Chapter 28

On the way back to K-town, the Chief was talkative. “I’ve seen Margu only one other time when she was so enthusiastic about a project. That time was when she took in a fourteen-year-old Apache girl who was pregnant and was thrown out of her home. She raised eleven kinds of hell when RedHat’s predecessor wanted the girl out of the reservation, because one hundred and three years before the Apache had raided the Hopi. He said it was a point of honor. Margu called every man on the Council of Elders and asked if THEY wanted to put a young pregnant girl on the street.”

“What happened to the girl?” I asked.

“You prob’ly met Kathleen. She’s the second-best potter in the res. She’s twenty-five now. Her son, Kyle, is ten. He takes the bus to school every day, down in K-town. Kathleen will prob’ly take over the pottery school while Margu is off making a miracle with you. Cute little guy. The father is some white guy’s son, prob’ly rich, too. Kathleen has never said, and I’ve never heard tell of anybody come sniffin’ ‘round.”

Cheeze! Fourteen. That’s only a little older than me. Maybe I should think about getting a patch, or something. I know you don’t get pregnant from having breakfast, but hormones are about to take over this thirteen-year-old body.

Red! Don’t let me get pregnant!

[If you have intercourse, I can’t alter what happens to your body, Lexi.]

I know that. But you can set off an alarm if you think I’m about to have sex.

[What about Painted Rock, back in Navajo land?]

I was just looking. And thinking, maybe, about the future. I’m not going to be thirteen forever, am I?

[I believe that is true.]

...

It was late in the afternoon when we got back to K-town, and RedHat quizzed me on my meeting with Margu. I left out all the blah-blah and just told him that Margu would be helping in my Shoshone kiln project, soon. He, in turn, made arrangements for one of his staff to drive me back to Navajo-land. I felt good about my visit to the Hopi. I got to practice my Cajun/Creole and met Sissy. I got to nail down a solid lead on the bricklaying part of building the kiln. And I got permission to have the Hopi be part of the workforce in the project.

I got an update from Red on the ride back to the Navajo. No changes to the future, so I guess it was a small step in the progress of the projects. I wanted everything to be a big step, but that’s my lack of patience, I guess.

Dove was in charge of supper at Wild Mustang’s place. The Medicine Man was enjoying his after-dinner cheroot on the porch – as always. Dove asked if I was too tired to eat, as supper had ended some time ago. Me? Too tired to eat? HA! She apologized for the simple fare: just beans, corn bread, and some veggies that looked like a stir-fry. But there was plenty of it, and that was my main concern.

She was on the phone while I was eating, and part-way through the meal, Bill Clearwater steered his motorcycle into the parking space. He stopped to exchange a few words with Wild Mustang, but came into the dining area as soon as courtesy allowed.

He sat, pouring himself a glass of lemonade. “You obviously want to talk to me,” I said.

“I don’t want to interrupt your supper. I can wait.”

“Since you hurried over here, and are studiously ignoring Wild Mustang, it must be important. I can eat and listen at the same time, you know.”

“Okay, then. Mr. Traveller, from the FDNC, had the phone call with the Bank of the Nations and the entire Board of Directors was there. The call lasted over an hour. Apparently he was in the Isle of Man, which is between Ireland and Wales, and the time is six hours later than here. Anyway, it went well. And this morning the bank received $20 million by wire transfer. I guess they don’t fool around.”

I swallowed a mouthful of the veggies. “I guess not. I’m glad we can proceed. What’s first on the agenda.”

“I’ve got a construction crew I’ve used before, on smaller projects, but I don’t think they can handle the whole thing. The foreman is a good guy, but he’s only got a handful of men.”

“Don’t forget we can use the Hopi, too. We’ve got to expand to be able to work on more than one thing at a time. What about the electricity connection?”

“I haven’t given that much thought, actually. I don’t have the manpower to get the power out there. And you did say you wanted to use our people on this project.”

I replied, “I want to use Navajo and Hopi people as much as possible. But that doesn’t exclude the rest of the world. Who ran the power to Burnside?”

“That’s Arizona Power. But they never hurry on any work on the res.”

“Gallup, New Mexico, is the biggest town around there, isn’t it? Let’s rent a crew from New Mexico Power.”

“That’d be the Public Service Company of New Mexico, or PNM for short. Just to string a line to the new site?”

“We’re going to need a substation, as well,” I said.

“That’s going to take some time. A substation is a complicated setup,” Clearwater added.

“Umm ... that’s why I want to get started on it, soon.”

“Okay. I’ll call PNM tomorrow. By the way, Mr. Ames, the Intel site setup guy, is coming out next week, again. Do you want to see him or the power guys or the crew that’s going to build roads or anything?”

[Lexi, this is your first chance to delegate.]

I told Clearwater, “I don’t need to see any of them. That is, unless you have a problem or holdup that you can’t handle. You have a lot more experience and ability than I do.”

[Very deftly handled.]

He thought about that for a minute, then said, “Okay. I’ll keep you in the loop, though. For now,” he smiled, “I have to find a bigger road crew ... I pray you’ll have a peaceful day.” My mouth was full of cornbread at the moment, and I stopped chewing. I just nodded. He walked out the door. A few words to Wild Mustang and then he roared off on his Harley.

‘Have a peaceful day?’ What did he mean by that? It was a strange thing to say, out of the blue.

[It was probably just something to say.]

Right, sure. Just something to say. Like all the warnings I’ve been getting from the Medicine Men. Is there anything about danger in the next few days’ newspapers?

[No, I always check the next two weeks in the future. There is nothing. Speaking of ‘out of the blue,’ we should start making arrangements for your air trips to and from Wyoming.]

That was completely out of my mind. Good thing you have a good memory.

[Lexi, was that another joke? I’m getting to appreciate your sense of humor.]

Red, I wasn’t trying to make a joke, but, now that you mention it, it IS kinda funny.

[Now then, as to the air travel. I don’t think Frontier Airlines is going to be an option for you, for several years. First, you have to go to Denver to make the connection. More importantly, you are a minor child. Frontier and American Airlines (who you’d have to take to Denver) are going to make all kinds of problems for you to fly unaccompanied.]

[I’ve found a pilot, maybe. He’s a full Navajo, living outside of Crownpoint, New Mexico. Juano Cortez is 52 years-old, a retired Captain of the US Air Force, and a member of the Air Force Reserve. He is a graduate from the USAF Academy. He was a pilot for fifteen years, serving through the Korean conflict. He currently owns a small jet that he is barely able to afford on his pension and Reserve pay. He flies out of Crownpoint Airport.]

[I think you should contact him.]

Good find, Red. Download the contact information.

... ...

The next morning Painted Rock joined us for breakfast. “This is a surprise, Painted Rock,” said Wild Mustang, spooning some blueberries onto his oatmeal.