by Socha, Walt
“Okay, Alta,” Joe said in a low voice, “that’s enough for today. I think there is a lady here who wants to meet you.” “Hello, Alex,” Joe said in English and in what he hoped was a normal voice.
He helped Alta down then waved to one of the stable pokes to take care of the horses.
Kristi dismounted and the three of them left the corral. “Good morning, Alta,” the lady said. “My name is Linda. I’m with the Montana Children and Family Services Division.” She offered Alta her hand. Alta backed away and crowded next to Kristi.
“Alta, Linda is a friend,” Joe said in English, avoiding any demonstration of his knowledge of Alta’s native tongue.
Alta looked up at Joe. Her eyes bored into his. No smile even though she knew the word ‘friend.’
“Let’s walk to her car,” Kristi said to no one in particular.
They walked silently, except for Linda, who kept up an endless monologue about the home where Alta would be living until they placed her with a family.
Joe felt Alta slip her hand into his. A glance showed her other hand clutching Kristi’s.
When they got to the non-descript sedan with state license plates, Linda opened the passenger side door. “Dr. Khoury, you needn’t make the ride into town. Us girls will get along just fine.” Then she reached out to touch Alta’s shoulder. “Alta, say goodbye to these nice people.” Joe hunkered down before Alta. “My chief tells me that you must go with his woman,” he whispered in Alta’s language. “She is a friend.” Worry cut through his core. Alta hesitated before she let go of Joe’s hand, and then Kristi’s. She walked toward Linda.
Linda’s smile broadened. She took Alta’s arm and started to lead her into the passenger seat.
Alta’s eyes widened.
Joe started forward. She had never been in an automobile. She didn’t even know what it was.
Alta screamed and wrenched her arm from Linda’s grasp. Sobbing and hysterical, she ran to Kristi and flung her arms around her. “Help me,” she cried.
Joe knelt besides her and held her shoulders. After a minute, she unclasped one arm and reached for Joe’s hand. “Hold her, Joe.” Kristi drew in a shuddering breath.
“I’m going to talk with Linda.”
Joe stood and, grasping Alta’s hand, started walking away from the growing knot of staff and guests.
“I want to go home,” Alta said in a small voice.
A chill swept over Joe. If the raided village was Alta’s, her entire family was most likely dead. Could he take her home? He looked up at the mountains. Red Wash was barely visible but appeared normal. No mist. “I will protect you,” Joe said, squeezing her hand. What else could he say?
They walked side by side, behind the stables, past the workshops, and around to the front of the ranch. The CFSD car was gone. Kristi and Brent sat on the administration building’s steps. As Joe and Alta came into view, Kristi rose and walked their way.
“I suggested that Alta stay with me for another week,” Kristi said. “Linda agreed. Being a medical doctor has some influence, although I did have to sign my life away.” She paused. “Joe, I’m scared.” For a second her eyes looked haunted, and then she turned to Alta. “You stay with me many days,” she said in Alta’s language.
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Joe looked up to see Brent at the doorway. Behind him, Larry stood staring over his shoulder at the Crazy Mountains.
“Come on in.” Joe stood and scooted his chair toward Brent.
“You rub any old lamps recently?” Brent swung the chair around and sat, leaning over the chair’s back. “Maybe pull a sword out of a rock?” Both of his eyebrows rose.
“What kind of silly ass questions are you tossing out?” Joe shoved a few dirty clothes aside and sat on his bed. “I’m thinkin’ we’re way past being concerned about the condition of your mere ass.” Larry entered the room and looked around. He shrugged and lowered himself to the floor. “We got Joe living his nightmares, we got a young woman from some other time and place, and now we got a second person magically speaking some unknown language.”
“Look, Kristi’s not just scared, she’s terrified,” Brent said.
“Hell, this whole thing is blowing up.” Joe stared into nothing. Kristi was now clearly involved. He felt responsible, but what could he do?
“When did she start understanding Alta’s language?” Joe blinked and looked over at Brent.
“When Alta started screaming at the CFSD lady’s car.” “Let’s get back to Brent’s questions.” Larry shifted on the floor. “You do anything unusual lately? Before your little jaunt up into the Crazies.”
“Nothing but a few dreams.”That and medicine elders dying, but that was just as crazy as rubbing old lamps.
“Great. So we’re apparently clueless and have a young lady who most likely belongs elsewhere.” Larry frowned. “Or elsewhen.” He looked from Brent to Joe. “What are we gonna do now?”
That, Joe figured, was a damn good question.
Chapter 7. Thursday Evening
Joe entered the forge, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light from the hanging fluorescent lamps illuminating the now deserted classroom. “How’s Alta?” asked Larry.
“Better. She spent the day in Kristi’s cabin.” Joe opened the lid of a battered ice chest and twisted one of the two cans of non-alcoholic beer he was carrying into the slushy ice. “Kristi thinks it’s just a common cold plus all the new foods. Plus some residual problems from Tuesday’s milk products.” He swept off a nearby chair with his hand and sat, popping the tab on the second can. “Poor kid.” “Bad enough getting the shits without getting the sniffles.” Larry frowned at the can in Joe’s hand. “Still drinking that piss-water?” Larry sipped from his own can. The torn, cardboard carton lying next to the ice chest identified his drink as a cheap local brew. “Keeps me hydrated.”
“Any ideas pop up since last night?” Larry threaded a strip of leather through a curved sheet of bright metal. “Nope. No magic lamp, no magic book, no magic nothing.”
“Heard from the Sheriff ?” “Not a thing.”
“Should we ride up to Red Wash?”
“The Sheriff and his men supposedly combed the entire canyon. Didn’t see anything.” Joe shook his head. “At least nothing they shouldn’t have.” He nodded to the metal in Larry’s hand. “What the heck is that?”
“Working this into a breastplate. One you can get in and out of without help.”
“One of your SCA things?” Joe eyed it. “How’d you ever get into that stuff ?”
“Yep.” Larry rubbed at the dully-gleaming metal. “Society for Creative Anachronism. As for how I got there, that’s a bit of a long story.”
Joe raised an eyebrow in encouragement. “Actually, the SCA activities pre-date my iron-smithing.” Larry smiled. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. I guess the SCA thing started with my non-recovery from my tour of the Middle East.” A slight frown creased the normally happy face.
“Shit,” Joe said. “Didn’t know you were ex-military.” “Not a good story. The short version is that I was a medic and got myself wounded. Roadside bomb. I’m okay except for a bit of a twinge in my leg in damp weather.”
Larry took another swig. “After I got out, I got into drinking too much.” He paused to look at the can in his hand. “Some bad memories.” He looked up. “Went to a renaissance fair with a bunch of other drunks. Saw these weird people wandering around in full armor, whacking each other with dull swords.”
Larry tossed his empty can into a bucket already half full of empties, held up the breastplate to the overhead lights and frowned.
Joe added a little imagination and could just see the curved metal matching part of a torso. A large torso.
“Kinda strange, but those peoples’ idealized Middle Ages fantasies seemed to be an antidote for my Middle East nightmares.” Larry turned the metal piece over in his hands. “I’m thinking that the drinking was a reaction to the impersonal killing. The SCA means me and my new best
buddy are just beating the shit outta each other for points. The loser buys the beer. Anymore, I’m a cheap winner.”
He frowned at his curved piece of metal. “The problem,” he said, “is fastening the damned thing together once you get it on.”
Larry got up and pulled a second piece of curved metal from the cluttered workbench. Sitting down, he started stitching the two pieces together with a leather strip that appeared from nowhere. “Any more of those dreams?” He glanced up to Joe. “You haven’t mentioned them since Sunday morning.”
“Last night was the same. Without the evil overtones.” Joe said. “When they first started, I kinda wondered if the setting had something to do with being an orphan.” “Yeah, I remember you saying something about that.”
Larry shrugged. “Can’t relate too much. Never was close to my Irish family.”
Joe’s eyebrow rose. “Your what?”
Larry inspected the strips of metal. “Well, my mom met this West African guy in college. Turns out he already had a couple of wives back home. But my mom didn’t find out about that minor detail until I came along.” He frowned, picked up an awl and enlarged one of the holes. “She took me back to her Irish neighborhood in Boston. Quite the stir, I hear. Hooked back up with her high school boyfriend. Good guy, he treated me right. They proceeded to produce the typical large Catholic family. I got along.” He blew out a breath of air. “And I was way too big—that came from my biological dad—to get much shit in school.” He snorted. “Except for the nickname ‘Irishman Larry’.”
He laced the leather through the final hole and nodded. “That’ll work. Anyway, can’t say me and my half-family are close. But I always make sure to send the nieces and nephews Christmas presents.”
Joe sat for a moment. “I can sort of relate to not having a close family. Just had the one set of grandparents for most of my life—and they’re gone now. I barely remember my parents.” Although the terror when the authorities had pulled him out of school after his parents’ accident had lingered in his nightmares for years.
Larry started untying the two pieces. “Me, hard to imagine a family. Especially after the Gulf thing. This world’s too fucked.”
As he pulled the last of the leather lashings apart, Larry looked at Joe. “Actually, not much feels relevant anymore.” He barked out a laugh. “Guess that’s why I got into blacksmithing. That’s about as unrelevant as you can get.”
He turned the piece of armor over. “Enough head talk.” He stared out the doorway into the darkness. “Brent doing one of his astronomy things?”
“Yeah.” Joe nodded. “But I think he was going to join the campfire sing-along first. Said something about listening to Kristi’s singing and guitaring. If she’s not still nursing Alta.”
“Shit.” Larry looked at his wristwatch and frowned. “Well, looks like I missed it.”
“Someone else will have to handle the low parts,” Joe said. “How’d you learn to sing?”
“Well, I was raised Catholic, remember?” Larry chuckled. “Didn’t stick. But I did kinda like choir.”
“You still got time to catch Brent’s stargazing class.” “Nah, better finish this.” Larry chuckled again. “Now, keeping track of stars, that’s another unrelevant skill.”
Chapter 8. Friday
“Feeling better?” Joe hoped he wasn’t embarrassing her by asking.
“I think yes.” Alta kept her eyes forward as they walked to the stables. “Kristi says it is new food and new little animals.” She bit her lip. “But not animal milk problem.” Her face brightened. “She showed me little animals with her...I do not know word.”
“What’s that?” Joe looked at her. “Ahh...you mean the microscope in the infirmary?”
“Yes. But I do not understand. Kristi said she show me more later today.”
“Well, the important thing is that you’re better,” said Joe. “Feeling strong enough for another horse-back ride?”
“Yes. Will you explain leather parts again?”
At the stables, Joe reviewed tack and helped Alta saddle Bambi. After several circuits of the ranch, they stopped at Joe’s shed where Brent was covering Joe’s basket weaving class.
After dismounting, Joe led Alta into the back of the class area. Kristi wasn’t in sight. Nine students—including two men—sat around the long tables working with rattan, cedar bark and split spruce root, all intent on their baskets.
A few minutes passed before they became aware of Joe and Alta. Several stopped to whisper among themselves. Joe ignored them.
Alta watched the students’ progress for a few minutes before turning to Joe with a hesitant smile. “I make basket?”
“Sure,” Joe said. “Let me show you how to start.”
As Joe gathered materials, he heard Brent interrupt the class to watch. Around him, the students repositioned their chairs. So much for a brief visit.
When Joe had finished his demo, Brent gave Alta some presoaked reeds.
“Can I make my basket instead of yours?” she asked, looking at Joe.
“Sure.” Joe looked down at the simple basket in his hands, made with a wicker weave on an odd number of spokes. “Make it your way.”
Alta started her basket, but not the way Joe had demonstrated. “What is material?”
“We call it ‘rattan.’ It’s the bark of a ‘palm’ plant.” Joe paused. Words weren’t working. “It looks like a large fern.”
As Alta twisted the fibers to form the bottom of her container, several of the students stopped working on their own baskets to watch.
Within an hour, Alta had finished a utilitarian basket of elegant simplicity, small enough to fit in a large man’s hand. The woven, oblong, flat bottom curved up into a rounded shape with a matching neck covered by a fitted lid. Several of the students even recorded her efforts with their cameras or phones. And all were watching as she finished.
Joe stared at the tightly woven basket in Alta’s hand, now glad that Kristi wasn’t here. He glanced at Brent, who just raised an eyebrow. Joe shifted his eye to the open door. The distant Crazies loomed over the ranch compound. Somewhere up there, this young woman had lost her way and her life, negating the usefulness of her skills. Could a teenage woman survive in a world where none of her abilities were relevant?
“That is very good.” Joe’s eyebrows rose as Alta trimmed the loose ends of the basket’s reeds with an obsidian knife from one of his display cases. He was going to have to get her some steel knives and sharpening stones. “Excuse me,” said one of the students, an older man. “Could perhaps a donation to the young lady’s education fund be made in exchange for her basket? Say fifty dollars?” “Ah, the fund is a good idea, but that’s sort of covered.”
Joe averted his eyes from the man’s gaze. “But a wool blanket from the gift shop might be a good trade. Should I ask?”
At a nod from the man, Joe turned to Alta, “This man would like to trade a blanket for your basket. Would you like that?”
“Can I see blanket?” Alta asked without hesitation.
Joe translated for her.
The man excused himself, disappearing in the direction of the gift shop. In a few minutes, he was back with a new wool blanket of a blue and red diagonal pattern.
Alta fingered the blanket and smiled. Then she looked up and studied the man with such seriousness that Joe almost laughed.
“And cutting tool,” Alta said, pointing to the man’s sheathed Bowie knife.
Joe translated. The man narrowed his eyebrows, and then laughed.
“Sure thing,” he said, removing the knife and sheath from his belt.
As the man left with his new treasure, Brent moved to Joe’s side. “What he really bought was the story that goes along with Alta,” he said in a low voice. “All the guests know by now how you met her. And the basket’s new owner also has a video of its construction.”
“Well, I was going to get her a knife anyway.” Joe shrugged. “But I was thinking of something a bit smaller.
Quite a shrewd trader she is,”he added to no one in particular.
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Joe looked up at approaching footsteps. “Hey, here’s Kristi.”
“I understand you had an exciting day.” Kristi placed her dinner tray down next to Alta’s. Her ability to speak Alta’s language had dramatically improved in only two days. “I rode Bambi again—even saddled her—and I traded basket for blanket.” Alta glanced at Joe sitting across the table then back to Kristi. “And knife.” Alta frowned. “That man is not good trader.”
“I can’t disagree with that.” Joe turned to Kristi. “After lunch, Alta helped me with tracking.”
“I saw new animal. Nu-tri-a.” Alta said the word slowly and carefully as she looked at Joe. “Joe explained ‘non-native’ animals.”
“I showed her where the Nutria originated on a globe of the earth,” said Joe.
“I need to think more.” Alta’s eyebrows narrowed. “But Joe said Brent could explain ‘planets’ and ‘suns’ better.” She only hesitated briefly over the unfamiliar words.
“Oh, he did?” Kristi looked from Alta to Joe, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Joe decided to change the subject. “How was your day?” “I spent some time with Father.” Kristi’s smile faltered and she shrugged. “I tried to convince him to stay the second week as we had planned. But he’s having withdrawal symptoms from his business.” Her face brightened as she turned to face Alta. “I have good news. There will be an empty cabin next to mine. I reserved it for you. Starting tomorrow.” She spoke in Alta’s language.
Alta bit her lip. “I not stay in your lodge?”
“In this world, adults have their own lodge.” Joe glanced from Kristi to Alta.
Alta’s face relaxed as she tilted her head in thought. Then she looked up at Kristi and smiled. A moment later, her smile disappeared. “In my land, soon have lodge. Built by village men. Grandmothers talk with near villages about man for bed.” Alta’s eyes lost their focus.
“That isn’t...” Joe cut off his comment. Not his place to criticize the social norms in her world. Even if she was barely out of childhood.