A Man Without a Wife

by Beverly Bird

  She gave the director a hard look. This wasn’t a time to pull any punches.

  “You’re forgetting that I help out here on a voluntary basis. I’m not an employee you can order about, and neither can Dallas Lazo. You can’t force me.”

  Barbara sighed. “No, I can’t. But I can appeal to your heart.”

  “Maybe I don’t have one,” Ellen muttered.

  Barbara gave a thin smile. “That I won’t believe. I’ve seen you with our children.”

  Ellen ran a hand through her hair. She noticed almost distractedly that it trembled. “How about a compromise?”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as I need to speak to Uncle Ernie first.”

  Barbara’s eyes widened. “That...that miscreant who tried to touch my bosom?”

  A smile tickled the corner of Ellen’s mouth in spite of herself. “I can assure you that he wasn’t after your bosom. But yes, that’s who I mean.”

  “What does he have to do with this situation? I don’t believe we need him involved in this Bosque Redondo visit, do we?”

  “No, but we need him involved with Ricky. I’m not sure it’s in the child’s best interests to continue with these visitations, Barbara, not after that vandalism.”

  “You’re speaking of the warning about staying away from the reservation?”

  Ellen grabbed her spare purse from the arm of the chair and nodded, then she scowled. Every time she looked at the damned thing she thought of her other purse, the one in Dallas Lazo’s possession because she had been too much of a coward to go back into his motel room and get it. She supposed she had proven him wrong on that point. She was a coward—some things were just meant to cause fear, she thought. Like wolfmen. And men who aroused you whether you wanted it or not.

  “Hold your guns and let me think about this,” she said tightly. “I’ll call you tomorrow and give you my decision.”

  “Bosque Redondo isn’t on the reservation,” Barbara said. “I truly don’t believe we’d be putting Ricky in any danger.”

  Ellen shot her a dark look. “That’s because you wouldn’t know a wolfman from a bunny rabbit,” she said sarcastically. “Some people might think it’s close enough.”

  * * *

  “I just don’t want to, Dad, that’s all.”

  Ricky’s voice was almost a whine. He was lying belly down on the sofa, one of the throw pillows wadded beneath his chest, picking at a loose cushion thread with his fingers. His expression was uncharacteristically sullen.

  Dallas pinched the bridge of his nose, then he decided he needed a drink. He went to the bar in the corner of the living room and poured himself a scotch. He took a fair-sized swallow and tried again.

  “Okay. I’ll respect that if you tell me why.”

  Ricky squirmed, and Dallas felt like doing it, too. The truth was, he didn’t really want to respect his son’s decision not to continue with the visitations. First of all, it would be difficult. He had made a legal agreement with the study commission.

  And second of all, he wanted to go back.

  His gaze was drawn again to the black leather purse he had left on the little table beside the front door. He wanted badly to go through it and see if he could find out what made Ellen Lonetree tick. Since that was out of the question, he’d settle for seeing her again. It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d tried bullying Barbara Bingham in the hope that she’d put some pressure on Ellen. He felt no remorse. There were few enough things in this world you could do anything about. If something popped up that you could grapple with, then he figured a man ought to give it his best shot.

  Ellen had made her position pretty clear when she hadn’t returned Sunday morning, he thought. She had simply left him and Ricky stranded high and dry at the Navajo Nation Inn. If it hadn’t been for the cops needing to go out to the Kinaalda site to look at Dallas’s car, they might still be there. Unexpectedly, Dallas grinned. He liked that about her. No games. No excuses. No hiding behind platitudes and niceties. She hadn’t wanted to see him again, so she simply hadn’t done it. And there had been no apologies.

  No, she wasn’t like Mary at all. Mary had been genuinely good. Whenever she had been forced to be rude, it had upset her for days, and Dallas had to admit that had frustrated him more than a little.

  His smile faded abruptly. He looked sharply at her picture on top of the piano, feeling as if he had somehow blasphemed her.

  “Well?” he asked Ricky. “Is it because of what that guy did to our car?”

  “Nah,” Ricky muttered. “If I wanted to go back, I wouldn’t let him scare me off.”

  Dallas nodded. That was good. “Is it because of what you thought you saw in the arroyo?”

  Ricky looked up. “Well, it was pretty scary.”

  “I’m sure it was.”

  “But that’s not it, either.”

  Dallas was running out of guesses. “Didn’t you like the people? Uncle Ernie? Ellen?”

  “I liked them all, Dad. They were pretty neat. And when Uncle Ernie went after that lady in the skirt...” He laughed again and finally sat up. “That was something. Did you see her face?”

  Dallas grinned again. It was hard not to. “Yeah, I saw it.” He took another careful swallow of scotch. “So if you liked everybody and you’re not going to let some vandal scare you off and you’re not too worried about what you saw in that arroyo, then what is it? Why don’t you want to go back?”

  Ricky took a deep breath. “Because I guess I’m not sure why we’re doing all this, that’s why.”

  Dallas felt a thump of surprise in the area of his heart. “What do you mean?”

  “What’s the big deal, all of a sudden? I mean, what’s the big deal with Indians?”

  Dallas felt shame like something hot burning in his throat. Before he and Mary had gotten this child, he had vowed that he would never forget that kids were just little people with thoughts and feelings uniquely their own, still unjaded and untested. He had sworn he would never underestimate his child’s intelligence and powers of observation, the way so many parents did. But now, in this situation, he had.

  How could he have believed that Ricky would just dumbly and mutely follow a plan Dallas had laid out without consulting him?

  “Since you went and looked up the Navajo in the Library, I thought you might be interested in learning more about them firsthand,” he tried and knew it sounded lame.

  Ricky scowled. “Well, I am. But you didn’t ask me. Why didn’t you ask me this time, Dad?”

  “Because I acted stupidly and just assumed that I knew what you wanted.”

  Ricky took this with equanimity. No accusations, but no platitudes, either. Dallas suspected that Ricky and Ellen would get along well if they ever got the chance to know each other better. Actually, they were a lot alike. Then all considerations of Ellen were dashed from his mind.

  “That’s all?” Ricky pressed.

  “What other reason could there be?” Dallas was befuddled.

  “It’s not... You’re not going to send me back to them, are you? To the Navajo?”

  Dallas’s heart squeezed so hard it hurt. “Oh, Ricky. God, is that what you thought?”

  “Well, you asked me if I wanted to go to school there.”

  He went to him quickly, hunkering down beside the sofa. “Never, Sport. I’d never, ever do that. You and I are a family, a team.”

  “Since Mom died.”

  “Yeah. I’m really, really sorry if you thought that was what I was doing.”

  “Well, it’s all happened kind of weird, you know?” He thought again about telling him of the lady in Albuquerque. “Hey, Dad, what’s the date today?”

  A little shock of surprise went through Dallas. His sin had been one of assumption; now he doubted that if he tried he would ever be able to follow the abrupt turns of his son’s mind.

  He looked at his watch. “Monday, April eleventh. Why?”

  “I just wondered.” Suddenly he bolted off the sofa. “Can I go to Benn
y’s house until dinner? I can ride my bike—you don’t have to drive me. He’s got a new game.”

  “Uh, sure. But what about Bosque Redondo? Do you still want to skip it?”

  “Nah, we’ll go. Can we stay in a motel again?”

  Dallas felt dazed. He straightened to his feet again to watch Ricky go. “I think we’ll have to. It’s all the way over on the other side of New Mexico.”

  “And Kit Carson made them walk all that way? Geez.” He grabbed his coat. He was halfway out the door before Dallas’s brain cleared.

  “Is this another of those games for the TV?”

  “Yeah. Super Death Invaders. But it costs seventy-nine dollars, so I want to see if I like it before I ask you for it.”

  “Terrific.” At least he had instilled some kind of monetary values in the kid, he thought. “What happened to that turkey one? Is that old hat already?”

  “What turkey? Oh, the Mutant Nuclear Chicken.” He shrugged. “I already figured out how to get all his feathers off. But this one—”

  “Go,” Dallas interrupted. “Be back by seven. We’ll run down to the diner and get something to eat. I’ll spare you my cooking.”

  “Okay.”

  The door slammed shut behind him. Dallas made his way slowly back to the bar. He looked at his unfinished drink and tossed it down the drain, grinning.

  He didn’t need it after all. His headache was receding.

  They were going to Bosque Redondo.

  * * *

  Ellen hadn’t been able to find Uncle Ernie at the Kinaalda on Sunday. Probably because she hadn’t been willing to go back there to look for him. She’d figured that sometime during the day Dallas would appear there with the cops to investigate the damage to his car. She’d had no intention of running into him.

  She finally went back to the Res when she left the orphanage, to look for the old shaman. Uncle Ernie lived at the top of Beautiful Mountain. If it could be said that he actually lived anywhere. More often than not he roamed from kin to kin, staying a week here, a few days there, whenever anyone thought they needed him and often when they didn’t. But occasionally he lit down at his hunting cabin at the peak of the mountain. And even when he wasn’t there, there was usually some sign as to where he could be found.

  Ellen drove as far up the slope as she dared, then she left her Toyota on the rutted trail and went the rest of the way on foot. She had no idea how Ernie got his purple 4x4 all the way up to the top, but pieces of its undercarriage could usually be seen littering the path. The truck was always worse for the wear.

  She reached the cabin clearing, feeling a little out of breath from the thin air. His truck was there. Its tail pipe laid about six feet behind it. It was parked beside the cabin, four rickety wooden walls and a roof. A thin rapier of smoke came from the chimney. There was no door, just an open frame for people to come in and out. She could hear Ernie’s voice drifting through it. He was chanting, talking to the Holy Ones.

  She went to a boulder and sat down to wait.

  The Navajo desert spread out below her, an uncorrupted vista of red rock and shadows, of patches of new green and stark, jutting mesas. Idly, she tried to imagine a power plant sitting out there, and as always her heart rebelled. It would be part of a world she really didn’t like. Yes, she went into Albuquerque a couple days a week, more often recently. But she was happiest here in this untamed desert, sequestered by the four sacred mountains that ringed Navajo land. She had always felt safe here. Except once. Once, not even the land had been enough to save her.

  Ricky. What was she going to do about this whole horrible mess? And what was she supposed to do about his father?

  She took a deep breath of the clean, sharp air, hugging herself. Now, sitting here calmly, alone, she knew her excuses for staying away from Dallas Lazo were relatively groundless. Yes, she had once let herself love someone, had given everything she could to him, and he had turned out to be a bastard. Yes, she had lost a piece of her soul when a nurse had carried Ricky away from her. But that had been eight years ago. She had been seventeen, a child. There were no practical similarities between Dallas and that other situation at all.

  She wouldn’t get pregnant again. She worked at a health clinic, for God’s sake. She had access to all sorts of birth control, both the Navajo herbal kind and the more pharmaceutical Anglo variety. It didn’t have to happen. It was the nineties. Women followed the whispering lure of their bodies all the time these days...and nothing had to happen if they were careful.

  And what if it did? No one could make her give up her child again. Her mother was dead. Her father was...God knew where.

  No, her fears weren’t sensible, she thought, feeling her throat close in panic anyway. They were inherent, deep, defying logic. She had been scarred so very badly the one time she had given in to a man’s practiced seduction—and even then arousal hadn’t clamored inside her as suddenly and wildly as it had when she had danced with Dallas.

  The thought of seeing him again made her heart thump hard. And even if she wasn’t afraid, she could hardly get involved with him. How could she without telling him who she was?

  “Granddaughter?”

  She gasped and almost fell off the boulder at the sound of Ernie’s voice behind her. She had been lost so deeply inside herself that she hadn’t heard him stop singing. She started to get up, but he came and sat on the ground beside her.

  “He is a good boy,” he said without preamble.

  Ellen felt her throat close. She swallowed carefully and nodded. “Yes, I think so, too.”

  “He has unconscious hozro. He doesn’t have to strive for it.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Ah, you fear the wolfman. Of course you do. That is only wise.”

  Though she knew she shouldn’t be, Ellen was startled. “How did you know about the wolfman? I looked for you afterward and couldn’t find you.”

  Ernie didn’t even dignify the question with a response. “You remember what I told you about events not being random? Your letter set something in motion that had to happen, Granddaughter. My heart tells me that it is probably something that will either hurt or benefit all the People. It feels big.”

  Suddenly it was anger closing her throat. “I won’t have him used as a pawn in some holy scheme!”

  “You have no choice. You never did.”

  She launched herself up from the boulder. “I can stop it. There has to be some way I can stop it!”

  “No.”

  She looked back at him, feeling near tears. “Why? Oh, God, is it because he’s mine? Is that the tie? Is that why the wolfman wants him, to get at me? Have I done something?” Please, no, she thought wildly, but it was entirely possible. How often did her tongue, her temper, get away from her? Had she insulted a stranger lately, someone who could be a wolfman?

  But Uncle Ernie was shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s it, not the way you mean it. You think you have angered a witch and he wants to get back at you through your son, the son no one else knows you have found again. No. I think Ricky has done something or knows something that makes him an enemy of our wolfman. I think the Holy Ones chose him to know something, to do something, because they know he will be well protected, strong enough to withstand the witch’s ire.”

  Her chin trembled. “He’s eight years old, damn it!”

  “And he is surrounded by love. That makes him strong.”

  “What love?”

  “That of his mother and father.”

  “His mother’s dead.”

  “No. I am watching her breathe.”

  She moved back to the boulder unsteadily and dropped down on it again hard. “No, Ernie,” she whispered. “I gave him up.”

  “You gave nothing. He was taken from you.”

  “I signed the paper.”

  “And your heart has bled for it every day since.”

  She closed her eyes, pain shimmying through her. “Yes.”

  “Look into your soul, Granddaughter
, and you will see what I mean. Do you love him less because you signed a white man’s paper? Because you did not watch him walk for the first time or bandage his bloody knee? I don’t think so. No, I think you would die before you would let any harm come to him. You and his father, too.”

  “So what are you saying?” she asked.

  “We have a ball of twine here and it must unwind. I don’t think it will do any good to keep him away from our land, as the wolfman suggested. What must happen would happen anyway, I think. So that means you must stand by him. Protect him. The Holy Ones have given you a second chance to do that.”

  She couldn’t help herself. Her tears spilled over. “I can’t let him know that!”

  “You don’t have to. Just be there.”

  She looked at him wildly. “So where does Dallas fit into all this?”

  Uncle Ernie smiled enigmatically. She could just about see him in the dark. The sun was setting fast behind the mountain.

  She sighed, picking up her purse and standing.

  “So what will you do, Granddaughter?”

  “I guess I’m going to Bosque Redondo.”

  Chapter 8

  They met in the parking lot of a fast-food joint in Vaughn late on Saturday afternoon. Ricky and Dallas got there first. She wouldn’t have known it because he was driving a bronze-colored Cutlass—apparently his Jaguar was still in the shop. But Ricky was standing impatiently beside the car and Ellen saw him as she pulled up. Something both warm and frightening moved inside her. Who was trying to hurt him? Why?

  She parked and got out. The driver’s door of the Cutlass pushed open as well and Dallas emerged. For a moment, they met each other’s eyes almost warily, each wondering what they might expect from the other.

  Ellen felt her heart kick. Dallas felt something good swell in his blood, something warm that kept away the cold, something he had been missing for entirely too long. Then Ricky laughed and broke the moment.

  “Hey, Dad, people are looking at you.”

  “What?” Dallas snapped his eyes away from Ellen to glance at his son. Ellen was vaguely aware of someone getting out of the car parked behind her. She looked around absently. It was an elderly couple and they were watching Dallas, trying not to. She turned back to him and before she knew it was going to happen, she laughed.