by Linda Benson
“Yes, I invited him,” Laurel nodded, striding towards the kitchen fire. “He is sharing our dinner, since the venison in our stew pot was killed by his bow.”
Sahara stood rooted in place, not trusting her ears.
“Dojo is a good hunter,” continued Laurel. “We may go out together tomorrow.”
Now Sahara felt sick. Laurel sounded as if this was planned. How could her sister invite Dojo into their camp?
Sahara heard a short bleat from behind the tent. Then another, louder and insistent. Not now, Rowdy, please. Suddenly the young goat, who had worked his knot free, bounded into camp, charging boldly right through the middle.
Quick as lightning, Dojo grabbed at the young buck, catching him by a back leg. He stood, dangling Rowdy as if he were a rabbit, rubbing his grubby hand over the goat’s sides. “This goat’s been eating well,” he spat. “When will we see him in the stew pot?”
“Put him down!” Sahara screamed, clenching her fists. “He’s not for eating!”
“Why not? We ate goat at the Gardener’s Camp.” Licking his lips, he held Rowdy in the air with one hand, patting his own belly with the other. “And it was delicious.”
Rowdy bawled with terror, and Sahara’s gut churned in anger. “Because we need both goats,” she said, “if we want to have more.” It was obvious. Why did Dojo make her say it? “A male and a female.” She felt her face turning pink with embarrassment, and that infuriated her. How she hated Dojo!
“A male goat,” he said, grasping Rowdy tighter. “And a female.” He smiled widely, winking.
“Dojo, put him down,” said Laurel. “They’re Sahara’s goats.”
“Yes, and it’s best if you don’t harm them,” spoke a deep voice behind Sahara. Grandfather! He must have wakened with the commotion. Sahara took two steps backward and stood beside him, grateful for his help.
“We need the male to breed with the female,” Grandfather continued, in a matter-of-fact voice. “That way we’ll be assured of more goats in the future, as well as milk for the entire camp.” He cleared his throat. “You’d best put Sahara’s goat down, and let her tend to him.”
Dojo opened his hands, and Rowdy tumbled from his grip, but found his footing easily, none the worse for the fright.
Sahara grabbed Rowdy’s rope and tugged him out of camp towards Farina. She would tie him with a double — no a triple…no, a thousand-fold knot. How she’d like to dangle that awful Dojo by his hind feet, and punch him right in the gut.
How could she possibly go back to camp and share her meal with him? It made her stomach curdle.
Chapter Twenty-Five
SAHARA SLUNK AWAY FROM dinner as quickly as she could, spending most of the evening inside her tent, fuming. With her arms around her dogs, she rehearsed what she would say when Laurel finally came to bed. Dojo stayed rather late, and Sahara heard their voices through the tent walls. She heard his gruff boasting and Laurel’s occasional laughter. Sahara at last drifted into a restless sleep.
She awoke when her older sister finally stepped inside to prepare for bed. “How could you?” Sahara barked.
“How could I what?”
“You know what I mean.” Sahara rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Now she couldn’t remember all the angry things she was going to say. “How could you invite that awful man into our camp?”
“He’s not so bad,” said Laurel.
“He’s horrible. He’s boastful and cruel, and — ”
“Watch your tongue,” said Laurel. “Dojo’s the finest hunter in our entire clan. You have to give him credit for that.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like him.”
“No, you don’t have to like him. But you could at least be civil to him, especially since he’s kept our supper kettle filled more than once.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think it’s been easy all by myself? Trying to find food for all three of us?” said Laurel. She sat on the bed and put her face in her hands. “When Grandfather was still feeling well, it was easier. You remember what a good hunter he was — even as he got older. But for several years now, it’s just been me out there hunting. And game has been scarce. You know all of this.”
Sahara said nothing. She just watched Laurel.
“And haven’t you always been fed?” Laurel asked.
Sahara nodded silently.
“Never gone to bed completely hungry, like some families in our clan?”
Sahara swallowed, a lump forming in her throat.
“Well, I need you to understand something,” said Laurel. “I’ve never had time for any womanly behavior. Always hunted, since Grandfather showed me how. Never even had a beau before. I’ve always been the main provider in this family, ever since you were just a tiny thing, when your mother died.”
“You mean when our mother died. And our father.”
“Yes,” Laurel caught her breath, hesitating. She gazed at Sahara strangely, as if she had more to say, but instead, began unraveling her long brown braid
“So does this mean you like Dojo?” Sahara asked. “As a beau?”
Laurel crawled into her cot, pulling the worn blanket up around her neck. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe. Can we just go to sleep now?”
But Sahara was not done. “I can’t believe you like him that much! Just because he’s a good hunter and brought us food? He’s mean, and he always wants to kill everything!” Like my horse, she thought, but didn’t say it. “What about how he treated Rowdy?”
Laurel poked her head out from under the covers. “Some of his manners might need improving. And he’s a show-off. He’s always trying to make people think he’s worth something. But he wasn’t born to our clan, you know — maybe that’s part of the reason. Nehalem took him in and raised him, a long time ago.”
“I know. Evan told me. He was born in the Gardener’s Camp.”
“I keep telling Dojo a lot of us became orphans in the flu epidemic, not just him. Look at you and me. We only have Grandfather now, and each other.”
“That’s what I mean! Dojo always acts like he’s so special, as if everyone should watch him and see how important he is. Besides, he never washes, and he’s smelly — ”
“Sahara…” warned Laurel.
“But why Dojo?” said Sahara. “Why couldn’t you find anyone except Dojo for a beau?”
“He will be a good provider,” said Laurel, “no matter his shortcomings. I believe he has some good inside him, under his rough exterior.” She stretched her long legs down inside the cot and yawned. “And certainly it will take much of the burden off me to have a man hunting for our family.”
Sahara had no answer. Her head spun. How could Laurel pick a beau that Sahara so despised? Was having meat on the table worth putting up with Dojo?
Sahara felt trapped. Where else could she possibly go, except to live in camp with Grandfather and her sister?
If only she had some way to escape. She wished now for a wild horse, a swift horse, so she could ride away into the desert, as far and as fast as she could fly.
Chapter Twenty-Six
SAHARA KEPT TIGHT HOLD of Rowdy as she grazed the two goats along the dry swale of an old river bed. A brisk wind whipped her shirt tight against her thin body and Sahara shivered. Everyone was talking now about how the weather was turning colder. This constant wind seemed to signal some change, but the sky was no different than early this morning. Just a piercing blue, yet the wind grew strong and more relentless as the day progressed. It picked up sand from the bank of the dry gulch where the goats searched for small bites of scrub brush, and blew it sideways against her.
It had been two days since Dojo began sharing supper with them, and a million questions thumped inside her head. Would Laurel and Dojo become a couple? Would they marry and live together? Then where would I go? thought Sahara. Live with Grandfather? Sahara could not imagine being married to someone, especially anyone like Dojo.
How she wished for a mother. Laurel
had helped raised her, but Sahara longed for a real mother — someone she could turn to for important questions.
What had her parents been like? Would they have known about horses? Probably not, since no one in her clan had seen horses for such a long time. Everything was such a puzzle. Grandfather told her she was good with animals, that she had a gift. He told her she was the one who must go after the hunters and save the horses. Why? And the old woman on the hill, Evan’s aunt, said Sahara might have memories inside, which showed up now for a reason. What reason? Why did old people talk in such riddles?
Deep in thought, Sahara decided that when she got back to camp, she would take her questions to Grandfather. And she’d press him this time for real answers. There were things she needed to know.
Sahara felt a sharp tug on the rope. Rowdy strained against her, pulling toward the mountains. Without her realizing it, she had strayed far from camp.
Shading her eyes from the blowing sand, Sahara took a long look behind her. It was something Laurel had taught her. Always turn around and look backwards, so you can recognize the way when you need to return.
But Sahara was in no mood to go back. Not yet. She let Rowdy pull her farther along the dry river bank. Farina skittered alongside, staying close. Rowdy’s rope was long enough to allow him to buck-jump and play alongside her. Surely the goats had eaten enough, but Sahara kept going. Across the next flat piece of ground and down into another ravine where the ground seemed slightly damp. Water? Is there a spring here?
No, there was no water, but the vegetation changed slightly in this old swale. More willow, more grass, more…as she squinted into the sunlight, gazing far off toward the mountains, she made out the dim outline of trees. The fall leaves of red alder. If there was alder, might there be water and more grass? Evan had said horses would seek out water, shelter, and tall grass.
Dojo and Laurel had set out for a hunt early that morning. But Sahara had led the goats in the opposite direction, making sure she wouldn’t cross paths with them. If she continued up this old waterway just a bit further, might she find a meadow, or animal tracks, or maybe horse tracks?
It was now mid-day. Sahara had not packed a lunch, intending only to graze the goats for a while. She had headed out in her usual head-strong manner with barely a good-bye to her sister. She knew the goats would need water soon, but it was probably the same distance back to camp as it might be to the spring ahead. If there was a spring.
Sahara tugged at Rowdy. Walking over the gravelly bed of the old dried-up stream bed, she started toward the trees. It was hard going, with rocks of all sizes slicing at her feet.
The old river bed was not a straight course, but meandered between high banks. Often Sahara could not see the alders in front of her. Out of breath and hungry, she sat on a boulder to rest. The thirsty goats bawled at her.
Sahara really did not want to go back. What if Dojo came for dinner again?
But if Sahara kept going, she might not reach the alder trees until supper, and that would mean traveling back across the plains in the dark. Not a good idea.
She thought of a plan. She would get up early the next day, pack some food and water, bring her dogs for protection, and start out toward the alders in a more direct route. If she was ever to find horses again, she had to look for them in places with grass and shelter. Satisfied, she hauled on Rowdy’s rope, called for Farina, and sprinted up the side of the river bank toward camp.
The wind blew fierce now, as the afternoon shadows lengthened. She must have been out longer than she intended. She squinted far across the plain. The tents and makeshift dwellings of Trader’s Clan looked tiny, and camp was still a good distance away. She started to jog, but the goats could not keep up, so she slowed to their speed. It was taking forever! A deep sense of foreboding hung about her. She needed to be back in camp. Rowdy! Farina! Come on!
The smell of cooking fires grew stronger, and with relief she charged into camp. Her space was strangely quiet. No dogs barking, no fire built, no Laurel, no Dojo. They must not be back from hunting, or perhaps they stayed the night somewhere. Grandfather must be worried about her.
Hastily, she tied the goats and flicked back his tent cover. “Grandfather? I took the goats out, but was gone longer than I intended. Were you worried?”
There was no movement from his cot.
“Grandfather?”
Banner raised her head now, and Sahara noticed the dog had been hunkered down near Grandfather’s pillow. Blitz roused himself, too, and shook heartily, as if he had been there all day.
Sahara shuddered. Afraid now, she stepped quickly towards the cot. Grandfather lay peacefully, as if simply sleeping.
“Grandfather?” she said, in a small voice. She reached out to touch him, but drew her hand away quickly. All warmth was gone from his body.
It could not be. Grandfather was dead.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
SAHARA COULD NOT FATHOM life without her grandfather. He had seemed so much better lately. She should have been home with him, instead of wandering into the distance with the goats, following her crazy notion that she might find horses. If only she had come home on time, maybe she could have done something, helped him. Maybe he would still be alive.
Sahara sat on the bench outside, her head cradled in her hands. Rowdy baahed, but she barely heard him. She felt fingers stroking her hair, then rubbing her shoulders.
“He died in his sleep, Sahara.” Laurel spoke softly to her. “There is nothing you could have done.”
Sahara’s head shook back and forth involuntarily. “I should have been here. I should have been here.”
“Sahara, I know how close you were to Grandfather. But did you get a good look at him lying there? He had no pain. His face was restful. And the dogs were there.”
“I know,” Sahara blurted, tears pouring from her face. “At least someone was with him.” It was all a blur to Sahara. It was hard to believe Grandfather was gone. Forever.
And now they must bury him. The men of the clan dug a deep grave in the sand overlooking a wondrous view of the plains below. Laurel and some older members of the clan wrapped Grandfather in his blankets. Sahara hung back. Part of her wanted to peek inside the tent to see what they were doing, But part of her shivered at the thought of Grandfather’s body lying there rigid and cold.
Sahara felt like she needed to help in some way. But how? What could she possibly do for Grandfather now? No flowers or blooms grew on the windy hillside near camp. Besides, Sahara wanted to leave something of herself for him.
Thinking quickly, she grabbed a short knife from the kitchen tools. “Banner. Blitz.” She whistled and they came to her. Holding them steady, she cut a handful of long fur from each of the dogs. Banner and Blitz had been with Grandfather in his last hours, even if she was not. She knew they had comforted him. Tipping her head to one side, she cut off a hunk of her own long hair.
Shuffling all the hair together and tying it with a short loop, she pushed inside the tent where Grandfather’s body lay. Unwrapping the side of his blanket, she tucked the mixed locks of hairs close to him, against his still body. Now a part of her would be with him always. He will always know how much he was loved.
She followed the procession up the hillside to the grave site.
“Oh, Mighty Spirit,” Nehalem began, giving weight to each word, as they lowered Grandfather’s body into the hole. “Please watch over this good man, as we lay him to rest in your earth. Please bring peace upon his spirit, and bring peace upon the loved ones he leaves behind.”
How could she bear to leave him here? Now Sahara would never be able to ask Grandfather a question. Ask him about her parents, about her dreams of horses, about Laurel and Dojo, about a myriad of things that sprang to her mind.
As she stood at the edge and watched the sandy loam shoveled over his grave, she tried to hold a picture of Grandfather in her mind — to capture each moment with him, to remember him forever. But the pictures were already blending
together and fading, even as she tried to make them stay.
At least Dojo was sensible enough to keep his distance. He hung in the background, allowing Laurel and Sahara to draw close.
“Grandfather was our link,” Laurel said. “He was our father’s father. No one can ever take that away, even though he is gone.”
Sahara wrapped both arms around her taller sister, hugging her fiercely. It was true. They would always be family.
After a few days of mourning, Nehalem decided it was best to move on, toward the Almaden mountains. Grandfather’s tent was given to a family with four young children, and they were glad for the extra room. As the clan packed to move out, Sahara fell into a deep despair, thinking of leaving Grandfather there in his newly dug hole. Her head throbbed with mixed emotions. She knew Grandfather was old, and that it was not really her fault that he died. But she could not rid herself of a guilty notion that she should have come home sooner and not followed the goats up the winding draw towards the alder trees in the first place.
For a tiny moment she wondered what she might have found if she had kept going. Horses? But she shoved that thought aside.
Silly girl! she thought, remembering the taunts of the children from Gardener’s Camp. Your foolish ideas about horses have caused nothing but trouble.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
IT HAD BEEN A WEEK since Grandfather’s death, and Trader’s Clan now became more focused on finding relics from the past. Everyone was on the lookout for useable items to swap with the Gardener’s Camp. If someone spotted lumber or metal sticking up out of the sand they hollered out. Often the clan set up camp to search the area more closely for what might be left from earlier inhabitants. Containers, hard plastic items, and things which puzzled everyone were uncovered frequently now. Sahara thought it was the doings of the wind.
It blew more fiercely than Sahara ever remembered, often becoming blustery and uncomfortable when she wandered the plains with her goats. One day, as she led Rowdy and Farina away from camp, she noticed Ash following from a distance. Buttoning her jacket tight around her spare frame, she called out to him.