by Pamela Clare
Chaska had just a little while alone with Naomi, who seemed to be holding up well. They sat together on the front porch, watching the hummingbirds flit from feeder to feeder. “What do you think?”
“I adore your grandfather. He wants me to call him Grandfather, too.”
“That’s how it is back home,” Chaska told her. “Young people often call elders Grandmother and Grandfather or Uncle and Auntie, even when they’re not related.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “I thought he was saying … Never mind.”
“What? Tell me.”
“I thought he was saying he thought of me as family.”
Chaska smiled at her confusion. “That is what he means. Our family is more than our parents and brothers and sisters. It’s our cousins—so many cousins—and our aunties and uncles and the elders in our community. It’s our heroes and teachers. It’s all the people who make our lives good and strong. He’s bringing you into that circle. Think of it as him taking you under his wing.”
She smiled. “I like that.”
“What about Doug?”
“He seems like a good person. He’s been very kind to me. As for the rest—I can’t get my hopes up. If he’s not my father…”
He drew her closer, kissed her hair. “If he’s not your father, then we’ll keep searching for answers, starting with the woman he gifted with that medicine wheel.”
When Winona got home with Old Man and Doug, it was time to make dinner. Chaska put himself in charge of grilling the meat and left figuring out the rest of it to his sister. He fired up the grill and put on the steaks, his gaze on Naomi, who sat on the porch next to Doug, showing him her photographs and sketches.
“Your Naomi is quite the artist,” said Old Man in Lakota, coming up from behind him. “I saw that owl she drew. It looks just like the real one. Have you seen those pictures she took of hummingbirds? It’s like she froze them in the air. I did not know they had so many colors. They move too fast for me to see with these old eyes.”
“I have seen those photos.” Chaska brushed marinade over the steaks then set ears of corn Winona had given him to roast in the back. “I was with her when she took them.”
“I want to hear from you what happened that morning when you met her. Is what your sister tells me true? Did you dare Creator to bring a woman to you?”
Thanks, Winona.
He would get back at her one day.
“Not exactly.” Chaska told him how they’d been out for a hike with Shota and how Winona had been bugging him about getting together with someone. “I told her I would wait until the right woman came along.”
Old Man nodded. “Sensible.”
Yeah, well he wasn’t going to like this next part.
“Then I said that Creator could bring her into my life anytime.”
“How is that respectful—to ask something of Creator when you and I know you were just running your mouth?”
Chaska ignored that. “A moment later, Shota took off running through the forest. When we found him, he was sitting beside Naomi, who was badly hurt.”
Old Man gave a nod. “That’s what Winona told me. She believes Creator answered your foolish jest and led you to Naomi.”
“I didn’t believe that at first—or I didn’t want to believe it. I haven’t believed much of anything for a long time. But now, with all that has happened, I can’t see it any other way. She doesn’t know any of this. I haven’t told her yet.”
Naomi laughed at something Doug said, the two of them sitting in lawn chairs on the patio. The resemblance between them strongest when they were both smiling. Could they see it?
“So, when is the wedding? Will it be a Lakota ceremony? I hope so. That would make this old man happy.”
Chaska rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than Winona. We haven’t talked about getting married yet. She and I haven’t even known each other for two weeks. She’s had so much going on, so many things to cope with. Ten days ago, she was in the hospital. If she and I are meant to be together, everything will work out in time.”
Grandfather looked at him through eyes that seemed ancient, his wrinkled face splitting in a big grin. “Maybe you’re not so foolish after all.”
Old Man walked away chuckling to himself. “Hey, you got horseshoes? Let’s play some horseshoes.”
“This is Star Tall Grass, my wife. We met in law school and got married the next year. She is Miniconjou Lakota from the Cheyenne River Reservation.”
Naomi looked at the photograph of a smiling woman on Doug’s laptop screen. She had a pretty face and shoulder-length dark hair, her gaze soft as she looked toward the camera. “She’s lovely.”
“I guess it’s true that opposites attract because she was much more traditional than I was. I didn’t care about all the Indian stuff. I just wanted to be like everyone else. But she turned me around, showed me how special it was just to be Lakota.”
And then Naomi had to ask. “Did you tell her—about me, I mean?”
“Oh, yes. It was a shock for both of us. But don’t worry—she’s not angry with me for something that happened a decade before she met me. She certainly won’t hold it against you. She was upset to hear that you’d been abandoned.”
The house was quiet. Winona and Grandpa had gone to bed, while Chaska had gone to his office to work, giving Naomi and Doug time alone together. Naomi had already showed him her website and told him about her plans one day for a jewelry store. He had seemed impressed and had ordered a pair of earrings for his wife, insisting that he pay for them. Now, he was sharing his family with her.
“This is my oldest son, Mato, who is thirteen. His name means ‘bear.’”
The boy in the image wore a football jersey and held a football as if he were about to throw a pass.
“Star and I have our Indian names, but our given names—the names on our birth certificates—aren’t Lakota. She insisted on giving our kids Lakota names.”
“Mato is big like a bear. I take it he likes football?”
“Oh, yes.” Doug chuckled. “This is my oldest daughter, Chumani. That means ‘dewdrop.’ She’s eleven and has started to learn about beadwork. She wants to be a singer when she grows up.”
“She looks just like her mother.”
“Chayton is eight. His name means ‘falcon.’”
“He’s adorable.”
“Yeah? Well, his mother spoils him. This is our youngest, Kimímila. She’s five. Her name means ‘butterfly.’”
Naomi stared at the little girl. “She looks like…”
“She looks like you.” Doug looked at the image for a moment, then met Naomi’s gaze. “That’s what Star said when she saw that picture of you. ‘She looks just like Kimímila—apart from her eyes.’”
Naomi had to ask. “How could I have blue eyes? Brown eyes are dominant. Even if my mother had blue eyes, I should have brown eyes.”
Doug chuckled. “We Otter Tails have done a fair amount of mixing it up, if you know what I mean. My grandfather—old Maggie’s husband—was supposedly mixed, and my mother was half Irish. There are some interesting recessive genes in this pool.”
Naomi found hope in his answer, but the very act of hoping brought her worry to the surface again. “If it turns out that you’re not… that you’re not my father, I just want you to know how grateful I am that you took the time to come up here. It means more than you could ever know that you took this seriously, that you care.”
“How could I not care? A young woman with unknown parents comes forward with the medicine wheel my grandma made for me—there are a lot of questions there that demand answers. We’re going to find them, Naomi. If I’m not your father, we’re going to keep searching—together—until we have the answers you need to find peace. I’m not going to disappear from your life. That medicine wheel you wear—that’s an unshakable bond between us, no matter what our DNA says.”
Naomi drew the medicine wheel out. “I suppose this belongs to you.”
; “No!” He held up his hands, palms facing her in a gesture of refusal. “It’s yours. It’s your birthright. I gave up any claim I had twenty-eight years ago when I gifted it to a young woman I thought I loved.”
She dropped it back inside her shirt again. “Thank you.”
They spoke late into the night, until after Chaska, too, had gone to bed, Shota’s plaintive howls drifting in through the open kitchen windows.
“Time for me to get to bed.” Doug stood. “Can you make it upstairs on those crutches alone?”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks for a good evening.”
“Thank you, Naomi.”
She climbed the stairs, undressed, and slipped into bed beside Chaska, who woke and took her into his arms. “I feel like the whole world is holding its breath.”
He kissed her. “Sleep, angel.”
Eventually, she did.
Chaska stayed in bed, watching Naomi sleep, not wanting to wake her. Today was going to be a long day for her, and the longer she slept, the better. It was almost eight when she finally stirred.
He kissed her forehead. “Hey.”
She stretched, smiled—then sat bolt upright. “What time is it?”
“Relax. It’s almost eight.”
“We left the lab yesterday at about two, so that means the results ought to arrive in my email at around two this afternoon.”
Yes, it was going to be a long day.
She joined him for his morning prayer, learning to say Mitakuye Oyasin instead of Amen. Not that he objected to her saying the latter, but she’d asked.
“It means ‘All my relations’ or ‘All my relatives.’ Maybe a better translation would be ‘We are all related.’ It reminds us that we are related to all life on this planet, from the birds to the animals to blades of grass.”
Okay, so his grandfather could probably explain that better than he had, but she seemed to understand.
She showered while he went down to find Winona on her way out the door to work and Old Man sitting with Doug at the table, arguing good-naturedly about tribal politics over scrambled eggs, bacon, and strong coffee. They looked up when he entered. “Good morning.”
He poured himself a cup of coffee. “Did you two sleep well?”
“Can’t complain,” Doug said.
“I got this arthritis in my knees,” Grandfather said. “It keeps me awake.”
This led to a discussion of the travails of growing older, which thankfully came to an end when Naomi appeared. She wore the sundress she’d worn the first day she’d come to stay with them, her dark hair damp.
“Hihanni waste,” she said.
Old Man chuckled, clearly pleased. “We’ll make a real Lakota of you yet.”
Chaska set a plate of food on the table for her, poured her a cup of coffee. “The locals are holding a fundraiser for Naomi tonight at Knockers, the local brew pub.”
“A fundraiser?” Doug asked.
Chaska explained how the attack by the two escaped cons had left Naomi with medical bills, car repair bills, and other problems. “The state of Colorado will cover most of her medical bills out of a victim’s compensation fund, and Frank, the guy who owns the local garage, is donating his time to repair her car, while some of us pay for parts. But there will still be expenses. No one in Scarlet wants to see Naomi pay a dime for what happened to her.”
Old Man nodded. “These are good people in this town.”
Doug had a torn expression on his face, as if he wanted to say something he knew he probably shouldn’t. “I’m happy to hear it. I hope we’re invited.”
Naomi looked up from her smartphone, where she’d been checking her email. “Of course, you can come. I would love to have you there.”
After breakfast, she asked Chaska to help her set up her tools and her PMC stuff, including the little kiln, or silver pot. “I have something I want to make for your grandfather and Doug.”
He thought this was a great idea, in no small part because it would take her mind off the test results. Soon she was busy cutting and sculpting something from sheets of PMC, while Old Man and Doug watched and asked an annoying number of questions.
Chaska decided to get a jump on the weekend by mowing the lawn. By the time he’d finished, Naomi’s work had begun to take recognizable shape.
She held out the pieces in her palm to show him—two small eagle feathers and two small medicine wheels, each with a little hole in it and each featuring tiny details carved into the surface. “Now I fire them.”
Chaska helped her light the silver pot and spotted the third aspen leaf she’d made that night when she’d made Winona’s earrings. He handed it to his grandfather. “Naomi made this.”
“That looks like someone took an aspen leaf and turned it into silver.”
“In a way, that’s what I did.” She explained how she’d made it using PMC paste and a real aspen leaf.
When the pieces were done firing, she asked Chaska to help her remove them from the silver pot. He carried them inside for her and set them on the table, getting her a bowl of water. He’d missed watching her work that night. He’d been in his office trying to avoid her, as if being in another room could stop him from falling in love with her.
Old Man was right. He was foolish.
She took a little brush and scrubbed each piece, the glint of silver emerging. She held out the first finished feather. “See?”
“That’s fantastic. How did you get that detail?” Doug asked.
“Now I seen everything,” Old Man said.
She scrubbed the other pieces, then put what she called jump rings through the holes at the center of the medicine wheels to attach the feathers. When she was done, she handed one to Old Man, who chuckled, and one to Doug. “You gave me a medicine wheel. I’m giving you one back.”
Doug nodded. “Thank you, Naomi. Good trade.”
Chaska saw her reach for her cell phone again. It wasn’t yet noon, so there was no chance that—
Her head jerked up, her eyes wide. “The results. They’re here.”
Chapter 21
Naomi looked up at Chaska and then Doug.
Doug gave her a nod. “Go head. Open the email.”
Hands shaking, Naomi tapped her screen. The email itself said nothing, but there was an attachment. She clicked on the attachment, which took a moment to download. The text was small, so she had to enlarge the document, her pulse racing as she read it, her gaze moving over the page, searching for the relevant part. Then she found it—the news she’d been waiting for.
Oh, God!
Her eyes filled with tears, relief and joy rushing through her with such force that her world seemed to tilt on its axis.
Chaska was there, holding her, trying to comfort her. “It’s okay, Naomi. We’ll keep looking.”
But he didn’t understand.
She drew back, laughing through her tears. “Look.”
She handed him her cell phone, then sought Doug’s gaze. It was right that he be the first to know. “You’re my father.”
Doug’s eyes shut, and his head fell back. He muttered something in Lakota. “Pilamayayelo.”
Chaska read through the email, then thrust one fist into the air and let out a whoop, the excitement on his face bringing tears to Naomi’s eyes again. He sent off a quick text message—probably to Win.
Yes, she should be here, too.
Then Chaska read the document aloud. “The alleged father, Doug Otter Tail, cannot be excluded as the father of Naomi Archer. Based on the genetic testing results, the probability of paternity is 99.99 percent!”
He drew her into his embrace again.
Naomi came completely apart this time, sobbing against his shoulder, the fear and grief and loneliness and pain of the past twenty-seven years spilling out of her.
She had a father. She had a father. And he wanted her.
She could hear Grandpa Belcourt singing in Lakota somewhere nearby, smelled burning sage, and knew that he was praying.
The
n the back door flew open with such force that it hit the wall, and Winona rushed in, wearing green scrubs. “You got the results?”
Naomi fought to get the words out, her throat tight. “He’s my dad.”
Chaska made way for his sister, who hugged Naomi tight, tears spilling down her cheeks, too, a smile on her face. “I am so happy for all of us. It’s like finding out you and I are sisters or something.”
Chaska handed Naomi and Winona tissues.
Naomi wiped her eyes, tried to pull herself together. “I want to dance and sing and run down the street, screaming, ‘I have a dad!’”
“You’ve got more than a dad.” Doug made his way around the table. “You’ve got a family. You’ve got a stepmom and two little brothers and two little sisters. You’ve got … I don’t know how many cousins. You’ve got aunties and uncles. You have a people now. You are part of the Oglala Lakota nation.”
He let out a whoop at this, and so did Chaska.
Chaska made room for Doug, who knelt down in front of Naomi where she sat, opening his arms to her, giving her a choice. “Welcome to the family, daughter.”
She sank into him, his arms enfolding her. How strange and wonderful it was—this first embrace from her father. Her father.
Would she ever get used to that?
He pulled away, wiped the tears from her cheeks—and his own. “I am so, so sorry. Forgive me. If I had known… You will never be out in the cold again.”
Grandpa Belcourt was still singing.
Then Doug got to his feet, cleared his throat. “If you all will excuse me, I need to call my wife. Star has been waiting, too.”
Winona decided they should go for ice cream to celebrate, and there was really no changing his sister’s mind once she got an idea in her head.
Chaska pinned her with his gaze. “You just want ice cream.”
“Naomi wants ice cream, too, don’t you, Naomi? Tell my brother you want ice cream, too.”
Naomi looked from Winona to Chaska, laughing. “I could go for ice cream.”
“Okay, fine.”
And so, they were off.
Chaska locked the door behind Doug, who was the last one out—and who didn’t look as happy as he had a while ago. “Is everything okay?”