Abducted Innocence (Emily Etcitty)

by Sandra Bolton

  “Does your mom know you’re here, Danny?”

  “Yep. She said, ‘If you’re going to go to Abe’s, just be quiet so you don’t wake him up.’” A worried look crossed his features. “Did I wake you up?”

  “No. Don’t worry about it. The sunshine told me it was time to get up. I didn’t mean to sleep so late. Have you had breakfast?”

  “Yes, sir. Oatmeal with applesauce, and toast and jelly.” He patted his belly.

  Abe helped Danny herd the sheep and llamas in their separate pastures, thinking the entire time about a plan to expose Mattie Simmons. As soon as he completed some chores, he would make a list of all the Navajo weavers who had sold rugs to Mattie Simmons and pay them a visit.

  The work didn’t amount to much. Danny had already done most of what needed doing. And it looked like Ellen had paid him another housecleaning visit during his absence. Abe took a bath, put on clean clothes, and grabbed the notebook he used for listing the buyers of Navajo sheep.

  Not all had commissioned Mattie Simmons to be their dealer. But after studying the list, he had several sellers he wanted to follow up on: George Tsosie, Marvin Joe, Malcolm Henry, Ben McDonald, Arlen Martinez, Charley Nez, and Herman Tallbrother. Herman had been the last person to receive a check and two yearlings. The Navajo families scattered themselves throughout the reservation. It was going to take time to visit them all. He decided to begin today with the most recent buyer, Herman Tallbrother, at Teec Nos Pos. He had noticed the beautiful rug Herman’s wife was working on, and wondered how much Mattie Simmons would offer for it.

  He wanted to start right away, but first he decided to make a call to the head of the music department at San Juan College and then pay a visit to Ellen Ferguson.

  Later that morning Abe looked for Danny and found the young man sitting under a cottonwood tree, watching the sheep graze. “Let’s call it a day. I can finish up later and bring those sheep in tonight.”

  At first Danny’s face fell, but then Abe added, “I want to take you and your mom to lunch. And we’re going for a drive afterward. How does that sound?”

  “Good, Abe,” Danny said, securing the gate between the two pastures. “Where’re we going? I like hamburgers and french fries.”

  “Come on—I’ll give you a ride home, and we’ll talk about it. Is your mom there?”

  “Okay. Yeah. Mom is always home. She makes things to sell so we can have a little more money. Sometimes we don’t have enough, and the gas company turns off the heat. It gets cold, Abe, so Mom wants to be sure we stay warm next winter.”

  Abe pondered Danny’s circumstances. He hadn’t thought much about how difficult life must have been for Ellen and her son since her husband died. “Climb in the truck, and tell me where’s your favorite place to eat.”

  Danny sat on the passenger side, with Patch hopping in beside him.

  It might get a little crowded in here, Abe thought. But we’ll manage.

  The short trip to Ellen Jorgenson’s house took them down a rough side road. A small blue bungalow sat at the end of a dirt driveway between two willow trees.

  Ellen stood out front, a shovel in her hand, and waved when they drove up. The house looked tidy but run-down. Missing shingles dotted the rooftop, and plastic had been nailed over the windows to help keep the cold out.

  “I’m getting some flowerbeds ready, mixing in some sheep manure—gonna try to pretty this place up a little. I’m about done and was going to pick up Danny for lunch. Come on in and have a cup of coffee and lunch with us. It’ll only take a minute to put something together.”

  “Why don’t you let me take you out to eat? If you don’t mind going for a drive afterward, I’d like to introduce you to some friends,” Abe said.

  “Now, Abe. You don’t have to buy us lunch. You just paid us a bunch of money for watching your place.”

  Although preoccupied with thoughts of Emily and what might be happening in South Dakota, staying home and doing nothing while waiting for her call racked his nerves. “I insist. Come on. Hop in.”

  Danny looked at his mother with pleading eyes. “Come on, Mom. Hamburgers and french fries!”

  “Well, just give me a minute to wash up a little. Who’re we meeting?”

  “Some Navajo families out on the reservation. They buy breeding stock from Mattie Simmons’s place so they can build their Churro sheep herds. They’re herders and weavers. Honest, hardworking people.”

  When Ellen returned, she carried a cardboard box that she placed in the bed of the truck.

  Abe called Patch around to the back and lifted him into the bed. “You’re going to have to ride back here, buddy. Make room for the humans.” Glancing at the box, he added, “Whatcha got in there, Ellen?”

  “Just a little something I like to give to new people I meet—some of my homemade pickles from last summer.”

  Abe had never heard of giving pickles to new acquaintances. He couldn’t suppress his smile. “Okay. Where’re we going, Danny?”

  “Junior’s Super Burgers. And can I have a big root beer float, Abe?”

  After lunch, Abe navigated the truck past Teec Nos Pos and onto the dirt road that would take them to Herman Tallbrother’s sheep camp. Danny gazed out the window, mesmerized by the sight of Indian ponies—pintos, chestnuts, and roans grazing languidly on new spring growth or gathered at watering holes—and frolicking colts trying out their legs. Scattered hogans squatted far from the road, isolated markers of human habitation in the sweeping landscape. Red sandstone mesas and steep canyons punctuated the rolling plains. As they began to ascend the mountain leading to the Tallbrothers’ camp, bright patches of wildflowers cropped up, adorning green slopes where multicolored sheep grazed. The animals lifted their heads and stared with curious faces as the truck passed.

  He found the Navajo herder and his son filling jugs of water from a tank in front of their temporary shelter. Two women worked near the side of a lean-to, one carding and cleaning wool, the other adding plant material to a large kettle of boiling water.

  “Yá’át’ééh, Herman Tallbrother,” Abe said from the open truck window.

  Herman returned the greeting. A question such as “What brings you here?” might have been on his mind, but the Navajo was too polite to ask. “Welcome, Abe Freeman. Come in, rest a spell,” he added, acknowledging Ellen and Danny.

  The women looked their way, smiling shyly at the strangers, and beckoned Ellen to come over. Before Ellen joined them, she retrieved two quart-size jars of dill pickles from her box. In a matter of minutes, they were talking and laughing like old friends. Abe had left Patch in the back of his truck because of the protective nature of the Tallbrothers’ sheepdogs—he didn’t want trouble. Danny immediately headed toward the dogs, walking unabashedly into the herd of sheep, speaking in a soft voice to the animals. The dogs wagged their tails as he approached.

  “That boy,” Herman Tallbrother said, pointing with his lips at Danny. “He knows how to work with the sheep—talks to them, and the animals listen to his words.”

  “Danny is an exceptional young man.” Abe explained how Danny had been in an accident and lost his father, and how his mind would never see the world as an adult.

  Tallbrother solemnly nodded. “His spirit is blessed. The animals know. See how the sheep and dogs respond to him.”

  Abe knew not to rush the Navajo man. While the women drank coffee and chatted, Abe cautiously inched toward his reason for being there.

  They talked about the case of the missing girls, but the Navajo grapevine had filled Tallbrother in on most of the available details. He planned on bringing his family to join the other Navajos at the Albuquerque airport for the girls’ homecoming. The small talk continued with a discussion of weather, sheep, wool, and finally, weaving.

  “I know this is none of my business,” Abe said, “but, I am curious to know how much you were paid for the last rug you sold to Mattie Simmons.”

  After he had garnered the information, Abe jotted it in his not
ebook by the herder’s name. They shook hands, and he said good-bye to the Tallbrother family. He began driving toward the next name on his list.

  “Those ladies have so much skill,” Ellen said as they bounced along another dirt road. “Did you see the rug they were weaving? I’ve never seen such exquisite work, and they color their yarn with beautiful shades of homemade dyes. Just amazes me how they do it.”

  They visited four more sheep camps before Abe decided it was time to go home. He had documented the information he needed and introduced Ellen and Danny to the Diné herders and weavers. Ellen continued to give out her pickles, winning the women’s approval, and Danny impressed the men with his natural ability to work with animals.

  It looked to be a good match for his plan. After putting more than a hundred miles on the truck, and a few hours talking sheep, he was more than ready to head back. Primarily, he was anxious for Emily’s call. Abe dropped Ellen and Danny off and hurried to Mattie Simmons’s house to check the messages on the answering machine. Nothing. He tried to call the Broken Arrow Motel where Emily was staying, but no one answered. He left a message on the answering machine—a sense of foreboding settling over him like an ominous cloud.

  39

  Friday Evening, April 20, 1990

  Mattie Simmons’s Sheep Ranch

  Bloomfield, New Mexico

  Abe waited an hour before calling Emily’s room again. After receiving no answer, he tried contacting her mother. Bertha picked up the phone on the first ring.

  “Emily, is that you?”

  “No, Bertha. It’s me, Abe. I wanted to know if you had heard anything from Emily or Will. I haven’t been able to reach either of them.”

  Bertha’s voice sounded tight with restrained emotion. “Me neither, Abe. Do you think anything is wrong?”

  Wanting to reassure himself as well as Bertha, Abe tried to put a positive tone in his voice. “No, I’m sure everything is fine. They’re probably busy and can’t get to a phone is all. Are you doing all right?”

  “I never should have agreed to let her go. Her body hasn’t had time to heal, and she is still exhausted.”

  “They needed her, Bertha. No one has a picture of Langley, and she’s the only one who could identify him. Will and Joe Hosteen are with her. Don’t worry, she’s okay.” He wanted to believe his words, but he couldn’t shake the fear gnawing at the pit of his stomach. “Let me know if you hear anything, and I’ll do the same.”

  “I will.”

  “Is anyone staying with you?”

  “Yes, I am thankful that Grandfather Etcitty is here, and he is going to perform a Protection Way prayer for Emily. It is a special ceremony that will empower her to be clear-minded and to make positive and life-affirming choices. He’s helping me keep my spirits up. I will be all right now. And you, Abe?”

  Abe Freeman wished he had Bertha’s indomitable faith in prayers, but he had lost his belief in God after watching his first love, Sharon, suffer and die. He tried again to sound upbeat. “It’s all going to work out fine, Bertha. I’m glad Grandfather Etcitty is there with you.”

  When he hung up, Abe remained sitting by the phone, holding his head in his hands, willing it to ring, wishing he could pray. After a while, he went to the piano, his only solace, and began to play Mozart’s Concerto No. 23. He played it again and again, wanting to lose himself in the music, striving for perfection.

  Abe grabbed the phone as soon as he heard the first ring. The pendulum clock in the foyer chimed nine times. He had not wanted to miss the call, so he had been playing the piano for the last four hours, only taking a brief time-out to feed Patch. His dog sat at his feet as if waiting for news from Emily as well.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Abe, it’s finally over. We found the girls and got Langley. Lina is in the hospital, and her parents are being flown out here. She’s going to be okay.”

  Abe exhaled a huge sigh when he heard her words and felt an immediate release of tension. “Thank God, Em. I’ve been worried sick. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, a little sore, but I’m okay.” Emily hesitated, and her voice broke. “Langley’s in the hospital, too—Abe, I shot him, but he’s going to live.”

  Abe waited for more. When nothing came, he said, “You did what you had to. How are you handling it, sweetheart?”

  He heard her sigh. “I’m all right. Darcy is staying in the room with me tonight. It’s been a long, tough day; a lot has happened. I can’t tell you the whole story now, but we’ll be home Sunday. We should arrive around two thirty on the Delta flight from Minneapolis. Lina will have to stay in the hospital a little longer, and I won’t leave until her parents are here with her. They should arrive tomorrow.”

  “How did Lina manage to beat the odds and stay alive without her medication?”

  “Another woman who is also diabetic brought her insulin while she was at the Harmony Home compound. After Langley took her away, she basically started starving herself. Darcy said all she would take was water. It would have just been a matter of hours before ketoacidosis set in and she died.”

  “What an amazing child.” Abe felt his heart swell for the sweet girl who had struggled so cheerfully and determinedly through his piano lessons. She hadn’t given up, then or now. “Em, I’ll be at the Delta gate waiting for you—the guy right up front. I think the whole tribe is going to be there as well.”

  “I can’t wait to see you. I have to go now. I need to call my mom so she can let everyone know the girls are safe. I just wanted to tell you . . .”

  “What, Emily?”

  “I love you, Abe Freeman.”

  After he had placed the phone receiver back in the cradle, he picked up his dog. “Patch, did you hear the news, old boy? Emily’s on her way home, and she said she loves me. She’s never said that before.” A smile spread across his face, and he laughed out loud. Abe returned to the piano and began playing with abandon. His selected piece, Beethoven’s Ode to Joy, rang out in clear, bright tones.

  40

  Sunday, April 22, 1990

  Albuquerque International Airport

  Albuquerque, New Mexico

  When Emily, Will, Hosteen, and Darcy Benally emerged from the passenger boarding bridge and into the Albuquerque Airport waiting room, a cheer erupted from the crowd. Darcy spotted her parents and rushed to their waiting arms. It appeared as if half the Diné had shown up for the homecoming. Tears of joy flowed from the emotional crowd of greeters; drums and chants drew the attention of other travelers as they stared with curiosity at the gathering.

  Emily had gone shopping for Lina and Darcy the evening before they left Pierre, even though Lina remained in the hospital. She had purchased jeans, T-shirts, underwear, socks, tennis shoes, pajamas, and jackets for them using her credit card. She didn’t care about the money. They also needed basic toiletries and hairbrushes. After showering and donning new clothes, Darcy looked like a typical teenager instead of the traumatized victim of a madman. She had held up well during questioning from the FBI and the ordeal of a doctor’s examination in South Dakota and, finally, was released into Emily’s care. Lina had been spared the interrogation. Thankfully, the girls had not been sexually molested, but there would be scars only time, love, and counseling would heal.

  The FBI had questioned Emily as well. “Yes,” she said. “I shot Langley when he attempted to escape. He was armed and had threatened the two girls and me. He pushed me down and tried to run away, taking Darcy as a hostage. I believed he had access to another secret room and a way out. I couldn’t let him get away.” She signed a statement of her account of the incident, fully aware there would be an internal investigation and that she would be put on administrative leave as per procedure with a police shooting. She could handle it—as long as the girls were spared.

  Emily scanned the crowd and saw Abe standing by her mother and Grandfather Etcitty. Their eyes locked, and for the first time since all the trouble began, Emily felt at peace. Will had spotted his mother,
too, and started pushing the airport wheelchair toward them as they came rushing forward. Emily could not reach them fast enough, and when she did, her relief and joy were so great she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Emily had been home for three days before Abe was able to pry her away from her mother’s protective care. He brought her to the guesthouse on Simmons’s sheep ranch and fixed her a steak dinner. After the meal, they sat together on the couch, their feet propped on the coffee table, their bodies close, and sipped brandy from round-bowled snifters. Newspapers cluttered the table. The Albuquerque Journal, the Farmington Daily Times, and the Santa Fe New Mexican had all run front-page stories covering the abduction and rescue of the Navajo girls. But the Cortez Journal was the only paper that featured a full front-page story complete with pictures of Emily and the rescued girls.

  Abe asked her about the incident leading up to the shooting and capture of Rupert Langley. She hated to lie but did not divulge, even to him, that it had been Lina Nez who shot Langley.

  She told him both Sheriff Turnbull and the Navajo Nation had filed papers to extradite Langley, and how the Cortez Journal’s managing editor, Phil Brewster, and his wife, Tina, had flown out to South Dakota to get the scoop on the story. Their headline came out first, followed a day later by an in-depth report on the activities at the Harmony Home Ranch.

  “How many underage girls were in the women’s compound at the time you were there, Em?”

  “I’d estimate thirty. I haven’t heard the official count. The investigators are trying to determine exactly how many of them Langley had sex with. Right now, they’ve learned enough to charge him with statutory rape as well as kidnapping. They were also able to identify two other young Navajo women besides Mary Jo, and are working on reuniting them with their families. It’s going to be a long process of reintegration, Abe. They’ve been so brainwashed—some don’t want to come back.”