Never before could Mairie remember someone being so selfless, so sincere in wanting to be of service.
"Thank you," she murmured, and the woman smiled compassionately.
Suddenly an anger rose up inside of her when she thought of all the history books she had read, all the movies she had seen while growing up, depicting all Indians as barbaric and uncaring. She had been in their camp less than a half hour and already they had shown her more empathy than if she had hobbled into a modern convenience store. She realized that for all society's so-called advances, this simple grace of personal charity had been lost. She wondered if we're so afraid of encroaching on another's space, of maybe being sued, perhaps we're afraid to reach out to another in need, to actually touch them? She had little time to ponder these thoughts as two more women joined them. One carried more water and another placed a basket by her side. This one definitely contained food. She recognized those cakes made from mesquite beans.
Her ankle was wrapped tightly in a long strip of the crude material that seemed to be woven from some kind of plant. She gratefully ate the meal cake, the crushed pine nuts, a few berries she couldn't name and drank the cool water. One of the younger women touched her Nike as if it were a curious thing, until an older woman chastised the younger and made a motion that all should leave. Mairie was given a primitive comb and left alone in the dirt shelter.
Sighing, she leaned back against the wall and figured it might be okay to stay for an hour or two and show her gratitude. She would talk to this elder, this chief, and maybe they could make some sense out of everything. Surely he would know about Las Vegas, about how she could get back to her own people. She ran the wide toothed pick through her tangled hair and waited. Soon… soon she would have her answers.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the elder entered the lodge, along with two other men and Delaney. They sat before her in a half circle and stared. Mairie stiffened her shoulders and stared back, waiting for someone to speak. Two middle-aged men sat on either side of the elder, whose face was wrinkled and leathered from the sun, like a shelled walnut. Yet his eyes were warm, friendly, hopeful. Delaney sat by the entrance, with the sunlight behind him. Finally, the leader sort of grunted and said something directly to her. She couldn't understand the language and looked to Delaney to translate.
"He said, 'Welcome to my humble home. We are honored that you would make your appearance to us."
She bit the inside of her lip, while her brain seemed to run wild in attempting to make sense of the words. "What does he mean, make my appearance?"
Delaney sighed, as if he were again losing patience with her. "It would be proper if you thanked him for his hospitality before you begin ranting."
She glared back at the man. It didn't matter that the sun was creating almost a halo around him, that he was so good-looking he could have been a western model. It didn't matter that at any other time she would have been struck by that haunted look in his eyes… none of it mattered in that moment. What did matter was that he was right. She should have thanked the man first and it galled her that Delaney's manners were better than hers.
"Yes," she murmured. "Please thank him for his hospitality. And tell him I am honored that his people would show such tender care to a stranger."
She watched as Delaney translated and saw the pleasure in the older man's expression. She had said the right thing. The man spoke and she could see Delaney didn't want to tell her the answer. "What did he say?" she asked, before Delaney could add his own words.
"He said, 'You are not a stranger. You have been expected. Generations have spoken of you appearing, coming from the sky. A messenger for the people.’“
She was stunned. This must be corrected before it got out of hand. "Tell him for me I am no messenger, that I am lost. That I need assistance in getting back to my brother, my people, and can he tell me how to do that? Does he know where there is a phone, or even a road I can use?"
"I am not asking him that." Delaney looked at her as if she were an escapee from an institution.
Mairie's back straightened with indignation. "Hey … you're just the translator here. You tell him what I said."
Their eyes locked in battle as he muttered words she couldn't understand. The elder seemed confused and then very pleased. He said something in an excited voice.
"You didn't tell him!" Mairie accused, frustrated by her inability to communicate herself. How maddening, to depend on a druggie hermit who seemed to be in his own delusional Dances with Wolves scenario.
"I told him you can only stay until you are healed and that you bring great blessings to his people. He is planning a celebration tonight for you, to honor your arrival." The last words were said with such distaste that Mairie felt as if he had mentally assaulted her.
"I can't stay the night," she whispered. "I must leave." Holding her hand to her heart, she looked at the old man. "Listen to me, please… I need to get back to my own people. Can you help me? Please, I need help."
All three men seemed confused by her words and looked to Delaney for translation. She didn't want to do it, yet she couldn't help following the old man's line of vision. What she saw wasn't reassuring. Delaney looked furious.
"You will stay and be honored. I will not disgrace my brothers by telling them that you are a madwoman, seeking to throw her voice out to the sky and expecting her brother to hear her."
"I am not mad," she said through clenched teeth. "You tell him that. I am not mad."
Delaney said something and all of the men laughed. They rose to their feet and abruptly left. It was obvious the meeting was over.
"What did you say to him?" Mairie demanded, feeling a rush of anger creeping up her throat to settle on her cheeks.
Delaney leaned back against the dirt wall of the lodge and sighed. "I told him that you are like a wounded bird, yet you will dance with joy tonight for falling into the nest of such a great wise man… that your steps may be awkward since, by your costume, you haven't yet decided if you are a warrior or a maiden."
She could only stare at him as she attempted to repress the urge to crawl over and slap that satisfied smirk off his face. "Get out," she barely managed to mutter.
He raised an eyebrow in question, while lowering his head to stare at her. "I beg your pardon, madam? Since I have no lodge of my own, when I visit my brothers I remain with one of them. Until you leave, this is my lodge. We are both honored to share it this night and any refusal of such a gift will be seen as an insult. You're stuck with me, as I am with you, until this celebration is over."
She was stunned. "Wait, wait… you're telling me that you and I have to remain together—here?"
He looked like he wanted to laugh at her predicament. "Until the women come to prepare you."
"Prepare me? For what?" She didn't like the sound of this at all.
"You cannot participate dressed like that. You are a woman and tonight you will look like one. Everyone wears their best when they speak with the gods. To do less is to dishonor life."
"I want out of here." Her words were said with as much force as she could muster. Right, like she would be dressing up in some Indian costume to please him!
"And, quite honestly, madam, I want you out of here. Had you not injured your ankle, you would be on your way. But since you are unable to manage travel today, I was forced to bring you to this camp. If you think I am pleased by this turn of events, you are mistaken, madam. I cannot help that my vision of you falling from the sky signals to my brothers that you are a messenger for them. But, you will go along with it, and you will give these people a message of hope."
She looked around her and nearly shrieked. "Hope! These people don't need hope. They need a miracle. Look at them, look at their poverty. This way of life is disgraceful… it's below poverty level."
He sat up straight and glared at her. "What do you know of these people? What they have gone through? You are blinded by European standards and you cannot see beneath the surface of your vision
. What you see as acrid, barren and inhospitable, the Paiutes see as a land of great variety… if you have eyes to see and ears to hear the earth. They gather pine nuts, mesquite, screw beans, Indian spinach, agave. They plant corn and squash. They hunt rabbits, desert tortoises, bighorn sheep, deer, quail. They weave baskets from the grasses by the creeks. They make jewelry. They're farmers, husbands, wives… families. They're peaceful, wanting only to live and feed their children, even though the white man has come in and driven them from their traditional grounds. You see them as a poor and simple culture. I see them as the most resourceful people on earth. And the most balanced. They see the earth as our mother, providing us with food, the air we breathe, clothing—even this lodging." He touched the dirt wall with reverence. "And now traders come, miners, and wagon trains heading for California. They run their herds over the land and damage the delicate plant life. They camp at the Paiute home sites near the springs and streams and shoot at the Indians to keep them away. They kill the game and deplete the supply. They even kidnap Paiute children and women and sell them as slaves in New Mexico and California. And yet the hearts of these people remain pure."
He looked at her and slowly shook his head. "Disgraceful, you say? No, Mairie Callahan. The Paiutes are full of grace… if you are willing to open your eyes and really see them. How they live is heroic."
She felt like a properly chastised child and lowered her eyes to the dirt ground as she felt him stand and move to the opening.
"You will find a way," he said, in a low, controlled voice. "You are their messenger. And tonight you will give them hope." He left without another word.
As she sat in the dirt lodge, her depression slowly became anger. Nothing was turning out as she had thought. She was too isolated. Maybe Delaney really had kidnaped her, and she was just now realizing it. This entire thing was ludicrous. Why were there no airplanes or helicopters looking for her? She knew Bryan must have notified everyone possible. Her brother would not abandon the search for her. He wouldn't. Something was very wrong, and at that moment Mairie was too angry to analyze it further. Now she was pissed. She needed to become proactive. Instead of sitting around waiting for women to come prepare her for some Indian dress-up dance or for Delaney to come back and insult her, she should just get up and walk over to that horse outside and ride the hell out of here.
The more she thought of it, the better it sounded.
All she had to do was get up and sneak out of this lodge. If she kept to the woods, she could circle the camp to where the horse was tied and take it. She would only be borrowing it. It wasn't really stealing. Okay, so she hadn't ridden a horse since she was thirteen years old at summer camp, but she knew she could do it. She had to, for she couldn't see any other means of escape from this madness. Better to take a horse, get back to civilization, and make a donation to these people than lie to them about a hopeful future.
A small part of her brain told her that she sure knew how to rationalize her way out of a tough situation. She stood at the entrance of the lodge with her bag in hand. She'd have to leave the helmet, since Delaney had been carrying it and she didn't know where it was. Big deal. She'd either get it back later or pay for it. The only thing that mattered now was making her escape.
It was like she was in some freaky cartoon, for as she stood watching the Indians who were preoccupied with preparations for the celebration, Mairie felt like she had two angels on her shoulders. One dark. One light. One whispering to take the horse and ride as fast as possible, and the other telling her to stay and honor her hosts.
Go or stay?
Steal or honor?
Dark or light?
"Madness or sanity?" she whispered, hating the fact that her conscience was pushing toward one end of the polarity. When she saw all the tribe running toward a hunter who had entered the camp with a small lifeless deer across his shoulders, she muttered a profanity and slipped out of the lodge.
It must be the right decision, she thought, as she quickly hobbled her way through the mesquite trees to the horses. No one had seen her. She scratched her thigh against a thorn and her legging snagged, but she couldn't take the time to indulge in pain. She had to untie the horse, who was shying away from her approach.
It was a lot bigger than she remembered from her teenage years at camp. Big and powerful. How was she supposed to ride the thing without a saddle? She hadn't thought of that.
"C'mere, horsie," she whispered, reaching out her hand. The brown-and-white-spotted animal snorted heavily and backed away from her. "It's okay," she continued in a soft voice, taking baby steps closer. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to ride you for a while. You can take me away from this craziness and then I will return you. I promise."
Was she certifiable, or what, talking to a horse like that? She couldn't think about it now. Later, when she was soaking in a warm Jacuzzi, she could decipher her precarious state of mind.
She teetered closer to the horse and managed to grab hold of its rope bridle. "Come on, big boy, you and I are going to take a little ride." She untied the rope from the line and started to walk it toward a fallen tree. Now, if she could just climb up on the thing and pull herself onto the horse's back.
Trying to mount the horse, while it jerked back and forth and she hopped on her good foot with an unwieldy parachute sack slung over her shoulder, was nearly impossible. She'd have to leave the sack, she thought regrettably. It was either ditch it, or never mount up. Besides, the skydiving school was responsible for her mishap. Something weird had happened and it wasn't her fault. She would contest the charges if they attempted to bill her for the equipment. Throwing the bag behind a clump of brush, she took a deep breath and turned back to the nervous horse. "Okay, buddy… you and I are going to do this. We're going to be pals… amigos, and whatever the Indian word is for we're stuck and in this together."
Using the horse's back for balance, she steadied herself on the large log, walked up the incline to a higher level, and grabbed hold on the horse's thick, coarse mane. She raised her leg and had to bite her bottom lip to stop a yelp of pain as her ankle throbbed in protest. She couldn't do it. She was too short for her leg to reach.
Damn, her mind screamed in frustration. There was no other choice. She have to throw herself onto its back and then straighten out. She told herself that she could do it. On the count of three, she would hurl herself up onto the horse and hold on for dear life until she could turn her body and swing her leg into place.
"One…" If she could jump out of a plane at thirteen thousand feet, she could make it onto a horse's back.
"Two …" But look what had happened when she jumped!
"Three…" Do it! Just do it!
She stood there breathing like a defeated hurdler, wanting to slap herself for her lack of courage. She could do this. She had to! It was fear, that's all. Was her fear of falling worse than her fear of being caught? Determined, she squared her shoulders and counted again.
"Three!"
Using her good leg, she pushed off the log and flung herself at the horse's back like a crazed trapeze artist. She landed with a thump and the horse started prancing in protest. Mairie hung on, grabbing its mane, and struggled to bring her injured foot over its rump. They went around and around in a circle, and even in her panicked state, she knew she must look like a fool.
It took every ounce of strength to right herself and when she finally managed, she collapsed against the horse's neck in relief. "Oh, thank you," she gasped, trying not to cry. "We did it. We did it…"
From somewhere over her left shoulder she heard that dark angel whispering to stop feeling sorry for herself and get moving. Gathering what little composure remained, she reached down for the loose rope and sat up. "Okay, horse… let's go."
Nothing.
She tried moving her behind up and down in a riding stance. "Giddiup, come on."
The horse refused to move.
Damn… what if this was one of those horses that refused to obey commands
if they didn't come from the owner? What kind of luck was this? It was too incredible to believe that she had gone through all this for nothing!
All thoughts of bonding with the animal vanished. Desperate, she kicked her heels into its belly with more force than she'd intended and was startled when it jumped and broke into a frantic run. Gasping for breath, Mairie felt her entire body become rigid with the whiplash jolt. She held on for dear life as branches lashed her face and shoulders, as if punishing her for her actions. It was almost as disorienting as when she was pushed out of the plane. She couldn't think of anything, except not being thrown to the earth, as the horse ran wild… straight for the creek.
From somewhere behind her, she heard yelling, and then a shrill whistle pierced her ears as she desperately tried to hold her balance.
Suddenly the horse stopped abruptly, as if a switch had been turned off and all motion ceased. Like a rag doll, Mairie found herself flailing though the air, in an eerie silence of terror. Her only thought was oh, shit… before landing with a huge splash into the stream.
It was deep enough to break her fall, and she gasped at the shock of cold water that filled her nostrils, making her brainstem feel as though it were burning, the back of her throat on fire. She felt herself floundering like a trapped fish, as she attempted to stand up upright and lost her footing. Down again she went, fighting the water and her own inability to remain above it.
It felt as if the strong, secure hand of God had reached down and grabbed hold of her upper arm, pulling her to the surface and life-giving air. She sputtered and pushed her hair out of her eyes only to see Delaney standing right next to her. Coughing, she tried to pull her arm out of his grasp, yet was unsuccessful as his iron clasp tightened. The animal was standing right next to her, as peaceful as if that had been its intention all along, to wander into the creek for a drink.
Anywhere You Are Page 6
