The wagon pulled into town, passing the whitewashed church. Father Ignacio stepped forward, reaching toward Miguel and helping him from the wagon. The clanging bells were deafening, but Miguel was grateful their noise made it difficult to talk. He wouldn’t have to explain anything to Father Ignacio, at least not yet. The priest placed his hands on Miguel’s head, murmuring a prayer. “Thanks be to God that our Miguel has safely returned to the fold.”
Miguel leaned toward the priest’s ear and said, “I’m not the same as I was before I was captured. I learned so much while I was in the desert.”
Father Ignacio nodded. “You are growing up, my son, and your world is growing larger. Soon we will talk.”
Before Miguel could respond, a crowd surged forward with Miguel’s parents in the lead. A lump caught in his throat as his mother engulfed him in her arms, sobbing, and Miguel didn’t complain when she squeezed his shoulder in her embrace.
“Mijo,” she cried. “My son!”
Papá stood close, his eyes moist. “Ah, Miguel,” he sighed, reaching out to stroke Miguel’s matted hair. “At last you are home. Gracias a diós.”
Miguel looked into his father’s eyes and felt tears spilling down his cheeks. “Papá,” he mumbled. “I didn’t understand. I am so sorry.”
“We’ve both had time to think about what we could have done differently,” Papá said. “Now we will have time to make things right.”
Esteban and Ruben, like two sides of a coin, pushed through the crowd. Esteban was dressed in black finery, and Ruben wore neat work clothes powdered with red desert dust.
“Welcome home, hermano. We missed our brother, Miguel!” Ruben hoisted Miguel high onto his shoulder. The crowd cheered and Miguel gazed down into the faces before him—squinting ranchers with their bonneted wives, weathered campesinos in white shirts and pants, and Tohono O’odham women balancing burden baskets against their backs. His glance lingered on the faces of the native women. Perhaps one day they might give him news of his friend.
Luis and Berto pushed through the crowd. They whistled and waved to get Miguel’s attention. He had worried about whether his friends would turn against him if they learned about his Jewish ancestors. Now he knew that if Berto’s ideas didn’t change, Miguel couldn’t be his friend. Miguel had also been afraid of what Father Ignacio might say. All those worries were in the past.
The sea of people parted as Ruben paraded down the street and set Miguel down in front of the apothecary shop. Charlie Meyer shook Captain Riverton’s hand and stepped up onto the wooden walkway. He raised his arms and the crowd fell silent.
“This is a day of celebration for all of us. We thank the Almighty and the US Cavalry for bringing home our son, Miguel Abrano.” The people sent up a loud cheer.
One day soon I will tell Doc Meyer about how little the cavalry did, Miguel thought, and I will tell him about Rushing Cloud.
He stepped closer to Doc Meyer. With a trembling voice, he said, “Zuzi is gone. Can you forgive me?”
Charlie Meyer’s dark eyes narrowed into slits. “You’ll work this off, yah?”
Miguel’s head drooped. “I’ll do whatever it takes to pay you back,” he promised. “I can sweep the store as soon as my shoulder heals, and dust the shelves. I’ll deliver packages too.”
The apothecary bent closer, and Miguel breathed in the familiar scent of pipe tobacco. He lifted Miguel’s chin. “It’s a tease I am making,” he said. “After all, who can worry about an old horse as long as you are safely home? Zuzi’s life was nearly over, but yours is just beginning.”
Jacob Franck stood just behind Doc Meyer, twisting his round hat in his hands. His hair was neatly cut, and without even looking Miguel knew there had been no horns hiding beneath the peddler’s hat. He still wore his long black coat, and his beard sprung out in all directions.
“So brave and strong you are,” Señor Franck praised him.
“Not so much as I thought,” Miguel said, “but maybe more than I used to be.” The peddler hadn’t changed at all, but Miguel realized he saw him differently.
Señor Franck cleared his throat and shifted his feet nervously. “I am sorry if I am making so many troubles because of my reading,” he apologized. “Maybe I shouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, no,” Miguel said quickly. “I hoped you’d still be in Tucson.” He reached out to shake the peddler’s hand, feeling its warmth. “Some time before you leave, I—I, that is, would you read the diary to me? I want to hear the whole story this time. I really do. And I’ll listen.” Maybe he would tell the peddler about Rushing Cloud too.
“Your Papá and I have been working on that book every day,” he said. “You can help us write it out in Spanish.”
Doc Meyer put his arm around Jacob Franck. “I’m not letting him leave,” he announced. “Right here he is staying—in a store right next to mine. Now and then a little cards we’ll play and keep up our German. We don’t want to forget everything about the Old Country!”
The peddler nodded. “No more housewives waiting months for buttons and blankets. And no more lonely traveling!”
Esteban rode up on his horse, leading the pepper-gray yearling. “We missed your birthday, but we didn’t forget,” he said. “We knew you had your eye on this one, and Papá says it’s time you had your own horse to care for. Hopefully, he’ll know the way home if you ever get lost.”
Miguel reached up and stroked the horse’s neck, and it tossed its long gray mane. They were both descendants of the conquistadors. Miguel would train and care for it until they could race across the desert like the clouds.
Papá gave him a boost into the saddle. The horse pawed the ground, and Miguel leaned forward and whispered, “Easy, Rushing Cloud.” The horse perked up its ears. “Yes, that’s your name now—Rushing Cloud.”
Miguel was certain that his friend’s village was welcoming him back too. His family would be proud of how strong and brave Rushing Cloud had been to leave the mission school and cross the desert alone. Well, almost alone, he thought.
He looked out across the crush of people. How good it was to hear the voices of his family and friends. Before him, the many faces of Tucson melted into one.
Afterword
Arizona Territory was still a desert settlement in 1872 when the story Walk Till You Disappear takes place. The city of Tucson had just three thousand residents, most of them of Mexican heritage. Many could trace their family lineage back to the sixteenth century when the Spanish adventurer Hernando Cortés arrived in the newly discovered land with his army of conquistadors. Cortés and his soldiers claimed the land in the name of Spain and the Catholic Church, killing many of the native people and forcing many more to convert.
The brush huts of the Tohono O’odham, mistakenly called the Papago tribe, dotted the land. These Native Americans lived peacefully in their scattered villages, farming small fields and selling their beautifully crafted baskets and pottery in the settlement towns. Their water jugs, called ollas by the Mexicans, were famous for their ability to keep water cool throughout a hot desert day. As more settlers moved in to the territory, mission schools opened, run by different church groups. They worked with the US government to take Native American children from their families, and “Americanize” them. While Arizona didn’t have many mission schools before 1891, I took some liberties in describing the experiences of many Native American boys and girls through Rushing Cloud’s story.
In the ninteenth century, Tucson was the only fortified walled town in America. It had to fight off attacks by Mexican bandits, Apache raiders, and gunslinging outlaws. Tucson had a dusty main street, a brewery and some saloons, one café, and several low adobe buildings. One of its most highly respected residents was Charles Meyer, a German immigrant who ran the town’s only apothecary shop and was fondly called Doc Meyer for his vast knowledge of medicines. In 1864 he also became justice of the peace, serving as judge and jailer of the city’s lawbreakers.
By 1872, when young Miguel might
have lived there, Tucson had been part of the United States less than twenty years. The annexation happened in 1854, when President Franklin Pierce signed an agreement called the Gadsden Purchase. Under this contract, Mexico sold land to the United States in what is now the southern portion of Arizona and New Mexico. Overnight, all the Mexicans and the native people living in the area became American citizens—whether they wished to or not.
Arizona Territory wanted desperately to become a full-fledged state, but the Congress in Washington, DC, repeatedly refused. The territory’s leaders were certain that if they established public schools, it would help their push for statehood. So, in 1871, Tucson built the town’s first public school for boys. The residents also wanted the newest citizens, who had so recently been Mexican, to learn English and study the government of the United States. Schools were the best way to accomplish those goals.
Settlers continued to arrive in the territory, some of them immigrants from European countries. Most of the time, they were met with acceptance and tolerance. But sometimes they faced hostile residents who didn’t like foreigners or those of a different faith. Tucson’s only house of worship was a small Catholic mission that offered weekly Mass and tried to convert newcomers and the native people. There were few Jewish settlers in the Southwest, but those that did arrive mostly overcame lingering prejudices to become successful in business and politics.
Arizona Territory was growing steadily toward statehood. Its population continued to rise as ranchers, merchants, and cattlemen braved its many dangers to make a new life for themselves and their families.
Glossary
adiós: (ah-dee-OHS) Spanish—goodbye
adobe: (uh-DOH-bee) Spanish—a brick made of straw and clay
agave: (AH-guh-vay) Spanish—a desert plant with spiky leaves
apothecary: (uh-POTH-uh-carry) English—a pharmacist
bar mitzvah: (bahr MITZ-vuh) Hebrew—a Jewish boy who reaches the age of thirteen and is considered an adult
bien: (byen) Spanish—good
bimuelo: (beem-WELL-oh) Spanish—a flaky pastry that is fried in oil and then sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon
brittle bush: English—a shrub that grows in dry areas. Its leaves are gray green, and it has yellow flowers.
campesino: Spanish—a farmer; someone who lives in the countryside and works the land
charco: (CHAR-ko) Spanish—a depression in the land that holds water; a pond
conquistadors: (kon-KEES-ta-DORS) Spanish—conquerors; victorious soldiers
converso: (kon-VER-so) Spanish—a person who has converted to another religion; one who pretends to convert
creosote: (CREE-uh-sote) English—a fragrant bush with bright yellow flowers common in the desert Southwest
Doña: (DOHN-ya) Spanish—a title of respect used with the first name of a woman
exactamente: (eh-zact-uh-MEN-tay) Spanish—exactly
excelente: (eh-zeh-LEN-tay) Spanish—excellent
fiesta: (fee-ES-tuh) Spanish—party; celebration
gracias a diós: (GRAH-see-ahs ah DEE-ohs) Spanish—thank God
hasta: (HAH-stah) Spanish—until
hermano: (air-MAH-noh) Spanish—brother
hobble: English—a rope or other device used to keep an animal from walking
hola: (OH-lah) Spanish—hi; hello
I’itoi: (ee-ee-toy)—Tohono O’odham name meaning “Elder Brother,” who is believed to be one of the four creators of the world
Inquisition: English—a panel of Roman Catholic judges who investigated those accused of not following the church’s teachings
javelina: (hah-veh-LEAN-uh)—wild boar
mañana: (mahn-YA-nah) Spanish—tomorrow
mantilla: (mahn-TEE-ya) Spanish—a lacy head covering
mesquite: (meh-SKEET) Spanish—a small spiny tree native to the Southwest. It grows edible pods that are part of the pea family.
mijo: (MEE-ho) Spanish—conjoined term of mi hijo, meaning “my son”
milagro: (mih-LAH-grow) Spanish—miracle
no me digas: (no meh DEE-gaz) Spanish—you don’t say
olla: (OY-ya) Spanish—a clay jug to hold water
padre: (PAH-dray) Spanish—father
paloverde: (PAH-lo VAIR-deh) Spanish—literally “green bark”; a desert tree with lime-green bark
patina: (PAT-ee-nuh)—a plate used during the Catholic Communion service
Pima: (PEE-muh)—a Southwest desert tribe
pinole: (pee-NOH-lay) Spanish—a ground meal made with mesquite beans, corn, and wheat
prickly pear: English—a variety of cactus with oval, flat, spiny pads
¿qué pasa?: (kay PAH-sah) Spanish—What happened?
¿quién pasa?: (kyen PAH-sah) Spanish—Who’s there?
quiver: English—a carrying bag for arrows
ramada: (ruh-MAH-duh) Spanish—an open area covered by a trellis to provide shade
rancheria: (rahn-cheh-REE-uh) Spanish—a small village with several small huts
rebozo: (reh-BO-zo) Spanish—a shawl
saguaro: (suh-WAH-row) Spanish—a large cactus with waxy, white flowers that produces an edible red fruit
señor/señorita: (sehn-YOR/sehn-yoh-REE-tah) Spanish—Mister/Miss
Tohono O’odham: (teh-hono-OH-tahm) O’odham—a Southwest desert tribe
Torah: (TOH-rah) Hebrew—a scroll containing the first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures
vámanos: (VAH-mah-nohs) Spanish—Let’s go
Yo soy: (yoh soy) Spanish—I am
zopilote: (zoh-pill-LO-teh) Spanish—a small American black vulture
Bibliography
Fontana, Bernard. “The Papágos.” Arizona Highways, April 1983, 34.
Greene, Jacqueline Dembar. The Tohono O’odham. New York: Franklin Watts, 1998.
Hoim, Tom (Cherokee/Creek). “Warriors and Warfare.” In Encyclopedia of North American Indians, edited by Frederick Hokie, 666. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1996.
Libo, Kenneth, and Irving Howe. We Lived There, Too. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1984.
Lockwood, Frank C. Pioneer Portraits. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1968.
McCarthy, James. A Papágo Traveler. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1985.
Melody, Michael E. The Apache. New York: Chelsea House 1988.
Monaghan, Jay, ed. The Book of the American West. New York: Julian Messner, 1963.
Miner, Carrie M. “Road Runner: Facts and Fantasy.” Arizona Highways, April 2001, 14.
Muel, Chips. “Left for Dead,” Arizona Highways, February, 1992, 12.
Nabhan, Gary Paul. The Desert Smells Like Rain. San Francisco: North Point, 1982.
Rischin, Moses, and John Livingston. Jews of the American West. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1991.
Roberts, Virginia Culin. With Their Own Blood. Fort Worth, TX: Christian University Press, 1972.
Trimble, Marshall. Arizona. New York: Doubleday, 1977.
Trover, Ellen Lloyd, and William F. Swindler. Chronology and Documentary Handbook of the State of Arizona. Dobbs Ferry, NY: Oceana, 1972.
Tyler, Hamilton A. Pueblo Birds and Myths. Flagstaff, AZ: Northland, 1991.
Underhill, Ruth. Singing for Power. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1993.
White, Anne Terry. The American Indian. New York: Random House, 1963.
About the Author
Jacqueline Dembar Greene is the award-winning author of more than forty books for young readers, including American Girl’s® Rebecca Rubin series and The Secret Shofar of Barcelona. She lives in Wayland, Massachusetts.
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