Chapter 18

“Oh, one more thing, dad. Can you and Dark Wolf officiate at a small sorta wedding. It’s gonna be you, Desert Flower, and Dark Wolf. And, of course, the three of us.” I held hands with both Rock and Bear.

He took only a regular silence – not particularly long – as he mulled over the implications. “No public announcement, no white man’s law. Correct?”

“Yes. We’re taking Flower’s advice. Live like we want to live, tell nobody else. And deal with children – if we have any – when they arise,” I said.

“Why bother getting married at all?” asked my lawyer.

Bear spoke up: “It’s not a marriage, but a joining. It redefines things and helps formalize thing among us. Maybe it helps settle Rock and me down; makes us less ‘whirlwindy.’” He smiled.

Crying Wolf shook hands with the two of them. “You still can’t call me dad.” He wore a big smile. Then he gave me a big hug, and said to me, “Congratulations.” Then he wished the boys “Good luck.”

AS IF they’d need luck. I thought about what was in my future. Okay, maybe a little luck wouldn’t hurt.

“When do you want to do this?”

“Well, we have to have another ceremony down with the Navajo, so ... as soon as Dark Wolf can do it.”

He nodded and said, “Now I’m going to give Dark Wolf a good reason to get out of bed!” Then he left.

...

We spent the afternoon at the kiln compounds, where Marylou was huddling with Mark Sweet River. Mark was the Arapaho who succeeded Robbie Deer Horn as the second in command at McKesson North, the big lithium crystal production facility.

The two of them were sheltering under a tent looking at a batch of crystals that had just come out of a kiln. “Well,” said Mark, “this about clinches it. That’s the third batch of sand that came from the same mountain that produces the darker crystals.”

“Yeah,” Marylou said. “Segregate ‘em like before. I wish I knew if they were any good at all, but so far, we’re just making crystals. Actually, we don’t know if ANY of ‘em are good for anything at all.”

I squished up through the rain just in time to hear the exchange. “Don’t worry about that. The live testing is going on even as we speak, down in Burnside North. They’re just running into a little snag.” I laughed. “It seems they’re worried it might explode when they to use it ... But I’m 100% sure it won’t. They won’t listen to me. What do I know? Right?”

Marylou looked startled. “They’re doubting you? After all the stuff you started, and NONE of them have ever taken a wrong step. If you say it won’t blow up, it won’t FUCKING BLOW UP.”

“I know,” I replied. “They’re a bunch of old women down in Navajo land. Actually, that’s not quite right. It’s a young Ojibwe genius who’s worried that he can’t get the mix of chemicals exactly right. So theoretically, there might be an explosion. I know ... not think, but KNOW ... that it won’t happen. But I need the young man to do the work. So ... we gotta take it at his speed. I can live with a little caution.”

“You know that young men’s minds don’t mature until they’re about twenty-five. And they can’t think about anything but sex until they’re fifty. So...”

Sweet Water broke in at this point, “HEY! I am right here. I can hear what you’re saying.”

Marylou laughed. “Oh, and you don’t think about sex every other minute?”

“No comment,” he said. “Say, you want to get down and do some dirty dancing on Saturday?” He nudged her side. “I hear they got a new hot bar down in Fort Washakie. It has music and everything.”

“Don’t say that, unless you mean it, you Arapaho devil.”

“Hey, I’m one-quarter Shoshone!” he protested.

“We’ll see. We’ll see. Besides, who’d we get to ramrod the kilns?”

“You know as well as I do that they run just fine for days on end with nobody ‘cept the maintenance crew.”

I tapped into Marylou’s mind. She was definitely running hot over the idea of a date with the guy. Then I slid over to Mark’s. He wasn’t kidding about his interest. I think I’d just leave this one alone. They’d get together on their own time.

I looked at the soil that was due to come out of the kiln. It was a little darker than the soil that came out of the other kilns, but it was raining, so who could tell? “Are we putting the soil back where we found it, or mixing it all up?” I asked.

“I thought it didn’t matter, so we’re putting it back in the empty spots. In other words, we’re mixing it up. Do you think we should keep it separate?” Marylou explained.

“I haven’t got the foggiest idea,” I answered. “Maybe we should keep it separate. Just in case it matters. Ya know?”

We headed back to the Suburban, squishing our boots through the mud. When we were out of earshot, I said to Rock, “Honey, can I drive home? I mean since we’re “reassigning our roles” now that we’re getting hitched.”

“Did you get the special ‘Class W’ license?”

“W for Wyoming?”

“No, W for Whirlwind. I don’t think I want to be in the passenger seat when you zone out,” Rock answered. I think he was half serious. But then again, maybe he was right.

“Okay, no driving while I Whirlwind. Let’s go home.”

...

After our brief outing to see the kilns, we found ourselves back at the hacienda. I was glad to see Toni had delivered another clutch of year-old dogs into the stockade that surrounded the hacienda. These four were named after well-known American Indians of various tribes. Three males: Tecumseh (a Shawnee chief), Coeehajo (a Seminole chief), and Joseph (a Nez Perce chief, famous for saying ‘I will fight no more, forever’). The female was named Elkhair (after a Lenape woman, known for her weaving).