With a squeal of hinges, the doors slammed shut and in a belch of exhaust fumes the bus wrested itself from beneath the portico and rumbled into the narrow street. The harsh rocky landscape, broken by stunted dusty-green shrubs, melancholy patches of aspen, and the occasional clump of rust and yellow wildflowers, contrasted with the lush green of North Carolina. They rolled past what the driver said were broken-down miners’ cabins and swept past clusters of meandering goats. At San Juan Pueblo, they stopped to buy fresh fruit.

“If you prefer to stay on board,” Ben said to Miriam, “I’d be glad to get fruit for us. What do you like?”

“Cherries,” Sadie said. “I like cherries best.”

A woman in the seat behind them pressed a ten-dollar bill into his hand. “Please, Ben, get some fruit for all of us on the bus, will you?”

Minutes later, Ben climbed back into the bus, and as if he were hosting this outing, he passed around bags of cherries and plums. His warmth and good cheer broke the tension natural among strangers cooped in a small space, and people began to chat easily with one another.

When they reached Taos Pueblo, Amelia and Sadie were last off the bus, and while the others milled about or fiddled with their gear, they stepped away from the group. Amelia scrutinized the famous, well-photographed pueblo.

“It appears to be an apartmentlike complex four stories high in places,” she pointed out to the child beside her. She had gotten Sadie a small automatic camera and encouraged her to take pictures. When Amelia made a telescope with her finger and thumb through which she examined shadows, protrusions, setbacks, deep doorways, and high small windows, Sadie followed suit.

Kneeling beside Amelia, Sadie squinted through the frame created by her little fingers. “Grandma,” she asked, “where does one apartment begin and the other end?”

“It’s hard to tell, isn’t it? The plastered clay walls remind me of a mocha iced cake I made for my father’s birthday when I was ten.”

Amelia studied the flat roofs. Round wooden rafters near the roofline poked several feet out from the walls and broke the monotony of the façade. She wondered if the life of the pueblo occurred on the bare courtyard in front, or on flat rooftops, or on interior patios.

There was, however, no time to ask questions, for as they stood on the dry dusty ground outside the bus, Martha Dinsk launched into explanations and instructions.