Paint the Wind (12 page)

M
AYA 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 molasses 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?

T
HE GROUND QUAVERED. SELTZER STUMBLED AND
M
AYA
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.

Persistent nudging and a low, throaty nicker roused Maya. She squinted at blurry white blotches. Someone hovered. She blinked and opened her eyes wider.

Artemisia stood above her. The horse's head dropped close to Maya's body, the mane tickling her neck. The sun had almost disappeared, and the river lapped at Maya's boots. She reached for Artemisia's dangling mane but the horse backed away, just out of her grasp. Maya rolled to her stomach and pulled herself to her hands and knees. Needles of pain jabbed at her right foot and the boot felt much too tight. She whimpered. A wave of dizziness followed and she retched.

Artemisia nickered at her again, as if insisting she move.

Maya crawled to a tree, raised herself against the trunk, and huddled next to it until her nausea subsided.

Artemisia walked farther into the grove, paused, and turned to look at Maya.

“I'm coming,” said Maya. She gazed uphill, befuddled. Something was wrong. She studied the scene until she knew. Every tree had been defoliated from the blast of wind, and the entire vale was now carpeted with leaves. The naked white trunks of the aspens looked like candles placed haphazardly on the side of a lopsided cake. The grassy area closest to the river looked swept clean. Farther up the vale, the leaves had resettled in dunes of foliage.

Maya took tiny hops, tree to tree, up the slope on her good leg until she found a shallow depression between several trunks. She dropped to the ground, pushing leaves and duff into a soft mattress, then positioned herself on top of it.

She slipped off the canvas bag and the binoculars and then struggled to remove her right boot. It would not budge, and the pain was too intense to keep trying. Shivering, she lifted the hood of the jacket over her head and scooped more leaves across her legs for warmth. The sky grew darker.

“Artemisia,” Maya called. “Please stay with me.…” She scanned the grove but didn't see her. She reached inside her jacket, unzipped the pocket of her vest, and pulled out the small brown-and-white Paint. “Where did you go?” Maya strained to hear a friendly nicker, but there was no response.

Instead, she heard a rustling and cringed. She grabbed a nearby branch and slapped the leaves near her legs to dissuade the voles and mice. She lay back and wished for a tepee with a zipper.