Pieces

By Mj Callaway

Anna, the main character, fi nds herself immersed in a sequence of events that involve a friendship with Rose, a Native American. Deceit, treachery, and fraud enter their real life. The spirit world encompasses the two womens way of life.

A blackbird named Caw twists Anna and Roses lives toward new and unforeseen events. They share this part of their lives with the spirit bird. At times the bird enables Anna to deal with the spiritual world and helps her to remember her past. A love interest develops between Anna and Sam, a Native American attorney, who takes an interest in her and the Indian artifacts. A connection to Indian artifacts leads to accidents, crime, abuse, arson, and murder.

Pottery, quilting, and painting are interests that bind the two women in an exciting experience for the reader. Memories of her early childhood at the family farm, a winter storm, an art gallery, and a local caf are all parts of an intriguing novel.

Pieces is the title because many pieces were the reason the story was written. We are a lifetime of pieces.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 29, 2008
• ISBN: 9781477162583

Mj Callaway

I received a BFA degree at Southern Illinois University. Travel with interest in American Indian culture and history. Toured all 50 states and traveled to France, Italy, Greece and the Caribbean Islands. I now reside in Southern New Mexico among the colors of the desert, mountains and the brilliant blue sky.

Book preview

Copyright © 2008 by MJ Callaway.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2008902751

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4363-3140-1

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4363-3139-5

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4771-6258-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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47624

Anna pushed the damp hot pillow to the floor and reached for the other pillow and sheet to find a cooler spot.

When the sheet would not move, she raised it up. On the sheet was a large blackbird. The yellow beak and piercing eyes could not be real. Thinking this was a dream, she closed her eyes. Those piercing eyes did not vanish.

Trying desperately not to panic, she opened her eyes. Now perched on the footrest of her bed, the bird had its black feathers and eyes focused above her head. Trembling as she tried to pull the sheet over her head, she saw the bird lower his eyes in her direction. The large eyes pierced her soul. Shaking uncontrollably, she could not stop staring at that large ugly blackbird.

Terrified it would move, she edged toward the side of the bed. The bird began flapping its wings. The span of feathers blocked out the area in front of her. Anna was screaming and trying to escape from the damp sheet when the bird lowered its head.

She tried to untangle her legs from the damp sheet, and at the same time, she raised her arms to protect her face as the blackbird tried to wrap its wings around her head; Anna waited for what seemed like hours, then moved her arms away. Instead, her eyes opened. She was alone in the bed. Still afraid, she pulled the sheet over her head.

Shaking and with her heart beating in her ears, afraid this was not a dream, Anna remained still, yet her mind was racing. She pushed the sheet away from her face, she was still alone in her bedroom.

Relieved and almost laughing, Anna scanned her bedroom. She was twisted in her bed covers. Confused and afraid, she remembered other dreams the past months, but this morning was the first time she had seen the bird. What if, during the other early mornings and in the difficulty of returning to sleep, that ugly blackbird had been waiting for her to continue dreaming? The feeling was the same.

At the window, she was surprised to see the sun barely above the horizon. Earlier the room was filled with light. Outside the farm, on the gently rolling hills of Southern Illinois, all was tranquil through the barren trees.

Winter had been long, and she was impatient for spring to arrive. Even when Hal was here, she never handled the lack of sunshine during the winter months.

As she remembered the sunrises they shared, she began to feel calm. Only recently was she able to watch instead of hiding in bed.

The images of her dream returned. Being awake and alone with this feeling was upsetting. Putting on her robe, leaving slippers behind, she walked to the kitchen. A glass of water in hand, she looked out the window and could barely make out the outline of the pear tree.

She recalled when she was young, visiting on her grandparents’ farm, the rooster that always hid behind that pear tree and darted out to chase her. Maybe the dream of the blackbird and her fear of that rooster were related. That rooster was her enemy. The large white-feathered wings, ugly beak, and ugly pointed claws were tied in her memory with the raucous noise he made as he ran toward her. Her grandfather, Frank, would chase him away. That damn bird would still find ways to frighten her.

Avoiding his pecks and flapping wings made her dislike birds even more. Her daughter, Janey, kept a parakeet in her room. Anna never admitted her relief when the family cat ended the bird’s life.

Several years ago, on a trip to New Mexico, Anna strolled through an Indian ruin. She waited behind several rocks for a couple of blackbirds to fly away from the rim of a wall that circled a ceremonial structure called a kiva. Later, talking to her friend about the large blackbirds, Rose laughed. The blackbird, she explained, let you go to the kiva. Blackbirds are good luck.

She missed Rose. It had been two years since they had seen each other. After Hal’s death, they spent many hours exchanging telephone calls. Anna did not want to leave the farm. They shared the same phone calls after Rose’s husband, Juan, died.

Thinking about Rose, Anna felt better. She turned off the kitchen light and walked down the hall. Her bare feet touching the cold wooden floor, she remembered the hall runner in the closet outside the bedroom.

Years ago, on a trip to Mesa Verde, while visiting the Visitor Center in the National Park, she watched a Navajo woman weave a runner. She liked the warm earth tones, and after spending time talking to the woman, she made arrangements to have it sent to her. Hal teased her about the runner because they had wall-to-wall carpet. Now her bare feet needed the warm wool instead of the cold floor.

Still unsettled from her dream, she decided the warmth her of bed would erase some of the memories. Swinging her feet in bed, her hand felt something on the sole of her foot. Anna turned on the light by the bed and noticed the dust from the farm changed as she moved her fingers: red-colored particles fell to the floor, changing the dark tones of the farm dust.

Out the door, she could see red dust on the hall floor.

What’s out there?

Anna studied the dust for several minutes. There was not a sound in the house. She made herself leave her bed and walked very slowly to where the red dust began. Trying not to step in the dust, she noticed her footprints. Next to her prints, her fear returned. Bird tracks matched her footprints to the walk-in closet in the hall.

Damn, that bird is in there.

Several times she reached for the door handle. She knew things were lying about and many boxes were stacked on the floor. Only the kitchen and her bedroom were in order, the rest of her belongings were in this large storage closet and stacked in the large room with the fireplace.

She thought to herself, I’ll open the door only a crack, and when the light comes on if that bird is in there, I can trap it. As she touched the doorknob, a hot sensation traveled up her arm. She jerked her hand away and fell back against the wall. Realizing the feeling in her arm was not threatening, she decided to touch the doorknob again. The warm feeling remained as her hand wrapped around the brass knob. Anna slowly opened the door, the light in the closet turned on.

Perched on top of an Indian rug was that damn blackbird. They stared at each other. She was afraid the bird might fly toward her. Anna’s heart pounded in her throat as she started to slam the door shut. The warm sensation traveled down her arm and through her body. Her hand remained on the opened door.

As in a trance, she began to move toward the large black wings. She was certain they would spread and touch her face. Then a familiar light circled the bird perched on the box.

A circle of light wrapped around her as her body moved upward. As she began to travel upward, she was viewing all of this from another place, but her hand was still gripping the doorknob. The strange light surrounded them. His beak began to move. Again, she was standing on the floor of the closet. She could not hear any sounds, but she knew the bird would not harm her.

The bright light faded into a soft glow. In slow motion, he hopped to the floor toward a cardboard box. Anna’s body moved in the direction of the bird. The odor of red dust filled her nostrils. The smell reminded her of spring rain or the wet clay she used building pots in New Mexico.

That bird touched the box and screeched. Anna jumped back. She tried to run, but her feet remained in place.

What do you want?

When the bird did not move, Anna gently placed her hand on the far corner of the carton. The bird slowly lowered his head until his beak touched her hand. Although the contact was light and gentle, she jerked her hand away. The bird moved away to the far edge of the box. He pecked at the Indian rug. The rug was caught in the sealing tape.

Don’t you dare move! she whispered to the bird.

After she removed the tape and the Indian rug, she was surprised to see arrowheads scattered at the bottom of the box. The bird shifted closer, and Anna stepped back.

I mean it. If you move, I’m leaving. He did not move.

These arrows belonged to my grandfather. Where is the glass shadow box?

She moved several boxes near the wall and found the empty frame. Turning over the frame, she thought about the first time her grandfather had displayed them. He wrapped wire around each arrowhead onto a screen. Then he tacked an oval white wooden frame around the old porch screen. For years, the framed arrow heads had been in the old farmhouse on the kitchen wall, near the root cellar door.

Her father brought the arrowheads home after her grandfather’s funeral. Years later, she inherited the frame after her father’s death. By that time, the old wooden frame was separating. The wires around the arrowheads were rusted and brittle.

Hal finally convinced her to allow him to make another frame. He set them in this plastic frame.

The bird cawed softly, and Anna moved as far away from that bird as she was able. He hopped down and waited near the door. She reached inside the box and touched pottery shards. Surprised, she dropped the shadow box and it fell near the blackbird.

When she reached for the frame, she noticed reflections of pottery pieces and arrowheads in the bird’s huge yellow eyes.

The bird slowly shut his eyes. Anna waited. When he finally opened them, they were only dark liquid spaces.

Now what do you want! she yelled.

Suddenly, the bird spread his wings; Anna placed her hands over her face. Nothing happened. No sounds. She peered through her fingers to find the open door behind his wingspan. The large black-feathered wings appeared to swallow up the space of the closet. The same as in her dream and the space on her bed. The wings moved upward in slow motion. Expecting them to hit the doorframe, she gasped. The feathers and box seemed to move within the frame and walls of the closet. Before her next breath, he disappeared. She began to tremble and grabbed the box. Listening for any sound, she managed to walk to the doorway.

Damn it, you’d better not be on my bed.

Red dust and a soft light circled the doorframe, drawing her out of the closet. The bird was perched on the windowsill, looking out the window. Maybe if she opened the window, the blackbird would fly away.

The blackbird started to caw and hopped in slow motion on the sill. Suddenly she felt safe. Immediately, a swirl of red dust enveloped the creature. In the red glow, he reminded her of drawings of birds in Indian ruins.

Oh my god, are you some kind of sign?

A soft sound of laughter. Anna felt the presence of Rose behind her.

She shook her head and moved closer to the windowsill. She lowered her head and stared into the bird’s eyes. Arrowheads and pieces of pottery moved in circles in his pupils. Somehow, she knew the blackbird wanted her to remove the articles out of the box.

Before I do anything, I need a cup of coffee.

Anna reached for her silver bracelet. Rose had given it to her years ago, and she wore it every day. The bracelet was not there. She looked in the bedroom and bath, but it was missing. The blackbird was still peering out the window.

I know you have it. Where is my bracelet?

The bird did not move.

As Anna walked down the hall toward the kitchen, the dust was still on the floor. Bending down, she could see her footprints were under a layer of red dust. The bird tracks had disappeared.

Anna touched her footprints and the red dust. They were sealed on the wooden floor. She stepped on the footprints, they remained.

In the kitchen, she reached for her coffee container. Several years ago she had found it behind a row of dusty canning jars in the root cellar of the original farmhouse. The cork top had been replaced many times. It was empty. She opened the cabinet and found the bag of coffee beans. Grinding the beans in her electric grinder, a scene flashed in her mind.

Anna was mashing beans in a hollow rock while sitting in red dust. The vision quickly vanished.

Holding the bean pot, she hoped it was not going to send any messages.

This is what I get reading all those witchcraft theories and ghost stories. If this happened to me in New Mexico, I wouldn’t think twice. Why is this happening here?

Sipping the hot coffee and smelling the aroma in the early daylight, she began to hear the sounds of her childhood visits with her grandparents.

Awake in her small feather bed in the room next to her grandparents, she would listen to the crickets, the morning doves, the morning news on the radio her grandfather listened to each dawn, and the whistle of a train early every morning as it passed near the old cornfield. Any train’s whistle always brought memories of her grandparents.

Taking another sip of the hot coffee, the train whistle sounded. Anna looked out the window at the old farm house. The farmland was layered with mist. Suddenly, out of the mist appeared a white-haired man holding a straw hat. As he moved toward her, she dropped her cup, not aware of the hot coffee that stained her gown.

She had seen this vision years ago at a kiva in Chaco Canyon. That time she thought it was a vision of Juan, who had died that year. Reason—she had wanted to see him.

In a few seconds, the man began to fade yet drew nearer. Anna held on to the counter. The old man was moving in slow motion just as the bird had moved. Mist moved in waves around him. He slowly disappeared as the mist evaporated.

She was surrounded by a strange silence, like after a heavy snowstorm. Tranquility, safety, and comfort filled the kitchen.

Where are you? she called out.

The man did not reappear. Anna cleaned up the spilled coffee and returned to the bedroom. She sat on her bed. Suddenly, the bird flew by her into the bathroom. Anna followed.

The top of the small window had slipped down again, and the bird began to move into the open space. To her surprise, he moved through the two-inch crack without any effort. A few smudges of red dust remained on the window sill.

Anna returned to the kitchen and looked out the window and could see the bird was sitting on her back porch. He was facing the old farmhouse. Fearing it would return, she ran to the bathroom and tried to close the window. It would not move.

You idiot, she thought to herself, it was here this morning and would probably enter wherever it wanted to.

Instead of standing in the cold, Anna returned to her bedroom. Her foot bumped into the bed frame, and the top of the box opened.

A chill moved over her body as she looked at the many pieces of pottery and arrowheads inside. Pushing the box to the side of the bed, she pulled the comforter over the top of her bed. Anna felt a touch on her shoulder. Her fear returned. She was alone, and this time it was not the blackbird.

She remained quiet for a long period of time. Moving the comforter away, she pulled the carton next to her.

Taking the arrowheads from the box as she placed them in a row, she noticed the last one move. It was pointing toward the box. Something else was in that box. Without hesitation, she peered inside. A familiar draw-string bag had been placed beside a loose pile of the pottery shards.

Ah damn, that bird did this.

Her thoughts began to travel back in time to the year she made this bag to keep the pieces she had uncovered on that dusty road.

Then Anna noticed small pieces of pottery scattered in the dust on a road to the Indian ruin. It was fun picking the shards up and looking at the broken designs. There were many, yet none seemed to match. She had kept these for years, but had not seen them for a while. The colors were brighter than she remembered.

The three pieces in her hand formed a pattern. She placed the remaining pieces near the rest. Emptying the bag, she saw there were more than she remembered. Maybe Hal had found other clay pieces and put them with the rest. The bed was not going to be a good place to separate them. Selecting a few pieces, she walked to her studio.

A long table had been placed by the large windows. She put the pieces down. This was the first time she had used her studio for a project. In the past months, she had read books near the large window. Looking at the stacks of books on the floor, she was amazed at the number and became aware she didn’t remember what many of the books were about.

The room was bare except for a floor lamp and one of the kitchen chairs by the fireplace. The high ceiling and bare walls loomed around her. All this light and open space she had always wanted in her home. Yet she had ignored her surroundings the past two years. On occasion, neighbors would drop by. They stayed in the kitchen for their visits. When Janey, her daughter, came, it was only to travel or to drive Anna to spend time at her home.

What have I been doing all this time?

Hal and Anna designed the new house with this room planned to be the center of their lives. The north wall was all windows. Lots of light was important to her. This place needs attention, she thought to herself. The day was gray and the north light was inadequate. She needed the extra light to fit the small pieces of pottery together.

Anna found a couple of drafting lights in the closet, which lighted the table perfectly. She arranged the shards of the same color, and a pattern began to take shape. Anna hunted in the kitchen for glue but could not find it. She needed that glue to keep the arranged pieces together and decided to drive to the art store.

Anna quickly dressed and, for the first time in months, was on a mission. She glanced in the bedroom window as she walked to her car, and there sat that bird on the inside windowsill. He did not move when she shut the car door. As she drove off, she thought to herself, I have to find a way to deal with this, but laughed to herself as she waved to him as she whizzed past.

During the short drive to town, she decided to find some birdseed, realizing the bird would be here for a while. The thought comforted her, yet at the same time, a chill ran up her spine.

She parked the car at the pet store and saw several lights on and the back door open. Out in the back shed, a man was throwing seed to several large birds. Anna approached them and realized they looked just like her houseguest.

The man turned to her and said, I’m surprised to see blackbirds this time of the year. It’s strange, they usually aren’t around till spring planting.

Anna asked what he was feeding the large blackbirds, and he showed her some cracked corn.

I have one of those birds at my house.

He’s lost from the flock and will find his way over here before you return.

Anna purchased a bag of the corn and was not about to tell him that a bird was in her house. That bird was not part of that flock; hers was twice the size of the flock. Her bird had been around for some time. But why would the blackbird enter her life now? She had been alone in the house for almost two years.

Before leaving the area, she pulled in at the art store. Before Hal’s illness, she had been a frequent customer. She parked the car and entered the front door. The familiar bell jingled, but there seemed to be a different atmosphere. Carol hurried from behind the counter. I missed you. You haven’t been here in a long time. Everything all right? I mean, how is the new house?

Carol’s questions she did not answer.

I need glue. I’ve decided to glue a few pieces of broken pottery together. Do I need a special type of glue?

Well, if it’s old, but I guess it’s something you dropped?

You could say that.

I didn’t mean to be nosy, but it’s been so long since you were here. If there is anything we can help with, just say so.

I’ve started setting up the studio. I’ve had this broken pot for a while, and it should be a quick project.

Have wondered how you were coping. I mean… are you planning to move, well, I mean, well, you know?

No, I’m staying right there.

Well, folks around here do talk.

About what?

Oh, silly me, I was just wondering. Carol glanced toward the back storage door and quickly walked to the counter stacked with art supplies.

Carol showed her what types of glue to use. Carol began straightening books above the counter. Anna scanned the titles on several rows.

You’ve a good selection of pottery reference books in stock.

For years, farmers around here have found not only arrow heads in their fields, but pottery pieces as well. I ordered the books for them. Don’t mind, but they haven’t purchased many. I do enjoy helping them find pots. Sorry I don’t have a selection for new china or pottery. That is what you are trying to repair?

Anna smiled, but did not respond.

Among the books of the Plains Indians were several editions of Southwest pottery. No wonder the local farmers did not purchase many of them. They were expensive reference books only serious dealers would have on hand. She flipped through two of the larger editions. Several pots had prices underlined, the pages seemed to open to various photos like the shards on her work table.

This was peculiar, but her main concerns right now were the pieces of pottery and that damn bird. Carol removed the book and quickly placed it on the counter.

Carol said, I have these on hand for travelers going out west.

Anna held the Plains Indian book and waited for Carol to sack the glue. She looked around the store and realized she had missed the familiar smells of the tubes of paints.

After you finish gluing the pot together, bring it in. I’m always interested in the artifacts found around here.

It’s not important, but I’d like to buy this book.

No way—take it home with you. If you decide to keep it, pay later. This way you’ll come back to chat.

Leaving the art store, Anna laughed out loud.

She’ll never change. She is such a nosy broad.

She was hungry, and that sack of cracked corn did not look appetizing.

She stopped at the grocery store. Although her refrigerator was practically bare, she did not want to take the time to shop for the week. The deli would have to do today.

Near the deli section, Anna recognized one of the carpenters who worked on the house.

Hi there. How’s everything going with the house?

Everything seems to work. I’m not completely settled in.

Have you noticed a large blackbird near your place? he asked.

The expression on her face was his answer. Laughing, he told her not to worry. That bird watched the entire time we were building your house. He never would get very close. I tried to feed him, but he would fly away. I thought I saw that bird around the cemetery the other day, I wondered how the blackbird was able to survive during these winter months. Figured that was the same bird that stayed around during the building of your house.

Anna did not respond. He sensed she was in a hurry and said good-bye.

She was anxious to work in the studio and hurried back to the house. Gluing the pieces together would take time, and the winter day would pass quickly. The bird was not on the windowsill when she drove up. Searching through the house, she did not find him, so she sprinkled part of the corn on the porch

floor.

She put her soup and sandwich in the refrigerator. When she returned to the table in the studio, she stepped back in surprise.

Where did the extra pieces come from?

Behind her she felt a movement of cooler air. Moving away from the table, she watched the bird glide and settle next to her. He dropped a shard.

When the bird saw the expression on her face, he silently circled the long table. Carefully folding his large wings to his body, he blinked, then pushed the piece next to the other pieces she had previously lined up. He gazed at her, silently nodded his head, and swayed toward the pile of shards.

It would take a long time to place them in order. The blackbird moved another piece a little closer, then gently opened one wing and scooted several toward the center of the table.

Where did you find these? The colors make a pattern.

Anna realized that he wanted her to piece them together.

Not until I get something to eat. Your food is on the back porch.

The bird began to caw as she unwrapped her food. She opened the back door, but it did not move.

Okay, have it your way.

She poured corn in a plate and opened a package of sunflower seeds. The bird ate the sunflower seeds and kept nodding toward her sandwich. All this was very bizarre. This bird was not a threat. She reached for her sandwich, This is mine.

He made a cawing sound.

If we are going to carry on a conversation, how about a name for you?

"Caw."

Repeating the sound caw, he was on her shoulder before she could react. She raised her hands to push him away, but she stopped. The claws felt like a friendly pat. She could not feel his weight. Anna thought the bird would leave as she turned to walk away. He stayed on her shoulder.

Don’t you dare spread those big wings.

For the first time she smiled. No one will believe this, you’re on my shoulder, and I’m not screaming or collapsed on the floor.

He stayed on her shoulder as she carried the sandwich into the studio. Before she arrived at the table, from the reflection in the mirror she could see Caw was not on her shoulder. Anna had not felt him leave.

The sandwich finished, she studied the pottery pieces. She did not know what to do next. Studying the line Caw had made earlier, she selected a red piece that had a black line in the center. Several pieces were forming a ring. Adding extra pieces, she saw that the design became two rings. The glue set quickly, and the two rings were joined. Strange. The edges fit tightly. They did not have any chips or damage to the sides or surfaces. When the glue dried, the surface was smooth and the colors bright.

Caw returned and pushed a piece toward her. Turning it around, she saw the markings resembled a bird’s beak. She pieced the section together and formed a bird’s beak. Gluing this smaller ring, she had rebuilt a small pot. One ring had arrowheads painted on it, and the other several blackbirds.

Her eyes were not focusing. Anna needed some air and space. Walking had always given her perspective during many situations in her life. Maybe she could find answers in the fresh air. Caw was nowhere to be seen. She figured the bird slipped out the crack in the bathroom window again.

Anna was happy to see the sun shining on this cold winter day as she left the house and walked down the road.

Walks with her grandfather were her first memories of this place. Frank would put on his straw hat and down the road the two of them would go. She learned by his side what kind of trees grew along the way. They would be still and watch the wild birds in the trees. Sometimes they would just sit and gaze at the crops in the fields. Now she walked up the hill to the cemetery. Her ancestors would be waiting. As a child, she and her grandfather would sit here. He would spend hours with stories about her relatives. It was never dreary but a peaceful time. She often confided in him. He always listened and only gave her advice when she would ask.

Her grandparents’ and parents’ graves were side by side, and the granite headstones were identical. Standing beside the stones, she could see most of the farm.

Hal was not buried at the cemetery. He had been cremated and his ashes scattered on his favorite mountain top, but his presence was with her.

Her conversation with her parents and grandparents today was different. Anyone listening could hear a new excitement in her voice. After removing several branches and leaves from the bases of the stone, she stood looking toward the old farmhouse. The white story house was on the property in front of her home. The new owners had not moved in. At first she thought it looked lonely, but decided on forsaken.

After her father’s death, Anna and her mother had spent time fixing the old house up. When she and Hal came on occasional visits during the summer months, they would drive around the fields looking at the crops. Her mother would reminisce aloud about when her father bought this and that piece of property.

She turned toward the headstones. Something glittered in the sunlight. Near the bottom of her grandfather’s granite slab, some repeating patterns of small arrowheads were visible. The markings surprised her. Tracing the arrowheads with her finger, she could feel the last one in the row pointed in the other direction.

The arrowhead pointed to her father’s favorite bean field. Next to the field was a small piece of land they never cultivated; behind the land, a hill covered with rocks. The area in front of the hill was never tilled, and the shape of the hill remained as it had been since it was a land grant during Martin Van Buren’s presidency. Her great grandfather and grandfather never wanted the area disturbed.

There were only a few trees at the bottom of the hill with no leaves on them, and the brown dirt was exposed. The layers of the warm earth colors reminded Anna of the mesas surrounding Paja. Strange, she thought; Paja is in New Mexico, and every year she spent time on top of that high mesa. Today, the color of the brown dirt resembled the dark brown of the sandstone and tufa after a rainstorm on the mesas. The bare trees on the hill resembled the old pinion trees at the Indian ruins of Paja.

During her past visits to the mesa, she had found many pottery pieces. Until recently,