Before dawn, when the air was coldest, Indigo woke Sister Salt with her shivering attempts to snuggle closer. They took turns rubbing each other’s hands and arms vigorously; Sister Salt pretended Indigo’s hands were a fire drill and stick that would catch fire if only she could rub them fast enough. “Faster-faster-faster,” they chanted in unison until they both started laughing out loud. They watched the light seep into the sky—at first a nearly imperceptible glow out of the darkness. Yesterday they all had been together dancing for the dawn that brought the Messiah, then suddenly everything changed.
Grandma Fleet and Mama would meet them back at the old gardens. That was the last thing Grandma Fleet told Sister Salt that morning, moments after someone shouted a warning; the girls knew how to follow the river south to the big wash that led to the canyon of the dunes.
The Messiah and his family escaped; Sister Salt saw them. His wife and children stepped into the river first, then the Holy Mother and he followed them; the fierce river currents of muddy water closed around them but they were not swept away. Their shoulders and heads remained above the muddy water, and they moved across the river effortlessly, as if they were smoke. When they emerged on the far side of the river, the Messiah and his family hurried up the high sandy hill above the river. The sunlight shone on the white robes of the Messiah and his family as they paused at the summit in plain view of the soldiers and Indian police overrunning their camp. But the soldiers and police never saw them; the Messiah and his family escaped.
♦ ♦ ♦
Sister Salt made a digging stick out of a piece of driftwood and dug up cattail roots to eat. Cattail roots didn’t really taste like anything but water with a little salt, but Indigo forced herself to chew and swallow them to stop the pain of her empty stomach. For three days they followed the river south; late on the fourth day Indigo noticed the air suddenly felt much warmer. On the morning of the fifth day, they reached the intersection of the big wash and the river.
They dug cattail roots all morning to carry along to the old gardens. They filled their canvas shawls with the roots and wore them bundled on their backs. Before they left the river, they gathered wild gourds to make small canteens, which they filled with water and strung around their waists with cloth torn from their skirts.
All day they walked through the sand and sagebrush; the air was cool but the sun warmed them. Indigo began to notice green shoots and sprouts of new growth pushing through the sand. A few miles west of the river, the big wash meandered southwest, and when they rounded a turn, Indigo shouted, “Look!” Along the sides of the wash silvery green brittlebushes were covered with yellow blossoms.
That night when they huddled together to sleep, the air was cold but it was not freezing. They had crossed into the land of summer. The next day, about noontime, Sister Salt pointed to a big sandstone boulder at an intersection with a smaller wash. Here they left the big wash and walked the small wash for a few hours more before Sister Salt took a game trail that ascended the crumbling clay bank. The trail was steep. When Indigo reached the top, she was short of breath and she had to wipe away the sweat before she could see where they were.
Indigo had been so young the last time they lived at the old gardens she didn’t remember how anything looked. She had listened to Mama’s and Grandma’s stories, and she knew they had been forced to abandon the old gardens after refugees came and ate everything. Despite the descriptions of the ravages of the starving people who left the dunes stripped bare, Indigo imagined the old gardens as they had been before the refugees came: tall corn plants swaying gracefully in the breeze, surrounded with bushes of bean pods and black-eyed peas, their golden-green tendrils tangled around the thick pumpkin vines.
Indigo shaded her eyes with one hand as she surveyed the sandstone canyon; she saw nothing green, nothing growing at all, only sandy ridges covered with dry weeds.
Sister Salt walked faster now, up the path to the head of the canyon. They still had a little river water in their gourd canteens, but for miles Sister Salt imagined how good the springwater would taste. She was grateful to have the river water for their journey, but it was muddy; the water that dripped down the cracks in the cliff was cool and clear.
Grandma Fleet had given Sister Salt instructions: first thing, go to the spring and look for footprints or other signs of people living in the area. Grandma Fleet said they should keep to themselves if they encountered strangers living at the old gardens. Grandma Fleet warned if too many people settled at one location they were bound to attract the attention of the authorities.
Blackened rocks and bits of charcoal from old campfires were partially buried by the sand, but Sister Salt could see that at one time as many as thirty campsites dotted the upper end of the canyon below the spring.
The cool springwater tasted even better than Sister Salt remembered; she and Indigo drank and then scooped water over themselves to wash off the dust. They sat by the spring and ate the last of the cattail roots; the sun felt warm, and the sound of the water trickling down the sandstone was soothing. They spread their canvas wraps on the fine sand next to the pool and stretched out side by side. Sister Salt was on her back looking up at the sandstone walls of the canyon and the sky but she was thinking about Mama and Grandma Fleet. Did the Indian police catch them? She couldn’t stop thinking about the soldiers and Indian police galloping toward the dancers to encircle them. In their dark uniforms, on horseback, they did not appear to be humans but giant insects swarming down the hills to the riverbank.
Indigo lay on her stomach and up on her elbows, her chin resting in both hands as she stared into the water. She watched the water bugs scurry around their villages in the yellowish sand at the bottom of the pool. The big bugs moved with dignity, but the smaller bugs darted about as if they were playing chase with one another. Pebbles and stones in the pool were hills and mountains; the green shoots of water plants were the forests. How lovely their pool was! They had all the water and food they needed.
From the corner of her eye, Indigo caught the shiver of a blade of grass across the pool, though there was no breeze; she did not move. More blades of grass wiggled, then parted slowly as a big rattlesnake’s head poked out cautiously, its tongue moving over the air slowly to read any warnings. The snake’s tongue stopped when he caught their human scent. For an instant the snake looked at Sister Salt sleeping, then at Indigo, who held her breath. Grandma Fleet talked about the big snake many times because he was almost as old as she was, and the spring belonged to him. All desert springs have resident snakes. If people killed the snakes, the precious water disappeared. Grandma Fleet said whatever you do, don’t offend the old snake who lives at the spring.
“Remember us? We won’t harm you, Snake,” Indigo whispered softly. “You know our grandmother and our mother.” The snake seemed to consider her words before he glided to the edge of the pool. Indigo was amazed at how gracefully the snake dipped its mouth into the water, tilting back his head to swallow a dainty sip. The snake was thirsty and dipped his head to the water many times before he stopped, flicked his tongue at Indigo and then Sister Salt, then backed away and disappeared into the grass around the pool.
Later, when Sister Salt woke up and heard about the snake’s visit, she said it was a good sign; if soldiers or others were lurking in the area, the big snake disappeared.
The first night they slept by the spring, but all night birds and small animals brushed past them to reach the water. The next day they went to work on Grandma Fleet’s house. The old dugout house was not easy to spot because its roof was low to the ground and partially covered with sand. Sister Salt dropped to her knees, then crawled through the opening. Indigo followed, relieved that her sister was first to go inside Grandma Fleet’s abandoned house; the old dugout room looked like a perfect home for centipedes and scorpions. Once they were inside, there was a narrow ledge and then three big stone steps down into the room. Indigo sat on the bottom step until her eyes became accustomed to the dim light. Insid
e the air was cool and smelled of clean sand; Sister Salt poked around the corners. The room was much bigger than it appeared from outside; there was plenty of space overhead, and the roofbeams were solid, although the wind had disturbed the top layer of desert palm branches on the roof.
They finished the roof repairs and were at the spring for a bath when they heard a strange sound off in the distance; someone was singing. At first the singing was too far away and they could not make out the song; sometimes the singing grew faint, then loud again, as if the singer had crossed a dry wash. They both listened intently; then Sister Salt recognized the song.
“Grandma!” Sister Salt yelled and took off running in the direction of the singing. Indigo started to follow her but Sister Salt was running much too fast. Indigo watched her sister run through the stands of dry sunflowers below the sandhills toward the mouth of the canyon until she was out of sight. Indigo listened. The singing continued, then stopped. Suddenly she felt a strange fear overtake her, a fearful feeling she was about to be abandoned by Grandma Fleet, and even Sister Salt.
Indigo ran as fast as she could through the deep sand, up and down the sandhills, until her sides ached and her throat burned. She stopped to listen for the singing but the sound of her own breathing was all she heard. She ran, and when she stumbled, she picked herself up and kept running, terrified she might lose them.
At the mouth of the canyon she found them; Sister Salt was kneeling next to Grandma Fleet, who was resting in the shade of a big yucca, leaning herself against a gunnysack full of bundles. Indigo ran to them, her heart pounding wildly. She looked all around, panting; tears filled her eyes as she realized Grandma returned alone.
“Where is she?” Indigo demanded. “Where’s Mama? Why didn’t she come?”
“Is this the greeting I get?” Grandma Fleet teased as she opened her arms to embrace Indigo, who pressed her face hard against Grandma’s bony chest and started to cry.
While Grandma Fleet rested in the shade, Sister Salt and Indigo took turns dragging the gunnysack full of bundles up the sandy path from the mouth of the canyon to the house. Grandma Fleet and one old Mormon woman were released from government custody. Grandma and the Mormon woman became friends on their walk down the river. They did not talk so much as they pointed out things to each other, then smiled and nodded to each other while they walked along.
Later, as she unpacked the bundle, Grandma Fleet talked about Mrs. Van Wagnen’s cellar under the floor of the little stone house at Mormon Crossing. So much food put up in glass jars neatly arranged on wooden shelves! From muslin bags kept in big crockery jars, Mrs. Van Wagnen brought out dried apples and dried apricots and even dried venison.
From time to time Grandma passed them a muslin sack to sniff so they could savor the sweet, dry fruit odor. Beans. So many Indian beans! Mrs. Van Wagnen had great success growing beans because her garden was near the river. Grandma Fleet did not want to take so much food, but Mrs. Van Wagnen had insisted. She could not eat all that food herself, she said, and then she started to cry because her husband and the other wives were arrested, and their children sent away to live with foster families in the new Mormon Church. Mrs. Van Wagnen stopped crying when she talked about the new Mormon Church; she became angry. The old church had been brushed aside by demons, she said. But Grandma Fleet thought maybe the other Mormons got tired of resisting the U.S. government. The government said only one wife, and now the new church said one wife, so the old Mormons moved to remote locations. For years and years, the U.S. soldiers chased Mormons when they weren’t chasing Indians.
They thought of Mrs. Van Wagnen each time they ate the sweet dried apricots or boiled a pot of beans, and they hoped she was getting along all right. So many strangers forded the river at Mormon Crossing that a woman alone was not safe there. Poor Mrs. Van Wagnen! She was the first and now the only wife, but she didn’t know if she would ever see her husband again.
All the talk about people lost made Indigo cry. Would she ever have her mama again? Grandma Fleet reassured her.
“I would know if something was wrong,” Grandma said. “I would feel it in my bones.” Even if their mother was arrested, the government usually kept Indian women in jail for only a month or two.
“Before hot weather comes, I’m going to visit my Mormon friend,” Grandma Fleet said one day. They had just gathered a great many succulent little plants that grew under the sand at the foot of the cliffs. More than two months had passed and they had heard nothing. Mrs. Van Wagnen might have some news.
“I’ll just be gone overnight. You girls won’t even miss me,” Grandma Fleet said.
“We could come with you,” Indigo said hopefully.
“Oh no.” Grandma Fleet shook her head vigorously. “It isn’t safe for young girls to travel. If the Indian policemen find us, who knows what they might do with you?” Grandma Fleet eased two big gourd canteens of springwater over her shoulder and took up her walking stick. Sister Salt carried Grandma’s gunnysack full of roots, seeds, and leaves—spices and medicines Mrs. Van Wagnen might need. After all that wonderful food she gave them, it was the least they could do.
“No one notices an old woman, but everyone sees a young girl,” Grandma Fleet said as she started off briskly; she allowed the girls to accompany her as far as the big boulder at the intersection of the little wash with the big wash. Indigo tried not to cry but the lump in her throat forced out the tears; she made no sound and kept walking at her sister’s side. At the big wash Sister Salt slipped the gunnysack from her back to Grandma Fleet’s back.
They watched Grandma Fleet until she disappeared around the first turn in the big wash. Indigo sank to the ground and began to sob loudly. Sister Salt did not like the sound; it echoed off the sandstone on both sides of the canyon. Anyone—the Indian police or a miner or a cowboy—might hear that sound.
“Crybaby!” Sister Salt hissed in her little sister’s face as she jerked Indigo to her feet by her arm and pulled her along behind her.
“Shut up before someone hears you! Grandma went to find out about Mama,” Sister Salt said, and she was crying now too.
By the time they reached the house the sun was past midpoint in the sky and it was hot. After a drink and a bath at the spring, they crawled into the coolness of the dugout house and covered themselves with their wet canvas shawls they soaked in the pool. Indigo lay on her bed and stared up at the latticework of willow branches over mesquite poles. Why hadn’t Mama escaped by now?
Indigo dreamed she was in Mama’s arms, hugged so close and so safe, her face pressed against Mama’s chest, breathing in Mama’s warm scent of sage and earth. Mama’s love surrounded her and rocked her gently. When Indigo woke, she looked around for Mama before she remembered, and some part of her deep inside broke open, and she cried so loud she woke Sister Salt. Indigo expected Sister to scold her for crying, but she put her arms around Indigo and rocked her, saying, “Don’t cry, sister, don’t cry. Mama will come back, she will.” Indigo felt something wet fall on her arm and realized Sister Salt was crying too. As Indigo began to feel more hopeful and stopped crying, Sister Salt cried harder. Indigo hugged her big sister as tightly as she could.
“Don’t cry!” Indigo whispered, and patted her sister’s back. Sister nodded and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes.
Indigo excused herself to go pee. She was surprised at how much daylight remained as she walked to the latrine below the dunes. The hot days would arrive in no time.
When Indigo returned, Sister Salt was far in the back corner where Grandma Fleet kept the big pottery storage jars. She heard the sounds of Sister Salt removing the stone lids, and the rustle of dried apples and strips of dried meat in muslin sacks.
At first they were only going to sample the apples and the venison jerky. Indigo rolled the dry apple slice around on her tongue until it was moistened; she sucked on it for a long time until it was too soft and sweet to resist and she swallowed it. They took only the smallest flakes and slivers of j
erky to chew and chew, and they had contests to see who could make the jerky last the longer. Indigo looked Sister Salt in the eye and took another piece of dried apple and another piece of jerky; before Sister Salt could stop her, Indigo stuffed both the apple and the jerky in her mouth. Sister Salt grabbed the jerky from her mouth and popped it into her mouth. Indigo laughed and took another piece of jerky. They shared a gourd of springwater and ate as many dried apples as they wanted and more jerky until Indigo began to feel too full and a little queasy, so she gave the half-eaten jerky strip to Sister Salt. Grandma Fleet would be furious when she found out the two of them had eaten enough food in one evening to last three people for a week. Sister Salt finished Indigo’s piece of jerky, then she reached into the muslin sack for another and yet another piece of jerky, until the muslin sack was empty. Indigo saw Sister Salt glance in the direction of the back room to the food storage jars; she had never seen Sister Salt eat that way before, not even those times they were without food for days. Sister Salt did not seem like herself; the difference in her behavior made Indigo uneasy. Grandma would be home by this time tomorrow. Maybe she wouldn’t notice the lids on the storage jars had been moved, Indigo thought as she drifted off to sleep.
Sister Salt waited until Indigo’s breathing was slow and deep before she crept back to the storage jars. Her stomach was so full it felt swollen, but still the hunger raged inside her, demanding that she eat. She reached for the lid on the jar, but stopped herself short; she did not move for a long time. She knew she was full, she knew she didn’t need to eat any more. Where did this hunger come from? If Grandma Fleet or Mama had been there they might have explained what the trouble was. She crept back to her bed and reached for the gourd canteen. She drank water until the hunger could barely make itself felt.
The next day they did not talk about the food they took from the storage jars. They gathered succulent green “sand food” from the foot of the cliff all morning, and saved enough for Grandma when she got home that night. The weather was warm; as soon as the first good rain fell, Grandma said, they should start planting.
Gardens in the Dunes Page 4