But as far as she knew, the area of the school itself didn't figure in any of this. A few Navajos had no doubt lived there once, but if so they'd left no traces. Possibly some Anasazis had lived there a thousand years ago, but she had ridden her horses over every inch of the land nearby and had never seen any ruins or petroglyphs. Her house might have had some colorful early history in its years as a trading post, but if so she'd never heard a word of it.
The whole place was so obscure that the little mesa just east of the school didn't even warrant a name on the maps. She'd once heard an old Navajo ranch hand call it Lost Goats Mesa, but that generation had died off and now it was nameless again- none of her staff or faculty had ever mentioned any history of the place.
Cree got the picture. The land was big and enduring; people were small and transient, and the details of their little lives got lost in the sweep of things.
Another few minutes of silence. Julieta put on a pair of sunglasses to help ward the sun that now drilled straight into their eyes, and the reflective plastic seemed to make her very remote.
Soon a big mesa rose and cut off the northwestern horizon, presenting a line of sandstone bluffs that broke into freestanding pillars and buttes at the edges, carved by time into marvelous shapes. They struck Cree as gorgeous, and despite her growing trepidation she felt a shiver of excitement when she saw the sign at the edge of Window Rock: WELCOME TO THE NAVAJO NATION. The highway led into a typical strip of shopping centers, fast-food restaurants, and gas stations, but it felt to her like a gateway to something far larger and older. Behind every plastic sign and faux-adobe facade loomed the ancient rock faces, stark yet sensuous, patient yet playful. The lowering sun filled the red stone with light, softening and smoothing it; she wanted to reach out and stroke the wind-sculpted forms.
"So lovely!" Cree exclaimed.
Julieta glanced over as if startled to find someone in the truck with her. She followed Cree's gaze. "Yes," she admitted. "I guess it is, isn't it. I kind of forget."
7
Horses. They turned onto the school's access road through a little band of horses that milled across the gravel and onto the verge, engaged in some minor scuffle and unconcerned by the approaching pickup. Other than to slow down, Julieta ignored them, but they struck Cree as beautiful, a poem of motion-big, rangy animals with ropy veins in their legs, running free beneath the open sky. They were all pale dapple grays and caramel-and-white palominos, their mottled hides vivid in the lowering sun, long shadows behind.
"The Navajos tend to let their stock roam loose," Julieta explained.
"These guys are from Shurley's place, on the rez just the other side of Black Creek-the stallion comes to check out my mares. I should call him to let him know they've come over this way again."
As the truck came among them, the stallion wheeled, showed a wide eye and yellow teeth to one of his harem, then harried her. The whole group turned irritable and skittish, ears back, as they trotted away.
The sign at the turnoff had said the school was nine miles away, and they drove it in what was becoming for Cree a loaded silence. Julieta's tension was palpable, a dark, heavy mass. The sun was directly behind the truck now, painting the stark landscape with a lush glow, but Cree couldn't savor its beauty anymore. Ahead lay something she'd never encountered, a brooding thing burgeoning like the line of blue dark that rimmed the eastern horizon. Already, she was unsure whether her sense of it was her own or something acquired from Julieta. For the thousandth time, she cursed her proclivity-her talent, her disability- for resonating so strongly with her clients, taking on their states of mind until the borders of identity blurred. If ever there was a time to remain objective, this was it. And she was off to a lousy start.
The horses veered away from the road and descended out of view into a dip of land to the north. Julieta's knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel, her pretty hands turned to naked bone, pressure rising until after another five minutes she slowed and stopped the truck. The plume of dust that had been following them blew past on a light breeze. Once it was gone, she shut off the motor and rolled down her window.
"You can see pretty much the whole thing from here," Julieta said hollowly, as if it were something lost to her.
They had stopped on a little rise. About a mile away, the school lay at the base of some low cliffs, a cluster of new-looking sandstone and steel buildings surfaced in pastel beiges and pinks that complemented the desert palette. The road curved due north through a parking lot and then through the center of the little campus. Julieta pointed out each building. "Just this side of the water tower, that's the garage and utility shed. The next building on that side of the road is our main classroom and cafeteria, and the steel building beyond that is the gym. On this side, the first one's our administration and faculty housing building, and the two beyond that are the dorms. That little log house in the middle there is our hogan. At the far end, that little bell tower is left over from the old days-the trading post would ring it to announce that they were open for business. We think of it as a school bell now, but we only bang on it once a year, at graduation. Past that, where the road ends, that's my house."
The last was a low, sandstone block building at the north end, well removed from the main cluster. A pair of huge cottonwood trees bracketed the front porch; a swimming pool made a startling turquoise oval on one side, and behind the house stood a barn, a few sheds, and a corral surrounded by a wooden rail fence.
"My once and future house," Julieta corrected herself. "Now I keep quarters in the faculty housing unit. Until we can add a wing to the admin building, we're using my home as the infirmary and nurse's residence. That's where Tommy's been staying."
They spent a moment looking over the scene and listening to the tick of the cooling truck motor. A breeze came lightly through the open windows, carrying the dry, clean scent of the desert.
There was nothing overtly menacing about the sight, Cree thought, but its isolation was extreme. Not a human being was visible, and aside from the hard red glare of reflected sun in the west-facing windows, no lights shone. The parking lots were mostly empty of cars, and the shadows of the buildings stretched long over the bare ground. All the distances seemed very great.
Lonesome, Cree thought.
"Friday night is always quiet," Julieta explained. "Most of the kids go home for the weekends. A handful stay on campus, but under the circumstances I figured this would be a good time for a field trip. They're off to Taos to visit artists' studios. So Tommy's the only student here for the next couple of days, and we've got just a skeleton staff for the weekend. I thought it would be the best conditions for… whatever it is you're going to do."
"Excellent."
Still Julieta made no move to start the truck. She sat looking at the scene with eyes full of desperation. "There's something we should talk about before we get there," she said at last.
"Sure."
"What you tell me about your… theory of ghosts-it makes intuitive sense to me. I've always been pretty agnostic about such things, but after what we've been through during the last few weeks, I'm willing to… reconsider my views. But I still have serious doubts about bringing you here. You should know that what's happening to Tommy could kill this school in any number of ways."
"How so?"
"All but three of the faculty and staff are Navajo, and if they start to think there's a supernatural aspect to this, they'll leave and we'll never find anyone to fill their positions. If the parents hear there's something supernatural going on here, they'll pull their kids out, word will spread, and we'll never get another student. If the school authorities hear about my bringing in a… ghost buster to cope with a student health problem, they'll yank our accreditation. If any of my board or my private funders hear about it, I'll lose my financial support. If the state social services people think we haven't handled Tommy the right way, they'll close us down."