by Bella Knight
"How did you know to put the glaze on?"
"Henry sent me a text." Robert roared with laughter, and helped his sister plug in the larger machine, and read the directions while she filled it full. She closed the door, and turned it on. "No need to read that, brother. I used one of these in college." Then, it was her turn to laugh.
Damia woke up at five in the morning. She liked sunrises. She could hear the horses chuffing and stamping below her. They knew perfectly well they liked to get up early, and were getting ready. Alo had things set up so she could feed them with a smaller scoop, and feed half one trip, then half the next.
She was getting stronger. Inola had her lifting smaller hay bales, and soon she would be able to lift heavy sacks of feed, if she kept working at it. She did her songs to the Great Spirit as David taught her, then watched her glitter bottle to calm her spirit. She went downstairs to fill up the feed, and stepped out to watch the dawn. Sometimes, it was just Inola or David, sometimes Henry, or even Numa. Someone was always there to watch the dawn with her, unless it was rainy. On those days, she walked the ponies inside, then the horses, unless it was warm, then they could go out if they wanted. She cleaned and mended tack, a fun job that meant the horses were “happier.” She worked with Alo to make feed.
She also loved the rabbits. She made sure they had food and water. David brought her an Adirondack chair, sized small for a girl. "You're a little slip of a thing," he said. "But you're strong and smart, and that's what matters."
She liked to sit there in the mornings with her physical science, then math, then Paiute, then Chinese, then English. She liked to watch the rabbits. They had to build onto the rabbit condo and increase the food and water. Henry had told the Wolfpack to double it in size, so they did. It was before she moved into the barn, so she didn't have to hear the sounds.
She had a belt with spots for her water --she liked cherry or grape --and her glitter soother. Mama had showed her how to boil water in the teakettle, pour the water into a glass jar, and add the glitter glue. Then, when it cooled some, Mama let her pour many glitter colors into the plastic water bottle, then the warm water went on top through a white tool. It was called a “funnel.” Then, Superglue went on the cap ring, then the cap went on, then glitter tape. She shook it when she felt overwhelmed, and it soothed her brain. Mama said it was like her brain. And sometimes, things moved around a lot, but if she sat still, like the bottle, things calmed down.
The rabbits were happy to see her. She petted Bright Eyes and Smartie, and Sophie and Belle. Then, she went to the Big House for breakfast. Vi knew to make her finger food, like pockets or sticks. She did not like messy food. If it was in a pocket, it could be mixed, which tasted very good. If it was not in a pocket, she could have a bento box with its separated sections, or a plate with separated ridges --so her food didn't touch.
Inola said, "We'll do the littles first, then the big ones." She ate her own pocket, standing up over the sink.
"Then muck the stalls," said Damia, out loud, because her hand held her pocket, and the other held her orange juice.
"Sure," said Inola.
Damia knew better than to take too much time. Inola liked the horses and ponies out where she could see them, to check for problems. The new pony, Blackie, took short, mincing steps. He'd been checked over, nose to tail, withers to hooves, but just seemed... he had that ugly feeling in his stomach that Damia got when people were angry with her, or when she did something she knew was stupid. She wondered how to help him make that feeling go away.
Damia washed her hands, then told Inola about the sick-stomach feeling. "Like on an elevator, but real-bad," said Damia.
Inola nodded. "That's exactly how it feels. When you feel that way, you can talk to one of us, or you can use your glitter soother. He can't do that. So, we must think of other ways."
"Warm food, walks. Brushing him."
"Maybe whisper to him, or sing to him the songs you sing for your grandfather," said Inola. "You are never loud, which is perfect for Blackie."
"Good," said Damia. People always used to tell her to speak up. It was good to know her softness now had a purpose.
She reached the barn, then walked very slowly to Blackie's stall. She gave him a little sugar cube, and walked him out to the paddock. She walked him around, then let him go. He stared at her with one eye. She took a step forward, and he did too. She walked around, hand on his neck, and he gladly walked at her side. Henry and Inola were at the fence line, and David walked out to join them. They all stared as the pony looked at her with adoration.
"Imprinting," said Henry. "Only, that's not a duck."
"We can't let go of that one." Inola sighed. "He'd just pine away and die, waiting for his beloved Damia to come and get him."
"I'll buy him," said David. "Got a lot of interest in the kiln, the glass-bead one. Got it booked for three weeks solid."
"You're kidding," said Inola.
Sure enough, a pickup with a man and a woman from the res came up. It parked on the end near Robert and Suni's end. Suni came out, shook hands in the dawn light, and turned it on for them. She helped them take out a little table and three chairs for them to relax. She went back in, and came out with two mugs and a vacuum container of what was probably coffee. One of them got a container out, and the beads went into the machine. They sat, drank coffee, and chatted, then they got in their pickup and walked away.
"They'll come back in eight hours to pick them up," said David. "Then, the next group will come in. Gives them time to do other stuff. They heat up recycled glass bottles, torch them, the glass, drop the drops in water, roll them around, and poke them through with awls. Or, just wrap the molten glass around a mandrel to get the hole. You can stick them in a warm pot of vermiculite to anneal them, but this is more even. Less cracking and splitting of beads."
"Verma --what?" asked Inola.
"A mineral," said David. "Pretty blue and black rock. Mined primarily in South Africa, Brazil, China, and Russia."
"Okay," said Inola.
"Think we'll have to set up a picnic table out there," said David.
"I'll get the Wolfpack to build one. Nice size, too. Maybe big enough we can move it to take meals." said Henry.
David snorted. "Just tell them to make two. It'll keep everyone busy."
Henry nodded like a bobblehead. "Busy. Good."
Inola looked at each of them. "Why is busy so good?"
Henry said, "Wears them out."
Inola sighed. "I'll let the other horses out to the paddock before Bella kills me for leaving her alone with our child." Henry and David laughed.
Robert washed his hands, and went in to have breakfast. Suni followed after, checking the kiln temperature. The "ranch hand" breakfast included Mike, half the Owl Pack, and Bella and Ryder. Inola washed up and took her child, and they sat together, commiserating in baby talk. Everyone ate breakfast pockets, with eggs, cheese, and sausage or bacon. They drank orange juice, filled up the dishwasher, turned it on, and disappeared to do their chores. Mike and Robert headed off to the grow room, and the Wolfpack spread out to do chores or lessons, switching off.
Josh and Nick did some laundry, and each had a shadow; Little Nico or Tam. They went out as a foursome on horseback with the first round of deliveries to the res in coolboxes, and came back loaded down with more goat cheeses from the Goat Girls, unwashed and uncarded wool for the Owl Pack, and Jackson Running Wolf on his own horse to check out Suni's pottery --and become her student. The kid was sixteen, and, like many res kids, a part of the "unofficial" Wolf Pack. He studied at home for his GED under a supervised program. His dyslexia was making it take longer to complete the coursework. He wore green-tinted glasses to read; he said it made the words on the page stop moving.
Suni welcomed Jackson with coffee and a hot pocket swiped from the kitchen, and set him to sweep out the studio. Robert came back, and worked on a bike he'd bought, and that Ghost had delivered. He had the engine on the mount, and he was slowly ta
king it apart. Inola checked on the horses, and worked with White Socks, training the horse to be a trail rider. She took Damia out for a slow ride, bareback, on her beloved Blackie. Blackie quit taking the mincing steps, and strode slowly but purposefully.
Henry said goodbye to David and the Owl Pack, a busy hive of beading, carding wool, spinning, and typing, while Vu read a story in Vietnamese, and stopped to translate. Henry rode his bike, and went to the Nighthawks’ clubhouse. He went to the bar, refilled his coffee, and sat down at a table. He researched businesses. There had to be a way for him, personally, to make money or trade. He taught a few days a week at the club homeschool, but he didn't get paid much, more the cost of materials. He had a working farm that he had owned free and clear for decades. They were basically running a horse and teen rescue, and other people did most of the work for that. Now, he had to commit to something.
He called up some off-road Harleys that were for sale. He walked out to Bonnie, whose face lit up. "Was getting sick of only trikes. Let the other ladies do those. We'll do the off-road ones. Want them for the club, for trips?"
"And to rent out," said Henry, "to other clubs. We lose one or two, won't break the bank."
"Whoa, more used than I woulda thought," said Bonnie. "How many?"
"How many can we store?"
Bonnie looked at Henry as if he'd grown three heads. "Buy that property there. Just saw a 'For Sale' sign this morning."
The place across the road was old, falling down, and an eyesore. He'd wanted to buy it, but the old woman living there wouldn't sell it, nor let him fix it up, even for free. She sat out there, morning and evening, smoking pot, watching the club grow, the bikes go in and out. That place had long been zoned commercial, but they couldn't get her out because the city had grown up around her. Henry nodded, and set out.
He crossed the street. Someone was dragging things out of the place. "You the one selling this place?"
"This dump? Zoned commercial?" said a woman dragging a white chair (faded to yellow) out. The chair smelled strongly of marijuana smoke. "Be a pain in the butt." Henry helped her get it out the door and out to the street. She flicked off the cigarette ash, and laughed at her pun.
"Ma'am, you selling it?" he asked. "The sign says, ‘For Sale By Owner.’"
"I'm Imagene. Mama Zelda was a weird old bat. Died last week."
"Sorry about that," said Henry. He wondered how to ask the same question again. "Who is selling this?"
"Oh, I am," she said, taking another drag on her cigarette. "You interested?"
"Want to build some storage," he said. "Still commercial. If the house is salvageable, we could use that to store stuff too."
"You don't want it," she said. "Vermin." She shuddered.
"If we buy it, we can do all this cleaning up for you. Got a company that does it for us. But, be an expense for us..."
She waved him into silence, pulled out her cell phone, entered the code, and pulled up a calculator. She typed in a number. He did the same, and typed in a slightly lower number. She typed in the median of the two, and they shook.
"Oh, thank god," she said. "Didn't want to do all that cleaning and lifting."
"You have to prove it's yours, will and deed and such," he said. "Then we gotta go to the county clerk's office, get the deed, put it in your name, then you can sell it to me."
"Lead on," she said, stalking to her tiny Datsun.
"Give me your number," he said. "I'll text you the address of the clerk's office in case you get lost."
He quickly texted the Nighthawk's lawyer, Denise, to meet them there. Bonnie checked it out, and by the time he got there, he knew Zelda was really dead. Imagene was really her daughter according to county and DMV records, and he also found out that some brokers were sniffing around to offer to find a buyer. She met them, having messaged ahead to the city clerk and paid the fees. They got the property in Imagene's name, completed the sale in Denise's (real estate lawyer friend's) office, and signed a boatload of documents that marked the property and all its buildings as "as is." There were a few hundred dollars in property taxes, which Henry paid, and they were in business.
"Thank you," said Imagene. "I had no idea I could get it done in one day."
"Not usually," said Henry. "But I know people."
He called Tito. "Tito, it’s Henry. You're gonna kill me dead."
"What did you do?" asked Tito.
"I bought the most horrible property anywhere," said Henry. "The only thing worse would have been a falling-down shack in a hurricane zone that also has earthquakes --and is inhabited by rodents."
"Good god!" said Tito. "You bought Zelda's place." He hyperventilated, threw both shoes into the wall, and got back on the phone. "You bastard... pendejo... idiot..." He started cursing in Spanish, English, and some other language Henry didn't recognize. "I'll give the Wolfpack Hazmat suits and two giant dumpsters." He slammed down the phone.
"That went well," said Henry to Denise.
"Lucky he doesn't come over and shoot you dead," said Denise.
"I'll go teach some kids. He can't kill me. Some of them are his. Murdering someone in front of your kids is against the Code."
"You better run, old man," said Denise. Henry laughed, thanked her, and went back toward the clubhouse.
Bonnie, Herja and Bandit of the Iron Knights took the delivery of sixteen battered off-road Harleys from all over the southwest, with equanimity. They had the Soldier Pack, and they had the tools and time. The Wolfpack welcomed hazmat pay. David took the farm going into the red to purchase the bikes with equanimity. Ivy was not so happy about the Nighthawks going into the red with the property purchase --and the boondoggle that cleaning it up would be. Ivy came down to sit on the Nighthawks' porch and watch Henry, Tito, some of the Soldier Pack, and a lot of the Wolfpack in full "condom suits," out there tearing apart the house and going over the yard to get all the accumulated trash out of there. Callie sat with her. Bao was inside teaching the students.
"Be smarter just to knock it down, or burn it down, than tear it down to the studs," said Ivy.
"Can you imagine the contact high if you burned it?" asked Callie. They both laughed.
"Found well over the ten to twelve plants you're allowed to grow individually," said Ivy. "Henry explained that they hadn't inspected the property, and showed them the paper to do it. That’s what he said when he called Wraith's friend at the DEA. She told him to sell the plants to licensed growers in the dead of night, since they couldn't arrest a dead woman. So, he did." The words were making Callie double over laughing again. "The vermin were mice trying to eat the plant food. Henry sold it all, grow lights and all, and some animal rights activists actually trapped the mice and moved their nest somewhere."
Callie laughed. "Henry the mouse savior. Who woulda thunk it?"
Ivy snorted. "Now, they're tearing it to the studs, and that part to the right will be a sort of large barn/parking lot for Harleys."
"We can expand the school," said Callie.
"No need now, is there?" asked Ivy. "And, if you move Bonnie's garage, she'll throw heavy wrenches at your head."
"How does Henry plan to make the money back?" asked Callie. She sipped her soda, watching the white, antlike bodies of the workers.
"He plans on starting a Harley training program --getting your motorcycle license, how to purchase bikes, maintenance, a list of clubs to join, how to handle emergencies, trip planning, the whole enchilada." Ivy snorted. "I know he can do it, I just don't see him paying back the clubhouse thing, anytime soon. He also wants to build other businesses on the property, Nighthawks-started businesses."
Callie said, "Why do you snort, woman? Henry's trying to bring home the bacon in the best way he knows how. This can really work, really take off. Never, ever discount the man."
"I can't, can I?" asked Ivy.
"Love someone --at any price. Love has its dividends."
Separation
"Some people you just can't reach, no matter th
e prize, or the price."
Bao took the curvy road from her new home to Dragon Mother's triplex. Strange, she mused. That was a home full of memories. I almost had the place the way I wanted it, then Dragon Mother saw fit to treat me as if I were a child. Such a thing would be acceptable if I were still that hard worker married to a happy man, with a beautiful little girl, she thought. But we’re all older, Hu has two sisters, and we go back and forth between two households. What about the fact we have all changed, did she not comprehend?
She leaned into the curves, letting the ride relax her. Tensing up would only make the situation worse, and probably give her a headache. Her mother was no dragon, in actuality, just an old woman trying to make her present match her past, and it did not. They were in America now, coasting down the freeway to a new life. A life of jokes, laughter, and the best education possible for her children. She did not take a hand off the brakes to touch her belly. But, she knew. Her child would grow up with the full measure of Chinese languages, history, and culture, but without the weight of the past. China knew better. It sent its people into the world, to make their fortunes and send their money home, to have businesses that straddled the ocean, spreading their resources wide, including their human resources. But her mother could not see the enormous treasure she had, and so, she would lose her daughter.
She arrived at the house. She had debated long and hard about bringing a gift. Her mother needed to see how badly she had lost face. She had compromised. The gift of tea was small and in the right-hand pocket of her leather jacket. It was the absolute best, and a small quantity would be appreciated. And if her mother did not have her mind in the past.
She got off her bike, looking at the triplex. A curtain twitched. Children's toys were in a lidded plastic box just outside the front door; one soccer ball peeked out. There were two tricycles and a bicycle. Bao raised her eyebrows. So many, so young! No wonder the people in the middle section had come to America. They were looking for opportunities for the children. The third section; the far one, had nothing in the front yard, so she did not know anything about them except for another twitch of the curtains. She looked like a white devil on the bike. She took off her helmet and stowed it. The curtain twitching stopped.
