Fig put a pot holder over his mouth and turned back to the stove.
Moose massaged his chin with a thumb and forefinger, mulling over what Maya had said. “Well now, that does present a problem. But Aunt Vi would be very disappointed if we don’t show up with you this afternoon, and we try not to cross her if it can be helped. And you know, Maya, your mother spent every one of her growing-up summers at the camp with Vi. We’re fairly certain that’s why your mother wanted you to spend your summers here, too … so you could have the same experience. We’re not about to go against your parents’ wishes, especially since your grandmother did that for too many years.” Moose’s eyes watered and he mopped them with a napkin. “I hope you understand.”
Maya had never seen a man who wept as easily and it made her feel uncomfortable and a bit jealous. Her shoulders drooped and she nodded with resignation. “I don’t even know how to ride a horse.”
“Aunt Vi will teach you to ride in no time,” said Fig. “Just like she taught your mother and Payton. The Limners were born to ride. There’s not one of us who didn’t take to the saddle. Aunt Vi’s a bit stubborn and has to have everything her way, but she’s the finest horsewoman in the county. We’ve already trailered the horses to the camp for the summer. You’ll be riding Seltzer.”
“Seltzer?”
“A beautiful blue roan,” said Moose. “Aunt Vi has taken him out on any number of journeys and he’s sweet and dependable.”
Maya studied the blueberries in her pancakes. Her mind became a mash of thoughts: a stubborn great-aunt Violet who two grown men didn’t want to cross, a cousin who’d been taught all the mischief known to man, a wilderness where she might disappear and never be seen or heard from again, and the very animals that were her parents’ undoing. And that one word that had fastened itself to her heart. Journeys. As she pushed the bacon around on her plate, her body pulsed with a combination of dread and excitement.
“Better eat up,” said Fig, “Then head upstairs and collect your things. We’re going to have to load the truck right after breakfast and get on the road.”
After she finished eating, Maya left Moose and Fig with their coffee. She pushed through the swinging door and, as it closed behind her, she paused on the other side to listen.
“I’m trying to imagine those three out there together,” said Fig. “My, oh my. Vi and Payton may have met their match.”
Moose chuckled. “Or Maya will meet hers.”
MAYA SAT SANDWICHED IN THE TRUCK CAB BETWEEN Moose and Fig with her box of horses on her lap. Golly sat in Fig’s lap, hanging her head out the truck window. Sprinkles of dog fur floated through the air, and occasionally a bit of slobber hit the wind and came back in Maya’s face. She coughed and sputtered and rubbed at her cheeks, but neither Moose nor Fig seemed concerned about her possible dog allergy.
They had been driving on the high desert plain for almost two hours. Uncle Fig narrated like a tour guide, pointing out a llama farm, an actual moose by a stream, several herds of mule deer, and a bald eagle. “See that yellow-blooming bush on your left? That’s rabbitbrush, Chrysothamnus nauseosus. The nauseosus part refers to its foul taste. Know what we have right here in Wyoming that’s special to the American West? Antilocapra americana, the pronghorn. Looks sort of like a deer and sort of like a goat. Of course a lot of what we have here is one variety or another of sagebrush like Artemisia tridentata.” Uncle Fig’s arm swept across the cab to indicate the vast gray-green ocean that reached both horizons. “Notice how your grandpa is keeping quiet? That’s because he can’t remember a Latin name from his own.”
“Now, that’s not true. I’m just letting your uncle Fig show off. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise even if I wanted to, since he goes on and on and on. Someone in the family has to be the strong silent type and someone has to be the blabbermouth.”
Maya’s head turned from one man to the other. Sitting between Moose and Fig was like trying to follow a ball at a Ping-Pong match, so easily did they tease back and forth.
“I know the Latin name for bison,” said Moose. “Want to hear it, Maya?”
She nodded.
“Bison bison.”
Fig slapped his leg. “That’s the only one he can remember.”
Maya bit back a smile.
“We’ve got a lot of exotic things out here, Maya,” said Fig. “Just pay attention and you’ll get an eyeful.”
“Do you have ghost horses?” she asked.
Uncle Fig glanced at her. “Now there’s something I haven’t heard about in a while. Sure. At night, when there is just enough light from the moon, but not too much, only the white splotches of the Paint horses are noticeable. They appear to be floating. People who’ve seen them say they give them the shivers. Whether they’re real ghosts or not depends on the believer.” He winked at her.
Moose shook his head at his brother and slowed the vehicle to turn down a long dirt road. The truck crawled slowly, avoiding holes and ruts. A jackrabbit scampered across their path. The wind kicked up and sudden blasts whistled through the cab.
When Maya thought the road and the sagebrush would never end, she saw an old dilapidated trailer in a clearing between two hills. “Is that the camp?”
Uncle Fig laughed. “No. And we wouldn’t put you in that rusty thing. That’s an old campsite we used years ago, but it was a little too far from the river. We use the trailer for storage now.”
They rounded a curve. Moose stopped the truck in the middle of the road. “Maya, look over there,” he said, pointing out his window. “That’s Aunt Vi’s remuda. Ever heard that word? It means her group of horses. She chooses a mount from the group every day, alternating horses so one doesn’t get too worn out or sore, especially if she’s riding long distances.”
Maya strained to look out. To the left, a large portable corral held five horses. In a connecting pen, one horse stood alone. In front of the corrals, a grass field stretched out with a worn dirt track.
Golly whined. Uncle Fig opened the passenger door so she could run ahead.
“Come on,” said Moose. “Let’s get out and say hello.”
Maya hurried from the truck and ran to the corral, gripping the sidebars. Mesmerized, she watched as the horses lumbered almost in slow motion, their regal heads much bigger than she had ever imagined, and their bodies massive and sobering. Tails swished at flies. Manes tossed and muscles twitched. Nostrils quivered as they snuffled and blew. Enormous eyes watched her, unconcerned. One horse rolled on the ground, legs in the air, rocking back and forth and causing a dust cloud. Another horse did the same, as if the first had given him the idea.
Maya smiled. They rolled in the dirt to keep flies off of them. From all of her visits to the library she had memorized a myriad of facts about horses. But all of the pictures in all of the books didn’t compare to seeing them up close. Her eyes widened and she dared not blink for fear the vision before her would disappear.
Moose came up behind her and pointed at three brown horses with black manes. “Those three are Russell, Catlin, and Homer. Their red-brown color is called ‘bay.’ ”
“I know,” said Maya.
“And Audubon is that light tan horse over there.” Moose pointed to a horse taking a drink from a large trough. “Know what his color is called?”
“He’s a dun.” She pointed to the large gray. “And that’s Seltzer, the blue roan. But he’s not exactly blue. He’s black and white all mixed together to look like he has a gray-blue tint. Did you know that the horse has the biggest eyeball of any land mammal?”
“Well, you sure know your horses,” said Moose.
“I’ve only seen them in books. They’re so much more … breathtaking in person.” Maya pointed to the horse separated from the rest. “And that’s a sorrel, right?”
Moose nodded. “A standard sorrel because everything’s orange: coat, mane, and tail. That’s Wilson, the horse Payton rides. I’m not sure why he’s all by his lonesome. We’ll have to ask Aunt Vi. Come on no
w. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know the horses later. We’d better get to camp before she comes looking for us.”
Reluctant to leave, Maya finally pulled away. In the truck, she knelt on the seat and looked out the back window. She could see her mother out here, hanging on the corral or sitting in the truck with Moose and Fig. She tried to imagine her father, too, but it was difficult to think of him anywhere but on Grandmother’s arm and wearing a suit. Had he felt as she felt now? Amazed that there was a place so wide open?
When the horses disappeared from view, Maya turned around to see the camp spreading before her. A valley rested between a rocky mountain ridge and the coiling Sweetwater River, its banks caped in dense willows. Maya spied the tepees, like five little party hats scattered on a distant table of grass. As the truck edged closer, Maya saw two four-walled tents, side by side, their front flaps tied open. One was filled with cooking supplies: a larder of canned goods, wooden shelves crowded with pots, pans, and spires of dishes. An American flag dangled from the kitchen’s tree-branch rigging. The other tent held a makeshift desk made from a sheet of plywood atop two sawhorses. A jumble of journals and reports fanned across the work area. Stacks of textbooks rose from the corners of the desktop. Rolled charts and maps huddled in corners.
Centered between both tents, a cast-iron pot hung from a tripod of poles over a fire pit surrounded by corrugated metal. Five white plastic chairs grinned around the nose of a small fire, as if cheerfully waiting for someone to sit down and visit.
Fig pointed to the office tent. “That’s where Vi does her research and writes her articles. Most of those boxes in the back of the truck are headed for the office. She likes to have her books and papers with her wherever she goes. And speaking of your aunt Vi, here comes the Queen Bee now.”
A woman charged through the willows and hurried toward them, cradling a bouquet of wildflowers in her arms. “I thought I heard the truck!”
Moose turned off the motor and they clambered from the cab.
Aunt Vi wore blue jeans, low-heeled boots, a crisp white long-sleeved shirt, and a red silk kerchief tied in a low knot, like a necklace. The woman ignored Moose and Fig and grabbed Maya, holding her at arm’s length.
“Finally, the girl cometh,” said Aunt Vi. She pulled Maya in for a hug and rocked her back and forth.
Maya couldn’t remember the last time someone had held her so long and squeezed her so tight, and even though she left her own arms dangling at her sides, she found herself leaning into Aunt Vi’s embrace.
“I bet my pesky brothers have been filling your head with all sorts of twaddle about me. I’m glad to have another filly out here to balance out their nonsense.” She released Maya and shoved the bouquet of wild-flowers into her hands.
It was hard to believe that Aunt Vi, Moose, and Fig were brothers and sister because she was as short as they were tall. Her straw sun hat bore a gigantic brim that shaded her shoulders and was snug to her head with a stampede string. Every few moments the brim swelled with wind, threatening to lift her off the ground. The wind soon had its way and the hat flipped off her head backward, dangling and spinning from the safety of the leather braid. She had the same reddish hair as Uncle Fig, cropped almost as short, and the family’s purplish eyes, but hers were accented in the corners with feathery white laugh lines.
Aunt Vi slapped her hands together and said, “Who feels alive in this wind? I sure do! Maya, you look so much like your mother, it’s unsettling. Golly-girl, stop running in circles and sit!” The dog immediately complied. “Fig and Moose, if you don’t mind, I need some wood hauled. I can split it later. Where’s Payton? Payton! I sent him to the river and he’s still not back.” She hurried toward the truck, hoisted a box, and began carrying supplies into the tent.
Maya stood in the middle of the activity holding the flowers. She slowly turned in a circle and looked up at an endless and cavernous sky. There was far more heaven above her than there was earth below, and the horizon seemed worlds away. Without a white wall to define her boundaries, how would she ever know when she disappeared from someone’s view?
Aunt Vi came out of a tent on her way to the truck for another load. “Maya, don’t let that sky swallow you up. Put those flowers in a jelly jar in the kitchen tent. The latrine is beyond those trees. That’s our fancy word for a toilet in a tent. You probably need it after that long drive. Your tepee is over there.” She pointed to a lone tent below the rock mountain. “Grab your suitcase from the truck and put it inside your tepee. After that, just sit in one of those chairs and relax until we get dinner ready. Tonight you’re a guest. Tomorrow will be a different story.” She hurried away.
Maya stared after Aunt Vi, intrigued by her exuberance, the way she bounded instead of walked, and the intense eyes that twinkled with excitement. She put the flowers in a jar with water and walked in the direction that Aunt Vi had pointed. She found a well-worn path in the grass that ended at a small clearing within a thicket of bushes.
The latrine was another tepee with an elevated wood box, fitted with a toilet seat and a roll of toilet paper on an upturned dowel. Maya tied the eight tent-flap ribbons to ensure privacy, then turned to face the makeshift bathroom. She pinched her nose closed and hesitated. Damp grass and dirt squished beneath her boots, and she hoped it was from groundwater. She squirmed, but there didn’t seem to be an alternative.
As she untied the last of the tent ribbons to get out, something hissed and zoomed past her. “Who’s there?” she called.
Maya heard sizzling, then a series of earsplitting bangs that sounded like gunfire. She covered her ears and screamed. Was someone shooting at her?
She flung herself forward, fell out of the opening, and landed facedown on the spongy ground.
A BOY DOUBLED OVER WITH LAUGHTER. “OH, THAT was so funny.…” He staggered around, giggling and pointing at her. “Look at you! You’re covered in mud! Oh, that was great. That was just great.” He dropped to the ground and rolled over. “I’m laughing so hard I’m crying.” Slowly, he lifted himself, sighed, and wiped the tears from his dark blue eyes. “Hey. I’m Payton.”
Maya spit damp grass from her mouth and swiped at her backside. So this was her cousin. She’d only been around Payton for one minute but could already tell he was an annoying nuisance, and she didn’t like him. Maya narrowed her eyes and took a long, hard look at him. He was full-faced with deep dimples in both cheeks, shorter than Maya but not much, and sturdy. Bits of grass stuck in his blond hair, which was tousled from his hysterics. He wore jeans, boots, and a sweatshirt that read COWBOY UP! She turned and marched back toward the campsite.
He hurried behind her. “Hey! I said, ‘I’m Payton!’ Aren’t you going to answer me? Where’re your manners? Don’t they have manners where you come from? Because it’s not polite not to say hello.”
Maya kept walking.
He ran to keep up, then turned, running backward alongside of her. “It was just some firecrackers. And they didn’t make that much noise. No one can even hear them this far away from camp. Oh, I know. You’re going to tell on me, aren’t you? I knew you were a snitch the minute I saw you get out of the truck. That’s all I need is a stupid girl out here who’s a tattletale.” His voice rose in pretend mockery. “ ‘Aunt Vi, Aunt Vi, that mean boy threw a firecracker at me.’ That would be the disgusting worst.” He finally turned around, darted ahead, and then circled back to keep pace with her. Maya had never seen anyone so unsettled and who jigged around so much. Before she reached the campsite, he finally stopped following her and veered toward the corrals. Good, she thought. The farther away, the better.
She walked to the truck, retrieved her suitcase and her box of horses, and went to her tepee. Once inside, she secured the flaps.
The tent smelled stale and was empty except for a thick foam cushion on the canvas floor, a sleeping bag, a pillow, and a stack of clothes. Maya unfolded two kerchiefs, a quilted vest, several pairs of shorts and jeans, and a few T-shirts. The clothes wer
en’t new, but as she held them to her body, they seemed the right size. She lifted the windbreaker-style jacket against her chest. It was much too big, but when she saw her mother’s name written on the label, she didn’t care. And even though she wasn’t cold, she put it on, stroked the sleeves, and wondered if the other clothes had once belonged to her mother, too. Maya looked around the tiny cone-shaped room, took a deep breath, and thought of Grandmother. She would have been so appalled by the conditions. But Maya’s mother had wanted this for her, and her father had agreed. There must be something wonderful here. She tied up the square window flap, retrieved several toy horses, and stood at the mesh screen looking out. Holding a horse figure to the portal, she whispered, “What’s so special about this place?”
They ate around the fire: corn and chicken, fruit and potatoes. Moose and Fig washed the dishes in a big tub with water from the river that had been heated in a giant kettle while Aunt Vi wiped down the pantry. As the sun dipped behind the horizon, the sky smeared pink and orange and blue. Maya faced Payton, who sat across the fire, fiddling with a feather in his hand.
“I collect feathers. This is a magpie’s. At home I have about fifty different ones. So if you see any, let me know and I’ll tell you if I already have it or not.”
Maya stared into the fire.
“By the way, ever ridden a horse?”
Maya glanced back. Fig and Moose and Aunt Vi were still occupied. “Sure,” said Maya. “Lots of times.”
“I’ve been riding since I was a kid,” said Payton. “I’ve got two horses at home and I’ve won all sorts of ribbons in juniors for barrel racing. Ever gone camping?”
Paint the Wind Page 5