Jo spread out a tablecloth by the forsaken keg of water and laid out her supplies: scissors, petroleum jelly, rattail comb, egg timer, dishwashing gloves, a drinking cup, a biscuit tin filled with clips and metal rods. Beth didn’t want a home permanent, but she liked all the names of the stuff. It was exciting to watch Jo act like a surgeon, calling out the names of things during a life-saving operation—neutralizer, waving lotion, pinkpaper end wraps.
“So this will be a nice surprise,” Jo said.
Home permanents took a long time. Maybe Jo was thinking along this line, too. Anything to stall her mother’s flight plan.
“It’s been twenty minutes,” Charlie called down.
“And look at all the water we have.” Jo worked out the plug, held the cooking pan underneath the gush, then poured the panful of water over Beth’s hair. The water couldn’t have been cold, but it felt freezing against her scalp. Beth lifted her head to let some of the water tingle refreshingly down her neck.
“I love giving permanents,” Jo said. “I used to give them all the time, back when I had friends.”
“You don’t have friends?”
“I used to,” Jo said.
Charlie called again from the road, and his interruption irritated Beth. They were just getting to the good part in their conversation. “Somebody shot a pistol,” he said.
“That was the mining camp,” Jo said. With the rattail end of her comb, she began knifing through Beth’s hair and clipping off sections.
“Why don’t you have friends anymore?” Beth asked.
“Hmm,” Jo said, picking up her scissors and snipping, “a little bit of split ends.” She took one of the metal rods and yanked hard on Beth’s hair as she rolled. “Does that hurt?”
“Yes,” Beth said.
“Has to be tight,” Jo said. “And we’re going to need that water, too. Why don’t I have friends? When I was your age I had a lot of friends. Do you have a lot of friends?”
“Yes,” Beth said.
“I did, too. Sometimes you can have friends some of the time but not all your friends all of the time. So you get older and when you get married that’s what happens. You see?”
“There it goes again,” Charlie called. “Did you hear it?”
“I heard something,” Beth said.
Charlie said, “That’s Mom. That’s her signal.”
“What’s it a signal of?” Beth asked.
“I’m going to go get her.”
“Hold on.” Jo stood up and peered up at Charlie. “What do you mean you’re going to go get her? I’m not sure I liked the sound of that.”
“I’m going to go get her,” Charlie said and disappeared.
“Hold on a second, Charlie.” Jo scampered up the hill to the road.
Beth saw that Charlie meant business. She climbed back to the campsite and found him packing up a rucksack. He fitted it over his back, cleaned his compass against his pants, and selected one of Harry’s shirt panels sketched in with more map business. Beth could see this piece of the map was new: it hadn’t been colored yet with Charlie’s topographical inks. Beth said that she was going with him. Jo said that neither of them was going anywhere.
Beth put on the hat Jimmy Splendid had given her and marched behind Charlie. Jo blocked their way. She was planted like an angry soldier. Charlie just walked around her.
“Are you coming?” Beth asked her.
“Get back here!” Jo yelled.
Charlie didn’t bother with the road. He was taking a different route. Beth followed him right past the toilet toward the path that led to Rawhide Joe. He said this was a shortcut and in case she had any doubts he reminded her about a hypotenuse. Besides, he’d drawn the map this morning and Navajo Joe had gone over it with him so he knew this was correct.
“Freshly made this morning,” Beth said. “Right, Charlie?”
Charlie said this was easily half the distance their mother was traveling, that if she had any sense at all, she would have taken this route. But of course she didn’t have any sense, which was why they had to go on this mission and she would have gotten lost anyway because she couldn’t even follow a road so just think what a hypotenuse would have done to her.
“Get back here!” They heard Jo screaming again.
“Don’t you like Jo?” Beth asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Charlie said.
“I do. I’m glad she’s here. How did you know Navajo Joe was coming this morning?”
“I didn’t.”
“How did you find him then?”
“I was checking out the road.”
“And then what?”
“And then that’s how I know the road stops looking like a road. She’s lost, I know it.”
“Did Navajo Joe just drive by?”
“Yeah,” Charlie said.
“I wish I’d been there,” Beth said.
“He walked up with me to the top and pointed out everything for my map.”
“That’s not fair,” Beth said.
The sand gave way to hardpack just as Beth was losing her energy from the sink-down, pull-out effort walking in the sand required. The hardpack was much easier. It was dried out and cracked and it stretched before them like a sea. A black spider web looked to be laid across it. She liked how a curled thinness peeled off the top and the way it crunched under her feet. She didn’t like looking up because everything seemed so far away. They passed their H2O claim. Within its bounds was the cave where Rawhide Joe awaited.
“Do we legally own Rawhide Joe?” she asked, but Charlie didn’t answer. She didn’t mind; she was getting out of breath. She tried to concentrate on her next book report. She had a new tactic she was going to try out: topic sentence put second instead of first. The detonations and repercussions of her capture were heard throughout the land. This is the story of Mary Jemison and you will find her story in Indian Captive: The Story of Mary Jemison, by Lois Lenski. I like Indian Captive: The Story of Mary Jemison because of the exciting, repercussion-filled detonations that . . .
. . . that what? That happened? That followed? That filled up the air? That fired up the troops?
“Charlie, do you have a pencil?”
“Hold on,” he said. He stopped, unslung the rucksack and opened it. He was breathing hard. “Where’s my pen?” He looked up at Beth. “I was sure I brought it. You have a curler in your hair.” He studied his scribbles on the shirt panel.
“Do you know where we are?”
“Of course I know where we are.”
“I don’t.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Charlie said. “I was sure I had it. Where’s your fountain pen?”
“Don’t tell Harry but it leaks a lot.”
“Oh, that’s why you’re giving it to Rawhide Joe.” Charlie handed her one of the canteens and she drank as much as she could. “This way,” he said. He cut across a rise of slickrock, another one of his hypotenuses, she figured. She wanted to tell Charlie that by the way she already knew about hypotenuses but she changed her mind. As she grew more tired, however, she almost blurted it just to be contrary. The slickrock had appeared level before they started across it, but she was feeling thick in her body as if something were pushing her back. They were climbing, she realized. How was that possible when it appeared so level? She was becoming very disturbed by her legs, two things she hardly ever noticed during a regular walking day. Now they were all she could think of, push off with one, push off with another, use a hand against the thigh to power through, use a hand against the other thigh. She was having a hard time catching her breath. Maybe they were so high the air was leaving. She wondered about her friends at school. She was always in the middle row in the school photographs, two or three in from the teacher. “Charlie, where’s the air?” she gasped, but he didn’t answer.
Beth heard it coming up behind her. For a magical moment Rawhide Joe’s horse trotted behind her. She was getting a ride.
“There you are,” Jo said.
“Oh thank you!” Beth said to the horse.
“I made us some sandwiches for lunch,” Jo said.
As if sandwiches were just what a dying girl needed. Sometimes Jo had no sense. Her legs were falling off and Jo was offering her sandwiches.
“Everyone okay?” Jo asked. She had changed clothes again. She was wearing capris and a light-blue blouse and light-blue sneakers. She had tied a chiffon scarf around her neck. She looked as if she had just dropped from a department store in the sky, without effort, without having been dragged through a slog like they had. All Jo was missing were little wings on her feet. In the middle of fourth grade Beth had gone through all the mythology books. Fleet-footed Mercury had been her favorite.
“I’ve got sandwiches for our break,” Jo said. “We can all take a break and have sandwiches. Right, Charlie?”
“Let’s find some shade first,” Charlie said. His voice was irritated but also shaky.
“All right, Charlie. That’s what I meant. I didn’t mean eat the sandwiches right now this very second.”
“Did you bring a pencil?” Beth asked.
“Maybe,” Jo said. “I’ll look when we stop. I see a place to stop up ahead, Charlie.”
“I see it,” Charlie snapped. “How could I not see it? It’s right in front of us.”
“So let’s stop there, all right?”
“All right!” Charlie yelled.
There were no bushes or scrub pines to offer shade but a sheltered pocket in the slickrock worked just as well, actually better, for there was sand to sit on and cool sandstone to lean against. Jo felt around in the bottom of her rucksack and brought up a pencil.
“Thank you,” Beth said. The sandwich Jo handed her looked scrumptiously lumpy until she picked up a cut half and saw its dissected and wormy insides. “What kind of sandwich is this?” she asked, throwing it down.
“Not a very good one,” Charlie said.
“Just try it. It’s a spaghetti sandwich.”
“That pencil doesn’t work without paper,” Charlie said.
“I have paper in my pocket,” Beth said. But she felt too weak to write.
“I hope the lead doesn’t break.”
“Charlie, you’re being mean,” Jo said. She picked up the sandwich and put it back into Beth’s hand.
“Spaghetti isn’t yellow. What’s the yellow stuff in here?” Beth asked.
“Leftover egg from this morning. It’s good. Try it.”
Beth took a few deep breaths to gather her courage. No need for bravery she found out one bite later. Jo was an excellent cook, probably one of the best cooks in the world. The sandwich was one of the best sandwiches Beth had ever eaten. Almost immediately a new rush of energy hit her.
“I think it’s time to go back, Charlie,” Jo said softly, reaching out her hand to fluff back his hair.
Charlie’s cheekbones showed in his face. They were dipped in bright scarlet. Despite this, his skin had gone chalky. Beth got up and pretended she hadn’t noticed. She pretended to be intent on exploring. She climbed up to a very shallow overhang and followed it around. She found a gash in the rock about a doorway wide. She slipped inside. “I’m exploring and I’ve found something interesting!” she yelled.
The gash immediately narrowed but she could squeeze through sideways. She pressed on until it widened and she spilled into a shaft. Though sealed off from the outside, she could see perfectly well. She looked up. High above, the shaft opened up to the sky. The shaft wasn’t very long and a few steps later it ended. Just those few steps had taken her to a much colder spot. The rock walls wept moisture. She stepped up the boulders at the end of the shaft and found she could squeeze behind a hoove of rock. Beyond that was another opening. She pushed into a cavern—no, not a cavern; an inner courtyard. She was standing in a garden. Vines crept down the rocks. Pink tamarisk jumped all over. The place was lit by the sky. Best of all was a large pool of water. Beth took off her clothes and jumped in. The freezing cold was a shock and in a reflex gulp she swallowed water. She floated on her back. The sky was wide and blue. She had all this energy she didn’t know what to do with. She was shivering when she put on her clothes. As she climbed out of the garden, squeezing down from the hoove, she put her hand on a ledge for leverage. The ledge pulled loose against her tug and she went flying. She scraped all of her leg against the rock and fell forward with a twist. Her ankle was caught between the wall and the hoove. Her heart was already racing by the time she hit the ground. Her ankle had jammed low in the crack and was stuck there.
The ledge she had tugged loose was still in her hand. It was actually a petrified log. She fitted it under her calf to wedge her ankle higher. The crack widened as her ankle rose—just an inch was all she needed and she pulled free.
Somewhere someone whispered: Get out of here.
She stumbled out of the shaft, afraid to look behind: it was chasing her. Her heart was beating so fast she couldn’t breathe or feel pain. The energy lighting through her surged into something stronger and frightening. She was shaking as she squeezed through the entrance gash; the walls respiring against her seemed to be rock lungs. She could feel them moving. She jumped outside and collapsed on all fours. She made herself breathe deep slow breaths until the torrent inside her died down. Then she had no energy at all. She could barely make herself stand up.
Charlie was sitting where she’d left him, adding notes to his map. His flushed cheekbones jutted with a more natural color. From the way he busied himself with the map so he wouldn’t have to look at her, she knew he had been clapped. The second time that day. She shouldn’t keep count but she did. “Jo’s looking for you,” he said. He glimpsed the piece of petrified wood in her hand and reached out for it. He finally noticed her wet clothes and hair and scraped leg. “What happened?”
“I went swimming,” Beth said.