Under a Desert Sky

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Under a Desert Sky Page 17

by DiAnn Mills


  “Then I will saddle up and ride there.” I smiled at Charlotte. “Tahoma will wonder what I’m doing, but I desperately need answers.”

  “Do you love him that much?”

  I had no answer for her, only the trickle of a tear sliding down my cheek.

  “I have my answer.” She sighed. “Eva, I don’t think a ride’s safe. Let me get one of the hands to escort you.”

  I met her steady gaze. “I’m not running from danger any longer. I’d leave this area to protect all of you, but not me. The situation has grown old, and I’m tired. In many ways, I’ve given up, but I’ll have my rifle.”

  “Tahoma would not agree with what you’re doing.”

  “He’s not speaking to me.”

  Within the hour, I rode into Tahoma’s village and wound around people and their homes until I found his parents’ hogan. All the way there, I’d hoped he would show himself, but he chose not to. Emptiness filled me whenever I thought about our good times together.

  Young and old stared, and I couldn’t blame them. From what Charlotte had said, they had every reason to despise anyone with white skin. With that thought, my father’s friendship with Nascha Benally took on more meaning, more depth into the complexities of man and his prejudices.

  I dismounted and looked into the face of a small boy, perhaps four or five. Bending to his side, I said hello. He touched my face, and I didn’t stop him. A woman called out, and he ran to her. Probably his mother.

  I knocked on the door of the Benallys’ hogan and waited. Relief swept through me when Tahoma’s mother opened the door and greeted me with a smile. Her English was a reminder that these Native Americans must subject themselves to the world of the white man. I vowed to learn to speak with them in their own language.

  “If I’m not interrupting anything, I’d like to talk to you and your husband,” I said.

  She gestured me inside. “Come and warm yourself by the fire. Nascha has just returned from taking care of the sheep.”

  Charlotte’s words about what the government had done regarding Navajo sheep made me feel dirty, as though I’d been the one to destroy their livelihood. I smelled mutton cooking, and I took a deep breath. If only I could get past my intense dislike for the meat.

  Mr. Benally started to stand but I encouraged him to remain seated. “Please, sir, rest by the fire.”

  “It’s been a while since you’ve come to see us,” he said. “I was concerned for you after Pete’s death, and your and Tahoma’s escape from danger.”

  “I owe my life to you and Tahoma. There is nothing I can ever do to repay you.”

  “That is how I felt for too many years about your father.”

  “Would you like something to eat or drink?” Mrs. Benally said.

  “Water would be refreshing.”

  She gave me and Mr. Benally each a mug of water, and I sat on a stool beside him and stared into the fire. The wood crackled and spit. Where did I begin? I thought I’d formed my inquiry about their people, but now confusion swirled in my mind, and I didn’t know how to begin. Was I there for Tahoma, his father, myself, or all of us?

  “Sir, would you tell me about the Navajo?”

  “Have you asked Tahoma about our people?”

  I repeated what I’d shared with Charlotte.

  He stared for several moments into the fire. “We are the Diné, the people. We do not live in villages like other Indians, but in families far from others. We raise sheep, as you’ve seen, and what grain we raise is to feed our livestock. You have been told about the hozho, but our balance is harmony in all things, like good and evil.”

  “Good and evil? Don’t you want to rid yourselves of evil?”

  Mr. Benally lifted his mug of water and drank deeply. “Every man contains good and evil. It’s a part of us. We don’t seek out evil, but it exists with the good.”

  This concept confused me, as though good and evil were accepted without a fight instead of purging the actions that hurt others. Later I’d speak with Charlotte about this and hope she could explain the hozho more completely.

  “How do you know when someone is not in harmony?”

  “He or she often becomes ill. The mind, body, and spirit must be in balance. When one is sick, the entire person must be treated. That is where Tahoma is wrong. He tries to heal only the body. He’s forgotten the mind and spirit.”

  She would not give her opinion. When she found herself alone again, she’d weigh his words. “How is the harmony restored?”

  “The sick person visits a man or woman who has the gift of ‘seeing’ the illness. Then a medicine person or a singer can perform the right ceremony to treat the ailment.”

  I’d brought a pen and paper, but I fretted that I’d not be able to decipher the strange explanations later. “A singer?”

  “This is the person who conducts the healing ceremony.”

  How could Tahoma treat his family with modern medicine? How could he battle the culture of his people? In listening to Mr. Benally speak, I began to understand the turmoil inside of Tahoma.

  “Did my father ask you about your culture?”

  Mr. Benally smiled as though remembering his old friend. “We talked for hours about my people and his. Both of us were curious about the other.”

  “Can you tell me some of the stories?”

  For the next few hours, he told me one accounting after another about the two men’s friendship during the Great War. At times, I became so engrossed in the stories that I failed to record them. Once I returned to my cabin, I’d write them in my journal. I remembered my precious father and how he played with me and took me everywhere with him. I envisioned him with Mr. Benally, almost jealously.

  I wished my stay in the high desert would never end. But my wishes were impossible.

  I accepted their invitation to dinner and managed the mutton stew. We laughed about the Monarch boys, and I told them how much I loved their free spirits. The hours I spent with the Benallys would be a cherished memory.

  Neither of them mentioned Tahoma, and I didn’t either. I wished he would have come by, but he was so angry with me. The differences between our cultures had no bearing on my stand about his being wrong. The methods he and the ranch hands proposed to secure information from Walt Chambers were barbaric. I could not retract my beliefs. In my opinion, their ways made them no better than the lawbreakers. But I understood why. Tahoma had been right about one important thing. We did exist in two different worlds.

  CHAPTER 33

  Tahoma could not sleep for concern about Eva leaving the ranch unescorted to see his parents. He guarded her outside his parents’ hogan, always alert to someone who might want to harm her. Would she attempt another foolish endeavor when it wasn’t his watch? He wanted to talk to her, make sure she was all right, but pride stopped him.

  Sleep continued to evade him. He’d lived the life of a coward long enough. He’d hidden his faith in God as though he were ashamed of what others would say. In reality, he was like a child who didn’t want to disappoint or embarrass his parents.

  Last night a man appeared to him in a dream with words that cut to his heart.

  If you’re cold, I’ll save you.

  If you’re hot, I’ll use you.

  But if you’re lukewarm,

  I’ll spit you out.

  He’d wakened with sweat streaming down his face and conviction searing his heart. Guilt and disgust wormed through his soul, the soul he’d entrusted to God, about whom he didn’t have the guts to tell others. Tahoma swung his legs over the edge of his cot and paced the floor of his small clinic. His mind warred with his heart until he accepted what he must do.

  When the sun crept over the horizon, he left his clinic to talk to his parents before he hurried to Ghost Ranch to keep watch over Eva. The cold met him like an arctic blast, shaking his resolve and chilling him to his very core. Or perhaps the real cold was his soul. But he’d not be moved.

  His mother opened the door to him with a smil
e and a warm greeting. Father moved about slowly, as was his habit.

  “I need to talk to you before I leave for the day,” Tahoma said.

  “From the look on your face, the matter must be serious.” Father sat in front of the fire. “Does the problem have anything to do with the murder?”

  “No sir. This is deeper. About my beliefs.”

  “Ah, must be about Eva.”

  Tahoma sighed. “This has to do with the changes you’ve seen in me since I returned from Chicago.”

  “Join us by the fire,” Father said. “We’ve waited a long time to hear what happened to you while you were attending school.”

  Mother handed him a mug of steaming black coffee. “The son who left us is not the son who returned.”

  Tahoma took the coffee and stared into the hot liquid. “I apologize for not having this discussion long before now. When I went to medical school, I saw many new things and met many people. Everything was different—the people, the culture—so unfamiliar to me. For the first six months, I wanted to return home. But Mr. Fortier had paid for my education, and I didn’t want to disappoint you or not show gratitude for Mr. Fortier’s generosity.” He took a long drink of the coffee, and it scalded his throat.

  “Loneliness walked with me. Some of the people were kind. Others ridiculed me—told me to grab my bow and arrow and head back to the reservation.” He paused again. He hadn’t planned for his words to sound like he’d spent a miserable time in Chicago. “Not everyone was cruel. Just some. I enjoyed my studies and put all my effort into making good grades.”

  He stood and paced the floor. His parents didn’t move, and he could feel their eyes on him.

  “A professor introduced himself and soon included me in gettogethers at his home with other medical students. One of them, a young man from Alabama, invited me to attend the white man’s church. There I began to learn about their God, a God who did not limit Himself to tribes or races but made himself available to all people. The more I learned about this God and His Son Jesus, the more my heart wanted to know. My new friend answered my questions, and when my questions were too difficult for him, he found someone else to answer them. I read their book of law—the Bible—and studied it.” Tahoma stopped pacing and focused his gaze on his father and then his mother. Disappointment worried their faces. “I became a believer in their God. My hopes were to return home and gain the respect of our family with my knowledge of medicine and introduce others to this God. But life here hasn’t worked out the way I thought or imagined. Neither have I honored God by telling you about my new beliefs.”

  Mother stiffened. “You have abandoned our ways?”

  Tahoma knew she’d be hurt the most. “Not all of them.”

  “Which ones have you cast aside?” She stood, anger flaring in her eyes.

  “The ones that deny God created the universe and sent His Son Jesus to die on a cross for our sins and sent His Spirit to all who call on His name.” There, he’d confessed it all. “Again, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. As time passed, I kept putting off the discussion until I couldn’t deny my faith any longer.”

  “You’re a Christian?” Mother’s words were harsh…bitter.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “The white man has tried for years to convert us, but it’s not the Diné way.”

  “I’m not expecting you to understand. I’m simply telling you what I believe.”

  “Why did you come back? You should have stayed in Chicago.” She whirled around and grabbed her coat before leaving the hogan.

  Tahoma had expected his mother to argue, but he hadn’t anticipated the look on her face that sliced through him like a knife. He waited for his father to speak.

  “Andrew told me about his God. He carefully explained how this God was three Persons.” Father shook his head. “I asked him if his God would allow the Diné way too, but he said no.”

  “He told you the truth. God is jealous. He will not tolerate any other worship, because He is the only God.”

  “This is why you haven’t participated in ceremonies.”

  “I can’t deny my spirit.”

  “What about the spirits of our people? Haven’t you wondered why the people have turned against you?”

  Tahoma understood the rejection came from Satan, but he’d already confused his father. “I love you and Mother. I came home to share what I’d learned about medicine and about God. If you’d like for me to leave, then I will do so.”

  “I love you, son. But I’m afraid you’ve brought hardship upon us. A ceremony would take care of this problem.”

  “I can’t.” Tahoma glanced into the fire and knew he could not abandon God, even if it cost him the love and respect of his parents. “I’ll load up my things this evening.”

  “Must it come to this? You’re my only son. My life and breath.”

  For the first time, Tahoma perceived the depth of his father’s love. If only he could show him the meaning of true salvation.

  “When you want reconciliation, I’ll be ready. For now I need to find out what God wants of me.”

  When I didn’t hear from Mr. Murdock, I worried he might have been hurt. But Charlotte learned he was working on a different arrangement to keep me safe and planned to contact me when he had the details.

  I started back to teaching my boys the Monday after Thanksgiving. Mrs. Monarch’s brother, a balding man who didn’t talk very much, never let the boys or me out of his sight. I questioned the logic of continuing my position as their teacher, and I was compelled to talk to Mrs. Monarch again.

  While the boys worked on their lessons, I slipped inside their home to tell their mother the truth and about my fears for all of them. Mr. Monarch spent much of his days in Santa Fe. I assumed it was business. Mrs. Monarch sat in the living room, curled up in a chair and reading a newspaper, the Chicago Daily News. She folded the newspaper and gave me her attention.

  “I must talk to you about my situation,” I said. “With Pete’s death and with Tahoma and I being attacked, I live in constant fear for you and your family.”

  “Oh, my dear girl.” Mrs. Monarch smiled, but sadness crept from the edges of her mouth. “We came to Ghost Ranch to escape a similar type of situation. Not as serious as yours, but enough that we understood this is the safest place for all of us. We were acquainted with others who had come here to escape the problems caused by the Depression.”

  “My concern is for everyone who is around me,” I said. “I love your sons, and I hope to one day have boys as wonderful as yours.”

  “We know how you feel. And we all care deeply for you.”

  “Your brother keeps excellent watch over his nephews, but still, I’m concerned.”

  “Eva, we’re not destitute. When the stock market crashed, we weren’t affected like other people. But we were threatened as though we’d caused the horrible hardship to our country.”

  I held my breath. “I’m so sorry.”

  “We’re doing all right. This”—she gestured around at their home—“is our haven. The authorities are still looking for those who made our lives miserable. In the meantime, we are having an extended vacation.”

  No wonder the boys faced life like soldiers. “I had no idea. Thank you for telling me.”

  “I should have told you our secret a long time ago. And Mr. Whitman is not my brother. He’s a paid ‘hired gun’ of sorts. Please keep his role here to yourself.” She rubbed her shoulders, and I thought how much she blended into ranch life—jeans and a shirt, even boots.

  “I promise not to tell anyone.”

  “One more thing. Monarch is not our real name. The boys have strict orders not to reveal our identity, but if I trust you with my children, then I can surely trust you with that information too.”

  Perhaps I should have taken another name too.

  Ghost Ranch certainly held its secrets and mysteries. Hours later, when I walked back to the ranch, I searched for signs of Tahoma. Nothing, not even a rustle in the few
trees or a quick glimpse of his majestic features. I wanted to call out for him, but I kept my feelings deep inside. Both of us needed time.

  CHAPTER 34

  Two weeks and one day had passed since Tahoma and I shared an encounter with death, survived, then argued and parted. Not sharing conversations with him seemed to tear at my being, as though I had a scar that someone continued to rip open. If hozho was a state of beauty and balance, mine was terribly unstable. I thought about him constantly. I missed the teasing and the laughter. We’d shared wonderful discussions while becoming friends, and I wanted to believe he cared for me as much as I did for him. The little girl who believed in fairy tales had not grown up.

  Tahoma was my hero. No matter that we’d quarreled and he was wrong, I missed him so badly. I ached for him, all because I’d fallen for a man who had no feelings for me. I was an obligation because of my father. If I were perfectly honest with myself, I’d recall Mr. Benally, not Tahoma, had made the vow with my father.

  I considered driving to his clinic in hopes he would talk to me. I wasn’t concerned about my safety. Nothing had happened in two weeks, and with Walt Chambers in custody, I believed whoever else had been working with him had left the area.

  My Bible lay open to the Gospel of John so I could read and meditate whenever I chose, especially since concern for Tahoma kept me awake at night. I wrestled with so many things about God and what He wanted for His children. Was it futile for me to love a man who didn’t love me?

  On Friday evening, when I knew Tahoma would be in his clinic, I called on Charlotte to ask if I could borrow her truck or car. She welcomed me inside her home, and we sat in her small living room, I on the davenport and Charlotte in an overstuffed chair. We chatted, but she still hadn’t responded to my inquiry.

  “Are you planning to call on Nascha and Otekah or Tahoma?”

  I sighed. “The latter. Tahoma sees me every day, all day. But I haven’t seen or talked to him since he was shot.”

  “He’s not at the clinic.”

  Heat flooded my face. “Why? Where is he?”

 

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