Diamond Willow (9 page)

camped that night. Dad nods, then asks,
Do you know

why we picked that place to scatter Baby Diamond's ashes?

(Of course I don't. I was six days old; no one ever told me.)

That was where I found the diamond willow stick—the one

you're working on. So in a way, that place is where your

name came from—your names.
I'm not
sure how I feel

about them giving me
both
names. I ask Dad,
Why

does diamond
willow
have the diamond shapes?

He thinks for a minute
and
answers,
As I

understand it, a
diamond
forms

in the sapwood at a place

of injury, or sickness,

a place where a

branch has

fallen

away.

 

 

 

Cora (Willow's great-grandfather's sister)

It looks like Roxy got herself back into the house, where she's always wanted to be. I should try something like that, break a leg or something, see if they'll take me inside, too. Sit by the fire like I used to, before they got the idea to hitch me up. Whose crazy idea was that, anyway, to take a mutt like me and try to make a sled dog out of me? Oh well, I did my best. I was a good leader when I was young, and I can still do it when I have to.

I understand all their commands, and I usually follow them. They like that. But I've lived around here for a long, long time, and I know a thing or two. So sometimes I take them places they should go, even if it's not what they're telling me. A few days before the twin babies were born, I brought their father to the diamond willow grove. I knew how much he loved that beautiful, light-dark diamond willow wood. It makes a good strong stick you can hold on to when you're walking up a long hill in the dark.

Less than a week later, I brought the family back. One baby was wrapped inside her mother's jacket (that was Willow) and the other—well, I knew what had happened. They were all so deep in their grief, I'm not sure they could have found the place again, but I know that old trail well, and I took them right to it. Marty had two different colored mittens, brown and green—I remember that because the green one kept falling off, and I'd pick it up in my mouth and bring it to him.

That tree wasn't much taller than he was at the time.

For a few years, I took them all out there every year on Diamond's birthday. But it was Willow's birthday, too, and I suppose they wanted her to have happy birthdays like other children, so they stopped doing that. The night I took Willow and Kaylie out there was the first time in years I'd been back there myself.

The storm came in fast that afternoon. The girls are young; they didn't know how ferocious it would be. I knew they'd need a place to sleep that night, and I was pretty sure I had less than an hour to get them to a place they might find shelter. So I headed down the old trail to see if I could find the diamond willow grove. The trail was overgrown; no one uses it much these days.

I might have missed the place altogether if that spruce hen hadn't flown along with us. When I saw her stop to rest on a low branch of the spruce tree, I stopped to look around, and sure enough, I recognized the place I remember from so long ago.

Roxy was in the sled; her eyes were bandaged, but she acted like she knew where we were. How? I've never figured out who Roxy was in her human life—no one I remember knowing. All I can say is, she was more content than I've ever seen her, curled up with Willow through that long dark night as the blizzard raged and then subsided.

 

I

want

to tell Kaylie

about everything I've

learned since I last saw her.

(It's only been two days, but it

seems like two years.) I get to the

lunchroom first and find an empty table.

While I'm waiting for Kaylie, Richard sees

me and starts to come toward my table.
No!

I almost shout, but I manage not to say a word.

I just look away, thinking,
I can't talk to Kaylie

if he's here.
Even though I don't say anything,

he swerves away at the last minute, and sits by

himself at the next table. Kaylie comes in and

sees us both. She hesitates, like she isn't sure

which table to sit at.
What
should I do?

I think fast. I know
if I do
nothing, my

best friend will
have a
hard choice

to make. My
Diamond
story can

wait. For once,
inside
myself,

I don't start a big argument.

I get up and move over

to Richard's table.

Kaylie smiles

and joins

us.

 

In

about

two minutes

our table is full

and someone pushes

another table up next to it

so there are nine kids sitting here.

That's not surprising. Everyone likes

Kaylie and Richard. But here's the surprise:

Almost every
other
time I've been with these kids,

the group I call the sparkly
people
, I've tried really hard

to make myself invisible. Now they
are
all asking questions

about our night out in the storm, and I'm
kind of
enjoying myself.

It's partly because I'm thinking up some
interesting
answers but also

because I start wondering what makes people ask the things they ask.

Why does Amber want to know if I was more scared of the dark

or the cold? What makes Nicholas so curious about the

lynx:
What did it sound like? How big were the

tracks? Did you smell anything when it

got close to you?
Richard's friend

Jon asks me,
How's Roxy?

Will she ever see again?

I can't answer. Without

warning, my eyes

flood with tears.

Jon is quiet.

I bet she

will,
he

says.

 

Roxy

lies on my bed

with her head resting

on her paws, like she thinks

she has always belonged here.

When I
come home
from school, I

call out to her—
Hey
,
Roxy
—and she perks

up her ears, moves over to make room for me,

tilts her head to one side as if she's asking what's

happened while I've been gone all day. I talk to her

for so long, I almost forget to check her eyes. I've

promised Mom and Dad I'll do that every day.

Today, for the first time, her eyes seem to be

a little better, not so crusty. I wash them

with warm water, dry them. She keeps

them closed while I put on a fresh

bandage. I get my Dinak'i book

and work on my homework

and Roxy sits with me,

her head in my lap,

so peaceful, so

right.

 

 

 

Roxy (Diamond)

After Willow washes my eyes, she leaves the room to get a clean bandage, and I open my eyes for a minute, first both at once, then one at a time. I see light through a window. I see a shadow in the doorway. The shadow moves away so fast, I know it must be Zanna. She says she isn't scared of me anymore, but she still steers clear of me when we're alone.

No one knows that I used to snap and growl at Zanna. She was so small, barely walking; she'd come close and reach out her hand to pet me like Marty and Willow did.

I wanted to be a baby, and get bigger, and learn to walk. I wanted them to take me inside when I got cold, like they took Zanna in whenever she let out the smallest squawk.

And so, when she came close, I'd growl at her, low in my throat, so no one else could hear.

Once I nipped at Zanna's ankle and she started crying. Willow called her a crybaby:
Oh, Zanna,
she said,
you know Roxy wouldn't hurt you.
Zanna looked at Willow, then back at me, like she didn't know whether to believe her sister or herself. After that, she never came near me again.

It was a long time ago. I'd never do that now. Zanna might not even remember why she's scared of me.

 

Did

I see Roxy

open her left eye and

close it again? Zanna says

Roxy winked at her last night.

I don't believe her, of course—

only a little kid would believe

that a dog
can
wink—but I

wonder if
Roxy
is getting

better. I
see
her pulling

at her bandage with

her paw when

she doesn't

know I'm

looking.

 

If

you

can see,

open one eye,

I whisper in Roxy's

left ear. I know she hears me,

but I don't think she understands.

I've taken off her bandage. Her eyes

look better, but she keeps them closed.

Roxy, do you want to go for a sled ride?

When she hears that, she jumps off the

bed as if to say,
When
are
we leaving?

I say,
Look over
there
, Roxy!
I point

first one way, then a
different
way,

to see if she looks the
ways
I point,

but Roxy will have none
of
that.

Either she isn't
seeing
much

or she is refusing to let me

know that she can see.

Okay, Roxy, I'll

take you out

for a ride.

Let's

go
.

 

Roxy

and Cora

jump around like

little kids, licking each other

and rolling in the snow together.

I hitch up all the dogs, with Cora as the

leader. Then I try to get
Roxy
into the sled, but

she acts like she
doesn't want to
go after all.

I thought you wanted a sled
ride
,
I say.

Come on, cooperate with me.
Her

eyes are closed. It's not

like Roxy to be

so difficult.

I turn

away from her

for about half a minute; when

I turn back and look at her,
she
is holding

a harness in her mouth, like she
wants to
tell

me something. Did Roxy
pull
the harness out of

my emergency kit? How could she do that

if she can't see? What is going on here?

Roxy, look at me,
I say, and she does!

For a split second, Roxy blinks

her eyes—open, shut—that

clear pure brown,

shining like

the sun

itself.

 

I

pull

the harness

gently over Roxy's

ears, very carefully over her

closed eyes. I whisper to her,
If you

think you can do this,
Roxy
, I'll let you try.

How should I hitch her? She
and Cora
work well

together. I'll let them both lead. They
are so
excited,