Sacred Ground

by Rita Karnopp

  "They decided to ride a bull."

  "Oh, my God! Are they―"

  "They're both alive, and that's what counts," she said, heavy with emotion. "Lance said Sean had watched all your rodeo tapes and knew what to do. I had no idea they weren't sleeping."

  "How bad are they?" Visions of unbelievable horror flashed through his mind.

  "Lance's left thumb has been torn from his hand. They must have wrapped the leather strap wrong."

  "Good, God. What about Sean?" Brett asked, afraid to listen.

  "Seems like he had trouble letting go of the rope too. By the time he went flying to the ground the bone snapped on his right forearm, breaking through the skin and they think it may have severed an artery or part of it. He . . ." she paused to regain her composure. "He's stable, but they said he lost an awful lot of blood."

  "My God!"

  "We have them checking all family records for blood type compatibility. I know you believe Sean isn't yours by blood, but I have them checking yours too." Her voice held an edge of gentleness.

  "What you're saying is that if he were my son I might be able to save his life? He's my son in every sense of the word, except my wife didn't sleep only in my bed. Is that what you want to hear? Lorraine told Gordon Jenkins that Sean was his son." Brett felt more exhausted now than he did when the son-of-a-bitch Gordon had finally died. "I never thought there'd be a day when I wished that bastard was alive."

  "I'm sorry, Brett. You've been a wonderful father to Sean. Lorraine never was good for you or Sean. That's all behind us. You and Willow go to the hospital. We'll meet you there." She paused. "Would you ask John Steals Many Horses to drive you? I know it sounds like a foolish old woman's request, but you shouldn't be driving when you're this upset."

  Brett took a deep breath. "Sean's grandfather should be there at a time like this, shouldn't he?" A silence stretched for several seconds. Finally he heard her whisper.

  "You know?"

  "I wish you'd told me years ago. But, if I'm to have a father, I must say he's a mighty fine choice." He cleared his throat and looked away.

  "Let's talk later, son. We'll get to the hospital as quickly as we can."

  "We?" Brett asked, uncertain who she knew at the Indian reservation. He shook his head, probably everyone, maybe no one. He couldn't help feeling left out of the big secret, and it bothered him.

  "Willow's parents and Mary Wolf, her sister."

  "Willow has a sister?" he asked, suddenly confused.

  "It seems you know little about the woman you love."

  He heard the gentleness and love in her voice and smiled, only briefly. "We'll meet you at the hospital." He stretched his aching leg and listened to the click telling him the conversation had ended. His mother never said goodbye, she believed the word belonged at the gravesite. The thought brought a chill to his spine as he rushed up the stairs.

  "Willow!" he shouted, grasping the stair banister to support his weight, and to keep from falling. "Willow!"

  She ran toward him. She'd wrapped a sheet around her naked body and the sunlight from the window at the end of the hall made it transparent. Brett found it difficult to believe a woman could be this beautiful. Her long hair settled around her body like a soft, enveloping blanket. He read love in her soft, brown eyes and warm smile.

  "The boys have had an accident." The words felt heavy on his tongue.

  "What?" Her smile disappeared.

  "My mother just called. Said the boys were trying to ride a bull, like I did when I was in the rodeo," he said, glancing away, feeling responsible and unable to meet her accusing eyes.

  "Boys have a way of wanting to be like their fathers." Her tone held no accusations, only the softness of understanding.

  "We need to get to the DeaconessHospital in Great Falls. Mother said to call John Steals—my father to drive. Your parents and Mother will get there as soon―"

  "Hospital? What? How bad?" she asked, her voice high-pitched and tense.

  He pulled her into his chest. "Honey, I don't know everything. Mother said Lance's thumb has been torn off. Sean has a compound fraction that might have severed an artery . . ." He broke off as his voice wavered. He tried choking back the tears but they came anyway.

  "It'll be okay." She spoke with a firm tone, yet it had a mother's gentleness.

  He shook his head. "What if they're not? Damn! I've often said Indians don't watch their kids enough―"

  "How dare you!” She stiffened against him and her expression grew cold. “My parents are great with the boys, and so are the uncles and aunts. Your mother was there too. You're telling me what?"

  He clenched his teeth, knowing his comment had been cruel and accusatory. "I didn't mean it like it sounded. Well, I did, but I don't mean it. Hell, Willow, I can't change all my thinking over night. I'm trying―"

  "Trying what?" she asked, taking several steps back. "To accept the fact I'm Indian? Trying to convince yourself that Indians aren’t all good-for-nothing drunks? Is it so hard to believe that all Indian parents don’t let their kids run wild? What? Your love isn't strong enough to overlook the fact you've fallen in love with one of those Redskins?"

  Brett placed his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Willow. I'm worried about the boys, and I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

  "I'm afraid you did. Get dressed. I'm going to call John. We're wasting time arguing a losing battle. The boys need us." She shrugged from his touch and ran down the stairs.

  He hadn't missed the tears in the corner of her eyes. "Damn!" he muttered under his breath. Only hours ago things were perfect. Now, everything seemed to be falling apart.

  * * *

  Willow set the phone back in its cradle, then collapsed into the kitchen chair. Images of her son's thumb, torn from its socket, flashed through her mind. She pressed her face into her palms and sobbed. Soft, quiet, cries only Napi, the Great Spirit, heard.

  John seemed to already know something had gone wrong with the boys. He sensed things, like her father did. She found comfort in his words and felt a certain relief he'd be doing the driving.

  She bolted from the chair and raced up the stairs, taking two at a time. She rushed into the bathroom and quickly brushed her teeth and washed. When she got to her room, Brett had already left. She'd just finished pulling up her moccasin when she heard the horn of John’s Chevy van. She grabbed her fringed jacket and purse, and then ran down the stairs, not waiting, or looking for Brett.

  Without questioning her actions, she opened the side door and slid across the back seat. Brett came at a fast hobble and she shut the large door. His expression revealed worry and anger.

  "Hello, Willow Howling Moon. Morning, Shadow Chaser," John said, speeding down the drive the moment Brett closed the door.

  "Thank you for coming," Willow said, glancing sideways at Brett. "Were you able to get Mrs. Turner, Elsie on the phone?"

  "No. They'd already left. My brother, Harold Listens Well, said Evil Spirits has always been a mean bull. The rodeo plans on buying him, and that’s why he was in the corral. None of this would have happened otherwise."

  "It's not Harold Listens Well's fault," Willow said, her tone a mixture of fear and understanding. "Our boys are spirited. They should have been sleeping like everyone else. If there is fault, it's the boys. This will teach them decisions, good or bad, have consequences."

  "Bullshit!" Brett snapped. "They're nine-year-old kids, for God's sake. You believe for one moment they think about responsibility or consequences? That's why they need to be watched and protected. It's not easy keeping up with their wild ideas. Sometimes I wonder what they're thinking."

  "My point exactly."Willow drew in a deep breath and watched Brett out of the corner of her eye. She wondered what thoughts crowded his mind. Did he realize the boys were responsible?

  "If I might say something," John said, pausing for any objections, then continuing, "I would point out, this is the time to give strength to each other. You s
hould not be fighting. The boys will need your strength. They will need to know you are happy. They want to be brothers. You must work out your differences before you see the boys. They will sense the truth."

  Silence answered. Willow knew John was right. She gave Brett another glance, this time realizing he looked back at her. He needed to apologize, not her. She returned his stare, waiting. He broke the connection, turning back toward the front. She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat.

  Pride! Damn pride. The miles seemed endless and so did the tension. She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.

  "You are a lot like me, Shadow Chaser," John said.

  "Meaning?" Brett asked.

  "I, too, have much stubbornness and pride. We have the opposite problem," he said, a slight chuckle warmed the icy atmosphere.

  "Opposite problem? Don't think I follow you."

  Willow didn't like Brett's short cryptic sentences—she'd been the recipient of his antics many times. He used them when trying to control his anger. She didn't like him using them on his father, especially when they should be getting to know each other. This side of Brett Turner she’d known her whole life. She longed for the man who shared her buffalo robes the night before.

  "I am a proud man," John continued, his voice even and slow. "I held a strong hidden hatred for the white man, as you do the Indian." He held up his hand. "Wait, don't start defending yourself. Let me speak, then you will have time to respond." He paused, concentrating on passing a slow-moving truck.

  "I don't think―"

  "Give me the courtesy of listening, son."

  Willow held her breath, expecting Brett to jump at the word, surprised when he didn't.

  "When I fell in love with your mother, I was not proud of myself. I had decided at a young age that I would marry a full-blood Blackfeet girl. I did not want children part white. You must understand I was young and did not understand the choices our heart makes, even when we don't agree."

  Willow shifted slightly, getting a better view of Brett, without being obvious.

  "When I realized I was hopelessly in love with Elsie, I tried denying it. I said hurtful things. I stayed away for a long time, hoping the feeling would pass. I found an Indian girl and told myself she was going to be my wife, even though I did not love her. I drank and I nearly destroyed myself. What I could not destroy was the love I felt for your mother."

  "Why didn't you want to love her?" Brett asked. "You admitted she's―"

  "A wonderful, loving, caring, giving, woman?" John said, laughing softly. "Yes, but don't forget white and married."

  "So what? She could have gotten a divorce. You should have been happy a white woman wanted you. It's not often a white woman would want an Indian man. She was taking a chance too."

  Willow clenched her teeth, wanting to slap his pompous mouth. She remained still, which wasn't easy.

  John turned on the windshield wipers. "I didn't see it quite like that, Shadow Chaser. I wondered how I could find a white woman attractive. Her yellow hair and blue eyes reminded me of all the injustices and degradations the white man had handed me all my life. I wanted to revive the pride and heritage of my People. I had gone to school to study Indian cultures and through hard work, long hours, and overcoming prejudices I earned my doctorate degree. I had been offered a professor job at colleges in Minnesota and Washington."

  Willow knew he thought over his words carefully. She could tell Brett seemed impressed with what John said.

  "Why didn't you take a job as a professor? Pay would have been good and you'd have been able to teach about your Indian stuff." Brett stared straight ahead, as though the scenery held incredible interest.

  "I thought about it. Even said yes and packed my bags for Washington. Fortunately, I stopped to tell Elsie goodbye. She wouldn't say those words to me. I told her I would always love her, but I couldn't accept her white blood. I told her I didn't want to bring a half-breed into the world and that we were both better off apart."

  "You didn't want me after all," Brett accused.

  "Give me the respect of listening. Then, when you have all the facts, form your opinions." John passed another car, then clicked on the speed control.

  Willow wanted to tell him to continue, anxious to hear what happened next. She didn't doubt Brett felt the same, although he hid it well.

  "Life has a way of handing you situations at the worst time. Just when you decide what to do, just when things seem right, and just when you realize things feel balanced, something changes. But that is the way of life, is it not?" John asked, not waiting for an answer. "Life handed me something I never expected. Your mother was expecting you. The one thing I told myself I didn't want was arriving in seven months. I didn't know how I felt. At first I felt the strangest thrill. I grabbed Elsie and whirled her around in joy. I kissed her with all the love I felt, which was a lot. Then it hit me―"

  "The kid was a half-breed!" Brett provided.

  "Right," John admitted.

  His honesty made Willow pause, as it had Brett. Silence returned. She wanted to scream, "Get on with it. What made you change your mind?" but she didn't. Instead, she waited.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I never felt more confused in my whole life," John finally said. "I had enough anger for a hundred warriors. It didn't seem fair. Elsie told me to leave. She said she would handle things. I was not to feel responsible. Nor did she ever want to see me again."

  "My mother said that? But you told me you watched me grow up. I remember seeing you, kinda, some times. You were there, I know you were," Brett said, turning toward his father.

  "Yes. I was there. But it wasn't that easy at first. I did leave. I went to Washington. I ran away. I left your mother alone. She told Harold the story about those Indians raping her, because she had no choice. If the baby was born with Indian features, and you were, then Harold would have known the truth or a part of it anyway. She had to protect you, and I guess her."

  "He wasn't a nice man," Brett said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I'm sure she was terrified. He never let her forget it either. I grew up with his accusations and―"

  "I know," John uncharacteristically interrupted. "But, it would have been worse for her, and you, had she ever told him the truth. So you can see she did what she had to do in order to protect you. I'll admit I felt like a man hiding behind a skirt. It got worse when you were born and they had to do a hysterectomy to save her life. That meant no sons for Harold Jenkins. He blamed her, the drunken bastard!"

  Willow had never heard John swear.

  "He could have had a son if he'd wanted one." Brett said, his tone revealed his hurt. "I was there. I'd have done anything for a kind word. Lorraine made sure I knew, the moment her belly started growing, Sean wasn't my son, but, by God, he is in my heart.” Brett adjusted his seat belt. “Just forty-five more minutes and we'll be there. Damn, this waiting and not knowing is hell."

  "You might say I've spent plenty of my time knowing that feeling. I had to stay in the background. I couldn't take the slightest chance of casting suspicions, for everyone’s sake. Harold's drinking was most of the problem, yet there were too many times I felt grateful for his alcoholism. It took him away from the ranch, your mother, and you."

  "I know what you mean. I was glad when he left, scared shitless when he got back. I knew one day I'd kill him for the way he treated my mother. I think Gordon Jenkins was the same way," he paused.

  Willow looked up to find a kind gaze meet hers. She managed a slight smile and closed her eyes once more.

  "Only difference," Brett continued, "Gordon used his fists and my dad used hateful, destroying words. I don't think there's a whole lot of difference between physical and verbal abuse. Both destroy. I decided a long time ago that the demon liquor destroys. I want to protect Sean from its disease."

  "You've learned something by it, some never do," John said in a quiet voice.

  "If my mother didn't want to see you again, and you went to Washington, what made you
come back?" Brett asked.

  Willow was completely surprised. Brett didn’t usually probe or ask questions, he either assumed or imagined what he wanted to know. One of their problems, for sure.

  "What made me come back? You. I realized no matter how much white blood you had . . . you had Indian blood too. My Indian blood. I couldn't turn my back on that. I still loved your mother, even if I didn't want to. I felt a responsibility. I loved you before you were born. Elsie let me put my hand and even my ear to her stomach. I could hear and feel you move inside her. Your life, our life. Nothing else seemed to matter."

  "You could have been a college professor. Doesn't that ever bother you?" Brett asked.

  Willow thought about his wanting to be a vet. He'd put that behind him for Sean. They were a lot alike, she thought.

  "A man chooses and lives with it. You have done the same, so I am sure you understand what I am saying. If given the choice to go back, I would not have left Elsie alone. More importantly, I would have been less concerned with Indian and non-Indian." John cleared his throat and then moved into the turning lane.

  Sight of a hospital sign filled Willow with mixed emotions. She was grateful to have finally arrived and fearful of what she'd find. She swallowed hard.

  "What is important?" Brett asked.

  "After all this time I've learned it doesn't make a difference. What counts is what is inside. What you believe and what you do with that belief. Once I had learned that, I found the true meaning of happiness. By then, though, it was too late to tell you the truth. I loved and respected Elsie too much to go against her wishes. We had to protect you until the time was right. I am grateful that time came before I died. I feared it would not."

  Tenth Avenue came into view and Willow sat up, feeling tense and anxious. She longed to hold Lance in her arms, and she realized she had similar feelings about Sean. Somehow the boys had become brothers in her heart.

  She felt Brett's large palm slide over her folded hands. She welcomed and needed his support.