Calliope found it painstakingly slow at first, struggled to adapt to the hours at the table piled high with vegetables from the garden: corn, squash, broccoli, scallions, cilantro, radishes. Clumps of pink salt crystal from Old Lady Salt, which Calliope remembered respectfully each time she sat for a meal at Malia’s table. Jalapeño chiles, spicy carrots. Mutton, pinto bean stew, paperbread made from blue cornmeal. The blood pudding sausages Calliope refused more steadfastly than the corn girl her own mashed food. For dessert, thin wedges of honeydew and watermelon.

It bothered Calliope that the women didn’t have a more active role in the Zuni religious and intellectual life, but she kept telling herself that though she was fond of these people, though their way of life spoke to her spirit, they were not her people. Because she did not fully understand, could never fully understand, she had no right to criticize or judge. So she took a bite of chile, swallowed. A bite of paperbread. A sip of melon juice. A spoonful of stew. A bite of radish. And so forth. Malia smiled approvingly, said aloud that Calliope was a wonderful daughter-in-law, who did wonderfully, the Indian way.

Calliope didn’t tell Malia that her bisabuela was Puebloan, that Calliope had a part of the people coursing through her blood as well, the Ancients residing in her. She knew that Malia meant she was playing her part of an adopted Zuni wife well. She’d been practicing hard, to keep Chance from taking any other risks for her. She was trying to keep him safe. So she just smiled at Malia and took another bite of her spicy chile, the heat prickling at her eyes.

After dinner, Eunjoo ran off again with Nastacio to pick wildflowers. Calliope excused herself to change the baby, and Chance followed her. The rest of the family would wash dishes then gather on the porch as the sun set, gossiping and telling stories, some members smoking or rolling tobacco, a sacred item in Zuni.

None of their usual banter tonight though. Chance’s neck and arms were tense. “We need to leave before sunrise.”

She put the baby in the middle of their bed, on her stomach; the corn girl wasn’t crawling yet. “Why tonight? I thought we had two more days.”

“Arlen gave me a heads-up. Some of the men from my kiva suspect.”

“How?”

Chance smoothed his hair out of his face, clasped his hands behind his head. “Nothing stays hidden on the rez.”

“What will Malia say when she finds we’re gone? And Nala? Wowo łashhi? Can’t we at least say goodbye?”

“I don’t want them to know where we’ve gone. Not for sure. I can’t risk them accidentally telling anyone. It’s bad enough Arlen knows.”

“If it hadn’t been for Arlen, we wouldn’t have known where to go.”