by Sarah Dreher
"Hogan ," Stell explained. "Navajo house. Probably empty. They take the sheep back into the canyons in the summer. Navajos are great rug-makers, you know. Spin and dye the wool themselves. North and west of here, along the Grand Canyon Road, you'll see them sitting beside the highway, weaving. Just set the looms right out there in the blazing sun, trees being at a premium. Every now and then one of the men'll build his wife a shelter to keep the sun off, but men like that are rare. Which just goes to prove the races are more alike than we think."
They were deep in desert now, past the hard-top road, off Navajo Route 15, onto packed sand and dirt. The sky stretched above and around, going on forever. Far in the distance, a windmill stood motionless. A shred of cloud hung in the blue air like a smudged fingerprint. There was no sign of life anywhere.
“We've set you up in the bunkhouse," Stell said. "It's small and not very fancy, but I figured you'd prefer privacy over amenities. If it doesn't suit you, you're welcome to move into the spare room."
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Gwen said.
Stell glanced at her. "There's one thing I want understood before, it becomes a problem. Stoner's like family to me, and that makes you family, too. So let's not have any unnecessary politeness."
"She can't help it," Stoner said. "She was brought up in Georgia."
Gwen was silent, looking down at her hands.
"I say something wrong?" Stell asked.
Gwen shook her head. "I was thinking about my grandmother. She'd have me in the bunkhouse and Stoner in the spare room. Or vice versa."
"One thing I'll never understand," Stell said, giving Gwen's wrist a squeeze, "is how some folks have to take an attitude toward things. Shoot, I have enough to do just getting through the day."
“Well,” Gwen said, "you're one in a million."
A broken-down jumble of buildings appeared on their left. A cabin of pine slats, with an attached two-bay garage and a tin roof that jutted out toward the road and provided about a foot and half of shade. Antlers and cow skulls and other souvenirs of killing hung beneath the eaves. A fox skin was nailed to the garage wall. Two Texaco pumps were rusting to death out front. A hand-lettered sign propped against the cabin wall announced 'Begay's Texaco, Flats fixed'. A scattering of tires and rims provided evidence that something, at least, was done to old tires at Begay's.
Stell sped by in a cloud of dust and a friendly honk. "Mr. Begay's kind of disgraceful, but we try to keep on good terms, since this dump and the trading post constitute the entire village of Spirit Wells. And he has the only gasoline between here and Beale." She laughed. "Speaking of taking an attitude... "
“We all have our limits," Stoner said. The torn screen door that led to the cabin had been thick with flies.
A long, low building appeared in the distance, tucked up against the foot of a mesa. Sun glinted copper from the windows. A long porch ran the length of the west side. As they drew closer, she could make out benches and rockers on the porch, a door standing open to the inside, and a weather-beaten sign that spelled out 'Spirit Wells Trading Post. Est. 1873. Gil and Claudine Robinson, props.' A wisp of smoke rose straight as a pillar from a stone chimney.
"There she is," Stell said. She wrinkled her nose. "Don't like the look of that smoke."
Gwen squinted through the dusty windshield. "Do you think something's wrong?"
“Worse. The only time Ted lights that fire before dark is when he's roasting something the Indians gave him in trade. Could be anything."
"Deer?" Stoner asked, hoping for the more edible of a multitude of possibilities.
"Deer, jackrabbit, rattlesnake. Hard telling."
"I've eaten sushi ," Gwen said weakly, "but only once."
They pulled off the packed-dirt road into the packed-dirt driveway, which was barely distinguishable from the packed-dirt yard. Salvia flamed in window boxes. A string of red peppers hung drying against the wall. The temperature in the shade dropped twenty degrees.
The restlessness Stoner had felt in her stomach gathered itself into a soft ball that radiated warmth upward to her shoulders and down her arms. She hoped she hadn't picked up a bug.
Stell stopped the car in front of a rough barn that doubled as a garage. The barn was attached to a corral. The corral contained horses.
Very large horses.
Large, brown, energetic-looking horses.
Stell caught the look of horror on her face, and laughed. "That's Maude and Bill. You don't have to ride them. Think of them as part of the scenery."
"They can't be ridden?" Gwen asked.
"You can ride them," Stell said. "And I can ride them. She can't ride them."
"Don't worry about me," Stoner said. "I do real well on the ground."
"However," said Stell as she got down from the truck, "we have something here I'll bet you'll like." She put two fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle.
The world's tallest dog, with the world's largest, squarest head elbowed itself out from under the barn and threw itself in Stell's general direction. Its hair was short and brindle-colored. One ear stood up to a point, the other lay limply on its forehead.
"This," Stell said as the dog rested its front paws on her shoulders and licked her ear, "is my good friend, Tom Drooley. Half Great Dane, half St. Bernard, and all lap-dog."
"I'm afraid to ask," Gwen said, "but why is his name Tom Drooley?"
Stell kneed the dog to the ground and wiped her ear on her shirt sleeve. "Three guesses."
Tom Drooley loped around the truck and began a minute, sniffing examination of Stoner's pants legs. Satisfied, he sat down, scraped the ground twice with his tail, looked her in the eye, and said, “Woof."
"He likes you," Stell said.
Stoner put her hands on either side of the big dog's head and shook it back and forth. "I love him."
Tom Drooley made low, throaty, sensual noises.
Gwen looked mildly astonished. "I like dogs as much as the next person. But tell me he's not allowed to sleep in the bunkhouse."
"He sleeps in our bedroom," Stell said. "To tell you the truth, I think he's afraid of the dark." She hauled bags of groceries from the back of the truck and handed them over. "Now, you're about to meet my dearly beloved. Hope you're not disappointed. Gary Cooper he ain't."
The kitchen was large and smelled of linoleum and fireplace ash. Sunlight poured through the western windows. Over the sink, checkered curtains framed a view of sagebrush, the mesa, the little bunkhouse, and a path lined with whitewashed rocks. Herbs grew in terra cotta pots on the sills. Against the back wall a fire crackled in an ancient wood-burning stove. A cast iron cooking pot rested on top, steam escaping around its lid. In the center of the room, a long plank table was set for dinner.
Beyond the table and through an arch, the room became a sitting room. It was dark and looked cool, furnished with overstuffed chairs, bookcases, and table lamps. A magnificent Navajo rug in grays and blues lay on the rough floor. The pine walls were covered with sepia photographs in hand-made frames. A break-front held a pile of books, playing cards, a basket of mending, and-looking like an afterthought-a minuscule television set.
A curtained doorway led to the trading post itself.
From behind one of the three doors in the east kitchen wall came the sound of hammering.
"Ted!" Stell hollered through the pounding. "The gals are here."
He might not be Gary Cooper, but he'd do in a pinch. Ted Perkins ambled into the room, tall, muscular, graying, with the rugged grace and blue-eyed squint of a man who works in the sun, and works hard. He carried a hammer in one hand, a tin cup of water in the other.
"Hah," Stell said as she dropped her shopping bag onto the table. "The minute I turn my back, you start goofing off."
Ted grunted, and nodded a greeting in Gwen and Stoner's direction.
Stell introduced them. He put down his cup and shook hands. "Heard a lot about you," he said. "Is it true?"
"Probably."
; He turned to Gwen. "Sorry about your husband, the son-of-a- bitch."
"Yes," Gwen said, "he was."
“What horror do you have in that pot?" Stell asked.
"Pot roast. It's a pot, ain't it?"
"This outfit comes with a gas stove, you know. Or are you trying to impress the greenhorns?"
"It's you I'm trying to impress, Stell."
She kissed him on the cheek. "Old man, you've been impressing me for thirty-five years."
Gwen edged over to Stoner. "Do you think this is our signal to slip discreetly away?"
"Not yet," Stell said, "but if we get to talking dirty... "
Ted turned his attention to the grocery bag, found an orange, and began to peel it. "You get to see Claudine this morning?"
"She's about the same." Stell said. "I wish Gil'd step in. He just sits there like a rock."
"Hell, Gil gave up trying to get a word in edgewise years ago. Just like I might do any day now."
Stell glowered at him. "I could have done a lot better than you, Perkins. Why didn't I?"
He ran his hand down her hip. Stell slapped it away.
“Well, she might've been the same this morning, but she up and walked out of the hospital this afternoon."
"She what?"
“Walked out," Ted said. "Claimed she felt fine all of a sudden, and they weren't doing her any damn good, anyway."
Stell leaned against the sink. "I don't believe it. You know how she looked last week. She was almost that bad this morning."
Ted shrugged heavily. “Whatever she had just let go of her. Same way it came on her." He tossed the orange peels into the garbage and passed the fruit around. "They want to run over to Taos and see their kids for a while if we don't mind staying on. That suit you?"
"Sure. Everything's under control back home." She shook her head. "I still can't believe it."
“Well, that's no surprise, considering your stubborn temperament. She'll give you a call this evening."
She caught him reaching for a bunch of grapes. "Leave that stuff alone."
Ted heaved a gigantic sigh. "You're a hard woman, Stell. Remember to get those flat-head screws I've been begging you for at least three weeks?"
"I got them."
He lounged against the wall. "'Bout time to put the potatoes in, or do I have to do that, too?"
Stell glanced at the sink. "You haven't even peeled them."
"Didn't want to scrape away the vitamins."
"How've you been spending your time, Mister?"
He sneaked a grape while Stell's back was turned. "The Lomahongva kids came by for a pound of coffee and white thread. Said the grandmother's failing. Tomas is of the opinion she's suffering the same affliction as Claudine."
“Which is?"
"Sorcery."
Stell shot him an impatient look.
"They're traditionals," Ted pointed out. "Might be something to it."
"Maybe for the Lomahongva woman, but Claudine's white as snow." She turned back to the sink.
Ted filched another grape. "Mr. Larch Begay did me the honor of a visit."
“Was he sober?"
"Not so you'd notice."
Gwen reached for the potato peeler. "Let me do that, Stell."
"Careful," Ted said. "You don't want to peel off the vitamins."
Stell turned in time to catch him reaching for another grape. "You know I hate that, Perkins. If you're so darned restless, take the gals' luggage out to the bunkhouse."
He slouched toward the door. "Incidentally, I fixed that squeak in the bedsprings. Maybe tonight we can have a little fun without informing the entire Navajo Nation." He let the screen door slam behind him.
"Men!" Stell exclaimed. "Don't know why I stay with him, except he has such a cute ass."
Stoner reached into the bag and handed Stell a box of pepper. "I'll say one thing for you, Stell. You attract good men."
“Well, I learned it the hard way, just like anyone. Kissed a lot of frogs in my time." She shook her head. "Sorcery, for the love of Mike."
“What was that about?" Stoner asked.
"It's one of those rumors that starts up from time to time. Most of the folks around here don't believe in it any more. When I used to visit as a kid, there was always a lot of talk. Wonder what started it up again."
Gwen tossed the potatoes in the cooking pot. "There you go, vitamin-less." She took a bag of groceries to the refrigerator and started putting them away.
Hands on hips, Stell marched over to her. “What are you doing, Owens?"
Gwen looked up. "Helping."
“Well, don't." Stell took the bag from her. "You'll do it all wrong."
Stoner palmed the bottle of oregano she was about to put on a shelf and slipped it back onto the table.
Stell caught her. "My God, if I had this kind of anarchy back at Timberline, I'd be out of business."
"You're pretty testy," Gwen said.
"I'm sorry." Stell handed the bag back to her. "That sorcery talk gives me the heebie-jeebies. Offends my sense of order."
Gwen rearranged the contents of the refrigerator. "I don't know how you can talk about order. This ice box is in complete chaos."
"That does it!” Stell shouted. "Out. Both of you." She waved her arms. "Out, out, out!"
"Just let me straighten this," Gwen said. "It won't take a minute to..."
Stell grabbed her by the collar and pulled her away from the refrigerator. "Out! Before I lose my temper."
"Come on," Stoner said, and tugged at her sleeve. "She means it."
Stell shooed them out the door. "And don't come back until I call you, you hear?"
"Yes, ma'm," Gwen said, saluting.
Tom Drooley came out from under the barn, followed them to the bunkhouse, and went back under the barn.
"Hey," Gwen said. She looked around the bunkhouse. "This is cute."
It was a single large room, with pot-bellied stove and closets curtained with grain sacking. One window looked west, and one east. The floor was worn linoleum over rough planking. The bunk beds had been removed and replaced with one double and one single. The double was made up.
Gwen pulled back the spread. "Very subtle. She obviously expects us to sleep in the double."
"Of course she does."
Gwen sighed. "Do you think we could stay here forever?"
Stoner looked around at her. "Are you having a bad time?"
"Moments." She tossed her suitcase on the bed. "At least, out here, I don't have to think about doing something about it."
Light from the setting sun highlighted her suntanned arms and gentle hands, and tipped her eyelashes with gold. Stoner fell in love all over again. She took her in her arms. Gwen's skin had the salty, burnt smell of summer. "Oh, God", she said hoarsely, "I love you."
Gwen held onto her hard. "I don't care what happens, the only way you'll ever lose me is to send me away."
"Fat chance."
Gwen ran her hands under Stoner's shirt and up her bare back. "You're tense. Is anything wrong?"
"I feel a little funny. Maybe it's the altitude."
The touch of Gwen's hands, the feel of her arms brought several dormant urges back to life. She reached to stroked Gwen's face with the backs of her fingers.
A surge of energy passed between them.
"Hey!" Gwen said. "What was that?"
"Probably static electricity."
Gwen shook her head. "Not like any static electricity I ever felt."
"Actually, what it reminds me of is the feeling I get when I look up suddenly and see you."
Gwen's eyes went dark and deep. "That's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me."
Stoner toyed with the buckle on Gwen's belt. "Well," she said self-consciously, "that's how it is."
She felt Gwen touch her hair. "Let's chow down and get back here pronto."
"Honest to God," Stoner laughed. "You're shameless."
Gwen began pulling shirts from her suitcase and ramming them
into the bureau drawers. "I only hope," she said, "we can have a little fun without informing the entire Navajo Nation."
THREE
Something had called her awake. She stared into the darkness and listened. She had never heard such silence, such velvet, absolute silence. There ought to be little noises - the scurrying of night creatures, tiny pops of wood as the cabin cooled, the fluttering gasps of a dying ember in the stove.
But there was nothing. Only Gwen's deep, slow sleep-breaths.
Gradually she separated the darknesses. Obsidian where the roof peaked, indigo beyond the window. The darkness of things, and the darkness of spaces.
The call came again. Not a voice, but a sense of urgency.
Carefully, she sat up and eased out of bed.
Gwen murmured, floating below wakefulness.
"I'll be right outside," Stoner whispered. "Don't worry."
She slipped from the bunkhouse and closed the door noiselessly behind her.
The sky was thick with stars, cold pinholes of light in endless blackness. In the west, Virgo reclined over the San Francisco Mountains. A thumbnail sliver of moon, pale as honeydew melon, hung between the Tewa Peaks. The ground beneath her feet had lost the day's heat. The sun was hours from rising.
The knot of energy in her stomach seemed to throb, to grow, to pulsate in rhythm to her heartbeat.
Silence vibrated like a plucked guitar string.
She caught a movement among the rocks at the base of Long Mesa. A shadow, or the shadow of a shadow. Moving, pausing, edging toward her.
The creature caught moonlight and glowed silver.
Unconsciously, she made a sound, a sharp intake of breath. The creature froze. Its eyes were flat and round as dimes.
They stared at each other for a long time.
Something passed between them. A knowing of something. She couldn't make it out.
The animal broke first. A coyote, silhouetted against the gray earth. It loped along, unhurried. Its silver fur flowed like water. It paused once, looked back, and faded into the night.
The screen door creaked behind her. "Stoner?" Gwen peered around the door frame.
"I saw something," Stoner said. "A coyote, I think."
"I don't see it."
