Faded white paint gleamed on gray rock. White that reminded her of the whitewash Tom Sawyer conned his friends to splash on his aunt’s fence. But these were no paintings of a Mississippi boyhood. She wanted to reach out and touch the surface, to physically connect with a piece of the past that might be as old as Europe’s castles. Older, even. She leaned forward, and rocks slid beneath her feet. The pebbles underfoot had once been rock as solid as the cliff face. She settled back, unwilling to risk destroying it. Benny would love to photograph it.
The painting was nothing like any art Muriel had seen hanging in museums. It reminded her more of a child’s chalk drawing, but its power still touched her. A bird with wings and talons that suggested an eagle, proud in flight. Sheep with horns that curled around and around, alongside a spiral that reached down to the ground, like it climbed out of the bowels of the earth. Other animals crawled and sprang to life. They danced and pranced as if meant to tell a story.
“I recognize the animals, but what is that spiral? It looks like, I don’t know, a cave, or a spring of water, or…”
“It is our creation story. The first people climbed out of the earth, the Towering House, One-Walk-Around, and Bitter Water clans. I am of the Towering House clan and for the Bitter Water clan.” Pride laced Sarah’s voice. “The Bible you gave me says that God created all the animals that crawl and walk on the earth on the same day. And that He made one man and one woman.” She hesitated. “It is different.”
Muriel thought of the story of the Tower of Babel, when God separated the people of the earth. The Navajo had confused story with truth to the point where they couldn’t distinguish between the two. Maybe here was a way to connect the Navajo way with the truth of the Gospel. “That reminds me of a Bible story. I’d like to share it with you and anyone else who might be interested. Can you arrange that?”
Sarah looked at the painting, then at Muriel. At length she nodded. “I will do as you ask.”
Muriel had the impression Sarah had more on her mind, but she didn’t add anything. God kept opening doors. Surely He would also open their hearts.
She sat on a rock and stared at the wall. Rex might not believe the first people crawled out of a hole in the earth, but he was just as lost. She would just have to pray that God would open his eyes as well.
“More mountains to climb?” Rex resisted the urge to reach down and rub his sore leg muscles. He and Benny had spent sunup to sundown chasing after the sheep, which scampered ahead of them whenever they got closer than a hundred yards.
“You have to see them. I’m sure you’ll want to include them in the film.”
“Benny won’t be doing any more mountain climbing anytime soon.” Rex touched his ankle in sympathy. “His ankle has swollen to double its normal size. For all the good our expedition did, he should have stayed at camp.” Rex tapped down impatience at the thought. He needed Benny working at full capacity. Of all the members of the crew, the camerist carried the most responsibility, almost more important than the actors themselves. Without his eye behind the camera, his expertise and instinct with the equipment, Ruined Hopes would be hardly better than a comic strip.
Muriel tilted her head to one side. Her hair, loosened from the braids that she wore on set, threatened to spill out of the loose knot on top of her head. What would the dark tresses look like lying loose down her back? His breath caught at the thought.
“I haven’t seen rushes for days. I would love to see what Benny has captured on film.”
Benny again.
She fluttered her long eyelashes. “I would like to incorporate some of the eagle’s characteristics into Standing Corn’s gestures.”
Coming from a lesser actor, such a statement would sound ludicrous. But Muriel Galloway could probably pull it off. “Very well. I will schedule a viewing tomorrow night right after dinner.”
“That’s when we hold chapel.”
“You can either hold it later or skip it for one night. Your Benny missed one week of church, and the world didn’t come to an end.”
Muriel’s lips thinned. So, there was trouble in paradise. His desertion had troubled her. But she based her protest on something else. “Sarah has been coming to our service. I don’t want to make it any later for her than it already is.”
Rex tamped down on his temper. “I don’t run this film on the need’s of one person. Invite her to spend the night with you if she wants. Invite her brother, too. I want to talk to them about acting as guides.”
“To take you to see the cliff paintings?” A smile curved her lips. “You can film it, even if Benny can’t make it up the mountain. He says you’re nearly as good as he is behind the camera.”
Rex scowled. “I’ll ask them about it.” Back in his tent, he spent time splicing different scenes together into a coherent story. They had large chunks of the story in the can. Sitting in the dark, watching flickering images on the screen, he could admit his admiration, even attraction, to his leading lady. She dominated every scene, made Standing Corn both an ancient princess and a modern woman the audience could understand. When he added the film he had captured of the flood, Ruined Hopes grabbed a visceral part of his emotions and carried him far away.
The footage they had taken of the animals was laughable, but he wasn’t ready to admit defeat. He spliced them in with the scenes showing the different clans, marking the spots where the final shots would go.
Word of the viewing spread, and on Tuesday evening, every member of the cast and crew gathered in a hastily arranged amphitheater. Rex cranked up his phonograph and put on the recording of the music Muriel had helped him choose, and nodded for Benny to start the reel.
Rex slid into a chair next to Muriel, where he found himself watching her profile, every nuance of her facial expression, instead of the film. He could tell she was carried away by the film. When they reached the flood sequence she gasped, together with everyone in the audience. To a person, the cast and crew loved the power of film. Even a story they knew as intimately as Ruined Hopes had the power to carry them away. Their enthusiasm spoke volumes about the success of their endeavor.
The minutes with the eagles on screen soaring in the sky brought a few oohs and aahs and even more puzzled expressions. When the sheep appeared far away, mostly shots that captured either the gigantic horns or the fluff of their tails as they ran away. Muriel’s lips twitched, and laughter rippled through the crowd. On her other side, Sarah shook her head once.
When the viewing ended, Muriel brought her hands together in a clap, and soon the circle rang with cheering. When at last the din died down, Rex thanked everyone for attending. Muriel stood before he had a chance to speak with her privately. Of course. She’d be anxious to get to her Bible study. “I suppose you’re headed to your chapel service.”
“Yes.” She smiled before adding, “Why don’t you join us tonight?”
When she looked at him with those chocolate eyes, he would agree to anything.
“‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.’” Muriel tried to focus on the words, but they slipped out by rote, one of the first Bible passages she had ever memorized. She’d fallen in love with the beauty and poetry of the language. In fact, she had won her first speech contest with a recitation of that psalm.
But she should focus on God’s Word, on His message to her, not on the man sitting next to her. She had been walking several inches off the ground ever since Rex had accepted her invitation to come to their service. The side where he sat tingled from head to toe with awareness. He was staring at Benny, who had taken a seat at the center of the circle.
“That’s from the twenty-third psalm, if any of you want to mark it in your Bibles,” Benny said.
On Muriel’s other side, Sarah turned her Bible to the middle, as Muriel had taught her to do when looking for the Psalms, then looked through the chapter numbers.
“But today I am going to share from a different place the Bible talks about sheep. Turn to John chapter ten.” Muriel opened
her Bible and offered to share it with Rex. He slid his left hand under the book, and her fingers warmed where they touched.
“I couldn’t help but think about what the Bible says about sheep after my adventures on the mountain. I discovered sheep are contrary creatures.”
“They didn’t want the likes of you chasing them, that’s for sure.” Brent grinned.
A few people tittered, casting nervous glances at Rex. To her relief, he laughed along with them.
“Jesus said, ‘I am the good shepherd.’ Did he care for sheep, as David did? Not that we know of. He probably worked as a carpenter alongside Joseph until He started preaching.” Benny grinned. “But He knew a lot more about sheep than I do.”
More laughter rippled across the room.
“No, Jesus is a shepherd to people.” Benny expounded on the subject, looking at the qualities of a good shepherd from Psalm 23. “God leads us through the worst times, even when we’re facing death. When the waters we travel by aren’t as quiet as we would like. Think about the flood we saw on the film tonight. God protected us all. We had one minor injury, when all could have been killed.” He nodded in Sarah’s direction. “He sent Sarah to give us a warning. We were as dumb as most sheep are, unaware of the dangers we faced.”
Benny leaned forward. “From the stories in the Bible, sheep are stupid beasts. They get caught in thorns. They wander away from the flock and get lost and can’t find their way home.”
“That is true.” Sarah nodded. “Sheep require a lot of care.” She fingered her wool skirt as if a reminder of her knowledge of the animals the wool came from.
“Jesus is saying people are like that, too. Isaiah said it earlier. ‘All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way.’ Left to our own devices, we get into one scrape after another. We need a shepherd.”
Rex let go of the Bible and sat back in the chair, crossing his arms. He might as well have put his hands over his ears.
“‘The sheep follow him: for they know his voice.’ They listen. They follow. Won’t you listen to the voice of the Shepherd today?”
Muriel’s heart sank as Rex shook his head. The service ended shortly after that, and he slipped out without saying anything. Her heart twisted. Why was it that with each passing day, she found herself more attracted to a man who refused to give God an inch?
“He does not yet know the Shepherd’s voice.” Sarah stood, waiting for Muriel to join her. “But he will.”
“I pray that’s so.” Once again, Muriel thanked God for the quiet strength of the woman beside her.
The strains of the music Rex had chosen for the film filled the air as they made their way back to Muriel’s tent. Perhaps Rex needed the phonograph to shut out that other voice he didn’t want to hear. The thought encouraged her. Whether a whisper or earth-shaking shout, God’s voice couldn’t be ignored.
That Sunday, Benny accompanied Muriel to Sarah’s village.
“I told Rex he was on his own to film the cliff paintings. He knows how to operate the camera, and it’s not like he’s filming live action. The paintings aren’t going to jump off the rock face.”
“I only wish he didn’t want to go today.” Muriel frowned. “I was hoping Charlie might join us at the Bible study this morning, and instead, he’s running around with Rex.”
“I bet Sarah is sharing what she’s learning with her family.” Benny didn’t seem upset. “I’ve never run across anybody so hungry, so excited for God’s word as she is.”
Sarah said very little about her family, or anything personal in nature. She occasionally asked for explanations of some of the archaic English of the Bible. In the Bible study, she made comments that showed how much knowledge she had stowed away in such a short time. “I wish you were telling the Bible story today.”
“You’re an experienced actress. You’ll do fine.”
The Navajo didn’t need second and minute hands to keep time. Rather, they gathered silently about midmorning, while the air still carried some of the cool of the early day. All of Sarah’s family came, as well as a number of others with weathered, lined faces and children who sat cross-legged at their parents’ feet.
One of the elders came forward and addressed Muriel. Although she couldn’t understand the words, she gathered she was being welcomed to the village. Sarah translated into English, ending with “We are ready to listen to you.”
Muriel stood, more nervous than she had ever felt in front of a camera. Benny winked at her and folded his hands in prayer. Emboldened, Muriel spoke of the way God created the first man and woman from the dust of the earth, and how, when they were so proud they thought they could build a tower that would reach heaven, He changed their speech and divided the peoples of the world. “So some people spoke English, and some Spanish, some Navajo and Hopi and Apache and Chinese.” She didn’t directly challenge the myth of people emerging from underground, but prayed they would understand the truth of God’s Word.
Their expressions didn’t register any emotion as Muriel spilled her heart. When the elder thanked her for sharing her story with them, she invited him and the others to join them at the film site on Sunday afternoons for a Bible study.
Sarah’s expression said it all. No one was interested.
Chapter 9
Charlie didn’t say much as he guided Rex to the site of the cliff painting, which suited Rex fine. With a guide, he was free to observe his journey, the fresh perspective of the canyon spread below him.
“Will we see any sheep going this way?”
Charlie shrugged.
“Another time, I’d like to film the sheep. Could you get me close?”
“Next week.”
Charlie knew how to pace the trip, but even so, Rex was panting before they reached the destination. Perhaps it was the higher altitude. Whatever the reason, when they reached a point where the canyon stretched out below them, a wave of dizziness hit him, and he stumbled back against the wall.
“Drink this.” Charlie handed him a canteen with lukewarm water.
The water slid past Rex’s sputtering lips. He held his handkerchief against his forehead, and gradually the dizziness receded. He hadn’t had any problems with the heat before, and it wasn’t even afternoon yet.
While he rested, Charlie handed him a handful of nuts and dried fruit of some kind. Rex stared at it, unable to identify any of the ingredients, but ate it anyhow. He washed the mix down with more water. His head cleared. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“We are close.” Within minutes they rounded a corner and came upon the paintings.
Muriel had described the paintings, but she hadn’t communicated their impact—full of life and power, vibrant with the life of a people who had lived in this harsh environment. The figures danced before his eyes. He could see Killdeer and Standing Corn pledging themselves to each other in front of the rock, adding to the stories portrayed there. Not that he would try to haul the entire film crew up the mountainside, but they could achieve something similar on ground level. He took the camera Benny had grudgingly entrusted to his care and filmed the painting from all angles. Up close, back at a distance, turning in the other direction to take in the panorama stretched before them. At length the end of the reel of film fluttered out of the camera. “I’ve done all the damage I can do.”
“I brought food. We will eat before we return.”
More nuts and fruit?
Charlie took pear-shaped fruit with spines on it from his bag. He dug a knife from his pocket and peeled the spines away before cutting it in half. He handed a piece to Rex.
Rex examined it. It was more gelatinous than pulpy, reminding him of a melon in appearance. He brought it to his mouth—refreshing, sweet, tasting a little like watermelon or strawberries. “This is good.”
The hint of a smile played about Charlie’s lips. “It is the fruit of the cactus.”
Rex almost choked on the words. “Cactus?” He reached for the peel, but the spines jabbed his skin. �
��I wonder how anyone figured out they could eat it.”
Charlie answered with another wordless shrug. He offered Rex a chunk of dried meat and a piece of flat bread. Although he wasn’t familiar with any of the items, he ate with gusto, enjoying dishes that were delicious, filling, and fitting to the environment. He wasn’t like the English in India, who expected tea and cakes at their usual time regardless of the setting. The fruit of the prickly pear fruit moistened his mouth, and he finished it off with a long drink from the canteen.
“What is the story of the painting?” Rex said.
Charlie’s natural storytelling skill revealed a good grasp of the English language and surprised Rex. So far removed from the hustle of his everyday work, Rex relaxed. Sighing, he lifted himself from the rock where he had taken a seat. “Let’s get back down the mountain.”
When he reached the foot of the trail, he spotted Muriel and Benny returning from their day at Charlie’s village. Since Benny hadn’t been able to walk any distance, they rode on horseback. They waved in greeting. Some of the joy leaked out of Rex’s day.
“Your camp is that way.” Charlie nodded at the plainly marked trail. “I will take you to see the sheep next Sunday.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Rex started toward their camp, but Muriel’s voice stopped him short.
“Rex! Wait up.”
He turned around and gestured to remind them he was on foot, and continued walking. By the time he reached the outskirts of the campsite, they caught up with him. “Rex, can we get together tonight? I want to hear what you thought about the paintings.”
“Sounds good. Give me a few minutes and come to my tent.”
She hesitated, probably questioning the wisdom of meeting with him alone in his private quarters.
He hurried to add, “Both of you.” He gestured to include Benny in the invitation. “Fred, too. I have ideas for the movie.”
She smiled broadly. “Of course you do. I want to freshen up.” She gestured at her dress, although it looked perfectly fresh to him. “Half an hour?”
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