Since then, little word came of Solomon or those who followed him. Salvage groups and hunters said they saw people on the path ahead from time to time but there was no one there when they arrived.
Arthur thought the whole thing was stupid. “Going back to nature just leaves you standing there with your ass hanging out,” he’d said with humor. “And I’m an Indian, I should know. The way of people is progress. If you ain’t there. God help you when those who are come.” He’d always end his tirade with the same thing: “It’s a free country!” He’d shrug. “I just wish they hadn’t stole my native history books.”
Of course, he was none too happy about some of the other teaching either. One of the workers started using a book of Bible stories to teach the people how to read. That was innocent enough, but some among them were religious or had become so during their years of hiding, and they got great comfort out of reading the books and talking about the stories. It wasn’t long before some of the people were meeting to read the books and to talk about their meaning.
“We don’t need any missionaries either,” Arthur had puffed on more than one occasion. “And I’m an Indian, I should know. Religion’s the last thing you people need-goes over you like a freight train.”
Dawn was never entirely sure of all of Arthur’s references, and she’d been so busy learning about the ways of going forward, that there was little time to focus on anybody else’s past.
Thinking about Arthur’s talk usually got her thinking about Mr. Jay. A strange feeling went through her then, or it was a friendly warmth heated up with loss. A heaviness clutched her features momentarily, but passed into a smile. No one ever saw Mr. Jay again. The last glimpse Dawn ever got was of him riding across the burning plains caught in desperate conflict with the pale rider.
And never after their travel north to Nurserywood, or in the first years as the aging started.
They’d never seen him again.
She and Old Arthur talked about Mr. Jay a lot and wondered what had become of him. The giant had always liked him. He said he’d first met the magician at Nurserywood not long after he’d arrived with the treasure. “He was circus folk if I ever met one,” Arthur had laughed. “Through and through a performer.”
And Dawn remembered him and missed him every day of her life. Lots when she first got back to Nurserywood, and even more when she realized she was starting to grow up. More and more she missed him when she grew in size and then lots again when her body changed into a woman’s. And when she hooked up with Jeremy, and she’d missed Mr. Jay so much when she’d had her first baby, a boy she named “Jay.” And she’d missed him, really missed him like hope and dreams and life when the little fellow died of a lung infection his first winter. And she missed her old friend like warmth and fire as she knelt in the snow, or on the earth, staring sadly at her little baby’s grave.
But something in his memory kept her going, and kept her trying. He had a way of turning things upward, of calling attention to brighter days ahead. And so she missed him when her kids Eliza, Boone, Thorn and Jeannie were born. And missed him some every day as they grew and enjoyed success and weathered storms, and started having kids of their own. And now Dawn only missed Mr. Jay a little bit every day, but she missed him.
And she hoped that he was safe. Or that if something took him that it had happened quick and with little pain. And if that was the case, she hoped he was getting lots of rest in the world beyond. Because she hoped that’s what waited there for her.
But most of all, when she was up to watch the sunrise, or getting kids settled in as it set, she hoped he’d come back some day.