Fig looked up from the checkers game. “We told your mother about the belly loop and she couldn’t rest until she tried it. Ellie was fearless.”
“Like me?” asked Payton.
“No,” said Fig, grinning. “You’re fearless like a bull in a china shop. Ellie was fearless but kept her wits about her. She always wanted to try something new but she thought about it carefully before she did it.”
Maya leaned on Moose’s arm as he flipped through the photographs. He reached the one of her mother on Artemisia, laughing and waving. “I remember this. Know who your mom was smiling and waving at?”
Maya shook her head.
“It was you,” said Moose. “I was holding you in my arms and a hawk flew overhead, round and round in circles. You burst out in a fit of giggles, pointing to the sky. Ellie was so tickled with your reaction that she started laughing out loud, too, and Aunt Vi took the picture.”
Maya stared at the photo. Her mother had been waving to her? She had been the one to make her mother so happy? A kernel of contentment planted itself in her mind. She slid away from Moose’s side and pulled back the window flap on the tent. Showers swept across the campsite, but she looked beyond the curtains of water. She could already imagine Artemisia and Klee in the corral. She would feed them and pet them. She would talk to them, too, and tell them a thousand little things. She even imagined herself riding Artemisia, like her mother had.
“When can we look for Artemisia and Klee?” she asked.
“As soon as this rain lets up, Maya,” said Moose. “And I hope it stops soon or we’ll all be in the river.”
The earth sopped up the relentless water from the clouds, and the river brimmed with renewed energy. Mornings brought more riding lessons and sometimes fishing with Fig and Moose. Afternoons, Aunt Vi, Maya, and Payton took long rides to search for Artemisia and Klee. They rode for miles on one of the California pioneer trails. They paralleled an old railroad grade. They trailered to the Elkhorn Draw and back out to the Honeycomb Buttes. At first, when they arrived back in camp without news, they remained optimistic. But after several weeks, they returned from their searches quiet and pensive.
Payton stopped going with them, preferring to stay at camp with Fig and Moose. Aunt Vi told Maya they needed to take a break from the long rides so she could catch up on her work and give the horses a rest. But Maya didn’t give up hope. Every night before she went to sleep, she took out the little black stallion, swept it above her head, and whispered, “Don’t worry, Artemisia. I am coming for you.”
MAYA CARRIED AN ARMLOAD OF WOOD THROUGH THE willows, savoring the morning sounds of the camp on the Sweetwater: the flitting and trills of the sage thrasher, the soft clatters of someone in the kitchen tent, the gurgle of the percolator on the fire, and the occasional subdued whinny that drifted down from the corrals. Until she heard crying.
She dropped the wood and ran to the campsite, where she found Payton in one of the chairs, slumped over and moaning with pain. Blood oozed from his mouth. Aunt Vi stood over him with a wad of tissues, blotting the bleeding.
“You were running backward again, weren’t you?” said Aunt Vi.
He nodded.
“And tripped over your own feet?”
He nodded.
“Maya, find me the truck keys. He knocked out a tooth, and I need to get him to the dentist. I’d feel a lot better if you came with me, but I understand if you don’t want to drive all the way to town to spend the day in a dentist’s office.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Maya. “I’ll finish stacking wood and sweep out the tents and then I’ll read until Moose and Fig get back.”
“Okay, I trust you to do just that. They will be back late this afternoon from Tack and Feed with a load of hay. Tell them what happened and that I don’t know how long this will take with Payton. We might have to stay overnight back home at the ranch. In which case Payton will get to see the Fourth of July parade in town.”
“Yes!” he said through the wad of tissues over his mouth.
“Maya, I’ll see you later today or first thing in the morning.” Aunt Vi never stopped talking as Maya helped Payton into the truck. “Don’t go in the river. We’ve had more rain than usual and the pools are deep. You can gather kindling if you like but don’t light a fire until someone’s here. Keep the horses in the corral and you stay put.”
“I will.” She rushed to the passenger window. “Payton, I hope you feel better.”
When the truck pulled away, Maya walked back to the campsite. It was the first time she had ever been at camp by herself, and she felt proud that Aunt Vi had trusted her. She followed her plan, point by point, stacking wood and sweeping out the tents. When she finally opened the flap to her tepee, she drew in her breath.
Centered on her pillow lay the little brown-and-white horse that Payton had thrown into the bushes. She picked up the figure and cradled it in the palms of her hands. How had he ever found it? It must have taken him forever to search through the willows. And when had Payton sneaked inside her tepee to leave it for her? Had he been running away from her tent when he fell and hurt himself? She put it in the pocket of her vest and zipped it tight. As she swept, she paused every few moments to pat her pocket, and wondered what she could do for Payton in return.
Later, Maya sat near the fire pit, flipping through one of Aunt Vi’s art magazines, when a golden eagle distracted her. The bird of prey floated over the campsite, its wings outstretched in a fan of feathers. Payton collected feathers! Maybe if she could determine the location of the bird’s aerie, she could find a feather on the ground below. When the eagle glided toward a rock ledge downriver, she grabbed the binoculars and hiked to the top of the outcropping above her tepee. There, she had a panoramic view for miles. She glassed until a flash of white caught her eye. Carefully, she panned the binoculars and refocused the lens to find the eagle. Her breath caught.
Artemisia!
The horse stood on the other side of the gorge, downriver in the cradle of two mountains. Above her, an aspen grove peppered the hillsides. Below, a grass meadow met the river. Maya lowered the binoculars and looked at camp and then back toward the horse. Distances were often deceiving out here, and Artemisia was probably much farther away than she appeared. How long would it take to reach her? she wondered.
Maya and Aunt Vi had crossed the gorge on horseback last week, by traversing down the mountain and fording the river. That alone had taken well over an hour of careful maneuvering. And Artemisia was much farther away. Even if Maya were able to reach Artemisia and Klee, then what?
Maya remembered her promise to Aunt Vi. She should sit tight and hope the horse was still there when someone came back. But that might be hours from now. Suppose Artemisia left? And where was Klee? Would it be so wrong to check on them? Aunt Vi would do the same if she had the chance. She’d understand. Maybe Maya could entice Artemisia and Klee in this direction. Lure them into camp. Aunt Vi would be so surprised … and grateful.
Maya turned toward the corrals and saw the blue plastic container of molasses grain. A wild horse who’d never tasted the grain might not be interested, but Artemisia had been a remuda horse and would have developed a taste for the sweet food. Aunt Vi sometimes gave the horses apples for a treat, so Artemisia might have a taste for them, too. The prospect of seeing Artemisia up close possessed Maya. She peered through the binoculars again and remembered Aunt Vi’s words. Ellie adored that horse and rode her the entire time she was here. Artemisia and your mother had a connection like I’ve never seen before. When Ellie left, Artemisia pined for days.
“My mother loved you,” whispered Maya. “And you loved her.”
Maya glanced at her clothes. She already wore a longsleeved shirt and her vest, but she had learned that the weather was unpredictable. She ran to her tepee and grabbed her mother’s jacket, then rushed back to the corrals to tack Seltzer. She tied the jacket behind the saddle, hung the binoculars around her neck, filled a canvas drawstring bag with the mo
lasses grain and three apples, and slung it over the saddle horn. She grabbed a halter from the tack bench and stuffed it in the saddle bag. Klee wouldn’t need a halter because if Maya could halter Artemisia, the foal would follow. Maya mounted Seltzer and headed up the road, away from camp.
She paused at the top of the gorge. “Okay, boy, nice and slow.” She walked Seltzer down the escarpment sideways in a wide zigzag pattern, giving him plenty of reins so he could drop his head and pick among the woody sage and rocks. The river lay below in swirling eddies and engorged pools. Sunlight disappeared in the shadow of the cliff face, and the dimness gave an ominous and foreboding feeling to the long descent.
Still in the saddle, Maya rested at the river’s edge and allowed Seltzer to drink. In the shade of the mountain, the air had grown chilly. Maya untied her jacket and put it on, then crossed in the shallows to the other bank. She and the horse penetrated through the robe of deep greenery and continued parallel to the river.
How long had she been gone? she wondered. It felt like several hours, but she’d discovered that on trail rides away from camp, time played games.
Maya and Seltzer continued, making slow passage above the willow line. The afternoon light diminished. “Just a little farther, boy. Otherwise, we won’t be able to get back before dark.” She skirted a large rocky prominence. As she turned into yet another river cove, she spotted Artemisia, who stood patient and statuesque, halfway up the slope, as if waiting for someone. Maya’s throat tightened and her eyes moistened. “Are you waiting for me? I’m coming, Artemisia.”
She turned Seltzer into the grass meadow that stretched upward toward the aspens. With slow and measured steps, the horse maneuvered over trees that had been felled by snow in winter and now lay dead. As Maya and Seltzer approached, Artemisia backed into the higher reaches of the grove.
“Hey, girl. I’m … Maya. Don’t run away. Do you remember my mother … Ellie?”
Artemisia took several skittish steps to the side and back.
“What’s the matter, girl?” Maya dismounted and slung Seltzer’s reins over a branch. She scanned through the trees. A wisp of wind tickled the leaves of the quaking aspens and the entire grove shuddered.
Populus tremuloides, Maya thought, remembering Uncle Fig’s lessons.
Artemisia nickered.
“You’re even more beautiful up close, Artemisia. Where’s Klee? Where’s your baby?” Her eyes slowly scanned one side of the grove, and then she turned toward the ledge of rock that bordered the other side. Her eyes fastened on a mass of brown-and-white hair lying motionless and silent. Maya shivered.
She treaded forward, taking small hesitant steps, trying to stave the awful possibilities from her mind. Moving closer, she saw the dreaded paw tracks of a mountain lion.
Klee’s young body lay mangled and bloodied. Leaves and dirt half covered the sweet face in the cat’s frugal attempt to hide the kill. The smell of the desecration fouled the air. Maya’s stomach recoiled. She leaned against a tree, doubled over, and vomited. When she righted herself, tears stung her eyes.
Maya backed away from Klee and turned toward Artemisia.
The horse stared at the girl, then dropped her large head.
Maya put a hand over her heart and felt a sickening ache inside. “Your baby …” She sat for a long while, watching Artemisia’s aimless meanderings at the back of the grove. First, she had lost the protection of her family, and now she’d lost her foal. Maya couldn’t leave her alone to suffer the same fate as Klee.
Maya knew she should start back to camp. She lifted into the saddle and removed the canvas bag from the horn. She slung the drawstring over a shoulder, pulled the bag into her lap, and opened it enough to reach a hand inside. She turned Seltzer toward the river, dropped a handful of food, moved a few feet forward, and paused to woo Artemisia. “Come on. Everything will be okay. Come with me now.”
Seltzer nickered, as if he knew that reassurance was necessary, and Artemisia answered. Did she recognize Seltzer from the remuda years before? Or was her desire for companionship so strong that any living voice soothed her longing? For whatever reason, Artemisia inched forward.
Maya didn’t take her eyes from Artemisia. She could see why her mother had loved her. There was something thrilling about the pulse in her nicker and the righteous way she held her head and tossed her mane. And yet, there was a sense of vulnerability about her, too, as if her eyes asked permission to be saved and loved.
Maya looked at the sun. She needed to hurry so she could get back. If Aunt Vi and Payton decided to return to camp, they would be worried when Maya wasn’t there. “Follow me, Artemisia,” she called.
The little caravan neared the bank of the river.
Suddenly agitated, Seltzer danced in a circle and whinnied. Maya settled him and looked around but could see nothing that would have made him shy. A moment later, a sage grouse whisked from a bush. A family of cottontails darted out of hiding and seemed confused as to where to run. Magpies erupted from the aspen trees with rapid yak-yak-yak-ing, and a beaver emerged from a hole in the bank and quickly slid into the water. Maya glanced back at Artemisia, who stood with her neck arched, ears back, pawing at the ground.
Maya stroked Seltzer’s neck. She took a deep breath and tried to quell the anxious feeling inside of her. Who or what had made the animals feel threatened?
THE GROUND QUAVERED. SELTZER STUMBLED AND MAYA hurtled from his back. She tried to grab the leather skirt of the saddle to steady herself, but the earth twisted again and she fell facedown. The heavy binoculars jabbed her chest, and the bag of grain thumped her back. Rocks tumbled into the meadow from the ridge above. Artemisia squealed. The shaking persisted as Maya dug her nails into the wavering earth.
When the temblor stopped, she forced herself to breathe. Seltzer had snagged his reins in a bush and strained against them, screaming with distress. Maya called to him, “Whoa, boy. Whoa …”
Seltzer paused, his eyes bulging. He reared and the reins snapped from the bush. In a frenzied gallop, he disappeared uphill.
“Seltzer! Seltzer!” Maya started after him, until she heard a noise like the roar of an approaching train behind her. She turned toward the Sweetwater.
Downstream, the mountain across the river descended in a mammoth slide of rock and dirt. The rush of earth propelled trees, boulders, and all manner of debris toward the river. The deafening noise increased and the force of the wind quivered as it approached. As strong as a hurricane, the rush lifted Maya from the ground and for a moment, she had the sensation of flying. She landed on her back and felt her breath whoosh from her body. She lay motionless until her lungs refilled. As she rolled onto her hands and knees, she felt her heart thrashing.
Artemisia had been thrust to the ground. Maya spotted her nearby, enveloped within a tangle of aspen limbs and logs. The horse’s heart, too, bulged rapidly in and out. Maya crawled closer. “There, girl. There. We’re okay.”
The horse struggled but could not uplift the pile. Maya scooted above Artemisia’s head and tugged at the logs and branches, but the horse was buried.
The Sweetwater had been dammed by the slide and now the water crept upward toward them. Maya stood and heaved a large branch from Artemisia, then another, and another. At the same time, a matted jungle of rubble rushed downriver, creating a surge of water that splashed over Artemisia’s hooves.
“Come on, Artemisia!” Maya tugged at the end of a branch and flung it aside. She pulled the timber from the pile, piece by piece.
Artemisia struggled to rise, but two large logs still crossed and pinned her.
Maya heaved the end of one and flung it aside, surprised by her own strength.
At last, the mare lifted her head and neck, and rolled over, the remaining log cascading from her back. She jerked upward and stood.
Maya backed into the grove. “Come on, girl. This way!”
The horse took a few wobbly steps toward Maya.
Another gush from the river pushed a
roiling swath of water toward them. Maya jumped backward, but it curled around Artemisia’s legs. The horse stumbled and tried to scramble upward but fell in the slosh, squealing.
“You can do it!” called Maya. “Come on!”
Artemisia stood again. Dirt that had not had a chance to turn to mud stuck to her coat. As Artemisia staggered after Maya higher into the aspen grove, an aftershock strummed. The horse fell to the ground on her side and began sliding downhill.
Maya lunged toward a tree trunk to steady herself and heard rubble sliding from the hillside above. She spun around to see a waterfall of rocks descending on Klee, entombing him. The ground swayed again. Maya tried to stay upright but another sudden jolt sent her somersaulting downward in a merry-go-round of earth and sky. She plunged into a rock face.
Maya moaned. Pain riddled her right foot and arm and her head throbbed. She opened her eyes, but everything blurred. Blinking, she tried to make sense of the shadows above her. Was she staring at the ceiling in her room at Grandmother’s house?
She took a deep breath, squinted, and tried to focus. The shadows became a blur of green, and then the blur became leaves silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. But where was she? Her mind wrestled. Seltzer. The river. The aspen grove …
Artemisia! What had happened to her? Maya tried to sit up but abandoned the attempt. She felt too woozy and nauseous. Lifting and twisting the sore arm, she saw that her jacket and shirt had been ripped from the shoulder to the elbow. Underneath, a wide gash leaked blood onto her clothing. The shadows spun. “Artemisia …” she murmured, a moment before she saw a bouquet of tiny pinpoints of light. Then everything faded to black.
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