by Linda Berry
Tegan nodded, his throat tightening.
The man lifted the animal’s massive front paw and held it close to his face.
“What are you doing?”
“Smelling Lelou’s paw. It is like reading a book. A story of the places he’s been, his adventures.”
Tegan nodded, understanding. He sensed the man was smiling.
The man continued. “In the summer, Lelou smells of grass and weeds and thistles, clay and earth. In the fall, he smells like apples and colored leaves. Do you remember color?”
Tegan turned his thoughts inward. Gold and scarlet and violet shivered in the haze of his memories—the smell of rust, the green of leaves. “Yes, I remember,” he whispered. He raised Lelou’s forepaw to his nostrils and inhaled deeply. “Now he smells of clean white snow. The green needles of pine trees, and…and the red blood of a rabbit.”
“Our last meal,” the man said. “Roasted over the fire.”
“Sounds good. Sometimes a dead rabbit is left on our porch. Elahan skins it and spends hours making rabbit stew. It is a special feast that we all love. Are you the one who leaves the rabbit?”
“Yes. But that is our secret, yes?”
“Yes.” Tegan thought of the many other secrets they shared—the missions—that had to be done with great caution—acts that angered certain men who would not hesitate to take revenge. He pushed those frightening thoughts from his mind and focused on the man before him, this ghostly man that he admired, whose mission had become his mission, whom he obeyed without question. Now Tegan wanted questions answered that had fired his mind for many years. “Where do you live?”
“Nowhere and everywhere.”
“What is your name?”
No answer. A deep quiet settled over the stall except for the sound of Lelou’s breathing. The barn door creaked open, heavy on its hinges, then closed. The ghost was gone.
The man’s words tumbled through Tegan’s mind and reverberated through his body with power and force. You are a brave boy. You will not let fear control you. The man had spoken those words with confidence, with conviction. Tegan knew in his heart the words were true. He was a warrior, descended from Kalapuya tribes who occupied the fertile Willamette Valley of Oregon on his great-grandmother’s side, and the Nez Perce who occupied parts of Idaho, Washington and Oregon on his father’s side. His ancestors lived as hunters and gatherers, but they were also known as warriors who fought fiercely to protect their territory. Tegan knew he had inherited the instinct to protect what was rightfully his. He was prepared.
No one could sneak up on him. He could hear and smell them a great distance away. He would fight to the death. Unknown to his father and Elahan, he was armed at all times. Tegan’s fingers traced the curved handle of his walking stick, which he had carved into the shape of Lelou’s head. The mouth was closed and curved into a smile, the sign of peace. Then his hands slid down to the lower half of the stick, which he twisted. The wooden sheath slid away, revealing the thin blade anchored inside that the ghostly man had given him as a gift for his eighth birthday. He showed him how to keep the blade razor sharp, and in the woods, he taught Tegan to jab it through the air at imaginary villains. Tegan could now spear with perfect accuracy the trunks of saplings, dead center. He shoved the blade back into its sheath and heard it click into place.
He was a warrior. Fear would not control him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE MAN LEFT the barn as silently as he had entered. Under the thin layer of new snow, the old snow was thick and crusty, but his movements made no sound. Stealth was second nature, learned from years of observing creatures in the wild. A breeze slipped through the long needles of the lodgepole pines, carrying the scent of unseen birds and animals. He walked backwards using the same set of prints he made entering the clearing, only this time sweeping his marks with a thick bough of cedar, so they disappeared into the incessant white.
He felt a shiver of dread as he glanced toward the cabin, smoke curling from the chimney, lights glowing in the windows. The old medicine woman had learned to live as the white man lived, but he felt stifled when he stepped into the white man’s confines. He found most humans intolerable. He had no patience for their emotional complexities, their endless search for elusive happiness, for this cause or that greed. Or their need to collect possessions and house themselves in structures of concrete and wood and glass that had to be locked like vaults in a bank, shutting out the textures and colors and sounds of the natural world.
The man chose a solitary life where nothing was strapped down or permanent and all he owned could be carried on the back of a horse. He had adapted to the wildness, to the habits of weather, the sound of birds, the whisper of plants, the vocabulary of animals. The sky was his ceiling and a constant source of awe and beauty. He only had to look up to be mesmerized. Like music, the sky was ever changing—one moment an aquamarine sonata dotted with clouds as delicate as Queen Ann’s Lace, and the next moment a brooding iron gray symphony that threatened the earth with destruction. His favorite was the night sky when it opened into a vast starlit chasm as clear and sharp as the notes of a woodwind, allowing him a glimpse of infinity.
Now he followed the roar of cascading water to the frozen bank of White Tail Creek that sliced through ice and snow to empty into Nenámooks Lake. There, his sable and white paint, Shantie, stood waiting, his breath tendrils of vapor. His upper body was covered by a thick wool blanket woven by the fingers of the old women a decade ago. The man hoisted himself onto Shantie’s strong back and issued a soft grunt. The gelding began to retrace his steps across the creek and into the forest, skirting trees, following an ancient deer trail. The man’s thoughts drifted to the beautiful boy taking refuge in the barn from the day’s shocking discovery—Nikah, his surrogate mother, murdered.
The man had been troubled by the dangers swirling around Tegan when he slipped into the afternoon darkness of the barn. Overcome with emotion, feeling deep affection, he stood watching him sleep. The boy’s chest heaved in and out and his breathing was hurried as though he fought some urgent battle in his dream world.
The man believed he was at fault for putting the boy at risk, for opposing men who knew the ways of the wilderness, as well or better than he. Instead of honoring mother earth, these men plundered her riches for personal gain.
The man was well versed in the calls of birds and animals and understood their meanings, and he expertly mimicked their sounds, but he was rusty in the language of men. Though he had been the boy’s companion for years, offering protection, teaching him survival skills, they mostly communicated through touch and smell and intuition, the dialect of the natural world. But in the barn, when the boy awoke, the man found that his words flowed smoothly. Their conversation had softened a callused place in his heart that he had forgotten existed.
In the man’s solitary life, deprived of the flesh and warmth of the woman who once had been his wife, bereft of her laughter which he remembered as the purest of sounds, the attachment he had to the old woman and boy were vital. They were his last connection to his own humanness. He would do anything to protect them. Anything.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE WIRY, TWISTED branches of the live oaks lining the road looked like emaciated arms in the waning light.
“This is it on the right,” Granger shouted from behind Sidney on the snowmobile.
She turned into a driveway and parked in front of a well-constructed log house that was surrounded by towering Ponderosa pines. Light flickered in the windows, and smoke curled from the chimney. A detached garage, a sizable shed, and a looming barn were silhouetted against the silver shimmer of Nenámooks Lake.
Alerted by the sound of the snowmobile and their footsteps on the porch, a tall, lanky man with long black hair swung open the door. “Come in,” he said solemnly, stepping aside after they removed their snow-crusted boots.
Sidney entered gratefully, the warmth of the fire embracing her like a cloak.
They exchang
ed introductions, then she and Granger shook out of their heavy parkas and hung them on pegs in the tiled entryway. Sidney surveyed the modestly furnished interior. Small, but comfortable and inviting. She took particular interest in the shelves lining one wall, which displayed beautiful handcrafted baskets, pottery, and intricate woodcarvings of animals.
“I’m so glad to see you.” Selena swept in from the dining room and wrapped Sidney in a warm embrace, her cheek warm against Sidney’s numb face. “I was so worried. It’s brutally cold out there.”
The hug Selena gave Granger was perfunctory but when she pulled away the two locked eyes and held the gaze so long, Sidney thought for an uncomfortable moment they might kiss. Not the time, or place. She cleared her throat.
They both snapped out of some magnetic spell as Tommy said with a sweep of his hand, “Have a seat.”
Selena and Granger planted themselves at opposite ends of a couch facing the fireplace. Sidney took one of the two easy chairs facing the couch. Tommy took the other.
An old woman silently entered the room, her body bent into the shape of a question mark, her head craned up and sideways. She nodded to Granger. He nodded back with a respectful smile.
“You must be Elahan. I’m Chief Becker,” Sidney said, half rising and extending a hand.
“I know who you are,” Elahan said coolly, ignoring Sidney’s hand. “You both look frozen. I’ll get you something hot to drink.”
“Hot sounds great,” Sidney said, pulling her hand back. “Caffeine would be a plus.”
“Ditto for me,” Granger added.
“I’m sure Elahan can rustle up some coffee,” Tommy said smoothly, making up for the old woman’s chilliness.
Elahan left as quietly as she entered.
Sidney wanted to get right down to business, but she held her patience in check and let Granger direct the flow of conversation. She tried not to fidget while he and Tommy spoke politely about Granger’s two excellent quarter horses, which Tommy assured him were housed safely in the barn.
Elahan wheeled in a serving cart holding two mugs of coffee and thick slices of bread smeared with butter and honey. Sidney and Granger helped themselves. Except for the logs crackling in the fireplace, the room was silent for a few moments while the two wolfed down a few bites of the warm bread and sipped the rich coffee. “Thank you, Elahan. This is delicious. I had no idea how hungry I was,” Sidney said.
“Yeah, thanks,” Granger said, mouth full.
“Cold weather really takes it out of you,” Tommy said.
Elahan seated herself in a straight-backed chair in the corner, her face hidden in shadows. Something about her gave Sidney the willies. The old woman’s eyes crawled over her skin like icy fingers.
Granger broached the topic of the dead woman. “Can you tell us a little about Nikah?”
Tommy cleared his throat and cast a glance at Elahan, and Sidney thought she read a warning in his gaze.
“We’ve known Nikah all her life,” Tommy said, the light from the fire playing over his pleasant features, brightening his dark eyes. “She was raised just eight houses down. Her parents died in a car accident a couple years back. She lived in the house alone, though she’d been dating Lancer Richards since she was sixteen. Last year, when she turned eighteen, he moved in with her.”
“Did she work?”
“Yeah, at the Thunderhead Gift Shop in town. They sell Native American crafts. Made by people here in the village.”
“I love that store,” Selena said. “I bought some beaded necklaces there.”
Granger acknowledged her comment with a curt nod, and continued in his no-nonsense tone. “You said Lancer was abusive?”
“Funny how you think you know someone. We all thought he was a good guy,” Tommy said with a look of weariness on his face. Works as a roofer. Hard worker. Takes the winter off. That gave us a chance to see him up close and personal.”
“What did you see?”
“His true nature. On the surface, everything looked fine between him and Nikah.
She used to come over a few times a week to help Tegan with his homework. The two had a strong bond. A few weeks ago, she stopped coming. Didn’t answer her phone or text messages. Tegan and I went by her place one evening to check on her. It was pitch black. Cold. At first, I didn’t see her. But Tegan smelled her. She was sitting on the porch, barefoot, in her nightgown, shivering.
“Seriously?” Granger said.
He nodded. “It was freezing out there, I told her. She said she locked herself out, and Lancer was in the shower. He must have heard us talking because he opened the door, fully dressed, hair dry. Didn’t look like he’d been in the shower. Before he could say anything, she said, ‘I told them you were in the shower.’”
“Covering for him,” Granger said.
“Yep. Lancer was all smiles, oozing charm, like ‘Oh, I didn’t know you were out here, Nikah.’ I could tell she didn’t want us to come in, but Lancer opened the door wide and we followed her into the hallway. He stank of booze. That’s when I saw the bruises on Nikah’s arms, and her eye was swelling up. He had a lump the size of a walnut on his forehead. Looked like they’d had a knockdown, drag-out fight. I was so pissed, I grabbed Lancer by the collar and threw him out the door. “See how you like it,” I said. “Don’t come back until you sober up.”
“You didn’t think to call a cop?” Sidney asked brusquely.
Tommy leveled a sober gaze on her but there was intensity behind his eyes. “We do things our own way here, Chief Becker. Most folks around here have a dim view of law enforcement. Too many folks have been treated harshly in the past. Roughed up. Jailed for minor offenses. More so than white people.”
A hissing noise came from the corner. Elahan’s hands were tightly clasped in her lap.
Recognizing her contempt, Sidney felt her shoulders stiffen, and she said in her own defense, “Not here in Garnerville.”
“Not since you took office,” Tommy agreed. “So far, you’ve been fair. You go by the book. Your father did, too. But I can’t say that for the last police chief, or cops in other counties.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had bad experiences.” Sidney heard emotion creep into her voice, but she couldn’t help defending her profession. “Most cops are hardworking civil servants who put their lives on the line every day to protect the public, no matter what their skin color is.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you personally. Or Granger,” Tommy said with a distinct conciliatory note in his voice.
She relaxed her posture. “No offense taken.”
“So back to Nikah,” Ganger said patiently. “The night you kicked Lancer out?”
“Lancer went limping off into the night like a wounded animal. Nikah started crying. I calmed her down, but she wouldn’t talk about what happened. Tegan and I sat with her for a while but then she insisted we leave. We did.”
“She was protecting Lancer.”
“Or herself. She was afraid of him, that was clear.” Tommy shook his head. “I had no idea he was a drunk. I found out later he practically lived at the Wild Horse Saloon, the bar up the street. Long story short, the tribal council met and we decided we needed to protect Nikah. Lancer was given his walking papers.”
“How did Nikah feel about that?”
“She seemed more frightened than relieved. Maybe she was afraid he’d retaliate.”
“Did he try to see her?”
“We didn’t see him here again. I stopped by the shop in town a few times to check on her. She told me Lancer was making himself scarce. Whatever that meant.” Tommy shrugged. “I got the feeling she wasn’t telling the whole story. But she seemed happier. She started coming over again to see Tegan.” Tommy released a deep sigh. “My wife died giving him birth. He’s never had a mom. Now he’s lost Nikah, too.”
“I’m so sorry,” Selena said.
Tommy met her sorrowful eyes. “Nikah filled a special need.”
“When was the last time you sa
w Nikah?” Granger asked.
“She was here, what, four nights ago, Nana?”
“Five nights,” the old woman rasped.
“She had dinner with us. Then she sat with Tegan for a while.” Tommy’s voice choked and his eyes glistened with sudden tears. He looked away for a moment, then said softly, “I could hear them laughing from the kitchen.”
Sidney asked gently, “Aside from Lancer, is there anyone else who may have wanted to hurt Nikah?”
Tommy gazed, unflinching, into the fire. He shook his head.
Sidney knew he was hiding something. “Elahan, do you know anyone who would want to hurt Nikah?”
The old woman leaned forward in her chair, her face coming into the lamplight, her dark eyes narrowed into slits. “Talk to the mountain man.”
“Who would that be, Ma’am?”
“Grisly.” Elahan hissed out the name. “Grisly Stokes.”
“I never met Grisly Stokes,” Sidney said. “You, Granger?”
“No. Never heard of him.”
“He keeps to himself.” Tommy’s face hardened. “Totally self-reliant. A hunter and trapper. Takes tourists out to shoot wildlife. Makes a little money on the side doing taxidermy. Lives off the grid. Back in the woods on the other side of the lake.”
“What kind of relationship did he have with Nikah?” Sidney asked.
“Bad,” Elahan spat out.
“Bad, how?”
Tommy didn’t answer. Sidney looked at him closely. His lips tightened and his expression grew anxious.
“What aren’t you telling us, Tommy?” she asked.
“When Nikah came across animals Grisly trapped, she released them.” Tommy exhaled a long, slow breath and his voice was low and tense. “Once she found a bald eagle caught in a trap after it dove in for the bait. She notified the raptor center and they came out and rescued it.”