Paint the Wind (14 page)

R
IDING BAREBACK,
M
AYA FELT
A
RTEMISIA'S MUSCLES
shift with every alternating step. At first, she wobbled and thought she might plummet to the ground. But soon, the inside legs and the seat of her jeans dampened with the horse's perspiration and she seemed almost fastened to Artemisia's back. A few precarious ledges worried Maya, but Artemisia walked with cautious and delicate steps. When Maya whimpered in pain, Artemisia paused until she quieted.

As they reached the crest above the aspen grove, Maya looked downriver to see that the Sweetwater had overtaken the banks, and sections of the willow were underwater. All morning, they had to circumvent mud slides and overflowing washes and ended up much
farther upriver than they needed to be. They'd have to backtrack on the other side.

Maya's body teemed with pain and fever. Her head bobbled forward in a sleepy trance. But when she heard a distant whinny, she snapped alert. Was someone coming for her? “I'm here! Uncle Fig! Aunt Vi! … Moose!”

No one answered. A lone stallion, deep black with a white blaze and stockings, paced on the ridge opposite them and called to Artemisia.

Artemisia lifted her head and whinnied in return.

“Remington …” said Maya. Would he try and lure Artemisia away? The stallion kept his distance, but still Maya held tight to the coil and nudged Artemisia forward. “I need you, Artemisia … to cross the river and climb the mountain. To take me home.”

They approached the water, and Maya looked for
shallow footing, but this part of the river was unfamiliar and rushed with a strong current. She rode for a mile until she found a calm but deep passage.

“What do you think, girl? Can we make it?” Maya clucked and pressed the horse with her knees.

Artemisia faltered before lifting and placing each hoof in the riverbed. The water soon reached Artemisia's hocks. She took deeper strides but balked midstream in front of a wide pool.

The Sweetwater toyed with Maya's feet. “We can't stop now,” Maya coaxed. “Just a little farther. You can do it. Come on now.” Maya held tight to the rolled coil.

Artemisia surged into the water with a floundering splash. Maya tipped sideways. Her knees released from under the coil, and she slid from Artemisia's
back, splashing into the water. Maya lunged for the coil, grabbing it with one hand, and hung on. The horse swam toward the middle of the pool, dragging Maya through the river.

Maya struggled to maintain her grip. “Whoa!”

Her fist loosened. She clung with her fingers. Her head dipped underwater. Maya felt the pull of the current. She treaded wildly with her good leg and came up sputtering. “Artemisia! Whoa!”

The horse slowed in the water but sank lower.

Maya dangled at Artemisia's side. With all of the strength she could gather, she grasped the coil and pulled herself onto Artemisia's back, gripping her mane.

Artemisia swam toward land. She found the river bottom, lunged forward, and scrambled up the embankment.

Maya braced for the horse's shiver and gritted her teeth in anticipation. Artemisia shook the water from her body. Pain shot up Maya's leg. She took deep gulps of air and cried out. When the horse was still, Maya righted herself and repositioned her knees beneath the coil. Before continuing, she leaned forward and rested on Artemisia's neck until her heart and breathing calmed. She murmured, “Thank you, Artemisia … for getting me across.”

The air cooled, and the sky turned gray. Maya looked up. The wind herded billowy rain clouds the color of soot in their direction.

Maya rode along the river, above the brush line. When the rocky outcroppings prevented passage, she forded back across the river, this time only in the shallowest of water. The Sweetwater was a zigzag of coiling turns and didn't always trickle in one direction. After a
half dozen crossings and without the sun as a compass, Maya became disoriented. “Artemisia, I can't figure out which is downriver and which is upriver. I want to go down.…” A hawk seemed to be scouting for her as it glided above in languid loops. “Which way?” she asked.

Large rain droplets splattered on her. Within seconds, the rain pulsed from the sky. Maya dropped her head forward.

Artemisia took slow and judicious steps in the slick mud until she edged alongside an outcropping, putting their backs to the outburst.

Maya's clothes were sodden and her body ached with cold. She buried her head beneath her good arm and leaned on Artemisia's neck. And she thought about the campfire and her tepee and her sleeping bag and the truck that could get her from one place to another
quickly. She thought about sandwiches, horse magazines, hot water, dry clothes, pots and pans, and plastic chairs. And even Payton's pranks. She wouldn't mind them at all right now if she could have his company.

The dark clouds thinned, the sun peeked through, and Maya reoriented to the river. The afternoon wore on until she reached the familiar gorge. Maya looked up at the steep and rocky hillside.

“Just a little farther …” she said. At the top she'd find the road and then it would be just another mile. She nudged Artemisia forward.

They switched back and forth across the wide mountain. Rocks had loosened from the quake, and every one of Artemisia's steps sent small cascades of dirt and pebbles toward the river. Artemisia's breathing became labored from the arduous climb. She paused and whinnied loudly.

When the horse crested the hill, Maya stopped her, sat straighter, and looked ahead, searching for any signs of movement and straining for the sound of the remuda horses. The anticipation of seeing her family began to build in her heart, tighter and tighter, like a wound-up jack-in-the-box on the verge of bursting forth.

As they continued down the road toward camp, Artemisia lifted her head higher, too. Her steps quickened.

“I know, girl. We made it.”

Maya stopped Artemisia at the lookout above the campsite. Long shadows from the late afternoon sun shrouded the valley. Maya raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare. “Do you see them, Artemisia? I can't see them.” She took a deep breath and felt a strange tranquillity and happy resolve. “Hello!” she called.

There was no answer.

As she rode closer, Maya squinted. At first, she thought it was all an illusion, like a ghost horse with some parts apparent and others blending into the dark shadows. Maya swiped at her eyes in disbelief.

Everything had disappeared.

The river had overflowed and subsided. The kitchen tent, bare of any contents, stood in a bog. The office tent had vanished completely, with only a square of straw-colored grass to show where it had once stood. A stew of ashes filled the fire pit. The tepees were gone.

Maya turned Artemisia and rode up the embankment toward the corrals. Only the smaller one remained, its gate tied open. It was empty except for the water trough and a bit of hay still strewn on the ground. The
other corral had been disassembled, and the ground was now littered with a few remaining round crossbars.

Maya rode Artemisia into the corral, removed her legs from the coil, and slid to the ground on her good leg. She untied the drawstrings, dragging the wadded-up jacket with her as she crawled toward the water trough. Maya leaned her head inside, drank, and rinsed her face and neck. Then she sank to the ground, putting her injured leg out straight in front of her, and leaned back against the trough.

“Where did they go, Artemisia? Did they … die?”

Despondent, Maya lay down, turned on her side, tucked both hands under her cheek, and cried.

As Maya traveled between consciousness and a feverish stupor, she heard her own voice singing to Aunt Vi's
strumming. She squeezed her eyes tight, not wanting the delusion to end.

When her dreams were silent, Maya stirred and sat up. She watched the sun straddle the horizon and then
drop. The afterglow pulsed and splayed across the sky in streaks of yellow, gray, purple, orange, and pink. The air turned brisk. Her teeth chattered from the chills, and she pulled on her jacket.

Artemisia came forward and dropped her head. Maya reached up and stroked the soft muzzle. Then, with a quick jerk, Artemisia lifted her head and her ears perked.

“What is it, girl?”

Chords from a guitar lilted from somewhere in the distance.

“Did you hear that?” asked Maya. She struggled to stand and step-hopped toward the corral gate, where she paused to listen. She heard nothing. “Am I imagining things?”

Then came a clink and a clang.

“That's a bell from a hobbled horse!”

A fingering of chords tickled the air.

Maya's head swung around, trying to determine the direction of the sounds.

Artemisia's head lifted and she whinnied.

A horse answered. Then another.

“The remuda!” said Maya. “They … must be on the other side of the hill … at … at the old campsite.…”

Maya picked up a short crossbar to use as a walking stick and secured Artemisia in the corral. “You'll be safe here, girl. And I'll be back soon.” Hobbling, Maya followed the road but made slow progress. She stopped when she heard the guitar again, the tones like a salve on her yearnings. She took a deep breath and smiled.

Maya looked down at herself. Dirt was packed beneath her fingernails, grime streaked her clothes, and blood stained her shirt and vest. She reached up
and touched her hair. Her ponytail was long gone, and her hair was tangled and matted and stuck to her head in knots. She ran her hand over her face, now calloused from the sun and covered in scratches and bites. What would they think?

She heard another refrain from the guitar and limped closer.

When she rounded the bend, she saw the clearing with the old trailer in the background. A fire pit glowed. Four shadowy figures huddled around it. To the side, a corral enclosed the remuda horses. Maya turned her ear toward them, hoping to hear Aunt Vi's voice. But there was only the hesitant picking and strumming of heart-heavy notes.

Maya gazed at them, her body so filled up with affection and relief that tears pushed toward the surface. She wanted to be in their midst, sitting with them near the fire,
listening to Uncle Fig and Moose tease each other, hearing Aunt Vi give orders, and watching Payton wrestle with Golly. Had they missed her? Or would they be angry at all the trouble and worry she had caused? Would they ever allow her to come to the Sweetwater again?

She struggled to take a step forward or to call out, but she was so strangled by her emotions that she couldn't. Maya stood silhouetted against the last gray light of dusk. She looked toward them … and waited to be found.

Golly saw her first. The dog's head raised and sniffed the wind. She barked and sprang in Maya's direction.

A figure stood and pointed. The others stood and their heads turned to follow Golly. For a few moments the four bodies seemed frozen. Then they all moved at
once, the smaller figure racing ahead of the others, zigzagging and jumping every few feet. She knew it was Payton. Running toward her. Closer and closer.

He stopped a few feet from her. “Maya! Is it you? We've been looking and looking. There's been helicopters and planes and search dogs and everything!”

Golly bounded around them, yelping.

Aunt Vi reached her and took her hands. She didn't seem to care that they were dirty. She kissed them anyway. “Maya! This may be the happiest day of my life!”

Maya dropped her makeshift cane and leaned into Aunt Vi's embrace and began to cry, first small sniffles and then whimpering and then sobs with hiccups.

Aunt Vi kissed her forehead. “You're burning hot with fever!”

Uncle Fig rushed up with a dish towel over his shoulder. He pulled it off and began dabbing at Maya's tears and dirty cheeks.

Their little circle opened and Moose pushed forward, his face riddled with disbelief.

Maya reached out to him. He scooped her into his arms, cradling her close.

As they all huddled together, Golly ran in circles and barked.

“Maya-bird, am I dreaming?” said Moose.

Maya wanted to say that it wasn't it dream. That it was all real and that she was so happy to be with them. And that she had missed them and thought about them every day. She wanted to tell them about Artemisia and Klee and the mountain lion. And she wanted to tell Aunt Vi she was sorry. But it was as if she had collected all of her words in
a basket, and before she could share them she'd tripped, and they had all rolled away. Now as she tried to speak, she could only find one.

Maya wrapped her arms around Moose's neck and buried her head in his chest. “Grandpa.”