Ghost Horses (5 page)

G
lancing at his father, Jack waited. Steven looked tired. The skin under his eyes was shadowed, and his shoulders seemed to slump. Straightening himself, he said, “Son, I know you don't want to do this dance tonight, but I'd like you to make things as easy for Ethan as you can. If he wants to share some of his Shoshone background with you, then you ought to be happy about it. Culture exchange can be a rewarding, two-way street.”

“Culture exchange?” Jack exploded. “That's a joke. You don't know what it's like being stuck with him—he's always grumbling about something, saying white people are bad and all kinds of stuff. Why am I the one who has to go along? Why don't you make Ethan do what
I
want?”

“Jack, I want you to step back from the situation and realize something. You have been given everything. You've got parents who love you, a comfortable home—Ethan's needs are far greater than yours are right now. You may not know what it feels like to have everything taken from you, but I do. So I'm asking you….” He sighed, then continued, “Would you please try?”

“We've all got to give a little here,” his mother added, placing her spoon and knife in perfect alignment with her plate on the tablecloth. “The truth is, your father and I would rather call it a night right now—we're both tired, and I have a big day ahead of me tomorrow. But the dance seems to be important to Ethan; therefore, by extension, it's important to all of us. Can you be a good sport and go along with it once more?”

Jack looked at the wooden walls, which had been coated in a thick varnish that cast a golden glow throughout the restaurant. He knew his parents were right, even though he didn't want to admit it. He needed to remember how it would feel to be Ethan, to walk around in his world, or as the saying that he'd heard so many times went, to walk a mile in his moccasins. Maybe Jack would have turned out the exact same way if he'd been raised the way Ethan had. Still, doing the right thing was hard.

Yet there was something more, something that tugged at his mind, something that whispered that maybe he ought to give in and dance once again with Summer and Ethan. Yesterday, at the top of the Shoshone cemetery where a stark gray monument honored Sacagawea, Jack had danced the Ghost Dance. And while he danced, he'd smelled smoke from burning trees. Only there weren't any trees burning, not on the entire Wind River Reservation. He remembered how weird it was. If he danced tonight, would he smell smoke again?

He frowned, which made his parents look at him questioningly. No, it must have been his imagination yesterday, triggered by Summer's grandmother's grandmother's story. Forget it. Jack faced his parents and said, “All right.”

“Thanks, son,” his dad told him. “Here come the other kids now.”

Ashley thrust a towel at Jack and said, “I brought you one anyway. I figured maybe you'd change your mind again.”

“I guess. Thanks,” he said, folding it over his arm. The towels provided by the lodge weren't very large—Zion Lodge was nice, but not the kind of luxury hotel where the bath towels were as big as beach towels. Jack didn't know why they had to wear them anyway. Pretending the towels were Indian blankets seemed pretty stupid to him, but he'd told his parents he'd cooperate, so the best thing he could do would be to go along and get it over with. It just gave Ethan another chance to show off, with his hey-ya ya-ha stuff that he probably made up as he went along.

When they got outside, Jack caught his breath. A huge full moon rose over the red cliffs, casting moon shadows on the front lawn of Zion Lodge. He wished he could take a picture of the scene, but without a wide-angle lens, his camera couldn't begin to capture that canopy of nighttime splendor.

“There's a cedar tree,” Ethan said, gesturing toward the center of the lawn.

“You know, they're not really cedars,” Jack said, “although people around here call them that. They're actually junipers.”

“Whatever,” Ethan muttered, tossing his head. His hair swung thick and black and long in the moonlight.

While Olivia and Steven sat nearby on the grass, the four kids wrapped their towels across their shoulders like blankets.

“I don't think these will stay on when we dance,” Ashley worried.

“They'll stay,” Ethan told her.

They took one another's hands as they had yesterday, but the Ghost Dance felt different at night. Ethan chanted the same song—at least Jack guessed it was the same, but since he couldn't understand the words, he couldn't be sure. The dance seemed to go on and on until Jack started getting tired of shuffling his feet and circling the cedar tree, which loomed dark in the night shadows. Every few minutes he sniffed the slight breeze that cooled their faces, but he couldn't smell even a whiff of smoke. So, yesterday had been nothing but his imagination.

They'd had a long day today, first flying from Jackson Hole, Wyoming, to the St. George, Utah, airport, then driving the distance to the park, and then all those other things that had happened. Ethan and Summer should have been tired, too, but they just kept dancing, and so did Ashley. Jack wasn't going to be the first one to admit he wanted to quit.

Finally it was Olivia who called a halt. “We need to get to bed—or anyway I do,” she said. “Tomorrow will start early for me.”

“One more thing before we stop dancing,” Ethan instructed them. “We're supposed to take off the blankets and shake them like this. It's part of the magic.”

“They're not blankets, they're just towels,” Jack mumbled, but he shook his anyway, trying to copy Ethan.

“Can't we stay up a little longer?” Ashley pleaded. “We always tell stories around the camp-fire when we're in a park—”

Steven said wryly, “I don't think the lodge owners would appreciate it if we built a fire on their lawn.”

That wasn't enough to deflect Ashley, who could always burrow her way around an obstacle. “We'll just use the cedar tree and pretend it's a fire,” she suggested. But Steven and Olivia were already standing up, preparing to herd the kids inside.

Shyly, Summer said, “I know a story.”

It was so unexpected that everyone paused, silent for a moment. Jack felt sure that his mother wouldn't make them leave now, not since Summer had actually volunteered to take part in this perfect September evening under a star-filled sky—or as much of the sky as showed between the narrow canyon walls. He was right: Olivia hesitated, then smiled at Summer and said, “That would be lovely.”

“Maybe it's not a story,” Summer said. “Maybe it's a poem.”

“Even better,” Olivia told her. They arranged their towels on the grass and sat in a little half circle, Ethan far enough away from the Landons to show he didn't want to be part of the family.

Standing in front of them all, slowly moving from one foot to the other as she spoke, Summer began her tale in a voice so singsong it might actually have been a song:

Jack didn't know whether he should applaud, and it seemed no one else knew, either. It would be like applauding a hymn in church. Then, softly, Olivia said, “That was beautiful, Summer. Where did you learn that poem?”

“From Grandmother.”

“Did your grandmother make up the poem?” Ashley asked.

“I don't know—she just used to say it.” Summer's eyes brimmed with tears. Hunching her shoulders, she crossed her arms across her chest as if to hug herself, then retreated again into silence.

It was then that Jack heard it, the whinnying of a horse in the distance. A ghost horse! The hair stood up on his arms.

Wait a minute, he told himself. Earlier that afternoon, the ranger had mentioned that horses were stabled next to the lodge, to take tourists on guided rides through the park. That must be what he heard.

But the whinnying didn't come from behind him, where the lodge was. He heard it across the river, high in the sandstone cliffs. Rubbing his arms, he tried to reason it out. Probably the whinnying started in the stables next to the lodge, but the sound flew across the canyon to bounce off the rock walls and echo back at him. That was it—an echo. Sure. Perfectly logical. Nothing but an echo. But didn't anyone else hear it?

Ethan stood up and said, “Summer gave us a gift of the poem. Now we're supposed to give her something.”

“What?” Jack asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans to see if he had anything there. All he found was a little bag of peanuts from the airplane ride that morning. Solemnly, he handed it to Summer. Olivia located a pack of gum in her sweatshirt pocket. Steven held out a wrapped peppermint he'd picked up on his way out of the restaurant. Ashley offered a flower—a delicate purple aster. Maybe the lodge owner wouldn't like it that Ashley picked the flower from a border that had been planted along the front steps, but hey, Jack was too puzzled about the echo to worry about it, and his parents didn't say anything to Ashley.

Summer seemed pleased with their small gifts. She slipped them into the pocket of her sundress, except for the flower. That she wound into one of her long black braids.

Y
our mom left a long time ago,” Steven told his son.

Barefoot, tousle-haired, still in his sleep shirt, Jack had wandered through the connecting door to his parents' room in the lodge. His dad, fully dressed, said, “She had to get to the seminar, but she didn't want me to wake you boys since you were up so late last night.”

“Ethan's already awake,” Jack told him. “He was looking out the window, and when I asked him if he liked Zion National Park, you know what he said, Dad?”

“What?”

“He said all of Yellowstone National Park used to be Shoshone land, but the government robbed it from them and paid the Shoshone, like, two cents an acre or something like that. Do you think that could be true?”

Steven took a deep breath and let it out. “Sad to say—yes, I think it could be true. Lots of, uh, less than honorable dealings have happened in our government's history with the Native Americans.”

Wow, Jack thought, no wonder Ethan doesn't like Anglos very much. But still, that was then and this was now. None of the Landons had taken Yellowstone away from Ethan and his tribe. Besides, what could anyone do about it now? Aloud, he said, “I'm hungry. Where are we going to eat?”

“Downstairs in the restaurant. Get dressed and bring Ethan with you. The girls are already down there.”

Smells of bacon and the faint scent of vanilla met Jack as he made his way up the long staircase from the lobby and into the dining area. Dishes clattered and servers rushed by, intent on carrying food to their customers. It took only a few minutes for Jack to spy Ashley, who was having an intense conversation with Summer. That is, Ashley was intense—Summer just watched and nodded, emotionless. Yet her lack of expression could be deceiving, since she always seemed to absorb everything Ashley said.

“Where's my sister?” Ethan asked brusquely.

“Over there,” Steven answered, pointing. “Looks like they already ordered hot chocolate, complete with whipped cream. You can order some too, if you like.”

After they'd settled into the wooden chairs, Steven asked for coffee and then turned to the four of them. His long arms rested on the polished tabletop like two bent tree limbs, while his fingers knit together. “Well, now, what would you kids like to do today?”

“Anything,” Ashley answered.

“Your mom's going to be busy with the seminar until late afternoon, which leaves us plenty of time to see the park. I thought maybe while we're waiting for her, we could all go on a hike. There's lots of trails that start out here at the lodge.”

Jack and Ashley agreed enthusiastically. Ethan and Summer exchanged glances.

“I don't want to go. Neither does Summer,” Ethan said stiffly. Summer dropped her lids as her brother went on, “Ever since you picked us up, you've told us what we are going to do. Me and Summer, we don't want to hike.”

“I can understand that, Ethan. Do you mind telling me why?” Steven glanced at their feet, then asked, “Is it because you two are in tennis shoes? That doesn't have to be a problem—we can stay on the paved trails.”

Ashley frowned down at her own hiking boots. Jack knew what his sister was thinking—why should Jack and Ashley have sturdy mountain boots when the two foster kids wore scuffed, frayed sneakers? Fortunately Ashley's feet were bigger than Summer's and smaller than Ethan's; otherwise, Jack knew, she'd rip off her boots and give them to the Ingawanup kids. Ashley was like that.

“What would you like to do, Ethan?” Steven wanted to know.

“I don't know. Stay in our room, I guess.”

“You've got to be kidding,” Jack sputtered. “We're in
Zion!
Look out the window—do you want to miss all this? Come
on!”

“Go without us. We'll stay here.”

Steven gave Jack a look, and then answered, “Ethan, we can't leave you. We've all got to stick together. Summer, what would you like to do?”

“She wants to stay here with me,” Ethan said through tight lips. But Summer shook her head, her chin thrust out in a way that for once appeared stubborn. “No, Ethan. I spent my whole life on Wind River Reservation, and now I have a chance to see this park. I want to go.”

“Summer, you know what Grandmother always said,” Ethan began hotly.

“Grandmother would want us to see what the Great Spirit has made,” Summer countered.

“But—”

“Ethan, I did the Ghost Dance, even when I thought it was bad. You know I always do what you say. Now I'm asking you to come with me.” A beat later, she added, “Please.”

Even though Ethan didn't answer Summer, Jack could tell when he agreed to go. It was almost as if the Ingawanup brother and sister could speak to each other with only a flick of their eyes, a nod, that wasn't really a nod and a glance that was no more than smoke. They would go. Relieved, Jack looked out across the lawn and into the rose-tipped peaks, vowing to himself that he wouldn't let Ethan get the better of him on this hike. No matter how tired or thirsty he became, Jack decided he was going to stay at least one pace ahead of Ethan.

“OK. I'm going.” Ethan stared at Jack while he said that through clenched jaws. For some unknown reason, he chose that moment to pull his long black hair into a ponytail, securing it with a rubber band. Was that supposed to mean something, like he was preparing for combat?

They started out with granola bars and bottled water divided between Jack's and Ashley's backpacks. Jack kept his camera in a special flap in his pack; if the chocolate coating on the granola bars melted, he didn't want it to smear his lens. His dad carried a much bigger pack filled with much better and considerably more expensive camera equipment. As a professional photographer, Steven was always eager to capture any outstanding shots he might come across.

“Where are we going, Dad?” Ashley asked when they were ready to leave.

Steven unfolded a map and lowered it so all the kids could follow his finger as he traced a trail. “We'll head up toward The Narrows. When we get here,”—he pointed to a spot called the Grotto—“we'll cross a footbridge and get onto this West Rim trail. After that we'll just hike as long as we want to, or until somebody gets too tired.”

As they hiked along the trail paralleling the Virgin River, Ethan and Summer hung back behind the other three. Often, Steven turned and paused, waiting for the Ingawanup kids to catch up. After a mile they crossed a footbridge to the west side of the river. On that side, as on the east side, the Virgin's placid flow had allowed cottonwoods and box elder trees to flourish, a startling green against the red rock. From the trail, they had a magnificent view of the Great White Throne, a megalith of Navajo sandstone that was white on the top half and red at the base. It towered above the peaks around it.

“That's one of the best-known mountains in the United States,” Steven told them. “Its picture was on a postage stamp once. So now I'm going to take a picture of it, too.”

While Steven set up his tripod, Jack pulled out his own camera. It would be hard to take a bad picture of the Great White Throne, but he decided to wait until they were on their way back from wherever they were hiking. By then, the sun would be above the peak, not behind it and making a silhouette, the way it was now.

“Want to see?” he asked Summer, offering her his camera. “Put your eye here, and you can tell what your picture will look like.”

Summer held the camera, peering into the small square viewfinder until Ethan grabbed it from her to hand it back to Jack. Summer didn't protest, but fell into step behind her brother.

By the time they'd gone one mile past the footbridge, they'd climbed a thousand feet higher in elevation. Steven and the Landon kids were not even panting, although Jack's throat felt as dry as dust. He kept glancing at Ethan, checking for a sign of weakness, but Ethan moved as effortlessly along the trail as if he were on a carpeted floor. Ahead of them loomed another monolith called Angels Landing.

“Anyone want to quit?” Steven asked. “The trail guide says it gets a lot steeper from here on. Ethan, Summer—you guys OK?”

Summer and Ethan eyed Ashley and Jack—maybe the Ingawanup kids were doing some checking of their own. Three of them answered all at once, “Let's go.” “Don't want to quit.” “No problem.” Ethan just stood, his head craned back, watching a small bird swoop through the sky like a silvery arrow searching for its mark.

The trail guidebook was right—the climb got a
whole
lot steeper. At this elevation, autumn came a little earlier; it had tinted the leaves of the big-toothed maples, turning them close to the color of the red sandstone walls. As they got near the head of the canyon, Jack burst out, “What the heck is that up ahead?”

Twenty-one separate switchbacks zigzagged up the face of the canyon, like a bolt of lightning carved into rock. Stone walls, the same color as the red sandstone, held the switchbacks in place to keep them from sliding down the sheer slope. Even the concrete that paved the trails had been dyed a ruddy color to blend with the canyon walls.

Steven leafed through his guidebook and said, “They're called Walters Wiggles.”

“Walter's what?” Ashley asked, giggling and swiveling her skinny hips from side to side. “Like this?”

“Yeah, Wiggles. It says they were carved out of the rock in 1926 by Park Service crews, then the trail was improved in the 1930s by young kids not much older than you guys, who belonged to the CCC—the Civilian Conservation Corps. That was during the Depression. The CCC gave paying jobs to kids who otherwise would have been broke, hungry, and homeless.”

“Whew! Hauling out rocks on that steep trail? I think I'd rather starve,” Jack said.

“No you wouldn't.” Ethan's words had a hard edge. “You don't know nothin' about starving.”

“I bet you don't either,” Jack shot back.

“But my grandmother did. She knew about starving, and she taught us to be tough. She taught us to be brave.” Ethan grabbed Summer's hand and hurried ahead of the Landons, moving fast up the switchback trail.

“Hey, you two, slow down,” Steven yelled. “It's a big climb.”

“Let them go,” Jack said, rubbing his calf to work out a cramp in his muscle, as he decided for the second time in two days that competing with Ethan in hill climbing just wasn't worth the effort. “I'm getting kind of sick of him, anyway. Besides, we'll catch up.”

Summer and Ethan stood waiting for the Landons at the top of Walters Wiggles. Summer looked tired. Ethan was wearing his usual stony expression, yet in his eyes Jack detected a look of triumph. Jack wanted to gulp for air—it had been a hard climb for sure, and he was sweating—but he slowed his breathing to as close to normal as he could manage.

“Maybe we'd better turn back here,” Steven told everyone. “After this it gets
really
tough.”

“No. I want to keep going,” Ethan said.

“I thought you didn't want to hike at all,” Jack shot back.

“I didn't. But as long as I'm here, I'll master this mountain. Unless
you're
too tired to keep going.” Ethan's lip curled in the suggestion of a smirk.

“No way,” Jack declared, running his fingers through sweat-dampened hair.

“Well,
I
want to stop here and take a couple of pictures,” Steven announced. He didn't seem to mind that Ethan could see him panting. Pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket, Steven rubbed the back of his neck and turned toward the valley. The view, from that high elevation all the way down to the canyon floor, was incredible. Far beneath them, the Virgin River wound through the rocks and trees like a silvery snake in a narrow piece of green carpet.

“We'll meet you up above,” Ethan declared. “Come on, Summer.”

“Stupid,”
Jack said under his breath, while Steven muttered, “OK, I guess I'll take this scene on the way down. I don't want those two mountain goats to get too far ahead.” By the time Steven had jammed his camera back into his pack, Summer and Ethan looked doll-size in the distance. “Ethan, Summer—wait up!” Steven yelled. His voice echoed lightly off the rock face as he shouted again, “Wait up!” Jack listened for any reply, but there was none. One more time, Steven cupped his hands around his mouth to yell, but when his words died, there was nothing but silence.

Annoyed, Steven pressed his lips together, then said, “Come on, kids, it looks like Ethan's turned this into some kind of race. Let's go.”

The trail angled southeast, following a ridge toward Angels Landing. Heavy chains had been attached to the rock to serve as handrails alongside the deadly drop-offs. “You guys hang onto these chains,” Steven instructed. “Summer! Ethan! Quit hiking. Hold on to the chains and wait for us!” But the Ingawanup kids were still nowhere to be seen. They seemed to have vanished into the thin mountain air.

Suddenly Jack heard a crack and a rumble. It couldn't be thunder, because the sky was clear blue. The rumble became a crashing, and—

“Get back!” Steven yelled, pushing Jack and Ashley hard against the sheer wall. A fist-size rock bounced down from overhead. “
Stay
back!” Steven yelled even louder. “More's coming!”

As the three of them flattened themselves against the canyon wall, pebbles rolled down, too small to do harm but stinging just the same. The pebbles bounced on their shoulders as tiny bits of grit peppered their hair. The rumbling grew louder, like a crack of thunder. A boulder the size of a basketball caromed off a small outcropping only a yard above Steven's head. It arced out to land on the path below, where it rolled until it stopped against a mound of sand and small rocks. “Don't move till we're sure there's no more,” Steven shouted, flinging out his arm to hold Ashley immobile.