Coyote's Daughter Read online

  "Just a little one? I don’t think he’d try to eat it or anything, just run in circles around it, and herd it and . . . whatever it is border collies do. I’ll bet he’s really good at herding."

  Mom started shaking her head.

  "Please? Wouldn’t a sheep even keep the grass short? No more mowing." Dad hates mowing the lawn. I do it sometimes, and I hate mowing too.

  Mom and Dad looked amused. I heaved a sigh of relief, amused meant I had distracted them from the worry. "We’ll talk about it closer to the holidays. By the end of the summer you can put together a report on what types of sheep would be suitable as a companion for Jack." Dad moved to the next room to get another box out. I leaned against the wall. Typical of him to assign homework. I think he’s been teaching for too long. Someday I’ll learn.

  Mom came over and put her arms around me. She used to be able to rest her chin on my head, but I’ve gotten too tall. I think it bothers her that I’m almost as tall as she is. Honestly, it bothers me too.

  "Don’t think you’ve completely distracted your father, dear." She dropped a quick kiss on my forehead. "Now come help me put away the dishes, will you? Your father started arranging his books, and I’ll never dig him out."

  * * *

  The next morning, fright took the scream from my throat. I rolled over to look out the window to see what sort of day it would be, and nearly screamed. A face peered in at me, framed on either side with outstretched hands pressed against the glass. I jerked out of bed, but the face was gone by the time I reached the window, no smears left on the glass, nothing.

  Chapter Two

  I checked the glass again. Not a fingerprint, not a smudge, not the faintest mark of breath. It must have been a dream, because if there had been a real person there, there would be handprints on the glass, right? It still freaked me out though, and I could feel my heartbeat all the way down to my fingers. I could still see him in my mind. A dark-brown face with large eyes under a shock of black hair. The man had grinned, and his teeth seemed sharper than normal. The brick floor chilled my bare feet and knocked me the rest of the way awake, and I scrambled for my slippers under the bed.

  At the breakfast table Dad poured coffee for him and Mom. "Any plans for the day, Miss Maggie Magee?"

  "No. No kids in the neighborhood that I can find." I tried to keep the misery out of my voice, but he probably heard it anyway.

  "How about we do some exploring? We've got the house more or less put together, and Mom and I don't need to be anywhere today. Let's go hit some museums."

  Yes, our family is geeky and we all love museums. After the usual madness of everyone getting showered and dressed, Jack and I met them at the front door.

  "Maggie, we can't take Jack."

  If I had thought about it, I would have known better, but Jack had been my constant companion over the last few days, so I hadn't. I went and got him a puppy cookie, and put it on his bed in my room.

  "Come on, guy. Eat your cookie, take a nap, and dream of chasing sheep until we get home." He took the cookie, but followed me back to the front door with the treat in his mouth and his dark-brown eyes stabbed me with guilt at every step.

  We went south into the Old Town area, parked, and walked around. A good number of the shops looked like old houses converted into businesses, and a lot looked like they had been built of adobe, like ours. One had nothing in it but paintings of saints, and someone who offered to read our fortune from tarot cards. For our last stop of the morning we went to the Albuquerque Museum because Dad said they'd have exhibits that would give all of us a better sense of the history of the area. Once inside, we stood in front of a full set of armor for a horse straight out of the Crusades, something Richard the Lionheart might have used. I finally had to ask. "Dad, just how old is Albuquerque?" His answer caught me unprepared.

  "Over three hundred years, for the city that uses the name Albuquerque. A little more maybe. But that's the date the city uses for the anniversary celebration. The Spanish have been here for a long time, and the Pueblo peoples had towns and fields and farms all up and down the Rio Grande long before the Spanish arrived."

  He rubbed his head. He does that when he's thinking. "Actually, you know the irrigation canal you walked up the other day?"

  I made an mmm-hmmm noise, and tried to wrap my head around three hundred years of this city.

  "It's probably as old as the rest of the town. So that canal and path is likely three hundred years old as well. Not exactly like the Stone Age, but close."

  "Not quite." I poked him in the side.

  An exhibit of artifacts from the Pueblo peoples sat in the next room, with a small model of one of their villages. Made of adobe, the smooth walls had only a few high windows and narrow doorways. Ladders led to the roof from the outside and up to different levels of the buildings. Holes led from the roof down yet another ladder to the inside.

  "Dad, why build that way? It would be a real pain in the neck to go up and down all of that just to get inside."

  "The fewer doors you have to a building, the better the defense can be. If an enemy approaches, as soon as you pull up the ladders you have whole parts of the house secure."

  I wondered for a moment about who those enemies had been, then a pottery display along the entire far wall distracted me. The shapes and sizes varied wildly, some as small as my fist, others bigger than my outstretched arms would hold. The colors ranged from a clear bone-white to dark red, to a glistening black. Fine lines decorated some of the pots, others boasted bold figures. All of them looked like they could be picked up and used again any minute.

  A delicate white vase with a narrow neck that flared out into a wide body then tapered back caught my attention. Intersecting lines in red and black within thick bands decorated the body. I could probably have cupped it in my hands, if I had been stupid enough to try to pick it up, and if it hadn't been safely behind the glass of the display case.

  A mirror sat behind the shelves, so you could see the design on the backs of the pots. I had my face up to the glass with my head to the side, peering around at the patterns. As I moved my head to check out the next pot, as suddenly as a blink the face from my window appeared in the mirror. My heart jumped in my chest and I whirled around and searched the room behind me, but couldn't find him. I looked back at the mirror, panting in shock, to get a better idea of where he’d stood in the room—and could see him plainly! He smiled at me, showing all those sharp teeth. I whipped back around: I couldn't see him in the room behind me at all! And when I looked again in the mirror, it reflected only the ancient pottery and my worried face.

  "Maggie? Is everything all right?" My dad waved me over to him and I nodded.

  "Your mom and I are going to go look at the quilts in the next room; want to come?"

  I looked through the room one more time, struggled to catch my breath, then nodded. "Sure Dad. Sounds interesting."

  He cocked his head to the side and looked hard at me. I didn't think he believed a word I said. "Sounds like you're getting tired, kiddo. We'll go home and get some lunch soon."

  I didn't feel tired, but how could I explain what I had seen? Or hadn't seen?

  * * *

  We'd barely sat down to lunch when a knock came at the door. I looked at mom and dad, then shrugged, and went to go get it. Other than some of the neighborhood ladies who had come by with cookies the first day, no one had come to the door since we moved in. It was odd to hear the knocker booming.

  I opened the door, and in the courtyard stood a boy and a girl, about my age, maybe a little taller than me. They both had thick dark hair; the boy's short hair stuck up at the edges, but the girl's fell in waves around her face and down her back.

  "Um, hi." The girl stuck out her hand. "I'm Amy, and he's Mark. Our mom said we should come over and introduce ourselves."

  The twins. They must be back from visiting their father. I hadn't wanted to make my first impression like this, likely with crumbs from my sandwich down the front
of my shirt.

  I wiped my hand on the side of my pants and held it out toward them. "Hi, I'm Maggie. Sorry; we were just in the middle of lunch."

  "Not a problem." The boy, Mark, stopped looking around the courtyard and flashed a brilliant white smile. "We're going to the skate park to meet some people and our mom said we should check to see if you wanted to go with us."

  Oh. Their mom said. So, they didn't really want to be here, but their mom said. As much as the words stung, this would be the first chance I'd had to meet other people my age, other than the weird boy.

  "Sure. Can I have fifteen minutes to finish lunch?"

  The twins looked at each other and nodded. "Yeah, just come by our house when you're done." Mark pointed down the street. They turned and left. I doubted the gate had even latched behind them before I tore through the rest of my sandwich.

  As I gulped my milk, I told Mom and Dad I wanted to go out with Mark and Amy to the skate park.

  "Where is this park?" Dad asked, finishing the second half of his sandwich.

  "And who are these kids you're going to be meeting?"

  "Actually, I don't know where it is, Dad. But I've got to go, really."

  He didn't say anything, and I felt my chance to meet other people my own age slipping away.

  "Look, I'm going to their house first, and I'll get more info. If we're not walking, I won't go. I have a good idea of the neighborhood now, and if we're walking, I can always just walk back if the people are weird. Deal?"

  They looked at each other, then Mom surprised me.

  "Walking only. Don't take Jack; he's not much of a guard dog, and I don't want you to be keeping an eye on him when you should be watching out for yourself. And only for a couple hours. Your dad and I have a couple errands we need to do, and if you're not here when we get home, you'll spend the rest of the summer inside." She smiled, but I knew she would do it.

  I showed up at Mark and Amy's house a little faster than I'd said, and was relieved to find out we really would be walking to the skate park. As we headed out, we made the awkward stabs at conversation people do when they're trying to decide if they have anything in common. "What did you do at your dad's house?" "Where did you move from?" That sort of thing.

  By the time we got to the park I felt like it might work out. Mark is a nut for space, and we chattered for a few minutes about the spaceport the government is building in the desert south of Albuquerque and all the rockets he's seen launched from there, until Amy smacked him in the arm to keep him from totally geeking out.

  Amy is on the swim team at my new school, and told me who I would need to contact to see about being on the team for the fall, and where to find the best practice pools. We were still talking about turns and stroke times when we got to the park.

  At the park I met everyone else. About eight other kids, mixed pretty evenly between boys and girls. Shorts or ripped up jeans, t-shirts and tank tops, the outfits looked the same as back home. They talked the same way, greeted each other the same . . . Maybe this move would work out; I would go from one group of friends right to another one. I could almost feel the knot of loneliness start to dissolve from where it had lodged in my chest.

  But it didn't. It's possible I read too much science fiction, but you could almost see Mark and Amy being absorbed into the crowd-entity, away from me. With these people, they already had their roles, their friends. I didn't think they shut me out on purpose, but they didn't really need me around.

  We sat on the concrete barrier at the top of the park, and they talked about people I didn't know, doing things I didn't know about. Every now and then someone would ask me about sharks or surfing or something equally stupid about California, but other than that I may as well have been invisible. I would have been happier with Jack, feeling vaguely lonely, than surrounded by these people who made me feel lonelier just to be around them. It didn't help that I kept thinking about that creepy face.

  It had been probably less than an hour when I had enough and stood up. "Hey guys, this has been great. But I've got some letters to write and some chores to do." Amy and Mark blinked at me, like they had forgotten I existed. "Hey, we'll walk you home." It's funny; out of the crowd I really liked them both. In it, they were just a part of the group.

  "Nah, I know the way." I started to back up and turned away. "Have a good day." I hadn't gotten three steps when the conversation started back up, as if my presence or departure hadn't interrupted the flow of conversation at all. When I got home Mom and Dad were still out. I put my head down on the kitchen table. I didn't feel like crying, but the disappointment stung. I'd never had to make friends in a new place. I'd never fit in here.

  Jack padded up and put his big head in my lap. I scratched that little pocket behind his ears which seems to always bother him. He'd been disappointed that he hadn’t been able to go with me this morning, and now I wish I'd taken him. At least then I wouldn't have been so alone. He head-butted me, as if to remind me the day still had plenty of romping time left. And he was right. Dogs usually are, if your priorities are in the right place.

  So I packed our bags, put his harness on him, left a note, and away we went. The trees along the canal were familiar friends now. Little yellow flowers bloomed next to the purple ones, and vines with bright-orange blossoms crept along the chain-link fences around the yards.

  Today we went right to the riverbank. I wanted to stand and watch it roll by; let it take the last of my lousy mood with it.

  I let Jack off the leash. He bounded away, and then stopped cold. He looked at me and whined.

  "What is it?" I don't like anything disturbing my best bud.

  I looked around, trying to see what could be bothering him, then it clicked. We were in the exact spot we'd run into that strange boy. Well, that Jack had run into him, at least. Jack snuffled at the dirt, then spiraled out from me. I watched him as he stopped next to a large flat rock I didn't remember from before.

  A pattern of lines was drawn on the rock with the black river mud. The arrangement nagged at my brain until I realized the lines made the same pattern the strings had formed on that contraption once it was untangled. In the middle of the design sat a small leather bag.

  I thought about it for just a moment. I mean, it wasn't mine, not really. But . . . The place, the pattern on the rock—together they made it clear this was meant for me, as a gift from the strange boy, as his own weird way of saying "thank you."

  I picked it up, tugged on the drawstring, and poured the contents into my hand.

  A necklace rested in my palm, three long beads of what looked to me like turquoise and abalone strung on a leather cord.

  My hand clenched around the necklace, then I slid it on and adjusted the cord around my throat. I ran my hand over the cool beads, and found their smoothness soothing and restful.

  Before I went home I slid the necklace off and put it in a safe pocket of my backpack. I don't like lying to my parents. Actually, even if I mean to lie to them, I'm really bad at it. I get flushed and stumble with my words, and can't keep anything straight. It's a lot easier if I always tell the truth.

  I had a problem, though. I didn't know how to explain the necklace. If I told them I found it on the trail, they'd want me to file a lost-and-found report with the police. If I told them a boy gave me jewelry, they'd never let me wear it, and make me give the present back. If I told them how he gave the necklace to me, they would have a hard time believing he gave it to me by leaving the gift for me to find.

  But I knew. I don't know how to explain, but I knew he meant the necklace for me, and no harm would come from my wearing the boy's gift. Like I know that Jack loves me, and the sun will rise in the east tomorrow. Just one of those things.

  Chapter Three

  The next day I didn't bother to look for Mark or Amy; I just did my chores and started getting ready for a walk. As soon as my folks left I got dressed and pulled the necklace out from my backpack. I fingered the smooth beads, and thought about the str
ange boy and the stranger trap that had caught his hand. While making sandwiches I paused, and then made a third. It would be nice to have something for the boy, if he showed up. I hate eating in front of other people, makes me feel awkward. If we didn't find him, Jack would make sure the extra sandwich didn't go to waste.

  I squinted for a few minutes getting used to the brightness outside. There hadn't been a cloudy day since we moved here, a huge change from foggy mornings in California. Every day here the sky is clear blue, with wisps of clouds streaking across it.

  When we arrived at the river, I didn't see the boy. I had looked forward to seeing him and thanking him for the necklace, and a little lump of disappointment formed in my stomach.

  I threw sticks for Jack, then we walked north along the bank for a while. A little before noon we turned back south, and started looking for a place to have lunch. We almost arrived at the place where the scrub came all the way down to the bank, when I saw the boy again.

  He sat on a fallen log and watched us walk back down. He didn't move, didn't say anything to show he noticed us, but his eyes tracked our every step. I touched the necklace, but the odd coolness of the beads didn't quite make up for his strangeness.

  Even though he had watched us approach, he jumped a little when I sat next to him, as if he hadn't expected us to take any notice of him. Jack came up and stuck his head into the boy's leg. This time the boy smiled and rubbed behind Jack's ears.

  "Thank you for the necklace." I brought my hand up to show him I wore it. "It's lovely. Did you make it? You didn't need to give me anything; you got tangled in that thing because of us. What was that contraption, anyway?"

  The boy blinked at my wave of questions. "What you removed from my hand is a snare. A trap for rabbits." He spoke slowly, as if English pained him, and I heard an accent in his voice I couldn't place. "The gift was indeed necessary. You helped me. There is now a bond, a . . . I am not sure of the word. Something lies between us now."