The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(85)

“That would be Emmi, my sister.”

“Actually,” said Bree, “Emmi would be his cousin. But in the clan system, they’re brother and sister. Or might as well be.”

“Add it all up,” I said, “and it makes for one huge family.”

Bree laughed. “A real tribe.”

“So,” said Simon, “is Trang happy about the pinto?”

“Picked him out himself,” Reuben said. “From Great-Grandmother’s herd.”

“He’s got a good eye,” Simon said.

“He’s a long way from Vietnam,” I said. “How did he come to be in your family?”

“Quite a story, actually,” said Reuben. “When he was little, he lived in a village with his parents. Straw huts, the whole deal. One day his older brother took him fishing, and while they were gone soldiers came through, shot up the place, torched it. Killed his parents. Trang was six or so.”

“God. The poor kid,” I said.

“That’s only the half of it,” Reuben said. “After a few years, they made it to the States. His brother got a job on a shrimp boat off Louisiana and they lived there awhile. Then one day his brother was out in the Gulf when a big storm blew through. Swept him overboard.”

“Did they find him?”

Reuben shook his head. “Lost at sea. Trang waited a week till the coast guard gave up the search. When the food and money ran out, he packed up one night and hit the road.”

“Where did he think he was going?” I asked.

“West. He heard once that he had an uncle in San Francisco—it was all he had to go on. He walked, slept under overpasses and bridges. Hitched rides with truckers when he could. Some of them bought him meals. Then one morning my sister Angela—”

“Cousin Angela,” Bree murmured.

“Angela,” Reuben continued, smiling, “was tanking up at the truck stop—you know, the big one outside Grants—when she saw this skinny, scrappy kid thumbing a ride. She picked him up and brought him back here. It was supposed to be for a meal and a bed, then send him on his way in the morning. But the family took to him and he took to us. So he just . . . stayed.”

“He must be resilient as anything,” I said.

“He’s having the time of his life now,” said Reuben.


*

It was near dusk by the time the birthday gifts were presented. As the big family crowded outside the stable, I tried to pick out Trang from among them, but couldn’t.

Teenage boys came running from the direction of the river, jostling and laughing; they were among the group we’d passed playing volleyball when we’d arrived.

They pushed one boy forward—smaller than most, skinny and dark, his glossy black hair shaped in a bowl cut, black brows arching over almond eyes. He grinned up at Morgan Begay, standing at the stable door.

So this was Trang.

Begay gestured for the boy to come closer, then spoke to him. I couldn’t understand the words. Then Begay turned and entered the stable. He returned leading Shilah, by then decked out in a handsome silver-tipped leather saddle and full tack, including my hackamore.

I was surprised, though, to see the pinto’s white mane and tail covered with dozens of streaming bows of colored yarn. He looked like a rainbow on the hoof. Laurel was standing nearby with Olin and Jessie, beaming.

With others calling out encouragement, Trang stepped to the pinto’s side, slipped his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle. He kicked off and the horse vaulted forward. Off they rode—down toward the river, then along its banks—hooves throwing up hunks of snow and mud.

Laurel ran to my side. “Did you see my ribbons, Mommy?”

“Honey, I don’t think you missed a single color.”

“You know,” Simon told her, “that’s the way they deck out their horses for special ceremonies. Then they all mount up and ride across the valley. It’s a sight.”

“When’s the next one?” Laurel asked him.

“Don’t worry—you’ll see it.”


*

A waning moon was rising, fogbound and hugging the Mountain. The stinging smell of wood smoke intensified as fires lit up along the riverbank. Laurel took my hand, then Simon’s. We headed across the compound, taking our time, toward a white trailer where Begay had said a birthday cake was waiting for the kids.

The trailer door was wide-open, spilling yellow light and the voices of children. Trang sat at a kitchen table facing a big white cake with candles. A gold party hat was strapped to his head. Someone placed a toddler in his lap, and he slid a steadying arm around her.