Taos, Chapter 5 -- PG-13

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librarian_7
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Taos, Chapter 5 -- PG-13

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AN: Last week's chapter was a bit short; this one should make up for that!

Taos

Chapter 5

The Painting Expedition



Sarah and Miss O’Keeffe were still eating breakfast when Betty wandered in, her blonde curls still tousled, her eyes bloodshot. She headed immediately for the carafe of coffee, sighing happily as the aroma hit her nostrils. She poured herself a cup, adding cream from the pitcher, and helped herself to a plate of scrambled eggs and refried beans.

“Looks like you had fun last night, chatterbox,” Miss O’Keeffe said.

Betty winced. “You haven’t called me that for years, Aunt George,” she responded.

Miss O’Keeffe laughed. “Touché.”

Betty sighed happily over the first sip of her coffee, and dug her fork into her eggs. “And I was having a great time until Rob decided to fly his true colors.”

“I’m afraid that was my fault,” Sarah said.

Betty took a long drink of her coffee. “No, not really. He was an ass long before you got here.” She paused. “I may be biased.”

Miss O’Keeffe said dryly, “I’m not, and I agree.” She pushed her plate away. “Betty, I’m actually glad to see you. I wanted to ask a favor.”

“Oh?”

“Years ago, your father took me out to an interesting little box canyon. I thought then it would make a good painting, and now I’m ready to paint it. He said you could take me out there.”

Betty brightened. “Oh, he must mean that place up Lost Horse Creek. We call it Baxter’s Box. Sure. Can Sarah come?”

“Of course.” Miss O’Keeffe glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Leave in half an hour?”

Sarah took one last bite. “I’ll be ready.”

& & &

The Jeep lurched wildly, and Miss O’Keeffe winced as she heard her painting supplies bounce and clink in the back. She took a firmer grip on her seat. “Dammit, Betty, do you have to hit every rut in the road?” She shouted over the noise of the wind and the motor. In the backseat, Sarah grabbed her hat, and agreed silently.

“I can’t help it,” Betty yelled back, keeping her eyes carefully on the terrain. “It’s just bumpy out here.”

The Jeep’s wheel bounced off a hidden rock, and Betty hauled on the steering wheel, grunting with the effort.

Miss O’Keeffe, holding onto her hat with one hand and the frame of the Jeep with the other, yelled over the sounds of the engine and the wind, “Slow down, Speedy! I want to – get there – in one piece.” Her words were punctuated by the violent movements of the vehicle.

They appeared to be headed toward a solid cliff face. The red and yellow sandstone rose in eroded waves above the desert floor, like the ruffles of a Spanish skirt.

“Betty,” Sarah asked, a little nervously, “we’re not going to run into that cliff, are we?”

Betty looked back at her, a mischievous grin lighting her face. “Just wait and see!”

As they bumped across a dry, shallow streambed, the Jeep churning through a swath of loose yellow sand, Sarah spotted a fissure in the rocks, almost invisible from any distance away.

At what seemed the last possible moment, Betty swung the Jeep left, then hard right, entering a narrow corridor between soaring walls of sandstone. The temperature dropped noticeably in the deep shade, a welcome relief from the desert heat. Sarah noticed several seeps on the walls, the moisture staining the rock with darker color, some tiny plants claiming the dampness for precarious sustenance.

In a short distance, the corridor widened into a canyon, big enough to hold a grassy stretch of meadow, and a stand of cottonwood trees.

Miss O’Keeffe signaled Betty to stop. “This is good,” she said, her attention focusing on the scene before her. Betty pulled the Jeep onto a small rocky clear spot, and almost before the wheels stopped turning, Miss O’Keeffe hopped out with a fluid grace that belied her years, reaching for the cases in the back. She paused to look around, and Sarah could almost see the artist’s focus narrowing, her intensity sharpening. Miss O’Keeffe nodded. “This will do nicely,” she said to herself.

By the time Betty killed the engine, Miss O’Keeffe already had her supplies unloaded, sketchpad, easel, and a case that Sarah guessed contained paints and pencils. Betty caught her eyes, and gave her a “come on” gesture with her head. Sarah took the hint, and scrambled out of the back seat. “We’re going to be here a while,” Betty said, with a grin in Miss O’Keeffe’s direction.

Sarah laughed softly. “I gathered as much.”

“Going to go explore, Aunt George,” Betty called, raising her voice just a bit. “Holler if you need us.”

The girls got a nod and a distracted wave in response. Sarah thought she might have heard Miss O’Keeffe mumble something, but she had no idea what. She looked at Betty, and followed as Betty started off, deeper into the canyon.

It was really quite pleasant. The steep sandstone walls, in weathered tones of red, orange, and pink, were marked by darker streaks of rust and black. In the distance, across the miniature meadow, they could see a few head of cattle grazing peacefully.

Betty frowned and shook her head at the cattle. “Shoot. We’re going to have to try and chase out these strays before we leave,” she said. “There’s always a few that find their way back in here.”

“How are we going to do that?” Sarah asked. “It’s kind of a long way back to the entrance.”

Betty shook her head. “No problem,” she replied. “We’ll circle around behind them and spook them towards the exit. Besides, there’s something that I want to show you back here, anyway.”

“Oh?”

Betty’s eyes twinkled. “You didn’t really think I brought you all this way just to watch Aunt George paint, did you?” She picked up the pace slightly, motioning Sarah to follow. “It’s not far, and we’ll only have to scramble up a little.”

Betty led the way toward the stand of cottonwoods. The trees’ foliage was a pale green, but as they neared, Sarah found that they cast a deep shadow. A little stream, no more than six inches wide, trickled out into the meadow, the water spreading and disappearing into the grass.

“No wonder it’s so lush,” Sarah remarked.

“Yeah,” Betty said. “That’s why the cattle are always coming in. They know they can find good grass, even in August.” At the sound of their voices, one of the cows raised her head, still chewing a tuft of grass, her mild eyes regarding the humans with vague curiosity. Apparently, the two girls presented no threat, for the cow only regarded them for a few moments, then dropped her head back to the grass that waved almost to her knees.

“Okay, so what did you want to show me?”

“You’ll see. By the way, keep an eye out for snakes. I have found a few rattlers now and then.”

Sarah gulped. “Rattlers?” she said, her voice rising slightly. She’d never seen a snake outside of the reptile house in the Central Park Zoo. It wasn’t really something she was keen to experience.
Betty laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll know if you’re getting close to one. There’s a reason they call them rattlers.”

“That’s – not very comforting.”

The band of cottonwoods was narrow, and they were soon on the other side. Behind the trees, along the wall of the canyon , a water-carved overhang of rock stretched for several yards. At one end, in the deepest shelter, stood a curved wall composed of carefully stacked flat slabs of red sandstone. Sarah could see traces of mud between the stones; at one time the wall had been a shelter against the weather. The rock above was black with the soot of long extinguished campfires.

“Who built this? How old is it?” Sarah asked.

“No one knows,” Betty said, shrugging. “Several hundred years, though, I imagine.”

“Wow.”

“I mean, I figure it’s Anasazi.”

“What’s that?”

“The Indians who lived here long ago,” Betty said. The archaeologists think 500 years ago, maybe more. There are ruins all over the Southwest, although most of them are further west than this.”

“You mean like Mesa Verde?” Sarah asked. “I saw travelogue about it once. This is –” she gestured, “a lot smaller.”

Betty nodded. “I’ve always wondered,” she said, “if maybe this was just a few families. Maybe they got lost, or just decided to come east.”

Sarah glanced around the small space. “That sounds plausible.”

“But that’s not what I really brought you here to see. Come this way.” Betty began to pick her way along, underneath the overhang, placing her feet carefully into the rock chips and branches littering the ground. Sarah followed, watching her step. She didn’t fancy taking a tumble. At the end of the overhang, Betty paused, throwing out one hand in a grand gesture.

“Take a look at this.”

Sarah peered into the deep shade at the back of the overhang, and stumbled, gasping in surprise. The far end of the wall was covered in a profusion of symbols and drawings. But this was no modern graffiti. There were no scrawled initials or hearts. No, these were ancient markings: a large spiral bisected with a dagger-like slash top to bottom; a herd of animals with strangely geometric bodies and back-curled horns, goats perhaps; a few handprints, some with missing fingers. And a small group of hunters, faceless men, little more than stick figures, who brandished narrow, lethal-looking spears. Sarah stepped up to look at them more closely. She reached out a hand, but stopped just short of touching the rock.

“This is incredible,” she said.” I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Betty grinned at her. “They’re amazing, huh?” She paused. “But you haven’t seen the best part, yet.” She led the way a few steps further, circling a large boulder that partitioned the overhang. “This,” she said, “ is the part I really like.”

The protected space had provided some ancient artist with a larger canvas. Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. On the wall three figures, their coffin-shaped bodies seemingly wrapped in dark cloaks surmounted by round bulbous heads, floated on the wall, as though emerging from the dun-colored sandstone behind them. They were not alone. Over them, a figure appeared, skeletal arms outstretched. It was unlike the others. Instead of the featureless dark cloak, this figure was banded with rows of symbols—tiny triangles, spirals, and lightning bolts interspersed with waves between bold lines. The pale face was almost featureless: two small dots for eyes, and a red circle of the mouth, filled with snakelike fangs. Sarah was at a loss to tell whether the being’s arms were spread to protect the black figures, or to capture them.

“That is – that has to be unique,” she said slowly.

Betty nodded. “Kinda creepy, isn’t it? When we were kids, Daddy used to take us all over the state, and into Colorado and Utah, just look at the Indian ruins. And I’ve got to tell you, I’ve seen some that looked a bit like this –” She shook her head, and frowned. “Nothing really compares, though.”

Sarah wished she had a camera, or at least a sketchpad, so she could capture some sense of it. “Have you shown this to Miss O’Keeffe?” she asked

Betty grinned. “Of course,” she said. “Aunt George says it’s great art, and she doesn’t copy someone else’s work.”

Sarah had to laugh a little at that. From what she’d seen of Miss O’Keeffe, it sounded like something she’d say. “So, any other wonders of archaeology to show me in this place?”

“Naw, I think this was enough. Don’t you?”

They lingered by the rock art for a while, then scrambled back to the ruined dwelling. Whoever had lived there, whenever it was, they had left little behind. Just the crumbling walls of a small encampment, and the mysterious drawings.

For the next couple of hours, the girls amused themselves by ambling around the limits of the box canyon. They could see Miss O’Keeffe, who had set up not far from the Jeep, sketching furiously. She seemed oblivious, but soon enough, the light began to shift as the sun made its transit. Seeing Miss O’Keeffe begin to gather her supplies, stowing her paints and pencils with quick, economical motions, Betty and Sarah began the task of trying to shoo the grazing cattle back toward the entrance of the canyon. After a few minutes of running and arm-waving, a red-faced Sarah complained to Betty, “I’m starting to see why cowboys ride horses.”

Betty laughed. “Oh,” she said, “they’re getting the idea.” And indeed, the errant cattle were ambling placidly toward the narrow channel that led to the desert floor.

The girls took a few moments for one last visit to the tiny stream, splashing their faces and necks with the unexpectedly cold water. Then they returned to the Jeep, to find Miss O’Keeffe looking pleased.

“I got some good work done,” she said, nodding to Betty. “Why has it been so long since you brought me here?”

Betty laughed. “All you ever had to do was ask. But Dad doesn’t like anyone coming here very often,” she said. “He’s always afraid someone’s going to find out about the rock art, and damage it.”

Miss O’Keeffe snorted. “It’s his land. If he’s that concerned, he can throw a gate across the entrance and that will solve the problem. I’ll tell him as much when we get back.” She nodded emphatically, and Sarah had to suppress a small smile. She couldn’t imagine anyone arguing with Miss O’Keeffe.

Betty used the Jeep adroitly, and with generous applications of the earsplitting horn, to chivvy the cattle through the rocks. It took a little longer than the journey in, but eventually they came out once more into the sunshine. “Stupid cows,” Betty said, as she steered around them to pick up the pace a bit. “They’ll probably just turn around and go right back in there.”

“I wouldn’t blame them,” Sarah said. “It’s a pretty nice place.”

“In the summer, sure,” Betty replied. “But in the winter, it’s easy to get snowed in.”

They bumped along in silence for several miles. Betty was focused on driving, and Miss O’Keeffe and Sarah were both lost in thought, the artist still seeing visions of the quiet landscape of the box canyon, the younger woman contemplating history, and the mysterious lives of the long-lost residents of the ruined stone shelter.

Nonetheless, Sarah was the first to spot the pair of riders. She tapped Betty’s shoulder, and pointed. “Cowboys?” she asked.

Betty squinted into the distance. “Yes,” she replied. “Don’t know why they’d be out this direction, though.” She turned the Jeep, bouncing through the brush toward the two horsemen.

Sarah thought the scene looked like something out of a movie, or an old photograph. The landscape, empty of anything man-made, a vast expanse of sagebrush and low, hardy grasses, and the two riders, moving slowly through the dusty afternoon.

Betty slowed as she approached them, trying to minimize the dust in the air. For their part, the riders had pulled up, sitting casually slouched, with hands resting on their saddle pommels, reins loose.

“Howdy,” Betty called out. “What brings you boys out this way?”

The cowboys touched the brims of their hats in greeting, and Sarah realized with a shock that one of them was her dance partner from the night before.

“We found the fence line down, to the southwest. Seems like a few head might’ve wandered off this way,” Jim said. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen any strays?”

“We sure have,” Betty replied. “You boys might have some riding to do, though. They were all the way into Baxter’s Box.”

Jim swore quietly but intensely. “Man, they do it every time.”

“We chased them out of the box canyon,” Sarah added, “but that was a little while ago.”

“Chances are, they turned around and went right back,” Betty said. “Good grass back there.”

Jim nodded. He hadn’t really acknowledged Sarah, beyond a glance and a smile, but now he seemed to be pondering, and coming to a decision. “Gracias for the information, Miss Wells. You saved us some miles.” He paused. “Miss Sarah, may I have a word with you?”

Betty looked over her shoulder, a knowing glint in her eye, and Sarah felt a slow flush roll over her cheeks.

“Sure,” she said. Miss O’Keeffe gave a careless wave of her hand, encouraging the young woman. Sarah clambered out of the Jeep’s backseat, her hat falling backward as she did, the keeper string going tight around her neck.

Jim swung down from his horse, dropping the long rein ends to the ground.

“Let’s walk a few steps,” he said. Sarah, acutely aware of three sets of eyes on them, was happy to oblige. As they stepped away, he shook his head. “Hell, this is awkward,” he muttered. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

Sarah gave a little snort of mirth. “No kidding,” she said, and her smile at him seemed to establish a rapport.

The tension left his shoulders. “Look, I just wanted to say again that I’m sorry,” he said. “Last night – it shouldn’t have happened like that.”

“I kind of think I should be the one to apologize,” Sarah said ruefully. “Rob was completely out of line.”

“Not your fault your boyfriend behaved like a jackass.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Sarah put in, quickly. “I only wish you’d broken his nose.”

Jim grinned, and Sarah was suddenly distracted by his dazzling smile. She thought he looked like a movie cowboy. Maybe a little dustier, but still. “I didn’t?” he replied. “Maybe one of these days I’ll have another try.”

Sarah giggled. She knew she shouldn’t, but she just couldn’t help herself. “Well, if you do, Betty’ll let me know about it.”

“Oh?”

“I’m going back to New York in a few days.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked off to the horizon. “Ah,” he said. “Well. Then I’m glad I ran into you, Sarah. Glad I had a chance to –” He faltered, his sentence failing to end.

Sarah reached out impulsively and laid her hand on his arm. “Me, too.”

Without words, they turned and headed back to the Jeep. Jim offered her a hand up into the vehicle, then gathered the reins of his mount and swung effortlessly into the saddle. He and his friend both touched their hat brims again in respectful salute, and turned their horses away as Betty drove the Jeep forward.

After they’d driven a hundred yards or so, Sarah looked back, and saw Jim and his companion moving away in the distance. She made a small, covert wave to him, silently wishing him well.
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francis
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Re: Taos, Chapter 5 -- PG-13

Post by francis »

Fascinating chapter. I love their trip and to read about that canyon. Is this a real place, and do you have a photo? I would love to see that artwork. Of course, the man with the fangs reminded me of something. :laugh: I wonder if Josef knows that someone took a photo of a vampire so long ago.

I love that Mrs. O'Keefe comes across much more human and friendly than in her first encounter with Sarah. And that Jim got a chance to apologize, even if he wasn't the one who should.

Now I wonder if Rob will see his errors and apologize, too. Probably not, but it would greatly improve the image I have of him.
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Re: Taos, Chapter 5 -- PG-13

Post by librarian_7 »

francis--yay to you for being the first commenter! (besides my long-suffering betas, that is). Speaking of, I have to give shoutouts to Lilly and Allegrita on this. In fact, the whole chapter is here because they said I needed more to the story. Allegrita should consider a career in copy editing, based on her work with me! She's insanely good at it; especially in catching all the little mistakes that creep in when I use my voice recognition software.

Anyway, although the canyon is not a real place, it could be. There are Ancestral Pueblan (what used to be called Anasazi) ruins all over the Southwest, tucked away in hidden places. I did do some looking at pictures of petroglyphs from the Four Corners region, and found some pretty eerie looking stuff. I'll try to post a couple on the thread shortly.
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Re: Taos, Chapter 5 -- PG-13

Post by librarian_7 »

You see images like this quite frequently on the various "ancient astronaut" shows, but I thought the concept sounded just fine for...another interpretation.

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Re: Taos, Chapter 5 -- PG-13

Post by francis »

Well, the first one looks like a really big bottle of scotch to me. :snicker:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 5 -- PG-13

Post by darkstarrising »

I'm glad you posted a picture of the artwork - I wasn't far off on what I imagined based on your description. I agree with francis, that Ms O'Keeffe does come across as more personable in this chapter - or maybe she's decided Sarah's OK to be herself around.

Going back to your descriptions - this one really stood out. I could see this clearly and envy your descriptive ability: :notworthy:
The red and yellow sandstone rose in eroded waves above the desert floor, like the ruffles of a Spanish skirt.
No wonder Ms O'keeffe found inspiration in the desert. One of these days, I'll get to see this part of the country in person and I'll have you to thank. :hug:

Loved how Sarah is reacting to all the new things she's being introduced to. Her mother would probably be horrified at Sarah's jaunt across the desert in a jeep, shooing cattle and even more so by her friendly, though completely innocent conversation with Jim. She's beginning to not only shed the social conventions that dictated her sheltered life, but to be comfortable doing so. Makes me understand why someone like Josef would be attracted to her and wonder what kind of woman she'd have grown up to be had she not been caught 'in between'.

I get the feeling we haven't seen the last of Rob... :whistle:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 5 -- PG-13

Post by allegrita »

I love this chapter, and I'm so glad you wrote it! It adds such a wonderful dimension to the story, giving us a better look at Georgia O'Keeffe (I think she warmed to Sarah when she made that comment about "awful light"... and also when she stood up to Arrogant Rob! :snicker: ) and also introducing Sarah to images that might make it easier, sometime in the future, to believe in the extraordinary. :hearts:

I love the meeting with Jim and his cowboy compatriot. It gives a bit of closure to the scene at the dance. Sarah and Jim are on opposite sides of a huge social chasm, and any sparks they might have felt were doomed to be smothered by family pressure. But there's no denying that spark of attraction, and I'm very glad they had another chance to meet. He's such a likeable character. :heart:

Thanks so much for the pictures, Lucky! I've seen petroglyphs at Mesa Verde and other sites, and I loved the way you "painted" them with words.

Finally, thank you very much for the compliment! :hug: :hearts: It's a great pleasure to read your stories, and if I can help make them a little tidier in a few places, that makes me very happy. :cloud9: I've worked as a technical editor, but betaing great fanfic is WAY more fun than reading computer science papers. :teeth:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 5 -- PG-13

Post by Lilly »

I really adore this chapter. :heart: I've read it several times now and it just gets better every time.

The first half is so vivid. I felt like I was there in that Jeep -- and the truth is, I really wanted to be! Your descriptions, as always, are vivid and gorgeous. dsr has already quoted my favorite line:
The red and yellow sandstone rose in eroded waves above the desert floor, like the ruffles of a Spanish skirt.
... but it bears repeating. It may just be one of my favorite lines ever. :hearts: :notworthy:

I love the girls' little excursion together. Betty is self-confident and fearless, totally in her element. Sarah is eager for a little adventure. She's cautious about potential danger (the rattlesnakes), but her curiosity and exuberance for new experiences outweigh any fear she might have. Her fascination with the almost other-worldly petroglyphs is so nicely done. I love that she reaches out her hand, but stops just short of touching them. It's such a small moment, but it speaks volumes to me.
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Re: Taos, Chapter 5 -- PG-13

Post by Shadow »

I really loved the descriptions in this chapter.... the sandstone cliffs like Spanish skirts, the hidden box canyon with its little stream and seeps ... this really captures the amazement of discovering these enchanting canyons in the desert, even before we come to the rock art! Sarah's reaction to the artwork is wonderful, especially when she sees the most mysterious figure with fangs. It's lovely to imagine this image, this almost magical moment, coming to Sarah's mind later when she finds out what Josef is.
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