Chapter 8: Celebrate Good Times

The next morning, Brad arrived at Lenna’s home, leading another old Chevy truck. Sue accompanied him into the triple-wide with four other tribal members and the tall ex-chief, Everett Bravebird. The four strangers—two men and two women—were introduced as three newly elected Council members from other northern reservation communities—and the new chief, a handsome older woman named Alice Burningsands. After the tribal gathering, Bradly was asked to step into his father’s place on the Whiteriver council. He grudgingly accepted and blew it off with his typical dismissal.

He carried a cardboard tube with a topographical map of the Catskill Wash and set it on the table. “After settling council affairs, we talked about your vision,” he said calmly after introductions. “My grandmother and I endorse your proposal. However, the impact will affect the entire reservation and surrounding area.” He joined his wife. “I disclosed your involvement and financial support of the Four Corners project, so my voice might seem biased in your favor.” He nodded respectfully to the elders. “Therefore, I must recuse myself to avoid conflict.” He joined his cousin in the kitchen without further comment, nudging her aside to get into her fridge.

Everett cleared his throat. “Peter Two-Spirit, we are aware of your vision and intent for the valley below this reach,” he stated formally. “Be assured we have voted unanimously in favor of it.”

The bombshell declaration seemed anticlimactic in its delivery. Still, Peter felt a rush of intense emotion as the news sank in.

“The reason we are here,” the new Chief said plainly, “Is to hear from you, in your words—how you will make this transition happen and what your intentions are after it’s done.” She gazed at him with dark, intelligent eyes. “What’s your end goal?”

Peter sat rigidly in his chair, studying the expressions of the faces around him. He looked down at his hands and took a deep, trembling breath. “First of all,” he stammered emotionally. “I want to thank you.” His eyes appeared moist as he glanced back up at the elders. “I can’t express how much your trust means to me.” He felt Kathy’s hand rubbing his back as he collected his thoughts. He slowly rose from his chair and squared his shoulders. “We need coffee,” he added, glancing toward Lenna, who grabbed the freshly made pot while Sue collected cups. He turned to Charity on the floor near her bedroom surrounded by dogs. “Char, would you fetch the drawing and portrait?”

The posters were laid out next to the map. He drew a circle matching the shore of the proposed lake. “Creating the lake itself is hardly miraculous,” he said, marking two Xs. “I’ll dig two large, deep wells.” He picked up a vase and placed it upside down on the map. “The artesian table is 650-750 feet below,” he explained. “Machines will bore 45-cm holes to reach it.” He recognized the subtle confusion among in one or two faces and smiled, “Think of a medium Pizza from Dominoes.” His analogy clarified their thoughtfulness, and he continued, “Ideally, we will achieve back pressure of 80-100 psi. If we fall short, there are ways to boost the pressure.” he added, “Imagine two geysers like Old Faithful, continuously pumping 2,000 gallons per minute.” As their expressions turned incredulous, he continued, “I’ll build a concrete levee in the west canyon and a hydroelectric dam in the east to control the new tributary feeding into the White River.”

He used Charity’s blue pencil to shade the lake’s approximate boundaries. “This will be the high end of the potential boundary,” he guessed. “We won’t know for sure until it reaches equilibrium with the water table.”

“What will prevent it from overflowing and flooding everything below,” a councilman asked.

“The lake’s weight will eventually mitigate the back pressure,” he answered. “The west levee and east dam and spillway will contain it when it rises sufficiently.”

“How many gallons of water will it be?” a female elder inquired.

Peter straightened and took a drink of his coffee, smiling patiently. He didn’t want to offend anyone, so he had to treat each question as significant. “Lake volumes are measured in acre-feet,” he replied casually, spreading his hand across the colored boundary. “Considering the basin contours and scattered arroyos becoming gulches—I’d estimate the new lake at 75,000 acre-feet if it reaches full capacity.” He nodded to her respectfully and feigned a painful expression. “I dearly miss my friend Alan Shoemaker right now,” he smiled knowingly at Kathy. “He could answer your question to the nearest liter.” He added. “I can only pander a guess to your question, madam—about 25 billion gallons.” He sipped his coffee. “Or about an eighth the size of Lake Havasu.”

“Fuck me!” one man breathed in astonishment, drawing looks from his peers. “That’s ... that’s...” he opened and closed his mouth incredulously.

“How long to fill?” Chief Burningsands asked.

Peter shrugged, “I honestly have no idea. Probably a decade at least.”

His answer seemed to disappoint them. “For what it’s worth, the lake will become viable long before that,” he offered. “You won’t harness hydroelectricity for several years, but you’ll immediately have a valuable water source for fire suppression and irrigation, and it will be suitable for livestock. Within a year, you can seed it for sport fishing and recreational uses like swimming and water skiing.” He marked several access points along the valley.

They quietly stood around the table studying the map and pictures as they sipped coffee and considered his words. Finally, Everett spoke up, “What are your personal goals here?” he asked directly, knowing the answer but needing him to share it.

Peter set his cup down and looked at Kathy beside him. He smiled at her and placed his arm around her waist. He tapped his head. “The whole thing sounds crazy, to begin with—but I’ll try.” He paused, staring into space. “These visions...” his voice seemed to change, growing older before their eyes. Several looked startled by his confession of having more than one. “They are powerful.” He shuddered, clearing his vision. “And compelling. From a metaphysical standpoint—one I am not about to try and refute—it’s as if the spirits are driving me to see this through.” He looked around and noticed the quiet acceptance on their faces. “I can’t and won’t rest until I do.”

“But it’s more than that,” he added, hugging his wife tightly. “We would make this our home,” he replied. “Kathy and I feel our lives have intertwined with the Whiteriver and Apache communities.” She nodded and kissed his shoulder. “You have welcomed us and made us family.”

He looked down at the topographical map and circled an area across the plateau from Lenna’s home. “If you follow me, I’ll point out a smaller plateau behind what I call ‘Dog Ears,’” he indicated the front door and led the council members outside into the bright sun. Once gathered along the deck rail, he pointed to a break in the distant plateau across the valley. Two landmarks resembled the ears of a curious dog. Below was a brightly lit sloping field surrounded by a gradual rise.

“I would ask for that piece of land to build our home on. It’s about fifty acres and slopes down to the lake shore,” he stated. “The home I envision will blend into the landscape as if it were a natural extension of the land.” He turned to watch them gaze over the view. “I will spare no expense in its design and construction, and much will be subterranean,” he added. “Not because I want a posh home full of lavish excess—but to ensure it conforms to the land and lends its beauty to the surroundings while leaving a slight carbon footprint.”

He had already commissioned an architect to design it.

Casa Uglyhorse was festive on Kathy’s 19^th birthday. The celebration started early, and people came by the carload to offer her praise and gifts. Maggy arrived with a lavish bouquet and a pair of tribal-pattern feathered earrings. An hour later, a knock on the door nearly made Kathy spill her juice when Veronica appeared with a huge grin, leading a familiar figure into the living room.

“Alan!” she cried in disbelief, racing across the room to embrace the grinning Asian boy. “Oh my God!” she cried joyfully, her voice muffled by his warm coat as he hugged her back. She released and held him at arm’s length, studying his face. “God, you look so good! It’s been so long!” She hugged him again and bounced. “I’m so freakin’ happy right now!”

“It’s good to see ya, Cher,” he smiled brightly, handing her a small, wrapped present. “Happy birthday!”

While Peter and Kathy were reacquainted with their childhood friend, Bradly manned a huge trailer grill out back, drinking beer with other elders and friends.

Peter felt his phone buzz in his pocket and answered it curiously.

“Hey, boss!” Kennedy’s staticky voice sounded in his ear. “Is everybody awake down there?” There was a loud drone in the background.

“Um ... yeah,” he replied cautiously, earning a curious stare from nearby people. “Why?”

“Get everyone on the deck,” she yelled over the noise, “Be there in a shake.”

He turned and regarded the crowd with a furrowed brow. He covered the phone and said, “Kennedy says we must go outside. I think we’re getting a flyover.”

A mass exodus from the triple-wide left the deck and yard full of curious onlookers gazing at the sky. Suddenly, the four dogs began barking, and the horses neighed nervously from their paddock. They heard the growl of an airplane engine seconds before the bright yellow Grumman biplane swooped overhead, clearing Lenna’s roof by fifty feet, trailing a contrail of white smoke and towing a banner that read, ‘Happy Birthday Kathy!’

Peter grinned as the pilot banked the plane and descended toward the dry lakebed. The crowd cheered and clapped, and children raced after the plane, screaming delightedly. “That was awesome, Kennedy,” he said into his phone. “Thank you.”

“The show’s not over yet, boss,” she replied distantly. “We’re coming up behind—”

“Huh?” he said, looking up where the crop duster came from. He felt a change: the air got heavy, and the ground vibrated. Others noticed, too, looking around. “Oh, holy shi...” he gasped as the massive Grumman F8F Bearcat roared overhead, its Pratt-Whitney R-2800 engine shattering the quiet. The house, deck, and earth shook as it thundered across the plateau, trailing white smoke. It banked lazily, diving into the basin below. People covered their ears, grinning in awe as it dipped into the valley, then climbed sharply, corkscrewing into the sky. The engine’s roar echoed, and he heard Kennedy screeching joyfully in his ear.

Everyone watched in astonishment as the Bearcat stopped its ascent high overhead and hung in the air. There was a gasp when it suddenly tipped over on its wing and screamed back toward the ground like a huge bird of prey. Peter heard Kennedy screaming in his ear, “Fuck! That was awesome!” she yelled ecstatically. “Woohoo!”

He grinned as the old warplane grew larger before it roared over their heads and slowly swept around the plateau rim. He watched it shrink as it flew towards the valley’s west end, banked gracefully, and turned back. It was nearly silent as it settled into a sloping descent. Everyone stared in amazement as it approached and landed on the lakebed. Only then did they realize the bright yellow biplane had already landed and was doing lazy figure eights while the warplane taxied over.

“Can you send Brandon to get us?” Kennedy asked in his ear as he watched the two planes park facing each other. The noise faded as both engines shut down.

Forty minutes later, Kennedy and Apache Bob arrived wearing old flight suits. The wide grin on the woman’s face seemed permanent as she mingled with a spring in her step. Peter met the unpretentious Paul Money, who flew the crop duster. He was an older man with long, thinning gray hair tied back in a ponytail and gold-framed aviator sunglasses on his head. He wore a bright red and yellow Hawaiian shirt, ragged Levi’s cut off at the knees, and aged leather flip-flops. He offered a thin smile and a firm handshake when introduced, reminding Peter of Bob’s Jimmy Buffett comparison.

During the party, the old pilot disappeared and was later seen walking along the plateau edge, studying the landscape and deep valley.

“He’s getting a feel for the Valley from a glider pilot’s perspective,” Bob explained. “You need experience and intuition for thermals and currents to keep your glider in the air. This valley will have strong currents and thermals in the middle and lower turbulent airflow. I felt it in the Bearcat during landing.” He pointed to a large bird soaring above the plateau’s rim. “That bird rides an updraft from the wind curving against the valley walls. Paul is taking it all in right now.”

Alan stayed for two days before returning to Berkeley to finish his last master’s thesis.

“I’ll be transferring to Caltech in June,” he explained. “One of my professors, Dr. Enrico Escobar, is leaving Berkeley to start a new doctorate-level research program. He wants me to join him in LA.”

Peter grinned and mockingly genuflected before the Asian geek. “Doff your caps, everyone!” he declared, “For you stand in the presence of greatness!” He raised his Corona in salute. “All hail ‘Doctor Shoe’!”

“Fuck you!” the Korean boy laughed. “See if I show up for your birthday.”

Kathy punched her husband in the chest and bounced over to kiss the super geek. “I’m so proud of you, Al,” she cooed. “Always knew you were the smarter one.” She turned and stuck her tongue out at Peter.

“I concede,” he offered placatingly. “Let everyone know that when it comes to brains—next to this guy—I don’t have a leg to stand on!”

The triple wide was filled with laughter and groans.

Later that evening, they gathered on the deck overlooking the valley and the distant Sunset Range to the west. Ronnie was seated on the deck with her back on the rails, surrounded by four furry dogs. She sat with her eyes closed, listening to Kathy play her drone flute. Maggy was comfortably reclined in a heavy chair with a warm blanket to ward off the chill. The full moon hovered over the canyon rim to their left.

“What will you do after school?” Peter asked his friend beside him, who was bundled up in a heavy coat. They were both drinking coffee, which Charity had just topped off.

“Not entirely sure, Sonny,” Alan replied. “Thanks to you and Cher, I don’t really have to work.” Alan had been comfortably wealthy with his investments and the lucrative deal from selling PAK Gaming to ORCA. They helped him establish an offshore Nevis Trust and deposited respectable sums regularly, ensuring he and his family wouldn’t worry about the future. But the Shoemakers weren’t ones to rest on their laurels, so his mother continued working as a senior executive for Costco, and Alan pursued higher education.

He sipped his coffee and looked right at the Sun above the horizon. “Last summer, Steve Wozniak gave the commencement speech for his Alma Mater,” he reflected. “A lot of his advice was carpe diem bullshit, but it got me thinking about traveling abroad. I’m considering going back to Korea.”

“Paul Allen spoke at WSU a year ago,” Ronnie said. “I always thought of him as a limited Microsoft partner. But that dude is sharp as a tack!” Since moving to Arizona, Veronica had been remaking herself, shedding the carefree lesbian playboy role and becoming more serious and mature. Her hair was shorter but bleached platinum blonde with pastel pink streaks. Peter thought she looked like Annie Lennox.

“That dude is brilliant,” Alan agreed.

“He scored an even 1600 on his SATs,” she replied proudly, frowning at the boys’ smirks. “He could’ve gone to Harvard but chose Wazzu.”

Alan began to reply when the door opened, and the last guests quietly filed out. They gathered along the deck rail, watching the valley grow darker as shadows stretched across the basin. They heard the distant rumble below as the planes fired up and idled. Flashing lights marked the wing tips and tails. The Bearcat roared across the lakebed, gaining speed and climbing toward the sunset. The smaller Ag Cat followed, slower but equally determined. Both planes stayed below the cliff walls, banking and disappearing southward. A pleasant silence followed, and the sun dipped lower. Night sounds returned: crickets chirped, birds offered sleepy calls, and behind the house, two horses nickered before settling down.

Alan didn’t notice Kathy’s absence from the chair beside him until he saw her standing apart from the crowd at the westernmost edge of the deck, facing the setting sun. Her frame was silhouetted before the dwindling light, but she stood erect with her long flute held comfortably at her side, waiting. The gathered people were quiet, but he sensed their anticipation as they gazed to the west. Others stood on the ground below the deck, and he smelled burning tobacco drifting up.

At some point, Kathy raised the flute to her lips and began to play a haunting tune she’d been practicing since receiving the incredible instrument. Her music filled the valley and echoed into the distance. She seemed to build up the melody, and everyone felt a compelling energy as if she were calling out to the sun in gratitude for its gift. When it sank from view, a brief flare of color blazed across the horizon—washing Kathy’s silhouette in green and purple hues that seemed to set her afire momentarily. Then, the full moon asserted its presence, pushing the shadows with its softer light.

The music changed when the shadows shifted. She sent rapid trills into the night after the absent sun. Then she turned to the moon to greet it with deeper, forlorn notes held longer.

“Holy shit!” Alan whispered incredulously.

“Wait for it,” Peter whispered back with a knowing smile.

The bass wind’s resonance provided a sound platform that carried her haunting notes into the shadowy basin. She settled her melody into a magical repetition of a few select notes delivered almost atop each other, like a siren’s call.

A lone wolf’s call answered her, and she paused, letting its voice blend with the drone bass. Then she called back. Others answered, and a chorus of howls rose from the valley to accompany her music. Behind the house, beyond the plateau, a cacophony of yips joined in as a pack of coyotes added their voices to the night. Snowball and her three children joined enthusiastically, causing everyone to grin.

The Korean boy didn’t realize Kathy had stopped playing when an owl hooted nearby.

People began to murmur appreciatively as Kathy returned to the crowd, accepting hugs.

“Whoa!” Alan breathed. “That was ... fucking incredible! I mean, damn! There aren’t words...”

“Magical?” Peter offered.

“Enchanting?” Maggy quipped beside him.

“Yeah,” the Asian man sighed. “Jesus, Cher!” he exclaimed as she sat back down. “That was epic!” She smiled at his awestruck expression. “I mean ... wow! Some real Tony Hillerman Navajo mystic shit. I thought my skin was gonna crawl off! It was like the wolves were speaking to you!”

Peter chuckled at his incredulous tone. “They were,” he replied smugly, “They wished her happy birthday.”

Four weeks later, Peter’s 18th birthday began anything but celebratory. He was sitting at the table enjoying a coffee while contemplating the market activity. Cisco Systems had recently executed a 2-for-1 stock split, and Costco followed a week later with a 3-for-2 split. His investment portfolio was growing, so he couldn’t even keep track of his holdings without his computer. Maggy had executed several hundred Call options over the last three weeks before doubling down on others.

Alistair and Monty woke him up before dawn to extend their celebratory wishes and tell him to start making travel arrangements.

“We’ve officially closed on the Isle Netter venture, old boy!” Monty exclaimed happily. “Just left the solicitor’s office.”

“We own a fecking island, Pete!” Alistair yelled jubilantly in the background. “And a great bloody castle too!”

Kathy rolled over in bed to face him sleepily. “Where do we fly into, guys?” she mumbled. “Glasgow? Edinburgh?”

“Good God No!” Monty retorted. “Really, Katherine! Do you think we are so crass not to invite you to London first?”

“We’re going to show you yanks a good time first. Think of it as belated birthday presents for your man and you,” Alistair added.

“Oh, jolly swell,” Kathy quipped with her best British accent. “Might I have tea with the Queen?”

Peter stifled his laughter, but his shoulders shook.

“Erm...” Monty stammered, “Would you settle for me, Mum?”

“Umm, Peter?” Lenna’s reserved tone pulled him back to the present, and he glanced over to the kitchen, where she was looking out a back window. “A Sheriff’s deputy just pulled up.”

He straightened himself in his chair and looked at Kathy, who peered up from the book Al had given her for her birthday.

They heard footsteps crossing the deck. Kennedy had just started her rotation and gave a brief knock on the front door before opening it and escorting the uniformed officer inside. Her expression was unpleasant as she gave the nervous man some serious stink-eye. Lenna was glaring at him from the kitchen with her arms crossed, holding a tiny rubber spoon and a plastic cup of baby food for Abigail, parked next to her in a highchair.

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” she grumbled. “I wasn’t expecting ‘unannounced’ visitors.”

Peter turned in his seat to face the entryway and gave the security guard a silent, ‘down Cujo’ look before studying the cop.

Deputy Jenkins appeared to be in his early twenties. He doffed his hat, revealing a shock of red hair. His nervousness showed as he licked his lips uncomfortably. Peter did not doubt that the attack on the Navajo County detention center was still whispered among law enforcement. The fact that none of the ‘victims’ of the assault spoke about it did little to quell the rumors. It was clear to him that the edgy deputy was less than thrilled to be in the same room with the man surrounded by a mountain of conjecture.