Hattie realized the police and soldiers came to break up the Indian gathering because of her — because they came looking for her there. She already knew the townspeople blamed Indians for her assault. Hattie stopped weeping to beg her father to intercede for the dancers. She did not hide the anger she felt as she told him the authorities might have ignored the gathering one more night if he had not come looking for her there. Her father seemed shaken by the fury of her accusation, and the others were motionless as she went on; this fourth night of the dance she hoped to see the Messiah. Don’t let the authorities interfere!
Her father seemed overwhelmed, even a bit dazed, to find himself in the middle of such a conflict. He gestured out the door; her mother and the Albuquerque lawyer, Mr. Maxwell, were waiting in the buggy. “Get the lawyer to do something!” She got to her feet with her father’s aid; she told the girls she’d be right back; she held her father’s arm as she slowly made her way out the door.
Hattie looked the driver of the buggy in the eyes; no, he wasn’t the one; she knew it was either the son or the owner of the stable. She felt furious and strong; her attacker walked free in that wretched town!
The lawyer removed his overcoat and Hattie’s father put it over her shoulders and rolled up the sleeves that were too long. It smelled vile — stale tobacco smoke and man sweat — but a chill wind had come up and she had to keep warm in order to keep going.
She barely greeted her mother before she began to argue: This fourth night of the dance was to bring the Messiah! Didn’t they understand? The urgency in her voice unsettled her mother and the lawyer, but her father patted her hand.
The dancers’ prayers saved her life — each night of the dance she recovered a bit more as the Messiah drew nearer. She wept with fury when she saw her mother and the lawyer whisper to each other — they believed she was ill, out of her head.
“Oh Hattie! Just look at you! You’ve suffered a terrible shock!” her mother exclaimed. Hattie knew she meant the Indian dress and her unkempt hair. That was enough for Hattie. She let go of her father’s arm and turned to go back to the camp. But her mother cried out for them to stop her — her daughter was ill and needed help! They must get her on the next train to Albuquerque to the hospital. Her head injuries required treatment at once.
Hattie managed to break free of her father and left the lawyer holding the empty coat; but the soldiers dismounted and helped them subdue her. She saw the people who were packing up stop to watch, then hurry on their way, as if they feared they’d be seized next. Sister Salt and Indigo watched outside the lean-to as Hattie struggled with her captors. After they lifted her into the buggy and Mr. Maxwell and mother held her arms, Mr. Abbott, his face pale with distress, hurried over to say good-bye to Indigo, who wept for Hattie. Inside the tent, the parrot shrieked, furious his beloved was crying, and the monkey called Indigo frantically.
Just as Mr. Abbott spoke, Sister Salt stepped forward and spat in his face. For an instant he seemed shocked, but then he closed his eyes and stared down at the ground; he made no effort to wipe his face before he got back into the buggy.
In the train station lobby Hattie pretended to collapse long enough for her father and the lawyer to leave her alone with her mother while they saw to the tickets and luggage. She waited until they were out of sight and her mother rummaged in her purse to make a run for it.
Her fury gave her strength and will to run down the alley and cross another street; but instead of returning to the river where the girls were, she headed down another alley; she didn’t want to bring any more trouble for the dancers.
She stopped behind a stack of oak kegs in the alley to catch her breath and to listen for her pursuers. Piles of dirty snow lined the north side of the alley and made the footing there treacherous. The fresh air did her good; her head felt clear, and the excitement of the escape gave her strength.
Now the breeze down the alley chilled her and she shoved her hands deep into the coat pockets and felt objects in both pockets. In the right pocket she found a fresh starched handkerchief and a small box of matches; in the left pocket she found a key that she tossed into a dirty snowbank and a small pouch of tobacco she threw down. But she kept the little pack of cigarette papers, and pulled one out and struck one of the little matches to it. For a moment the warmth of the flame around the paper was delicious before she had to let go of the bright ash.
She looked both ways before she continued down the alley, which was cluttered with trash and debris — rotting garbage and overturned barrels — filthy just like the town and its people. She caught the odor of horses and saw corrals up ahead; manure and old straw were piled outside: it was the back of the livery stable. Her heart began to pound wildly; she could turn back and go down a side alley, but she crept closer, careful to remain in the deep shadows as she listened and watched. The horses were calmly chewing their hay and paid no attention as she crept up.
What a disgusting stinking mess outside the back door — she stepped over dirty rags and manure. Straw and hay were strewn everywhere. The smell of rotting urine and manure was terrible as she peeked around the corner of the wide barn door. She listened and watched, but no one was there. Inside it was almost dark, but she could see the buggies and wagons parked along the far wall; above them big metal hooks held the harnesses. Everywhere the floor was littered with hay and straw; along the near wall by the door were the haystack and burlap sacks of feed, and a workbench. Something familiar caught her eye and sent the hair on her neck straight out: among the scattered tools was a big steel vise, and clamped in it was a meteor iron partially sawed in half. She saw other fragments of meteor iron among the chisels and saw blades on the bench. She shivered — from the cold or from the sight of meteor irons, she didn’t know.
She knew exactly what must be done; the crumpled cigarette papers flashed under the match; all the starch in the handkerchief caused it to flare up nicely in the loose hay on the floor. Little wings of flame gave off a lemon yellow glow that recalled the lost carving of the waterbirds. What a lovely light the fire gave off as she warmed her hands over it; but as the rivulets of fire spread to the haystack, the heat drove her outside.
At the corrals, she let the terrified horses run free, and followed them to a hill east of town, where she watched — amazed and elated by the beauty of the colors of the fire against the twilight sky. As the flames snaked over to catch the roofs of buildings on either side of the stable, the fire’s colors were brilliant — the reds as rich as blood, the blues and whites luminous, and the orange flame as bright as Minerva’s gemstone.
♦ ♦ ♦
By the time they got everything packed and took down the lean-to, it was too late to get very far downriver. Even with the help of the twins it was a struggle to get all their belongings, the pets, and supplies to the road where they could catch the mail wagon the next morning.
Indigo still cried when she thought of Hattie lifted bodily into the buggy, though the twins reassured her Hattie was strong; she’d been blessed by the light of the morning star. Sister Salt was still too angry to speak; only the little grandfather’s laughter at the antics of the monkey softened her fierce expression.
They made a little campfire just as the sun went down and shared cold tortillas and bits of mutton jerky in silence. The turmoil left them exhausted. Rainbow noticed the flames to the north first and flapped his wings and squawked excitedly as he clutched Indigo’s shoulder.
All night the flames lit the sky, and they sat bundled in blankets and quilts to watch. At first they didn’t know what was burning, and Maytha joked the town dump must have caught fire, but later the flames went so high, Vedna said it had to be the town that was burning. At first they didn’t mention what night this was to have been or that somewhere in the mountains the Messiah and the ancestors still waited and loved them.