Chapter Eleven

It was still dark when Carina woke Amalia and Donovan for the trip to Macrina. While Carina made breakfast and prepared food for the road, Donovan and Amalia did the morning chores and packed last-minute items into the wagon. As they came into the kitchen and sat down to plates of eggs, beans and cornbread, Donovan scanned Carina's face for signs of anxiety.

"You're not worried about being here all alone with no one but Grandma Peterson for company?"

Carina sipped her cup of half-coffee, made with chicory, dandelion and burnt corn to make the coffee go farther. "I'm probably more anxious about you two and the Petersons heading into open country. I'm glad you're going together. It's safer that way."

"We've never seen anyone dangerous on the road to Macrina," Amalia reminded her. "But with the troubles they’ve had on some of the other roads, I suppose it’s only a matter of time. I'm glad to have Grandpa Peterson along. He's still a good shot even if he moves a little slow these days."

"Well, I'm a good shot too," Donovan said. "Anyone trying to raid our wagons will wish they hadn't."

Carina smiled at his little show of bravado. "I'll be waiting when you return. I'm looking forward to having some decent coffee."

Amalia agreed and was about to say something else when she suddenly turned toward a sound on the gravel drive. "I bet that's the Petersons. They're early."

Donovan watched her grab a lantern and head toward the gate. "You know," he said, turning back toward Carina, "About that brace. . ."

"Oh no," Carina set down her fork in exasperation. "I thought we had agreed on that."

"But you said there hadn't been military in Macrina in nearly a decade."

"That doesn't mean they won't come back someday. You were in the Guard. You know that."

"What I know is that the Guard is chronically short of fuel and they go where they think they have the best chances of getting what they need. Some little town in the mountains where they've never had much luck isn't on their agenda."

Carina stood and began clearing the table. "What about informers? You never know who's a spy. Besides, we had an agreement. You'll take the brace, you'll wear it in town, and we can decide afterward if you think Amalia and I are being too cautious." She met his eyes over the stack of dirty plates. "We keep our commitments in this family." She set the dishes in the sink and began working the pump handle on the sink. "Let's not argue. It's going to be a lovely day for driving through the country with friends, so go outside and say hello to everyone. They're waiting."

* * *

The trading party consisted of Grandpa Peterson, his widowed daughter Melinda Nuñez, Melinda's ten year old daughter Diana, and a one-eyed former Marine everyone called Gonzales. They headed west across the valley toward the foothills, traveling an old asphalt road now covered in hard-packed earth from years of blowing dust. Everyone was polite to Donovan the first day, but not particularly warm. He tried to pretend it didn't bother him, but on the second evening he tagged after Amalia as she searched for kindling in the darkening twilight. "Am I doing something wrong?"

Amalia stooped to examine a bit of tumbleweed. "Why would you think something's wrong?"

"I feel like no one likes me.”

"No one knows anything about you except that you've been in the Guard, which is a liability around here. It'll take them awhile to learn to trust you. You've got to be patient."

"But isn't there anything—"

"No." Amalia turned away and resumed her search for firewood. "There are some things you can't charm or rush."

* * *

In spite of her cool words, Amalia must have said something on his behalf because that evening Gonzales made a point of sitting next to him when they gathered around the fire for dinner. "How're you liking our camp food?" he asked. "Ain't like one of Carina's home-cooked meals, is it?"

"Carina's a good cook," Donovan agreed. "But this will do all right." He sopped a bit of tortilla in the fat left on his plate from their meal of skewered jackrabbit.

"It sure beats the crap they gave us in the service."

"That's not saying much, is it?"

"No, I guess not." Gonzales launched into a tale about a bivouac in the tar sands of Alberta, where they had nothing to eat but what they could salvage from the Chinese and Canadian troops they had routed. "Most of it wasn't no good because what they couldn't take with them they set on fire." He chewed a bit of dried pumpkin and chased it with a swig of watered homebrew. "We tried shooting a few birds, but they were so small all we got was feathers." He turned to Diana. "You should've seen the drumsticks on one of them little things. No more meat than a piñon nut." He patted his stomach and gazed into the fire. "Even a bad day in our little valley is heaven on earth compared to some of what's out there. Wouldn't you say?" He fixed Donovan with his one eye.

"I've been in some spots that I thought were good, but nothing like this."

"Some folks act like it's a badge of honor to die for oil, but I won't do it," Gonzales went on. "I'll gladly die for this land, though."

"Sure enough," Peterson agreed. He poured himself some homebrew and passed the bottle to his daughter who twitched her lips in disapproval and passed it to Amalia.

"The land is everything," Amalia agreed, pouring a healthy shot into her cup. "We can't live without it, so we might as well be ready to die defending it."

"I'll kill anyone who tries to take it!" Diana piped up.

"And a good shot like you, I have no doubt of it," Peterson said. "You take after your grandpa, don't you?"

Melinda edged closer to her daughter. "Such talk. You're a good little hunter, but you don't want to be a tomboy. The boys won't like you."

"There's no boys, anyway," Diana pointed out. "They grow up and have to run away, or else get drafted."

"It won't be like that forever," Gonzales told her.

"And you'll be wanting a husband," Peterson added.

"Not from the boys in our valley."

"From Macrina, then?" Amalia asked. "You'll disappoint your mother if you move away."

Diana considered this. "Maybe I won't marry at all. Or maybe when I grow up I'll marry Donovan."

Before Donovan could react, Gonzales slapped him on the back, laughing. Picking up the cue he laughed, too.

"What's so funny?" Diana demanded, but even her mother was laughing, and the girl was left to wonder just what everyone found so amusing.

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