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 t
o 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.
Gardens in the Dunes Page 57