Chapter 3: Breakthrough

“His government name was Glenn Chet,” Peter stated excitedly, holding a photocopy of a weathered birth certificate. “He was born on February 18^th, 1909—between Window Rock and Gallup. He grew up as ‘Yellowhorse.’”

“We have the same birthday!” Kathy exclaimed happily, clapping her hands.

“Military records were a bitch, because everything was on microfiche,” he griped, referring to another sheet of paper. “The best I could uncover was that he enlisted in the Marine Corps at thirty-two, on February 15^th, 1942—three days before his thirty-third birthday.”

“Son of a bitch!” Bradly grunted as he sipped his beer. “I’m thirty-six and thought Army Bootcamp was hell at 17!”

Peter nodded as Sue patted her husband’s arm. “He was the oldest Code Talker of the original 29 who served in the Pacific Theater from Guadalcanal to Okinawa. After the war, he was retained for a year to teach at what became the Defense Language Institute in Monterey, California, before he was discharged in August 1946.” He selected a third paper. “He won three purple hearts, the Navy/Marine Corps service medal, and a Congressional Gold Medal, among others.” He stacked the papers. “This dude is a hero and a national treasure. And the Navajo Nation has no clue what happened to him.”

“We have to notify them,” Sue declared. “He deserves recognition for his service and sacrifice.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be recognized,” Bradly replied. “Think about it. He left the Rez for a reason.”

“Why don’t we ask him?” Kathy suggested.

“I’ll ask him,” Lenna replied from the kitchen. “I’ll take him fresh bread and a few other things soon.” None dared to mock her definition of ‘a few’ being several bags of groceries, including fresh vegetables, milk, cheese, and butter, plus at least one warm meal. When Kathy or Charity accompanied her, they found themselves recruited into at least an hour of labor, cleaning the hogan, refreshing his water, tending the animals, and scurrying about for eggs from the dozen chickens.

Kathy got up from the table to kiss her husband. “I will go with her so she’s not stuck out there all morning.”

Sue rose to accompany them. She glanced at her daughter-in-law, but Charity was engrossed in cartoons. She smiled and pointed, “Make sure she does ... something while we are gone,” she told Bradly.

He looked across the living room at the prostrate girl surrounded by white and grey furry bodies. “Looks like she’s doing something to me,” he replied gruffly.

“You know what I mean, fool,” she growled mockingly.

“What do I care?” he replied, finishing his coffee. “Why do you think I pawned her off on my cousin?”

“Because if I had to spend one more night sharing a bed with Nana, I would have run away,” the flippant teenager retorted.

“Yeah, we’ll go with that,” he smirked, refilling his cup.

Peter returned home on Monday, January 20th. He was discharged the day before but opted to stay the night for an early start. That plan was ruined by Maggy, who showed up with the immediate clan, minus Nana Shima—who was home with a cold. She presented Kathy and Peter with their completed marriage license application for signatures, then took them to the courthouse to obtain said license before herding them in front of a Justice of the Peace.

The family took up the banquet room at a nearby Shoney’s to celebrate their unexpected nuptials with a breakfast feast before hitting the road.

“That seemed rather anticlimactic,” Peter grumbled as he fingered the heavy gold band on his wedding finger. Magdelaine had provided them with extravagant wedding bands and Kathy with a bouquet that Charity stole after the vows. “I didn’t even get to pick your ring,” he complained, ignoring the woman scowling at him from across the table.

“Baby,” Kathy crooned soothingly, still flushed from the excitement and reality. “I absolutely love the ring you didn’t pick out!” She had been fingering it all morning with an incredulous expression.

“Still don’t understand the rush...” he retorted sourly as he picked at his omelet.

“Because...” Maggy snarled, squaring off with him. “The next time you decide to go out and kill yourself,” he was taken aback by her emotion. “There won’t be nearly as much paperwork when I have to settle your estate!”

He felt his cheeks burning from her harsh rebuke.

Bradly leaned over to offer some timeless Apache wisdom: “This might be a good time to sit back and enjoy a nice hot cup of shut-the-hell-up.”

Peter blinked and nodded.

Working on Jeremiah’s cipher was redundant and frustrating. Solving the mystery of the coded book became his highest priority after being captured. It galled him that he knew even less about their adversaries than the organization he belonged to. After the vision, his patience wore thin. His highly organized and partitioned mind was his greatest asset when he was able to bring it to bear on a problem and remain focused. Now, it seemed as if the spirit dream intruded on his thoughts every waking moment.

Whenever he worked on the ledger, his mind wandered, reliving the spirit eagle’s flight. It was midweek, and the three women had left to help Sue with the pending Four Corners project. Ripley, the African American security member on duty, went with them, leaving him alone with Abigail, Jacali, and the dogs.

He sighed, lost in his wool-gathering instead of decoding the book. He got up for more coffee and stepped onto the south deck, where the dogs were sunbathing. Standing at the rail, he sipped his drink, replaying the vision in his mind as he gazed at the expansive valley below. On a whim, he went inside Charity’s (surprisingly tidy) room, found her art supplies, and admired some of her impressive sketches. Her most recent sketch depicted Old Begay carving wood on the porch of his hogan. He gathered some chalk, pencils, and watercolors, took her easel and sketch pad, and returned to the deck. He contemplated the scene with the Valley as his backdrop as he finished his coffee.

Having never drawn before, he approached it impassively. How hard can it be? He started with a graphite pencil and chalk, roughly outlining shapes and experimenting with shading for depth. As it developed into a reasonable facsimile of the valley below, he added imagined features, allowing the intrusive visions to guide his hands. Time slowed as he worked, tuning out everything else, only stopping for necessities. At some point, he set up a collapsible playpen for the sisters to nap and enjoy the fresh air. He didn’t recall switching from chalks and pencils to watercolors, but with no one to object, he continued through the warm Winter morning.

“Chadoin?”

He jerked in surprise at Charity’s voice beside him. He whirled and found her scrutinizing the sketch pad. “Uh? When did you guys get back?” he stammered.

“Whoa!” she breathed as she stepped close enough to touch the drawing with her nose. “That’s—”

“I know, right?” he nodded. His arms were covered with different shades of watercolor and chalk.

“Hi, baby!” Kathy chirped as she stepped out and leaned over the pen to pick up Jac, sitting quietly. “What have you been up to?”

He smiled at her and stepped back from the easel.

“Check this out!” Charity breathed.

“I’ve been painting,” he replied as she approached. She licked her fingers and wiped his cheek.

“I see that,” she mused. “Did you get any on the ... Whoa!”

“Why is my baby lying in the sun without sunscreen?” Lenna demanded as she stormed onto the deck.

“Was this your vision?” Kathy asked quietly, marveling at the incredible image on the pad before her. She slipped her free arm around his waist.

He nodded and turned to the other woman, who reached into the playpen and picked up Abigail. She glared at him as she stepped over to look at the painting.

“Isn’t it cool?” Charity cooed.

“It’s incredible!” Kathy agreed.

Lenna pointed at the shadowy shape soaring above the green and blue valley. “Is that the spirit-eagle in your vision?”

He nodded. “That’s me. Looking down on everything out there,” he waved his arm to indicate the plateau and valley. He looked sheepishly at his wife. “I couldn’t concentrate on anything until I got this out of my head.”

“So, what now?” the teenager asked.

He shrugged. “I dedicate my life to making that a reality,” he replied dismissively. “According to the vision, I am the Steward of Destiny.”

Lenna scoffed, “You realize that valley is over thirty thousand acres, right?” The painting showed a vast blue lake filling the basin with living blue green hills surrounding it.