The Girl Who Remembered Horses

by Linda Benson

  Banner’s pups were a good diversion. Three males and two females, they chewed on everything they could find. Banner held them down with her paw to wash them, but they were almost too big for that now. Sahara adored them and could not pick a favorite. The smallest girl, the one that she called Moshe, was the sweetest. Most of them were spoken for, and would be trained to pull a cart as soon as they were strong enough. Banner too, once her puppies were weaned, would be able to pull her share.

  Sahara watched as a sudden, stiff breeze blew through camp. Summer was almost over, and that meant their clan would once again leave. They would not be back until next spring, when they had harvested enough skins to once again trade for vegetables, wheat, and corn from the gardens.

  Grandfather had regained his strength. It was just a bit of a spell he had gone through. “When you’re as old as I am,” he said, “you have good days and you have bad days. That’s the way that it is.” Now he was restless, eager to be on the move again.

  Part of Sahara wanted to stay at the Gardener’s Camp. She loved her job with the animals, and she had grown close to Evan this spring and summer. She couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if the horses came back to the alder grove. Would the smoky-colored young horse come back, too? Would he remember her, or would he only remember being shot with an arrow and trapped in the small corral? Sahara wished she could stay and see if the horses returned, but Laurel and Grandfather were the only real family that she had, and she had no choice but to go.

  “Sahara, are you coming?” Laurel’s voice, breaking in on Sahara’s reverie, sounded anxious.

  “Coming where?” asked Sahara.

  “Nehalem has called a clan meeting. He has something to share with everyone. Grandfather is already there. He’s saving us a spot.”

  The Trader’s Clan gathered around a circular area in the middle of their tents and makeshift buildings. They sat on a variety of wooden benches and faded recycled plastic chairs. Sahara scooted in next to Grandfather. She was glad to see him up and about again. Laurel took a seat next to her. Dojo sat near the front. Muscular and lean, with his hunting knife ready at his waist, it was hard for Sahara to imagine Dojo as a small orphan boy, taken in by her clan.

  Dojo threw a smile toward the bench where Sahara sat with Laurel. Was he secretly laughing at her? Sahara looked away. She had barely spoken to Dojo since the horse ran away, and she wasn’t going to look at him now. Her sister Laurel, however, sat nervously next to her, glancing up from time to time, as if to catch Dojo’s eye.

  Nehalem stood, his tall angular frame demanding attention. He cleared his throat. “I thought it best if we all have this information, before we leave the Gardener’s Camp. We will be traveling in a new direction this year.”

  New direction? They always traveled west, towards the mountains, where there was more chance of finding large game.

  “I’ve been talking with the Camp Leaders here at the Gardens all summer. They agree with me that the climate seems to be changing. Have you noticed it’s been cooler at night?”

  Sahara nodded her head, along with everyone else.

  “We think there will be more rain in the future. And more grass. It’s a good thing, actually, because deer and elk will be more plentiful.”

  And horses, Sahara thought to herself. But she kept her mouth silent.

  “So there will probably not be a shortage of skins to find. But what the Camp would really like to trade for is more hard goods, more recycled goods.” Nehalem looked around, to see if he had everyone’s attention.

  “Remember what we brought with us last time we came?” he asked.

  Several people answered. “Lumber, large pieces of metal, and tools that we uncovered. The dogs could barely pull it all.”

  “Exactly. It’s our feeling that as the climate changes, with additional wind and rain, more items from the past will be uncovered. So this year we are going to make a special effort to find such things.”

  “Are we going to bring all this stuff back to the Gardener’s Camp?” one man asked. “How are we going to carry it, anyway?”

  “We’ll just have to build more dog carts,” said Nehalem. “Last year we found a promising place to look. Do you remember along the plains of the Almaden Mountains?”

  “Where we found the wheels?”

  “Yes, exactly. That might be a good place to start. With more wheels we can build more carts, and then be ready for whatever we might find. Sahara’s pups should be large enough to be taught to pull by then. They are growing fast.”

  Sahara smiled, trying to imagine those playful pups being trained.

  “If Sahara still had her wild horse, she could have him pull the cart,” someone said. Several people chuckled.

  Grandfather spoke up, stopping the laughter. “If she had her horse, she could ride him to the base of the Almadens and tell us what is there.”

  More people laughed, thinking he was making a joke, but Sahara knew her grandfather was serious. She shot him a look of gratitude.

  Surely if a person could ride a horse, they could travel long distances much faster than a person walking. And a horse could pull at least ten times what a team of dogs could pull. But what if such things were just a figment of her overactive imagination? And what if the book she kept hidden away was just fiction, like her teacher had said?

  “If we had a whole herd of horses, we could all ride, and no one need walk,” snickered someone from the back.

  “Besides, as fast as those creatures can run, we’d be at the Almadens in one day, as long as we could stay on the wild things. Ha!”

  The laughter continued.

  Sahara ducked her head and balled her fists. Why does everyone think it’s so funny? But she had no way of proving that horses could actually be ridden or used by people, now that the horse was gone.

  “Can you imagine my grandmother riding a horse?” chuckled a young woman.

  Nehalem raised his hand for silence. “Attention, please, we have serious matters to discuss.”

  The clan quieted and once again heeded Nehalem. But Sahara heard no more of his words. She sat with clenched teeth and a knotted stomach. It was bad enough that kids from the camp school laughed at her ideas, but now her whole clan thought her ideas foolish. The blood pounded between her ears, and her head throbbed.

  Feeling warm hands on her shoulders, Sahara turned to see Grandfather standing behind her. Without a word between them, she leaned back against him, swiping moisture from her eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  KNOWING THEY WERE ACTUALLY leaving felt bittersweet. Growing up in a traveling clan, packing to go every fall seemed as natural as breathing to Sahara. But this time was different. She wasn’t sure if it was the chance that the horses might come back, or something else. Could it be the goat keeper she might miss?

  Sahara and Evan had developed a bond of sorts. It was true he was several years older, and perhaps only thought of her as a girl, a helper. But ever since the day when she had stood up to the hunters, he treated her differently — with more respect. Sometimes he asked her advice about a goat. Sometimes after the noon meal he dropped by to play with the puppies.

  Now, as Sahara tucked her belongings onto the dog cart, she watched the smallest pup scramble into Evan’s lap.

  “This little runt will be the best one of all,” he said.

  “Moshe? No one else has spoken for her. They don’t think she’ll be big enough to pull a cart at all.” Sahara brushed her unruly hair back off her face, suddenly finding herself concerned about her appearance in Evan’s presence. “Do you think she’ll grow?”

  “Sometimes the small ones will surprise you. She may get close to the size of the others, with good care. And she’ll certainly try harder. That’s for sure.”

  “I’d like to keep her. She’s really my favorite,” said Sahara. “But Laurel worries about having one more mouth to feed, especially if she’s weak.”

  “Your sister is definitely the practical on
e in your family.”

  Sahara flinched. “And I’m the dreamer,” she said.

  “No, not at all. You’re not just a dreamer. You’re not afraid to take chances or try new things. Look how you saved the horse from the hunters.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t believe how you stood up in front of them, and held them off. Made me proud, actually.”

  “Thank you,” said Sahara, basking in his warm praise. “But nothing came of it. And Dojo is still upset that the animal was taken away from him.”

  “When the horse ran away afterward, that wasn’t your fault. You were getting him used to people. If they hadn’t been in there chasing him, chances are someone could have actually ridden him by now.”

  Sahara looked up at him. “Do you really think that? Because the teacher said — ” She gulped.

  “The teacher? You mean Mr. Billy Goat Whiskers? What did he say?”

  Sarah giggled. Evan always made her laugh.

  “He said the book about horse training might be fiction — that somebody made it up. I’ve kept it hidden away since then.”

  “Oh, that teacher just likes to hear himself talk. He’s been that way ever since I went to school. He always has to be right — won’t let anyone think for themselves.”

  “So you think the pictures in the book might be real?”

  “Yes, I do. And you seemed to have a way with that horse, like you knew how to do it naturally. Remember how you made a head rope for him, but didn’t try and lead him right away? You said it would frighten him. And how you talked to him, and he settled right down?”

  Sahara closed her eyes, remembering how her fingers scratched the horse in just the right spot. How her hands knotted the head gear as if she had done it all her life. She could picture him in her head, breathe the sweet smell of horseflesh, hear the horse call out in a plaintive whinny. Oh, how she missed him.

  “Do you think the horses will come back to the alder grove?”

  Evan shook his head. “Now they’ve been discovered, they’re bound to be fearful of that area. I think they’ll find some other place. Near water, where there is tall grass.”

  “I keep thinking about your aunt, up there alone on that hill, with all those old books,” said Sahara. “Does she know how to read? Maybe she could teach me a little — next year when we come back.”

  “She can read a little, but her eyesight is bad now. She tried to show me when I was younger — ” Evan chuckled “ — but I had no patience for it.”

  “What’s going to happen to her? And to the books? When she…” Sahara hesitated. “Well, she’s so…old.”

  “You mean when she dies someday?” finished Evan. “I don’t know for sure. Someone else will probably keep the books, but they’re in pretty bad shape. And only a few people even know how to read them anymore.”

  “If I could only figure out those words, I could tell everyone what they say. Maybe when we come back in the spring…” Sahara ducked her head, hiding tears. “I wish I didn’t have to leave.” There. She’d said it.

  “And who will I find that chases wild goats better than you?” asked Evan.

  Sahara smiled in spite of herself. Evan always seemed to brighten her mood.

  He set the puppy down with a gentle pat. “I need to tend to evening chores right now. But watch for me. I’ll come by your camp again later. Tonight, before you leave.”

  The carts were lined up. Banner and Blitz were hooked to their harness, and Laurel had made a seat for Grandfather amidst clothes and cooking items. He stood tall and proud with his walking stick, and declined to sit.

  “I believe I’ll try to walk for a while,” he said. Sahara, as she watched him, felt a fierce swell of pride and love.

  Friends were shaking hands, wishing safe travels, and hugging one another. Ash walked by with his head hung low.

  “What’s the matter?” Sahara called out to him from her place next to the dogs.

  “It’ll be so boring, now,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Ulu and I were best friends.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Sahara had mixed feelings about leaving, too. She would miss Evan’s friendship. But where was Evan? He said he’d come by one last time. Sahara scouted around the dog cart several times, looking in all directions. Moshe bit at her heels, playing. She was the only pup left, and secretly, Sahara was glad that no one had spoken for her. She was still small, and held a special place in Sahara’s heart.

  Sahara saw someone lunging through the crowd, holding something tight against his chest. Maa! She heard. Maa! It was Evan, and as he ran, he grasped two young goats tight against him.

  Nehalem was just starting the lead dog teams.

  “Wait!” Sahara cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted. “Please…” she said, in a smaller voice.

  Laurel looked at her sharply, but everyone pulled up momentarily.

  Evan was out of breath, and his words came haltingly. “I couldn’t catch the little fellow,” he said, nodding at the male goat he held. It was the rowdy kid that always ran away from Sahara. He was so much larger now! He squirmed in Evan’s grasp, along with a smaller female kid. “I’d like to make you a trade,” he said.

  “A trade?”

  “Yes,” said Evan, putting the goats down, and holding them with two tethers. “I’ll trade you these two young goats for the last of Banner’s pups.”

  “For Moshe?” asked Sahara. Surely two goats were worth more than one runt puppy.

  “Yes, for Moshe,” said Evan.

  Sahara considered this proposition. Evan would be kind to Moshe, and Sahara had no problem giving the pup to him. And goats would provide milk, and maybe even meat for her family. But they were also an extra responsibility. Something else to watch over at night. Something else to feed. She looked at Laurel for approval.

  “With both of these goats, you’ll have fresh milk within months,” Evan said.

  Grandfather hobbled over, eyeing the goats. “Sounds like a good trade to me,” he said.

  And so it was done. Sahara gave Moshe a last good-bye kiss and passed her to Evan. The two goats were tied to the back of the dog cart and with much protest were led out of camp. And Sahara left with a warm feeling in her heart, partly for the pup she left behind, and partly for Moshe’s new owner — the gentle young goat herder.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THE GOATS WERE A mixed blessing. Sahara tied them securely in camp each night to keep them safe from predators. She brought food and water to the goats, as well as to her dogs, and still prepared meals and tended the fire. But the responsibility of the goats also led to greater freedom. Instead of staying in camp all day, Sahara now wandered with the goats daily, in search of good grazing for the growing animals.

  The goats ate almost everything — grass, willows, and weeds — and were constantly searching out new forage. Sahara relished the chance to explore the countryside around their camp. She named the young male goat Rowdy. He was a handful, and she kept him tied on a long rope so he didn’t scamper away. She remembered, from her duties at the Gardener’s camp, how fast he could run. The young doe was calm and gentle, and Sahara called her Farina. Because she stayed close by, Sahara allowed her to run loose.

  Banner and Blitz did not know what to make of these new additions to the family. Their natural inclination was to charge at them, but a few loud reprimands from Sahara stopped that behavior. Still, the goats were nervous of the dogs, so Sahara usually took them out alone, leaving the dogs sleeping near their tents.

  With Rowdy on a long tether, free to browse his breakfast, and Farina mincing bites right beside him, Sahara cherished the opportunity to be alone. Sometimes she lay back in the soft grass at the edge of a meadow, staring up at the billowing clouds floating by. Other times she’d poke through weeds and rocks, looking for some useful item from the past.

  When Nehalem spoke at the camp meeting of their new quest — finding recycled trade items — it kindled Sahara’s imagination. Maybe a wheel would poke out from behind s
ome bush where Rowdy chewed. Maybe she would find another book, but the chance of that was unlikely. Paper was fragile, and since the Dark Days, most books had disintegrated with time and age. She kept the book on horse training carefully wrapped in an old shirt tucked under her cot.

  Mid-afternoon, Sahara tugged on Rowdy’s rope. “Come on,” she said sternly. The young buck, growing by leaps and bounds, was strong. “You’ve had enough to eat,” she said, becoming annoyed, “and I’m supposed to start the evening meal.” Farina trotted up for a pat, and Rowdy followed reluctantly.

  Sahara hastily tied the two goats to a tree behind their tent. She hoped they were full now, and would settle down, nap and chew their cud. Sometimes Rowdy “maahed” repeatedly for no good reason except to gain attention.

  Sahara peeked into Grandfather’s tent. He snored lightly, but appeared to be resting peacefully. He napped most afternoons now, but he took his meals heartily, and seemed spry when he was awake. She hoped Rowdy would stay quiet, so Grandfather might sleep until dinner time.

  Moving toward their cooking fire, Sahara saw a tall, long-haired man shift his weight on a wooden stool. Sahara’s belly lurched in recognition. Dojo! What was he doing by their tent? She stood frozen in her tracks, reluctant to move forward.

  But he had heard her. “When is dinner?” he asked. “I am famished.”

  What? She did not want to share her dinner with Dojo. She could barely stomach the sight of him. She looked around for Laurel, wishing someone could help make him leave. But she saw no one.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  Dojo leaned back comfortably, cupping his hands behind his head. “Your sister invited me.”

  “What?” Sahara could not believe this. Did not want to believe it.

  “Ask her yourself.” Dojo smirked, gesturing toward the edge of camp.