Indigo shaded her eyes with one hand as she surveyed the sandstone canyon; she saw nothing green, nothing growing at all, only sandy ridges covered with dry weeds.
Sister Salt walked faster now, up the path to the head of the canyon. They still had a little river water in their gourd canteens, but for miles Sister Salt imagined how good the springwater would taste. She was grateful to have the river water for their journey, but it was muddy; the water that dripped down the cracks in the cliff was cool and clear.
Grandma Fleet had given Sister Salt instructions: first thing, go to the spring and look for footprints or other signs of people living in the area. Grandma Fleet said they should keep to themselves if they encountered strangers living at the old gardens. Grandma Fleet warned if too many people settled at one location they were bound to attract the attention of the authorities.
Blackened rocks and bits of charcoal from old campfires were partially buried by the sand, but Sister Salt could see that at one time as many as thirty campsites dotted the upper end of the canyon below the spring.
The cool springwater tasted even better than Sister Salt remembered; she and Indigo drank and then scooped water over themselves to wash off the dust. They sat by the spring and ate the last of the cattail roots; the sun felt warm, and the sound of the water trickling down the sandstone was soothing. They spread their canvas wraps on the fine sand next to the pool and stretched out side by side. Sister Salt was on her back looking up at the sandstone walls of the canyon and the sky but she was thinking about Mama and Grandma Fleet. Did the Indian police catch them? She couldn’t stop thinking about the soldiers and Indian police galloping toward the dancers to encircle them. In their dark uniforms, on horseback, they did not appear to be humans but giant insects swarming down the hills to the riverbank.
Indigo lay on her stomach and up on her elbows, her chin resting in both hands as she stared into the water. She watched the water bugs scurry around their villages in the yellowish sand at the bottom of the pool. The big bugs moved with dignity, but the smaller bugs darted about as if they were playing chase with one another. Pebbles and stones in the pool were hills and mountains; the green shoots of water plants were the forests. How lovely their pool was! They had all the water and food they needed.
From the corner of her eye, Indigo caught the shiver of a blade of grass across the pool, though there was no breeze; she did not move. More blades of grass wiggled, then parted slowly as a big rattlesnake’s head poked out cautiously, its tongue moving over the air slowly to read any warnings. The snake’s tongue stopped when he caught their human scent. For an instant the snake looked at Sister Salt sleeping, then at Indigo, who held her breath. Grandma Fleet talked about the big snake many times because he was almost as old as she was, and the spring belonged to him. All desert springs have resident snakes. If people killed the snakes, the precious water disappeared. Grandma Fleet said whatever you do, don’t offend the old snake who lives at the spring.
“Remember us? We won’t harm you, Snake,” Indigo whispered softly. “You know our grandmother and our mother.” The snake seemed to consider her words before he glided to the edge of the pool. Indigo was amazed at how gracefully the snake dipped its mouth into the water, tilting back his head to swallow a dainty sip. The snake was thirsty and dipped his head to the water many times before he stopped, flicked his tongue at Indigo and then Sister Salt, then backed away and disappeared into the grass around the pool.
Later, when Sister Salt woke up and heard about the snake’s visit, she said it was a good sign; if soldiers or others were lurking in the area, the big snake disappeared.
The first night they slept by the spring, but all night birds and small animals brushed past them to reach the water. The next day they went to work on Grandma Fleet’s house. The old dugout house was not easy to spot because its roof was low to the ground and partially covered with sand. Sister Salt dropped to her knees, then crawled through the opening. Indigo followed, relieved that her sister was first to go inside Grandma Fleet’s abandoned house; the old dugout room looked like a perfect home for centipedes and scorpions. Once they were inside, there was a narrow ledge and then three big stone steps down into the room. Indigo sat on the bottom step until her eyes became accustomed to the dim light. Inside the air was cool and smelled of clean sand; Sister Salt poked around the corners. The room was much bigger than it appeared from outside; there was plenty of space overhead, and the roofbeams were solid, although the wind had disturbed the top layer of desert palm branches on the roof.
They finished the roof repairs and were at the spring for a bath when they heard a strange sound off in the distance; someone was singing. At first the singing was too far away and they could not make out the song; sometimes the singing grew faint, then loud again, as if the singer had crossed a dry wash. They both listened intently; then Sister Salt recognized the song.
“Grandma!” Sister Salt yelled and took off running in the direction of the singing. Indigo started to follow her but Sister Salt was running much too fast. Indigo watched her sister run through the stands of dry sunflowers below the sandhills toward the mouth of the canyon until she was out of sight. Indigo listened. The singing continued, then stopped. Suddenly she felt a strange fear overtake her, a fearful feeling she was about to be abandoned by Grandma Fleet, and even Sister Salt.
Indigo ran as fast as she could through the deep sand, up and down the sandhills, until her sides ached and her throat burned. She stopped to listen for the singing but the sound of her own breathing was all she heard. She ran, and when she stumbled, she picked herself up and kept running, terrified she might lose them.
At the mouth of the canyon she found them; Sister Salt was kneeling next to Grandma Fleet, who was resting in the shade of a big yucca, leaning herself against a gunnysack full of bundles. Indigo ran to them, her heart pounding wildly. She looked all around, panting; tears filled her eyes as she realized Grandma returned alone.
“Where is she?” Indigo demanded. “Where’s Mama? Why didn’t she come?”
“Is this the greeting I get?” Grandma Fleet teased as she opened her arms to embrace Indigo, who pressed her face hard against Grandma’s bony chest and started to cry.
While Grandma Fleet rested in the shade, Sister Salt and Indigo took turns dragging the gunnysack full of bundles up the sandy path from the mouth of the canyon to the house. Grandma Fleet and one old Mormon woman were released from government custody. Grandma and the Mormon woman became friends on their walk down the river. They did not talk so much as they pointed out things to each other, then smiled and nodded to each other while they walked along.
Later, as she unpacked the bundle, Grandma Fleet talked about Mrs. Van Wagnen’s cellar under the floor of the little stone house at Mormon Crossing. So much food put up in glass jars neatly arranged on wooden shelves! From muslin bags kept in big crockery jars, Mrs. Van Wagnen brought out dried apples and dried apricots and even dried venison.
From time to time Grandma passed them a muslin sack to sniff so they could savor the sweet, dry fruit odor. Beans. So many Indian beans! Mrs. Van Wagnen had great success growing beans because her garden was near the river. Grandma Fleet did not want to take so much food, but Mrs. Van Wagnen had insisted. She could not eat all that food herself, she said, and then she started to cry because her husband and the other wives were arrested, and their children sent away to live with foster families in the new Mormon Church. Mrs. Van Wagnen stopped crying when she talked about the new Mormon Church; she became angry. The old church had been brushed aside by demons, she said. But Grandma Fleet thought maybe the other Mormons got tired of resisting the U.S. government. The government said only one wife, and now the new church said one wife, so the old Mormons moved to remote locations. For years and years, the U.S. soldiers chased Mormons when they weren’t chasing Indians.