by Mark Reps
“Good lord.”
“Then poor ol’ Delbert fell to the floor and started spasmin’ all over the place like he was having a fit or a whatcha’ call it?”
“Seizure?”
“Yeah, a seizure. She panicked and called the sheriff’s department. When the night gal couldn’t get no one to answer at the ambulance place, she called my place. I guess she knows Zeb stays there once in a while these days. Zeb got the message, and we high-tailed it over there and dragged the big lug to the car. When we got down here, they had to call Doc Yackley and get him over here STAT, that means fast.”
Jake walked to the nurse’s station. He told Nurse Jill he knew what was going on. She still would not allow him into the room but agreed to walk back there and get an update. She returned with a somber expression on her face.
“Doc will be right out to talk with you.”
Before Jake had a chance to respond, Doc Yackley and Zeb came walking down the hallway.
“Doc, I don’t like the look on your face. How serious is it?”
“I thought it was acute food poisoning, but it might be something else. I’m not exactly sure what it is.”
“What makes you think it’s something else?” asked Jake.
“He vomited, but I pumped his stomach anyway. What came out looked like carrots, meat of some kind and some beer.”
“I’m sure Zeb told you we had dinner with Delbert last night. He had some carrots, a hamburger, a couple of beers and maybe one small bite of parsnips.”
“What do you mean, maybe one small bite of parsnips?” asked Doc.
“He took a bite of parsnips, chewed it a bit, then spit it out. From the look on his face you could sure tell he didn’t like the taste of it.”
“Did you eat the same thing?” asked the Doc, pulling a pipe from his pocket.
“Pretty much. I wasn’t real hungry.”
“How about the beer?”
“I haven’t had a drink in a few years, Doc. I don’t intend to start now.”
“I had one,” said Zeb.
“Was the beer home brew?”
“Nope. From a bottle. Store bought.”
“Well, I’m going to watch him today. He’s having some trouble breathing. I’m going to keep him in the hospital so I can keep an eye on him.”
“What do you mean he’s havin’ some trouble breathing?” asked a distraught Doreen.
“Sometimes when people convulse like he did, their breathing apparatus goes into spasm, and it makes it difficult for them to breathe. I suspect that’s what’s going on with him now.”
“When will you know for certain?”
“If it’s food poisoning, he should be improving by this afternoon.”
“And if it ain’t?”
“Then we’ll do some more tests. We’re doing everything we can right now.”
“Why don’t you try and go about your normal routine. People around the Town Talk must be wondering where you are.”
“Oh, my God. I plumb forgot about work,” said Doreen. “Hon’, can you get me over there pronto?”
“Sure thing.”
“I’ll call Zeb with an update. There’s nothing any of you can do for him right now. He doesn’t need to get excited. He needs to lie still and take it easy. That’s the best way for this thing to pass,” said Doc.
“Mind if I stick my nose in?” asked Jake.
“He’s got some tubes in him to help him breathe. I gave him some medication to make him relax. He’s almost asleep. You can go in for a minute.”
Turning the corner into the hospital’s emergency treatment room, Jake eyed Delbert, full of plastic tubes and hooked up to machines, barely alert.
“He looks like the swill in the bottom of a slop bucket, doesn’t he, Doc? Jesus, he looks terrible.”
“His fences could use some mending, that’s for sure. We’re going to have to give him some time.”
“He’s not going to die, is he, Doc?”
“I know he doesn’t look his best right now.”
“Take care of him, Doc. He’s a good boy.”
Doc Yackley lowered his voice and spoke seriously to Jake.
“I didn’t want to say this in front of Doreen. I’m going to have him taken to Tucson by ambulance if he’s not improving in the next hour. I don’t have any choice. He’s having a heck of a time breathing. I don’t have the equipment or the personnel to handle it. He needs to be watched around the clock. He’ll be better off up there.”
“That’s not good at all, is it?” asked Jake.
“Now you understand why I didn’t say anything in front of Doreen.”
An hour later an unconscious Deputy Funke was loaded onto a gurney for transport to the Carondelet Neurological Institute in Tucson.
Chapter Fourteen
“Deputy Steele, you have a call on line one from Eskadi Black Robes.”
The curtness of Helen Nazelrod’s voice cut like a knife.
“Thank you, Helen. I’ll take it in here.”
The secretary’s dislike of Eskadi Black Robes related to his direct order to keep Mormon missionaries off of the reservation. She considered this a slap in the face to her faith.
“Hello, Eskadi”
“Hon-dah, Son-ee-ah-ray.”
Kate felt a warm flush on her face and a flutter in her heart as Eskadi greeted her by her newly acquired Apache name.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“I’d like to say it’s a pleasure, but actually it’s business. It’s about Beulah Trees.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, but I think you’re going to want to talk with her.”
“What about?”
“Those foreclosure papers you served on her.”
“Did you talk her into changing her mind about trying to get the land back?”
“No. I wish I could. But, on that particular issue, I must respect her wishes.”
“What is it then?”
“Beulah remembered something she had forgotten to tell me. Actually, I don’t know if she forgot it or just thought it wasn’t important. It came to her the night Song Bird told the story of Mount Graham.”
Kate felt the tingle that comes with awareness shoot up her spine. That night was also the night she first felt love in her heart for Eskadi. Kate swiveled in her chair turning toward the painting on the wall behind her desk, a gift from Eskadi long before he cast his spell upon her.
“Do you think I should talk with Beulah personally?”
“I know she trusts you. I think you can get the best information from talking with her face to face.”
“Would you want to come along?”
“I was waiting for an invitation,” laughed Eskadi.
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
The ride out to the reservation passed quickly. Kate divided her time mulling over the potential information Beulah might have and daydreaming about Eskadi.
Eskadi was standing near a mesquite tree talking to some men when she arrived. The men smiled and waved to her. One old man slapped Eskadi on the back as he headed toward her car.
“George Two Fingers and Fergus Sneezie don’t understand why a woman would want to be a deputy sheriff. They think it’s a man’s job. You’re a bit of a conundrum in their eyes.”
“I trust you defended my honor.”
“I told them if they thought they could do a better job than you, they should apply for the position. Mostly they think you’re too pretty to be a deputy sheriff.”
“I’m flattered,” said Kate. “But I am also on the clock. Let’s go.”
The road to Beulah’s house was lined with hard, deep ruts. Kate had to swerve to avoid large boulders that jutted ominously in the middle of the road every thirty or forty feet.
“What’s with all these oddly placed stones? Why doesn’t someone move them?”
“I asked Beulah that very question.”
“And?”
“She told
me I had filled my head with too much education. She said she was damn sorry she voted for such a stupid man as me to be the tribal chairman.”
“Was she serious?”
“Partially. She said the Gods put them there for a reason. She scolded me for thinking that I knew how to handle something the Gods had created.”
Kate looked toward Eskadi who shrugged and smiled impishly.
“Pull over by that mesquite tree and we’ll walk down the trail. It’s easier than driving.”
A gently sloped pathway led to a run-down, tar-paper shack shaded by a dense overgrowth of trees whose lower branches scraped the ground. Beulah was sitting out front in a homemade rocking chair, fanning herself as they arrived. Eskadi hailed her from a distance, properly waiting for the traditional permission to move on to her property.
“Hello, Mrs. Trees.”
“I heard the two of you plodding down the trail. One man with hard-soled shoes. One woman walking in man’s boots,” remarked Beulah.
“Hello, Mrs. Trees,” said Kate.
The deep crevasses in the ancient face of the old woman softened as their eyes connected.
“It always makes me happy to see the face of a young woman in love. It refreshes my energy.”
Kate looked toward Eskadi who signaled with a slight shake of the head that meant he had said nothing to Beulah about the two of them.
“No one had to tell me, dearie.”
Beulah peered over the top of her bifocals.
“An aura is an aura. It glows like a halo. Either you see it or you don’t. It’s something you cannot hide from an old lady like me. Please come into my house. We’ll make some tea.”
Mrs. Trees’ house, furnished with little more than a bed, a chair and a few cooking utensils, spoke directly to the reservation poverty Eskadi was working to change. The only decorations were a dozen yellowing photographs thumbtacked to the wall.
“You like those pictures?” she asked.
“Yes. They’re lovely,” replied Kate.
“Those pictures on the left are me and my sisters. They were taken by the first White man to come this way. I mean the first White man with a camera in his hand instead of a gun. I know that sounds shocking to a young person like you, but that’s how times were. Now things are changing. Everybody comes with a camera.”
Kate smiled broadly at the old woman’s observation.
“You’ve got a good sense of humor,” said Beulah. “You should teach that young man of yours it is okay to laugh. For a young feller, he is a little too much about business.”
“I’ll work on him, Mrs. Trees.”
“The two old people in the middle, those are my parents.”
Kate looked at the handsome couple who bore the sternest of looks on their faces.
“Nobody knew how to smile for a picture in those days. Getting shot by a camera was almost as serious as getting shot at by a gun.”
Beulah chuckled. Her sense of humor was lost on these young love birds.
“I’ve heard that in the old days Indians, uh, Native Americans, were afraid that if they were photographed their spirit might get captured,” said Kate.
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” replied Beulah. “White people will say just about anything to make the Apache people look superstitious and backwards. And, by the way, I am an Indian, an Apache. I suppose young people like to be called Native Americans.”
“First Americans,” added Eskadi.
Beulah hesitated for a moment. “Eskadi, you are a nice boy, nice young man, but your fire is misdirected sometimes.” Her words silenced the room.
Kate eased the temporary awkwardness by pointing to a picture of a young man dressed in full Apache regalia standing next to a dappled horse.
“Who’s this handsome young man?”
“It’s the same man in the next picture. Here, look closer.”
Kate and Eskadi leaned forward in the dimly lit shack to see a picture of the same young man wearing an old-fashioned looking military uniform.
“That is Standing Trees. He was going to be my husband. We never married.”
Mrs. Trees’ aged hands trembled slightly as she poured tea.
“Why didn’t you marry him?”
“He went away to fight the White man’s war. He never came back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s strange how life can be. Standing Trees’ father was an Apache warrior who was killed in battle against the White man. Then not so many years later Standing Trees died fighting for the White man against other White men. All that fighting and dying. And what for?”
Beulah took the picture down off the wall. Softly she rubbed a wrinkled finger across the young warrior’s face.
“I married him in my heart. I took his name for my own. Not once did I ever look for another man to be my husband. I had room for only one in my heart.”
“That’s a beautiful love story, Mrs. Trees.”
“Yes it is, but you didn’t come here to listen to an old woman remember the way things used to be, now did you?”
“Well, we, uh,” began Eskadi.
“Oh never you mind, young man. I won’t keep you any longer with my old stories. Besides, if I tell you all of them today, you might not come back to see me another day.”
“Oh, we will be back to see you. You can count on that,” reassured Kate.
The promise of future company brought a smile to the semi-toothless grin of Beulah Trees.
“Now, I don’t want the two of you to think I’m losing my marbles…”
“We don’t think that at all, Mrs. Trees.”
“You can call me Beulah.”
“Beulah.”
An air of serenity overcame Beulah as Kate spoke her name.
“It’s always refreshing to hear a young person say your name,” said Beulah. “Now, this is what I said to Eskadi, but he insisted I tell you directly. About a year ago…it was more than a year because it was in the springtime…two White men came to my house. They asked if I could use some extra money. Right away I knew something was up. Why would White men come to an old Indian woman like me and want to give me money? What do they think? That I was born yesterday?”
The hundred-year-old woman glanced over the top of her glasses to see if her visitors had caught the sly reference to her old age.
“You can laugh. There’s nothing wrong with being old. It isn’t exactly something you can hide from. These two White men wanted to give me some money for land they said I owned on Mount Graham. It was a lot of money. Three thousand dollars, I think that’s what they said.”
“Why didn’t you take it?”
“Don’t you know anything about the Ga’an? Didn’t you listen to Song Bird the other night? No one can buy, sell or own land on the Ga’an home. Who is so foolish to think that way?”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them it wasn’t for sale because no one could rightfully own it.”
“Beulah, tell Kate what you told me about the two men.”
“One of the men was a priest, the priest who came to the reservation once in a while.”
“Was it Father McNamara?” asked Kate.
“I don’t remember what he said his name was.”
“Tell her about the other man, too,” urged Eskadi.
“Eskadi Black Robes, you might be the tribal chairman, but you should know better than to hurry an old woman.”
“I apologize,” said Eskadi.
“Now, as I was saying. The other man is the reason it came back to my mind at all. I saw him at the tribal gathering.”
Kate’s mind focused back to that night. She’d seen only three White men at the reservation gathering. Jake Dablo, Sheriff Hanks and Dr. Bede, the scientist who was doing some government work up on Mount Graham.
“Beulah, do you remember what the other man looked like?”
“All of those White men look pretty much the same to me, and I don’t see so good anymore.”
/> “Can you tell me if he was tall or short?” asked Kate.
“He was just a little man. Short, like me. I know because he walked right next to me. He had a crooked back, and he had big thick glasses. I think he would be blind without them. If you ask me, he is a White man without a healthy spirit. He may even have a very sick spirit.”
“What did he do that made you think that?”
“He didn’t have to do anything. Even with my bad vision I could see his eyes didn’t lead to his heart.”
Beulah reached over and touched Kate’s face, rubbing it gently.
“You come and visit with this old woman again. I would like that very much, Morning Star.”
“Of course I will.”
“And you, mister big shot, you take care of this woman and you might find that she will take care of you. Besides, a man with a great big brain like yours needs to keep his feet on the earth once in a while. Children, there is nothing more humbling than love.”
“Good-bye old woman,” said Eskadi. “Thank you for the advice.”
The desert glistened in the midday sun as Eskadi and Kate walked hand in hand up the path.
“What do you think of Beulah?”
“She has an angelic spirit,” replied Kate.
“What do you make of her story about Father McNamara?”
“I’m not quite sure, but I know who may be able to enlighten me.”
“Jake Dablo?” asked Eskadi.
“Exactly. I heard him talking with Sheriff Hanks about land up on the mountain the Catholic Church was buying. And Deputy Funke told me before he got sick that the sheriff asked him to poke around and see what he could find out from Father McNamara’s housekeeper.”
“What was he looking for from her?” asked Eskadi.
“Delbert said the sheriff wanted to know if the housekeeper had heard anything about the church buying land up on Mount Graham.”
“There’s some kind of funny business going on,” said Eskadi.
“Please tell me you’ve got some specifics.”
“You’re talking to the right guy. After you delivered Beulah’s foreclosure, I began snooping around. It didn’t seem reasonable to me that a big law firm from Phoenix was handling such a small potatoes type of deal. The legal fees for such a tiny land sale couldn’t amount to peanuts. So I went to Farrell’s office and had a little chat with his secretary.”