Our new house was at the end of the world. That’s what I thought the first day my family rolled up to our cabin in the Cahuilla Hills of Palm Desert, California. No more green trees, no more breezes off the sea like on the coast where we used to live. No more neighbors close by, corner store or mall. Nothing but brown sand. “Everything’s dirty and dead,” I announced to my parents and carload of siblings.
“Look carefully,” Dad said. “The desert is full of life. It’s just secret life.”
I didn’t see how anything could survive out in a place like this, much less keep secrets, but I took Dad’s advice. Upon closer inspection of our new homestead I noticed a patch of wild daisies jutting up from the sand. A sparrow flew overhead. A lizard scurried over the dark purple rocks. Who knows what else I might find? This place was full of secrets, and I wanted to know them all!
One spring day Dad took my brother Mark and me on a hike down the road. We walked almost to the end of the canyon. The earth was dry and brown. But then, like a beautiful dream, there was an oasis: a running stream of crystal-clear water, surrounded by chartreuse grass and baby palm trees, right in the middle of the desert. It was like magic.
“How did the water get way out here?” I asked, splashing some on my face.
“From the mountains,” said Dad. “The snow melts off the peaks and runs all the way down here in the spring.”
I had discovered another one of the desert’s secrets.
A few months later, on a hot day in August, Mark and I sat around the cabin with nothing to do. I flipped through an old book. It showed pictures of angels singing, playing music and helping adventurous children who’d gotten into trouble. We would avoid getting into trouble, but maybe Mark and I could find something exciting to do ourselves. “Let’s hike to the end of the canyon like we did with Dad,” I said.
It was the perfect journey for a summer’s day—or so I thought. The morning air was cool when we started out, but as we walked on the sun rose high and pounded down on our heads. My sweaty hair stuck to my face.
“I’m thirsty,” said Mark.
“We’ll have water to drink when we get to the oasis,” I promised. “It can’t be too much farther.” I could almost see the magical place in my mind, beckoning us. We just had to make it there.
We neared the end of the canyon and gasped. The oasis was gone. Nothing but a dried-up stream bed. The palm trees were scorched. “The whole area looks like it was hit by lightning!” I said. I remembered Dad explaining that the stream came from snow in the mountains. That had been in the spring. The snow was long gone by now and with it the water we needed so badly.
There was nothing to do but turn around and go back. We had barely made it this far. How would we ever get home?
The road rippled in the heat. My head throbbed and filled with the buzzing of cicadas. I was dizzy with the smell of unsettled dust, dry sage brush and sweat. I willed myself to take each step forward. The desert was full of secrets. Not all of them were nice ones.
Mark’s mouth hung open. His breathing was ragged. He stumbled against me, and I almost fell over myself. I didn’t want to fall, or collapse. I had to keep going. I’d gotten my brother into this mess, and it was up to me to get him out.
I thought about that book I’d read about angels. I wished an angel could rescue me and Mark like those kids in the story. An imaginary stream flickered in front of my eyes and then vanished. It was just a mirage. A vulture screeched above us.
I would have told Mark we were like Hansel and Gretel if my mouth hadn’t been too dry to talk. The August desert witch had us in her oven, and we were cooking fast. My eyes stung with sweat. Was that a cabin up ahead? Probably another mirage… I wiped my eyes and blinked. Yes! Right near the top of the canyon. An ordinary little place that was just what we needed. I don’t remember seeing that with Dad, I thought, but it didn’t matter now.
“Mark,” I croaked, “let’s go to that cabin.” I hoped it wasn’t abandoned.
My chest and head pounded. I fell against the cabin door and knocked. No answer. I peeked in the window. The place was empty. Barely aware of what I was doing, I tried the doorknob. It opened!
Mark and I stepped out of the sun. We blinked in the dim light of the cabin. There was hardly any furniture, just two dinette chairs and a metal table. And a refrigerator.
Mark struggled to open the fridge door. “Wait,” I said. “We don’t even know who lives here.”
“But Sheila, I’m so thirsty!” said Mark. He pulled open the fridge. Inside was a big jug filled with water—just what we needed! We passed the jug back and forth, taking slow, deep gulps. It was heavenly.
“Who do you think lives here?” asked Mark, wiping his mouth on his shirt.
“I don’t know,” I said. It almost seemed like the place was left there with us in mind. Refreshed, we got up to leave. I took one more look around before I closed the door. I wanted to remember the little cabin forever. It looked ordinary, but it was the desert’s best secret yet.
We told Dad all about the cabin when we got home. He wanted to see it for himself. “And I think we owe those folks a fresh jug of cold water.” We all set out again the very next coolish morning. But the cabin had disappeared. We never found it again.
I can still see the magical little cabin when I close my eyes, just like it looked when we left it that day. And I imagine an angel putting another jug of fresh water in the fridge, just in case any other hot and thirsty children wander by.
