Her Hero

by Aimée Thurlo

  “Take it easy, son,” Gabriel said. “It’s over. Nobody’s hurt.”

  “The volunteer fire department is on their way with the pumper truck.”

  “There’s no need,” Gabriel said.

  “Then you’ll have to use your radio to recall them, because they’re already halfway here.”

  “I don’t have a working radio or phone, so we’ll just wait for them,” Gabriel said. “You relax now and catch your breath.”

  Joshua saw the look Gabriel gave him, and without words understood what his brother was thinking. Others would soon know what had happened here. Once the news of the footprints got out, if Gabriel didn’t get a chance to explain, the situation in Four Winds was bound to take a turn for the worse. Things would soon become even tougher for him and his two brothers.

  “You should get out of here now,” Gabriel said quietly, taking Joshua aside. “The skinwalker connection and the footprints could create problems. I don’t want someone getting the bright idea of trying to follow you back to the cabin.” He’d just finished speaking when they heard the powerful whine of the old fire truck.

  “Too late,” Joshua said. “But maybe it’s better that I am here. It makes no sense that I’d be risking my life to help you if I’d been responsible, and we can point out the difference in the footprints.”

  “True, but I can’t swear that folks will be logical about any of this.”

  “Sooner or later, they’ll understand.” Even as Joshua said it, he wasn’t sure if he believed it anymore. Anger shot through him, but he pushed it down. He couldn’t afford to let that blackness overwhelm his spirit. Others, like Nydia and his brothers, were counting on his stability. They depended on it, in fact. He’d knowingly accepted the pressures of being a hataalii, but nothing he’d studied had ever prepared him for something like this.

  He watched as the fire truck arrived. Whatever came, he’d face it squarely. Running away from trouble was not his style.

  Chapter Seven

  Joshua was standing a few feet away from his brother as the mayor’s four-wheel-drive pickup pulled up right behind the old pumper. Bob Burns emerged from the mudspattered vehicle, cast a suspicious and hostile look at Joshua, then turned his attention to Gabriel. “Are you and your wife all right?” he asked. “We heard the explosion in town, though you’re out here on the outskirts. On the way, I tried to call your brother in case a medic was needed, but he’s an hour out of town with a patient.”

  “We’re all fine, thanks to Mrs. Jim and my brother.”

  Burns’s gaze took in Joshua and then Nydia. Distrust and contempt were mirrored clearly in his eyes. “What have they got to do with this?”

  As Gabriel explained, Nydia came up from behind Joshua and joined him. The half-dozen volunteer firefighters had climbed down from the truck, and were staring at them openly.

  “Maybe I’m jumping the gun, but I have a feeling that we should have tried to leave before everyone arrived,” she said softly. “They’re looking for a way to blame this on you. I can see it on their faces.”

  Anger lay heavily on Joshua’s chest, an almost suffocating pressure. It was a struggle for him to remain calm, to keep indignation from overcoming his control. “Yes, I can sense that, too.”

  As Gabriel warned the men to stay away from the sides of the house where the bomber’s tracks were, Joshua spotted Darren Wilson, the feed-store owner, following a trail on the ground. As he made his way to the porch, Joshua knew he’d seen the tracks that had been left there to implicate him.

  Darren looked up as he reached the end of the trail. His gaze met Joshua’s, his eyes narrow. Finally, shaking his head, he scowled and looked away.

  “Now we’re in for it,” Nydia said.

  As if sensing trouble, Gabriel moved closer to where his brother stood. Bob Burns followed, seemingly unaware of what Gabriel was doing.

  “Who could have placed a bomb here? Who wants you dead?” the mayor asked, shooting one question after the other, and not giving Gabriel a chance to reply. “Is someone after all our sheriffs now?”

  “You want to know who did this, Mayor? Well, here’s your man,” Darren yelled, grabbing Joshua by the arm. “His footprints are the only ones around the windows.”

  “Is that true?” Bob Burns looked at Gabriel.

  “Not if you look closely,” Gabriel answered.

  “I just checked, Sheriff. I know what I saw,” Darren said. “Go see for yourself. Heck, this is as plain as the nose on your face. The medicine man is out to kill his brother now. And I think I’ve got this figured out. I saw the peddler driving around the same day Mrs. Stephens did. He never came into town, but maybe that’s because he found the medicine man and went no farther. A skinwalker bowl like the one that caused the problems in Four Winds last time would be a disaster in the hands of someone like this man,” he said, shaking Joshua’s arm.

  Joshua pried Darren’s fingers off his arm one by one.

  Then, lifting Darren a foot off the ground by the waist, he set the feed-store owner beside Gabriel.

  Darren sputtered, but the words were so caught in his throat that none made sense.

  The sheriff smiled mirthlessly. “Don’t you ever disobey a lawful order of mine at the scene of a crime. I told everyone to stay away from the house. If I find your footprints have disturbed any of the evidence, I’ll throw you in jail for obstruction. And I strongly suggest that you don’t annoy my brother. He may interpret your action as an attack, and remove your arms. You want to unload feed bags with your teeth?”

  “Now wait a minute, Sheriff,” the mayor interrupted. “Darren’s made a good point here. If your brother’s footprints are the only ones in the mud, that naturally points to him. Nobody could have avoided leaving tracks on this ground, not the way it rained last night.”

  “The person who did this was wearing shoes that were meant to implicate my brother, but he was careless about details. Check the depth that those prints sink into the ground,” Gabriel explained. “The bomber wanted us to think it was my brother, but whoever wore those shoes was a much lighter man. The evidence proves my brother’s innocence.” He glared at Darren. “And that nonsense about the peddler is beneath even you.”

  “We know when he comes around--he always leaves trouble behind. Why should this time be different?”

  “I haven’t seen the peddler,” Joshua said, joining them. “And I can assure you that I would never accept or purchase anything from that man.”

  “So you say,” Darren snarled.

  “I have no reason to lie to you. Your opinion does not matter to me.”

  Darren’s eyes grew wide, and his face turned puce. “Of all the low-down—”

  Nydia took Joshua’s arm, but despite her gentle pull, he stiffened, holding his ground.

  “Come on. Nothing will be gained by this. His mind is closed to reason.”

  Joshua studied the people gathered there, then let Nydia lead him away. Though there was no need for the old pumper to remain, curiosity kept the crew there. But that curiosity was a good sign. It indicated an opening of their minds, one that could lead them to the truth.

  A moment later, Gabriel approached them. “Jake Fields is going to stay and help me gather evidence. Whatever we find will be turned over to the FBI. For now, though, I want you two to clear out. Most of these folks heard the arguments about the footprints, but it may not be enough to convince them, especially while you’re still around stirring things up.”

  “I’ll go away, but the problem you’re facing won’t. They’re not going to let it all drop just because I’m not around.”

  He nodded. “I know, so watch yourselves. I can’t leave here, and Shadow’s gone, so there’ll be nobody to cover your tail. Use all the tricks Dad taught us, Tree.”

  “I will,” Joshua assured. “Now I have one favor to ask you. Will you bring me some of Alma’s books on Navajo artifacts?”

  Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “You do know something about the peddler?
”

  Joshua shrugged. “I didn’t see him. That’s the truth. And I’d never accept anything from him, not in a million years. I just need to research something.”

  “What?”

  “It’ll take too long to explain,” Joshua answered.

  “Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” Gabriel said, “but if I find out that you’re holding back evidence, Tree, I’ll pound your face into the ground.”

  “You can’t even reach it.”

  “I’ll get a ladder,” Gabriel said with a scowl, and strode back toward the house.

  As Nydia and Joshua reached their truck, Jake came up to them. “I overheard what you said to Gabriel about Alma’s books. Since Alma’s death, her most valuable books have been placed in a locked section of the library.” He handed Joshua the keys. “You can get in using the back door. It looks like everyone from Four Winds is either here already or on their way, so nobody’s likely to spot you in town,” he said, gesturing toward the vehicles filled with curious citizens still arriving. “You’ll be safe. Just go in and take what you want, then lock up and leave the key inside. I have a spare set of keys hidden in my truck.”

  “Thanks,” Joshua said, touched by the man’s show of faith. “It’s good to know I have at least one friend.”

  “I am that. I’ve got to tell you, if there’s one thing I learned in the service, it’s how to judge people. Murder just isn’t your style. And nothing can ever convince me that you’ve changed that much, because I don’t believe that people do. Good luck.”

  As they got under way, Joshua noticed that Nydia was unusually quiet. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s right?” she muttered, then shook her head. “I just resent the heck out of what the peddler did to me.”

  “You accepted that blanket freely. And so far, it has helped us.”

  “You’ve chosen to credit the blanket instead of my own intuition. That’s your choice. But if it is as I suspect and the warnings are triggered by a posthypnotic suggestion that he planted in my mind, the peddler is insulting everything I pride myself in. I’m a scientist, not a believer in the paranormal. His little mind games work constantly to undermine me.”

  “Are you sure it’s all just a mind game?”

  “Definitely. And you know what? I think he planted a suggestion that’s triggered not only by my viewing the rug, but also by any similar pattern. It’s the only logical explanation for the odd times I hear the voice. But what worries me most is that the peddler was probably involved in your father’s murder in some way. He must have known it was about to happen for him to cause me to hear the voice when I did, though he certainly couldn’t have done the shooting himself because of the time frame involved. Also, he would have had to have known of plans to plant a bomb here way in advance, or was responsible for it himself.”

  “The peddler is part of this town’s legacy,” Joshua said. “He does bring trouble, but he’s never directly responsible for it.”

  “So maybe he changed his M.O.”

  “The problem with you is that you feel compelled to try and explain everything away with scientific, logical arguments. There are powers that defy objectivity and training. Your intuitions are coming from a legacy of our people, not from the peddler’s trickery.”

  “That’s why you wanted to research Navajo artifacts? You’re looking for a more detailed explanation of the rug’s powers and why it’s helping us? I can save you some time. If this rug was part of a legend like that of the skinwalker bowl, I would have heard about it. That’s my area of expertise.”

  “It may not be as well-known, but we’re dealing with a powerful object. You know that as well as I do, though you’re not willing to admit it.”

  “What’s your theory? Why do you think I’m getting such helpful warnings?”

  “I believe the weaver’s spirit needs my help and is reaching out to me through you. But I should look into it more before I make any judgments.”

  “I wish life were as simple as the Navajo Way says.

  Then all problems could be solved by finding the right chant or ceremony that would compel the gods to help us.”

  “Not all troubles can be solved that way, but many can be,” he answered patiently. “There’s peace in our Way. There isn’t any in the one you’ve chosen,” he said sadly.

  “But at least it’s a path where there are no false trusts.”

  “The sciences are full of false trusts,” he countered. “And it’s a solitary path where pride and knowledge compete, and often to the betterment of no one.”

  Nydia’s silence spoke more loudly than words ever could. It proved to him that, despite the strong feelings between them, there was too little common ground. He’d known all along that she was not for him, but each little proof stabbed at him like a knife reminding him of the high price of his choice to be and remain a hataalii.

  Joshua went into the library by the back way, but the precaution seemed unnecessary. The town was nearly deserted, just as Jake had predicted. As they entered the special-collections room, Joshua looked around. There was one tall, glass-front bookcase that was locked and separated from the rest of the collection.

  He used the key and opened the door. After handing to Nydia the books that looked most promising, he relocked the case and they hurried back to the truck and slipped out of town.

  IT TOOK ABOUT FOUR TIMES as long this time to reach the cabin because of all the precautions Joshua took to prevent anyone from following them. When they finally reached high ground, Joshua surveyed the area below.

  “We weren’t followed,” Nydia said. “You doubled back so often, the person would have needed a helicopter to stay with you.”

  “I had to make sure it was safe for us to go to the cabin.” He glanced over at her. “But why are you so impatient? We’re not on a time clock.”

  “I hate wasting time. If we’re going to research what’s in these books, I want to get to it.”

  “You hurry too much, just like the Anglos.”

  “And that’s what you don’t like about me, isn’t it?” She studied his expression.

  He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It’s not about liking or disliking. It’s simply a fact, something I have to accept as part of you.”

  “And also the safety line that keeps us from getting too close,” she finished for him.

  “Is that how you see it?” Joshua shook his head. “I wish you could value the same things I do, but the truth is that what we want plays almost no part in any of this. There’s more going on here than you know. There’s a sense of…fate working on both of us. Don’t try to tell me you haven’t felt that.”

  “Maybe fate’s just having a laugh at our expense.”

  “Maybe.”

  They each withdrew into the privacy of their own thoughts, but alone there, Nydia found only questions and loneliness. By the time they reached the cabin, she was eager to immerse herself in the books, anything to focus her thoughts elsewhere.

  They remained quiet as they sat on the floor and sorted through the collection they’d borrowed. Nydia found nothing useful, despite her efforts. When she finally glanced up, she saw Joshua intent on a passage in the leather-bound volume before him.

  “What have you got there?” she asked.

  “It’s information about Spider Woman and stories about the traditions of our weavers. The background information here has helped me verify what I believe is at the bottom of everything you’ve experienced.”

  She sat back, leaning against the cool log side of the cabin wall. “I’m listening.”

  “The artisan who crafted the rug you now own was a great weaver, but foolish because she didn’t follow the precautions taught by our gods. When Pretends-To-SeePeople, the Navajo prophet, was taught about sandpainting, he was shown pictures on clouds. The gods warned him that earthly people couldn’t be trusted with permanent pictures, so only sand was to be used to create the paintings, and those were to be wiped out the same day.
Spider Woman also warned that a line was needed from the center outward in any weaving, particularly one depicting the Holy People, otherwise the spirit of the weaver would become trapped.”

  “I remember those legends,” Nydia said. “Not just learning about them in books, either. My grandmother would tell me stories like that on cold winter nights.” But now the myths were taking on a more somber meaning. She wasn’t so sure anymore that they were just folklore, despite her staunch words to Joshua.

  “From what I’ve learned from other hataaliis, and what I’ve read here, I believe that the woman who made your rug went blind, then insane within three years of weaving that blanket. She broke two of our taboos when she depicted an image from a sandpainting, and also left the weaving flawless.”

  “My grandmother told me many stories, but I recall one in particular about a weaver who was too proud for her own good.”

  He nodded. “She ignored the warnings and paid a price for her foolishness. Her work is said to bring bad luck to whoever owns it because her spirit is still trapped within the rug and does whatever it can to call attention to its plight.”

  “I respect your beliefs, but I won’t destroy or damage the rug. I just can’t. It’s an exquisite antique that belongs to the dineh and is part of our history. But maybe, out of respect, it should go on exhibit with no one owning it outright.”

  “You refuse to understand what I’m telling you.”

  “It would be a crime for me to destroy what is a part of our heritage, especially out of fear. But don’t get me wrong—I’m not ignoring the danger. I’m going to put the rug in the back of my truck and I’m going to avoid even looking at it just in case I’m right about a posthypnotic suggestion. And in case you’re right about its magic, it’ll also be safely out of our way there,” she added with a gentle smile.

  He nodded once. “All right. I’ll accept that compromise for now.”

  Hearing trucks in the distance, Joshua scrambled to his feet. “We have to go see who is approaching before they get any closer. Come with me. If we have to get out of here fast, it’ll save time.”