43
ANDY WEARS ISAAC’S BLUE-AND-WHITE-CHECKERED shirt. We’re standing on the banks of the Yellow River, far enough away from the falls that we no longer hear its pounding. The water, which fought me only a week ago, now moves guiltlessly along. Andy shows me the remains of her bracelet, which she found back at Isaac’s camp. The rock with the hole is missing. “I think Isaac took it to Tommy,” she tells me.
A few days ago, Ian’s body floated down the shore—well, most of him, his back broken and his belly split open. Later that same day, Angus followed, missing his head. I don’t care to think about the details of his condition. Just as with Ty Yorkshire, one day I will have to answer for my role in his death, whether in this world or the next, and I can only pray that God will be merciful.
For now, I am content that God saw fit to keep my own body intact. Perhaps He has carved out a path for me whose general direction is up, despite troublesome corners, and perhaps luck is not a sticker in my boot after all. After a thousand miles of trail, it seems to me that good luck is always just a few steps ahead of bad, and maybe the amount one receives of either simply depends on the distance traveled.
We didn’t find Isaac. I imagine that, like the falcon, Isaac flew away faster than death could reach him.
Cay holds a bouquet of wildflowers as we all stare at the river. “Dear God, I’m sorry I never knew the man, but he must have been a good one, since you cut him from the same cloth as Andy here.” He studies the bouquet. “I s’pect one day, when we do meet, he’ll knock me sideways for risking his sister’s neck during that stampede, and when that happens, I’ll remember I had it coming.” He plucks out a single stalk of freesia and throws it into the river, then hands the remainder of the bunch to Andy.
Andy puts her nose into the bouquet and inhales. “Isaac, I know you’s with Tommy now.” She sniffs and her eyes brim with tears, setting off my own. “The only reason I can figure you’s up there and not here is ’cause Tommy needs you more than me.” Her voice breaks and a fat tear travels down her cheek. “Well. Take care of each other, boys. Amen.” She casts the whole bouquet into the river. The stems separate, and the river scatters them.
Peety enfolds her under his arm. After a moment, she shakes him off. “I think I’ll go for a ride.”
“I’ll come with you,” I say.
“Not a good idea,” says West, following so close he nearly collides with me when I stop. “The two of you pick up trouble like bad habits.”
“Agree. Plus, Chinita’s wrist is broken. How she going to ride?” asks Peety. He sweeps his arm as he bows to Andy. “It will be my pleasure to accompany you.”
As he begins to whistle for Lupe, Andy tugs his fingers away from his lips. “Sammy and I will double ride on Lupe. I do know how to ride a horse, you know.”
“Well then, we’ll follow you,” says West. “This is the Haystacks. You ain’t the only criminals up here, you know.”
Andy throws up her hands. “We might take a bath.”
“Even better,” says Peety, elbowing West. The two of them start hauling up their saddles.
Groaning, Andy shakes her hat at them. “All right. But keep a hundred paces behind.”
Cay raises his hand. “I volunteer to be le chaperon.”
West swats him in the chest. “Sit down and watch the camp.”
With a grumble, Cay plops down into the grass and leans his cheek against his fist. “There’s something wrong with this picture.”
The great Andalusian carries Andy and me toward the grass-covered hills. I twist around and see Peety and West following, small as ginseng roots. A family of bison grazes peacefully near a shallow slice of water with steam rising off the top. Their bodies are twice as big as longhorn cattle, tufts of blackish-brown hair sticking out in patches all over their hides. They don’t even lift their heads as we pass.
A week of being waited on hand and foot has been good for both of us. Andy pulled a shoulder muscle wrestling me out of the pool behind the waterfall, all by herself. I don’t remember any of it. She used a sweetheart knot in the rope that saved my life.
“Told you that knot was good for catching sparrows,” Cay had said.
“The boys showed up a few hours later,” Andy told me. “West wouldn’t let you go, kissing you all over your face. I was afraid you was gonna suffocate. But I couldn’t do much about it. I had my own problemo to deal with.” She didn’t bother holding in her smile.
Lupe takes us to a pond surrounded by fir trees. The water sparkles like a sapphire brooch pinned to the earth. We dismount.
“This is one of those bubbly pools I was telling you about,” Anname says. “Come on, let’s get in.”
I step out of Peety’s new boots, which Andy had stuffed with socks.
She helps me undress. The rope tore up my hands, but they’re slowly healing. We keep on our underthings just in case our two bad habits decide to check in. The pines stand guard and a swath of blue sky covers us.
We slip into the water. It’s warm, almost hot. The steam rises in wisps the way down feathers do when you fluff the pillows. I haven’t had a warm bath since, well, the day I first met Andy.
Her clear eyes focus on the ripples around her, like she’s reading tea leaves. The bruises on her neck have turned yellow, and beads of water spread across her nose.
My chest tightens as I think about my guardian angel with the die branded on her arm. When God took away my father, he gave me a sister. She taught me how to be strong, how to thump my tail.
“That West grew a few inches,” she says. “Though he forgets how to work his feet when he’s around you. I’d be careful.” Under the surface she goes.
I laugh. West is a new man, walking taller and whistling a lot. Every morning, I wake up tucked under his arm.
Andy reemerges and slings water off her head. “Peety asked me if I’d like to be the wife of a wealthy ranchero. Told me I wouldn’t have to lift a pinkie ’cept when I drank my chocolate. Also said he didn’t want children. His horses are his ni?as.”
“What’d you say?” I ask.
“I said, it sounds boring.” She laughs, and the beads on her nose drip down to her cheeks. “Then he says, ‘You’ll never be boring with me.’” She leans back and closes her eyes.
“And?” I coax, wanting to splash her.
She opens one eye. “And I said, ‘Okay, then.’”
I let out a yelp, and this time, I do splash her. She dishes it back, even though she knows I can only use one hand.
Then we float, side by side, and watch the animal clouds chase one another across the deep blue. I point. “Look, a dragon.”
Andy squints. “Looks more like a frying pan to me.”
She never did embrace her Dragon heritage. The dragon stretches out until it’s two separate pieces, and soon it’s nothing but ghostly wisps. “Just like life.”
“What?”
“The clouds. They never hold still. Sometimes you think you’re seeing one thing, and a second later, the whole picture changes.”
“But we don’t have to let the clouds change us for the worse. We can just let them roll over us.” She frowns and her nose begins to twitch. “If those Scots hadn’t come along, you think Isaac would’ve jumped?”
“I think . . . ” I say slowly, “‘God makes our bodies want to live, no matter what our minds want to do.’”
“Yeah,” she breathes. In a sassier tone, she adds, “Those are some pretty wise words. Musta been someone ingenious told you that.”
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