And Condors Danced (22 page)

She was still trying to sort it out when Matt asked again if she wanted to go looking for condors. It was on the Friday before the spring holidays and she was waiting for Lila in front of the school, just as she’d been the last time he’d asked, and actually she started the conversation herself. But only because she had something for Rosemary.

“Matt,” she called, “wait a minute.”

Matt pulled up so quickly that Rosemary bunched her neat little hooves and skidded on the gravelly road. “What d’you want?” Matt said.

Carly was fishing around in her lunch pail. “I have something for Rosemary. I saved her my apple core.”

While Rosemary munched the apple core, Carly noticed that Matt was frowning at her in a thoughtful way as if he were trying to decide something. And sure enough, a moment later he said, “I—I don’t suppose you’d be wanting to look for condors again? During spring vacation, I mean?”

Carly was surprised. Matt hadn’t said much of anything to her since she’d turned him down so fiercely the last time he’d asked if she wanted to go exploring. Afterward she’d been sorry about yelling at him, but she hadn’t wanted to explain why she’d done it, or even known how to, so she didn’t say anything at all.

But she didn’t want to hurt his feelings again, even though the thought of starting out on another exploring trip brought back memories—memories of the day when she and Tiger started out together and she’d been so sure they were going to see the condors. So all she said was “I don’t know. I’ll be at Greenwood most of the time. I’d have to ask Aunt M.”

Matt looked pleased. Carly didn’t mention that Aunt M. would almost certainly say no.

But Aunt M. said yes. Carly was amazed. “He wants to go up to the spring,” she said. “Carlton Spring. It’s quite a long way.”

“Condor Spring,” Aunt M. said. “And I know how far it is. Edward and I rode up there many times.”

“I didn’t know you called it Condor Spring.”

Aunt M. smiled. “All us old-timers call it that,” she said. “Yes, I think you should go. Just be sure to tell Dan Kelly what trail you’ll be taking and how long you’ll be gone.”

So Carly and Matt left Grizzly Flats at midmorning of a warm spring day on their way to Condor Spring. Carly had ridden Chloe as far as the Kelly ranch and stopped in for a while for a visit with Dan and Maggie. While Matt unsaddled Chloe and put her in the barn, and got the donkeys ready to go, Carly drank milk and ate gingerbread in Maggie’s kitchen and listened to Dan tell about his last trip into the mountains. It was cozy and comfortable in the kitchen, and Carly found herself in no hurry to leave. Matt was fretting, saying they’d not have any chance at all to see the condors dancing if they didn’t get going, but Carly stayed where she was—until Dan took Matt’s side.

“Well, then, off with ye,” Dan said, pushing back his chair and going to the door. “Time’s a-flying and ’tis a longish way you have to go.”

Dan, too, Carly thought. It seemed odd that first Aunt M. and now the Kellys should be so determined to make her go to the spring. Not that she didn’t want to. It was just…With the thought still unfinished Carly let Dan boost her up on Rosemary—Matt had insisted that she should ride Rosemary, although, strictly speaking, it wasn’t her turn—and they were off.

It was a beautiful day. The world was green with spring except where lupines and California poppies turned whole hillsides purple and orange. In the shady depths of the canyons large ferns lifted their graceful fronds beside rainwater streams that still trickled down to the valley below.

But Carly’s mood didn’t match the day. She was trying hard to act normal, and when Matt pointed out things like the wildflowers or raccoon tracks or jackrabbits, she made an effort to be interested, but he seemed to know there was something wrong. He asked her once if she was mad at him and she said, “No, silly. Why should I be mad at you?”

It was the truth too. She wasn’t angry, or sad, or even scared, really. It was just that she found it hard to believe that anything good was going to happen.

The sun was almost directly overhead when the donkeys slid down the last incline to where, under the sheltering shade of oaks and cottonwoods, the clear spring water filled the shallow pool. But nothing stirred and there was no sound except for the trickle of water and the faint whisper of the breeze among the branches.

“Nothing there yet,” Matt said. “Come on.” He kicked Barney in the ribs and the old donkey headed for the pool at a trot.

The
NO TRESPASSING
sign was still there, its message blurred by knife scratches, and nothing remained of the dead condor. But at one edge of the pool the damp earth was crisscrossed by blurred indentations, and floating near the bank was an enormous black feather.

“See,” Matt said excitedly. “They’ve been here. Not long ago, I betcha.”

Carly nodded. “I know,” she said, and for a moment hope flared. Maybe, just maybe, something wonderful would happen after all.

While Matt led the donkeys downstream to a little meadow and hobbled them, Carly picked out a good lookout spot behind a tall stand of ferns, and when Matt returned they settled down to watch and wait. They ate their picnic lunch and watched some more, and then they played mumblety-peg with Man’s pocket knife. After that they caught frogs and raced them by putting them in the middle of a circle to see whose frog would be first to reach the edge. When the frogs escaped, they built bark boats and floated them on the pool.

Even without condors it should have been a good day. And it was, too, except that…except that the strange, uneasy feeling was still there, like a dark cloud that would never quite go away. And no condors swooped in to land beside the pool with a great rush of wind and whisper of gigantic feathers. At last, when the sun had begun to sink behind the high ridge to the west, Matt said, “Well, I reckon they’re not going to come,” and Carly agreed with him, thinking to herself that she’d never really believed that they would. But all she said was “I guess not. Let’s go get the donkeys.”

The donkeys had moved downstream following the deeper grass that grew beside the water, and when Matt and Carly found them they were grazing happily in the deep shade of the valley floor. Matt was down on his knees removing Rosemary’s hobbles when, for no particular reason, Carly glanced up at the sky—and there they were.

Just above the deeply shadowed canyon three huge birds seemed to be floating eastward on shafts of sunlight. “Look! Look, Matt!” Carly gasped and sank down into the tall grass. Still on his knees, Matt tipped his head backward and his mouth fell open. “Lordy.” He gasped. “Condors.”

The air was clear and reddish-gold and the condors seemed, not near, but magnified by the brilliant light. Flying in against the sun, the huge black birds were haloed with sunset. Triangles of white beneath their wings gleamed like snow, and long fringes of finger feathers tilted from shiny black to mirrored gold. Sweeping down over the spot where Carly lay in the deep shadow, the first condor tipped into a sweeping turn, soared over the second bird, under the third, and turned to pass them again and again. For an immeasurable length of time the three condors rode the air currents with effortless grace, soaring and turning and soaring again in an intricate pattern of movement like winged dancers in an airborne minuet.

When the gigantic birds finally drifted westward and disappeared over the crest of the hills, Carly stayed where she was, staring up into the sunlit distance. She didn’t want it to end—the beauty and high excitement and the brief escape into a far bright freedom. Slowly and reluctantly she came back to the coolness of the grass, the munching of the grazing donkeys, and the shadows of the valley floor.

“Carly”—Matt’s voice was questioning, worried—“we’d best be going. It’s getting late. Are you all right?”

Carly sat up, smiling. “Yes,” she said. “I’m all right. Let’s go.”

They didn’t talk much on the way home, and what they did say was about other things, ordinary things like the history test that Mr. Alderson had scheduled for right after the end of vacation. But when they were back at Grizzly Flats and Carly was up on Chloe, getting ready to leave, Matt said, “Well, it was a good day?” and made it into a question.

Carly nodded. “A good day,” she said with certainty.

“Even if we didn’t see them dancing?”

“Next time,” she said. “Next time for sure.”

“Well, maybe not for sure. You can’t count on what condors will do.”

Carly tugged on the reins and whirled Chloe into a trot. “Yes, I can, Matt Kelly,” she called back over her shoulder. “I can count on condors if I want to.”

C
ARLY DIDN’T TELL
Aunt M. and Woo Ying about the condors that night at dinner, except to say that she’d seen them, and where, and what they’d been doing. The part she didn’t try to tell was the way she’d felt about them and how important it had been. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell. It was just that she couldn’t think of a way to put it into words.

That night in bed she decided to try again. Aunt M. had been in to say good night, and as she was going out the door Carly called her back. “Aunt M.,” she said, “you know, I’ve been thinking…”

Aunt M. came back and stood by the foot of the bed with her hands on her hips. “And what have you been thinking, child?” she said.

“I’ve been thinking…” Carly said. She still couldn’t find a way to explain about the condors. But there was something else. “It’s about those puppies,” she said.

Zilpha Keatley Snyder (b. 1927) is the three-time Newbery Honor–winning author of classic children’s novels such as
The Egypt Game
,
The Headless Cupid
, and
The Witches of Worm
. Her adventure and fantasy stories are beloved by many generations.

Snyder was born in Lemoore, California, in 1927. Her father, William Keatley, worked for Shell Oil, but as a would-be rancher he and his family always lived on a small farm. Snyder’s parents were both storytellers, and their tales often kept their children entertained during quiet evenings at home.

Snyder began reading and telling stories of her own at an early age. By the time she was four years old she was able to read novels and newspapers intended for adults. When she wasn’t reading, she was making up and embellishing stories. When she was eight, Snyder decided that she would be a writer—a profession in which embellishment and imagination were accepted and rewarded.

Snyder’s adolescent years were made more difficult by her studious country upbringing and by the fact that she had been advanced a grade when she started school. As other girls were going to dances and discovering boys, Snyder retreated into books. The stories transported her from her small room to a larger, remarkable universe.

At Whittier College, Zilpha Keatley Snyder met her future husband, Larry Snyder. After graduation, she began teaching upper-level elementary classes. Snyder taught for nine years, including three years as a master teacher for the University of California, Berkeley. The classroom experience gave Snyder a fresh appreciation of the interests and capabilities of preteens.

As she continued her teaching career, Snyder gained more free time. She began writing at night, after teaching during the day; her husband helped by typing out her manuscripts. After finishing her first novel, she sent it to a publisher. It was accepted on her first try. That book,
Season of Ponies
, was published in 1964.

In 1967, her fourth novel,
The Egypt Game
, won the Newbery Honor for excellence in children’s literature. Snyder went on to win that honor two more times, for her novels
The Headless Cupid
and
The Witches of Worm. The Headless Cupid
introduced the Stanley family, a clan she revisited three more times over her career.

Snyder’s
The Changeling
(1970), in which two young girls invent a fantasy world dominated by trees, became the inspiration for her 1974 fantasy series, the Green Sky Trilogy. Snyder completed that series by writing a computer game sequel called Below the Root. The game went on to earn cult classic status.

Over the almost fifty years of her career, Snyder has written about topics as diverse as time-traveling ghosts, serenading gargoyles, and adoption at the turn of the twentieth century. Today, she lives with her husband in Mill Valley, California. When not writing, Snyder enjoys reading and traveling.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1987 by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

Cover design by Barbara Brown

978-1-4804-7147-4

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com