Why the Star Stands Still (Gives Light Series) (6 page)

"Did you hear?" Mary said.  She had the air about her of a gleeful demon.  "Grandma Gives Light's coming over!  Raffy, remember that time she poured cold water in your ears because you ate candy before dinner?"

Rafael moaned miserably.

"Hi, Kaya," I said politely.

"Hello, Skylar."  Man, that woman is chic.  She could make an apron look like a fashion statement.  "When are you visiting Three Suns?"

"November, hopefully."

"Yaadi la," Kaya said with disapproval.  "Our reservations are so close to one another.  There's no excuse."

"
Cold water
, Kaya!" Mary went on.  Clearly she was ecstatic about this arrangement.  "And she told off a state trooper once when she was speeding--"

"Did she really?"

"Yeah, but she only speaks Shoshone, like hell he knew what she was saying--"

"Ah, Shoshone."

"Masukwih!  Yuhupippuh!"

"Please," I said, "make yourselves at home."

"Don't mind if I do," Mary said.  She shoved Rafael off of his rocking chair and took his place.

"Hey!"

Siblings are siblings, I guess.  It doesn't matter how old they are.  Put them in the same room and they revert to two-year-olds.

Mary and Kaya stuck around for lunch.  Kaya told us about her latest forays in the anthropology department at Dine University while Mary pretended to snore.  It was all about the music for Mary; telling her that no one was interested in signing a Native American metal band wouldn't change her mind.

"They're kind of like us," Rafael said when they had left.

I laughed, bewildered.  "What the heck do you mean?"

"Kaya's nice and smart and Mary's a dumbass."

"Don't talk about yourself that way, Rafael," I chided.

"I meant you were the dumbass, dumbass."

I checked my watch.  I loaded our dishes in the wash basin for later.  Rafael tensed immediately.

"It's time already?" he asked.

I smiled, hoping to encourage him.  "It's fine," I said.  "Just relax.  It's going to be fine."

He mumbled something that sounded oddly like "Grandma."

Rafael and I left the house together, my hand on his back, and walked across the trodden dirt path.  I could hear William Has Two Enemies' children playing among the alder trees.  Rafael drew a deep breath and I wrapped my hand around his.

We walked out to the communal firepit.  Zeke was already waiting for us there--along with a scruffy-looking little girl.

It's weird how nervous I suddenly felt.  Usually I leave the nerves up to Rafael.  But this little girl--I don't know.  She may as well have been the ambassador to the UN, for all that I was suddenly terrified of her.  Her hair was long, brown, and straight, her curly little snub nose dusted with freckles.  Her jeans looked two sizes too big for her and her shirt said, "Stop Looking at Me."  I guessed the backpack on her back carried her only possessions.

"Hey, morons," Zeke said.  "Okay?  This is Michaela."

Rafael's mouth opened and closed like a witless fish.  I elbowed him and he jolted.

I smiled at Michaela.  "I'm Skylar.  He's Rafael."

"Weird," she said.

Heaven help me, I thought, my nerves dissipating.  I could fall in love with this kid.

"Ah, man, I've gotta head downtown," Zeke said.  "I'll see you princesses later!  Michaela, don't be a brat in front of them."

Zeke turned around and darted off.  Michaela didn't acknowledge him.

I elbowed Rafael again.  No response.

"Come on," I said to Michaela.  "You can come back to our house.  I bet Zeke didn't even give you a snack, did he?"

"Are you really Indians?"

"Uh," Rafael said.  He coughed.  "Yeah, we are."

Michaela pointed at me.  "Why's he blond?"

"My mother listened to a lot of pop music," I said.

It was a joke, but I guess it wasn't a very good one.  It went right over her head.

"Why's your voice raspy?" she asked me.

"My father's Clint Eastwood," I said.

"Who?"

"Dirty Harry?"

"Harry Potter?"

What's wrong with this generation?

"Uh," Rafael said.

Michaela fixed him with a hard, unimpressed look.  "Do you talk, or do you just grunt?"

"That's the thing," I said, hoping to spare Rafael's feelings.  "He's part bull."

She didn't laugh.

"Come on," I said.  "Bet you had a long ride."

Michaela followed us in silence down the forest path.  The robins and the grackles were spirited in their treetops; occasionally I saw her looking around with what I thought might be curiosity.  Poor Rafael kept staring at the back of her head like he didn't know what to do with her.  I threw an arm around his shoulders when he wasn't looking.  He turned his head to glance at me and I winked.

I threw open the front door--I hadn't locked it, but you don't usually worry about those things in Nettlebush--and Michaela stepped inside.  She dropped her backpack on the floor and looked around.

"It's like a log cabin," she said.

"It
is
a log cabin," I said.  "When this reservation first started, everybody lived in tipis.  Once they realized the arrangement was a little more permanent, they started cutting down trees."

"Where's the bathroom?"

"There's a door through the kitchen," I said, and pointed.  "Outhouse."

Michaela gave me a very weird look.  I returned it with a silly one.  She shrugged and trundled off.

"She doesn't like me," Rafael mumbled, after we heard the outhouse door slap shut.

"Don't be silly," I returned calmly.  "She doesn't even know you yet."

I heard the creaking of the water pump outside the cabin; and then Michaela walked out from under the kitchen archway, her eyes shifting.

"Why doesn't it flush?" she asked.

"It drains," I said.  "You're fine, hon."

Rafael was dead silent.

"Okay," I said.  "How much did Zeke tell you about this reservation?"

Michaela scrunched up her face.  "The foster worker guy?  I never know what he's saying.  He always sounds like he's screaming in the middle of a mosh pit."

Rafael suddenly stood up straight.  I suppressed the urge to groan.  Not another metal fan.

"We're Shoshone," I said.  "And we probably do things a little differently from your last foster home.  Like dinner.  We all eat dinner together at nighttime.  I mean, all three hundred of us."

"Not on Sundays, though," Rafael said.  I guessed he was feeling a little more confident now that he knew they both listened to the same crappy music.

"Where's your refrigerator?" Michaela said.  "I didn't see it."

"We don't have one," I explained.

"Yeah, we use an insulated cellar," Rafael said.  "It keeps everything fresh, but it doesn't use electricity."

Michaela raised her eyebrow imperiously.

"Your bedroom's upstairs and on the right," I said.  "You can check it out later.  Do you want something to eat?"

"My bedroom?" Michaela said.

"What about?"

"You mean, I'm not sharing with four and five other kids?  Or Touchy Uncle Sal?"

Well, that was very...  "No," I said.  "No foster kids.  No Touchy Uncle Sal.  It's your room."

Her eyes darting in her head reminded me of a fox's shrewd gaze.  No doubt she was critically analyzing whatever we'd said, trying to find the trap in it.  But I guess she didn't find one, because she shrugged.

"Yeah," she said.  "I'm hungry."

"Come on," I said.

She picked up her backpack and followed us into the kitchen.  She sat down on a scrubbed pine chair and watched us with calculating eyes.

"Want to try cornmeal cookies?" I asked.

She gave me a jerky little half-nod.

I opened the cabinet above the wood-coal stove.    I took out a tied cellophane bag and set it on the table.  Michaela peered at it; she twisted it open and reached inside.

"What do you like to drink?" I asked.  "Milk?  Juice?"

"Juice," she said.

I gave Rafael a meaningful look.  Was he just going to stand there all day?

He must have caught the gist of my glance.  He strode across the kitchen and opened the icebox.

I noticed Michaela sneaking cookies into her backpack.  I can't explain why that made me feel so sad.

"Hey," I said.  She quickly dropped her backpack and sat up straight.  "Have you ever been on a raft before?"

She hesitated.  "What's that?"

Rafael set a glass of elderberry juice on the table in front of her.  "It's like a boat," he said.  "Only you don't sit in it.  You sit on it.  Every year we have a raft race in June."

"What do you think?" I said.

Michaela chewed slowly on a cornmeal cookie.  Her eyes, sharp and brown, pierced right through me.

She swallowed.

"Let's not kid ourselves," she said.  I'm surprised my jaw didn't drop open.  "I'm only here until you get sick of me and kick me to the curb."

I looked to Rafael.

Rafael cleared his throat.  "We're not kicking you out," he said.  "You can stay as long as you want."

"Even if I go crazy and start smashing all the windows?"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't," I said, "but yes, even if you go crazy and start smashing all the windows."

"I don't believe you," Michaela said.

"Then go ahead," I said.  "Smash a window."

"He's joking," Rafael said quickly.

"I'm not," I replied.  "I put the windows together.  It wouldn't be too difficult to make new ones.  I should warn you, though," I said to Michaela, "whatever you break, you're cleaning up the mess."

She seemed to consider her options.

"I'm good," she said, grimacing.  She took another cookie.

When she had finished eating, she trailed upstairs to get a look at her room.  I started cleaning up around the kitchen.  Rafael raked his hands through his hair.

"Would you relax?" I said.

"I don't know what to do with her.  I thought I'd know what to do.  I thought it would be like dealing with Charity."

"Charity's not your daughter," I said.  "She's your sister."  Well, cousin.  Shoshone regard their cousins as though they're siblings.  "That's a very different matter from being responsible for a child.  Give it time, Rafael.  You didn't love me at first sight, did you?"

"No," he said.  "But I thought you were hot."

"I'll never understand you," I said, warmed.

That was when I heard it--a loud crash upstairs.

I don't think Rafael or I wasted a second tearing out of the kitchen and up to the second floor.  We threw open Michaela's door, the door already ajar.  And there she was, standing by the bookcase, a book-shaped hole in the window.

"Sorry," she murmured.  "It slipped."

Rafael's face went from bewildered to outrageous in a matter of seconds.  I squeezed his arm.

"That's fine," I told Michaela.  "You can sleep in the sitting room until I fix it."

She nodded.

"Go downstairs," I said.  "There's a dustpan in the closet.  You can clean up the glass."

I wish I could say the rest of the day went smoothly.  Oh, there weren't any more broken windows--not that I'm aware of--but for the most part, Michaela holed herself up in her room and only ever came outside if she needed the outhouse.  Except for a visit from the jittering Carole Svensen, the tedium remained uninterrupted.

Dad and Racine stopped by for dinner.  So did Rafael's aunt and uncle, Rosa and Gabriel.

Gabriel was nearing his fifties, but his honest, friendly face was as youthful as when I'd first met him.  Rosa, too, reminded me of a child's cornhusk doll; sweet, innocent, wiser than words.

"Hey, Ro," Racine said.  "Where's Charity?"

"With Mary," Rosa said meekly.

"You sure she's still alive?" Rafael said sourly.

Dad, Racine, and Gabriel went into the sitting room to listen to the radio.  Rosa and Rafael helped me cook.  Rafael and I aren't exactly what you'd call culinary experts, so I guess I should say Rosa took the helm.  Mostly I just let those two handle whatever dishes involved meat.  I don't eat meat, so I'm certainly not going to take part in cooking it.

"How is the little girl?" Rosa asked.

"She broke a window," Rafael muttered.

Rosa looked quickly his way.

"She's been through a lot," I said.  "She just needs time to settle in.  I'm sure she's still convinced we're going to abandon her."

"But we're not," Rafael said.

"She doesn't know that yet," I said.  "Give her time."