He drank and drank, then tore a rag from his shirt for a wet compress on his eyes; it seemed like he slept for days before he drank enough water to need to urinate. After the storm passed, the sun came out and warmed him. He drank but oddly he wasn’t hungry; he recalled the strange mountain dining hall tables of food without any desire for it. Instead he lay on his belly, his back to the sun for hours as he looked into the clear shallow pool of rainwater that collected on the flat stones. How magical water was — shifting its form endlessly, embracing the sunlight with little rainbows above its surface.
He was grateful his kidneys weren’t damaged by the long thirst. During his army years he heard stories of agonizing death — burns, impalement, and poisons — but dying of thirst in the desert haunted all the troops. Now he had to agree; he got so weak toward the end he couldn’t even lift the shotgun or pull its trigger. Gradually he regained his strength; when he pulled himself up to lean against a boulder, his denim pants slipped down around his knees. He looked down at himself and realized the past weeks and then these last days had whittled him away; he felt himself and found only skin and bones.
He was dozing when the odor of horseshit woke him; when he pulled the damp rag from his eyes he saw blurred blue outlines but there was no mistaking the rifles; he was surrounded by soldiers. They had orders to find a black soldier AWOL from Fort Huachuca. Candy told them his name and where he came from; the sergeant listened but was not convinced. They’d tracked him from Tonopah after reports a black man stopped there. Candy pointed out he was too old to be the man they sought, but they handcuffed and loaded him onto a mule anyway.
He asked for food and they gave him hardtack — as much as he wanted; the flat hard biscuits tasted far better than he remembered from his army days. Later when they camped for the night, they brought fried salt pork, but after a few mouthfuls he felt his stomach turn, and he was able to finish only the hardtack and boiled coffee. They took the long way around; all the way to Tucson he tried to eat the fried salt pork they offered him, but the mountain ordeal weakened his stomach, and all he could tolerate was hardtack and flapjacks.
♦ ♦ ♦
Indigo marked a dot in her notebook for each day that passed after Hattie left, but even when there were forty-six dots, there was no sign of Hattie. Sister Salt stole a peek over her shoulder and realized she was counting days until the white woman returned. Didn’t Indigo remember how white people came, claimed they’d stay, but then later they were gone?
Sister hoped the woman never came back; yes, she was kind to Indigo and generous to all of them. But Sister felt uneasy whenever the woman came around; she knew the woman thought about taking Indigo away for good — she could tell by the expression in Hattie’s eyes whenever she looked at Indigo.
Before she left on the mail wagon, Hattie promised Indigo to write in care of the trading post if she was delayed. Indigo wanted to see if there was a letter. The weather was changing; it was overcast and windy that morning, and Sister didn’t want to take the baby out in the dust. But Maytha and Vedna came along with Indigo to buy more sugar to make beer.
The trader’s wife barely skimmed the surface of the bushel basket where mail for the Indians was kept, but said Indigo had no mail. Indigo knew Hattie preferred small fancy sheets of paper with small matching envelopes, which might easily slip to the bottom of the basket. Indigo stayed put in front of the counter, and after a while the trader himself asked if there was something else she wanted.
“I know she was going to write,” Indigo said.
“Oh. Her,” the trader said and shook his head. He looked at Maytha and Vedna, who held sacks of sugar, waiting patiently for Indigo.
“Someone better tell the girl. Those society women come out from back east, interfere, and then they leave and never write.” He turned his back to them and shoved the basket of mail back in its corner. Indigo’s heart pounded so loudly she hardly noticed Maytha’s hand around hers; she didn’t cry until they stepped out into the dust and grit driven by the cold gusts of wind.
When the girls returned from the trading post, Sister saw streaks down Indigo’s cheeks, where fine dust stuck to the tears. Despite the monkey’s somersaults and the parrot’s screeches to be let out, Indigo went straight to her bed. Sister was so angry at that white woman tears filled her eyes, and she could not stop herself.
“She’s not coming back!” Sister used a loud whisper not to disturb the little grandfather’s nap. Both twins nodded solemnly at Indigo.
“She’s really nice—”
“She’s really generous, too,” Vedna interrupted.
“But the thing is, Indigo—”
“She wasn’t lying—”
“No! She means well, poor thing.”
Sister Salt angrily shook her head. Maytha and Vedna hurriedly wrapped themselves in their shawls and took the axes to go cut kindling above the riverbank while the sisters worked things out. They were expecting guests later that evening and the twins didn’t want the party spoiled with arguments or tears from Sand Lizard girls.
Indigo sat up on her blankets; the little grandfather was wide awake, propped up in his bundle, listening and watching everything. Good, Indigo thought, let him see how his mother-granddaughter repays the kindness and generosity of a stranger.
“I notice you eat the food she brought; you see by the light of the lamps and oil she brought,” Indigo said.
“You sound like a white girl! Listen to yourself!”
“Listen yourself! You’re the one! You hurt feelings without a second thought just like white people!”
Indigo watched the little grandfather’s eyes move from one to the other as they argued, but could not tell whose side he was on. Sister said even if Hattie came back this time, and the next time, someday she wouldn’t come back.
How do you know?
Stories Grandma told, about a long time ago. People worked for the Mexicans for money, and bought their food and clothing. For years these people were wealthy, but one day the Apaches came and killed all the Mexicans and took all the sheep and the goods. The people who got rich working for the Mexicans began to get hungry. Crops were meager that year so the people with corn traded a handful of corn for a handful of silver coins; before long the rich were poor like everyone else.
As Indigo listened she realized her sister was right; Hattie couldn’t live there and she couldn’t come month after month or year after year. Grandma Fleet did use to warn them to remember other locations of water and places of shelter, just in case something happens — as it happened to Mama, or to Grandma Fleet, who didn’t wake up.
The baby did not seem to mind but the argument upset the monkey and parrot; it was too windy to take them outside, so she let them out of their cages to quiet their noise. Sister Salt frowned but said nothing as long as Indigo stayed right there with them to stop any mischief. Sister was afraid the pets might bite or scratch the baby, but Indigo was confident they wouldn’t harm him. She could not be so sure about the tubs of new beer — both the parrot and monkey liked to perch on the rims of the tubs, and she caught the parrot nibbling at the orchids on the window ledge.
Fortunately she stopped Rainbow before much damage was done — he peeled some green skin from two or three leaf tips. The orchids became everyone’s favorites because they put out fragrant white-winged blossoms for weeks since the fall equinox, just like Edward promised. They had survived Indigo’s anger — tossed and dumped from their pots — and even neglect; their stick-shaped leaves stored water like a cactus, and the flowers lasted weeks.