Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me . . .
Psalms 23:4
It was morning.
The porch's roof, propped up by slanted boards, shaded Isabelle Luciano as she peered into the horizon. She leaned against the boards as the sun, a peach, barely peeked out from its hiding place of the night. Brown paint curled down the 2x4's, the plain pine boards blackened from the sun and the occasional rain.
The girl, for she was only a girl, wore a dirty gray-blue dress that fluttered slightly around her legs as the breeze touched her skirt. Her arms, legs, and feet were bare—sunbrowned and dusty.
She turned slightly to the southeast to catch the breeze. It would be the only breeze of the day. In the distance a dust cloud billowed from the road. In her estimation, the visitors would be at the homestead in an hour.
They didn't get guests often. The last ones had buried her mother only three months ago. She brushed a brown, dust-covered curl from her face. One day that same curl would turn gray and she would still be standing on the porch watching for visitors that sometimes did, but usually didn't, come. Aeh. It was hard to judge her age as she stood there peering out into the desert. She could be twenty-five or forty. Her slight frame did not give her away, but she was twelve . . . now a mother to her brother, a housekeeper to her father, another pair of hands in the desert world they had found themselves in.
Pa always knew best, she thought. Maybe if Pa hadn't insisted on going gold hunting, Ma would be alive today. Ma was so beautiful, but she . . . A tear trickled down the dust on Sara's face. Ma would have loved her son, the child that took her life. Life is hard. The desert eats up women and children.
The land was all around her. She didn't see the beauty in the cactus hiding beneath the dust, greasewood bushes with small pulpy leaves stark against the sky, or the short twisted trees.
This land hoarded its water. Water was as precious as gold, the gold her father searched for. There was life in this land, much life, but mainly nocturnal. The harsh sun beat against the land, taking away precious moisture. Only in the cool of early night or dawn did the sun become tamed. She hated this land. Hated.
And, why? Isabelle remembered the cool trees, tame hills, and waters of home. East. Where they always had water to wash in, water to drink, and water, ponds, rivers, lakes.
The golden rays of the rising sun touched her feet, and she shifted.
Dust clouds revealed the automobile heading towards their shack. It was black with narrow wheels. It was the first car she had ever seen. No one here had one.
Or it could be the government and mining corporation men. They drove cars. She spat on the ground.
She wrinkled her face. Yes, they drove cars. Every one else either walked or rode. Usually on mules. Not horses. If not desert-bred, horses give out in the heat.
"Pa, pa," she called into the shack. "Pa, someones comin'. . . a car."
Pa walked out the door. He sighed. "Get yer brother, Izzy. Get him now and head for the hills. Ya know where."
"But, Pa."
"Now!"
He mumbled as he walked back into the shack. "I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have . . . but the mine's mine. I had to file a claim. Oh Gawd."
Izzy rushed in the shake and grabbed her brother. He was soft, smelled sweet. When Ma died, Sonny became her baby. She fed him goat's milk. Milked the goat herself.
They were going to hide til the men left. It wouldn't take long. She grabbed his blankets, she grabbed Sonny, she grabbed . . . maybe not too long, but the baby was only three months old and couldn't stay out in the sun.
"Sara, hurry!"
Pa carried a shotgun—only two shots. He cracked open the gun and loaded it as she walked out the door.
"Don't come back 'til ya hear the signal," he yelled.
"Yes, Pa."
Too late to take the goat with them. She held the baby next to her breast. She slipped back behind the shack. The hills were rocky, straight up, but small caves were hidden in the cracks—all brown, hard to see. She walked across the rocks, trying to disguise her footprints. But, she didn't work too hard. Government men didn't know how to track. They needed Injuns or trackers to even hunt their own game. She had strapped a knife on a belt outside her dress. If only she had the gun, but Pa had it. Sometimes large bobcats roamed in the hills. At least she'd feel safer with the gun. But, what she needed to worry about more than anything else were the rattlers. They sunned themselves on the rocks in the middle of the day. They struck several times, leaving fang marks and venom in the victim. They would curl up to anything warm. They were the true danger this afternoon, in the rocks, away from the government.
The car pulled up to the house. "Chuck, Chuck," said a male voice. "Chuck, we know you're in there. . ."
Izzy could hear the voices as she nestled into the rocks. She opened her ears, straining to hear.
"What d'ya want," said her Pa.
"You know this land is ours, your mine is ours. We done filed before you did."
"No you aint," said Pa. "You filed after I did. You was just wait'n ta see if I'd any gold. Gawd you want to leave my two kids wit'out."
"****, I know what ya can do with a daughter," the voice laughed. "Manny could use another girl."
Manny was the madam at the saloon. She always needed girls. Her customers were rough men.
Pa shot at the man. The sound reverberated through the hills. It's over. It's over. Pa can't possibly shoot the two other men. Izzy heard several more shots. She pressed herself and Sonny into the cave floor. Her heart beat a tattoo against her ribs. Tears welling out of her eyes, she clutched Sonny closer. They were alone.
"Damn," she heard. "What did you do that for? I needed his signature."
"You think his family heard the shots?
"Course they heard the shots. We need to find 'em."
"What for? We just kill the animals, burn the house. They'll die in this desert. It'll take four days to walk out of here. Well. What are you wait'n for?"
