Gardens in the Dunes (9 page)

The rain was abundant that year and no hungry strangers appeared at the old gardens, and no Indian police watered thirsty mules at the spring. Still, the girls were ready in the event anyone came. Their plan was to run for palm grove canyon, where they'd stay until the danger was gone.

Indigo carried pumpkins and squash all day without stopping to rest; she ate handfuls of baby bean pods, and pumpkin flowers so sweet and tender that they melted in her mouth. From time to time she went to the spring to drink and wash off the sweat. The days were still quite warm, especially if one worked hard in the sun. Sister Salt didn't say much, but Indigo heard her hum a happy tune as she finished. The big pottery storage jars were full, their sandstone lids secure as she covered them with sand for safekeeping in the back of the dugout room.

At sundown, when the air cooled off, Sister Salt built a fire on the hearth outside and boiled a delicious stew of corn, beans, chiles, and pumpkin to celebrate. The harvest was gathered and Sister Salt knew Grandma Fleet was proud of her and Indigo too. After dinner, while the twilight was still bright, they ran laughing up the trail to the highest dune; they raced each other to the dune's steepest side, where they plunged each after the other headfirst, rolling end over end, screaming joyously all the while. So much sand got in their hair that they had to take turns with the yucca brush. Later a big moon, not quite full, flooded the dunes with silver blue light that made the big datura blossoms glow as they perfumed the evening air.

They walked to the springs to fill the big water gourd, and on the way down Indigo rolled up her bedding from the sandy burrow next to Grandma's grave and carried it back to the dugout house. They lay in their beds with the bright moonlight in the doorway, and they talked for a long
time before they fell asleep. Indigo wondered what was taking Mama so long to get back to the old gardens; she wondered where the Messiah and his dancers were tonight.

Sister Salt talked about the train depot and the passengers who used to buy the baskets she sold; a year ago at this time they were all still together with Mama and Grandma Fleet in the lean-to by the river at Needles. Sister Salt wondered if the Paiute women still lived there; they might have heard some news of Mama or at least they might know where the Messiah and his dancers were. The Paiutes said Jesus traveled east across the ocean from time to time, but was careful not to show himself because of the danger from police and soldiers. If the Messiah and his followers crossed the ocean, it might be some time before they returned here. As Indigo drifted off to sleep, Sister Salt said, “We can travel as soon as cooler weather comes.”

With the harvest completed the girls were free to do as they pleased. The first few weeks they amused themselves with games of hide and seek and raced each other to the tops of the dunes. With a wad of rags, they even made a ball to kick. When they felt lazy, they played games—Which Hand Holds the Pebble? and Gamblers' Sticks; the loser had to carry water or gather kindling alone. Indigo was ready to try something new every day, but Sister Salt began to feel impatient with the games.

Sister Salt realized if they wanted to find Mama they would have to leave the old gardens; if they went to Needles they would have to find some way to live. Sister Salt began to practice weaving yucca strips until the baskets she wove looked almost as good as Grandma Fleet's baskets. Now when Indigo proposed a race to the springs, or a game of hide-and-seek, Sister Salt shook her head.

While Indigo roamed the dunes and climbed the precarious paths up sandstone formations in the canyon, Sister Salt stayed at the dugout house, peeling thin yucca fibers to weave into baskets the way Grandma Fleet showed her. It wasn't easy: the sharp stiff yucca leaves had to be soaked all night, and even then, while she was working with it, the yucca dried out and cut her fingers until she wet it again.

Indigo did not understand her sister's odd change in mood, but after a few weeks, Indigo no longer had as much fun playing alone. Sister Salt showed her how to take a dried gourd and make a canteen for their long journey. Sometimes they worked in silence, each girl with her own thoughts; other times they talked about what they would do when cooler weather came.

One morning as the weather was beginning to cool, Sister Salt felt a cramp in her abdomen, and later she noticed an odd wetness between her legs. Now she reached to touch the wetness with her fingers and saw her first menstrual blood. Both Grandma and Mama promised last year she didn't have much longer to wait. That day the girls celebrated Sister's womanhood with a picnic at the date palm grove. A light breeze kept them comfortable as they hiked the narrow trail along the precipitous sandstone formations; far below, the giant dunes appeared to be anthills. Ripe orange-yellow date fruit was scattered all around the ground where they sat; scores of big brown ants worked feverishly to carry away bits of the fruit dropped by the birds. The water from the canteen tasted especially good because the dates were so sweet.

When Sister Salt went to relieve herself, Indigo came along too. She wanted to see the menstrual blood on Sister's legs. Indigo tried to peek, but Sister Salt frowned and turned away abruptly. When Indigo tried to look again, Sister whirled around angrily to face Indigo.

“None of your business!” she shouted. Indigo was too shocked to cry until Sister Salt strode away. Indigo meant no offense; how many times had they talked about menstruation with Grandma Fleet and Mama? Today was a day to celebrate. Why had Sister Salt acted so mean toward her? Hot tears ran down Indigo's cheeks. She had been so excited for her sister. Now, if Sister Salt wanted a baby, she could get one; they could raise it together. If it was a boy, they'd call him Raindrop; if the baby was a girl, they'd call her Sweet Black Corn. They wouldn't be alone then. But Sister Salt didn't want her. She wanted a man who could give her a baby. Indigo cried for Mama and Grandma Fleet. Who loved Indigo? Who wanted her? Where was Mama? She must not want her two girls anymore.

Sister Salt walked to the end of the box canyon, where the sandstone formed a natural barrier; she sat on a flattop boulder and closed her eyes. The warmth of the sun felt good on her abdomen. She was tired of being the one who had to teach Indigo everything.

When she returned to the palm grove, Indigo had already left for home without her. Sister Salt felt regret over her short temper with her little sister. She had been fortunate to be brought up by both Mama and Grandma Fleet. Indigo had no one now but her. Sister Salt knew it wasn't good for them to live alone for so long, and as she walked home, she began to think about what to do next.

The wind rustled the dry cornstalks and leaves as the sun went down. At that moment the sound of the wind in the dry stalks seemed like the saddest
sound Sister Salt had ever heard; it seemed to say, “All gone, all gone”; her throat constricted with sadness until tears filled her eyes. She watched the evening star rise above the west horizon; somewhere Mama was watching the same star and thinking of her and Indigo.

The terraces in the dunes were still full of melons and squash even after their harvest; what a year for the old gardens! They grew enough to feed a whole family, not just themselves. What they could not store, they left to hungry creatures; ears of sweet black corn dried on the stalks, and big white tepary beans scattered themselves across the sand. Any hungry people who came to the old gardens were welcome to all the food they needed. Sister Salt was so lonely for another human face besides Indigo's; she began to wish someone, anyone—except white men or Indian police—would come.

Later that night, the wind blew in snow and sleet; Indigo fell asleep listening to the hiss of snowflakes in the hot coals. She wrapped up in her canvas shawl and pulled her share of the big quilt right in the doorway, close to the warm coals in the hearth outside. But as the direction of the wind changed during the night, raindrops sprinkled her face and she had to move away from the doorway, closer to Sister Salt. Indigo dragged her bedding across the sand floor, careful not to awaken Sister Salt, who stirred and muttered words in her sleep—something about a basket.

The air smelled wonderfully wet and cold, just as it had the night last year when the Messiah came to their camp at Needles. Indigo imagined Mama and the Messiah and his family and his dancers. The snow was their season; somewhere tonight Mama was dancing so beautifully in the big circle, wrapped warm in her white shawl like the other dancers. As Indigo drifted off to sleep, she imagined how she and Sister Salt would travel north until they located the Messiah and his dancers.

By morning the snow melted and the sky cleared to bright blue; the sun warmed the damp air. Indigo announced that she wanted to go to Mrs. Van Wagnen's house to ask if she knew the whereabouts of the Messiah and the dancers. Sister Salt admitted she wanted to visit Grandma's friend.

They would go to Mrs. Van Wagnen and if she had no news of Mama, they'd return to the old gardens and wait for her. They had plenty of food stored; no need to risk a trip south to the reservation at Parker. If Mrs. Van Wagnen was not at home, they planned to camp near her house, then head north to Needles to see if any of their Paiute or Walapai friends still lived there.

Before they left, Indigo helped Sister Salt heap up rocks and block the
entrance to their dugout house to give the appearance of abandonment to anyone who might come poking around the old gardens while they were gone. They filled their gourd canteens at the spring the night before, and in the excitement the next morning Indigo forgot; it wasn't until they reached the big wash and stopped for lunch that Indigo remembered: she forgot to say good-bye to Grandma Fleet and the apricot seedlings, and to the old gardens. Her thoughtlessness brought tears to her eyes and she wanted to turn back; at the same time she wanted to go on to find news of their mother.

Sister Salt noticed the sudden change in Indigo's mood and guessed its source immediately; it was as if the old gardens and Grandma Fleet herself were telling them, “Come home. Don't go.” Sister Salt gently patted Indigo's back until she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and glanced over her shoulder in the direction they had just come. She felt the old gardens' call herself, but the old gardens and Grandma Fleet weren't searching for Mama like they were. Indigo had the saddest feeling they would not be able to return to the old gardens for a long time.

They slept until moonrise, then made their way across the sandy plain of greasewood and cholla cactus between the high sandstone plateau and the sandhills above the river valley. When they reached open terrain, they covered their heads with their bundles and slept until darkness came to protect their travel.

Late the following day they reached the sandhills that overlooked the muddy red water that was edged in lovely willow green and dark cattail green. How exciting to reach the river! They put down their bundles and held hands and danced around to celebrate. Now that they were at the river, they had to be alert and watchful. Indigo wanted Sister Salt to point out Mrs. Van Wagnen's house and gardens, but the groves of cottonwood trees and willows along the river concealed the place.

They followed game trails, sometimes on their hands and knees, through the willow and tamarisk thickets, to conceal themselves from anyone who might also be there to ford the river. Sister Salt moved carefully, and stopped every four steps to listen intently, then motioned for Indigo to come on. The muddy red water slowly threaded between sand bars as its flow waned. In flood season no one crossed the river unless they took the ferry at Yuma, but when the river was low, as it was now, it was possible to wade across here, where the river shallows were bedrock. Sister Salt broke off two stout willow branches and stripped off the leaves for walking sticks to help them keep their footing when they crossed.

They waited for the twilight to darken before they crossed. Indigo gasped at the cold water up to her knees; out in the middle it might be waist deep, so they removed their dresses and tied them to the bedrolls that they balanced on their heads like odd hats. Indigo felt the pull of the river's current, gentle at first but increasing in strength as they reached the middle of the river. The water was scarcely above Indigo's thighs but she had to hold tight to Sister Salt and to the stick to resist the current.

“Use your stick to hold you!” Sister Salt said after she turned and saw Indigo hesitate in midstream. Indigo pushed the willow stick hard into the river bottom ahead of her to keep from being carried along by the red water. Two more steps and the water wasn't as deep; two more steps and the water barely reached Indigo's thighs. It was easy then, and Indigo walked faster; she let go of the willow stick too soon, and as she went to step up on the riverbank she slipped and fell. Sister Salt was only inches away and grabbed hold of Indigo's bedroll to help her out; at the river's edge, the water was only ankle deep. Indigo scrambled up the sandy bank, breathless but smiling because her bedroll and dress were still dry.

There was no moon. At the old gardens the sand dunes reflected the light of the stars, but here the willows and big cottonwood trees seemed to absorb all light. Indigo wanted to go to Mrs. Van Wagnen's house immediately, but Sister Salt said they might frighten the poor woman if they showed up after dark. They would sleep there tonight and go to Mrs. Van Wagnen's early in the morning just before sunup so no one would see them. The coolness of the river bottom settled over them as they ate parched corn and dried pumpkin. They each shared part of the big quilt as they huddled together. Indigo wanted to build a little fire, but Sister Salt was wary. Any strangers nearby would find them, and Mrs. Van Wagnen might see the fire or smell the smoke and be frightened.

Sister Salt listened to Indigo's breathing; a great horned owl hoo-hooed to her mate from the cottonwood trees across the river. What a lovely evening for people and owls, she thought. Sand Lizard people weren't afraid of horned owls the way some people were.