Navajo Sunrise

Pushing other concerns aside, Ahkeah shouldered his way through the milling crowd toward the place where his aunt stood. Nizhoni would be close by, probably clinging to the trailing poncho. Like most Diné children his daughter tended to be shy in the presence of strangers. He’d never had to worry about her wandering off on her own.

All the same, a shadow of foreboding crossed his mind as he approached his aunt. She was huddled in the line, her wizened face staring straight ahead, eyes focused on some inner vision that only she could see. This trancelike state seemed to be coming upon her more and more of late.

No, he acknowledged sadly, he could not trust her to care for Nizhoni any longer. It was time he took someone else into his household—perhaps his recently widowed cousin Naahooyéí, and her two young sons. They could use his protection, and he could use their help. He would begin digging another dugout for them as soon as—

Ahkeah’s thoughts scattered as the line shifted, suddenly giving him full view of his aunt, from her scraggly head to the worn remnants of her dusty moccasins. Only then did the realization hit him like a blow—the old woman stood alone, her hands dangling listlessly at her sides.

Nizhoni was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Five

White-faced and quivering, Miranda pressed her forehead against the cold adobe wall. The fried bread had come up so fast that she’d barely made it around the back of the commissary before the retching heaves had struck. Now the worst of the nausea had passed, but she still felt weak and shaky. Never again, she vowed, gagging on the vile aftertaste; not for any cause on earth would she let herself be bullied into eating such revolting food!

The brackish water in the canteen Ahkeah had passed her had only made matters worse. Straight from the Pecos, he’d said. Good heavens, was that all the Navajos had to drink? Had he offered it to prove yet another of his wretched points? Oh, what she wanted to say to that arrogant, insufferable—