no way of telling my chances. It depends on so much out of my control: available money, politics…bullshit. I don’t hold much hope—I mean, what promises has Washington ever lived up to when it comes to my people?

  I’d love not to rely on careless bureaucrats, to do it on my own. But I’ve been saving since I got back from the Army, and that amount wouldn’t see me through the initial startup, much less insurance, electricity, and fertilizer. Hell, gas for this old tractor, for that matter.

  Over the sound of the engine, I hear her singing, but not loud enough that I can make out the song. I tap her shoulder. “What are you singing?”

  She sings louder, “Old MacDonald had a farm…”

  I have to laugh. “What a naal’eełí.”

  “Old Fishing Eagle had a nalehche!”

  “You totally butchered that.”

  “Hell, I don’t even know what it is.”

  “A goose.” It’s good to see she’s comfortable enough to relax. We bounce over ruts and I put my hands on her waist to steady myself. I can feel the vibration of the engine through her slim bones. I like breaking, but I have to admit, it’s never been this fun.

  * * *

  The whole drive to Carly’s, Nevada sits, knees bouncing, a bundle of energy with a lapful of packaged meat. I pull up in the Davis yard, but before I can shut the truck down, she’s got the door open. Carly meets her on the steps, waves a come on to me, and they walk in the house, chittering like manic squirrels.

  Austin walks over as I step out, but his eyes follow Nevada and his wife. “God, women. Endlessly fascinating, aren’t they?”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  He laughs, claps me on the back, and leads me up the stairs, across the porch, and inside.

  The front room has wood floors and throw rugs and oversized furniture. Over the fireplace hangs an oil painting of a cowboy riding a bronc through a campfire, scattering plates, dogs, and other cowboys. “Wow. This is way different than last time I was here.”

  “Combination of a woman’s touch and a whole lot of sweat…mine, not hers.”

  “I heard that, Austin,” Carly calls. “I did my part.”

  We walk into the kitchen. “Yes, you did, darlin’.” He captures his wife around the middle and nuzzles her neck to make her giggle.

  Nevada meets my gaze. She blushes and turns to put the burgers in the fridge.

  “Stop it, horn dog.” Carly smacks her husband’s shoulder and tucks stray hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you guys fire up the grill? We women have things to do.”

  Half-made deviled eggs and potato salad makings are scattered on the butcher-block counter.

  “You got it, Tig.” Austin nabs a deviled egg on the way out the back door.

  “Hey!”

  There’s a cooler on the back porch, and Austin pulls two Lone Stars from it on the way by, handing me one. “Help yourself from here on. Only one for me, until Nevada’s lesson is over.”

  We walk out to the grill beside a raw log picnic table. I sit, enjoying the sun on my face and the breeze blowing through my hair. “You’ve done a great job with the place. How’s C&A Rough Stock coming along?”

  He turns on the propane, fires the burners, lowers the cover, and sits across from me. “Better than budget, thanks to a stock contractor I know cutting me a sweet deal on some bulls and a couple broodmares. We’ll have babies on the ground here in a couple months.”

  “Are you hitting the circuit with bucking stock this summer?”

  “Nah. I’ll wait until I’ve got some two-year-olds to buck in futurities.”

  “You rough stock riders always were a risky bunch.” I shake my head. “Never had the urge to try.”

  He cocks his head. “That’s right. I forgot you were a roper. Do you miss it?”

  The few swallows of beer I’ve drunk surge into my throat, and I taste the bitterness of the past. “Nope.”

  He glances at the house. “I thought I would miss it like an amputation, but I don’t. What with the family…and I help out with youth rodeo when I need a fix.”

  “Glad everything worked out for you and Carly.” I wash out my mouth with another swig of beer. “Everyone knew you two belonged together.”

  “Yeah, well, bull riders are known for their hard heads, right?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t kid yourself. Ropers aren’t much smarter.”

  The screen door opens, and Nevada comes down the stairs, a platter of burgers in one hand, paper plates and plastic silverware in the other. Sun shines off her short, brown hair, and she’s smiling. It’s all the prettier for its rarity.

  “Here are the burgers. Carly says to put them on now, because everything else is about ready.”

  “Yes’m.” Austin stands and takes the platter.

  Nevada walks back to the house, and when the door slaps behind her, Austin says, “She’s a handful, that one.”

  “When you get past her thorns, she’s a real good person.” I feel a dumb smile pull at my lips.

  The meat sizzles when he lays it on the grill. “I’ll take your word for it. She doesn’t seem comfortable around me.”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say she’s a little jealous.”

  “Oh, that’s a good one.” He chuckles. “Like Nevada Sweet wants domestication.”

  “Not that way. It’s just that you and Carly have a close-knit family. She has no one.”

  He squints down at me. “She has you.”

  “She doesn’t.” Suddenly the sun has turned hot on my face.

  He turns back to the grill. “Didn’t mean nothing by it, Fish. Only that she knows you have her back.”

  “True, I have her back. But that’s all.” It doesn’t matter that I’d like more. I made a vow.

  The women come out of the house, arms loaded with bowls, the baby dangling from Carly’s arm. Austin walks over to take the baby. “Look who’s up from her nap. It’s the Bean.”

  The baby’s face lights up, and she reaches for her dad. Austin tosses her in the air and she squeals.

  “You’re going to drop her one of these days, and she’s not going to think you’re Superman anymore, Daddy.” Carly puts the rest of the bowls on the table and sits.

  “Nah, I’m her hero. Isn’t that right, Faith?”

  She’s a beauty, with her momma’s red hair, dimples, and startling blue eyes that must have come from her father, whoever he was. “I think you’d better buy a gun, for when she grows up.”

  “You must’a missed the shottie behind the back door.” He hands the baby to Carly. “Who wants cheese on their burger?”

  When we’re all served, we dig in.

  Nevada takes a bite of her burger. “Hmmmm. This is great. What did you put in it?”

  Carly spoons a deviled egg and cut-up hot dog onto Faith’s plate. “Good Schit.”

  Nevada gapes. “I can’t believe you just swore.”

  “I didn’t. S-C-H-I-T. It’s a spice, blended locally. They sell it at the dime store.”

  “Well, the name is dead on. It is good shit.”

  Carly laughs. “Remember the time on the lunch truck, when you grabbed the wrong shaker and put chili powder in the soup?”

  “Don’t remind me.” She groans. “Had to dump the whole thing.”

  “That guy isn’t going to forget your soup anytime soon—he spit it all over his wife. Man, she lit him up.” Faith is waving a piece of hot dog in a plu
mp fist and talking baby-talk. “I know that’s right, Bean. Hey, Nevada, tell them about—”

  Nevada’s sitting across from me. She ducks her head. “These guys don’t wanna hear old road stories.”

  “I do.” She looks up into my eyes and I’m frozen for a moment by a tiny shock of awareness.

  “Hey, tell Fish the rattlesnake story.” Austin takes a swig of the beer he’s been nursing.

  I smile. “I heard it, but never from you two. Come on, Nevada.”

  Red shoots up her neck. “Oh no—”

  “Oh yes.” Carly winks at me. “We’re in the mountains, on our way to Alamogordo to meet Cora, when the truck broke down five miles out of Cloudcroft. Nevada had to pee, and…”

  * * *

  Two hours later, everything has been put away and my cheeks hurt from smiling. I realize it’s been too long since I’ve gotten out like this. We all took turns telling funny stories from our past—though I noticed that Nevada’s didn’t go farther back than last summer.

  Faith is toddling around the side yard, clutching her mother’s finger, and I’m out front, sipping a beer on the porch steps, watching Austin teach Nevada about the bike. It is a pretty one; a royal blue Honda Shadow, with lighter blue flames rippling down the tank. Nevada’s helmeted head nods, and she squats beside the bike to point and ask a question that I’m too far away to hear.

  Today she gave a glimpse of the woman she would be if she didn’t ride such tight herd on herself. Most of the time, Nevada is like a prickly pear, but this afternoon, it was like the cactus’s flower opened, rare, vibrant…beautiful. I felt pulled like a bee to the sweetness.

  I know many good-hearted, good-looking Diné women. I need to date more.

  Austin lowers the back pegs, throws his leg over, pulls the clutch, and fires it up, talking to Nevada the whole time. She gets on behind him, holds his waist, and puts her feet on the pegs. He lets out the clutch, and the bike eases forward. He stops and demonstrates again, with Nevada looking over his shoulder.

  When he lets out the clutch this time, he gooses the throttle. Dirt spits from the back tire, and they roar out of the yard. I have to smile at Nevada’s joyous whoop.

  Carly climbs the porch steps and sets Faith on a blanket, asking if I’ll watch her so Momma can clean up the kitchen. I help the baby put colored plastic rings on a white plastic spindle, then she plays with my keys, then she holds my fingers and we walk around the porch. I’d forgotten how short a little one’s attention span is. But she’s happy and inquisitive, and we’re both having a good time when the bike rolls back into the yard.

  Nevada’s arms are around Austin, hands on his thighs, her legs snugged right up under his. You couldn’t get a sheet of rice paper between them.

  Something shifts in my chest, like a snake coiling.

  Austin shuts the bike down and Nevada steps off the back. When she pulls off the helmet, she throws her head back laughing.

  Nevada Sweet. Laughing. Austin made her laugh.

  Helmet in one hand, she gives him a high five.

  The snake constricts, crushing my lungs. Knowledge smacks my consciousness like a speeding car into a hapless pedestrian.

  I am jealous.

  It’s impossible to comprehend, because Austin is a happily married man, and Nevada…is Nevada.

  Yet at the same time it’s impossible to deny the truth, because I want nothing more than to step off the porch and beat Austin to a bloody rag, just for the high treason of being the one to make her laugh.

  Faith squeals, and I look down to see I’m clenching her fingers in mine. She looks up at me and, sensing my anger, begins to wail.

  Carly steps onto the porch and lifts her crying daughter into her arms. “They’re back.” She’s watching the two and smiling, so I know that must be the correct response, but it’s beyond me. I turn to the yard, so she can’t see that there’s something wrong with my face. I have no more control of it than I do the snake in my chest.

  I watch her, head bent to Austin’s, nodding as he explains something. Interest. That’s how it began. Somehow in the weeks since, it’s morphed into…my mind shies from naming it.

  I’ve gotten used to her, beside me in the truck. I’ve gotten used to coming across her, talking to my sheep. Seeing her small, tight butt running ahead…gotten too used to her. I’ve allowed myself to wander from my true path. It’s past time I got back on it.

  “Carly, thank you for everything. We have to go now.”

  “Why?” She puts a hand on my arm and pulls me around. “There’s pie for dess—what’s wrong?”

  I hear the scree of my molars grinding and force my jaw muscles to relax. I long for my woodpile. My hands itch to clutch the axe’s shaft. My arms ache to heft its weight. The only thing to take my mind off this is punishing physical labor that leaves my muscles spent and my mind quieted. “I’ve got something to do at home. I just remembered. Thank you for dinner. This was nice, really.” I turn and take the steps in one leap.

  Carly doesn’t call to me, but I can feel her questions poking my back.

  “Hey, Austin, it’s getting late. Will you help me get this beast in the back of the truck? We need to get on the road.”

  Nevada frowns. “But I wanted to—”

  “Look, we’ve spent all day out here.” My words are as sharp as splintered glass. “I have things to take care of.”

  Nevada goes from open and smiling to deadpan in the blink of an eye. “You’re right. I’ve taken way too much of your time already.” She turns to Austin to thank him.

  The snake rears back and sinks its fangs into my heart. Nevada never takes anything from anyone, and now I’ve made her feel badly about taking a bit of my time. My target changes; now I want to pummel myself.

  Austin looks between the two of us. “I’ll get a board, and we’ll run it up in the back. It’ll take two minutes.” He jogs away, around the corner of the house.

  Nevada walks to the porch and tries to give Carly back the black helmet with the gaudy pink flower on the side.

  She refuses, and they discuss it.

  Twenty interminable minutes later, the bike loaded and strapped down in the back, we pull out of the yard.

  I feel her glances on my face, but I keep my eyes on the road. I’m pulled between wanting to apologize and wanting to yell. I’ve got to find a way to extricate myself from this…situation.

  She turns to me. “Who put a bug up your butt all of a sudden?”

  “I don’t owe you an explanation.” The snake bites again, but I don’t care. If she hates me, she’ll keep her distance.

  “Oh, I see. You can pick at all my secrets, but yours are off-limits.”

  “That’s about right.” I nod.

  “Okay, that’s fine by me.” She crosses her arms and slumps in the seat.

  That lasts for all of two minutes. She cocks her head at me. “This freeze-out is not like you. What happened?”

  “If you care, you shouldn’t. Can we just not talk?”

  “Hey, I’m all good with that.” She turns to the window.

  But without the distraction of words, it’s worse. It’s just me, the snake, and my tangled thoughts.

  And the pissed-off woman whose scent fills my head, impossible to ignore.

  * * *

  Nevada

  Joseph and I unload the bike, and ignoring my protests, he backs it into the hay shed, then disappears into the hogan. I don’t want any special favors from him. Did I do something to piss him off? He was fine at lunch. It can’t be about the bike; he offered to take me to pick it up.

  And they say women are hard to understand.

  I feed the sheep and hang out awhile with Little Dude. Joseph says the ewes are pregnant, but they’re too fluffy for me to tell. I read about these sheep in the book Joseph loaned me. Navajo raised Churro sheep for centuries, but the white man almost wiped them out, seeing them as inferior to theirs. I swear, people get older, but from what I’ve seen, most don’t grow up past j
unior high, politicians included. Maybe especially them. The Churro are coming back now, because the weavers prefer their fleece. And because they’re sacred to the Navajo.

  “See, Dude? You’re sacred. That means super-special. And loved. Don’t you forget that.”

  I give him a last pat and head to the RV.

  I make myself a spam sandwich for dinner and then clean my Barbie-size kitchen.

  Thwock!

  I know that sound. I step to the window and flick the curtain. Joseph is at the woodpile, in jeans and no shirt, a red bandanna around his forehead. The sun is going down, and the gold rays catch on the sweat tracks on his skin. He sets another piece of wood on the chopping block, lifts the axe in a measured rhythm, his long muscles bunching and flowing. Then he brings it down with an explosion of power.

  Thwock!

  There’s anger in that power, and in the set of his head, the tightness around his mouth.

  I step away from the window, pick up the book, but then set it down. I feel storm-tossed; my thoughts and mood unsettled. My daydreams of more aside, I thought he was my friend. I should know by now—you let people in, and they tear you up. Well, forget him and his on-again, off-again. I don’t need him.

  But once feelings start coming, they’re hard to shove back down. I pull out the spiral notebook and a pen.

  Ma,

  I miss you. But if I’m honest, what I really miss is the mom from when I was little. I don’t remember a lot from back then, but I know we lived in a house with the yellow kitchen. And that sleeveless white dress you had with the tiny red polka dots, remember? I thought you looked like a model. And I remember your smell. Do you know the name of that perfume? I’d like to buy some, to spray on my pillowcase. You used to do that to help me sleep. Sure could use that now. I don’t sleep so good anymore.

  I guess what I really want to know is, was the high more important than me? If I knew for sure it was just your problem, I could let it go. I’m a grown-up. I don’t expect you to be perfect.