Gwen went to the kitchen and brought out coffee while her husband deliberated over the items. After a while, Denny settled back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling as if he were choosing his words carefully. “Pretty impressive, I have to admit.”
I couldn’t hold back anymore. “What's impressive? What kind of stuff is this?” I sounded like Tru, even to myself. I jammed my shaking hands into my jeans’ pockets.
Denny shifted toward me. “Rubin's told me some about the neighbor. He's trying to buy you both out?”
Rubin and I nodded. Rubin added, “Linc Jackson has never cared a whit for that land or the creek. For a while we thought he planned to build a golf course or a resort, but then he took off. Just like that. He was gone for years.”
“Four years, eleven months to be exact,” I said. “Just shy of the time when his water rights would have expired.” Gwen's coffee was delicious, but I’d already drunk too much that day. I could barely control my jitters. “Only Linc wasn’t intent on taking water.”
Denny looked directly at me. “Your dad—he was half Nez Perce, right?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “From what he wrote in here, I think he knew what he’d found. A Warm Springs burial site, that's definite.”
I pointed to the heart-shaped stone. “What about this? I’m not sure if it's an implement or just a funny-looking rock.”
Dennis held the rock. “We’d have to date it, but I can tell you that this is more than just ‘funny-looking.’ The stone has marks that tell me they didn’t occur naturally. Maybe some type of hoe or ax.”
Rubin glanced at me. “You’ve got a good eye,” he said. “I’ll have to take you prospecting.”
Denny held up the arrowhead. “This piece, especially,” he said. “See the way it's made?”
Prickles rose on my neck. “Is it obsidian?”
Denny shook his head. “This piece is a burgundy chert blade.”
“Chert?”
“It's a form of silica,” Denny explained patiently. “See how fine the flakes are knapped?” We all took turns examining the arrowhead. Denny ran his fingers across its base. “Nice basal thinning,” he said. “A fine specimen.”
Gwen laughed. “You lost me. I’ll stick to glassblowing.”
I could have listened all night. “No wonder my father was so protective of the creek.”
Rubin leaned back on the sofa. “And why Linc's bent on taking over the area.”
Denny smiled faintly. “Like I said, it’ll need testing, but it may pre-date the Northwest tribes altogether—might even be Solutrean or pre-Clovis.”
Rubin stared at me. “Pre-Clovis?”
My heart nearly pounded out of my chest.
It was one of the saddest good-byes I’d ever faced. I hadn’t located my runaway daughter, and I’d rediscovered some ugly things about my ex-husband. But I’d also found Denny and Gwen, who sent us off with a hamper of fruits and multi-grain bread for the trip home.
They hugged us both, and then Gwen pulled a small object wrapped in tissue paper from her jacket pocket. She held it out to me.
“For you, Muri,” she said, unwrapping a small figurine. The same peach-colored blown glass angel I’d noticed in the foyer glittered in her hand.
I took it from her carefully. The angel's spun glass wings caught the glint from the porch light. “Thank you,” I said, unable to think of anything else to say.
“We thought you needed an angel.” Gwen said. “I’ll wrap it so it doesn’t break.” She went inside and quickly returned with some of that plastic bubble wrap the kids love to pop. She gently packed the angel, and I tucked it into my bag, careful not to let it rest against the heart stone. We said our good-byes, and the couple stayed on the porch until we rounded the corner. If there really were angels running around on earth, I could say I’d met some pretty awesome examples.
20
The tires hummed on the grooved pavement as we headed back to Murkee. The freeways were packed with travelers, and Rubin's truck was swept along like a can of tuna on a crowded conveyor belt. All I could think about was how alone I felt.
Loss has such a curious way of turning things upside down. One moment I believed Nova would return safely; the next I was sure my heart wouldn’t last another minute unless she appeared. I rested my head on the back of the seat and counted what blessings I could think of.
We left the rain far behind, and the desert sunshine felt welcome. The sky was that dazzling fall blue, with only a few distant clouds, the kind of spectacular panorama they photograph for travel magazines. The juniper, sage, and scrubby pines looked as comforting and familiar as the red earth that surrounded us. Even the wind wasn’t blowing as fiercely as I remembered. As we drew closer to Murkee a hawk swooped out of the late afternoon shadows and plummeted out of the sky. Its talons grabbed at something but missed.
I imagined my father whispering to me, dispensing hope as he reminded me how much he loved me. The father I’d once foolishly believed was a real angel now seemed to reach out to me, assuring me that an everlasting and loving Father awaited me, if only I’d allow Him in. I’d teetered on the edge of falling apart since Nova's disappearance. I couldn’t tell if this daydream was a genuine invitation from God or another slice of craziness from a despairing mother. I looked over at Rubin and smiled.
“Thanks for going to Portland with me,” I said. It was the first thing I’d said in a while.
Rubin rested his arm on the top of the bench seat. “I’m sorry we didn’t find Nova.”
I shrugged, holding back tears. “She’ll come back. I’ve got to believe that.”
“Anything I can do, just name it.”
I smiled. “Friends like you and Denny and Gwen help.”
“Friends, sure,” he said, “but I’ve said before I wish we could be more than just friends.” He squeezed my hand.
“And I said I’ll let you know.” I smiled to take away the sting of my words.
I was more determined than ever to find my daughter. I wasn’t giving up on Nova or anyone else I loved. I think Joseph Pond would have wanted it that way.
As we drove across the creek the oven-door fence grinned like a Halloween pumpkin, and my life tumbled back at me. Lutie and Tiny and Tru and Jim spilled out the trailer door to greet us.
When I got out of the truck Tru's hug warmed me all over. “Mom!” he cried. I broke down at the sound of Tru's still child-pitched voice. He looked up at me through his glasses. He needed a haircut; I’d meant to take care of it before we left. A wordless sob held my throat. I tousled his hair, which he usually hated; but today he didn’t complain. Then he looked into the cab. “You didn’t find her?” His expression turned to disappointment. He leaned down to stroke Jim's ears.
“Not yet, but we’re still on it, guy.” Rubin stood beside me.
I felt as if I were Jack, explaining how I’d sold the cow for a handful of magic beans.
Tru had questions. “Is Nova going to get on America's Most Wanted?”
“She's not a criminal, honey. But don’t worry, we’ll find her.”
“Mom, school starts next week, I don’t even have gym shoes.”
“I’m sure she’ll be back before that,” I said, hoping all of this would be history by then.
“I really, really, really need new Nikes.” Tru was nine, all right.
“Oh, Lord, child,” Lutie said, coming out of the screen door. She wore navy blue slacks and a pocketed smock today, as well as one of the crocheted baseball caps. Her wiry arms enfolded each of us in one of her sweet-smelling hugs. Tiny stepped up next, still limping a bit, and hugged us both too.
“Doc, your place has been hopping since you left,” Tiny said, leaning against the hood of Rubin's truck. If not for those red suspenders his pants surely would have fallen down by now. “Them emus are mean as junkyard dogs. That's what that kid you hired says.” Tiny laughed, a deep rumbling sound that made me feel secure. “He told me he definitely he will not specialize in birds.” Tiny explained
that several emus had escaped their pen.
“I believe it,” Rubin said. “I’d better get over there to see what the damage is. No telling what else has gone wrong.” He turned to me. “You’ll be okay?”
“Of course, she will,” Lutie said. “Tiny and Tru here will bring your bags. C’mon honey, we’ll get you some iced tea.”
“I’ll check in with you later,” Rubin said.
But he didn’t come around much over the next few days, saying he had a lot of things to catch up on. I believed him, but it felt like someone had taken away my safety net, especially late at night when I needed support. Perhaps I’d become too quickly accustomed to having a man around again. Either way, it was unnerving.
No word came from Nova, but I received plenty of calls from the neighbors, passing along rumors and unsolicited advice. I even got a call from Dove down at the Mucky-Muck.
“Good grief, Muri, I’m sorry,” she said. Here and there her scratchy voice was broken by a smoker's cough, but her words were soft. “Haven’t held a town meeting in a blue moon until this past weekend. When I opened this morning, the back room was an awful mess.”
“A mess? What happened?” I imagined that people had left the periodicals strewn about again or that kids had tipped over the book cart.
She coughed a long spell. I thought it sounded like bronchitis. “Excuse me. Got to quit those cancer sticks. I mean everything is just about ruined in there. Somebody threw books and magazines all over the floor, and half of it's wet. Smells like a brewery too. I’m just sick about it.”
“I’ll be over right away.”
I got Tiny to drive me into town. The clutch on that heap was perpetually cranky, and his sore foot must have hurt to work the pedal. But he was glad to help, he said, and didn’t complain.
“In fact,” he said, grinding the gearshift into third, “it might be a good thing if I go down with you to Dove's place. After what's gone on with Linc, I worry about you a little.” He stared straight ahead as we jounced along the road.
“Thanks,” I said. I wanted to say something about how wonderful it was to have a family. Nobody had ever fussed over me this way. “That sun porch is looking so good, Uncle Tiny.”
“You think?”
“I think.”
He smiled at me through the black shock of hair that had fallen across one eye. Tiny had tuned into a Mexican station, and the mariachis rang out of the static-filled radio. I understood little but sensed it was a song full of life.
When we walked into the Mucky-Muck, the place was nearly empty. The after-church crowd had emptied out, and Dove was stuffing napkin dispensers. I’d been here long enough to learn her system by now. Next she would work on refilling the condiment bottles unless she had a customer. You could hear clattering in the kitchen, but I’d never seen the restaurant so deserted.
“Where is everybody?” I asked, dreading the answer. If Linc had been shooting off his mouth about me again, the regulars might be avoiding the café on account of me.
“Oh, most everyone's over at the rodeo in Prineville,” Dove said. “Little Crystal Campbell's a ranked barrel racer, and half the town went out to see her.” She looked away from me and coughed into her elbow. “Come on, and I’ll show you the damage.”
The stench of stale beer rushed out when she opened the door to the back room. The Murkee Library was in shambles. Dove laid a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m real sorry about this, Muri. You worked your behind off getting all this together.”
Tiny walked up behind me. “Hoo-wee, smells like a beer bust in here.”
Dove frowned. “Like I said, they held a town meeting last night—first one in six months.”
I held my hand across my nose and mouth and fanned the air. “Town meetings always this rowdy around here?” I asked. Muddy cowboy boot prints crisscrossed the room.
Dove stared at the floor. “Linc had a lot to say about you and Doc Rubin last night,” she said. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You wouldn’t really keep folks from using that creek, would you?”
I kneeled to pick up a soggy copy of National Geographic. “Of course not,” I said. “In fact, my father offered to let Linc build a slough over to his place. Linc's not happy because Rubin and I won’t sell out to him.”
“That's not how Linc sees it, honey.”
“So he gets people worked up about something he started?” I said.
“I’ll get a mop.” Dove left me alone with the footprints and ruined books.
I was tempted to sit down and do nothing. Instead, I picked up a droopy edition of David Copperfield. I’d bought this book in college. It still had my name written in the corner of the title page. In addition to being soaked through with beer, the pages had been slashed and gouged with something sharp. The entire scene reminded me of the morning after a college keg party.
Dove returned, hauling a mop and bucket, and scooted the trash barrel closer to me. “Toss the ones you can’t save in here, and then we’ll clean up this floor. Ugh, I hate walking on sticky stuff, don’t you?” She pushed the wet mop across the linoleum.
“Think someone's sending me a message?” I asked.
She stopped the mop in midstroke and looked at me. “Linc Jackson owns this place,” she said. “And what Linc says, goes. That's all I can tell you.” She scrubbed at a stubborn spot, and her upper arms swished against her uniform. “Listen, honey, I might as well be honest here. The library idea was great. It really brought in the customers.”
“People seemed so excited. Rhonda Gaye has even started some kind of ‘romance of the week’ group.”
Dove gave me a pitiful look, one that reminded me of the expression she wore the first time she met Nova. All that seemed like a hundred years ago now.
“I know,” she continued. “Like I said, the library idea was great. But if you’re going head-to-head with Linc Jackson, let's put it this way … he might run me out, too, for hiring you. And I’m too old to start over.”
“Are you asking me to leave?” I tossed a stack of sodden magazines that thudded into the trash barrel.
“Wish I could say different,” Dove said. “I can probably give you a few hours in the cafe. You can work the counter. I know you got a family to support.” She leaned the mop against the sign on the door that said WELCOME TO MURKEE PUBLIC LIBRARY. “Got to get back out front,” she said. “Lock up when you’re done, will you?” The crepe soles of her white waitress shoes squeaked as she headed back to her salt-shakers and squeeze bottles.
I gathered what I could from the floor and draped some of the less damaged books and magazines over the backs of chairs. It would take hours to straighten out the mess, if it could be salvaged at all. Despite the fact that I’d been ordered to leave, I arranged the 1979 World Book Encyclopedias in alphabetical order and returned them to their shelf, all except for the “M” volume, which had several pages ripped from its middle. Later I would mend it with tape, glue its spine back in place, and it might function again. I wasn’t as sure if I would be so lucky.
21
Luck wasn’t something I’d come to treasure. At the high school where I’d kept watch over the library, there were always kids who had no place to go, or else what they called home was choked off with abuse of one sort or another. You tried to help the ones you could. Those students, whose names I couldn’t remember, still haunted me with faces I could never forget. So-called luck had dealt me the roles of mother of missing children, protector of a Native burial site, and librarian of unreadable books.
What luck didn’t know about me was that I wouldn’t give up. Lutie said the devil ruled luck, that there was really no such thing, and it was just old Beelzebub dancing on your soul. I didn’t know about that, but I was fed up with everything.
The next day was Labor Day. Since the café was closed, Lutie and I came back to clean up the library and save what was possible. The stink of the spilled beer no longer overwhelmed us, but the comic books that the kids loved were a pu
lpy mess. Spiderman, Batman, and The Hulk were totaled, so we tossed them all in the trash. But I refused to part with my C. S. Lewis books; I didn’t care how badly The Chronicles of Narnia reeked of hops and yeast.
Lutie pitched another magazine toward the trash. “A person who’d do this is sick, just downright sick.” She stopped for a moment, held her rubber-gloved hands up in fists. “And I’d punch that old coot again, as God is my witness.”
“I’m sure you would,” I said. I went over the floor with the mop again, this time with pine cleaner. “But then he might do something worse.” I scrubbed harder, and my hair snaked loose from where I’d twisted it up.
“Well I know one thing,” she said, “Joseph wouldn’t have stood still for any of this. He didn’t care if Linc needed our water to refill the oceans, which he didn’t. My brother wasn’t letting the likes of that mean old mule sell us all down the river. I wish he were here for you too.”
I stopped mopping and stared at Lutie. My heart thudded against my chest like a load of those ancient encyclopedias hitting the floor, and I could barely speak. Before I knew it, I’d crumpled.
“All my life I dreamed about finding him, but I’m too late. And now I don’t know what to do,” I sobbed.
Instead of handing out a simple answer, Lutie turned over an empty five-gallon bucket and sat down. Her scrawny legs stuck out from her long denim skirt like a schoolgirl's, and she hiked the skirt up to her knees before she pulled me down and folded me into her arms. “Sh, now,” Lutie whispered. “Sweet Jesus, comfort your baby girl.”
I pulled away and stood up, swiping at my tears. “Jesus never helped me when I used to cry for my daddy, and he isn’t going to help me now.”
“I know you’re hurting.” Lutie stood up and closed the door to the room, then sat and arranged herself on the bucket once more. She leaned toward me. “Won’t you let him ease your burden?”
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