WHEN WE HEARD A SOFT KNOCK late one afternoon, I thought I was hearing things. But then it happened again. Sam, Sally, and I looked at each other on the couch, our eyes wide. No one had come to our house since we moved to Mud Flats. I opened the door slowly and saw the friendly face of an elderly Navajo woman. Nothing could have surprised me more. Heavyset, her gray hair in a tight bun, she wore a traditional red velvet full skirt and black blouse and lots of turquoise jewelry on her wrists and fingers. I recognized her as the woman I’d seen coming and going from the rusted trailer across the
...more
