St. Clair (Gives Light Series) (2 page)

lawyers."

But I can't talk
, I pointed out again.
And lawyers

kind of...well, they talk a lot.

Mr. Red Clay smiled knowingly. "You're thinking

about the ones you see on TV, running from

courtroom to courtroom. Who do you think writes

the laws that Congress passes? Your grammar

could use some work, I'll give you that, but I don't

see why you can't write."

I hadn't really thought about that.

Isn't college kind of expensive?
I asked. It didn't

seem fair to me to leech the tribal fund like that.

"There are scholarships to help Native Americans

pursue higher education. I could submit your

name."

A wave of guilt washed over me.
Please don't do

that
, I signed. Dad's name was on my birth

certificate, but his blood wasn't in my veins.

"I want you to think about it," Mr. Red Clay said.

"But you're not going anywhere just yet. You've

still got one more year left with me. You can use

that time to figure out where you're headed.

Alright?"

Thank you, sir
.

"You can go home now. Have a good summer,

Skylar."

I waved after him and started down the path to the

woods.

The sunlight in the forest was green, filtered by the

canopies of the tall beech trees. I veered

southeast--or tried to; I've always been crummy

with directions. Eventually I heard the bubbling of

a cold, smooth creek; I saw the drooping tendrils

of an exquisite willow tree. I knew the rock cave

was close. I followed the creek to the cool,

shadowy overgrowth of the grotto.

I dropped my bookbag on the soil and sat next to

Aubrey Takes Flight.

"Oh, Skylar, hello!" he said, as cheerful as you can

imagine. His hair was the shortest on the

reservation; he'd worn it long until it started getting

in the way of his farm work. He adjusted his Coke

bottle glasses and peered at me through them like a

nutty scientist. "Are you signing up for summer

driving lessons?"

Granny's afraid I'll run us off the road
, I joked.

Aubrey was maybe the fastest learner on the

reservation; in a year he had grown almost as

fluent in ASL as Annie, his girlfriend. He gave me

a grievous, very understanding nod. "Yes, I know

what you mean," he said seriously. "Reuben--my

oldest brother--he tried to drive once. Tore down

a stop sign in the process."

I bit back a laugh and pat Aubrey on the shoulder.

"I've got lunch," Annie sang, and came out of the

cave with a bowl of cornmeal cookies.

"Gimme," said Rafael, coming up on the creek.

Rafael had the biggest sweet tooth known to

mankind.

There's nothing quite so pleasant, so peaceful, as

sitting with your best friends and watching the

freshwater run by, listening to the songs of the

windchimes high up in the boughs of the trees.

Still, I thought, something was missing.

"Hello, ladies!"

Oh, I thought. There it is.

Zeke Owns Forty came ambling through the trees

with a frantic smile, swinging his arms and

clapping his hands behind his back.

Annie sighed and set her cookie aside. "I'm not

hungry anymore."

"Zeke," Rafael greeted distastefully.

"Hello, how are you?" said Aubrey.

I waved.

Zeke sat with us by the running water. A raft race

was coming up in a few weeks, and we all started

taking early bets on which team was going to win.

Aubrey shared a bag of orange slices with Annie

and she giggled, her face flushed. Zeke and I got

into a ridiculous stone skipping contest and I was

pleased when Zeke's rock sank to the bottom of the

creek. Rafael tried to read aloud to us from his

new favorite book--
If on a winter's night a

traveler
--and was met with four different protests.

Well, three. Aubrey was too polite to protest.

This mundanity--this triviality--it was heaven to

me. For many years, it was something I had lacked

and longed for. And now I had it--and I would

never stop being grateful.

Annie picked up my wrist and perused the hour on

my wristwatch. She unfolded her legs and stood.

"Well," she said amiably, "I had better head home

and warm up supper."

"Really?" Zeke said. "Aw, man..."

"How the hell do you have dinner cooked

already?" Rafael asked.

"Annie, you're amazing," Aubrey said solemnly.

I mussed up Aubrey's hair and grinned.
Smooth.

"You boys are ridiculous," Annie said, though I

noticed how pleased she looked at Aubrey's

compliment. "I'll see you tomorrow morning,

Skylar, won't I?"

Bright and early
, I signed. Now that school was

out for the summer, Annie and I were going to

pitch in cooking dinners for the reservation. I

thought it was nice to give Mrs. In Winter a break

for a few months, especially with that impressive

brood of hers.

"Aww, what the hell is Deaf-o saying?" Zeke

complained. "I don't know the hand stuff!"

"He's not deaf, you moron," Rafael said harshly.

I picked up the plains flute I wore around my neck

and playfully blew shrill air in Zeke's face.

Annie went home for the afternoon, and the rest of

us didn't last long without her. Zeke remembered

that a horse on Ms. Siomme's ranch had thrown her

shoe and he'd said he would replace it. Rafael,

who loved horses, invited himself to tag along.

Then Aubrey figured he should head back to his

family's farm and get the soybeans planted in the

ground before it was too late.

"Skylar, you can help me, if you'd like!"

I couldn't very well say no to that.

I walked with Aubrey through the woods; we

chatted, for a while, about the upcoming pauwau in

July, and how excited he was that we were

bringing back the smoke dance. We headed to the

rolling farmland out west, lush, smooth, cultivated

plains resting under a hot June sun and stark white

clouds.

"And here we are!" Aubrey said--like I didn't

already know what his home looked like. He

pushed open the iron gates preceding the vast,

cultivated grounds and the towering farm manor.

"You can go inside and get the seeds from the

cellar. They're labeled, don't worry. I'll get our

tools!"

Aubrey trailed off to the shed east of his house. I

climbed up the porch steps and found the manor's

front door already open. That's usually the way it

is in Nettlebush; everybody knows everybody, so

there's no reason to lock your door or knock.

The farm manor was a really pleasant house. The

walls were dark wood panels, a ceiling fan

spinning lazily in the foyer. I went into the kitchen,

where the bay window stood wide open; I could

hear the ducks plashing in the pond outside. Mrs.

Takes Flight was reading a magazine by sunlight,

her little granddaughter, Serafine, playing with

wood blocks on the floor. Mrs. Takes Flight

blustered and smiled warmly at me. I waved,

smiling back. It was uncanny how alike mother

and son were.

I met Aubrey on the lawn a few minutes later, a

heavy crate of seeds in my arms. Aubrey was

carrying a pair of rakes and a pair of spades.

"We'll go to the plot out back," he said kindly.

"The one out front's all filled up."

He led me around the back of his house. I laughed

to hear the cows lowing in their pasture while they

grazed. The sun hit us suddenly, merciless and

strong. I knew it was only a matter of time before

my skin flaked and peeled. I'd have to cull more

lavender oil when I went home.

We walked through the straw scarecrows. Aubrey

pointed out a big stretch of flat soil between the

rows of hilled earth. We set the crate and the

rakes on the ground. "Some farms use tractors, but

we prefer to do it by hand," Aubrey said.

He picked up his spade and showed me how to till

the soil.

I have to say that I earned a newfound respect for

Aubrey and his family that afternoon. Dragging a

spade through soil sounds easy enough; but if you

can imagine trying to break up a block of cement

with nothing but a fork, that'll give you a more

accurate picture of what it really entails. Aubrey

made it look like child's play when he dug up the

dry, hard ground and freed the fresh earth

underneath. I imitated him in the next row over,

and about ten minutes in, my arms felt like they

were falling out of their sockets. He was kind

enough to wait for me whenever I needed to stop

and take a breath, which was more often than I'd

like to admit. I threw a clod of dirt playfully at his

shoulder.

Once the soil was tilled, we went about sprinkling

the soybean seeds in the ground. "Another reason

we don't like to use tractors," Aubrey yelled from

his row, without losing breath, "is that they draw

the crows out of hiding!" That task finished, we

picked up the rakes and dragged the dirt across the

seeds, covering them up. This part was much

easier, although we got distracted midway and

pretended our rakes were lightsabers. Aubrey was

a big Lucas fan.

It was almost evening when Aubrey put down his

rake and picked up the seed crate. I gathered the

dirty tools in my hands. "That's enough for now,"

Aubrey said cheerfully. "I'll let Reuben and Isaac

sow the rest. Could you open the canal gates? Just

a little bit, I'll tell you when to shut them." So I

did; and it was kind of neat to watch the pond

water trickling across the farm, feeding the

immature crops. We dropped off the rakes and the

spades in the tool shed--Aubrey said his dad

would clean them later--and went inside for a

drink of water. Or, in Aubrey's case, orange

juice. I worried about the dirt we'd trailed inside.

I pointed at the floor, but Mrs. Takes Flight waved

away my qualms. I guessed dirt was a recurring

visitor around here.

"I'll see you at dinner, Skylar! Thanks for the

help!"

I ruffled Aubrey's hair, dirt and all, and showed

him a cheeky grin.

It was about five o'clock when I headed home for

the day. I walked past the houses with their

clotheslines and butter churns, past the communal

firepit. I smiled when I saw my grandmother's

loom on the lawn outside our log cabin and a

grackle sitting on the sundial, his purple-black

plumage glistening in the afternoon glow.

I went around back to the outhouse and the water

pump and ran my hands and head under the cold,

running water. I shook the water free from my

dripping, curly hair.

A coywolf came running to me from the pinyon

pines.

I reached for Balto with both hands and tousled his

ears. I scratched underneath his muzzle, his

favorite spot. It shocked me when I realized he

was no longer the puppy I had found in the woods

last year, abandoned by his pack. His body was

lithe and limber, larger than a coyote's, but smaller

than a wolf's. His pelt, too, was a mixture of both

animals, sandy gold from the coyote's side

interspersed with smoky gray from the wolf's. His

ears were big and round; his jaws were predatory

and strong. He was all grown up.

I clapped my hands twice and he followed me to

the front lawn. I picked up Granny's loom and

carried it up the porch and through the front door.

Balto followed me inside the house, his nails

skittering audibly on the wood floor.

Granny was in the sitting room with three of her

friends, drinking iced spicewood tea. She took

one look and me and shot out of her chair.

"Look at you, trailing dirt all over my home! Go

take a bath. You can sweep the floor when you're

finished."

Granny was a very tiny old woman, her white hair

in a long braid and her eyes a water-gray. She

wore a lightweight elkskin dress and a painted