Chapter 8: A New Family

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

When they pulled up to the lodge, they were greeted by a handful of dogs who made it known they were strangers. Lenna climbed out of the passenger door, gave a sharp whistle and they desisted, gathering around her submissively, dusting the ground with their tails. She absently patted a few of the furry heads and stood before the large porch that led to the main double doors. Peter climbed out of the driver’s side while Kathy opened the side door and helped Jacali down to the packed dirt while holding Abigail in her arms. They met behind the native woman and stood behind her quietly, uncertain how to proceed.

“Um. What are we waiting for?” Peter asked finally after a long minute had passed.

“For them to acknowledge me,” Lenna replied under her breath. “I would lose face if I were to barge inside and demand to be heard.”

“So 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 at all,” she replied as the seconds ticked by ever so slowly. “Technically I am disgraced because I fled my home and lived apart from the people in a manner most would find distasteful.”

“I will never agree with that,” Peter muttered. She had already shared the details of 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 unborn Jacali.

They waited another minute and Kathy became incensed at the utter disregard for the woman and her young children. She stepped up to Peter and handed him the baby. “Here, babe. I’m gonna go 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 upon her arm. “I must await 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 willingly allow a child to suffer!” She jerked her arm free and strode toward the wide porch. She made it to the first step when the large door opened inward. She saw the silhouette of a man standing just inside and she paused just 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 out in the heat before you offer them shelter?”

“You are a stranger here girl,” the man replied in a deep voice. “Our ways are not yours, and your words question the strength of our people. We have suffered much greater at the hands of our enemies.”

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

Peter grimaced inwardly knowing how his beloved could get when you set 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 am Puyallup, from Tacoma, Washington. A fish-eater, as this savage daughter of yours, has repeatedly called me. Are you gonna stand there like an Ass or let Lenna and her children inside?”

There was a mumbled conversation beyond the shadowy doorway. A group of children appeared from within the Trading Post and gathered around them gawking at the Fleetwood and the white boy who stood apart from the women, quietly observing the byplay. Peter was wearing slacks and a teeshirt and he began to feel sweat forming between his shoulder blades. He wore a pair of Oakley wraps with prismed tints.

“Lenna Uglyhorse may enter so that we may exchange words,” the man rumbled. “Take the children into the Trading Post and we will send for you after we have spoken.” He turned and disappeared within 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 said as she turned to regard the handful of children gazing back at her curiously. “Better grab my wallet. Might as well do some shopping right?” she asked them collectively. They in turn began chattering energetically swarming around her as she stepped back into the Fleetwood. The kids had no qualms about following her inside and checking the cabin out. Peter entered last and watched as they gathered over the dinette and kitchen area. One adventurous lad climbed up 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, allowing Jacali to 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 get them everywhere, 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 lays a finger on either of these I will kill you, dead. Capiche?” She gave each of 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 single large room crowded with shelves, stands, and display cases, featuring all the touristy things you would expect from a roadside Native American store. Many of the ‘tribal artifacts’ were imported and the bored Indians didn’t bother to scrape off the Made in Taiwan stickers. Behind the long counter, however, there were several authentic blankets as well as rows of hand-crafted silver and turquoise jewelry. A teenage girl sat behind the counter making cigarettes from loose tobacco and papers, using a clever device that rolled them uniformly. She set them in a silver box from where they were sold for a quarter a piece. 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 small 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 with a finely embroidered Laredo long-sleeve shirt and leather vest. His skin was lighter than the two women, but decidedly more weathered from a life of working under the blistering sun.

“Thank you,” Peter replied easily as he fingered one of the pelts.

Kathy set Jacali on her feet and held her hand as she wandered around the room touching everything in reach. She directed her over 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 that beautiful lady is my girlfriend, Kathy Parsons,” he replied. “We have been touring the State and met up with one of your tribal members, a lady named Lenna, um ... Uglyhorse. She was involved in a pretty bad accident on the highway and we have tried to help her out any way we can. 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 sitting in Kathy’s lap on the floor as she tried on a colorful 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 brightly, stripping off the shirt and folding it carefully. She set it aside as she 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 adolescent growth spurt. Her face was pretty and she had long black hair which she wore in a single braid down the center of 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 do you think it’s funny?”

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

The older woman stabbed out her cigarette and grabbed another from the silver box. “Our tongue does not translate to the white man’s tongue easily,” she said as she lit the smoke with a silver zippo. “Uglyhorse is derived from the speckled pattern you find on the coats of the Appaloosa. It is random and odd but termed ‘ugly’ in its simplest translation.” She waved her smoke in the air as she spoke. “What the white man calls our ‘Dead river’ is the loosest term for what we consider ‘without water’ or more aptly called a dry wash.”

“So she is 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 come back, 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 swept the child into her arms and hugged her affectionately. “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 so she can build her own home and live apart from her immediate kin.”

“Oh she will be apart, alright,” Bradly snorted disgustedly. “Those backward 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 what they decide. They cannot keep her apart, but they don’t have to welcome her openly either. I expect they will put her out in the Wash, or up on the Eagle Reach just to try and make a point.”

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

Bradly nodded and turned as the front door to the store opened, admitting the small gaggle of children who were watching the Fleetwood. “Typically each family has a stake that is handed down over the years. But the Apache reservation is over one and a half million acres that range from desert waste to rich timberlands.” He glowered at one of the boys who came in last, forgetting to close the door behind him. “There is plenty of free lands which they can parcel out to folks who return after living off the reservation for whatever reason.”

“So they can designate a piece of land, which will be hers free and clear?” Peter persisted. “To build a house on and maybe a garden or pastures or something?”

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

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

“You are a broken man,” the grandmother remarked as she watched the boy age before her eyes. “You are living two lives.”

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 considered to be a medicine woman of great status,” Bradly answered. “She is directly descended from some of the most legendary shamans of our lineage. Her great-grandmother was none other than 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 your way is clouded by the troubled juxtaposition of two worlds.”

There was a long awkward silence that followed her words 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 began gasping and talking over each other as they regarded his artificial feet with amazement.

“I know not how your future aligns with Lenna’s, but you will certainly have great influence over her as she makes her way forward,” the old woman declared, stabbing out her cigarette and limping slowly from behind the counter. Her eyes never left Peter’s as she ambled across the room, weaving between cases, partitions, and shelving units until she stood before a large woven tapestry that covered a side wall. She pulled it aside, revealing a door that she pulled open and stepped through. By Peter’s estimate, the wall separated the Trading post from the Lodge.

“What ... um, what just happened?” Kathy asked nobody in particular.

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

He was not wrong. Fifteen minutes later the old woman reappeared and gestured for Peter and Kathy to join her. Kathy took Jacali back from her cousin’s arms and stepped through the doorway into the dark smokey interior, followed by Peter who still held a sleeping Abigail in his arms. The room they entered was more softly illuminated and maintained its shadowy interior by employing stark curtains that were drawn across the upper windows limiting the amount of sunlight entering the chamber. The room itself was not so much large as simply more open than the crowded Trading Post next door. There was a large table in the center of the room with several mismatched chairs around it. Four of the chairs were occupied by men dressed in ordinary Western apparel, all with cowboy hats sporting gaudy silver bands. While the men were elderly to be sure, they were strapping youths compared to the wizened old grandmother that escorted Peter and Kathy into the room.

They found Lenna standing before the table across from the four elders, wearing a fatigued and distressed expression. It was clear that her emotional state had been sorely tested and that she had struggled to keep her anger in check.

With no ceremony, the old woman introduced the four elders as “Bob, Calvin, Ekhard, and Doug,” pointing to each of them in turn. She turned a bitter expression towards Doug who Peter guessed was the man in the doorway when they first arrived. “Dougy was a colicky baby, who never tried to make life on his mother easy,” she remarked with a sour tone that caused him to flinch. “Even to this very day.”

“Introduce yourselves and explain your relationship with our returned daughter,” the old woman ordered as she dragged a heavy chair loudly from the table and gestured for the tired Lenna to be seated. Lenna tearfully sat and gazed up at the matronly woman with gratitude as she reached for the weathered old hand that squeezed her shoulder.

Peter stepped forward and handed her the sleeping baby who had begun to fuss, so that she could nurse. When he turned to face the four men across from him he gazed at them through the eyes of his older self. “My name is Peter Shipley. I am from Washington State. This is my ... significant other Kathy, whom you have already met,” he smirked. “We encountered Lenna after the Greyhound bus, she was riding in, wrecked after having one of the front tires shot out by the crazed father of her second child.” He went on to describe in concise terms what had happened and how he had become a fixture in the lives of the woman and her two children. “I am here to make sure she capitalizes on whatever opportunities she gets.” He stood stock still beside the seated woman who regarded him with a curious look as he spoke. “Regardless of your reservations, misguided as they are, this is a fine woman who has gifted me and my beloved the honor of being godparents to her children. While this is a custom not recognized within your culture, you can be assured that I will look after her and do everything in my power to ensure that she has everything she needs to provide for herself and these two wonderful children.”

After a moment Doug cleared his throat and sat forward. “I admire your words, dubious as your claims might be,” he began, drawing a sharp look from his mother. “I am hard-pressed to believe that a young man such as yourself is in any way able to provide for our daughter as you have so claimed. You are a wanderer yourself, with no home or base, other than a motor home that carries you from one misadventure to another. My mother has called you a broken man with a troubled spirit.” He appeared to look down his nose at the boy who stood beside Lenna’s chair, with his hand resting on her shoulder. “We thank you for returning her to us and we accept her conditionally within the tribal ranks once more. But you and your ... fish-eating woman, need no longer concern yourselves over the welfare of Lenna or her children. We take care of our own.”

“Bullshit!” Kathy cursed under her breath as Peter calmly stared back at the man.

“Forgive me for challenging your convictions ... Doug. But given your history of ‘taking care’ of this woman, I find your words highly suspect. Please do enlighten me. How is it you plan to take care of her now that you have so graciously accepted her back onto the Reservation?”

“How we take care of our people is not your concern, young man. She will accept our terms or she is free to...”

“Lenna will be granted a piece of land,” the elderly matron replied, cutting off her son disdainfully.

Peter turned to glance at a large map that decorated the wall beside the door they had entered through. It portrayed the entire rectangular reservation that stretched east-westerly. “Can you show me where this land is located?”

She nodded and limped over to the wall, facing the topographical chart. Peter stepped over to stand beside her. She traced her finger along a canyon that ran to the northwest from Whiteriver. “There is a great plateau beyond this canyon,” she said. “The elk winter there in great herds. This entire basin is a large empty Valley that was carved out by a river long dried up and gone — long before our people were settled here.” She tapped a flat area along the southernmost end of the vast basin. “This is the spot she will call home. There is grazing land for sheep and goats if she chooses and a road that leads there from Rainbow City.” She continued along the basin towards the west. “The road once connected to Cedar Creek but it has washed out in several places making the trek impossible except on horseback.”

Peter studied the map closely, memorizing features and landmarks. “Can our motor home make the trip?” He felt Kathy approach from his other side.

The old woman nodded.

“How long will it take us to get there?”

She shrugged. “It’s ten, fifteen minutes to Rainbow City from here. Figure another hour at best to the plateau. Going gets slower once you leave the hard top.”

When he invited the group of Elders to join him for the trip they declined. Bradly and his grandmother did accompany them, however as well as his daughter Charity and two precocious boys who had nothing better to do and were quick to welcome themselves aboard the motorhome. The ancient woman was placed in the passenger seat while everyone else huddled in the back of the Fleetwood.

The trip took much longer than predicted, mostly because of the vastly different concept of what passed for a road between Peter and the locals. It was just after noon when he was finally told to turn off the route and climb a flat grassy knoll toward the rim of the plateau. Once they crested the rise he found himself in awe of the picturesque landscape surrounding them. He parked the Fleetwood and everyone got out to check out the area.

Glancing to the west he could see the wide basin below, wandering with the curvature of the mountains to either side. He stared for a long while and tried to envision the river that had once run through the valley. There was a wide bowl-shaped feature that spanned the gap almost halfway from the plateau where they stood and the end of the viewable valley where it curved beyond sight to the south.

“This is beautiful!” Kathy breathed as she held the newborn while Lenna paced around the immediate area.

“If we place your home just right, you will be able to catch the sun as it rises and sets,” Peter added as he followed her with her toddler in his arms. “I had my doubts about all this at first,” he said softly to her as she turned and took in the scenery all around her.

“But it is so far away from ... everything,” she replied worriedly. “They really shoved me under the rug with this.” She sounded dejected as she whispered back.

“The first order of business will be a good road, that is for sure,” Peter agreed. “Once that is in place the trek won’t take half as long as it did for us.” He turned to find the elderly woman — who was eventually introduced as Shima. “Grandmother,” he called politely. “When the ink is dry and this plot becomes Lenna’s, she is free to develop it as she wants, correct?”

The old woman considered his words. “It is intended to as her homestead,” she stated finally. “Towards that end, she is free to develop it as necessary to serve her needs.”

“So no restrictions on what kind of house or cabin, septic tank, water cistern, garden plots, orchards, inground swimming pool if she wants, root cellars, solar power, wind turbines?” he extended fingers as he listed off items. Everyone began staring at him like he had grown pointy ears.

“Dude,” Bradly scoffed. “Gardens? Orchards? You know that requires water right?”

He found Lenna staring at him with a confused look. “A well seems like a reasonable thing to put in then,” he responded off-handedly.

The Trading Post owner gawked at him in disbelief. “A well? Up here? Do you realize how far down you’d have to drill to hit water?”

Peter shrugged. “If I had to guess we are standing at roughly six thousand feet. I’d estimate that the aquifer is anywhere from 200 to 1,000 feet down. And the deeper we drill the better chance of striking an artesian well, which could easily supply enough water to this entire region. Are there other homesteads or grazing grounds in the area?”

Bradly turned to look at his grandmother with an incredulous look. She turned towards the north and pointed.

“Besides the handful of homes that we passed on the way here, there is the Begay hogan a couple of miles that way. He is a miserable old Navajo who refuses to die and causes more trouble than he is worth — on the rare occasion he comes down from these hills. You will likely find his sheep grazing nearby in the Spring and Summer,” she said. “There are probably a dozen or so others within 10 miles of this spot.”

“And I take it none of them have wells? How do they get their water?”

Bradly answered, “When conditions are favorable they collect rainfall in barrels and store it in cisterns or on hilltop tanks. The rest of the year they have to come to town and fill their barrels.”

Lenna nodded, “We filled our barrels at the water treatment plant in town.” She touched Peter’s arm. “Can we talk for a minute?”

He led her to the side and they slowly walked across the plateau. It seemed to slope in a subtle fashion that revealed more of the wide basin, the farther they walked.

“Peter,” she said softly. “I know you want to be a part of this with me and I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate everything that you and Kathy have done for me already. But...” she left it hanging there.

They were several yards away from the others when he stopped and turned to face her. “I understand that this is hard for you to understand, Lenna,” he replied as ‘old Pete’. “And the thought of accepting our help is probably worse than the notion of even asking for it.” He could see the understanding in her pained expression. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “You did something that affected me in ways I never dreamed of. I can’t even describe to you what it means to me.” He gripped her shoulders tightly. “You are my family now. You can think of Kathy and I as brother and sister if it helps to sort it into some logical form.”

He paused for a second and glanced at the ground between them. “I’m not doing this just for you, either,” he continued. “It is very personal to me and there is no middle ground here. Kathy and I are all in. Do you understand? We are one hundred percent, all in.”

“Yeah, but the things you are talking about. The home, septic systems — I have used an outhouse for my entire life, dude. Digging a well, solar power, yada yada ... Peter what you’re talking about is expensive shit and way beyond the wealthiest, by Rez standards.”

“Sweety,” he tested the term of endearment as he halted her protest. She didn’t seem to mind it. “You have so much on your plate right now. Important things. You need to be a mom and for that, you have to take care of yourself too.” He released her arms and smiled at her reassuringly. “You let me worry about the rest of it. Okay?”

She sighed and he saw redness in her eyes as she fought with her emotions. “Fuck!” she grumbled angrily at herself. She sniffed and dabbed at her eye. “I kinda got a feeling from listening and watching the way you and Kathy treat each other. And I know you have been making a lot of computer games and stuff.” She reached out and used the sleeve of his t-shirt to dry her eyes once more. “Perhaps it’s not my place to ask this but, how fucking rich are you?”

He chuckled and put his arm around her shoulder protectively, secretly relieved that she allowed him to do so. “Nothing is out of place for you, love. And I can’t really answer your question because I don’t know myself. It’s changes on the daily.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled his cell phone out. “I’m going to play a message I just got this morning from two colleagues Kathy and I met in Hawaii. They are brothers from Great Britain and sound rather uppity and sophisticated, but they’re decent sorts. We became venture capital partners in a few real estate deals around the islands last year.” He dialed his voice mailbox and entered the code to playback the long message, putting it on speaker.

Monty’s eloquent speech emanated forth, “Peter, mate. Been a minute hasn’t it? Right. Well, we just got off the phone with Carlton Withers who has been pressuring you to sell the strip of beachfront near Diamond Head. You do recall, right? Well, me brother Allister being the sotten git that he is, took your suggestion a might seriously when they threatened to sue for eminent domain — so they could scoop up the last little (pronounced Li-ull) bit of dirt for that great cracking resort they got dreamed up.” There was a pause and a muffled dialogue in the background that sounded more like an argument. “Oh do shut up!” the voice burst. “Not you mate! Anyway, when word got back to Withers how you were looking into re-zoning it to make it a hippy nudist commune, the old chap nearly threw a thrombus. Turns out he believed the entire load of codswallop and has just tendered an offer more than double your hold-out amount! Please be a decent bloke and tell that right gorgeous financier of yours to close the deal, won’t you?”

Peter grinned at the incredulous expression on Lenna’s face. “This is the good part.”

“Oh and before she socks that twenty-five mill quid into your Nevis Trust ... Allister and meself were wondering how you’d feel about going halfsies on a great whopping Scottish Highland Castle? Do be a gent and give us a jingle when you can? Cheerio!”

He shut off the phone as they started back toward the Fleetwood and the small group around it.

“What is a quid?” she asked hesitantly.

“It’s a British colloquialism referring to 1 pound sterling which is their main currency.”