“I’m no newcomer to Kai Begay,” Sheila reminded him. “He knew me when I was a child, and I don’t remember any resentment from him then. I don’t remember the problem being so prevalent here before.”
“You were a child then.”
“Children can sense things, and I would have sensed that brand of prejudice.”
“But Kai is not antagonistic with children,” Canaan said. “He loves them, which is why he’s remained here all these years. This is his life.”
“Did he treat my parents the way he’s treating me now?”
Canaan pulled off a section of his fry bread and set it on her plate. He drizzled honey from a plastic container on the table on the other piece. “Kai has always been outspoken, but he loves the children.”
Sheila watched him take a big bite of the bread. “You didn’t answer my question, and you’re just repeating yourself. Does he pass his prejudice along to the children?”
Canaan chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed, giving her a disgruntled look. “You never broke that habit, did you?”
“Of what?”
“Asking me a question as soon as I put food in my mouth.”
“You’re doing better, though. Now, at least, you don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Canaan gave his sweetened bread a loving look, then set it back onto his plate. “Kai eats with the kids and spends a lot of his free time with them. What do you think?”
“It’s a shame he feels the way he does. The children need to learn to get along with people of every race if they’re to function in the world outside the reservation.”
Canaan nodded, picking up his bread again. “You’re right. Absolutely. Now let me eat.”
Sheila sighed and picked up her fork, faking an appetite, though she didn’t expect to fool Canaan. He seemed to remember a lot of things about her, and his memories intrigued her.
Chapter Ten
C anaan watched Sheila play with her fork, studying those long, slender fingers, remembering how those strong hands had done physical battle for him once upon a time.
She shouldn’t be here rescuing him now. As a child, she’d acquired some bruises and a couple of cuts on the playground while standing between him and the bullies. This time, worse things could happen.
She stopped fiddling with the fork and looked up at him. “Why are you frowning?”
“Was I frowning?” He took a bite of the fry bread.
“I doubt Kai’s the only one on the reservation who feels the way he does,” Sheila said, picking up on their previous conversation as if nothing had interrupted it.
Canaan shrugged.
“I’m just curious about who’s being taught to resent those with different skin,” she said. “Do all the kids have this resentment toward whites?”
Dropping the bread again, Canaan sighed and leaned back. “Of course not, but I can see both sides. I’ve been involved in arguments concerning both sides. Bigotry is a waste, and I obviously hate it more than most, but some of Kai’s opinions are valid.”
“For instance?”
He sighed and leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table and lowering his voice. This was the Sheila he remembered, but the grown-up Sheila in argument mode might prove to be a little more daunting than his young friend of days gone by.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I’m not condoning verbal abuse or prejudice. But the elders hate to see their long-held customs die away to nothing.”
“You’d be amazed how often I hear that in Branson. It isn’t just here on the reservation, Canaan. Nothing stays the same. Time changes everyone.”
“I bet you don’t hear anyone complain about the dying language of America in Branson.”
“You don’t get out much, do you?” Sheila asked. “Branson is all about tourism, and tourism, in its way, is a kind of subtle corruption of the country, with a constant influx of people from other cultures, with other languages.”
“I’m not talking about just a dying language, but a dying heritage that our people have honored throughout our history,” Canaan said. “The children in this school don’t speak the language of the Dineh anymore. The old ones tell them the old stories, which are considered fairy tales by many of the children.”
“Is Kai teaching them?”
“He tries. So do Jane and Betsy, and even my grandfather when he comes to the school, though he’s white. The children feel it’s pointless to learn a useless language or outmoded customs. They don’t honor the things their parents honored.”
“If their parents honored the language, wouldn’t they have spoken it at home?” Sheila asked. “The kids would have learned it there.”
Canaan shook his head, frustrated. “You’re not getting it, Sheila. More and more of our young people are leaving the reservation and never coming back—never giving anything back to the heritage that made them who they are. I don’t think that was Granddad’s intention when he established the reservation schools.”
“What’s changed?” she asked. “Your people have always been either stuck here on this reservation, struggling to make a living, or forced to leave their home and family traditions and join the white society.”
“In this area, especially, resentment is building over the problem.”
She set down her fork and returned his frown. “Why now? It’s been that way since long before I lived here. Besides, the Navajo nation is the largest and wealthiest Native American nation in the country.”
He shook his head, glad she’d at least kept her voice down as she revealed her ignorance so blatantly. He’d have thought Sheila, of all people, would understand. “That tells you how the others fare.”
Sheila stirred her coffee and glanced around the room. Canaan followed her gaze and caught several curious stares, some friendly, one brooding—Kai’s.
“As far as wealth is concerned,” Canaan continued, “the money doesn’t trickle down far enough—our people are as capable of greed and dishonesty as anyone else, especially since many of our ancient ways, which dealt harshly with greed, have been forgotten. We are never allowed to forget that many of us still must depend on the charity of the American government to survive.”
He felt her attention on him, and he realized he sounded obsessed. “It isn’t the same as providing for ourselves,” he said softly.
“But the Navajo are developing their resources.”
“That’s often my argument when the subject comes up. Unfortunately, others are not so optimistic. The problem isn’t recent. Much of it stems from the way our people were treated in the past.”
“The broken treaties?”
“Not that far past. I’m talking about the earlier mission schools, where kids were punished for speaking their native tongue.”
“I remember Dad talking about those schools, but he was indignant about them.”
“Then your father might be more sympathetic to our situation than you seem to be.” Canaan realized that had come out too sharply.
She ignored his slip. “How does this antiwhite attitude differ from those early mission schools? Bigotry is bigotry, no matter what side you’re on.”
“There might be a little more to it than that,” Canaan said, then shook his head and shot a quick glance toward Kai.
“He dislikes me, personally?” Sheila asked.
Canaan grimaced. “He doesn’t even know you now.”
“He remembers my parents.”
Canaan remembered overhearing Kai use some very strong words about Evelyn. Sheila didn’t need to know about those things spoken in the heat of anger.
“Did my father fight with him over something?” Sheila pressed. “Daddy has always had a quick temper, but it’s been a long time since—”
“No, Kai and your father got along okay.”
Sheila’s hazel eyes—which had always seemed capable of seeing more than she was meant to see—narrowed with interest. “My mother, then.”
Canaan brushed away
a memory. “She and Kai had their differences of opinion from time to time, but that’s not quite it, either.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Kai’s still guided by some of the beliefs with which he was raised. He knows your arrival will stir memories of your time here as a child and of your mother’s death. Her name is sure to come up.” That much was true, anyway.
“You bet it is.”
“Did you ever notice, when you were a child, that the Navajo avoid speaking the names of the dead?”
“Yes, I think I remember. But I never knew why.”
“It’s because of a fear that the spirit of the dead will overhear, and think it’s a call to return. Of course, it is believed that any lingering spirit is always evil.”
“I thought the spirit was believed to linger for only four days after death,” she said. “Not twenty-four years.”
“Well, your mother’s death is still a mystery. We had no peace about her passing.”
“You can’t possibly be saying you think my mother’s ghost is still hanging around the school, seeking revenge on someone.”
“Of course not, but I can’t deny that others might be entertaining those concerns. Your presence here will bring back her memory. Who knows what kind of trouble that could stir up.”
Sheila sat back in her chair with a sigh.
Canaan knew she might find out more about her past if she dug deeply enough, but at what cost? He’d told Granddad this was a bad idea.
Canaan finished his stew, then glanced at Sheila’s untouched tray and felt immediately contrite. “Here I am depressing you.”
Sheila grimaced. “If you meant to put me on a guilt trip, that was a good send-off.”
“Why should you feel guilty?”
“I’m white. Isn’t it understood in this country that white Americans must pay for all the nasty acts of their ancestors?”
Canaan leaned closer. “Unfortunately, your…whiteness might have been part of Tanya’s problem this afternoon.”
“You don’t say,” Sheila drawled.
“But that wasn’t all.”
“Back to the dog again? I promise to talk to Doc as soon as I see him—”
“Yes, I think Moonlight’s death upset her most of all. She’ll get over it. She’s a loving, forgiving child, and I know she’s curious about you, even though she’s struggling with ingrained family prejudice.” He took his fork and speared a chunk of mutton from Sheila’s untouched bowl of stew.
Typically, most people under a great deal of pressure lose their appetites, but he seemed to have an iron stomach.
“Mind telling me again how you came to have that blowout on the road?” he asked.
Her eyes narrowed. “The story hasn’t changed, Canaan.”
“You’re talking about a dog disappearing in a puff of smoke, which distracted you and caused you to run off the road and hit a rock. Or you’re considering the possibility that there might have been two dogs.”
She nodded, wincing at his tone. “Crazy as it sounds.”
“What about the sun’s glare?” he asked. “That glare was bad today. What if the dog you saw was a reflection? Moonlight could have been to the right of your Jeep, but her reflection in the window could have doubled, making you think you saw her to your left.”
“Or what if I’m lying to you? Or what if this is another dream I’m having, and I’ll wake up with you pounding on my door, insisting it’s dinnertime.”
He sighed. “It doesn’t hurt to consider other possibilities.”
“Any more up your sleeve?”
“I heard a report from a delivery guy, Charlie, who comes through here twice a week.”
She groaned. “Oh, great, you’re really serious about this. So tell me what the delivery guy saw.”
“He said he saw a tan-colored Jeep weaving all over the road before stopping at the side of the road.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Did he see the dog?”
“He didn’t mention it, and he was coming from the other direction, possibly too far away.” He hesitated. Stared down into the stew. Hesitated some more.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Do you drink?” He had to ask for the sake of thoroughness.
She blinked, obviously irritated now. “All the time. I drink water, milk, lemonade—”
“Were you drinking liquor this afternoon?”
She glared at him. “Did you smell any on my breath?”
He winced inwardly, hating this conversation. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, and I’m not trying to give you a hard time, but Charlie did—”
“Yes, I know, Charlie saw me weaving all over the road like a drunk.” She glanced around, then leaned closer. “Why couldn’t the jerk have come to see if I was okay, instead of tattling to my boss and causing me more trouble?” she asked more softly.
“I didn’t ask him that.”
“No, Canaan, I was not drunk this afternoon—you didn’t smell anything on my breath. Did I act drunk when you talked to me? And no, I don’t do—” She broke off, obviously aware that her rising voice had attracted the attention of several of the diners around them. “I don’t do drugs. Feel free to do an alcohol or drug test on me anytime, but I’d better see everybody else taking the same test. You have no reason to accuse me—”
“Would you please keep your voice down?”
She closed her mouth again.
“Look, I didn’t ask to be interim principal, and I know I’m not doing a very good job of this, but give me a break, will you? I’m doing the best I can.”
“Well, I could have done without this lovely dinner tonight.” To his surprise, her voice softened, and he recognized a dry humor deep in her eyes. “My driving skills may be in question, but there’s no reason to suspect me of anything else. Fortunately for this school and for my career as a nurse here, my job does not include driving. Are you this nosy all the time? With everybody?”
“I’m not being—”
“Oh, yeah, I remember now.” Her voice dropped a few decibels. “You always were curious about everybody else’s business.”
“I was concerned.” He tried to scowl at her, but somehow he couldn’t put his heart into it. He was remembering an incident when they were kids on the playground, fighting over a ball. She had won the argument; he had given in first. Then she gave him the ball. She wasn’t afraid of a fight. In fact, she seemed to love a good one. But she never held resentment. She forgave easily.
Two more people entered the cafeteria, and Canaan glanced toward the door. “Here come Doc and Tanya.”
“Right. I guess I’d better get ready for round two,” Sheila muttered. “Tell me what grade Tanya is in.”
Canaan watched Tanya for a moment, saw the nervous darting of her gaze, the tightness of her arms folded over her chest, the way her black hair fell into her face. “She’s in seventh grade, but for some reason she had trouble in school last year and has been taking the remedial reading class. She’s twelve going on eighteen, and very bright.”
As Doc went through the serving line, Tanya’s gaze reached Canaan. She nibbled her lower lip when she saw Sheila beside him. Instead of picking up a tray, she left Doc and wove her way around the tables to Canaan and Sheila.
She stopped beside Canaan, her brown arms still crossed, an expressive, dark brow lifted as if in summons.
“You promised.”
“There’s time yet,” Canaan said. “There’s no reason to be impolite.”
“It’s dark, Canaan, and you promised to…” She glanced at Sheila, stuck her chin out, and continued, “…to exorcise the dorm.”
Sheila audibly swallowed a gasp.
Canaan avoided looking at her. She must think he was a madman.
Chapter Eleven
S heila was dreaming. That had to be it. Her earlier suggestion that she would soon wake to hear Canaan announcing dinner was the most likely reason for all this craziness.
Exorcisms? Accusations that Sheila was drunk th
is afternoon? If this wasn’t a dream, she was going to sock somebody soon. Preferably Canaan.
Canaan’s voice registered. “Tanya, I did not say I would exorcise the dorm, I told you I would teach you the prayers I learned as a child to keep away the spirits that are frightening you.”
“Spirits?” Sheila echoed. Definitely a dream.
Tanya shot a glance her way, her expression noticeably lacking in rancor, given her reaction to Sheila earlier. There was room for only fear in the girl’s eyes.
When Doc reached the table, Canaan picked up his tray and stood. “Excuse us for a few minutes, Doc. Tanya and I are going to her dorm for a little bit.”
“Fine, stay as long as you need. Going to bless the rooms? The buildings could probably all use a good blessing. Need me to come? I know where Bob kept the anointing oil.”
“No, we won’t be long.”
Doc’s plastic tray clattered on the table as he set it where Canaan’s had been and took his seat. His gaze rested warmly on Sheila, and his hand reached out to cover hers with a reassuring pat. Then, like Canaan, he bowed his head, but he did not pray aloud.
Seconds later, sensing Sheila’s attention, he looked up at her. “You look sick. If you’re going to throw up, don’t do it on me.”
“Exorcism?”
Understanding dawned in his black eyes. “The prayers? That’s no exorcism, whatever Tanya calls it. It’s just Canaan’s way of easing the minds of the kids who’ve told each other too many scary stories.” He picked up his coffee cup and took a long swallow, then winced, making a face at the apparent heat. “Tanya’s got an active imagination.”
“So the kids believe Canaan’s some kind of ghost-buster?”
Doc put his cup down. “Don’t believe in ghosts, huh?”
Sheila didn’t want to go there. “Why do the children believe in them?”
“Because they’re kids.” He paused, glancing around at the other diners. “Didn’t you believe in monsters when you were a child?”
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