by Linda Benson
“Want to come along?”
The brisk wind carried her words sideways, and he ran after her.
“What?” He walked backwards next to her, buffeted by the stark force of the wind.
“You can come with us, if you want,” she repeated. Ash grinned, and skipped sideways at the invitation, reminding Sahara of Rowdy’s antics as a wild young kid goat.
Ash soon began tagging along with her from time to time. Sahara found she enjoyed his company, especially since he was kind and careful with the animals. Since Grandfather’s death, and since Laurel had been spending so much time with Dojo, Sahara often found herself with no one to talk to except for the dogs and the goats. At least Ash was a friend, and she began sharing her short knowledge of goat husbandry, hoping he would absorb enough to help when needed.
“Farina’s getting fatter,” he announced one evening.
Sahara smiled. “Actually, I think she’s going to be a mother soon. Would you like to help me with the babies when they are born?”
Ash’s face lit up with a shy smile, and he nodded.
One winter morning, dark thunderheads raced across the sky, and by mid-afternoon they opened up and drenched the parched earth with rain. Many of the younger children ran in happy circles, tilting their faces up to relish the uncommon feel of raindrops against their skin. The rain stopped almost as quickly as it began, but it left the desert smelling fresh and verdant.
With the turn of the new year, the temperature dipped even more, and for the first time in her life, Sahara experienced days where the sun gave little warmth. It does seem true, she thought. The weather is turning colder.
Sahara wrapped her jacket close around her, jumping from one foot to the other to keep warm. “We’d best take the goats back in,” she hollered. Below her, in a shrubby hollow, Ash tugged on Rowdy’s rope.
Far across the plains, Sahara noticed a figure moving through the blowing dust.
“Ash,” she said. “Does that look like a man walking?”
Ash shaded his eyes. “I think so. Maybe it’s a Wanderer.”
“A Wanderer? From where? We haven’t seen one for a long time.”
She shivered and wished she had brought the dogs with her. She had never met a stranger so far from camp, especially alone, with just Ash on the prairie.
“Are you scared?” asked Ash. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s friendly. Maybe he’ll even have stories.”
“Maybe,” said Sahara, suddenly glad for Ash’s company. “Let’s walk toward camp anyway. Come on, Farina,” she chirped. “Rowdy — move it along.”
Looking back over her shoulder a few times, Sahara felt relief wash over her as they entered camp before the Wanderer caught up to them. She tried to shake off her silly feelings, but could not shake the sense that the man might be hungry, or might think of Rowdy or Farina as an easy meal.
She was even glad to see Dojo, for once. Sahara had tolerated his occasional company around their campfire by ignoring him. His jokes were crude, and his voice loud and boastful, but at least she and Laurel always had a full stewpot now. And her male dog, Blitz, occasionally slunk under Dojo’s hand to be petted.
Now Dojo strode purposefully toward the stranger. The man halted. He wore tattered leggings and carried a huge pack on his back. Several water jugs hung on his belt, and his hair blew wildly in the wind.
“I have followed the smell of your fires all morning,” he said, grinning crookedly. “Could you spare a poor traveler a bowl of something warm?”
“It depends,” said Dojo, crossing his arms.
The hungry man appeared to shrink under the weight of Dojo’s words. Where was Nehalem? Was this the proper way to greet a stranger?
“We are the Trader’s Clan,” said Dojo. “What have you to trade?”
“I have very little of value,” the man said, looking forlorn at the prospect of no food. He scratched his head.
Dojo stood firmly in place, without uncrossing his arms.
“How about news?” asked the stranger.
“Done,” said Dojo. “News benefits us all. Who has a bowl of stew for this tired man?”
A woman raised her hand and hurried to stoke her cooking fire.
Sahara took a deep breath, relieved that Dojo had finally been hospitable.
Nehalem, hearing voices, appeared from the back of camp. Dojo smirked and glanced at him, as if hoping for praise on how he handled the arrival of the stranger.
Nehalem seemed not to have noticed. “I am Nehalem,” he said, reaching out and shaking the visitor’s hand. “And you?”
“They call me Fargo,” he said, accepting an offer to sit with his stew. “I have walked for many months now, seeing no one. Forgive me if my tongue seems out of use. I only talk to myself now.” The man shivered.
“Here — ” Nehalem motioned toward the fire “ — Warm yourself by this fire. Eat your stew. You can tell us more after you fill your belly.”
Fargo ate enthusiastically, straining the broth left at the bottom of the bowl through his mustache.
He spoke at last, in a raspy, hesitant voice. “I’m not sure where to begin. I came from the north. I was last at the settlement known as Nu-Town, but it was getting too crowded for me, so my dog and I wandered south to see what else there was to see.”
“Nu-town?” Nehalem and Dojo both spoke at once. “We have not heard of that place,” continued Nehalem. “You say many people live there. How many?”
“Hundreds,” he said, accepting a cup of warm tea and warming his hands against it. “Several hundred.”
Someone from the clan let out a low whistle.
“Hundreds?” another man asked.
Sahara listened intently, sitting across from the stranger, watching him closely. There were barely one hundred people at the entire Gardener’s Camp. Sahara did not know so many people existed in this world.
“Where do they all sleep?” she asked.
“They have excavated old buildings which house many families at once. People live all crowded together. It was too much closeness for me. But they have a school for the children. And doctors.”
“What’s a doc-tor?” a woman asked.
“That’s another name for healer,” said Nehalem.
“Yes,” said Fargo. “In the ruins at Nu-town they have also found medicine, and many old books. The teacher is actually using the books to teach children to read, if you can imagine that.”
“Can their doctor heal the flu?” asked Laurel. “We lost many people, years ago, to the flu.”
“I don’t really know,” said Fargo, tipping his cup to drain the very last of the tea. He appeared tired with the strain of so much talking. “Like you said, it’s been some time since the last flu epidemic. But the doctor at Nu-Town can set bones and heal rashes and give out medicine for headaches.”
“Where is your dog now?” asked Sahara. She was fascinated by this traveler’s story, but her mind always thought of the animals.
“What?” His face took on a stricken look.
“You said you traveled with a dog,” said Sahara.
“I — we — found two dead dogs on the far side of those large mountains.” He pointed east, toward the Almadens. “My dog was curious, of course, and sniffed them all over before I could reach him. I could not figure what had killed the dogs, but there they lay.”
The dog distemper? Sahara’s mind churned on this puzzling information.
“Probably they were hungry, and starved to death,” said Dojo.
“No, they were not lean or ribby. I believe they had some disease, because…” The man halted, trying to speak. “After a few days, my dog stopped eating. He got sick, horribly sick, and then…he died also.” He hung his head. “I should have kept him away. I didn’t know.”
Sahara shuddered.
“Thank you for this information,” said Nehalem. “Our dogs are very important to us also. Whether it is dog distemper, or some other disease, we will keep a close watch.
; “Would you like to bunk here tonight? We have many more questions, especially about this place called Nu-Town. How far is it?”
The Wanderer sat back, drew in a long breath, and closed his eyes, thinking. “I do not know exactly how far. But I left there in the early fall. It was a long and treacherous journey, over mountains and many dry prairies — with no water for days. I traveled due south, found a pass over those mountains, and have not seen a single soul since, well — until I spotted the girl and boy there,” he said, motioning toward Sahara and Ash.
The man rose then, shifting from one leg to another and stretching. “I do thank you for the excellent meal and your offer of hospitality for the evening. But I am used to my own company. I will be taking your leave now. I’d like to be on the other side of that ridge,” he said, motioning toward the west, “before nightfall.”
“I’ll walk with you a ways,” said Dojo, looking toward Nehalem for approval. Nehalem nodded slightly, and Dojo continued. “You can tell me more about Nu-Town, and I will tell you about another settlement, called the Gardener’s Camp.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
SAHARA WAS ABUZZ WITH all the news, just like everyone else. Thinking of so many people living together was hard to imagine. But in the days after the Wanderer called Fargo left, Sahara became surrounded by a deep sense of loss. There were so many things she wished to discuss with Grandfather, but he was not there. So many questions with no answers. So many things lost and forgotten since the Dark Days. Cities and towns had vanished, and entire families and clans were gone.
Sahara tried to shake off the feelings. She had responsibilities now, and would soon have more with the birth of Farina’s kids. She had not dreamed of horses since they had left the Gardener’s Camp. Maybe it was a sign. Her dreams of horses were the foolish dreams of a girl, and Sahara would soon turn thirteen. Now that she was almost a woman, she would begin to act like one.
Not long after Sahara’s birthday, her monthly cycles began. Sahara was glad she could now turn to her older sister. If she didn’t have a mother, at least she had another woman to explain this newness to her. Laurel showed her how to pack willow fluff inside her clothing to catch the flow each month.
Acting more seriously now, and aware of her duties to the clan, Sahara watched Farina grow almost big enough to burst. The young goat’s babies were due any day, and her bag of milk became tight and swollen. Surely there would be plenty of milk for the kid goats, with enough to spare so the clan would have fresh milk also.
What if Farina had trouble giving birth? Sahara remembered the night she and Evan found the horses, when Ulu came running for help. “That was a rare occurrence,” Evan had assured her. “Most goats have their babies with no help at all.” Sahara hoped that would be true of Farina.
She found herself looking forward to the birth, but she missed the presence of both Evan and Grandfather. She paced the goat pen constantly, waiting for Farina to begin labor. Watching like a hawk to avoid any trouble the young goat might have, she barely slept. Collapsing in exhaustion on her bed one night, she closed her eyes for just a few brief moments.
An older man, clothed in garments like Grandfather had worn. He strode proudly toward her, but she could not see his face. Searching, searching, he was so familiar to her, but she could not see. Then they pranced in. Dun and black and bay and spotted. Horses, horses, a myriad of horses. They touched noses and screamed, showing off to one another, circling, kicking, and biting. But the whole herd turned as one when another figure emerged out of the midst.
It was a woman. A strange woman, yet somehow so familiar, who with a soft word and hand settled the horses. They calmed as she walked among them, and fell in line beside her. Looking at this one and that, she suddenly made her decision, springing lightly onto the back of a young female, who moved easily under her command, with no urging. The herd began to run then, with the woman astride the young horse galloping amongst them. They picked up speed and vanished into the distance, as Sahara shouted after them, her words floating helplessly into the wind. “Wait,” she yelled out. “Wait for me.”
Sahara awoke to a soft bleat from young Farina. She jumped at once into her clothes, the dream still trotting across her brain, and raced to her goat. Farina had given birth during the night without any help at all. Two adorable kids butted against Farina’s side, nursing lustily. They were both does, and that was good news. If they both survived, she would now have three females, the beginnings of her own goat herd, which would one day provide both milk and meat to her clan.
Sahara tried to recapture the dream as she brought a bowl of cool water to the exhausted Farina. But it was slipping away. There was a man (perhaps Grandfather, but she wasn’t sure) and then a strange woman leaping on a horse. A woman? The figures seemed strange, but one thing was certain. The horses. She had dreamed of horses again. What did it mean? Just when she made up her mind to forget her foolish ideas about horses, she dreamed again.
“Males or females?” asked Laurel, peeking over Sahara’s shoulder at the goats.
“Both does.” Sahara was so entranced with her new charges she could barely take her eyes off them. She turned her head sideways to answer. “She had them with no trouble.”
“I’m so glad.” Laurel sat down next to her. “I am very proud of you, Sister. Grandfather was right. You are good with animals.”
A warm feeling of acceptance welled up inside of her. Sahara felt closer to her sister lately, even if Dojo was in camp from time to time. Maybe she could even share the dream with her. “Just before I heard the goats, I was dreaming deeply…” A little unsure, Sahara took a big breath and continued. “There was an old man, a strange woman, and hors…”
“Oh, Sahara, you are different than I am, in so many ways,” said Laurel, interrupting. “Good with animals, and such a dreamer. But maybe you got that from your mother.”
“What do you mean, from my mother?” asked Sahara, a little irritated at being interrupted.
“Sahara, I’ve been wanting to tell you this for some time, but I just didn’t know how…” said Laurel.
“Tell me what?”
“About our mothers. I just couldn’t find the right time to…well, I don’t know how to tell you exactly, so I’ll just say it. My mother died in the first flu epidemic. But Father married again, to a woman from the West. She was found wandering in the desert, alone and hungry.”
“What??”
Laurel spoke slowly now, seriously. “I was still very young, but I do remember her a bit. She never talked much, and seemed filled with a great sadness. But she stayed with our clan, because she had nowhere else to go. She was a sweet woman, and she held me in her lap and sang to me. Father fell in love with her because of that, I think.”
Sahara stared, not believing her ears. “And then what?”
“And then you were born,” said Laurel, “and I had a sister, and there was much joy around our fire. But not for long, because then another round of sickness came and took both Father and his new wife. Your mother.”
Sahara’s fingers instinctively went to the silver medallion at her neck. “You’re telling me that my mother was different than your mother?”
“Yes,” Laurel said. “I never thought it made any difference. We were as much sisters as we could ever be. But now…”
The baby goats baahed softly, and Farina pushed them underneath her to nurse.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Sahara burst out.
“I don’t know. I protected you, and helped raise you, and I guess I always just thought of you as my family. I…”
“But I had a right to know!”
“Does this mean we’ll have goat meat for dinner one day soon?” Dojo stomped rudely into camp, pointing directly at the new babies, and breaking up the conversation.
“No,” Sahara shouted, a little too loudly, springing up suddenly. She stood protectively in front of the goats. “They are both females, and we will keep them for milk.” Farina nudged
at her babies, moving them further away.
“Too bad. I would relish young goat. But one day, right?” He looked around expectantly. “Is there any breakfast? I am famished.”
Laurel glanced at Sahara. “We were just…discussing something.”
Sahara turned away, suddenly desiring to be alone. “It’s okay,” she said. “We are all done now.” She nodded once to Laurel. “I’m fine.”
As Laurel moved to the cooking fire, Sahara stood by herself on shaky legs, unsure what to think or how to feel. Her mother was a woman found traveling alone in the desert? Why had no one ever told her this? Surely Grandfather had known. Why hadn’t he told her? She fumed silently, her thoughts a tangled maze.
Where did my mother come from? Somewhere to the west? Was my mother good with animals?
Glad to be by herself, she watched the baby goats nurse greedily, as she stewed on this new information. She felt again for the silver medallion at her throat — a gift from her mother, Grandfather had told her. She had wondered why she wore it, and not Laurel. Now it made sense.
But even though Laurel spoke with fond memories of Sahara’s mother, it was hard to fathom that she was found walking alone through the desert. Like Fargo? Perhaps her mother came from Nu-Town? But no, Laurel said she came from the West, and Nu-Town was in the North. It was all such a mystery, and now Sahara would never find out about her parents.
A cold nose startled Sahara, pushing against her arm. She ran her hand across Banner’s head, ruffling her ear. “Oh, Banner,” she said. “I have a different mother than I always thought, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. You know all about being a mother, don’t you? Do you like the new baby goats? They’re cute, aren’t they?”
Sahara sat entranced, watching the new babies bond with Farina. She tried to imagine herself being held in her mother’s arms — an unknown woman from some unknown place. It made her brain hurt trying to grasp it all. She laid her head against Banner’s warm side, glad for her dog’s silent company.
