The Last Creation

By Jan Kelly

Hopi migration myths illuminate the third book in The Arizona Series. After six years of searching, Guy finally discovers Rose working on the Rawlings’ nearly dismantled ranch. The girl is now a woman still using her adopted name, Jane. Although medication helps her manage her bi-polar symptoms, her first impulse upon seeing Guy is to run. Alternating chapters describe her deteriorating mental state as she camps among the Homolovi ruins on the Little Colorado River; her pursuit by Guy, Kate, and Richard; and Guy’s adventures in the central Arizona desert six years prior as he struggles to recover the Arabian stallion that Rose had run away on. Despite the hardships each narrative describes, including the death of the little spotted dog, Pearl, all paths lead home by the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jan Kelly
• Release date: Feb 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463879955

Jan Kelly

Jan Kelly is a native Arizonan with an MFA in Creative Writing from Arizona State University where she taught for thirty years. She has one daughter and lives with her husband in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Book preview

Prologue

THE HOPI

ALIKSA’I. Listen, this is my story:

It took at least a month for the waters to go down enough for someone to walk around, but it didn’t matter much, because there was nobody left after the big flood except Earth Doctor, Elder Brother, and Coyote. One day the three gods met by the side of the Gila River near Sacaton.

Well, what do we do now? asked Coyote.

Make some more people and animals, Elder Brother answered. We got to do something with all this earth.

If we make more people, said Earth Doctor, let’s each make his own all by himself and be responsible for them.

Elder Brother agreed. You guys interfered too much last time; that’s what happened. Coyote, you can make beasts, something like yourself. Earth Doctor, you make birds and snakes and lizards and things. Remember, I’m boss now. I’ll make all the peoples myself.

This was hard for Earth Doctor to take, but he knew he couldn’t fight Elder Brother openly, so he said, nice and soft, Let me make just one couple. Of course yours will be better, but I’d like to try just one.

All right, said Elder Brother, and my people will always boss yours.

While they were talking, Coyote had started making animals like himself, only with four feet and no hands. These are the smartest animals on earth, he said. I’ll name them coyotes, after me.

Earth Doctor made birds, even though lots had saved themselves by hanging onto the clouds during the flood. He made squirrels and snakes and quail. Coyote made rabbits for his coyotes to eat.

Meanwhile, Elder Brother had made lots of people, but he’d worked fast and some were too short, some were too tall, some were too fat, and some were too skinny. They were different in color, too—some were like dark coffee and some were like coffee with milk in it.

Why don’t you make them all the same? Earth Doctor asked. They look kind of funny to me.

I made them this way on purpose, Elder Brother said. Each different size and color will start a new tribe.

This one looks pretty puny, Coyote said.

That was my first one, Elder Brother explained. It’s a girl named ‘Hopi,’ so women will be in charge of their tribe. They’ll grow if they eat enough corn.

Coyote picked up a lean-looking man. What are the red streaks on this one for?

Oh, said Elder Brother, I scratched my finger when I made him and got a little blood on him. I call him Apache.

Earth Doctor said, I hope he doesn’t act as bloody as he looks. He picked up another one. You got this one streaked, too.

Not bad enough to hurt, said Elder Brother. His name is Navajo. Smart looking, don’t you think? Now put him back in the pile.

All that night Earth Doctor thought about the couple he was going to make. He worked hard all day and breathed life into them just before it got dark again. These are my people, he said.

Elder Brother and Coyote didn’t say anything at first for they were mighty fine-looking people, proud but also modest in their ways. Still Elder Brother wanted to find fault. They’re too dark, he said.

I made them dark on purpose, explained Earth Doctor, so they can stand the sun better.

Pretty big around, said Coyote. If they get in a fight with another tribe, they’ll have a hard time running away.

They never run away, said Earth Doctor. "They stay and fight. Besides, they need those big chests and strong shoulders. They’ve got good faces. And they act good as well as look good. They fight to defend their village but never go to another village to steal. They know how to hunt. They know all about how to raise squash and beans and corn and melons and cotton. They’re honest. Their names are O’odham."

When the sun was about to drop, Elder Brother and Coyote breathed life into their creations. But even before they’d finished, all kinds of trouble started. Mountain lions jumped on deer, coyotes started after rabbits, foxes ran after squirrels. But bad as these animals were, the people were worse.

An Apache snatched the berries from a Yavapai’s hand. The Navaho started herding up all the goats and left none for the Hopis. The Yumas and Mohaves and Papagos started to fight over some cactus fruit. All of them acted just awful except for the O’odham and the Hopis who knew about Tribe Spirit and respected the law.

Earth Doctor looked at the feuding people for a while then he said, "What you folks need is some space to cool off in." So he picked up those fighting Indians and started slinging them in different directions.

What are you going to do with those people of yours? asked Elder Brother.

They’re gonna stay right here, said Earth Doctor. This is a hard country, but I’ll teach them how to irrigate and raise corn here by the river. And they’ll get cactus fruit and mesquite beans from the desert and hunt deer and antelope in the foot hills.

They better keep out of the mountains where you threw my Apaches, said Elder Brother, or my guys will wipe them out.

I already told you, said Earth Doctor, "The O’odham never try to make war on anybody, but if another tribe wants to fight, they better watch out."

Those Hopis look even tinier now, Coyote observed. They landed right on top of those mesas with Navajo all around. I guess it’s good they don’t have any goats to worry about.

They’re big enough, Elder Brother assured them. "They just need to get busy growing corn. You watch—they’ll not only be my first creation; they’ll be the last."

Chapter One

Winslow, northern Arizona

Summer 1999

Guy drove past the weathered old ranch house and let the pickup roll to a stop in the yard, leaning forward in the seat to stare at the young woman out the windshield. He was having a hard time believing the strange and yet so familiar scene before him. The dust he’d raised coming up the long, rutted drive caught up with him and then blew past, mixing with the haze the woman was churning up in the corral beside the truck. She had a black stallion circling her in a well-collected trot, and, despite the glare of a midday sun, despite the earth-heavy air, Guy knew it was her, at last, the girl he’d been searching for, in fits and starts, over the past six years, now a grown woman but unmistakable: Rose. The runaway had been found.

He rolled down his window, thinking he would wave to catch her attention, but then he just rested his arm there on the sill. He shifted into park. Guy lifted his other hand to the burn in his chest; he was gripped with a complicated mix of emotions and had to force himself to put a shoulder to the door and exit the truck, to stand, hatless and wrinkled and wind-tousled, where she would notice him on the next turn with the horse. How often had he watched her slow pirouette in the center of a ring? She had the same dark, tangled-looking hair, taller, but still lean, wearing a man’s work shirt, worn blue jeans, and low-heeled boots.

Their eyes locked—the same fierce blue—and Rose dropped to a crouch as if she could hide there in the middle of a corral. The horse skidded to a stop, startled. Rose took off for the pole fence, ducked through it, dashed across the yard, and Guy, instinctively, launched into pursuit. She was headed for a barn, already in its shade.

Guy heard the pump-action of a shotgun behind him before the words: Hold it right there, mister.

He yanked himself to a stop, raised his hands, and turned. A woman sighted down the barrel at him from the house porch.

Can I help you? she asked without lowering the gun. But she did pull her eye off the site. A woman about his age, early thirties. She could easily be mistaken for a suburban housewife in her nice print dress except for the weapon she had him pinned down with and that shooter’s stance, knees slightly bent, feet spaced wide apart to keep her upright through the recoil. Guy was reminded again of why he hated guns; one wrong move and he’d be dog food for the spotted mutt belatedly emerging, growling, from the dark interior of the barn.

I’m sorry, he began. He started backing up toward the truck, thinking he’d have to jump inside if the dog got too close.

Pearl, the woman shouted. Go on, now. Git. Guy realized she was addressing the dog this time. I got this covered. Her eye returned to the sight and the dog, after a perfunctory woof, sat down. A real cow dog, Guy realized, a mottled coat of darn near every color he’d ever seen on a dog with a black mask over one eye and a white tip of a tail—the pearl, he surmised. But then the woman was shouting at him again. I asked you a question, she said. The dog, panting, looked from him to the woman on the porch. It seemed to wink.

No reason to get riled, he responded evenly, but then he heard a horse, saw Rose swinging astride it in the breezeway of the barn, and shouted her name. At the same time the woman on the porch called out: Jane!

But Rose ignored both of them and reined the horse the other way, out the back end of the breezeway, yelling, Git up! Yaw! and kicking the horse into a gallop. Guy automatically sprinted after her but dropped at the blast of the shotgun.

Damn it! Look what you’ve done, the woman was saying as he rolled to a knee and looked back at her. He put his hands up again. Since he was still breathing, he gathered that had been a warning shot, and now she’d lowered the gun and was gazing past him. Guy turned to note with a sinking feeling the trail of dust the horse and rider had left in their wake. He’d have to grab that stallion and head out fast if he was going to have any chance of catching them.

But the woman on the porch had turned her attention back to him. What did you call her? she asked.

Why’d you call her Jane? he responded. Then when she just kept staring at him, some notion about him dawning on her, he added, Ma’am, can I borrow that horse?

Of course not! she replied sharply. "You don’t chase a runaway—we’ve learned that the hard way. She looked down to mess with the shotgun; putting the safety back on, he hoped. He took the moment to glance around for the dog—no sign of her, scared off by the gun, maybe. Then the woman addressed him again: Your name—it’s Guy somethin’, isn’t it? And when Guy nodded, surprised, she shook her head, smiling. Well, well, well. I think I would like a visit with you. Why don’t you come on inside? It’s too hot to wait out here." She turned and opened the screen door to reveal a red-haired little girl watching all this unfold with wide-eyed wonder.

Go on upstairs, Grace, he heard the woman coach her. But when Guy climbed the porch steps and pulled open the screen door again the child was still standing there in the living room. He nodded at her—just a little kid, maybe four or five. She was staring so intently he tried to pat his hair into some semblance of order so as not to scare her so much. He heard noises off to his left—water running, the scrape of a chair against the floor—and stepped into the sunny kitchen.

The woman was sitting at the table, gulping a glass of water. She’d filled a second glass and placed it in front of the chair closest to him, but Guy didn’t sit down until the woman wiped her mouth with the back of one hand and pointed at it. So Guy what-is-it? she asked, and he looked at her harder then. He was sure he’d never laid eyes on her before: mousy brown hair, a way of evading your eyes but when she did meet your gaze you could see she had a brain in there, and freckles, lots of freckles. Guy had come from a long line of cattle ranchers himself, and this woman seemed to fit the type almost perfectly. There was something a bit off—a shyness, something timid about her that wasn’t a common trait. But her speech had that familiar directness. When he roused himself, said, Thornton she stretched out a hand. I’m Kate. That’s my daughter, Grace. She jerked her chin toward the girl who now stood in the threshold with her mouth ajar.

Guy took her hand—small-boned but calloused, a working woman’s hand. I . . . Guy Thornton, he repeated. So Rose must have . . . .

"Her name’s Jane," the little girl interjected fiercely.

It’s okay, sweetie, Kate reassured her. Why don’t you go upstairs and finish getting ready? We’re gonna be late . . . .

Sorry, Guy started, but Kate cut him off.

"No, I’m the one who should be apologizing. I was being a bit trigger-happy there, and I gave us all a scare, didn’t I? When Kate laughed Grace circled around him and went to stand behind her mother’s chair. But everything’s okay now, right, sweetie? Kate turned to eye her daughter. Why don’t you go put your shoes on?"

But Jane’s not here, now, and she was taking me, the girl protested. She scowled at Guy, and he finished his water, squirming a bit under that glare.

I’ll take you. Kate ushered the little girl from behind her chair, then stepped around her to take her glass to the sink. But you’re not goin’ nowheres without shoes, are you? Go on, now. I mean it. She waited until Grace had tip-toed her way around Guy again and they both heard her bare feet on the stairs. I guess that leaves you cooling your heels here for a bit while I take Grace into town. Jane never mentioned nothin’ about you being a thief or anything like that. You aren’t, right?

No, ma’am, of course I’m . . . . So you’re thinking she’ll be back? I mean, soon? Too much had happened over the past few minutes for Guy to process it all. Kate knowing his name meant Rose had told her about him. But what exactly had she said? Some bad stuff, surely, probably worse than he deserved, with enough truth mixed in to sound right—that is if this Jane was still the Rose he’d known. He’d been hunting her in some measure for the past six years, full-time the past several months. To have come this close—to have glimpsed her—and to have lost her again, just like that . . . .

Kate ducked down to look out the window over the sink, tilting her head to get a view of the barn. You know horses, right? she asked. He nodded when she glanced at him, then she turned back to the window. Well, see if you can get Midnight back into his stall. Don’t worry about Pearl—she won’t hurt you. I don’t even see her, so maybe she went with them. Kate turned back to him, seeming to size him up. "Just don’t underestimate Ol’ Midnight. He’s a handful; you’ll need to be careful. But since you scared Jane off, you’ll have to finish her chores. I’ll be back soon—I’m sorry Jane . . . . Well, I’m glad to finally have the chance to meet ya."

This Jane thing—it disturbed him. Still there was an incredible sense of relief mixed in with his confusion. Guy felt a familiar heat at his sternum and a wave of gratitude for this woman. For months he’d been expecting to find Rose in much, much worse circumstances; he’d stopped to inspect every shelter and homeless camp he’d come across, had dreaded finding her holed up under some freeway overpass somewhere. But right now his sense of frustration was winning out: So, what—I just wait here? he asked irritably. How long do you think this is going to take? Kate just folded her arms across her chest in response. Do I hide the truck? he asked, petering out under her disapproving gaze.

That’s probably a good idea. At the patter of feet on the stairs Kate moved past him. Look, I know Jane, well, she thought you were somethin’ special. I’m as surprised as you that she reacted like that, but, you know, she’s . . . . Kate glanced up at her daughter descending the stairs and did not finish her thought. Park it around the east side of the house, there. She won’t come from that direction.

Kate moved to the hallway table and picked up her purse and a ring of keys. She had a nice figure, Guy noted—probably kept fit chasing that kid around. You make yourself at home—grab somethin’ to eat, if you want. Seriously, Jane’s got kids eatin’ out of this kitchen all the time. They think riding lessons come with a free meal—you might as well, too. Then, Come on, sweetie, Kate said to her daughter, dressed now in white sneakers with a pink bow added to her curly, red hair. She’s on Maggie, so they’re not goin’ far or long. The old girl will be blowin’ by now, and Jane’s too good of a horsewoman to drive her too hard. She’ll bring her home.

Kate pushed the door open and followed her daughter out. But the next instant she was back. Get in the car, she said over her shoulder, then, Forgot somethin’, to Guy. She picked up the shotgun she’d parked by the hall table and replaced it in a big gun cabinet on the living room wall; Guy titled back in his chair to watch her thread a bicycle lock through the case handles.

Better safe than sorry, she said as she passed him again. Look, I’ll be back as quick as I can, but if she gets here before I do . . . . She stalled out, her hand on the screen door. Shoot, I guess you’re a grown man. You can probably defend yourself. She let the screen door slam behind her.

Chapter Two

Cave Creek, southern Arizona

Summer 1993

Manny had driven through one neighborhood after another, his window down and his sleeve wet from the monster storm that had just barreled over them, while Guy hung out the passenger window, every now and then cupping his hands around