Soldier Sister, Fly Home

by Nancy Bo Flood

  “First we build a fire. We warm up our hoghan and make her happy.” Grandma handed me an empty orange crate. “Fill it only half full. The firewood is behind the outhouse.”

  I stepped back outside. Grandma was still talking. But to whom? Me? I turned around. She was chatting in Navajo, and I realized she was talking to the hogan as if it were an old friend.

  There were a lot of things I didn’t know about my grandmother. A lot of things I didn’t even know I didn’t know.

  I loaded the crate and carried it back. Shimá had opened up two narrow cots.

  “Here, take these blankets outside. Throw them over the tree branches to air out while we still have sunlight.” She also handed me a water jug. “We’ll boil up coffee.” Her eyes twinkled. “No espresso, but good strong stuff. Cowboy coffee for real Indians.” She shook her head, laughing to herself. “Fill the jug from the spring upstream from the corrals. The best one is near the foot of the tallest cottonwood.”

  The spring was right where Grandma had described. The water was cold and clear. I washed my face, then cupped my hands and drank. I could hear Blue nickering from the corral. He was not happy. I called to him. “OK, OK! Hold your horses!” Like Grandma, I laughed at my own joke.

  I filled the jug and hurried back to the hogan. A thin line of smoke curled up from the chimney. Shimá stood in the doorway. She looked concerned.

  “Blue wants out. Be careful with him.” She took the water, motioned for me to sit down. “Once Blue claims this place as home, he can be let loose. The rest of our herd is somewhere in the canyon. Blue will find them.” She smiled. “Never forget, Blue is a stallion, and for now we need to keep him in his own corral, away from the mares.”

  She poured water from the jug into the coffeepot. “Coffee will be ready soon. Then we eat and rest.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll feed and water the horses.”

  It didn’t take me long. Soon the horses were sniffing and sampling hay in their corral, and the sheep were grazing. The dogs nipped at any sheep that acted like it thought the grass looked greener over the next hill. I was tired, thirsty, and hungry.

  Shimá had spread a plastic red-checkered cloth over the two-person table. I unpacked the chicken sandwiches we’d made last night. That seemed like a century ago.

  “Cowboy canyon espresso?” She laughed and poured two steaming cups. “Sorry, no latte.” The coffee was black and muddy and tasted terrible, but the hot liquid soothed my dry throat.

  “Thanks. Nice place, good service. Does this establishment offer free refills?” I smiled at my grandma.

  Shimá smiled back. Her face had a warm, rosy glow. I wasn’t sure if it was from the long ride in the sun, the warmth of the stove, or just because she felt happy. She refilled our cups. We sat slurping our coffee.

  Gramps would drive the truck down next week and bring more supplies as long as the wash was passable, which it usually was until the July rains hit, monsoon season. The amount of rain that could fall during a monsoon storm could change the wash into a raging river, or so Dad had warned. Right now it was hard to imagine that the nearly dry bed could ever be more than a narrow trickle of meandering water. But the piles of rock and debris strewn high along the banks suggested that my dad knew what he was talking about.

  I looked around the hogan more carefully. A few days ago Gramps had trucked in everything we needed. A dozen bales of hay for feeding the horses, canned food for us, and even his rifle, right above the door.

  “Just in case,” he had said when I rechecked my pack back at home. “Keep the rifle above the door, just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “Both bear and mountain lion like the water in the canyon as much as anyone. But they aren’t too fond of your grandma’s coffee.” Gramps was always slipping in a joke.

  I washed up our cups in the basin. Grandma had gone outside. She had pulled out a couple of metal folding chairs from underneath a tarp and was sitting in the shade, looking out at the canyon’s wide floor, nodding, smiling, and glancing at the sheep every few minutes.

  “Is it OK if I go explore a bit?”

  “Good idea.”

  I paused in the doorway. Blue was still prancing around the corral, nickering to the mares. “I’ll take Blue. Maybe a walk will—”

  “Not a good idea.” Shimá looked doubtful. “If Blue gets loose, he doesn’t know where home is yet.”

  “I’ll keep a tight hold. We won’t go far.”

  “You decide.” Shimá handed me a water bottle. “Take water. Always. The canyon doesn’t forgive mistakes. No second chances.”

  “Second chances?”

  “Hot sun. Flash flood. Injury from thirst or drowning. No second chances.”

  I slipped the bottle into my day pack. “Thanks. I’ll be back soon.”

  Chaco and Bandit were busy munching hay. The sheep had spread out along the wash, nibbling anything green. The dogs were stretched out in the shade of a cottonwood, tongues out, watching the herd. Blue was still prancing and dancing. He wanted out.

  I snapped the lead rope back onto his halter and led him down the wash, curious to see what I could remember from the last time I’d been here. For a few summers I’d come down to camp with Shimá and Gaby, stayed for a few days, and then gone back home with Gramps when he’d driven in with more supplies. I’m not sure why I hadn’t come along the past few years. I guess a bunch of reasons. Mom switched to full-time at the hospital, Dad transferred to Phoenix, someone needed to help with chores at home, and I guess that was me. I had been glad to earn the extra allowance.

  In the past, the best part of camp was hiking with my sister. I tried to help with the chores—stacking wood, hauling water—but it seemed I was more trouble than help. I remember climbing up the woodpile and the whole thing tumbling over. And when I hauled water, it seemed to jump right out of the bucket as I ran to keep up with my sister. It was more fun sitting in the shade by the spring and making mud pies or elaborate sand castles. The best time was when Gaby invited me to go to her secret waterfall canyon, even though getting there was a crazy, twisty, turning hike and the entrance was creepy dark, just a wide crack hidden in the curve of a side canyon. But it was worth being there, hanging with my sister, talking with her like a big kid. I’d never been in a canyon like that one. Gaby called it a slot canyon. At the very end was a deep round pool, sort of an oasis. The water was cool, clear, and the same deep blue as the sky. Water fell from a spring somewhere way up high, near the top of a sheer red wall, straight down into the pool. Gaby said the spirits were powerful there. She could feel them. If we sat very still, they would listen to our prayers.

  The waterfall! I wanted to find it and put some sand from that place into a special beaded pouch and send it to my sister. She would understand.

  Blue trotted along behind me, content as long as I let him grab mouthfuls of grass and sniff at anything unusual. He looked all around, his ears twitching one way and then another. I guess that was his way of learning the trail. I stayed close to the riverbed. The canyon was more confusing than I remembered. There was no real trail, just a dry arroyo, and when it split in two, it was hard to tell which were side canyons and which was the main one.

  Sometimes I’d see a rock formation I thought I recognized. Gaby and I had given names to some. “Knife Cut” was a rock wall split in two as if it had been sliced. “Pancakes” had flat sandstone slabs piled in a tall stack. “Sweet Slide” was a tall sand dune, smooth as silk. “That one’s windblown,” Gaby had explained. “That’s why the sand’s so fine, like sugar. And great for sliding down on a piece of cardboard.”

  I kept walking. Blue followed. The sun was already low over the western edge of the canyon. Sunset would come early down here. A gusty wind began blowing. I shivered. Blue started to whinny and sniff the air. We should turn around and head back, I thought. But darn, I wanted to find that waterfall canyon, at least the entrance. It couldn’t be much farther.

  Then I saw it,
a narrow opening a little ways down the side of a pocket canyon. The wind whistled between these narrow canyon walls, swirling sand into dusty eddies, which made it even harder to see. Blue was not happy, but after the first few tugs, he followed. I had to pick my way around a bunch of boulders and barrel cactus before I could get to the opening. It was narrower than I remembered, just a few feet wide. Not wide enough for a horse to get through. Next to the entrance should be a big old cedar with twisted branches that looked like a spooky monster. Gaby had said that inside the tree lived a spirit that guarded the entrance. She always left two cookies as offerings. The tree spirit liked cookies, she always said—Oreo cookies. One was enough, but two were better. Sure enough, when we had hiked out, the cookies were gone. I had never suspected that my sister might have been the hungry spirit.

  There was an old cedar and it was sort of near the entrance. Something about it didn’t look right. Blue was doing his nervous prancing-around dance.

  “Hold on, I just want to take a quick look.” I tied him to the tree trunk and wished I had some cookies.

  I took a few steps in. The air was stale and clammy, the silence just plain creepy. The waterfall would be at the end of this slot canyon, but I didn’t smell or hear any sign of water. I hiked in a bit farther. A wall of debris from a rock slide stopped me. This wasn’t right.

  I hurried back. The sun had disappeared behind the canyon rim. Once I stepped out of the protective walls of that slot canyon, the wind hit like sandpaper. The air was murky with swirls of dirt and grit. Blue had scraped several holes in the ground, mad about being tied in a strange place.

  “OK, Blue, time to head back. Shimá must be wondering where we are. Darn, I didn’t want to make her worry.”

  Blue tried to trot past me. “You’re going the wrong way, you stupid horse.” I yanked on the halter rope. “I’m the boss. Behave!” His ears went back. He stepped on my foot. I smacked his rump. “Stop it!” I looked him straight on. “Settle down.”

  I started picking my way back to the main canyon. Nothing looked familiar. Our tracks were already covered with sand. The main wash was dust dry, which made it impossible to tell which direction was downstream or upstream. Walking downstream would take us farther from the hogan. “Come on, Blue, I think we go toward that finger-looking rock.”

  Blue stuck his nose in the air, snorted, and pulled back.

  “Stop.” I stared at the cliff walls. There wasn’t much sunlight, and my eyes stung from the blowing grit. I wanted out of this canyon maze, out of the wind and swirling sand. But which way? Blue whinnied again, louder this time.

  “You think you know the way?” I was so confused. And thirsty. Water. I pulled the water bottle out of my pack and drank the whole thing. That helped push back my panic. I’d been breathing way too fast and shallowly. OK, calm down, think.

  I looked at Blue. “Gaby said you always know the way home. But do you know that the hogan is home now?” First day at sheep camp, and I had already messed up.

  “Home, Blue.” I tried to sound confident. “Home.”

  Blue led. I followed, holding on tight to his lead rope. It was nearly dark when I finally smelled the smoke coming from the hogan’s woodstove. I put Blue in his corral, gave him a flick of hay, rubbed him down. I started up the path, my legs still a bit shaky, and stopped. I turned around and walked back to Blue. He trotted over and nickered.

  “I owe you a big thanks.” I reached over the top rail, rubbed him between his ears the way Gaby did. He bobbed his head, nickered again. “I know. You’d like a treat, maybe some sweet feed. I happen to have a pail of it under that tree.”

  I walked over, pried open the lid, and took out a handful. “How’s this? No biting, understand?” Funny, I wasn’t even worried. Blue scarfed up every grain and pushed at my arm. “Sorry, big fellow, that’s it for tonight.” I slid my hand along his silky neck and buried my face in his soft coat, smelled the sweet-and-sour scent of horse and sweat.

  “Blue, maybe my sister was right. Maybe there is a big heart inside you.” I gave him one more pat. “Tomorrow, Blue. If Grandma doesn’t skin me alive first, tomorrow we’ll find that waterfall.”

  chapter fourteen

  dare to fly

  But the next few days were busy with unpacking, sorting, hauling water, and herding sheep from pasture to pasture and back to the corral before nightfall. No time for even a short run. Finally, Grandma said, “Tomorrow is our day of rest. For you, a day of freedom.”

  “Will it be OK if I do some more exploring in the canyon?”

  “Exploring is good.” Shimá looked at me, eyebrows raised. “Getting lost is not.”

  —

  I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. Something was bothering me. I listened hard for any strange sounds. The herd was restless. I heard the sound of their hooves on the hard rock in their corral and the songlike tinkling of Jack’s throat bell. I walked outside, stared into the darkness. The mares stood side by side. Blue stood alone in his corral, staring straight at me. I walked over to him.

  “Are you wondering where she is, why she hasn’t come with a handful of sweet feed and a bridle to slip over your head? I miss her too, Blue.” I rubbed between his ears the way Gaby did. Blue nickered back.

  “Remember that wild ride in the dark with Gaby? I’ve never been so scared. Or so excited. It was like racing toward a finish line and passing everyone. Racing. No wonder Gaby didn’t want to let go of you. I’ve never flown so fast, so smooth.”

  Blue bobbed his head as if he understood what I was saying. Made me laugh out loud.

  “Teshina! Are you out there?”

  I looked back toward the hogan. Shimá was standing in the doorway. “I’m out here, Shimá. I’m fine. Just needed to stretch my legs a bit.”

  I gave Blue one more rub. “Tomorrow’s a free day, Blue. Might be a good day to find that waterfall, take a ride.”

  I headed back to the hogan, glanced back at Blue, and felt my heart leap a bit. “Maybe so.”

  —

  I was up before sunrise. I carried in several loads of wood, gave the horses hay, watered the sheep, and mucked out all the corrals. Blue kept prancing back and forth, whinnying to me.

  “I hear you! If I bring you along, do you promise to behave?”

  Back at the hogan, Shimá handed me her orange backpack. “Your lunch: peanut butter sandwiches, Oreo cookies, two bottles of water. Drink one. Always have an extra.”

  “Thanks.” I patted the zipped pocket of my vest. “I have another full bottle too.”

  She glanced at the corral. “If you take Blue, ride him. His reins are in the pack.”

  I squinted at my grandma, shook my head. “How’d you know?”

  “Your face does its own talking.” Shimá smiled a little. “Good for Blue. Good for you.”

  “I’m not sure I remember how. I’ve only ridden Blue once, sitting behind Gaby and holding on for dear life!”

  Shimá chuckled. “Your butt remembers. You’ve ridden plenty of other horses.”

  “That was before Gaby’s accident.”

  Shimá nodded toward the sky. “Keep an eye out for storm clouds. Rain up on the rim drains down into these canyons.”

  Shimá suddenly had a big grin on her face. “Remember, if you get wet, the fastest way to get home is on top of a galloping horse.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not interested in getting wet or going fast.” I slipped on the backpack. “Thanks, Shimá. We won’t be gone long. See you after lunch.”

  I snapped on Blue’s lead rope, and we started down the wash. Last night I had dared myself to ride Blue. Today I would ride him.

  Blue was eager. He hadn’t been out of the corral for several days, and he tried to push right past me. I grabbed his halter, whacked his rump, and scolded, “Hold still. First we walk. Once you settle down, maybe we’ll try something else.” I swallowed. Maybe. A walk or slow trot. Nothing faster.

  We stayed in the middle o
f the dry riverbed. The top layer of sand spread out smooth—like a page in a book full of stories but with no words. Footprints big and small crisscrossed the wash. Tiny tiptoe tracks made by stinkbugs, zigzag trails of lizards, and even a few slithering curves, probably the meandering tracks of a bull snake. Rattlers mostly stayed on top of the mesa.

  I followed coyote paw prints to a clear, still pool, which looked like a polished liquid mirror hidden below an overhanging ledge. A dribble of water oozed from between two layers of rock, hardly disturbing the surface. I dipped my fingers into the pool—cool and wet—then splashed my face. Something bumped my shoulder. I turned, looked up, and laughed. Blue pushed me out of the way and stuck his nose into the pool. He sucked up the water like a kid slurping soda pop. I let him drink his fill while I sat on a boulder, closed my eyes, and listened to the wind whistle between slices of rock. My eyes blinked open, and I slowly looked all around. In the distance, a swirling dust devil danced up the slope of a sand dune like a miniature tornado. Salmon-orange sandstone surrounded us. This was the part of the canyon I now loved—the sheer walls, the silence, the immensity.

  Up above was home, the mesa, where I could see from horizon to horizon and the world that expanded all the way to Flagstaff, to shopping malls, cell phones, running water…and school. I dreaded going back there in the fall, sitting by myself in the cafeteria, kids walking past me in the hall, no real friends. But maybe next year would be better; at least I wouldn’t be one of the new kids. But I’d still be a Rez kid.