Meri's Turn in Time: Under the Stars Through the Seasons

By Kathleen Ann Emmett

Meri grew up under the wide Montana sky on a small farm near the Canadian border milking cows, feeding chickens, and listening to her brother's tales of the stars and starlore. But as graduation loomed near, she began to regard the figures on the celestial carousel with the sentimentality of a forgotten toy and became increasingly uneasy with her expected entry into a university. She had too many questions, questions that sitting in a classroom wouldn't answer. She needed to find some solid truths, truths she could pound against and they wouldn't crumble. She was determined to seek them out.

Leaving for the west coast, Meri and her best friend Christine end up moving in with Rex, an old environmental warrior who takes them to an old growth forest, shares the tools of activism, and to Meri's surprise, aspires to the same mindset of putting all on the line for a meaningful life. Soon she finds work at a state agency, starts taking classes, and joins protests.

But she's still strangely comforted when, glancing up, she makes out familiar figures in that ancient ring of myths encircling the earth. She imagines that as ancient sky watchers mapped the path of the sun in the night sky, they wove tales of their movements and their own lore into the stars. And as she begins to relate to the tales of guardianship and farming, balance, and wildlife and so many others, she begins to find a true purpose and a path for this, her turn in time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886855777

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Meri's Turn in Time

Under the Stars Through the Seasons

Kathleen Ann Emmett

ISBN 979-8-88685-576-0 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88685-577-7 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Kathleen Ann Emmett

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Under the Stars of Spring:

The Lion, the Lady, and the Scales of Light

♌ The Lion

♌ Chapter 1: Hello, Dawn of Spring

♌ Chapter 2: The Wheel and the Three Doors

♌ Chapter 3: Riding the Great Carousel in the Sky

♌ Chapter 4: Battling the Big Horn

♌ Chapter 5: The Brew of Redemption

♍ The Lady

♍ Chapter 6: Earth Angel

♍ Chapter 7: The Fruits of Motherhood

♍ Chapter 8: The Opening of the Seed

♍ Chapter 9: The Crux of the Matter

♎ The Days of Libra: The Scales of Light

♎ Chapter 10: Finding True North

♎ Chapter 11: The Hero of Heaven's Peak

♎ Chapter 12: The Jewels in the Crown

♎ Chapter 13: Scales of Time and Justice

Under the Stars of Summer:

The Scorpion, the Archer, and the Seagoat of Change

♏The Sting of the Scorpion

♏ Chapter 14: Scorpio's Clipped Claws

♏ Chapter 15: Tables and Floors

♏ Chapter 16: Our Checkered Past

♏ Chapter 17: Ranger Bill Sings the Blues

♐ The Archer

♐ Chapter 18: The Agency

♐ Chapter 19: Tracks of the Arrows Flight

♐ Chapter 20: Why the Eagle Falls

♐ Chapter 21: Notes from the Lyra

♑ The Seagoat of Change

♑ Chapter 22: Killer Whales in the Niche

♑ Chapter 23: Inspection Connection

♑ Chapter 24: The Cancers of Life

♑ Chapter 25: Capricorn's Grin in the Sky

Under the Stars of Autumn:

The Water Bearer, the Fish, and the Point of Aries

♒ Streams from a Water Bearer's Jar

♒ Chapter 26: Streaming Our Stuff

♒ Chapter 27: Surfing the Trickle Down

♒ Chapter 28: Waking Up

♒ Chapter 29: Stumbling into the Maw of the Fish

♓ The Ties That Bind Us

♓ Chapter 30: The Hidden Knot

♓ Chapter 31: The Wake of the Beauty Queen

♓ Chapter 32: The Times that Bind Us

♓ Chapter 33: Andromeda's Rescue

♈ A New Day Dawns

♈ Chapter 34: The Cyclicity of Life

♈ Chapter 35: When the Doves Cry

♈ Chapter 36: Perseus Rising

♈ Chapter 37: Meri's New Day Comes

Under the Stars of Winter:

The Bull, the Twins, and the Round Blue Crab

♉ The Days of Taurus: A Bullfight Raging in the Sky

♉ Chapter 38: A Farm in Peril

♉ Chapter 39: The Club of Control

♉ Chapter 40: The Daughters of Atlas

♉ Chapter 41: The Sitting Bull Within Us

♊ The Days of Gemini: Gatekeepers at the Ecliptic Crossroads

♊ Chapter 42: Two, the Only Even Primary

Immersed body and soul in a slouch so deep and luxurious she'd scarcely moved from the couch for hours, Christine suddenly winced as if she'd been hurt. Blond sprigs of hair sprung from long tresses loosely bound low on her neck, her half-hearted attempt at grooming for the day. Still in her lime green and mango night tee and matching plaid pajama pants she lounged as unconscious of the nearing noon hour and the mounting mound of clutter littered around her as a nesting raptor of its droppings on the ground below. Sections of The Olympian lay scattered on top of People magazine on the coffee table, pinned under the cold remains of a cup of cocoa and a plate of half-eaten toast topped with a nibbled fried egg and a tossed crumpled napkin. The floor beneath lay strewn with discarded socks, slippers, discards from a pedicure, magazines and ripped-open mail.

♊ Chapter 43: Reunions

♊ Chapter 44: Ketron Island Camping

♊ Chapter 45: When Two Become One

♋ Rockin' the Cradle of the Round Blue Crab

♋ Chapter 46: Earth's Pirouette

♋ Chapter 47: Meri Holds Her Ground

♋ Chapter 48: Cruising on a Crab

♋ Chapter 49: Keepers of Eden

About the Author

To my father, Otto Christian Heltborg, whom I watched and tried to follow; my mother, Olive, whose life lent meaning into the word love; and all my children and grandchildren, who fill my life with wonder, beauty, challenges, and joy.

The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork,

Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge.

There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard;

yet their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.

In them he has set a tent for the sun, which comes forth like a bridegroom leaving his chamber, and like a strong man runs its course with joy.

Its raising is from the end of the heavens, and its circuit to the end of them;

and there is nothing hid from its heat. (Psalms 19:1–6)

Under the Stars of Spring:

The Lion, the Lady, and the Scales of Light

♌ The Lion

Leo rises in April, in the northern, midnight sky, sitting sentry above Hydra,

the Sea Serpent who meanders along the horizon below,

with Corvus the Raven and Crater the Cup, in tow.

Guardian of the Waters

A Regal Lion gazes west, through past and future Ages

Protector of floodgates, carved on stone pages

Recumbent Leo lends the Sphinx his strength

Guarding waters, whatever length

Below him, Hydra undulates along Earth's celestial belt

Glinting scales from Cancer's claw to Virgo's smelt

Twisting oft to spite us, we gouge and hack her heads

Slicing, sealing her streaming back, leaving empty beds

Raven waited for grapes to ripen along the flowing spring

Blaming delays on Hydra of Crater's wine to bring

Apollo knew the Raven lied, but loved the drink that grew

Tomorrow comes, and Leo springs anew.

♌ Chapter 1: Hello, Dawn of Spring

Hello, Dawn of Spring

The pale hour before sunrise, miles from the nearest town in northern Montana, Meri stumbled over stones she'd helped lay years before in the Sirius Ray of their sky wheel and crawled onto a massive quartz boulder. Cupping cold hands on her cheeks, she shuttered, trying to shake off her mom's voice swirling in her head. You're graduating, sweetie, off to college with a two-year degree! Frowning into the darkness, she confessed, Now that it comes to it, I don't know if I want to go. The world's in chaos.

She glanced to the east and spotted Pisces rising like a bent twig out of the rosy horizon. One day, it'll be the Guy with the Jar. She groaned. If we make it that long. Exhaling a stream of white breath, she folded her hands beneath her head. Her butt prickled from the fresh blood flowing into its cold numbness. Ignoring the chilling spasms coursing down her spine, she pressed her lower vertebrae into the smooth, curved stone and gazed up.

Minutes later, Rusty stirred by the fire. Hearing the muffled pat of his footsteps crossing the dry ground, she sat up, pulling her legs to her chest. He scaled the notched post behind her and sat on the wide board nailed to its sawed-off top. Jon shuffled behind him, bearing a smoldering sprig of sagebrush he'd lit from the low flames in the firepit where they'd been sitting with Christine, warming their hands in the chilly predawn air.

Hey, birthday girl, said Jon, holding out the smoking sage.

Lifting her head, she squinted at her younger brother an arm's length away.

I have a question. He tilted his head to one side. Hey, if you're up for it.

She waved the smoke away, coughing. Is that supposed to be some sorry-ass excuse for a candle? 'Cuz you know it's not. She snorted at the smoldering sage. There's no way I'm blowing that out.

Yeah. You probably don't have it in ya, he said, drawing it back, his mouth curved in a smirk. So Stine and I were just talking. Remember Sam telling us about the thirteenth month of Carnival? Isn't that about now?

The thirteenth month of Carnival? She blinked at his six-foot-two, rail-thin figure. His fleece-lined leather jacket was open, despite the cold. Oh, that's over, she said with a wave of her hand, but the memory filled her with wistful nostalgia.

And Mardi Gras?

Oh yeahhh, Fat Tuesday! Christine's sassy, throaty voice cut in.

She sauntered up, bobbing her head to a tune she crooned, swinging a flashlight in one hand and clutching a patchwork quilt around her shoulders with the other. Not having come to watch the sunrise before, she'd squealed thanks and grabbed the quilt Meri offered as she climbed out of her Volvo. Then, drawn to the warmth of the flames crackling on the ruddy coals in the firepit, she had lagged behind to throw another stick on the embers and watch the flames lap it up.

Damn nipplely cold out here, she announced. Getting grunts of agreement, she resumed humming, swaying from side to side. So tell me again, Mer, what's the big deal with sunrise? I mean, yeah, the sky is beginning to glow, but it's cold as crap out here.

Stine, said Meri, we come to say hello to the dawn of spring.

You do this for all the seasons? she asked with an accusing raised eyebrow.

We used to, back when we first made the Wheel. We celebrated spring in the morning, summer midday, autumn in the evening, and winter at night. But spring is our favorite time of year, the long nights of winter are over, new growth appears, there's planting, it's like earth's new year. At least for us, in the northern hemisphere, it's her birthday.

Well, okay…then, said Stine. Let's say hello to that spring sunrise, but me, I'd rather be at the Mardi Gras Carnival. Securing the flashlight under the arm that clamped the blanket, she snapped her fingers with her one free hand, singing, Faaattt, faaatt Toos…day, swinging saucy hips and shuffling her feet in a little dance with the quilt flapping around her, Faaatt fat food, faaatt fat drinks, and the fat, funky blues. She squeezed her eyes shut and raised her voice. Dancing in the streets all night. Pausing, she whispered on a low, flat note, Until ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

Wonder filled her eyes. "Painted revelers decked out in masks and peacock feathers. Flowing costumes and flashy beads, singing in the streets all night. Oh, New Orleans! Now that's a proper rite!"

Sounds like one hellova party, said Jon.

And yet, despite all the feasting, carnival means ‘without meat,' deadpanned Meri. She raised a hand toward the rosy glow growing to the east on the horizon. Here we're celebrating the sun swinging like a pendulum between the points of solstice. Today, exactly between them. And nowhere do seasons matter more than on a farm, spring gets everything going again.

Meri rubbed her forehead. Here's the deal, Jon. The ‘thirteenth month' starts twelve days after Christmas and climaxes on Stine's beloved Fat Tuesday. When, like all the witches and goblins let loose on All Hallow E'en to get ready for All Saints Day, everyone gets rid of their meat with a lot of feasting and frivolity to prepare for the forty days of lent. She grunted a laugh. But I tell ya, I'm not sure forty days enough, even with all the feasting on Fat Tuesday, to get all y'all's nonsense and frivolity repented out.

You're so dramatic, Mer, Jon said, shaking his head.

Meri chuckled. You want dramatic? Do you know why there's never a full moon on Easter?

No…never thought of it, but…

"Because they schedule Easter the first Sunday after the first full moon after the dawn of spring."

Why do they do that?

Remember a few years back, on our way to church, and you were whining about your tight collar and tie? And Sam slapped the dashboard and turned around, grinning like a crazy person?

"That's what I'm talking about. What was that creepy story?" Jon asked.

"The real Pageant of Spring. Her eyes bulged with scandal, and she slapped the rock she sat upon, aping Sam's voice. The moon's a shameless lover! So bright during the long, dark nights of winter that, one night each year, he becomes quite full of himself and tries to lie with his beautiful mother, earth."

Oh god, Jon moaned, remembering.

Ooh. Christine cooed, scooting next to Meri on the rock. This is good stuff!

"Well, Mom told him to turn around and sit down. But he just raised a finger and said, ‘You see? The sun shines on the moon for twelve cycles. And then, when the sun arrives at carnival, the thirteenth, darkest month on earth, it's exhausted. But in that month, when the moon is full, he's so bright he tries to be the sun. And on that day, the Sun crucifies him the moment his rays cross the horizon, piercing him, like a lamb for Easter. Then, with light's victory over darkness, the Daystar begins the new year.' He plopped back down on the seat then, laughing at our gaping mouths."

So, said Jon, remembering the incident, the church copped the dawn of spring and the phases of the moon to make Easter a triumph of day over night.

Looks like it, Moon Boy. Meri grinned at him.

He flicked the sage, sending a small shower of sparks cascading in her direction.

Hey! she said, brushing the glowing flecks off her blanket. You asked for it.

Jon, said Rusty, his voice low and sure. The moon circles earth thirteen times a year. It was our calendar. But the sun marks seasonal changes. Maybe recognizing it's sunlight growing longer than the night, not the moon, that brings the new life of spring, is all it means. Sky glow outlined his smooth, dark face, high cheekbones and strong chin. His eyes stared ahead, set with an expression of timeless patience.

I'm going to miss him, Meri thought, clutching her blanket around her shoulders to fight off a chill. Can you believe it? This is my last equinox as a minor.

Listen to yourself. ‘Can you believe this is my last equinox as a minor?' Christine aped, wagging her head. "Who are you? She shook her head in wonder. Dork!"

Right? Jon cut in.

Hippies, Meri shot back, pausing to consider Christine's ivory profile. So outgoing and free-spirited, she isn't haunted with uncertainty.

Okay, Christine said, shutting off her flashlight. She shook her head in wonder. What I don't understand is how you know so dang much about the frickin' sky. She snorted. My god!

Meri glanced at Jon. Well, when you grow up hearing the stories almost every night from Sam, who carried around his sky atlas like a Bible, and you've got this big Montana sky…

And a mother who lets the TV stay broken, Jon added.

What else is there to do? Meri leaned back on her rock. Plus, I've always wondered, maybe those myths are telling us something about the stars, or our past, or about life. She glanced from the poker smile on Jon's lips to Christine's blank stare to Rusty's stoic face turned up to the sky.

Ooh, it's a myth-ery, all right, said Jon. Wait, you're talking about myths, right?

The stars are real. Meri retorted.

"Meri. Myths are myths."

I just think the Sumerian's were deliberate with the myths they used to map the sky. They left messages, and history, Jon, she said, encoded in myth-ery.

Meri hugged her knees to her chest. Did you ever wonder, Stine, just what the hell we are doing here?

You mean, besides freezing our butts off? Oh yeah, that question has been running around my mind all morning, like the one we saw last night, forming Leo's head.

Jon shook his head. Doesn't count. It's backwards. A smile tickled his lips.

You're backwards. Meri spit back, not blinking.

Least, that's not a myth-ery, he admitted.

We're dominating, Mer. Rusty cut in from above. Noble savage or wild capitalist, doesn't matter. He thumped the pole like a drum.

Meri gave him a wry smile. We all get a turn, Russ. The Egyptians ruled for thousands of years and left us the Sphinx. We'll get our turn in time.

A Sphinx like the one in Greece? asked Christine.

Uh, kind of the opposite, said Meri. The Greek Sphinx had the head and breasts of a woman and the body of a lion with wings. Her name means ‘Strangler,' because she sat at the gate to Thebes and strangled all who couldn't answer her riddles.

Christine clicked her mouth in approval. But isn't the one in Egypt female too?

"That Sphinx has no wings or breasts, and it has the head of a pharaoh."

The pharaoh usurped her sex? Christine's eyebrows shot up as she rounded on Meri. That sounds like scandal. I have to know more!

So what's the riddle? said Jon.

Meri sighed, knowing he enjoyed seeing her fumble for words. She threw him a threatening hairy eyeball. When he didn't flinch, she took his challenge with a sudden glare of wild daring-do and a nasty sneer. The next instant she flung her blanket back like a cape and lowered her eyes. Growling, she crouched down cat-like on her haunches, rounded her back, curled her fingers in claw-like, and held her arms taut in front of her, staring ahead, regal, cold and distant.

Grinning, Christine flicked on the flashlight and shone it on the crystal boulder Meri sat upon, making it cast long eerie shadows up her snarling face.

Sneering at Jon, Meri taunted him in a high-pitched voice. Well, my young, scrawny-necked one. The riddle goes like this. She leaned forward, glaring at him with all the pomp and threat she could muster without cracking a smile. "Yeeoow! What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening, and is weakest when it walks on four?" She licked a paw, ignoring their smirks.

That's easy. You, of course, Jon said, cocking an eyebrow like she'd gone daft.

"Wroooong! I'm a Sphinx. Yowling, she arched her back and snarled at him. You would have been a better answer, my surly pup! She rose on her haunches, The riddle's about life. A baby moves on four, an adult on two, and an old man on three, with a cane. And now, yoou willl die!" Her last word still in her mouth, she pounced on his back, pressing her fingernails into his neck, hissing.

Laughing, Stine's flashlight followed Meri's leap.

Whoa, Nelly! Jon yelled, throwing his hands back to catch her. I meant you, as a person, though I can see your confusion. Pulling her clawing clutches off his neck, he set her wiry body on the stone and shook his head, his eyes shining at her antics.

'Course, I've strangled loads of people, she said, inspecting her nails, scraping a bit of his skin out and flicking it onto the ground. 'Cuz, like you, they couldn't guess the riddle. She chuckled, looking down. Mangled bodies and bones litter the ground here beneath my perch. She plopped down, cross-legged, returning to her own persona, and pulled the blanket back around her shoulders. But when they did solve the riddle, the Sphinx fell away and Thebes lay open. She sighed softly.

Those stories have been around forever, said Jon. I'll never understand why you make so much of dust in a streak of light.

She's finding her path. Rusty spoke from above, his voice airy, like a breeze.

Hey, you guys doing anything after high school? Any plans? asked Christine.

Rusty shrugged. I've been working with some tribal kids, Earth Guardians, on dam removal.

Earth Guardians? Who are they? Meri asked.

Activists, artists, musicians stepping up to defend our salmon runs, Rusty said.

Wow. That's dope. Me? I'm supposed to go to the U. Meri groaned. But things are so crazy. All the storms and draughts, viruses attacking us, homelessness on the rise, wars and senseless killing, even by police. Why should I go to school?

Wanna travel? Join protests? Stine's eyes widened in hope. That'd be fun, right? She studied Meri's resolute face. We could pick a cause, or two. Right?

Stine. I need to know who I am, find a purpose. Don'cha think?

Girl, I know who I am.

Well, I have no idea why I was put on this earth.

You weren't ‘put.'

No. She was hatched. Jon cut in.

Jon!

Just sayin' bird woman.

The Sphinx is no bird!

You felt a little hawkish, he said, rubbing his neck. You gotta clip those talons!

Meri stared at the pink dome of the sky, the horizon now aglow in streaks of yellow and blue. It's time I found out. She turned toward the swelling glow of light on eastern horizon.

Oh? You done crawling on all fours? Christine tilted her head, glancing at her.

Surprised, Meri peered at her like an imp. Christine stood there, returning a reckless grin, arms on her hips.

I'm done, Hippy, she said, her eyes shining. So ready for walking on two feet.

Shafts of light streaked across the horizon and shot up the gray-blue sky. A red sliver of sun crested the rocky cairn bordered by the Sweet Grass Hills, and the first flash of day's triumph broke on winter's long dark night, starting a new time. The moment held them speechless.

Watching the red orb rise, Meri closed her eyes, and despite the cold, felt spring's first rays caress her face like a warm breath. She lifted her chin, ready for what lay ahead.

Moments passed, and the sun lightened to orange, then yellow as t rose up the wide horizon. Soundlessly Rusty slipped off his pole, landing lightly on the hard ground. Let's leave the white fires of the sky, he said, his long black hair flapping like starlings in the morning light.

Hey, let's tend that fire on the ground, Jon said, catching up to him. And they went to perform their manly duties, dosing the smoldering pit.

Meri slipped off her stone and stood beside Christine, linking her arm in hers.

So what'dya think? said Christine.

Oh, I'm ready to walk. Though, mom's gonna kill me. Laughing, they cavorted back to the car, holding their blankets out to the wind, two unlikely caped crusaders, fresh as the new day.

♌ Chapter 2: The Wheel and the Three Doors

The Wheel and the Three Doors

The day had grown warm in the blinding sun, the first above freezing in weeks. Cheered by the dripping lumps of snow falling from tree branches and roofs, Meri crossed the barnyard, clucking to the chickens, tossing grain as they crowded around, pecking the ground around her feet.

"Com'on, Bessy,'' she cooed to the cow, giving her a carrot before squatting on the stool and tugging her teats, squirting milk, ssst ssst into the pail. Moving onto Bossy, she offered the carrot then finished the two milkers. Okay, ladies, it's glorious outside. Let's do this thing.

Anxious maybe? She made herself thin holding the barn door open as they trotted past, tails swishing, to the scattered lumps of hay she'd put out and the wide pasture beyond. Me too. A wave of anxiety passed through her. In more ways than one.

As she left the barn after cleaning the stalls, the soft, high pitch of a gentle breeze whistling across the meadow caught her ear. She gazed at the rollicking clumps of sagebrush scattered among the drifts of snow and tawny grasses waving under windy fingers. I've been cooped up for days, she realized with a start. Minutes later she took off, romping with her papillon pup up the hill behind the farm, across an open field and up a worn path to what they'd dubbed years before, the Sunburst Sky Wheel.

Getting to the edge of the Wheel, the late-afternoon sun radiated off a low slab of sandstone set by the firepit. Glad for its warmth, she plopped down, leaned back and lifted her face to the sun.

Molly, can you believe this? She closed her eyes to the balmy rays and inhaled the damp, earthy air. Smell that delicious? That's spring. Yipping, the black-and-white dog jumped up and curled on her lap.

She looked at the rows of stones, filled with memories. We built this. She closed her eyes.

Rusty nodded at Sam's rough circle on pale-green graph paper, the four directions marked with tees and exes where they would pile stones; the cairns to mark the equinox and solstices. But they sparred over which rising stars to mark.

Sam! We have to mark Antares, it's the heart of the Scorpion. Rusty insisted. He's red and wild! He's nearly on mark for the winter solstice.

Wild? What do you mean wild? Sam pinned his eyes on his passionate friend. It's a star, for crying out loud, Russ.

What could be wilder than the heart of a Scorpion? Rusty's dark eyes hardened under Sam's unrelenting glare.

It's so low! Sam slapped the back of his hand down on the star map in the Scorpion's southern vicinity. We rarely see it, besides, if you want off-cycle stuff, Rigel's brighter and more majestic!

Orion's left foot? Rusty blinked from the constellation to Sam's stony face. Oh, oh. He bent over the sky atlas, pointing at Sam's suggested star like he'd been struck. Now that's low. He frowned at the Hunter's foot, shaking his head. You want majestic? His finger slid an inch to the left and poked the map. Try Sirius. He's the brightest one up there and fully visible in March, if that's what you're lookin' for. He cocked an eyebrow. And if not Sirius—he raised clenched fists into the air—"Antares, the heart of the Scorpion, rules!

Dude, Sam whined in a high-pitch, this ain't my religion. It's just a hobby.

Rusty growled, his lips drawn down in a curve of disdain. Listen, Sam. Antares is a summer star.

What, it rises on your birthday, Wild Man, is that it? He grunted, raising an accusing eyebrow. I don't give a rat's ass about Antares' rising, in what, July? Who the heck cares?

Then, feeling the cold hard stare of his most able cohort for building the Wheel, he sucked in his pride, nodding. But Sirius is good. He marks the dog days of summer. Not bull's-eye on-cycle but certainly the brightest one up there. Good point, Russ! He smiled. We'll mark it.

Meri glanced at the cairn marking the rising of Sirius. Well, Molly, we watched it rise once or twice. She suddenly laughed. I was so jealous when Rusty got to attend a sun dance where he learned that the Crow, the Cree, the Cheyenne tribal elders all told him sun wheels speak of our union with nature, tracking the cycles of the sun and moon. But they also said the Big Horn Wheel speaks of other tribes—her voice softened with wonder—others before them. People who had their ceremonies. One thing's for sure, Molly, she said to the papillon as she surveyed the horizon, we found a flat view of the entire skyline. Building this wheel filled our summer days. We ate watermelon, sandwiches, and honey-sweetened pine tea that Mom packed. And we sang our hearts out with Sam's boombox. And debated. Sam wanted some cairns to be granite. Rusty wanted basalt for the summer solstice.

She closed her eyes again, remembering. We'll put a stone here in the middle to mark the moon's slaughter, Sam said, grinning at me. We'll call it the slaughter stone after the one at Stonehenge.

Oh yeah, I have a stone for that.

This calls for ceremony! Rusty announced when we completed the outside ring.

He put sage and sweet grass in a small clay pot, lit it with a match, and got it smoldering. Then Jon went to the truck and got out bongo drums Rusty had hewn from oak and covered with buffalo skin and began padding a rhythmic beat.

I shuffled to the center of the circle with a compass and pointed due south while Rusty turned to the south, held the pot to his chest then up to the sky, and thanked the Great Spirit for our entry into the red path of life. Then Sam marked the spot with a stake, and we repeated the offering to all the cardinal directions, ending with east.

Oh, Molly, we spent hours piling stones and boulders for the ‘sunbursts' around the cairns to mark the solstices and equinox, and dug the firepit. We even canvassed the surrounding fields and hills and found milky Montana agates, red and blue jasper, and added quartz and marble from our own collections and laid stones the colors of stars in rays around the cairn aligned with the equinox suns.

And for the sunburst marking winter's solstice, we'll use the black obsidian I found in the Bighorn Mountains, Rusty announced, in honor of the 2012 alignment with the black hole in our galactic core, as the Mayans predicted so long ago.

And as the spokes and cairns took shape, the sky wheel on the butte grew to be our favorite hangout, a getaway place of our own.

And the slaughter stone. Meri nodded, going over to rub its smooth surface and plopping down on it, remembering her greatest midsummer victory had come after weeks of lighthearted hinting that soured to cajoling, then degenerated to ugly haggling, interspersed with random, childish bribes. I fell to a steady onslaught of shameless pleading, until I wore Sam down. She smiled and patted the three-foot high slab of rose quartz she'd found for the center of the wheel. She'd come across it years before while wandering near a powder-dry, rutted dirt road running along one of the wheat fields. I wanted you, a cairn pile of one, for the hub of the sun wheel. Combines hit you when the crews had come through to cut wheat, and they dug you up, dragged you to the side of the field, and left you there. Rubbing the smooth, pinkish-gray and white mottled slab, she remembered jolting back the first time she leaned over the side and found a crop of jagged crystals poking out.

"Moving you was a nightmare. We tried shovels on the short end to leverage you off the ground and laid long slender tree branches as rollers under your tipped-up side. Once secured on the rollers, Sam threw a rope around you, and while he and Rusty hefted the ropes, straining and pulling, Jon and I pushed, leaning our shoulders against your so-heavy hard solid mass. Bit by bit, with much grunting, grinding of teeth and cursing we rolled you up a thick old board fixed as a ramp onto the pickup bed. Defying us, twice you slipped back down the board, the second time nearly crushing Jon's foot. The third attempt, victory. You cracked the end off the board.

Sweating, swearing mad, and muttering obscenities punctuating his disgust, Sam stomped off and got the John Deere tractor with a front mounted loader. Then, while we pushed and guided, he scooped your massiveness up and onto the truck, albeit one side overhung the truck bed. Then, with the backend of the old Dodge sagging dangerously low to the ground and Jon and me posted guard against the cab, we hauled you off to our Wheel on the bluff.

She grunted. "We groaned and shoved and, with the aid of gravity and luck, dropped you in the hub position and squared you into place. We figured you'd be good for sitting on, and if nothing else, it kept me quiet. They were all for that."

As Meri smiled wistfully at the memories, turning a flat stone from one of the spokes over and over in her hand, a wrinkle deepened across her brow as an unsettling sense of dread stole into a corner of her mind. Graduation, long anticipated as a threshold of independence with all its accorded freedoms, now felt like unwanted consciousness encroaching on a pleasant dream. Crap, what am I gonna do? she asked the dog.

Molly blinked her liquid black eyes.

She ran her hand over the small dog's head. And all the hours spent here, did it help? I just know—she surveyed the windswept prairie—I can't stay here. All these years watching the sky, the stars, and I've never felt so distant.

Meri! she chided, taking her mother's tone. You can't just go traipsing off!

I'll get a job, she answered. Not like I've never worked. Then she'll yell, and Jon will laugh. She raised her index finger to Molly. "But what if I'm doing something about climate change, that just might work."

She tossed the stone back to its row and stood up, gently dumping Molly off her lap. Hello! She burst out to the sky, raising her hands, startling two robins under a Ponderosa Pine to flight. She stepped up on the slab and faced the open meadow.

Look at the mess we're in! she yelled. We're on the brink of stewing in our own juices. Led by all those college degrees. First degrees, second degrees, third degrees, she mumbled, narrowing her eyes, wondering if there was a forth. Have obviously done so much for so many! she cursed the relatives, counselors, and teachers who pointed to college as some nirvanic path for life.

Wiping hair out of her eyes only to have it blown back, she longed for more. But what eluded her like water through a sieve, streaming a hundred directions. Ugh!

"I want an education. I do. She nodded. I just have to know…to wait…"

A groundhog poked its head up out of a hole a few yards away. Molly jerked to attention, pointing, hesitating, then leapt and gave chase. Molly! she yelled, irritated, muttering. Dogs.

A hawk circled high overhead in the blue cloud-streaked sky. Widening her stance, she pleaded, "You, you up there! You see the hurricanes, tornados, earthquakes, fires and floods! They haunt us like omens of the end of the world!"

The hawk circled higher, becoming a dot in the sky until she lowered her gaze.

Stupid hawk, stupid birds and dogs. She kicked a stone, disgusted with their indifference.

Raising her voice to a mocking, high-pitched falsetto, she lamented, But oh, oh no, not everyone's bothered with these plagues. Not the elite! They sit around in sunglasses complaining that the world is dark! Spent, she stepped down. Am I alone here? Me and millions of displaced victims of conflict, or what, lost jobs, politics and weather? She bent to pick a few yellow and white blossoms sprinkled around the meadow.

A pang of sorrow stirred in her stomach as she remembered farm trucks, piled high with boxes and beds, chugging down the dirt roads, downcast faces of kids she'd gone to school with pressed against the back window. She could name a handful of families who had moved away in as many years, their farms bought out by corporate growers. With them went the rolling hillocks between the fields, replaced by even wider, flat fields of wheat, alfalfa, barley and oats.

But not everyone was leery of the corporate farms. Pulling up a long strand of grass gone to seed, she chewed on her Uncle Pete's mantra. We gotta feed the world, Mer. It's our des…tiny. And he would give her his sly, slanty-eyed grin. Ya don't want people starvin' do ya? Heh, heh, heh.

What, people can't farm in Mexico or Africa? Whatever!

She surveyed the rugged line of the pink-hued snowcapped Rocky Mountains. A wave of guilt passed through her. It's late. Mom will go ballistic. Grandma will think I've deserted my chores. Dreading the confrontation ahead, she looked at the spring flowers she'd picked. Her thoughts turned to the day her dad died years earlier. Dad would have understood.

A cold breeze swept her forehead, stirring her to the fading light. She spotted Venus rising and smirked. Then threw her head back with abandon and howled into the darkening sky, startling Molly. Chuckling, she howled again and wailed against all the voices, knowing stares and wagging fingers of those who would control her life.

"It's my life. She clenched her fist. Though, what I should do eludes me like a shapeshifting stag in a dark forest." Just then, her howls were returned.

The lemon ball of the sun hung just above the western, now gilded, horizon. Like the changing of the guard, waves of arctic wind brewing in the waning light blew across the prairie and washed against her petite frame. She slapped the chill off her arms and stared at her companion sitting on her lap with raised ears. Her alert eyes scanned the direction of the distant howls. Only the little circle where Molly lay curled on her lap retained warmth. Grateful, she hugged her to her chest, whispering, Not to worry little girl, we're going back.

Buttoning her jacket for the trek home, she noticed buzzards in the distance swirling above a carcass of a wolf, apparently shot. She exhaled, feeling as helpless as Andromeda, naked and chained to a rock, watching a monster rise from the sea. Augh! People! Worse than dogs or birds!

She paused, considering the buzzards and turned to face the little dog's worried eyes. This I know, Molly. This hunt's mine; it's my time. She started off on a trot. C'mon, c'mon. Let's go, we're late!

Golden steaks on the horizon darkened to orangey-red as she jogged along, Molly in the lead, bounding ahead. Fleeting images of her mother's fretted brow flitted across her mind and she picked up the pace, making it in from the fields just as the last streaks of light faded to navy along the shadow of the evening sky. The east had already deepened to an inky black, though mottled mounds of white snowdrifts gave the ground a chrome sheen and lent the air the clarity of midday.

The windy night air had frosted a thin layer of ice on the snow drifting across the farmyard. Stomping through the crusty white mounds, Meri raised an eyebrow over a taut smile. Maybe this is what they mean, Molly, by walking on eggshells.

Scattered blades of grass pierced the edges of the lumpy white mounds as she left the chicken coop and, glimpsing the dark shoots in the moonlight, she hesitated as a nagging swell of the day's quandary swept through her. Jostling a bucket of warm, newly laid eggs, guilt gnawed her belly; she'd lingered too long. She hesitated, then shook her head and picked up the pace to the old farmhouse. But before her third step, a shadowy arch flickered before her. She shut her eyes, willing the apparition to dust. She was shivering, pursing her lips; it remained. Her shoulders slumped in surrender, and she set the eggs down. Lifting her eyes to the beckoning arch she crossed her arms and faced the grill that haunted her.

So what's it gonna be, Mer? she demanded. Door number one: stay here, as useless as Orion's left foot, accept that I cannot change the world—admit it's just too damn big, and take my lumps? She paused, imagining herself pregnant. Oh yeah, she half-laughed, half-snorted, chagrined at the thought. Good god. Babies. She shook her head. How can I bring a baby into this world? She imagined herself pregnant, sucked in a short breath and blinked the image away wagging her head. She swallowed, resolute.

Okay, door number two: join Sam at the University. She nodded smugly, tight-lipped. "Well, that's a bright thought, like Sirius in a spring sky, and expected. She envisioned herself slinging a backpack, entering the stately halls, a long line of teachers and relatives nodding approval strung out behind her. Is that what I want? She kicked a stone, sending it skipping across the snow-spattered ground, giving Molly a quick chase. A pile of debt and a future set? Or—she broke into a mischievous smile at Molly's romping return—enter door number three. Antares, red and wild. Run free and keep on goin' till I find my own des…tiny?" She liked the way that sounded.

Her smile faded to resignation. How am I gonna tell mom? She stamped along, the sprouting signs of spring sharpening the anxiety that shadowed her every thought.

The dry night air had wiped the haze of day off a cloudless sky, revealing thousands of radiant stars. Grateful to escape into the vast expanse, Meri stood gazing at the ancient lights, twinkling like crystals, sapphires and rubies in a field of purplish haze in the black velvet sky. Captured again by the curious figures, she felt buoyant, close enough to touch them and, on impulse, stretched out her hand, her fingers spread like a fan to measure the distance between the clusters. Intent, she whispered names she had known since childhood, Ursa Major, you magnificent Polar Bear. She paused, What direction would you point for me?

She traced Ursa Major's pointers down to the recumbent Lion. Ah, Regulus, she greeted the first magnitude blue-white star at the Lion's heart. Who gave you your royal charge? Did you even have a mother? she choked, coughing, then sucked in her breath. She would have to face her mother.

Her gaze fell to the long string of undulating stars of the Hydra, just below the Lion. The water snake slithered across the southern horizon, carrying Corvus the Raven and Crater the goblet on her back like symbiotic birds on a hippo.

What? she scolded herself, lifting her eyes in exasperation. Why do I feel so drawn when I know they're hundreds, no. She stopped, incredulous at her gross underestimation. Thousands of light years away, and spinning farther away all the time? Her voice faded into white puffs of breath in the cold night air.

They're just a chancy bunch of tales, Mer, she repeated Sam's scolding, know-it-all taunt, putting her hands on her hips. Take that! She kicked a lump of mushy snow, the soggy clumps splattering before her. Molly bit at two of them, delighting Meri, giving her a moment's playful distraction.

Well, they are just a bunch of tales, she grumbled, unconvinced, but I don't buy the chancy bit. Shaking her head, she traced the pointer stars up to the North Star. Fixing her eyes on it, she held out her arms, turning east to west, following the course of the stars in the night's panorama. Then stopped.

Draco, she murmured, squinting at the dim constellation directly overhead. Snaking around our Arctic Circle. She squinted at the faint spiral of stars with a triangular head. Who planned you, coiled there, sleepless, never setting, guarding your golden apples like the serpent in the forbidden tree? She lowered her voice to a horse whisper. Holding secrets you claim will make us wise. Well, I'm wise to you! No one's seen a dragon. Then, softening, she admitted, Yet dragons remain as common as heroes and kings. She contemplated his faint display. What simple days those must have been when you were conceived, no worries about sailing the ship. No, no, we're just along for the ride, thank you very much. Well, whatever. She huffed a long white puff of breath at the ancient dragon, No one even remembers you're there, you ancient reptile. She scowled at the ancient constellation and resisted the urge to shudder, wondering, Who are you tempting now?

She shook her head, picked up the bucket of eggs and sloshed across the muddy track to her grandmother's two-story house.

The old homestead glowed creamy white in the moonlight and spindly shadows from the moon rising behind two tall cottonwoods in the yard scratched in silence against the siding. Eyeing the windy shadows, she stopped with a jerk. Grandma's Dodge pickup was parked behind their Ranger. Ohm' gosh, she must have gotten home after I went to bed the animals and gather the eggs. C'mon, Molly, she called out and quickened her pace. Coming up to the steps of the farmhouse, she paused. Dad had built those steps and most of the farmhouse behind them. She felt the weight of her family with every step. How could she walk away? Pursing her lips, she opened the door. She just had to.

She wiped Lupi's muddy paws and torso with a towel before stomping the muck off her snowpacks and slipping them off in the entryway. She could hear her mother's soft nasal voice raised in accusation and her grandmother's curt, matter-of-fact tones answering in the living room. They'd forged an unlikely alliance for the family, but were often at odds because of what Meri saw as polar opposite personalities, not to mention cultural differences. She began to wash the smudges and downy feathers off the eggs in the dim yellow light over the kitchen sink and put them in a carton for market.

Grandma was talking, her voice steady. Elsie, I'm worried. I think we should sell, we just can't keep up with the losses, first the drought, then that orange blossom midge took what, nearly a quarter of our spring wheat yield? Not to mention all the demands of keeping up the farm. She'd been the rock of the family, this short, rotund woman in her sixties with straight silver gray hair pulled back in a bun.

What? gasped Meri, nearly dropping an egg.

Pete said he wants the fields, that he could make 'em pay. Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact. And he'd let me stay in the house.

Her mother's steps creaked on the old pine plank floors as she paced, her voice raspy, strained near tears. She expressed emotion more freely than anyone Meri had ever known. She attributed this to her French roots, where displays of deep emotion aroused no special notice, unlike the stoic Scandinavian community on the Montana High Line.

Oh, Anne, she moaned miserably, we can't sell the farm. We've weathered so much. The spring wheat wasn't a total loss. The midge didn't get much.

Sell the farm? Meri repeated, mouthing the words. What? Well, obviously she wasn't worried about me. She shook her head glancing at their reflections in the living room window, her grandmother intent on her crocheting. Jeez, Grandma's been here awhile, she whispered.

Her mother's weary exhale washed over her like pinpricks.

Mon Dieu! She lowered her voice, her shoulders slumped, and she blinked her dark eyes wet and shining, Mon Dieu, Anne, where have we gone wrong?"

I'm not sure we have, Elsie, Anne said, hooking the crochet needle though the stitches as her hands worked the yarn. The afghan she crocheted lay in wide folds of deep purple, violet and blue on her lap.

The scary thought is, Elsie pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead, what will we do?

Meri put the eggs in the refrigerator and wiped off the counter. Lose the farm! Her cheeks warmed from an inner anger. Her mother's anxiety gnawed at her stomach. She tries so hard.

Shaking off her apprehension, she joined her mother and grandmother in the living room. Her grandmother's eyes lit up when Meri walked in.

Hey, Grandma, she said, going over to squeeze her a hug hello.

Meri sat down on the wide, soft arm of the couch, What's going on? Did I hear you want to sell the farm? Looking over at her worry-stricken mother leaning against the stone fireplace, she became flippant, What does Uncle Pete think he's doing?

Elsie set down a silver-framed school picture of Jon she'd been holding and turned to Meri and her mother-in-law. Maybe saving us, she said, her voice hoarse from strain and her dark brown eyes darting from Meri to Anne. She turned back to the mantle, blinking back tears.

Sometimes, Meri thought, Mom tries so hard it's pathetic. She studied her mother's slender figure leaning against the mantle, outlined in her black, soft woolen dress. Her dark wavy hair, high cheekbones and fair complexion made her seem more like a French model than a small town waitress struggling to support her family. She wanted to comfort her, but her own pragmatism took over. So what happened? Meri got up and leaned on the mantle next to her mother.

Her mother gave her a worried look and frowned, drawing her dark eyebrows in a rigid line. She shook her head, resigned. What didn't? First drought, then the fires. Then that midge got into our spring wheat, and we didn't even think there was a risk! Grandma's worried, and Uncle Pete offered to buy the farm. She picked up an empty glass she'd set down earlier and glanced at her watch, Are you ready, Meri? She patted her daughter's shoulder. I see you finally finished your chores for Grandma. Jon will be leaving practice soon, and I want to be there when he gets home.

What? No! Mom! Grandma! We can't sell the farm. This is my ancestral home!

Nothing's been decided, Mer, her grandma said, but we're in a tight spot.

Then let's figure something out! I'll get a job! Meri added, stealing a guilty glance at her mother.

Your great-uncle Pete needs the land to expand his operation. Anne hummed. So have you gotten your letter of admittance from MSU yet?

Meri blanched, and a spasm of anxiety knotted her stomach. Haven't heard a word, Grandma. She knew full well her application lay unsent in her top dresser drawer.

It's getting late, Meri Lea, her mother began, picking up her hat. And some people have an early rise tomorrow.

Mom! Meri turned, facing her mom head-on. Late might be never! I'm not going to MSU!

What? Elsie gasped. Her dark eyes blinked, then narrowed. Meri Lea, what are you talking about?

Why? Why should I go? So I can fit into this chopped up corporate mess of a world? I don't have time for that.

Chopped up corporate what? Elsie repeated, grimacing at her in disbelief. Meri! Have you sent in your application?

No! she yelled, with far more heat than she meant. It's my life! She exhaled heavily. There. She'd done it; she'd spilled her guilty secret. She just had to make her understand. Mom, I got the two-year running start degree like you wanted. I get that. That was smart. I help on the farm and with Jon when you're at work and I'm glad to. But we can't lose the farm and I can't live on a dead planet. Tears washed down her cheeks.

A dead planet? Elsie asked, blinking.

Industrial farms are the worst! Meri said. You see what they do!

What are you going to do? her mother asked gently, shaking her head in wonderment at her daughter. Wait for the stars to align? Oh wait, they did that already. Huh! she scoffed, You're the top of your class! You want to throw that away? To go off into some wild blue yonder? Where would you go? And what about us? Have you thought of the risk? Of your responsibility?

You never went to college… Meri accused her. I'll get a job and send money.

Oh, so you want to be a waitress? she chided, her lips curved in a soft smile.

Or a dryland wheat farmer? Her grandma added with even curiosity.

Meri gaped at them, speechless.

What, you want to follow your passion? Elsie asked. Is that what this is about?

It's not my passion I'm after! Meri bellowed, pounding her fist on the arm of the couch in frustration. It's my turn, my time, I can't waste it. I can't spend it doing what others expect. I haven't seen the ocean, been to a city bigger than Missoula, or even met anyone from Africa, Asia, Arabia, or Rome, let alone gone to any of those places. There's just so much to get my head around before I start school again. Tears trickled down her cheeks, her mouth set in firm resolve. I need to know where I fit in, what I can do.

Well, I can tell you! her mother countered, raising her voice. You fit in this family and you're going to college! She faced Meri full on, wagging her finger. "Your grandma might have to sell the farm so that you can! You're mailing that application, young lady, as soon as we get home. Unless you want a job like mine, you need to get that little tush of yours to college."

Unable to defend her reckless plan of taking off after graduation, Meri remained silent. There'd be no end to that argument. She'd just have to go. The eggs are in the fridge, she said, crossing the room. Sorry I was late, Grandma, the sky was so clear…

Anne's eyes brightened thoughtfully for a moment. Ah, you saw Leo then, and his heart, Regulus the Royal Star? She looked at Meri with pleased expectation.

Sure did. She nodded. But, Grandma, what makes Regulus royal?

The elder woman rested her knitting and squinted in thought. Well, symmetry and brightness, I suppose. The Royal Stars marked the seasons when the constellations were created, during the Age of Taurus, five or six thousand years ago. For two thousand years these four bright stars hovered over the sunrise of each equinox and solstice. Those stars were in Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, and Aquarius. Regulus was that star in Leo, hovering over the summer solstice.

So like royalty, needing symmetry and appearance, Elsie mumbled.

True. Grandma nodded, smiling. But with the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, those Royal Stars will slip into place again. Only this time Regulus will hover over the fall equinox.

Elsie began pulling on her black wool coat and gloves. Oh, Anne, I meant to ask, how did the well tests go? Did the County come out and take samples?

The lines on Anne's forehead deepened, but her eyes stayed on her crocheting. They did. We have two issues. One, the water level is going down and we may have to drill a deeper well. And two, we have ‘elevated nitrates.' Whatever that means.

A tremor skittered though Meri's stomach as she sucked in a surprised breath. Whatever that means? My god, Grandma! What's this about? Her eyes searched her mother's puzzled frown then followed her gaze back to her grandmother, who sat, her head bent over her crocheting. Their silence tightened the knot in her stomach. She looked out the dark living room window. Draco's taunting smile rose in her mind's eye, and she wondered if the tainted water could eclipse the farm. The reptile had come home to roost.

Anne yanked a line of yarn from the skein and glared from Meri to her daughter-in-law, her eyes widening, If that's not bad enough, there's some damn environmental group threatening to file a Water Use Complaint, saying we're affecting their water rights. She muttered, shaking her head in frustration. How can we grow wheat without fertilizer? she demanded. Can they tell me that?

They stared back in silence, their faces blank.

Our yield will drop and we won't make it. She jerked another line of yarn from the skein and shook her head. A low rumble emanated from her throat, Cutting fertilizer cuts our yield. She looked up and met Meri's alarmed stare and relaxed her face, adding, Well, they're not done testing yet. I guess we'll just have to see what happens. Anyway, your mother's right, you two need to be there when Jon gets home.

Trying to make sense of this new twist of information, Meri asked, Grandma, what's so bad about nitrates?

Don't know, honey. We've used fertilizers since we farmed here. I guess it's not surprising some of it made it into the aquifer, but I'm not sure what's so bad about it. Bet you'd find out in college though. She looked at Meri and then smiled at the frown wrinkling her granddaughter's young face. She kissed her cheek as Meri bent to pat Molly.

Hesitating in the doorway, Meri glanced back at her grandmother. Short tufts of fine white hair on her forehead glistened in the lamplight like a halo. Does she hear the hissing too? Resisting a shutter, she straightened her shoulders, smiled weakly, and followed her mother out the door.

♌ Chapter 3: Riding the Great Carousel in the Sky

Riding the Great Carousel in the Sky

Meri dreaded going into Jon's room to wake the sleeping giant, not because he slept so deeply she could hardly rouse him. Most often she just ended up dragging him off the mattress by the sheets. But the overpowering smell of sweaty socks and body odor that permeated the room gagged her. She opened the door and let it air a bit, gulped a final breath, then put her hand over her nose and mouth and took the plunge.

Halfway to his bed she noticed a poster above his desk. A regal white mass of animal power stared ahead, his black eyes focused solidly on the photographer. The head of a polar bear filled the whole poster. Where were you headed? she wondered. Where am I?

Her eyes shifted to Jon's bed. Skinny white legs stuck out of gray and blue sheets as he lolled on one side. Grinning, she picked up a discarded shirt, lunged forward, and snapped his butt, startling him awake. Hey, you, time to get up!

Augh! he moaned, refusing consciousness.

C'mon, get packing. We've got work to do. Mom's planned a trip for us.

As he groaned, his matted hair and puffy eyes told her he'd been out late, carousing and partying with his hooligan friends again.

Wagging her head, she cracked open his window and gulped in the fresh air. Jeez, bud, you look like you need another twelve hours of sleep and a transfusion. What'd you do last night?

He grunted, not moving.

If Mother knew half the crap you did, she'd kill you!

It'd be a relief, he mumbled groggily.

She started pulling on his sheet.

Damn it, Mer! He grabbed the sheet. Knock it off! What the hell are you talking about? I'm not goin' anywhere. He tucked the sheet defiantly under his armpits, pulled it around his torso and rolled toward the wall.

She grabbed it, dragging him to the edge of the bed.

What the f——ing hell are you doing? His voice rose to a whine as she playfully pulled the sheet around his right foot while he started kicking wildly with his left. Go away! he moaned hotly between clenched teeth.

She plopped down on the bed. It's spring break, Ding Dong, you know the drill. We go help Uncle Bill with calving. We're picking up Sam on the way. Uncle Bill has an old Ford Explorer he's letting him take back to school.

Mom's not going? This condition seemed key, though Meri wasn't sure why. Their mom had gone to pull caves many times, proving herself a natural with the heifers.

No, potty mouth, and lucky for you, she's not the one who swatted your worthless, lazy butt! She elbowed his back playfully as he groaned into a stretch. They don't give spring break to the old, Jon, enjoy it while you can. Course, we've also gotta help Grandma plant when we get back. She