Why the Star Stands Still (Gives Light Series) (26 page)

Her brown hair was flecked with gray; the lines around her eyes could have been laugh lines just as easily as wrinkles.

"Honey?" Mickey asked, when she shimmied back down the tree.  Mini leapt and batted at the tall blades of grass.

Mrs. Siomme showed Mickey to the red maple tree on the other side of the paddock, its full, dagger-shaped leaves a shade of luscious crimson.  Mrs. Siomme took a matchbook out of her jeans pocket.  I knew what came next; the smoke from the match would lull the bees to sleep, and Mrs. Siomme would pluck the honeycomb right out of their hive.

Rafael's arm snaked around my hips.  He leaned against me, comfortably, and a kind of peace washed over me, an unprecedented peace I didn't even recognize by sight.

"Our daughter is awesome," he said.  "And kickass."

"She must get that from me," I mused.

I felt his mouth on the crook of my neck, his lips parted in a grin.  I grabbed a handful of his shirt.  I shoved his shoulder.

"Ass," he said.

"Oh, no," I said.  "Henry Siomme, ten o'clock."

"Where?"

I pointed at the paddock fence closed to the silo.  The charming little monster hopped the wooden gate, his ponytail bobbing behind him.  He strode over to his mother and Mickey, his hands in his back pockets, a friendly smile on his face.  I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he gestured at one of the mares.

"Oh, no," I said again.

"He's gonna kidnap her by horseback," Rafael whispered; he sounded stricken, like we had already lost her.

Mickey trundled over to us through the grass.  I felt Mini brush against my ankle.  Perhaps we were fighting on the same side of the war this time.

"Sky," Mickey said.  "Rafael.  Can I ride a horse with Henry?"

I watched the internal dilemma play out across Rafael's face.  He was a boy once.  He didn't trust boys.  He knew all about the inner workings of their devious minds.  But if he denied her--would she sulk?  Would she be sad?  And really, how can you deny that sweet little face?

I pat Rafael on the back; he started.  "Sure you can," I said to Mickey.  "But make sure you hold onto him very tightly."

"
What?
" Rafael demanded.

"Rafael, she's ten."

Mickey gave Rafael a weird look.  She shrugged as an afterthought and loped back to Henry.  Henry whispered to her and the two of them ran to the barn.

"A woman's heart can't be tamed," Mrs. Siomme told us gravely.  She tucked the sticky honeycomb into my basket and sent us on our way with pats to our shoulders.

Rafael and I trailed off the ranch and out to the countryside.  We found his family sitting under a smoke tree.  Have you ever seen one of those?  They're pretty amazing:  Tall and spiny, trunks the shade of bronze, spindled branches covered in soft, blurry, ashen gray leaves.

"Where's Grandma Gives Light?" I asked.  I sat down between Mary and Charity.

"She's over there singing with the old folks," Charity said kindly.  She pointed at the distant circle of elderly Shoshone.  They slapped their hands against their hand drums and sang Yepani Hupia.  "Our autumn, our rebirth," they sang in Shoshone.  "The sun is heading south."  They were so stern about it, so particular, they sounded to me as though they were on the warpath.

We lit a small kindling fire and roasted apples beneath the smoke tree.  Like flies to honey, Zeke Owns Forty came racing over.

"Hey!" he said, and sat down.  It wasn't long before Holly shuffled after him, looking sullen.  She always looks sullen.  One month to go before they married.  I guess that's a reason to look sullen right there.

"Zeke," I said, "you mentioned something about a homestudy?"

"Oh, yeah," he said.  He helped himself to an apple and bit noisily into the soft flesh.  Charity winced politely.  "I can write one up today if you want."  Juice dribbled down his chin.  "So you're gonna adopt her, huh?  I'll bring the papers by later!"

"Rafael," Gabriel said, in his "I'm about to impart some wisdom" voice.  "I've watched you grow from a boy to a man.  And I'm very proud of you--"

"A boy to a man?" Mary cut in.  "I don't remember this mythical man we're talking about.  Are you sure we lived in the same house?"

"Mary!" Rafael said through his teeth.

"P.S., your kid's screwed," Mary said cheerfully.

"Oh, they've had her for some months now," Charity said.  "And she seems to be alive still.  Mary, may your little sister have a roasted apple?"

"Only if you go dancing."

"Dancing" in Shoshone is a euphemism for sudden death.  I've got to assume that's what Mary was trying to say.

"I notice you didn't think to adopt a kid," Holly said to Mary.

"Damn right I didn't.  What would I want with a kid?  I can't be bothered feeding it and cleaning up after it."

"You sound like you're talking about a dog," Annie said, when she came over and sat with us, Elizabeth and Celia in her arms.

"Same difference.  But really, Little Hawk, you're getting knocked up all the time.  It's kind of like you're making up for my deficit!"

"Yes, Mary," Annie said.  "I get pregnant
just
so you don't have to."

Dad and Racine were the next to join our happy little circle, Dad's arms wrapped around a sizable pumpkin.  Dad likes jack-o-lanterns almost as much as he likes cats.  Rafael threw him a look of sympathy and the pair of them sat down on the sparse brown grass.

"I can't wait to visit the Hopi," Racine said.  She cackled and clapped her hands.  "They hand out all that piki bread.  I don't have to do any baking for months..."

"I don't remember you ever baking," Dad murmured.  Racine shot him a warning look and he shrank in apology.

I heard hooves cantering down the country lane.  I looked up and saw Mickey and Henry astride the chestnut mare, the reins in Henry's hands.  Henry pulled the mare to a placid stop; he climbed off the saddle and helped Mickey down from the stirrups.  Rafael was as alert as a watchdog, inspecting Mickey for bumps and bruises.

"Guys!"  Face flushed bright, excitement in her eyes, Mickey dashed over to us.  "That was so cool!  We rode around the farms, and the canals, and even by the badlands--"

"The badlands?" Rafael said.  "I'll kill him--"

"I'm
fine
," Mickey said.  And I joined in:  "She's in one piece, isn't she?"  And Charity chewed on an apple and waved at her.

"Horses are so cool," Mickey said, and sat down with us.  "I want to take care of horses when I grow up."

I saw Dad smiling at her, feeble though his smile was.  "You know," he said.  "Before we had horses, we used to train wolves to do their work."

"Wolves?" Mickey said, her eyes wide.

"He's right, actually," Gabriel chimed in, cheerful as could be.  "There weren't any horses in America until the Spanish came along.  So that's...what, late 1500s?  Early 1600s?"

"And oftentimes," Dad said, "when we were traveling the Plains, we had a very heavy load to bring with us.  And we couldn't carry it ourselves.  So we built sleds."

"And you tied wolves to the sleds?" Mickey asked.

"It started with a litter of wolf pups," Dad said.  "It's been said that many years ago, the chief of the tribe, Twice a Mother, found newborn wolves whose parents had been killed by bears."

"Stupid bears," Mickey grumbled.

"Twice a Mother raised the helpless wolves to adulthood.  And because wolves are very impressionable when they're young, they got along quite well with the humans who had reared them.  And although most people nowadays will tell you that wolves can't be tamed, that's actually not true.  The trick is that wolves prefer to talk with their eyes, not their ears.  They don't want you giving them verbal commands like 'Sit,' 'Stay,' 'Roll over,' the way a dog does.  And because we Plains People knew sign language before anyone else did--"

"Really?" Mickey asked.

"Yes, we invented it," Dad said.

"Not you," I said, and threw him an impish little smile.

Dad colored.  He'd never understood sign language, though not for lack of trying; he was, as he insisted, a very poor learner.  "Anyway," he said.  "It was because of sign language that we could communicate with the wolves.  So we harnessed the wolves to our sleds, and they pulled the sleds for us across the Great Plains with ease.  And our children would sit atop the sleds and watch the terrain pass them by.  We called it bia'isa-soto--'wolf-drag.' "

"That sounds like so much fun..." Mickey said.

"You know what?" Racine said.  "Skylar raised a coywolf."

Mickey turned on me.  "You did?"

I smiled sheepishly.  "When he was a baby."

"Where is he now?"

"He grew up and passed away.  But his pups still come around the house every now and then.  Maybe you'll meet them sometime."

At the words "passed away," Mickey looked warily around.  She scooped Mini onto her lap and stroked the back of her head.

We went home around noon and Mickey sat at the kitchen table, scribbling a goofy face onto the pumpkin with a thick, black marker.  Carole stopped by with the addresses of legislators from Delaware.  I don't know why that girl can't just e-mail me.

"Want to make honey with us, Carole?" I asked.  "You can take some home with you."

Carole sputtered.  "Um..."

I cleaned off the kitchen counter.  Carole and Mickey and I washed our hands--Rafael sat boorishly at the table, reading a book--and scraped the wax off the honeycomb.  We crushed the comb with our fingers.

"Here," Mickey said, and threw the wax at Carole's shoulder.  Carole screamed.

By night, Rafael and Mickey and I settled down in the sitting room and listened to a serial on the radio.  Dinner was in a couple of hours, but for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel remotely like leaving the house.  I wasn't sure about Rafael--he falls into a foul, black mood if you keep him indoors for too long--but then that's why we built the sitting room with such airy windows: to keep his temper at bay.

"Hey," Rafael said to Mickey.  "Wanna see something?"

"Sure," Mickey said.  She set Mini on the floor and padded over to Rafael's armchair.  Curiosity got the better of me; I looked over, too.

Rafael pushed his sleeve up to his elbow.  He pulled the pilot whale bracelet out of the way.  That was when I saw the new tattoo on his wrist.  Just one word:  Mickey.

"Well, that's..." Mickey started, but never finished.

"You've got my blood in you," Rafael said, "and now I've got your name on me."

"And you've got Sky's name, too.  I saw it on your neck."  Mickey turned on me.  "And you've got freckles, just like me."

"I do," I said, and smiled.

"It's like we're really a family!" Mickey exclaimed.  She instantly blushed.

"I like the sound of that," I said.  If I smiled any harder, maybe my face would crack in half.  "A family.  Don't you?"

Rafael picked up his book and pretended to read.  I knew better.

"I never had a dad before," Mickey said.  She toyed casually with the hem of her red sleeve.  Oh, did I know better.

Mickey looked up when she thought it was safe, peeking between her fringe.

"So...it would be kind of cool to have two dads," she said.

"I wouldn't know," I said.  "But I'd have to agree with you."

Rafael closed his book.  Why was he trying to hide his smile?  I swear, the only way those two could be more alike is if she had sprung from his loins.

"M'gonna make dinner," Rafael announced.

"Oh, God, no," I said.

Mickey burst into delighted little giggles.  She settled down next to me on the sofa.  "We should have the fire department on speed dial," she told me.

"First we need a phone," I said seriously.

Rafael scowled at the both of us and trudged into the kitchen.  That was when I heard a knock on the front door.

"Huh," said Mickey, puzzled.  "Do you think Carole came back for more honey?"

"Maybe she came back so you'd throw the wax at her again," I said.  I stood up and headed into the front room, Mickey following me.

I swung open the front door and found Zeke standing on the other side, a stack of papers clutched in his hands.

"Zeke," I said warmly.  I stepped back to let him in.  "Why did you knock?"  In Nettlebush, you never knock on a friend's door.  You just walk right in.

Zeke walked right past me.  I thought he looked a little preoccupied.  Maybe he had had another fight with Holly.  I closed the door.

"Is Rafael around?" he asked.

Rafael stuck his head out through the kitchen door.  "You wanna stick around for hotbread?" he asked Zeke.

"I love hotbread," Mickey piped up.

"Wasn't talking to you, brat."

"Bite me, moron."

"Guys," Zeke said.

By now I was starting to worry.  I've known Zeke since I was a kid.  I know when something's wrong with him.