The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(83)

I wouldn’t have contradicted her.


*

By the time we made it to the ranch on the valley floor, it was past noon. Morgan Begay met us as we rode up and directed some of the many children on the premises to tend to our horses as Simon unhitched the bundle.

“I’ll show you where to put that,” Begay said, gesturing for us to follow. A few curious children trailed after us.

He led us to a long stable that was nearly empty; his main herd was out to pasture. Begay nodded toward one of the stalls. “What do you think?”

As we neared, a head popped up and slung over the stall gate. It was the prettiest pinto I’d ever seen: a quarter horse with dark brown and pure white markings, brushed and curried till he glowed like polished wood.

Laurel stretched up to touch the horse’s muzzle; he dipped his head so she could reach. “He’s beautiful,” she said. The children who’d followed us inside giggled.

“Think my son will like him?” Begay asked her.

“I think so. What’s his name?”

“The horse? His name is Shilah. It means ‘Brother.’ My son’s name is Trang.”

The name of his son didn’t surprise me. Simon had already explained that Trang wasn’t Navajo, but Vietnamese—an adopted son. But he hadn’t said how he’d come into the family.

“Tell me,” Begay asked Laurel. “Have you ever seen a sheep up close before?”

When Laurel shook her head, Begay said something in Navajo to the children nearby.

“They will show you around, if you like,” he told her. “Show you the cook shed, too, where the food is.”

“Go have fun, honey,” I told her. “I’ll find you later.”

Then Laurel and the children were gone, the dogs hard at their heels.

“I could do with some mutton stew myself,” Olin said.

“Up to the house, then,” said Begay.

The main house was large and rambling and stood out from the smaller structures on both sides of the river. Some of those structures were more modest homes and trailers; the rest were work buildings, barns or sheds.

There was also a hogan on the far slope, distinct for its rough, round shape. I’d seen them before on the reservation, but had never been inside one. I knew they were traditional Navajo dwellings of wood and mud, usually with six or eight sides. By tradition, the doorway faces east. Some Navajo still lived in them, but in more modern times they were usually used only for ceremonies.

Begay led us on, past empty sheep pens and corrals, past a volleyball net strung between two bare trees where teenagers lobbed a ball back and forth.

At the main house, we were hit with a wave of warmth and noise as Begay led us into rooms packed with people. The aroma of roasting meat made my stomach growl. Olin followed Begay to the food table, while Simon disappeared with our coats.

“Jo!”

Bree was moving toward us; she gave me a quick hug, then did the same to Jessie. “You made it! Met the family yet?”

“We just got here,” I said. “I wouldn’t know who’s family and who isn’t.”

“Darlin’, they’re all family.”

“All?”

“That’s the clan system—everyone’s your brother or your sister, your auntie or uncle, grandmother or grandfather. That’s why you’re not allowed to marry someone from your own clan—too close for comfort. Lucky for Reuben, I came along, huh?”

“Wedding all set, honey?” Jessie asked.

“Every bit of it. Just show up and have fun. Less than two weeks from now—can you believe it?”

Actually, I couldn’t. Back at the quilting bee, I wouldn’t have believed we’d still be here by now. That Laurel would be thriving like this. Or me.

“Come on,” said Bree. “I want you to meet the newest member of the family.”

She led us through the crowd to a small bedroom where a handful of young people had gathered. In the center of the room was a lean, angular man whose age I couldn’t begin to guess. His wire-rim glasses made him look collegiate, but there was silver in the long black hair flowing down his back, bound loosely at the nape with a leather cord. He was cradling a newborn in the crook of one arm, rocking from side to side. Reuben was standing with him.

The baby began to fuss, and the father broke into a song that seemed half lullaby, half chant as he bounced the baby lightly in time to the music. By the end of the song, the baby was calmer, staring at his father with a frown of concentration.