Our eyes met. I felt cold, empty.
“Deployed? When?”
“Soon.”
The room began to shrink smaller and smaller. “You can’t. It’s not fair.”
“Dad’s known since he picked me up at the airport. I just told Mom. She’s pretty shook up. They went over to the hogan to talk with Grandma and Gramps.” Gaby swallowed. “I waited until now…so I could tell you myself.”
“You promised. You said—”
“Tess, stop! Listen to me, please.”
The drumming grew louder, filled my head. I stared at my sister. “Deployed? No. Not like Lori.”
“I promise, Tess, not like Lori. They took a wrong turn. Lori tried to protect her fellow soldiers.” Gaby stopped, shaking her head. “Lori was a true warrior, Tess.”
I looked at my sister. “Is that what you want? To be some war hero? Dead or alive?”
“No, that’s not what I want.”
“Then what do you want?”
“What do I want?” she snapped back. “I don’t know. To pay my own way—medical school, college tuition. It’s all jumbled up.” Gaby shook her head. “I’m trying to figure it out, Tess, how to be me. Navajo? White? What’s me?”
“You? What about our family? And being here? Isn’t that being you? All those promises you made? What about that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said we’d have time together—”
“I’m sorry, Tess.”
“Sorry? What good’s saying sorry? You enlisted, and I said that was stupid, and you said the army would send you somewhere safe.”
“I didn’t know, Tess.”
“You didn’t know? That’s all you can say? You don’t know shit!”
“Tess!”
Neither of us spoke. Everything seemed blurry, out of focus. Neither of us moved. Finally Gaby stood up, walked over, put her arms around me.
“I am sorry, Tess. Nothing is the way I planned it. Getting my leg hurt. Losing all possibility of a scholarship. I was trying to make the best decision, not just for me, but for our family. My orders got changed. Sometimes we have to do what we swore we’d never do.”
I stared at my sister. She looked so tired, so sad. I tried to smile.
“I guess that’s why Mom always says ‘Never say never.’ ”
Gaby gave me a squeeze.
I squeezed her back, and held her in a long, scared hug. I closed my eyes and listened to the drumming of my sister’s heart.
Then Gaby took a deep breath, stepped back, and stared at the floor. “Tess?” She didn’t say anything more. Instead she glanced at the window—the one that looked out at the corrals.
“What, Gaby?”
“Never mind.”
Finally my sister looked at me. “There’s something important I need to do. I’ll be back soon.”
I stood by the window and watched as she walked toward the barn. I knew where she was going. She needed to tell Blue.
—
Someone knocked on the bedroom door.
“Come in. I’m still awake.”
Mom came in and sat down on the edge of my sister’s bed. “Gaby’s deployment. She told you?”
I nodded.
Mom swallowed. “We’re going to have a ceremony. A protection ceremony. For soldiers heading to war.”
War. Going to war.
“She has to leave sooner than we thought, Tess.”
“What?” I looked at Mom. “What are you talking about?”
“Gaby didn’t tell you? She has to leave…” Mom looked away.
“When?”
“In just a few days.”
“But she has two weeks of leave. That’s what she said.”
“I’m sorry, Tess. When her orders changed, her leave was canceled. She was lucky to get these few days.”
“Lucky?” I didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
Mom didn’t look at me, but she continued talking. “I’ll need your help, Tess. Everyone in the family will be here.”
I stared at Mom. “But she promised. Two weeks! This isn’t fair.”
I wanted to grab my sister, hold onto her, shake some sense into her.
Mom stood up and looked at me. “I’m sorry, Tess. We’re all upset.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t answer.
“Want to talk some more?”
“Not tonight.”
“Then get some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day.” Mom put her hand on my shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”
chapter five
hózh, walk in beauty
The sky was just beginning to lighten, just enough to wash away the stars. Sunrise was still an hour away, and before I was needed to help with preparations, I claimed this first hour as my own.
I looked over at Gaby’s bed. She hadn’t come back from the barn. She was probably sleeping there. That’s where she liked to go when she was upset, surrounded by the smells and sounds of horses, sheep, and goats. Curled up in a cozy nest of saddle blankets on top of a big pile of hay.
Two days. I have two days to be with my sister.
Before the ceremony. Before she leaves.
I opened the top drawer of my dresser and pushed back a pile of papers, poems that had been stuck in my head until I had written them down. Beneath the poems was an envelope full of sticky notes, mostly funny messages from Gaby, and a torn-out piece of newspaper. A photo. Why had I saved it? Please, no more fallen warriors.
Lori Piestewa, smiling in uniform.
The caption read, “First Native American Woman to Fall in Combat.”
I picked up another piece of paper, a letter from Gaby. The first one she sent after arriving at boot camp. Maybe it was a poem. Or a prayer. It said only this:
Shideezhí, little sister,
Walk with me, in harmony, in beauty.
Little sister, let me fly.
Hózh,
Walk in Beauty.
“Walk in beauty? Me walk in beauty? Hózh, walk in beauty yourself!” That frightened me. Saying these words out loud. What if the spirits were listening? Gaby believed in them. Especially the Yé’ii. Mom said that autumn was when the Yé’ii might appear before leaving for their winter’s rest in the mountains. Gaby would often ask me to come with her to town in hopes we’d see them.
The Yé’ii scared me. When I was little, Gaby and I were standing outside the Tuba City Trading Post when two tall men wearing turquoise masks had begun dancing around us, shaking red rattles right in our faces.
Gaby had wrapped her arms around me. “Don’t be scared, Tess. When the men put on their masks, they become the Yé’ii, the Holy Ones. Watch.”
I had held tight to my sister’s hand. The Yé’ii laughed, making sounds I didn’t understand, and offered us candy. Gaby nodded and said to me, “It’s OK, take it.” I hid my hands behind my back. Gaby took the candy for both of us.
“The Yé’ii protect us, Tess. See, they even give us candy. Chocolate, my favorite. One night after it snows, we’ll gather around a big bonfire, and the Yé’ii will dance the Night Chant. Then they’ll leave for the mountains by Flagstaff and rest there for the winter.”
Gaby had let me eat all the chocolate.
Yé’ii, will you protect my sister now? I wanted some sign, a message, something that said, She’ll be fine. Did I expect a raven to land on the windowsill, maybe an eagle feather to drop out of the sky?
I shoved the papers back into the drawer, slipped on my running clothes, and hurried out the door. Outside I could breathe, and the world felt normal. I needed to stop thinking. I needed to run.
Grandma was already at the sheep corral. Lambing season was in full swing, and every few hours, day and night, she checked the new lambs and the pregnant ewes. Once the lambs were strong and shearing was done, Shimá would take her herd down into the canyon for the summer, where there’d be plenty of water and grass. Gaby always went with Grandma because
she loved being in the canyon. I had gone too, a few times, but only for a couple of days each time. The canyon was so big, and it sort of freaked me out. Except one place that I loved: a narrow side canyon with a waterfall—Gaby’s waterfall. Gaby said there was magic in that canyon, that it was a place the spirits liked to visit. I believed her. Who would go with Shimá Sání this year? Had my sister thought about that?
Grandma waved for me to come over. She was bottle-feeding an orphaned newborn lamb.
Shimá looked at my running shoes, nodded. “Good. We each find our way. Your sister is finding hers. Yes. Run.”
I jogged past the pasture where Dad kept his two prize beef cattle, Tuition One and Tuition Two. Dad had been socking away “cow money” since Gaby started high school. If I kept my grades up, trained hard, and ran fast, maybe I could get the scholarship Gaby had lost. Then when Gaby returned, she wouldn’t have to worry about tuition money. She’d have veteran’s benefits, and I’d have a scholarship. My sister wouldn’t have to reenlist. Dad wouldn’t need to work so far away in Phoenix or keep raising cattle to pay for tuition.
I stopped, faced east, stared at the horizon, and whispered the words Grandma said every morning. Hózh, walk in beauty, in harmony. Me? I was walking in mud. That made me smile, even laugh a little. Shimá would be pleased. She has always said that laughter is healing.
I stretched, pressed my hands against the sand. It felt good to touch the earth.
OK, Tess, get out of your head. Run!
The sharp red line of the mesa cut straight across the horizon as if a kid had drawn it with a ruler and colored it in with a crayon. The flat red mesa extended for miles until it was interrupted by huge sandstone monuments that stuck straight up like giant stone sculptures.
As I ran, the whole world became desert, only this desert. Every run, every morning, was different. Skinks and other lizards zipped out of the way. Ravens whooshed overhead, the sound of their wings close. I’d glance up, call out, and sometimes they’d answer. Once I ran past a gathering of ravens, dozens of them hunkered on the limbs of a big gnarly pinion tree like old men arguing politics. In early summer, hummingbirds buzzed past or soared straight up, fifty feet or more, to dazzle their girlfriends with straight-down dives. Tiny cactus wrens startled me when they’d burst from a bush like fireworks. A jackrabbit might freeze for a moment, with its tall radar ears perked straight up until—zoom, a streak of furry gray, and presto! Gone!
Now as I ran, dawn changed to day. The sun poked above the horizon. Light spilled across the mesa. I stopped.
“OK, Holy Ones,” I whispered, then I closed my eyes and listened to the slight breath of wind. “If you are out there, please protect my sister. Can you do that?”
chapter six
promises
I ran hard all the way back, and didn’t stop until I was in front of the barn. Blue took one look at me, snorted, and trotted to the far corner of his corral.
Blue. I remembered the first time my sister saw Blue. Dad had driven up pulling a horse trailer. He had stepped out of the pickup with a big wide grin on his face. Gaby and I had watched as a gray-blue stallion had backed nervously out of the trailer, looked around, and then whinnied, his long neck vibrating as he trumpeted. He was beautiful! He had the sturdy build of a quarter horse and the graceful lines of an Arabian. Dad had seen Blue at auction and couldn’t resist. He’d been looking for a stallion for Mom’s mares. Mom kept a few mares at our place for riding, but most of her herd roamed free in the canyon. Dad said the canyon mares needed some new blood for breeding. Mom had agreed, and Dad was always happy to look over livestock at local auction.
Gaby had taken one look at Blue and broken out with a smile nearly as wide as Dad’s. She marched right over to Blue. Putting one hand on his trembling side, she spoke to him in Navajo. She looked at Dad. “Can I have him?”
“I don’t know. He’s a handful,” Dad said, taking off his hat, scratching his head. “He’s got some mustang in him. Might make him a bit wild and unpredictable.” Dad looked at Blue and then at Gaby. “He’ll take a lot of training.”
“I can do it!”
Gaby stroked Blue’s neck. He quieted. She rubbed between his ears, talking softly to him all the time. They’d had some kind of special bond ever since.
—
I walked over to the horse barn and opened the door. No Gaby, but I could see where she had made her hay nest with a bunch of saddle blankets. I picked up Blue’s reins, a bar of saddle soap, and a cleaning rag, and a can of mink oil. I grabbed one of Blue’s bridles and sat down. The horse barn—more of a shed than a barn—was a good place to be in the summer, dark and cool, full of horse and hay smells. Smells that went with my sister. Many hot summer afternoons we had spent in here with a stash of comics, trying to keep out of Mom’s sight. Mom was always ready with a list of chores that needed doing.
I liked helping my sister with her horse stuff. I didn’t care what—brushing, grooming, even holding on to a hoof while she dug out gravel with the hoof pick. After getting the tack ready, Gaby would brush Blue, then lunge him in a big wide circle in the corral, cantering him in one direction and then the opposite, making sure he picked up the right lead. I’d stay in the barn and thumb through a stack of old comics, starting with my least favorite, Wonder Woman, saving Archie, with my favorite character, Veronica, for last. The barn was a good place for thinking. It was where I wrote my best poems. I always kept my journal and a handful of pencils and a sharpener under a particular hay bale. I’d write stuff I didn’t want anyone to see, even Gaby. I tried writing mirror image and backward like da Vinci, but the problem was, I couldn’t read any of it.
Eventually Gaby would whistle for help setting up the barrels. Then she’d work Blue, running him full out, guiding him with the press of her legs, shifting her weight, teaching him to turn tighter. Maybe knock another tenth of a second off their racing time. Finally she’d reward him with a handful of sweet oats and take him out on the mesa and let him stay in a smooth easy lope. When they returned, they’d gallop straight toward me—Gaby with a big grin on her face and her long hair flying wild.
But with me, Blue could be plain mean. He might bite or kick, and once he had rolled in a muddy creek when Gaby and I were riding double. Oh, Gaby had gotten mad!
Once after an especially bad day, I had asked her, “Why do you put up with that horse?”
“I’m not a quitter. If I work him right—slow, steady, and firm—he could be a champion. Anyway, Blue’s bad behavior is my fault. If I’m scared, it makes him jumpy. That’s when I have to pay attention to what he’s saying, slow down, and be firm.” Gaby grinned. “Remember that time he bit me? I grabbed the feed bucket and bonked him on the head hard enough to let him know I meant business. He never tried that again.”
“With you.”
“You have to show Blue who’s boss.”
“Blue knows who’s boss, and it isn’t me.”
“Mean what you say, Tess. He’ll listen.” Gaby laughed. “Just like we do when Mom gives orders.”
Orders. That thought pulled me right back from daydreaming. Now the one giving orders is the army.
I poured a bit of mink oil on the scrub rag, placed the bridle across my knees, and scrubbed. Blue’s saddle would be spotless. Gaby would like that.
Blue nickered from the corral. Gaby must be around.
The door creaked open. “Tess, you’re here! I was looking all over for you,” Gaby said. “You’re harder to find than a lost sheep!” We both laughed. Gaby smiled just like her old self. My sister was home.
“Did you talk to Mom this morning?” she asked.
“Not yet. Did you?”
“We had coffee. With Dad.”
“How are they doing?”
“Better. A lot better.” Gaby studied my face. “And you?”
“I had a good run.”
“Hey, nice job on the saddle.” She paused. “I really am sorry, Tess. Sorry we won’t have time for more ni
ght rides, for being together. I was hoping you and Blue would begin to sort of like each other.”
I didn’t answer. I stared at the cloth in my hand.
“Tess, I’ll be gone a long time. A year, maybe more.”
“A year!”
“Blue’s going to be lonesome. He’ll need attention, someone to ride him. Mom and Gramps said they’d help with the feeding. But Blue will go crazy if he’s cooped up in that corral all the time.”
“Then sell him.”
“I’d never sell him. Never! He’s a special horse, Tess. You know that.” Gaby waited until I looked up. “Will you take care of him?”
I stared at my sister. She knows how I feel about Blue.
Gaby’s tone softened. “Teshina, will you do this for me? Ride Blue. Until I’m back.”
“Why did they change your leave? Just like that? It’s not fair.”
“It’s an emergency deployment. I was lucky to get these few days.”
“Right. Real lucky.” I hated the mean sound in my voice, hated it. But words kept jumping out. “Why did you sign up in the first place? Trying to be a war hero? Trying to be Navajo?”
“I am Navajo, Tess. Same as you!”
“Wrong! We’re mixed-bloods, half-breeds. Misfits. Kids at school remind me every day.”
“I’ve told you, Tess—ignore them. They’ll stop.”
“It doesn’t work that way for me. You’re the gorgeous Navajo princess. I’m the kid who looks like a mixed-up mutt.”
“Stop it, Tess. Maybe when you start seeing yourself for who you are, who you want to be, and—”
“Is that why you’re heading off to war?”
“Haven’t you heard anything I’ve tried to say? When I get back I’ll be a veteran, Tess, with benefits. I’ll finish college and pay for everything myself, everything. I’ve been figuring it all out ever since Lori…”
“Since Lori what? Enlisted? Got killed? Finish saying what you mean.”
“Stop right there, little sister. You know better than to talk about death. Talk can make things happen.”
Soldier Sister, Fly Home Page 3