Diamonds at Dawn Read online

  on the front porch

  on watch in the silent snow,

  I was certain that time had stopped.

  The sky and the earth had merged into one cold sphere.

  Then the crystals began to fall, and I learned that day

  That time stops for no one.

  The men came to take her body away.

  And long after they left,

  Sicheii stood in the doorway

  Tears chasing crystals that no one could catch.

  (found on the snow-covered hillside)

  Chapter 3

  I used to speed date. The annual Gathering of Nations Pow-Wow was my playground. Here’s how it worked. Since I am a math wizard (really only in situations like this), I figured four days is four dates. The first day is the Miss Indian World Pageant. I never enter, just sit back in the seats, in a T-shirt and jeans, text my aunties and look like I don’t care. Somewhere between the talent competition and the dance competition I make eye contact with a boy, just enough to get him interested in fabricating some random question, so he can win the seat next to me. And then by the time they’re honoring the new queen with a beaded crown, tasseled shawl, and pottery trophy, I have him following me around for the rest of the day like a puppy. Day 2: Rinse, lather, and repeat.

  I wonder why I don’t enter. The girls are beautiful, inside and out, and know so much about their cultures. They speak their languages, know their traditions, and have the full support of their families. And then I realize that’s it—that’s why I don’t enter.

  My phone has a mad list of boys. But I’m not proud scrolling it. It’s empty. I used to imagine myself as a dagha runner like Sicheii in his youth, dashing from hilltop to hilltop by moonlight to greet the morning sun. Each boy represented a mile-marker on the journey to whatever is supposed to exist in the light after Ama. But each mile set me back. Each mile set me back so far that I came full circle—to a place where I don’t feel. But with Chad, it’s different. He knows me. He sees me.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Hey,” Sicheii says through the door. “It’s Sunday.” As you can tell, Sicheii is a man of few words. But he doesn’t need to say much. Sunday is handmade cinnamon rolls; fresh scrambled eggs, like so fresh that we don’t eat until just past ten ’cause that’s when the chickens finish laying; Grandma Alice’s homegrown hash browns; and whatever else caught her eye in the greenhouse.

  “I’m on it,” I call back through the door.

  Within minutes we’re standing on Cassie’s front porch. But something’s not right. Normally, she has the door off its hinges by now and has hugged everyone in sight, with her Grandma Alice and Grandpa Norm by her side. But me and Sicheii, along with some scruffy old barn cat that adopted the whole Jennings clan last week, are left mewing at the door. Well, not exactly, but you get the picture.

  I knock again.

  Cassie opens her door narrowly and with her best expressionless face says, “Hey,” all casual, which is definitely not something she’s good at. Then she can’t contain herself, and she opens the door wider.

  Chad stands close behind her with a sexy new haircut, dirty-blond, trimmed close on the sides and long on top. His sage V-neck sweater is enough to make his emerald eyes pop and a girl dream. His hands are jammed in the front pockets of his close fitting jeans with enough force to show the flex in his biceps and triceps. One of his milk white top teeth catches his bottom lip in a sweet grin.

  But wait. Let me put this scene on pause.

  Let’s go back to Speed Dating.

  I thought if I ever got desperate and wanted to sell my secret formula, my top ten surefire ways to get him hooked on you, it would go something like this:

  You gotta have swagger—of course girl-style. So you remember I said I was dressed down in those jeans at the pow-wow? You gotta work those jeans in your favor. Let them hug you in all the right places.

  Make it smell good. Go light and put a scent in your hair.

  Then get him talking about something he likes. It’s easy, check his background photo on his phone or at the pow-wow ask him what he competes in. You’ll see him light up, and he’ll connect all those good vibes to hangin’ with you.

  Then talk about what you like, so you can let your light shine for him.

  Get close, but stay out of reach. Let him know you’re your own woman.

  Get opinionated. Yes, you know what you want on your Navajo taco!

  Graze his hand or arm every once in a while.

  Strike up a great conversation with—his friend.

  Show him a bit of skin. Not slutty.

  And compliment him.

  So why is all that relevant right now? I got none of that going on. I didn’t expect to see him TODAY. He failed to mention he was coming when we talked last night. And the weirder part is I seem to care.

  Okay. Scene on. That pause, no joke, was how long I was staring at Chad.

  Sicheii snaps me out of it with, “Greetings, Commander.”

  “Greetings Obi-Wan. You may dispense with formalities and proceed,” Grandpa Norm adds from his rolling throne, the wheelchair he’s occupied since the bull crushed his pelvis. They break into silly boyish grins and shake hands warmly. Sicheii and Norm went to the Dollar Wednesday Matinee at the Deming movie theaters last week to watch the new Star Wars film, followed by their ritual trip to the coffee shop. They got inspired to watch all of the episodes. And the rest of us have been the subjects of Star Wars references all week.

  “Um, Ahz?” Cassie says.

  “Yeah,” I say while clearing my throat. I hug her to break the awkward and push on. And then because I literally have no game this morning, given the fact that I’m in baggy jeans, a paint-spattered sweatshirt that smells like wood smoke, and I can’t seem to put a sentence together, I do the worst possible thing—ignore Chad completely.

  The kitchen is filled with the scents of cinnamon, caramel, and fried potatoes seasoned with Grandma Alice’s love. She pops in the front door with a Russian faux sable hat and a forest green down vest snapped to the top over her latest creation—a hummingbird print dress with a built-in apron. The eggs she gathered are caught up in the antique white lace of it.

  “So close to din-din,” she chirps, kicking off her mud-spattered red rubber boots.

  She whirls in, slowing down long enough to kiss me on both cheeks and send a sparkle my way.

  “Do you need help with that?” Chad says, breathing a giggle.

  “That would be wonderful.”

  Minutes later at the table, Cassie’s Grandma Alice lays out the feast in and among her best china. “Are we expecting the Queen?” Chad jokes.

  “The Queen can’t shine a light to you all,” Alice replies. “Come on everyone. Let’s eat.” We take our seats, Grandpa Norm in his wheelchair is snuggled up to the head of the table, flanked by Sicheii and Grandma Alice. Chad sits at the other end with Cassie and me on either side.

  Alice sighs, satisfied. She brings her elbows to rest on the tabletop and bows her head, cueing a moment of silence, a time of thanks, in her Quaker tradition. After a bit, she shakes out her cloth napkin and brings it to rest on her lap. She surveys the table with a glint in her eye, while the rest of us heap our plates with generous helpings. “So what brings you home, Chad?” I like the way she says it, a reminder that all of us belong here.

  “It’s winter break, and Dad’s stuck in his office. Since I can drive now, he let me come down on my own.”

  “I can remember when you all were babies, like it was yesterday,” she pauses and grins. “You used to get up in Cassie’s little red painted ladderback chair before you could talk. Then you’d jangle a set of rainbow plastic keys. Your little hands and feet wiggled with excitement. You were born driving.”

  Chad blushes and laughs.

  “How were the roads? I hear you got quite a snowstorm yesterday.”

  “They were fine. No ice.” Then Chad looks across the table at me with questions in his eyes. I don’t have t
he answers, so I look away.

  “The storm put the Dominguez’s cattle on the move,” Grandpa Norm chimes in. “A couple of their heifers wound up in the driveway yesterday. I was hoping since the three of you are here and it’s a warm day, maybe you could load the horses with supplies, get out and check the fence line. I know it’s a long ride, but it’ll be worth it. I can’t stand it when the creeks get torn up.”

  “Now, Norm, they just got here. Let them take it easy for a bit. You know… on the seventh day…” she trails off.

  “I don’t think God is a rancher,” Cassie grins. “Don’t worry, Grandpa. We’ll take care of it. Right, guys?”

  “That’s my girl,” Grandpa Norm says.

  “It would be my pleasure, sir,” Chad says.

  “I suspect the problem’s up at the headwaters of Cold Creek. So I’d start back here behind the house and work your way over there,” he says.

  “You’ll need a lunch, too,” Grandma Alice says, “I’ll get on it if you kids could clear-up these dishes when we’re through.” She shakes her head slowly, sighs, and adds, “No rest for the wicked.”

  “I’ve never heard truer words,” Grandpa Norm breathes as he glances lovingly at his bride of forty years.

  Sicheii says, “Guess the Cowboys and the Chiefs will have to play without me.”

  “And lose their MVP?” Grandma Alice teases.

  “Someone has to muck out stalls. Creator… give me strength,” he adds with arms open to the heavens.

  And the whole table lapses into laughter.

  At the burial I watched them

  Throw all her belongings into the grave.

  I pushed my way up front,

  Maybe too far.

  My toes hung over the edge.

  I belong

  I belong to her, too.

  Take me with you, I said.

  But the words never left my mouth.

  Sicheii wrapped my shoulders

  In his great hands

  Reminding me that I was cold

  Reminding me that I live here in this body

  That I live here

  And not in hers anymore.

  We must have eventually walked away,

  Bathed, ate, slept

  But my next memory is the heat of the fire,

  designed to take the rest of Ama to the other side.

  The walls caved in. The roof collapsed,

  Evaporating Sicheii’s tears and my memories of her.

  (found hitched to a downed fence

  line on Cold Creek)

  Chapter 4

  Outside with full bellies and full lunch sacks, we saddle up and hitch supplies to the horses.

  “You up for this, urban cowboy?” I prod Chad, while climbing up on Cinnamon with Cassie.

  “Oh, yeah,” he says, eyes glittering at the two of us.

  “We better get going,” Cassie says, studying the position of the sun in the cerulean sky.

  I pat Cinnamon on the flank, and he twitches, itchy for a run, “Let’s do this.”

  Up at Yas’ stall, I ready him for the day. A Mexican blanket under his saddle, cinching the leather straps, checking his hooves for gravel, and finally a kiss on his muzzle. “Let’s go, boy.”

  Out in the morning light, I pull some of the food and other supplies from Cinnamon and Beau’s saddlebags to fill Yas’. Then just to razz Cassie, I call out a mock checklist at full volume: “PB & J sandwiches, water, tampons… check.”

  She turns all kinds of colors when I hit tampons, gives a side-glance to Chad and says, “Ahzi…!”

  So funny. Works every time.

  “Finished?” Cassie says, not pleased.

  “Yep, finished,” I say, breathing a laugh.

  “Okay, then.”

  I swing a leg up on Yas, and we’re off.

  I spend the rest of the day, consciously or unconsciously, running down the surefire top ten, in chronological order, so I don’t miss a thing. Numbers one and two I kinda blew since I didn’t have it together exactly this morning, but in the barn I get resourceful. I pull off my sweatshirt and slide into one of my denim shirts that’s been hanging on the peg for ages. I pull a Carhartt on top of that, relaxing against the plush of the thick flannel lining. I grab a handful of hollowed blossoms off the lavender that grows around Yas’ stall and crush perfume from their fairy pots. The scent is sharp and full against the cold. I run my fingers through my hair, trailing flowers and preserved sunshine through the strands.

  And then from my spot at the head of our convoy along a deer trail I ask, “How was soccer this season?”

  Chad looks at me suspiciously and says, “Fine,” at first. Then once he realizes I mean it, he says, “It was hard. We had a total of eighteen games this season—seven wins, eight losses, and three ties, which is weird because they never used to let us tie. There was always a shootout and someone had to win. We did a lot of conditioning, too. Coach made us run three miles every practice and run suicides. But I’m boring you…”

  “Not at all.” Then I look back and say, “It shows… the conditioning.” And before I can stop myself, my eyes travel the length of him.

  “Yeah, it does,” Cassie says, coming up from behind.

  “Thanks,” he says.

  We crest the hill on the back side of Cassie’s house and fall in with the fence line. Grandpa Norm runs four-wire barbless fencing that he and Sicheii installed in their heyday, and Cassie and I have maintained it since his accident, which makes us look like we have mad skills.

  Cassie spots a breach in the top wire at the line post. She dismounts, and I follow her lead. I pull a three-foot link of fence line, arc the tip over and begin twisting the end in on itself with the pliers. She pulls another three-foot link from her saddlebag and prepares a loop. By the time we put the last twists in our links, Chad’s charmed. He climbs down from Beau and watches us finish the job, weaving the broken ends into our links. We high-five.

  “And that’s how it’s done,” I say.

  Cassie returns to Cinnamon to put up her tools. That’s when I spot it. Crouched low, shrouded in the lower limbs of a one-seed juniper, a bobcat watches.

  I squat down and graze my fingertips across Chad’s forearm, telling him to join me, “Check it out.” I nod in the cat’s direction.

  “That’s awesome,” he whispers.

  The bobcat rises, turns, and shifts her position enough to reveal her mate. I reach for Chad again.

  “Whoa,” he breathes, and we lock eyes for a moment. He looks long with a sparkle in his eyes, and I melt. He doesn’t turn away.

  Cassie approaches. I break from his eyes and wave her down with us. “Sweet,” she whispers, grinning.

  Yeah, sweet.

  Our chore takes us up on the mesa, across the llano and down into Cold Creek. Just like Norm said, the fencing wire woven with latillos is down. By this time we’ve made Chad an expert. He’s the first on site looping, weaving, and linking. Cassie and I step back, proud of our trainee.

  “Good job,” I say.

  He finishes the last loop, making it taut with the one-ton puller, as the golden light escapes the canyon.

  We pull on our vests and gloves, and mount up, chasing the last rays home. Chad stops at his place, leaving Cassie and me to walk Beau to his stable.

  In the deep shadows of the fading light, we head home again.

  “What was that?” Cassie says in the dark.

  “What,” I say, even though I know what.

  “That,” she says again, adjusting her seat while clinging to Beau’s reins.

  “Nothing,” I say because I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know the answer to her question. Cassie guides Cinnamon and Beau down her driveway in silence.

  “See you tomorrow,” I say.

  “Yeah, see ya,” she says back.

  I ride the rest of the way home, grateful for the cover of darkness.

  “Ahzi, are you awake?”

  “Yes, Ama.”

 
“Do you want to meet him?”

  “Who?”

  “No one,” she said all of a sudden.

  And then she said, “No. I shouldn’t say that. It’s someone.”

  “Special,” she said. “’Cause he’s part of you.”

  We took her white pick-up down the red dirt road.

  We turned where we always do into the Chinle Shell Station.

  And waited.

  He never showed.

  She didn’t make an excuse.

  We sat in the cab.

  The sun warmed us through the cracked

  windshield

  While the radio played “I Fall to Pieces”

  And the cottontails chased each other through the sage.

  (found among the dead and standing

  ash trees at Bear Tooth Creek)

  Chapter 5

  Still clinging to the wisps of a dream, my cell phone has set my room ablaze in color.

  “Ready?” Chad asks on the other end.

  “Sure,” I lie, suppressing a yawn. “See you in ten.”

  “How about five,” he says. “’Cause I’m already here.”

  Five? Oh, how I love my covers this morning.

  “Okay. Okay. Five.”

  I hear knocking at the front door and Sicheii’s greeting.

  “Morning,” he says simply.