Payacita,” her mother asked, encouraging.
Not shy at all, the young girl of five years smiled and agreed.
“But Mother”—taking a deep breath—“I must stand up so everyone can see me,” she said with a hint of mischief in her voice.
“All right then, but be careful not to fall out of the wagon,” her mother replied reluctantly.
Payacita jumped to her feet. She made her way toward the goatskin flask of water that was hanging nearby. Grabbing it, she pulled the cork out and proceeded to take a big gulp.
“It’s always good to clear your throat before you sing,” she declared boldly. At that moment she turned herself toward the awaiting audience. “You know,” she said, stumbling over the pile of rugs protruding from underneath the seat where her mother sat, “the raven at home does this every morning in the cliffs before she soars and sings!” Payacita said this in an attempt to justify her theatrics!
As she stood there, facing her sisters, she looked out toward the towering red rocks. She saw the bountiful blue sky above them. The slight breeze of an early morning wind rippled her soft, velvet sleeves, colored in a deep maroon that complimented her thick, dark hair. She noticed the smell of desert sage filtering the air among them and suddenly, taking a deep breath, realized she didn’t know what dream song she would sing. Still thinking, she turned to her mother and, gently wrapping her arms around her neck, placed a tender kiss on her cheek as her mother continued to drive the wagon.
Then Payacita spoke up to say, “What dream song shall I sing, Shamason? Shall I make something up?” She then hesitated for a moment.
“Or what, Payacita?” her mother asked.
“Should I sing of the blue butterfly dream?” Payacita’s voice rose as she stood up. Then she let go of her arms wrapped around her mother’s neck.
Silence filled the air. The only sounds that could be heard were those of the old horse huffing and puffing as he walked along and the clanking of the wagon.
Payacita, waiting patiently—which by the way wasn’t one of her better traits, threw her arms up in the air—stating aloud, “Well, well,” interrupting her mother’s train of thought.
Then with a small chuckle, Shamason looked back for a brief moment at her daughter and said, “Again, again, Payacita? Oh, you little clown! All right then. Go on and sing so that all of the canyons and the mountains may hear of your dreams. Only you have this same dream over and over again. Let your spirit speak!”
Filled with joy and excitement, Payacita turned once again to her attentive sisters and immediately began to sing.
She bellowed out the notes of a dream song that was really a dream, but a little made up too. They all listened.
At one point, one of the sisters interrupted, saying, “You and your long-winded imagination! You’re making up that dream! We’ve never heard this one before!”
The sisters again all giggled because no matter what, the child was entertaining, to say the least, and they all welcomed that. It was a long ride to the fort. Listening to Payacita was fun and helped the time pass rather swiftly. For this they were all glad.
Soon all the noise quieted down, the wagon stopped clanking, the sisters’ tired feet stopped walking, and the mother announced, “Straight ahead. I see the fort! Daughters, bring the sheep in closer to the wagon!”
Soon they entered through the tall wooded gates.
You could hear the soldiers saying as they passed through, “More Injuns bringing goods to trade.”
This did not alarm them. It didn’t even offend them. Tired of the white men, they simply went there to trade.
Chapter Two
The Fort
Upon arriving at Mr. Gibbs’ general store, Mother announced sternly, “Payacita, you can jump out now and stretch your legs. But don’t go and bother anyone if you can help it.”
Shamason knew that her daughter could get into some kind of trouble if she wasn’t reminded to pay close attention to where she went and what she would do.
Eager to view the fort’s stores and people, Payacita hopped out of the back of the wagon, and passing by her sister Ninleh, she intentionally flipped her long, braided hair into the air.
“Mother, Payacita just pulled my hair!” exclaimed Ninleh.
“Payacita, Payacita,” Shamson turned around, and hanging the reins up alongside of the buckboard, she began to speak. But Payacita had already disappeared down the sidewalk of the old dirt street. Shamson mumbled to herself, “I should just keep her with me while I trade. I’ll catch up to her later.”
Finally hopping down, she wiped her brow with an old handkerchief that she kept in her pocket. Then she dusted off her long broom shirt and shoes. The other daughters could also be seen doing the same thing. After all, being at the fort meant for all of them the pleasure of visiting with others who were arriving there to bring pleasure to all of them. They could hardly contain their excitement.
The girls were given the task of corralling the sheep down into the holding pens at the end of the fort. Ninleh was directed to count out loud to the livestock trader the number of sheep that would pass into the area and to ask for a fair price for them. Then the girls were asked to return to the wagon where their mother was waiting. While they were there, they would help her unload the rest of the wagon for Mr. Gibbs.
Meanwhile, Payacita was seen running through the fort by several individuals. She ran by the telegraph office, stopping briefly to stick her head into the window, letting out a loud whistle, scaring the telegraph worker to death. She skipped past the infirmary, blowing kisses to the patients that she saw sitting outside on its raised platform deck. Then she found herself stopping to look back toward the gate’s entrance. There she had seen a small puppy staked out near its opening and wondered, wondered who it belonged to and why it had been left alone. She decided to walk over there for a short visit.
Payacita was like a small whirlwind. She moved so quickly through the fort at times it seemed her small feet could hardly keep up with her. This was partly because she was so excited, thinking of the puppy she was about to visit, and partly because she was just a young child, full of energy, inquisitive about the adventurous world that surrounded her.
You see, these were new times in an old world. Before Fort Wingate became a central trading center on what’s known as the “Old Camino Real”, the native tribes were forced to trade among each other or with passing wagons that were new settlers who had chosen to go forth to conquer the Wild West. The “people of the Diné, Navajo,” were pleased to exchange their goods for other things that could make their lives easier. But being a noble culture of surviving nomadic often meant that the work was very hard. The sheep and goats that they raised were essential for their existence. Without them, they could lose the art of the great mysteries that inspired them to weave and the gift of being able to tell stories in the designs of the rugs and blankets.
These woven items were renowned for their beauty, created, in part, by the ancestors. As the seasons changed, travels to different watering holes would bring them closer to other clans. There was the clan of the “bear”, those who were of the “stars and wind”,
