Chapter 16: Life and Lemons

“There’s no place like home,” Lenna sighed as the Fleetwood pulled up to a decrepit building beside a colorful Trading Post. She had referred to it as The Lodge and hinted it was the seat of her tribe’s elder council. Peter wrongly assumed they’d drive her to Fort Apache instead of Whiteriver. He earned a scathing rebuke for the unintended slight.

When they arrived at the lodge, a few dogs greeted them, making it known they were strangers. Lenna climbed out of the passenger door, whistled, and they ceased, gathering around her submissively, tails wagging. She patted a few furry heads and stood before the large porch leading to the main doors. Peter exited the driver’s side. Kathy opened the side door and helped Jacali to the packed dirt while holding Abigail. They met behind the native woman and stood quietly, uncertain how to proceed.

“What are we waiting for?” Peter asked after a long minute.

“For them to acknowledge me,” Lenna replied under her breath. “I’d lose face if I barged inside and demanded to be heard.”

“How long do they usually take to acknowledge you?” Kathy murmured as she lifted the toddler into her arms.

Lenna shrugged. “They are not obligated to see me,” she replied as the seconds ticked by. “Technically, I am disgraced because I fled my home and lived apart from the people in a distasteful manner.”

“I will never agree with that,” Peter muttered. She had already shared her situation and the circumstances that forced her to flee an abusive family who ostracized her for becoming pregnant by a man who refused to acknowledge her or her unborn Jacali.

They waited another minute, and Kathy became incensed at the disregard for the woman and her young children. She stepped up to Peter and handed him the baby. “Here, babe. I’ll take care of this right now!”

He gawked at her wide-eyed as she turned toward the old building.

“Kathy, don’t,” Lenna pleaded, placing a restraining hand on her arm. “I must wait for the elders to invite me in. To do otherwise would—”

“Would let a newborn baby and toddler cook out here in the hot sun!” Kathy snapped loudly. “I appreciate the fierce history and pride of your nation, but my culture is not so forgiving of an elder body who would allow a child to suffer!” She jerked her arm free and strode toward the wide porch. She reached the first step when the large door opened inward. She saw the silhouette of a man standing just inside and paused before the steps.

She straightened her back and glared at the man in the doorway. “Well?” she demanded. “How long do your people let women and children stand in the heat before you offer them shelter?”

“You’re a stranger here, girl,” the man replied in a deep voice. “Our ways aren’t yours, and your words question our people’s strength. We’ve suffered much greater at the hands of our enemies.”

“Oh, cry me a river!” she shot back. “My people could still bitch and moan about our lost lands and past injustices. But we got over it and moved on. And we would never let our hospitality be questioned.”

Peter grimaced inwardly, knowing how Kathy could get when you pissed her off. This man was about to find out.

“Your words are guided by spirit but lack wisdom, girl. Where do your ancestors dwell?”

“I’m Puyallup, from Tacoma, Washington. A fish eater, like this savage daughter of yours, has repeatedly called me. Will you stand there like an ass or let Lenna and her children inside?”

Beyond the shadowy doorway, a mumbled conversation occurred. A group of children emerged from the Trading Post and gathered around the Fleetwood and the white boy, quietly observing the byplay. Peter wore slacks and a tee shirt, feeling sweat forming between his shoulder blades. He wore Oakley wraps with prismed tints.

“Lenna Uglyhorse may enter for us to talk,” the man rumbled. “Take the children into the Trading Post. We will send her to you after we speak.” He turned and disappeared into the Lodge.

Peter stepped forward and took the baby from the Apache native’s arms. “Uglyhorse?” he asked with a wry grin.

“My family name,” she growled. “And it’s not what you whitey’s think. It’s an honorable name on the Reservation.” She sounded defensive as she turned and walked up the steps, disappearing inside.

“Well then,” Kathy turned to the handful of curious children. “Better grab my wallet. Might as well do some shopping, right?” she asked. They began chattering, swarming around her as she stepped back into the Fleetwood. The kids followed her inside to check the cabin. Peter entered last and watched them gather over the dinette and kitchen area. One adventurous boy climbed into the loft while a girl tentatively sat in the passenger seat. Kathy stepped on the lever that swiveled it 180 degrees, facing the living area. The girl grinned back at her.

“Listen up,” she barked as she grabbed her sling bag, letting Jacali hold it. “You can each have a pop from the fridge.” She pointed to the small unit. “And there’s a bag of chips. Don’t make a mess, got it?” She might as well have been talking to the table as the horde rushed the cooler. “Hey!” They stopped and looked back at her. She placed a hand on her guitar case and keyboard cover. “If any of you touch these, I will kill you, dead. Capiche?” She gave them the stink eye before lightening up and dancing back towards the door. “Don’t let anyone steal our ride.”

The Trading Post was a large room with shelves, stands, and display cases of touristy items expected from a roadside Native American store. Many ‘tribal artifacts’ were imported, and the bored Indians didn’t bother to remove the Made in Taiwan stickers. Behind the long counter were several authentic blankets and rows of hand-crafted silver and turquoise jewelry. A teenage girl sat behind the counter making cigarettes from loose tobacco and papers, using a device that rolled them uniformly. She set them in a silver box where they sold for a quarter each. An ancient woman with dark leathery skin sat nearby, smoking one of the cigarettes and talking to the girl in their native tongue.

“Nice travel van,” a voice said from behind a partition covered with furs and animal pelts. A middle-aged man with dark native features stepped from behind the wall and greeted the young couple. He wore denim jeans and cowboy boots, a finely embroidered Laredo long-sleeve shirt, and a leather vest. His skin was lighter than the two women’s but more weathered from life working under the blistering sun.

“Thank you,” Peter replied easily as he fingered a pelt.

Kathy set Jacali on her feet and held her hand as she wandered around the room, touching everything. She directed her to a section of children’s clothing and began shuffling through the shirts.

“Name’s Bradly,” he introduced himself, holding out a friendly hand, which Peter shook. “Brad Littlewolf. Welcome to my Trading Post. What brings you to Whiteriver?”

“I’m Peter Shipley, and this is my girlfriend, Kathy,” he replied. “We’ve been touring the State and met one of your tribal members, Lenna, um ... Uglyhorse. She was in a bad highway accident, and we tried to help her. So, we brought her home.”

“That girl is a troubled spirit,” the ancient crone stated in a surprisingly clear voice. “Her father is a drunk old goat without a drop of sense.”

The teenager stood up and looked intently at the girl in Kathy’s lap on the floor, trying on a tie-dyed shirt. “Is that Lenna’s baby?” she asked as she stepped from behind the counter and approached the two.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kathy smiled, stripping off the shirt and folding it carefully. She set it aside and pulled another from the shelf. “This is Jacali, and that little bit in Peter’s arms is Abigail. She was born inside a wrecked Greyhound bus.”

“Oh my gosh, she’s grown so big already,” the teenager cooed as she squatted down with them. “I’m Charity. Lenna’s my aunt on her mother’s side.” She slipped an elastic hair tie from her wrist and gave it to the toddler. She looked about fourteen or fifteen years old and stood rail-thin from her growth spurt. Her face was pretty, and she had long black hair in a single braid down her back.

“Are you an Uglyhorse too?” Peter asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“No,” she replied, turning to regard him levelly. “No, I am Littlewolf like my father,” she nodded toward the grinning trader. “Why is it funny?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Kathy smirked. “But he means well.”

The older woman stubbed out her cigarette and grabbed another from the silver box. “Our language doesn’t translate easily to the white man’s tongue,” she said as she lit the smoke with a silver zippo. “Uglyhorse is derived from the speckled pattern on Appaloosa coats. In its simplest translation, it’s random and odd but termed ‘ugly.’” She waved her smoke as she spoke. “What the white man calls our ‘dead river’ is the loosest term for ‘without water’ or ‘dry wash.’”

“Is she asking for tribal reinstatement?” Brad asked.

Peter shrugged. “I guess so. She told me she had to get something off her chest and wanted to return but as her own woman or something like that.” He looked at Kathy with a raised eyebrow. “I guess she’s had enough of her old man’s behavior and abuse.”

Kathy nodded as Charity hugged the child. “I don’t know how it works with your tribe, but she said she wants to petition for a piece of land on the reservation to build her own home and live apart from her immediate kin.”

“Oh, she will be apart,” Bradly snorted disgustedly. “Those fools in there will regard her as shameful for having two children with two different fathers—neither of whom was native.” He turned to the ancient crone. “Grandmother, why don’t you go smack a few heads together?”

The old woman scowled. “Not my place, boy. They will decide. They can’t keep her apart but don’t have to welcome her either. I expect they will put her out in the Wash or up on the Eagle Reach to make a point.”

“What point is that?” Peter demanded, suddenly angry at the thought of Leena’s fate being decided by a group of misogynistic assholes. “And what do you mean by ‘putting her out?’ Do your tribe members each get a piece of land?”

Bradly nodded and turned as the store’s front door opened, admitting a group of children watching Fleetwood. “Typically, each family has a stake passed down over the years. But the Apache reservation is over a million and a half acres of desert and rich timberlands.” He glowered at a boy who came in last, forgetting to close the door. “There are free lands to parcel out to folks who return after living off the reservation.”

“So, they can designate a piece of free and clear land for her?” Peter persisted. “To build a house, maybe a garden, pastures or something?”

“Don’t expect them to be generous,” the shop owner nodded. “But yes, she may need a road to drag a trailer out and call it home. As for a garden,” he shook his head. “Not much grows in an arid sandy desert, aside from pinyon and cactus.”

Peter was miles away as he considered what he had heard. Kathy recognized the faraway expression as ‘old Pete’ mulled over the information they just received.

“You’re a broken man,” the grandmother remarked as the boy aged before her. “You’re living two lives.”

Broken Eagle—Two-Spirit

He blinked in surprise and turned to stare into her penetrating gaze. How could she possibly know? “Er, pardon?” he replied nervously. Kathy looked on uneasily.

“My Grandmother is a highly regarded medicine woman,” Bradly answered. “She is directly descended from legendary shamans of our lineage. Her great-grandmother was Lozen, who stood beside Geronimo when he surrendered in 1886.”

“You are a half-man,” she declared firmly, “with Two-Spirits. Your past is tied to your future, and the troubled paradox of two worlds clouds your way.”

An awkward silence followed until he chuckled nervously and lifted his pant legs to reveal his titanium ankles. “Well, you got the half-man part right,” he grinned. The children gathered around, gasped, and enthusiastically talked over each other about his artificial feet.

“I know not how your future aligns with Lenna, but you will have great influence over her as she moves forward,” the old woman declared, stabbing her cigarette and limping from behind the counter. Her eyes never left Peter’s as she crossed the room, weaving between cases, partitions, and shelving units until she stood before a large tapestry covering a side wall. She pulled it aside, revealing a door she opened and stepped through.

“What ... just happened?” Kathy asked nobody.

Bradly stepped behind the counter and helped himself to a hand-rolled cigarette. “Grandmother just inserted herself into our Elder politics,” he chuckled as he lit the cigarette and exhaled smoke through his nostrils. “If I were a betting man, I’d say she just knocked a few heads together and took charge.”