by Judy Kundert
Neal picked up his beer glass and took a swig. He wiped the foam from his lips. “So, what do you say? My place is big enough for both of us: four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and lots of closet space in one of them for your clothes. Capitol Hill is the best location for you to get work at the Smithsonian. And we can even walk to work together. The Department of Justice is on the way, and the Castle is on the same route.”
The buzz of voices and the clinking of glasses floated around the room like the sound of jet engines ready for takeoff.
“Neal,” she blurted, “I saw a red cardinal on the Mall this morning when I walked to the Smithsonian.”
Neal’s eye pinched together. “A red cardinal? Is this your way of saying no thanks?”
Katherine swallowed and licked her lips. “I meant the opposite. Native Americans believe that birds or spirits are medicine animals. They are messengers from the Great Spirit.” She paused and looked around the lobby again. “The cardinal symbolizes relationships, courtships, and,” she paused again. “Monogamy.”
Neal’s mouth dropped opened, and he laughed. “Why didn’t I expect your response? You are not the ordinary woman.” He paused and scratched his head. “You know, I saw a cardinal a few days ago too. Is this considered an omen?”
Katherine put her hands on her lap and smiled. Did he see a cardinal or is he playing along with me?
“Yes.”
Walking around Neal’s Capitol Hill townhouse, Katherine thought, Is this a dream? Life moves magically. One month ago, Chicago was my home. My one bedroom apartment that I shared with Charlotte fit just right. Katherine’s skin tingled like waves rippling on a quiet lake. She glanced up at the intricate fanlight windows surrounding the rotunda. When she first saw them, she’d told Neal that his semi-circular windows looked like Southern belle fans. His warm-hearted squeeze had overwhelmed her when he’d whispered in her ear, “I can’t wait to lift you and carry you into my arms and life forever. I want you beside me and, in my heart, forever.”
I never thought I’d like having a man take me under his wing and carry me into eternity.
Katherine danced and whirled around the rotunda room with empty shelves encircling the room; awaiting books and art objects. She’d never had this much space for her belongings. Katherine’s heart zoomed like a motor ready to start at the Indianapolis 500.
Katherine dashed to the phone. She gasped. “Hello.”
“Hello, dear. Are you okay? You sound out of breath.”
Katherine’s parents had surprised her with their acceptance of her moving in with Neal. Her mother always concurred with her father on sensitive matters. Neal had impressed her father when they’d met at Martin’s. Katherine admired her father’s fine people skills, gained in his years as an attorney. He’d even given Katherine pointers on how to spot a phony, a jerk, and of course, a real person. Katherine had relied on her Native American instincts and her father’s shrewd skills to navigate the skies as a stewardess. “Oh, Mom, I can’t wait until you and Dad can visit and see my new place with Neal.”
“Can you give me a preview?
“Neal is the humblest person. He underplayed the place he bought.”
“Are they good-sized rooms?”
“Oh, dear, Mother. Yes. I’m living in a whole row house on East Capitol Street.” Katherine caught her breath and continued. “Can you imagine that there are rooms that are waiting for us to use? I climbed the winding stairs to the third floor to see the additional three bedrooms, the attic, and a maid’s room. It’s five times bigger than my one-bedroom apartment in Chicago.”
Katherine’s mother chuckled. “I guess you’ll have room enough for your dear parents.”
“Yep. And Neal plans to stay in Washington D.C.”
“And do you plan to stay?”
“Wow, Mom, yes. All the signs guided me here. I’ve moved from a jet goddess to Hanging Cloud, or as the Ojibwe say, Aazhawigiizhigokwe, Goes Across the Sky Woman. As a stewardess, I flew across the sky. Now I’m flying to something more lasting.” Katherine sighed and paused.
“I’ve never heard you mention Ojibwe.”
“Maybe it’s because no one could pronounce Ojibwe and changed our tribe name to Chippewa.” Katherine took a breath. “Guess what else? I feel like I’ve lost a layer so a new me could live. I’m becoming a warrior like Hanging Cloud.”
Katherine’s mother chuckled. “Maybe the women’s movement is helping you feel like you can charge ahead.”
“Yep, it might be the outer world that’s making the path easier, but my secret dream gives me the strength. Like the Ojibwe say, ‘You cannot destroy one who has a dream of mine.’”
Katherine sensed her mother nodding in pleasure with her. “Does your dream have wings?”
“Yes, to start. I’m transferring from Beloit to American University to complete my bachelor’s degree, and maybe I’ll continue and get a Ph.D. That will give me solid support in my life plans for the Chippewa. As you know, it will take shape as I grow.”
Katherine heard her mother clap. “My daughter. I can’t wait to share in your journey.”
“I hope to make it remarkable.”
“Wonderful. How about living in D.C.?”
“Right here. I found a garden where I can plant seeds for a rich future harvest right here at the Smithsonian. Neal and I step outside, and we’re right in the center of history: the past, the present, and the future of our country. And Neal and I dig into the history. It’s thrilling to live next door to the Capitol. Right now, the city is fiery with anti-war protests and race riots. Our nation’s capital is the center for people from everywhere, who either come to rumble and riot or to come build on their dreams.”
“You father crosses his heart that you’ll stay safe.”
“Neal is street smart and knows how to avoid danger. And I have my protectors who guide me. You already knew that. When are you and Dad planning on visiting D.C.?”
“Probably not until the fall. Is that good for you?” Katherine’s mother coughed, and her voice cracked. “One thing, your father and I wonder what’s happening with you and Neal?”
Katherine smiled. “I was going to tell you and Dad about our plans. Yes, Neal and I love each other and plan to marry. When our plans our set, you and Dad will get all the details for our wedding. Right now, we are enjoying each other and letting each other grow and become separate individuals, like in Kahlil Gibran’s marriage poem,
‘Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
and the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each
other’s shadow.’”
Katherine paused and looked at her watch. “Hey, Mom, I have to get dinner ready for Neal. He’s been working late on his first big case at the Justice Department. I can’t wait for you and Dad to visit.”
“We can’t wait to visit either. We’re so proud of you. Dad glows whenever someone asks him what you’re doing. So he’ll jump at the chance to come for a visit. Love you.”
“Love you and Dad too. Bye.”
Katherine sauntered into the kitchen, put her hands on her hips, and sighed. What a change. From ready-to-serve food on airplane galleys to her kitchen full of ingredients ready to prepare. Her hands opened the cabinets, her eyes searched for a cookbook, and her mind wanted an answer. Mom never gave me any cooking lessons.
Rushing to find the right cookbook, Katherine’s hand rushed over a pile of papers and envelopes on the kitchen counter that she hadn’t read. An unopened envelope plummeted to the kitchen floor. It was from her mom and dad. It had come the day she’d moved in, and she’d forgotten about it. I wonder why Mom didn’t mention it to me today. Probably, nothing important, right now. I have to find a recipe for dinner.
Katherine started to toss the envelope back on the pile of papers but then thoug
ht twice. It was a manila envelope, the kind her dad used for his legal work. Maybe it was urgent, perhaps about her outstanding loans to them.
Katherine opened the envelope and out tumbled three photos of young Ojibwe girls dressed in their native clothes. Then, a legal document entitled the Termination Act flopped in full view.
Katherine dropped to the floor and sat cross-legged. Her hand’s shook as she picked up the official legal document. Clipped to the document was a handwritten note from Katherine’s father.
Dear Goldie,
I know you haven’t finished your degree and made your way into the vast career world. Now is time to start understanding the challenges you’ll face. To prepare you for your mission, as a good father, I thought you should become aware of the troubles that plague the Chippewa and all Native Americans. Briefly, this Indian Termination Policy attempts to assimilate American Indians into the mainstream. You may ask, is this a problem? Yes, it will end tribal rights. Worst of all, the Indian tribes will lose their community.
And the photos of the charming young Chippewa girls dressed in the tribal clothes are from your mother. She helped plan a Native American art festival.
Katherine rubbed her fingers over the photo. Wow, this picture glistens with the beauty and honesty of the Native American’s respect for nature. Katherine grinned. Now I appreciate the fun I had with Mom when we walked into the woods, zoos, and farms to find porcupine quills, bird feathers, and bark fraying off broken branches so Mom’s Chippewa art students could sew their native clothing. Doing this taught me what my Chippewa ancestors believed—to respect all of nature and all of the animals that gave their lives for humans.
Katherine raised herself from the floor. Katherine’s muscles tightened as she clutched her father’s note and the photo against her chest. I’ll never let you down. I’m at the bottom of the mountain, but I will climb it and make certain that you will not lose your culture and community.
51
MY DEAR NEAL. Katherine sighed as she settled into her mahogany armchair with its curved leather back, perfect to nestle around her spine. This antique chair is the best gift from you. Now I have to fulfill my destiny and dreams. Katherine’s hands rubbed the companion gift from Neal, a nineteenth-century mahogany rolltop desk.
When she and Neal went shopping at the corner antique shop in Georgetown, he had told her the desk and chair were symbols for her years ahead. He added that a future archeologist needed an antique desk to channel her peers. And Soaring Eagle too, my shaman. He guided and protected me this far. He won’t leave me now. I’ve only begun my mission.
Barbara Streisand’s Christmas music drifted around Katherine’s study on the top floor of Neal’s townhouse. The midnight blue sky’s full golden moon faded behind the fluffy crystals of white floating past the bay window. Katherine’s mind and spirit wandered into the mood of the festive holiday music and the comforting warmth of the steam heat’s gurgle. Her head waved and bowed to meet her chest. Soothing sleep joined the festive Christmas music as it faded under the melodic flute music of a Chippewa dream song. It swept Katherine into a magical realm, chanting the Ojibwe Dream Catcher lyrics into her inner ear.
Sleep well sweet child
Don’t worry your head
Your Dream Catcher is humming
Above your bed
Listen so softly
I know you can hear
The tone of beyond
Close to your ear
Love is alive
And living in you
Beyond all your troubles
Where good dreams are true.
A loud clamor rang from the antique brass telephone that jolted her from her dream world. Katherine’s mouth opened, and her head jerked. Katherine coughed with a muffled voice. “Hello.”
“Hi, sweets. Sorry, I’m so late. Did you fall asleep?” Neal asked.
Katherine raised her hands to stretch and laughed. “No, I’m pondering the questions of the universe.”
“I wish I were there to help you find the answers, but I have another hour to finish this brief. We have to file it with the court of appeals by eight tomorrow morning. Go ahead and have dinner. I’ll grab something here. When I get home, let’s pop champagne. This afternoon, the Arboretum confirmed our April wedding date.”
Katherine’s eyes glistened while her heart twirled. She raised her shoulders and released a soft squeal. We’re getting married. When her parents had visited in October, they had visited the National Arboretum. Her mother had smiled at the two of them and, with a twinkle in her eye, exclaimed that the young couple could have a special private wedding at this particular place. Again her mother’s prescient nature moved into Katherine’s life. After wandering around the rural retreat in the center of Washington’s concrete jungle and exploring the scattered foliage, the boxwood shrubs, and the herb garden, Katherine and Neal had agreed with her mother. Once again, the mystical hand of destiny slipped into Katherine’s life.
“Wow. I’ll put the bubbly on ice. And I know you’re excited that we’ll take our vows between the Arboretum’s massive Corinthian columns.”
Neal laughed. “After we say, ‘I do,’ can we dive into the reflecting pool for a swim?”
Katherine shrugged. “Let’s talk later. Get to work on that brief so you can hurry home and hug me.”
“Yeah. Love you.”
Katherine gave herself a kick. She secretly wanted time. Time to regroup. Time to realign. Time alone to plan.
With a quivering hand, Katherine opened her new red leather-bound journal with the gold-engraved title, Good Deed Book. It wasn’t just any book; it would be a road map and record to keep her on track with her destiny. The picture from her parents of the three young Chippewa girls found their place on the first page of her new Good Deed Book. These ladies are my constant reminder and lodestar.
A glossy golden quill pen slipped into the inkwell. With a magic motion, Katherine wrote the title page, My Life for the Ojibwe, the First Nations People, Turtle Island.
Next, she pasted a map of the Chippewa tribes with the notation: “Create a four-year scholarship for one talented young woman from each reservation.”
On the next page of the journal, she unrolled yellow paper about Ojibwe medicine, an example of the circle of life where all things are connected. The four-column list showed each nature element: White: North, Air; Red: South, Earth; Yellow: East, Fire; and Blue: West, Water.
Katherine took her pen and inked the title: My Circle of Life Journey.
Number one: Air. My first stage completed.
Katherine pasted her stewardess photo.
Number two: Earth. My next stage and work in progress to be an archeologist.
Under number two, she pasted the Ojibwe thoughts on the earth. The earth would be her inspiration for this cycle.
“To the Earth. Our Mother Earth is the source of all life, whether it be the plants, the two-legged, four-legged, winged ones, or human beings. Mother Earth is the greatest teacher, if we listen, observe, and respect her. When we live in harmony with Mother Earth, she will recycle the things we consume and make them available to our children and their children. As an Indian I must teach my children how to care for the Earth, so it is there for the future generations. So, from now on:
I realize the Earth is our mother. I will treat her with honor and respect.
I will honor the interconnectedness of all things and all forms of life. I will realize the Earth does not belong to us, but we belong to the Earth.
The natural law is the ultimate authority upon the lands and water. I will learn the knowledge and wisdom of the natural laws. I will pass this knowledge on to my children.
Mother Earth is a living entity that maintains life. I will speak out in a good way whenever I see someone abusing the Earth. Just as I would protect my mother, so will I protect the Earth. I will ensure that the land, water, and air will be intact for my children and my children’s children—unborn.”
Kather
ine’s life story continues.
THERE’S MORE TO COME.
You’ve finished this chapter in Katherine Roebling’s life, but Katherine’s life adventures continue. The last pages of Sky Queen are inviting you to continue with Katherine Roebling’s story with another nature element (sky, earth, water, fire). Life on earth is next for Katherine.
For more details on Katherine’s next journey please visit my website: www.judykundert.com.
Acknowledgments
“NO MAN IS AN ISLAND. No man stands alone.” John Donne’s quote is valid for writers. Writing is done in solitude, but it comes alive with the help and support of other writers. Reading is the solitary partner in the writer’s craft journey. A writer needs another partner to grow, and that’s why I want to call out the wonderful writers and groups that are part of my writing journey.
My journey began and continues with the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. From the critique groups to their annual Colorado Gold Conference, I have gained friendship, writing techniques, and writing inspiration.
Other places on my writing journey include:
The Lighthouse Writers, Denver, Colorado, who offer courses packed with inspiration and talented instructors.
And other workshops:
Phil Sexton’s Writer Digest Scituate Writer’s Retreat, Scituate, MA, led by Paula Munier, agent at Talcott Literary Services, and Hallie Ephron, award winning writer, was a fantastic experience in writing and sharing the craft with others.
Mara Purl’s, National Best Seller of Women’s Fiction, workshop that gives insightful help in writing self-discovery.
My husband, Pat Kundert whose eagle editor eyes provided a valuable service to help polish my writing.