In the vast sand beyond the borders of Poe, lonely distant desert lies in abandon. Many travelers kept away from Death Canyon, because of the locals telling the tales of spirits that haunted the desert. Despite the stories, there were those who passed these parts without fear. One of which was a stranger who laid in waiting clutching a wicker basket. A rattling cry came from inside it.
“Hush, my sweet, we will wait. The evil one will never find you, but must remain quiet.”
The stranger found a clearing tainted only by a trio of dancing cacti. After covering the lid of the wicker basket, the stranger placed it in the center of the space of growing desert plants.
Soon, she heard a noise, hoping it to be a caravan. The stranger ran as fast as she legs would carry her, dropping out of eyesight of the passing merchants but close enough to hear them conversing.
Laughter could be heard from a wagon as it passed on its hitched camels. The stranger witnessed two men occupying the little wagon. They were farmers of the native local.
The man called Horris and his neighbor, Stumont, were conversing The stranger just close enough to hear what they were saying. It was the cry of the baby hidden among the cacti shifted their chatter to a different note.
“Stu, stop the camels,” Horris cried. “Something’s out there.”
“In these dunes? I think not, Horris. The old mind’s fleeing gain, aye.”
“No, I heard a cry, a baby’s cry.”
“It’s is your imagination, friend. New fathers are like that. Little Sheeba still robbing your sleep?”
“No, Stu, I heard a cry. I swear.”
Suddenly, Stumont heard
It, too. The men followed the wailings to a mysteriously odd clearing. There, they found a trio of cacti, unusual in shape and color, one having small buttom-shaped blooms of raspberry, teal and crimson. The other, having a lavender stem with cream fur-soft spines giving the illusion of hair. The third was a short pudgy yellow-green with no blooms. Movement from the basket caught Horris off guard, and he jumped back. He then reached for his steel gloves to save his skin from the needles of the cacti and reached in and pulled out the basket.
“What have you found, Horris?” Stumont inquired.
Horris removed the lip to reveal a tiny infant. The soft, frail child weighing no more than a few pounds.
“What is it??” Stumont said, running towards Horris.
“Horris ignored his friend’s statement, instead concentrating on his new-found treasure. “Poor child,” Horris said. “Who would do such a thing?”
“Desperate people do desperate things,” Stumont said, moving his head back and forth. “What are you planning to do, Horris?”
“The only thing I can. Someone must look after this child, at least until her parents can be found.”
Horris gently lifted the basket and returned to his small caravan. The winds were picking up speed.
“A storm is raging,” Stumont confirmed. “We must move before it’s too late.”
“Do not fret, my friend. You shall be a guest tonight. Dolsi will insist.”
“So will T’marra. Wives worry so. Do they not?”
“I am with you friend, but sometimes it can be a blessing. Never question the power of female intuition.”
The child began to coo in happiness, which made both men smile, as the caravan rode off.
The stranger removed herself from her hiding place, watching the travelers disappear into the dunes. “Thank you, kind stranger. Protect her.”
In a farmhouse overlooking a bountiful crop of cacti, a woman worked busily in her kitchen cooking a stew of fine vegetables and cow meat bought from a traveling merchant. Only looking up from her work to tend to her crying baby.
“There now, little Sheeba, Momma must finish supper. Papa will be home soon.” The child’s cry continued. “What is it, my dear?” Dolsi handed her the rattle that Horris had made. “There, now,” she said, “that’s better. Now, be a good girl.”
At that moment, Horris popped through the door with Stumont carrying the treasure basket. He walked into the kitchen to see Dolsi consumed with her work at their small rusty cooker.
“How are my two darlings?” he said.
“Busy at work, Horris. Supper will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Add one more plate. Stu is here.”
Take Care,
Joanna Maharis