Indigo followed her sister reluctantly. She wanted to see the wild palms in the box canyon, but she also wanted to be home when Grandma Fleet returned. Indigo kept looking back the direction they had come, and she checked the sun’s position in the sky from time to time, determined to be home in time to greet Grandma and hear any news she had about Mama.
The trail followed the spine of the sandstone ridge for a distance before it turned sharply to descend into a narrow crevice. Sister Salt showed Indigo how to brace herself by wedging her legs and shoulders against the sides of the crevice so she could reach the footholds and handholds worn into the sandstone. In a few minutes they were down in the canyon. Indigo was amazed. Pale yellow sandstone cliffs rose all around them; the canyon had no outlet; the crevice they had climbed down was the only way in and the only way out unless you were a bird.
Indigo never imagined the palm trees would be so big. They were clustered together, some trees almost touching others; the larger, older trees were shaggy with dry fronds peeling away below the new green foliage. Dry fallen fronds covered the ground. Here was the place Grandma Fleet got her roof. Indigo rubbed her hands over the odd scales and nubby surfaces of the palms’ trunks. She searched the trees’ tops for the clusters of little fruit Sister described as sweeter than honey, but saw nothing.
Sister Salt paid little attention to the palm trees; instead she searched among the boulders and big rocks with a short stick in her hand. Indigo watched her; she used the stick to clear away thick barricades of cactus spines meant to protect the burrow. Sister exposed the squirrel’s food cache; Indigo recognized the acorns and piñons piled on shredded leaves, but what were all those blackish lumps stuck together?
“Ummmm!” Sister said as she attempted to bite a blackish lump; the dried-up date was as hard as a rock. She took the date out of her mouth and reached for the gourd canteen around her waist. She dropped two dried dates into the canteen to soften. They gathered all the dried dates but left the ground squirrel its acorns and piñons. The afternoon was warm enough to slip off their dresses to use as makeshift sacks to carry home the dried dates.
The sun was setting as they approached the sandstone formations above the spring. Sister Salt stopped and motioned for Indigo to keep still and stay put. Sister Salt listened intently. Soldiers and Indian police were loudmouths who could be heard for miles away. Sister Salt heard the crickets in the damp sand near the spring; she heard the sundown call of a mourning dove, then the cry of a nighthawk; the darker it became, the more numerous the crickets were. She listened for Grandma Fleet’s voice, talking loudly to herself or singing a little song she had just made up a moment before, like the song about the baby tarantula Grandma sang last summer. Sister Salt listened until she thought she could hear the sounds of everything — slithering, rustling, rattling, stirring, chirping, whistling, barking, all the sounds descended around her and deafened her.
When Sister Salt stopped and stood motionless, Indigo did the same; she heard the nighthawks but nothing else. If strangers had been camped near the spring, the nighthawks would be gone. The twilight was bright from the sunset and from the half-moon shining off the pale sandstone and the sand dunes. The air was cooling off, and Indigo felt chilly in only her underslip. At first she thought Sister heard something she could not hear, but after a time, Indigo realized something was wrong with her sister. She touched Sister lightly on the back, and whispered.
“What is it? What do you hear?”
Sister Salt turned to her with the saddest expression Indigo had ever seen. She shook her head slowly, and set off walking again; they were only a short walk from the spring now, but Indigo wasn’t fooled. Sister Salt knew something she didn’t tell Indigo. Indigo ran ahead of her, past the spring and down the dunes. In the fading twilight, twigs and branches on the sandy trail resembled snakes of all sizes and kinds; Indigo leaped and swerved to avoid them.
Outside the dugout house, Indigo stopped. It was almost dark now; Grandma Fleet should already be home, but Indigo did not hear her stirring inside. Probably Grandma was tired from her journey and asleep already.
“Grandma, it’s us, me and Sister. Grandma?” she said as she stepped down into the entryway, but no one was there.
♦ ♦ ♦
Indigo wanted to search for Grandma Fleet at once, but Sister Salt reminded her the moon would set soon and they’d be left out on the trail in the dark.
“She just got a late start and decided to sleep under a bush.” Sister Salt’s voice sounded tired. She went to her bed. Indigo lay on her bed and listened to her sister’s breathing. What would become of them without Grandma Fleet? Indigo started to cry softly for their mother.
The next morning, when the sky was light enough for them to see, they set out down the trail to find Grandma Fleet. They both wore big gourd canteens around their waists in case Grandma lost or spilled her canteen and needed water. Sister Salt dropped a handful of dried dates in both canteens so they’d have something to eat. They were not far past the first turn in the dry wash when they found her. She was sitting up with her back and head resting against the clay bank; her shawl was wrapped around her. At first Indigo thought she was dead, but then her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled, still reclining against the clay bank. Sister Salt ran over and flung herself down beside her.
“Oh Grandma, what’s wrong?”
“Now, now, dear, don’t be so upset. I’m just tired. I’m getting too old to walk all the way to the river and back in two days. Next time, I’ll take a week.” Grandma didn’t stand up but she hugged both of them close to her. They shared the softened dates and water in silence though they both wanted so much to ask if she had learned the whereabouts of their mother. They could see Grandma wasn’t quite her old self yet. Sister Salt expected Grandma to ask where they got the dried dates, but she sat silently stroking both girls on the head with her eyes closed. They sat side by side and watched the sun climb higher until the shade was gone.
The girls knelt down so Grandma could steady herself by leaning on their shoulders and backs as she stood up.
“Ohhhh! I’m so stiff I can hardly stand up!” she said as she steadied one hand on Sister Salt and one on Indigo. “I got a late start, but I didn’t want to worry you girls. I must have hurried myself a bit too much.”
Grandma Fleet managed to stand up but she was unsteady on her feet, so it took a long time for the three of them to make their way home. Indigo wanted to ask right away what she found out about Mama, but Grandma had to save her energy for the walk.
Grandma slept all afternoon. Sister Salt and Indigo sat on their blankets nearby and watched her sleep when they were not napping themselves. The weather was much warmer than it had been when Grandma set out. No wonder she had been so exhausted when they found her. She only needed a rest and she would be fine, Sister Salt said, but Indigo could tell she was worried by the way she watched intently, each time Grandma exhaled, for her next breath.
Grandma Fleet recovered slowly over the days that followed. She joked that she brought the hot weather with her from the river; she hoped the rain clouds followed her too. The first morning she felt well enough to walk without assistance, she told them to sit down; she had something to tell them.
“Girls, your mama was not among the prisoners taken to prison at Fort Yuma. That’s all poor Mrs. Van Wagnen was able to find out.” Grandma Fleet took a corner of her skirt to wipe the tears from her eyes.
“Why are you crying?” Indigo demanded. Sister Salt frowned and shook her head at Indigo to be quiet.