They thought of Mrs. Van Wagnen each time they ate the sweet dried apricots or boiled a pot of beans, and they hoped she was getting along all right. So many strangers forded the river at Mormon Crossing that a woman alone was not safe there. Poor Mrs. Van Wagnen! She was the first and now the only wife, but she didn’t know if she would ever see her husband again.
All the talk about people lost made Indigo cry. Would she ever have her mama again? Grandma Fleet reassured her.
“I would know if something was wrong,” Grandma said. “I would feel it in my bones.” Even if their mother was arrested, the government usually kept Indian women in jail for only a month or two.
“Before hot weather comes, I’m going to visit my Mormon friend,” Grandma Fleet said one day. They had just gathered a great many succulent little plants that grew under the sand at the foot of the cliffs. More than two months had passed and they had heard nothing. Mrs. Van Wagnen might have some news.
“I’ll just be gone overnight. You girls won’t even miss me,” Grandma Fleet said.
“We could come with you,” Indigo said hopefully.
“Oh no.” Grandma Fleet shook her head vigorously. “It isn’t safe for young girls to travel. If the Indian policemen find us, who knows what they might do with you?” Grandma Fleet eased two big gourd canteens of springwater over her shoulder and took up her walking stick. Sister Salt carried Grandma’s gunnysack full of roots, seeds, and leaves — spices and medicines Mrs. Van Wagnen might need. After all that wonderful food she gave them, it was the least they could do.
“No one notices an old woman, but everyone sees a young girl,” Grandma Fleet said as she started off briskly; she allowed the girls to accompany her as far as the big boulder at the intersection of the little wash with the big wash. Indigo tried not to cry but the lump in her throat forced out the tears; she made no sound and kept walking at her sister’s side. At the big wash Sister Salt slipped the gunnysack from her back to Grandma Fleet’s back.
They watched Grandma Fleet until she disappeared around the first turn in the big wash. Indigo sank to the ground and began to sob loudly. Sister Salt did not like the sound; it echoed off the sandstone on both sides of the canyon. Anyone — the Indian police or a miner or a cowboy — might hear that sound.
“Crybaby!” Sister Salt hissed in her little sister’s face as she jerked Indigo to her feet by her arm and pulled her along behind her.
“Shut up before someone hears you! Grandma went to find out about Mama,” Sister Salt said, and she was crying now too.
By the time they reached the house the sun was past midpoint in the sky and it was hot. After a drink and a bath at the spring, they crawled into the coolness of the dugout house and covered themselves with their wet canvas shawls they soaked in the pool. Indigo lay on her bed and stared up at the latticework of willow branches over mesquite poles. Why hadn’t Mama escaped by now?
Indigo dreamed she was in Mama’s arms, hugged so close and so safe, her face pressed against Mama’s chest, breathing in Mama’s warm scent of sage and earth. Mama’s love surrounded her and rocked her gently. When Indigo woke, she looked around for Mama before she remembered, and some part of her deep inside broke open, and she cried so loud she woke Sister Salt. Indigo expected Sister to scold her for crying, but she put her arms around Indigo and rocked her, saying, “Don’t cry, sister, don’t cry. Mama will come back, she will.” Indigo felt something wet fall on her arm and realized Sister Salt was crying too. As Indigo began to feel more hopeful and stopped crying, Sister Salt cried harder. Indigo hugged her big sister as tightly as she could.
“Don’t cry!” Indigo whispered, and patted her sister’s back. Sister nodded and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes.
Indigo excused herself to go pee. She was surprised at how much daylight remained as she walked to the latrine below the dunes. The hot days would arrive in no time.
When Indigo returned, Sister Salt was far in the back corner where Grandma Fleet kept the big pottery storage jars. She heard the sounds of Sister Salt removing the stone lids, and the rustle of dried apples and strips of dried meat in muslin sacks.
At first they were only going to sample the apples and the venison jerky. Indigo rolled the dry apple slice around on her tongue until it was moistened; she sucked on it for a long time until it was too soft and sweet to resist and she swallowed it. They took only the smallest flakes and slivers of jerky to chew and chew, and they had contests to see who could make the jerky last the longer. Indigo looked Sister Salt in the eye and took another piece of dried apple and another piece of jerky; before Sister Salt could stop her, Indigo stuffed both the apple and the jerky in her mouth. Sister Salt grabbed the jerky from her mouth and popped it into her mouth. Indigo laughed and took another piece of jerky. They shared a gourd of springwater and ate as many dried apples as they wanted and more jerky until Indigo began to feel too full and a little queasy, so she gave the half-eaten jerky strip to Sister Salt. Grandma Fleet would be furious when she found out the two of them had eaten enough food in one evening to last three people for a week. Sister Salt finished Indigo’s piece of jerky, then she reached into the muslin sack for another and yet another piece of jerky, until the muslin sack was empty. Indigo saw Sister Salt glance in the direction of the back room to the food storage jars; she had never seen Sister Salt eat that way before, not even those times they were without food for days. Sister Salt did not seem like herself; the difference in her behavior made Indigo uneasy. Grandma would be home by this time tomorrow. Maybe she wouldn’t notice the lids on the storage jars had been moved, Indigo thought as she drifted off to sleep.
Sister Salt waited until Indigo’s breathing was slow and deep before she crept back to the storage jars. Her stomach was so full it felt swollen, but still the hunger raged inside her, demanding that she eat. She reached for the lid on the jar, but stopped herself short; she did not move for a long time. She knew she was full, she knew she didn’t need to eat any more. Where did this hunger come from? If Grandma Fleet or Mama had been there they might have explained what the trouble was. She crept back to her bed and reached for the gourd canteen. She drank water until the hunger could barely make itself felt.
The next day they did not talk about the food they took from the storage jars. They gathered succulent green “sand food” from the foot of the cliff all morning, and saved enough for Grandma when she got home that night. The weather was warm; as soon as the first good rain fell, Grandma said, they should start planting.
Around midday time they went to the spring to wash up and rest in the shade. The spring, at the head of the canyon, looked down on the ridges and hills of fine sand that descended gradually to the dry wash that lead to the big wash to the river. Sister Salt wanted to hunt for pack rats’ nests, but Indigo wanted to stay by the spring to watch for Grandma. From the vantage point of the spring, Indigo would be able to see her the moment she came around the bend in the wash.
“She won’t come until late afternoon. You’ll have to wait a long time.” Sister Salt wanted Indigo to go with her. “I’ll show you the palm grove.” Sister Salt knew Indigo wanted to go there.