by AULT, SANDI
Sica struggled to her feet as well. “I go now, too. My nephew Eloy coming for supper. I make rabbit stew today, bake bread.”
When we stepped out the door of Rule’s abode, the three of us saw Anna Santana walking by the río with Mountain, encouraging him to get into the river to drink. He waded into the icy water and lapped at the surface; then he became rambunctious. He began to romp and splash and gallop in circles. Rule took Sica’s arm to help her along, and the three of us walked over to watch the wolf play.
I greeted my medicine teacher with a nod.
She looked at me, studying my neck and the Ace bandage on my wrist. “You bang up. What you do?”
“I . . . I fell,” I said.
My medicine teacher appraised me with a concerned look. “You take care,” she said. “Get rest. Maybe you take next other day off.”
“Yeah, maybe I will,” I said. As sore and worn out as I felt, several days off sounded like a better idea.
“That wolf all happy now,” Momma Anna said. At this, Mountain noticed me, and bounded toward us, plowing up short and shaking himself vigorously, spraying water on everyone.
“Eeeee!” Sica said, pulling her blanket over her face to block the spray.
“Mountain, stop!” I said, but the wolf gamboled over to me and rubbed his wet coat against my legs, overjoyed to see me. The muscles around my knees were tight and tender, and now my jeans were wet and cold. I pushed the wolf away, but he smiled at me and raced in a hoop around us, ecstatic with joy. “I’m sorry to be in such a hurry, but I’ve got to go,” I said. “Thank you for keeping Mountain. I need to take him and head home now. I still have to stop by the market and pick up some candles, and hopefully I can get home before dark.”
Momma Anna looked at me out of one eye. “You keeping old way this holy time?”
“What? Oh, you mean the candles. No, my electricity is off. It has been for days. I’ve been unable to get someone from the power company to come out to make whatever repair is needed on the line.”
Rule spoke up. “My brother Oriando works for the power company as a lineman. I know if I ask him that he will help.”
I wasn’t quite sure that I trusted Rule Abeyta enough to want his help, but before I could reply, he pulled out a cell phone and punched in a number. He turned away, talking in Tiwa.
“Tst-tst. You got bad hurt, that neck,” Momma Anna said.
“I do.” I nodded. “I got hurt everything. I’m really tired. I need to get home before I drop. I’ve had a bad day.”
My medicine teacher studied me in silence.
Sica did not speak either. She was waving enthusiastically at someone across the río on the far side of the plaza. I followed her gaze. A man was walking toward us, his face indistinguishable in the shadow cast by the massive and venerable four-story adobe structure that was the hallmark of Tanoah Pueblo.
“There Eloy!” Sica called as her nephew crossed the little footbridge and came to join us on the riverbank.
Before we could exchange greetings, Rule Abeyta stepped toward me and held out the cell phone. “My brother said he will help. Tell him where you live.”
I hesitated.
Abeyta pushed the phone toward me. “Go on. Talk to him. He said he will get you going before he clocks out today.”
In a matter of minutes, I had made arrangements for Oriando Abeyta to meet me in an hour at the intersection of the Forest Service road and the highway a few miles from my cabin so that I could lead him to my place. And in only a few minutes more, Mountain and I were in my Jeep heading west, the wolf snoring in the back while I daydreamed in Technicolor about the soothing comfort of a long, hot shower and going early to bed.
31
The Smell of Vanilla
I got to the intersection where I had agreed to meet Oriando Abeyta and pulled off on the side of the gravel road. I was more than fifteen minutes early. It was bitterly cold outside, and yet I dared not sit in the Jeep and wait. I felt so beaten down by all the physical trauma I had suffered over the past week that I feared that if I allowed myself to sit idle for more than a few minutes, I would pass out right there beside the road and not come to for days. I forced myself to get out of the car. My body had stiffened and I had to work to straighten up and stand erect. I opened the hatch and—with some effort due to the sprained wrist—I finally managed to put Mountain on his lead.
We walked down the roadside about fifty yards in the softening frost-light of dusk. Mountain sniffed the white grassy clumps alongside a tall growth of pines. He marked tree and scrub, straining at the lead, galloping from one tree to another. As we ambled along, my shoulders felt stiff and sore, especially with the wolf tugging at the long leash. I rotated my neck and heard a loud snap as my neck vertebrae realigned. An unexpected onslaught of olfactory information bombarded me and I realized that my sense of smell—which had vanished without my realizing it—had suddenly returned full force for the first time since the explosion at Diane’s house. I drew in a deep breath and reveled in the rich array of aromas. I smelled moisture in the air, and I looked up into the twilight sky to see a low deck of clouds promising snow. I closed my eyes to isolate and identify more scents: pine needles, dry winter grass, gravel dust, wet wolf. I raised my eyelids and looked around for more ways to exercise this newly reclaimed faculty. A few yards into the woods, I saw a large, old-growth ponderosa. I stepped inside the tree line, aiming to sniff the bark of the big pine to see if it smelled like vanilla. The wolf was delighted that we’d left the road, and he bounded past me, pulling at his long lead and brushing hard against my leg, where still-tender bruises sang with pain.
The roar of an engine cut through the air, rapidly growing louder and closer. I turned and peered through the trees, looking back down the road toward the sound of the approaching machine. I watched as a big truck veered off the highway at high velocity, its front end armored with a welded steel deer guard. Like an enraged animal, the monstrous machine sped forward and crashed full-on into the back of my Jeep, sending it hurtling down the road a hundred yards as if it were a cracked cue ball. Before I could react, the truck geared up and rammed the Jeep again, creating a deafening slam of pile-driving metal and shattering glass. At this, Mountain lunged and bolted deeper into the woods. His leash whipped and tightened and I moved to grip the end with both hands, but instantly let go of it for fear my sprained wrist would snap. As the wolf fled into the forest trailing a red ribbon of nylon webbing, I stood stunned, insensible, my mouth hanging open, my brain unable to engage. The Attila truck fast-backed to the highway, swerved around, and roared out of sight, leaving a cloud of petroleum fumes.
“Mountain!” I shouted into the darkening woods. “Mountain, come back!”
It took a few minutes of calling and then waiting before I heard the sound of twigs snapping in the direction the wolf had fled. I began to talk softly to Mountain, even though I could not yet see him. “It’s okay now, buddy. It’s okay. Come on. It will be all right.”
After minutes of my reassuring monologue, the wolf finally crept toward me, dragging his leash, his ears down with fear. Two small branches were entangled in the leash and I stooped to unravel the mess. A bolt of pain in my back radiated out to both hips and through my legs. I realized as I compromised with a bent-over half squat that I was so sore that I felt about the same as I might have if I had just stayed in my Jeep.
I coaxed Mountain carefully between the trees, and he balked, but came along, staying close to me. We walked down the road to the car and studied the damage. Most of the glass was gone. The Jeep’s body was crumpled in the back and all along the driver’s side, and it looked like the frame was bent. I tried the rear hatch, but it was smashed in and wouldn’t budge. I led Mountain around to the passenger door and pulled on the handle. It opened with a loud metallic squawk. I folded the seat down and loaded the wolf in, and he climbed eagerly into the safe and familiar cargo area in the back. I crawled over the gearshift in the center console and threaded one
leg and then the other down beneath the steering wheel, crying out as I bent and bumped various body parts, finally easing carefully into the seat behind the wheel. I checked the Screech Owl but there was no cell phone service available there. I had left the key in the ignition, and I grasped it and closed my eyes for a moment and silently prayed. I sat up tall, took a big breath and blew it out, and then I turned the key.
The motor started right up! I drove away with the wheel pulling hard to the right, and—sprained wrist notwithstanding—I steered that Jeep like a ship in strong current and headed back to Taos and the BLM.
32
Remote Chance
It was dark by the time I got to the BLM, and everyone had gone home. I called Diane first.
“Rule Abeyta was at the top of our suspect list,” she said. “I’m having him and his brother Oriando picked up immediately.”
“But why are they out to get me?” I said. “They must know we would have brought them in by now if I had them on Cassie Morgan’s murder.”
“You must have gotten too close to something or someone, and they figure you’ll put it together eventually. That’s what I would guess. Anyway, we’ll know soon enough, because we’re bringing them in and I’m going to make sure they talk.”
“I still don’t get it,” I said. “It just doesn’t quite square up somehow.”
“You’re making it too complicated. The Silver Bullet says that’s what trips up most investigators. He says almost all murders are fairly simple. And this one is obviously all about revenge. If I can wrap this case up with no loose ends, the Silver Bullet has assured me a transfer. I’m going to get these guys.”
I made two more phone calls:
“What? Dammit to hell!” Roy growled into the phone. “I’ll be right there.”
“No, don’t. I know you’ve got family visiting this week for the holidays. I’m all right, I’m leaving now anyway. I wouldn’t even be here by the time you could get to the office.”
“You’re sure you’re all right? You don’t need to go to the ER or anything?”
“I’m fine, Roy, really.”
The next call was to Kerry, who said four words: “I’m on my way.” He hung up before I could reply.
I grabbed the keys to an old, four-door Chevy Blazer that was used by the river rangers at the BLM during the summer. I went out to the parking lot and began transferring all the things from my wrecked car to the Blazer as Mountain paced back and forth, not permitting more than a foot of space to open between us. After I’d secured my rifle on the floor behind the driver’s seat, I folded down the bench seat in the back to create the same large, flat cargo area for transporting the wolf that he was accustomed to in my regular work vehicle. I lifted the hatch, then stretched Mountain’s thick fleece blanket, still wet from his earlier river romp, across the flat, carpeted back area. “Come on, buddy,” I said, patting the blanket.
The wolf stood at the rear of the strange new automobile and sniffed at the carpet, but he didn’t move.
I patted the blanket again, careful to use my good hand, as the other had swollen up like a pink pork roast above the Ace bandage, which now strained painfully tight across the palm, between the thumb and fingers, and around the wrist. “Come on, Mountain, get in,” I said, losing my patience.
Mountain sat down and lowered his head. This was not an unusual gesture for the wolf. A new vehicle, an unfamiliar object, or a strange surface often made him cautious at best, and sometimes even frightened him into wild, erratic behavior. I climbed into the back of the Chevy and drew my stiff legs up and folded them in front of me. “See?” I said to the wolf. “I’m in here. It’s okay. Now, come on.” I patted the fleece again.
Mountain raised his head and sniffed the carpeting once more. Then, without any further hesitation, he jumped into the cargo area with me and sat upright, his head pressed down and forward against the top of the car. He gave me a pleading look and whimpered. He dropped to his belly and put his chin on my leg and whimpered again, then began panting in spite of the deepening chill of oncoming night. He was clearly afraid and anxious. With each breath out, he made a soft, high-pitched whine.
I began to stroke his head, the tufted fur around his ears, the long mane at his neck, and I felt like I might cry, too. Every part of me ached; I was tired. Even sitting in the back of the vehicle in the cold hurt my back, my legs. My wrist throbbed.
Mountain nuzzled into my lap. I began to sing quietly under my breath, a little lullaby I had made up when he first came to me as a tiny pup—a song about how we were family. As I sang, the wolf’s breathing slowed and he stopped panting, his head pressed into the crook of my knee, against my thigh. I stroked his face, and he closed his eyes.
I opened my heart
And in you came
You gave me wild,
I gave you tame.
No more lonely,
You and me.
No more lonely,
We are family.
While I was singing that last verse of the lullaby, a vehicle pulled into the fenced compound behind the BLM and lights swept across us. I felt a wave of panic and moved to get up and out, reaching for my sidearm as soon as I was on my feet. Mountain scrambled upright, too, and sat up in the back looking out.
Kerry pulled right in behind the Blazer and jumped out of the door of his Forest Service truck. He strode two long steps and reached to embrace me, then checked himself and slowly and softly gave me a gentle hug. He looked down at me tenderly and stroked the side of my cheek with one hand. “I’m taking you someplace safe,” he said. “We’ll go to a motel or something. I’m not leaving you.”
It was those last four words that tripped the lever on the gate in my mind that had been holding the last vestiges of my composure in place. I snorted. “You’re not leaving me? You’re not leaving me?” I pulled away and shoved him hard in the chest. “Don’t lie to me and tell me you’re not leaving me! What about your new job in Washington?”
By the stark light of the security flood on the back wall of the BLM I read the astonishment in Kerry’s face. “I was going to tell you about it if . . . when I got the job.”
I started shaking my head up and down as if this all made sense to me. “I see,” I said, my voice too loud for normal conversation. “I see. You were going to tell me—when? While you were packing your things?”
Mountain jumped down out of the Chevy and began pacing in a tight pattern, back and forth, repeatedly putting his body in the charged, narrow gap between Kerry and me, trying to distract us.
Kerry reached down to pet the wolf. “It was only a remote chance that I would even get the job—”
“A remote chance that looks all sewn up, according to Roy.”
“I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”
“You didn’t want to face me and tell me the truth. You lied to me. You were going to leave and not tell me!” By now, I was shouting, and Mountain was panting hard and panicked, pressing his haunches against my legs. “People who lie about leaving and then sneak off . . . that just . . . hurts!” I sobbed.
Kerry moved to take me by the shoulders but I reached again with both hands and shoved him hard in the chest, a burning pain shooting up my arm from the swollen wrist. I grabbed Mountain’s collar and shouted, “Mountain, get in,” as I dragged him in the direction of the Blazer’s back end. The wolf jumped up into the cargo area, and I reached up for the hatch.
Kerry grabbed it before I could and lowered it carefully down until the latch snapped. “Let’s talk about this,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you about this and—”
“Go on and leave!” I shouted, moving toward the driver’s door. “Go on and leave me alone!”
As I drove out of the parking lot, I looked in the rearview mirror through stinging tears. Kerry stood stock-still and watched me drive away, his face as stoic as stone.
33
What Trees Dream
Driving down my long dirt-and-gravel road, I headed hal
f-aware for the beacon of yellow light from the porch lamp. It wasn’t until I had turned the Blazer face out and started to open the car door that I realized that a lit porch lamp meant that the electricity was back on. I was so overjoyed, I could hardly wait to get in the house. I gave Mountain a quick romp on his long lead to make sure he had done his business and then got both of my guns out of the car and went inside. When I flipped the switch inside the door, the hardwood floor and log walls flooded with light from the three high-powered bulbs that hung from the center of the ceiling fan in the one main room. “Oh!” I gasped, as if I had suddenly had a ponderous weight removed from my shoulders. “Oh, light! Electricity! Power!”
I fed Mountain first, then built a fire in the woodstove. It was cold in the cabin, but I got a good blaze going and stacked up some logs to keep it fed. Then, I used a few of the gallon jugs of water I had bought to prime the pump that supplied water to the house from my underground cistern. I wanted to leap for joy when I heard the sound of fluid trickling into the toilet tank. Indoor plumbing!
I opened the taps in the bathroom and kitchen sinks to bleed air from the pipes, and when they began to flow water, I turned them off to conserve the precious liquid. I lit the pilot light in the bottom of the water heater, and relished the thought of a hot shower—indoors. I hung towels on the back of the rocking chair to warm by the woodstove, which now had a good fire going inside, so I closed its cast-iron doors and dampered the air down for maximum radiant heat. I heard the hum of the refrigerator and vowed to go to town for groceries tomorrow. I had to move the shoe box on my nightstand to get to the digital clock. As I set the box on the outside edge, I made a mental note to get out the leather burning tool and my mother’s poem and make the bookmark for Diane in the morning. I checked my watch, set the clock, and I noted the time and planned to allow an hour for the water heater to bring its tank up to temperature.
But I did not make it to the shower. I sat on the side of my bed to remove my boots, reached down to untie one, and felt a volcanic flow of hot pain flood from my lumbar joints outward to my hips and then upward along my spine. I couldn’t bear to bend over even a second more. I straightened, sitting up, and then I drifted to one side, falling onto the soft down comforter. I stayed like that a minute or two, then drew my knees into a fetal bend, not even caring that I was still wearing my boots when I lifted my feet up onto my bed.