Living the Dream by Annie Dalton Page A

dwellings built close by. Aunt Jeannie said they were hogans , traditional Navajo houses. “Nowadays Navajo people tend not to live in them; we use them more for celebrations or ceremonies.”
    “Butterfly Woman lives in a hogan ,” Aunt Evalina contradicted.
    “Butterfly Woman is a dying breed,” Aunt Jeannie said, then looked like she could have bitten off her tongue.
    There was a v. sticky silence, then Aunt Evalina started chatting about the sheep we could see grazing outside the houses. “They’re blue churros , originally brought here by the Spanish. We use their wool to weave rugs and blankets.”
    Cody was suddenly craning forward, looking confused. “Didn’t there used to be ponies over there?” The aunts exchanged pleased glances that Cody had finally remembered something about her father’s home.
    “Do you know how to ride?” asked Aunt Evalina.
    Cody nodded eagerly. “Mom worked as a housekeeper for a while. I helped out in the stables, and they let me ride the ponies.”
    “She’s part Navajo, of course she can ride,” Aunt Bonita said gruffly. “We’ll get Earl Brokeshoulder on to it. He’ll find you a pony.”
    I’d assumed Cody was a townie like me. I’d never pictured her on horseback. I realised I was seeing a new side of Cody, one I never would have seen if we’d followed my original plan. For the first time it occurred to me that Ambriel might actually have known what he was doing. Unfortunately he wasn’t here to ask.
    The truck abruptly swerved down another narrower track, almost immediately stopping in a spurt of dust and gravel. For once I was actually glad to be invisible so no one could see my expression. We’d pulled up outside a shabby old trailer that seemed to have been dumped down in the middle of a junkyard: old tyres, ancient electrical appliances, broken sofas with the metal springs exploding from their seats, a rusting ride-on mower, a truck minus its wheels, used to store hay.
    Picking their way through the junk were goats, hens and a few of the famous blue churro sheep. Several dogs ran up to greet us, tongues lolling. Off in the trees I saw three or four smaller trailers, each one in its own spreading circle of chaos.
    “You’re staying here with Bonita,” Aunt Evalina explained. “Jeannie and me live in those trailers over there. We’re constantly in and out of each other’s homes so you’ll still see us plenty.”
    Cody’s horror was written all over her face. Nowhere to run.

Chapter Thirteen
    G etting out of the truck, Cody stumbled, falling on to gravel and bruising her knees. She was totally exhausted from her epic journey. Even worse, she was in shock. She’d remembered cute Navajo ponies. She hadn’t remembered that her relatives lived in a total tip.
    I was surprised to hear a hum of voices coming from Aunt Bonita’s trailer. A woman said in Navajo, “It’s them! I heard the truck!”
    “You could hear that truck coming in Ship Rock!” someone joked.
    “Sounds like your welcome party got here early!” Aunt Evalina gave her niece a resigned grin.
    Cody had been rubbing her hurt knee through her jeans. She looked up in panic. “You didn’t say I’d have to meet people!”
    “We know you’re tired, Cody,” Aunt Bonita said briskly, “but your dad was well respected around here. It means a lot to folks in Ghost Canyon to know Martin’s daughter has finally come back.”
    “I’m not back though!” Cody’s voice sounded shrill.
    “Everybody understands you’re just visiting, honey,” Aunt Jeannie said quickly. “Just smile and say hi. You don’t need to make a speech!”
    Cody followed her aunts inside, looking ready to pass out with nerves. Inside the trailer Navajo people of all ages stood, leaned or perched anywhere they could find space. The men wore jeans and T-shirts. I was tickled to see some of the older men had on big black cowboy hats. They all wore Navajo jewellery - rings, heavy silver bangles, or some kind of Navajo