“My friend. Right.” Willow nodded. “Her name is Penelope. We’ve known each other since we were babies. I mean, as long as we can remember. Three or four years old.”
“That’s a long time.” Zane cast his eyes in Willow’s direction. “Usually after the age of seven or eight boys and girls start playing more with their own.”
Willow fidgeted in her saddle. He just wasn’t going to let it go, was he? “Well, I think we remained friends because neither of us have fathers. We were both outcasts. So, we stayed outcasts together.”
“Oh? Your dad passed away?”
Now it was Willow’s turn to shrug. “I mean, not that I’m aware of. He just didn’t stick around. It’s just been me and my mother as long as I can remember.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“He’s an outlaw. Probably for the best.” It was a lie, and Willow knew it. And by the way Zane cocked his head, she figured he knew it, too.
“I’m sure Penelope had it doubly bad being half Navajo,” Zane commented. “Not fitting in on either side. I know a bit what that’s like.”
His voice softened on the last sentence, and Willow darted a glance over at him. He held it in well, but she could see a churn of emotion in those blue eyes.
“And why must we find Penelope so urgently?” Zane asked.
Willow realized he’d accompanied her over an hour and still didn’t know why she sought the reservation. “Her stepfather has fallen ill.”
“Oh?” Zane cocked an eyebrow. “What’s he have?”
“I don’t know. It’s pretty bad, though.” Willow looked down at the horn of her saddle. “It may be her last chance to say goodbye. Well, mostly to support her mother and sister. Penelope doesn’t actually get along well with him.”
As the words came out of her mouth, Willow wondered why her mouth had run away with her. Something about Zane just made her feel like she could tell him anything. Or maybe she was being a chatterbox because of the butterflies swooping around inside her ribcage.
“I don’t get along well with my father, either,” Zane said. He fell silent a moment. “Have you ever thought about trying to find yours?”
“Oh, yes,” she blurted out. “That’s one of the things I want to do when I leave Hawk’s Hollow.”
“And how does your mother feel about that?”
Willow laughed. “I’m not planning on mentioning it. I doubt she’d be keen on the idea. And she’s not a woman you want mad at you.”
Zane laughed. “I can imagine she’s pretty tough if she fell in love with an outlaw.”
“That she is.”
The sun had risen high in the sky by now, and it punished them with its intense heat. It wasn’t even ten in the morning, and Willow could see shimmering waves rising up from the sands beneath the horses’ hooves. Other than a string of mountains, far, far, in the distance, she couldn’t see a damn thing in any direction. Just wide-open emptiness. She’d never gone anywhere near this far south.
They urged the horses into a faster pace again, starting up their trot-lope intervals. After another hour, sweat drenched Bullet and Willow both. The binding around her chest chafed and chafed until it felt like a hot brand, and Willow cursed inwardly. Damn Hawk’s Hollow and its antiquated ways. She shouldn’t have to pretend to be a man just to enter a blasted race. There were plenty of daring ladies all over the West. Annie Oakley. Calamity Jane. Pearl Hart. Belle Star.
When a silver creek appeared across the plains in front of them, Willow wanted to kiss the sky. They rode the horses to the water’s edge and dismounted. Bullet stepped into the water and shoved her nose into it, splashing Willow and Zane both. Zane laughed.
“Your horse has the right idea!”
And with that, he stripped off his boots, followed by his plaid shirt and his hat, and waded out farther into the creek. Willow’s heart stuttered to a stop. She watched as Zane scooped handfuls of water onto his chest. He splashed his face and then flipped his head over and dunked the top of it. When he straightened, he shook the excess droplets out of his midnight hair. The movement made his deeply tanned skin ripple over his muscles. Every bit of him was hard, taut, tantalizing.
“Aren’t you coming?” Zane called. “You’ve got to be dying!”
“Uh, no,” Willow said. “I’m okay.”
“Don’t be a kidder! It’s blazing out here!”
When she stayed stubbornly in the shallows, Zane waded over toward her. She eyed him warily as he approached. He stopped about five feet away, every inch of his glorious body dripping with water.
“Can I tell you a secret, Will?”
Willow nodded.
“I know you’re a girl.”
Willow’s mouth fell open. “What?” It came out shrill as a train whistle.
“Woman—sorry!”
“No, I mean—I—how do you know?”
Zane laughed. “I’m sorry, but it’s the most obvious thing in the world.”
“How?” Willow sputtered. “Why?”
“Well…” Zane ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head. “You’re kinda pretty, for starters.”
And this, after her intense surprise, Willow just couldn’t stomach. “Kinda?”
Zane laughed again, deep and long. “Ahh,” he finally managed when his mirth had settled. “I rest my case.”
“Wait a second!” Willow pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You were trying to get me to take my clothes off!”
“I knew you weren’t going to.” He grinned. “But seriously, though. It’s hot as hell. At least soak your shirt or something. I won’t look—promise.”
“Fine. Go over there.” Willow shoved a finger toward the opposite bank of the creek.
Zane made a small bow and did as requested, backing away from her. When he reached the far side of the water, he turned around, facing away. “Eyes closed and everything,” he called.
A gentleman cowboy. Willow supposed they came along once in a blue moon. She quickly unbuttoned her shirt and submerged it in the water, then splashed water over her face and chest. She made sure to get some on her chafe marks, which stung, but felt better after. Then she wrung out her shirt and put it back on. Finally, she took off her hat and dunked her hair as Zane had done.
“Okay. You can turn around.”
He did as she said, and their eyes met. It was a different kind of look, now that she knew he knew. She didn’t have to pretend to be something she wasn’t. And the look in his eyes told her he had been pretending, too. Pretending not to notice her. They drank each other in like they hadn’t been able to before.
“Okay then,” Willow said a bit unsteadily. “We’d better get going.”
Zane nodded and they remounted.
“Did you know right away?” Willow asked as they picked up a trot.
“Pretty much,” he said. “I thought, damn, this woman can throw a mean punch.”
Willow laughed.
“So, what do I call you now?” he asked.
“Willow,” she said.
And she urged Bullet into a lope as they continued into the vastness before them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Penelope
“We will discuss how to face this darkness together,” Nascha told Penelope. “But first, let us celebrate this day. The day you meet your clan.”
Penelope nodded, and they spoke no more of the darkness as they ate a breakfast of leftover blue bread, wolf berries, and wax currants.
“So, does Atsa work for you?” Penelope asked, to start a lighter conversation.
“In a manner of speaking. He is my apprentice.”
“Apprentice?” Penelope realized she didn’t know what her nálí did.
“I am one of the clan shamans,” Nascha said.
Penelope’s eyes widened. “Shaman? You do magic?”
Nascha laughed. “Magic, as you call it, is everywhere, girl. It speaks to everyone. But only some of us listen.”
“But…how does it work? What do you use it for?”<
br />
“I listen to nature. I perform rituals for the clan. I heal illnesses in my people.”
Penelope had never heard someone talk of such things. How many other things had she missed out on her whole life?
“Do not worry,” Nascha said. “You will learn.”
A shiver ran through Penelope. Could the woman read her thoughts?
“And the first thing you will learn, if you wish, is your Navajo name. The name we gave you when you were born.”
“Yes,” Penelope said. “I would very much like to know that.”
“The name you were given at your birth is Haséyá.”
“Haséyá,” Penelope repeated, letting it roll off her tongue. Then she gasped. “I dreamed that name last night. What does it mean?”
Nascha smiled. “It means, ‘she rises’.”
And Penelope remembered the white horse calling her to rise, and she didn’t think any name could be more perfect than this name.
Nascha told her more about the Gray Streaked Dawn Clan, and the rest of the Diné, their history and traditions and the names of relatives Penelope would meet later. An hour passed, maybe two. There was a knock on one of the logs outside the hogan, and Atsa ducked inside. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” Penelope echoed.
“The clan has gathered, as requested,” Atsa said to Nascha.
“Thank you,” Nascha said. “I am sure the others are excited to meet their long-lost sister.”
Penelope knew she meant sister in the broader term. It sent a happy shiver through her. She had a family now. A big family.
“After you meet the rest of the clan,” Nascha said, “We can discuss how long you’d like to stay.”
As the minutes passed, Penelope began to feel a buzz of nervous energy in her stomach, as if she’d swallowed a whole hive of bees. The whole clan was gathering to see her. No one had ever paid her any attention at all, not in her whole life. Not the positive kind of attention, that is. The idea of standing before a large group of people, the center of attention, made her nauseated.
They stepped outside, and Nascha walked on ahead of them. Atsa caught her eye, seeming to sense her nervousness. “You are the granddaughter of the great shaman Nascha. The blood of the Diné flows in your veins. There is nothing to fear, Haséyá.”
Penelope blinked, absorbing his words. Her stomach settled. She followed him past several hogans to a large log building that stood beyond the dwellings a good distance away. A crowd had already gathered, several hundred in total.
“These people can’t possibly all live here—there aren’t enough hogans!” Penelope gasped.
“The Diné live in many small groups spread across the land,” Atsa said. “The ones who do not live here with us traveled to meet you.”
All of these people had come from afar to see her? Penelope’s heart raced, but she remembered Atsa’s words and took a deep, steadying breath. When they reached the head of the crowd, Nascha strode to the center and addressed the clan.
“Greetings, Gray Streaked Dawn Clan. Today is a very special day. Today I have the honor to introduce you to someone who left us a long time ago. Someone very dear to me, my granddaughter Haséyá.”
Nascha waved an arm in Penelope’s direction, and Penelope, unsure what to do, raised a hand and waved at the huge crowd. They erupted in cheers and shouts, and many raised their fists into the air. Penelope smiled, and her heart felt full, fuller than it ever had before. Atsa caught her eye again and smiled back.
“Let us celebrate this beautiful day!” Nascha called.
And celebrate they did. Penelope soon realized the purpose of the larger building as she smelled the smoke wafting up from it, and people began to carry out trays of food to set out along a series of tables. Music began to play, drums and other instruments, and circles of dancers sprung up throughout the gathering.
Everyone wanted to meet their long-lost clanswoman, and so Penelope stood with Nascha and they greeted person after person. Atsa left to get them food, and Penelope realized when he handed her a steaming bowl of corn and beans that she felt famished. Her lips soon grew tired after so much smiling, but it was a good tired. A happy tired.
The festivities continued all day, until the sun set in a glorious display of flame and cactus-flower fuchsia. They continued as the stars popped out, one by one, like a sharpshooter hitting a target. They continued as the moon rose high in the sky, and the furious heat of day finally dissipated. They continued through the night, as comets streaked across the velvety black and Nascha told tales to children and adults alike.
Penelope wasn’t sure what time it was, late night or early morning, when she found herself staring deliriously across a fire at Atsa. Delirious from lack of sleep and delirious from joy. Like a small child, determined to stay up until the break of dawn just for the hell of it, no matter how sleepy she got. As she sat and stared into the fire, at the strange figures that seemed to leap about within the flames, animals and birds and winged beings that were neither and both, she suddenly found herself looking beyond the light into the face of the boy who had found her.
Well, the man. If only by a little. Her guide. How had he found her? She still hadn’t summoned the courage to ask him. For now, she was content with the mystery, because she’d just noticed how very beautiful he was. How the red of the flames made his skin glow a deeper, more vibrant color. How his long, black hair seemed to soak up the night. How his dark eyes reflected the stars.
Her whole life she’d been told that white skin equated to beauty. Not verbally, of course. But in the actions of all those around her. How Dynah, with her pale marble skin and flame-red hair, was the prettiest thing around. How her sister had gotten her looks from their mother, who looked just the same. And all the other coveted women in Hawk’s Hollow, all with their skin so much lighter than Penelope’s.
So, it came as a revolution inside her, Atsa’s beauty, and Penelope lost herself in it for a countless span of time. Until the subject of her study suddenly sat down next to her, and Penelope wondered in horror if he had noticed her watching him.
She blurted out the question to divert his attention elsewhere. “How did you find me?”
“Find you?” He cocked his head to the side.
“That first night. When I climbed to the top of the buttes.”
Atsa smiled. “What makes you think it’s not the other way around? Perhaps you found me.”
Penelope went still. That had never occurred to her, but she supposed it was possible. She had spotted him, from her place atop the canyon, and also the night before out on the plains. Her head spun as she pondered it, but only for a moment, because she was far too tired to put much thought into it.
“Perhaps,” Atsa continued, “The song in your heart found its singer.” He waved a hand around at the clan. At their people.
And they sat there beside each other until the first rays of dawn lightened the sky.
Tendrils of smoke from the fire still rose into the air when Penelope awoke a few hours later. Atsa yawned and stretched beside her. The sun beat down on them, directly overhead.
One of her clansmen approached. “There are two white men here to see you, Haséyá.” He pointed toward the edge of the crowd.
Penelope sat up, confused. When she turned, she saw one familiar face and one not-so-familiar. Willow? “What are you doing here?” Penelope asked as they approached.
“It’s bad news, I’m afraid.” Willow’s face was stormy. “It’s Roy. He’s real sick, Pen.”
Penelope could feel Atsa come to stand behind her. “Roy?” he asked.
“My stepfather.” Penelope chewed on her lip. She remembered her fight with Roy, and how her anger had seemed to propel into him. How he’d bent over, coughing, and she’d made her escape. Guilt reared up within her.
“I know you and Roy don’t see eye to eye,” Willow said. “But Dynah needs you.”
“She said that?” Penelope’s eyebrows raised to the sky.
Willow nodded. “She rode to my house in the middle of the night. She couldn’t come here herself since she’s helping your mother take care of him.”
Penelope felt a thunderstorm of emotions wash through her. Guilt mixed with anger mixed with pity mixed with surprise, and a good portion of satisfaction thrown in for good measure. Roy had always been awful to her. It was no worse than he deserved. And now Dynah suddenly wanted her sister? Irony was a cruel master. She had finally found a family who wanted her, who saw her, and now the family that had always looked down its nose on her needed her to come back.
But family was family.
“I need to find my nálí,” Penelope said.
“Your what?” Willow asked.
“Grandmother,” she said.
“She’s over there,” Atsa said, pointing toward the large communal building.
Penelope found Nascha and explained the situation.
Nascha’s lips pressed into a grim line, but she nodded. “I understand, shitsoi. But we must discuss further the dream you had. Soon.”
“I’ll be back,” Penelope said firmly.
“I know you will,” Nascha said, pulling her into a hug. “I’ll send some cedar bark and sage to help your mother’s husband in his healing process.”
They walked back to Nascha’s hogan. The shaman went inside and came back a couple minutes later with several leather pouches.
“Thank you, nálí,” Penelope said. Her eyes welled with tears, and she could feel her heart breaking. She wasn’t ready to leave. She’d only just reunited with everyone.
“I will escort you to the edge of Diné territory,” Atsa said.
They gathered the horses and he led the way, beyond the hogans and into the plains for several miles. The late afternoon heat settled over the earth like a bed of burning coals. Lizards sunned on rocks and buzzards circled overhead, looking for their next meal.
At some unseen border, Atsa stopped and bid them farewell. “Good luck, Haséyá. I hope we see you again soon.”
“You will,” Penelope said with a firm nod.
The ride back to Penelope’s house (or was it her old house?) took the remainder of the day. Zane, who Penelope had come to learn was Willow’s new friend, departed shortly before they arrived. As shadows began to devour the last of the sun’s rays, they reached the home she had grown up in. It seemed an eternity had passed, though it had only been two days.
A War of Daisies Page 10