Abducted Innocence (Emily Etcitty)

by Sandra Bolton

  Abe nodded. “Like Patty Hearst and the SLA,” he said. “The mind can be easily manipulated. What about the other men who lived on the ranch?”

  “They’ll all be tested, as well as the children, to determine who fathered them. If the mother was underage at the time she became pregnant, the father will be charged as well. Then there’s the question of polygamy. It’s officially illegal for Mormons, but everyone knows it goes on anyway. That’s probably part of the reason Langley decided to split off. We’ll have to see how a judge handles it.”

  Emily held out her empty glass, and Abe poured her a second drink. She stared at the contents, a faraway look in her eyes. “Do you know if anyone found Chipeta Longtooth?”

  “No one has seen hide nor hair of her. Last I heard, she had vanished like a wisp of smoke. You don’t have any idea where she might have gone, do you?”

  “No, not a clue,” Emily said, and she meant it.

  “Something strange happened out at the Harmony Home Ranch, though.”

  “What?”

  “The place was deserted—the families are still being held in Cortez for DNA testing and questioning, I guess. An unexplained fire burned the temple to the ground, but all the other buildings remained undamaged. I hear some of the cult members want to go back there, rebuild the church, and wait for their leader to return.”

  “Weird. I wonder how the fire started.” Emily had a hunch but kept it to herself. “Now tell me what else is on your mind.” She swirled the amber liquid in her glass before taking a sip.

  “I think Mattie Simmons is screwing the Navajo people,” Abe said. “I don’t believe she’s giving them a fair share of the sale of their rugs and blankets.”

  “Well, you’re not the only one who feels that way. The Navajo have been grumbling about her for a long time.”

  “Emily, can you get access to her financial records? Find out who she is selling to, and for how much? Take a look at her business transactions, bank deposits, and such?”

  “Hmm, she’s based in Dallas, right?”

  “Yeah. Em, listen. I want to put some pressure on Simmons—make her pay the Navajo families their fair share.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “There’s something else. I have an interview for a job at the college. If it comes through, I’ll leave this ranch, but I’d like to see someone I trust taking my position.”

  “Ellen and Danny?”

  “They’d be perfect. Ellen lost her home after the accident. Hospital bills were too much, and she couldn’t keep up her mortgage payments. Now they can barely make ends meet living in their little rental. And she can’t hold a full-time job because of Danny, so she does housecleaning on the side and sells produce. Danny is a natural with the sheep, and with Ellen’s supervision, he can do just about anything.”

  “You don’t like raising sheep, Abe?”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t have anything against the sheep or herding. I love animals; I love the outdoors. But I want to play more music than I can squeeze in on a borrowed piano. It’s not enough to have a spare moment to get in some practice at Mattie Simmons’s place. I want to teach—I want to play for an audience once in a while. I like making people happy with my music. Do you understand?”

  Emily nodded, and her lips curved into a slow smile. “I think I know someone in Dallas who can help us. I’ll make a few calls, see what we come up with, and let you know.”

  Abe tilted Emily’s face up and kissed her long and hard. “I knew you could, Super Woman.”

  He let his hand slip down to the buttons on her shirt and began undoing them while continuing to plant kisses on her lips and neck.

  Emily let out a low groan.

  “Do you want me to stop?” asked Abe as his mouth caressed the tops of her breasts.

  “No. Don’t you dare.” As Abe ran his tongue around the areola of her breast, her nipples hardened like small precious stones. “God, I’ve missed you. I just don’t know how much I can do with this damn cast.”

  “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll do all the work.” Abe stood, picked her up, and gently laid her on his bed, his erection fighting against the confines of his jeans.

  “Help me out of these clothes, Abe. I need you so badly.”

  “Oh, baby, it will be my pleasure.”

  The following morning, Abe and Emily awoke early and took their coffee to the back patio. The rising sun glinted off the pale grass, transforming the morning dew into iridescent pearls. Abe had promised to bring Emily home early, and he had chores in the barn, so they didn’t have much time. In the afternoon he wanted to practice a complicated piece of music he planned to play for his audition at the college. But, for now, he was content to sit there with Emily and marvel at her beauty.

  Emily and Abe didn’t talk much that morning; they didn’t need to. Whenever their eyes met, each would shyly smile as if they shared a secret. For Abe, the previous night’s lovemaking had been different somehow—more intimate, bringing them closer together. He felt sure that Emily shared this newly found intimacy as well. Even Patch seemed to sense their mood and sat watching them, his tail wagging—some would even say his thin black lips curved into a knowing grin.

  The following day, Emily called Abe. He grabbed a pen and piece of notebook paper.

  “Hi, sweetheart. What’s happening?” He waited, listening to the sound of shuffling papers before she responded.

  “I’ve got something that may interest you. Simmons’s cheating is even worse than anyone imagined, Abe. Listen to this. A Two Gray Hills rug sold six months ago to a collector in Germany for thirty-five thousand dollars. Your boss’s check to the Navajo weaver—two thousand. A large Teec Nos Pos rug went to another collector in The Netherlands. Her selling price—twenty thousand. Nina Benally’s share was one thousand. And there’s plenty more. Do you know what kind of contract she has with the weavers?”

  “The people I talked to said it’s supposed to be a forty-sixty deal, with sixty percent going to the Navajo rug makers. The greedy bitch has been scamming them big-time. Were you able to get copies of the business transactions?”

  “Yes. I spent a day at my desk. Told my boss I needed to catch up on some paperwork. My source faxed me copies of all her deals and bank statements.”

  “They can get those without a warrant?”

  “Yep. All they need is a mere subpoena—not even a judge’s signature. It’s amazing what those government agents can get their hands on.”

  “We just might have Mattie Simmons between a rock and a hard place. Thanks for coming through, babe. I talked to a couple of herders who knew they had been underpaid but couldn’t do anything about it. If they were desperate enough for gas or food money, an authentic Navajo rug might go for as little as two hundred fifty dollars.”

  “Simmons turns around and sells it for a five hundred percent markup. It’s bad enough there are all those cheap knockoffs of Navajo patterns reproduced abroad. They undercut the Diné weavers by selling their merchandise at a lower price.” Emily’s voice took on an angry tone. “I never imagined the extent of her greed. We should have investigated this woman a long time ago. Any design woven by a Navajo weaver within the six sacred mountains is sanctified. The plants, animals, rocks, mountains, as well as the sheep, wool, dye plants, and piñon pine used to build the weaving loom were given to the Diné by their Holy People. I’m pissed at this woman, Abe.”

  “Will you be my backup when I confront her with this information?”

  “You bet. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m still officially on administrative leave, but give me a date. We’ll put together a case Mattie Simmons won’t be able to buy her way out of—no matter how much money she has.”

  “I only want her prosecuted if she doesn’t agree to some terms I’ve worked out,” Abe said.

  “What do you mean? What terms?”

  “She pays back all the money she ripped off from the weavers in the past and agrees to uphold the sixty-forty agreement.
I want it down in writing.”

  “Hmm. Might be sweeter than jail time. Anything else?”

  “She offers my job to Ellen and Danny Jorgenson and raises the wages.”

  “Whoa. You drive a hard bargain. And if she doesn’t abide by these terms, we’ll throw the book at her? I like it that we have tangible evidence.”

  “She’ll be here in a little less than two weeks.”

  “Good. That will give me time to put a strong case together. I have a bit more digging to do.”

  “Em, on a different subject—when is the sergeant’s exam coming up?”

  “In about two weeks. I’m going to have to pass on this one, Abe. Joe Hosteen has earned it. He told me he was going to ask for a transfer to the Tohajiilee Indian Reservation near Albuquerque so he can be closer to his mother and fiancée. She applied for a teaching job there, and they’re planning a wedding.”

  Abe reflected on his petty jealousy of Hosteen. He hadn’t known anything about the man at the time and had jumped to some stupid conclusions. Hosteen had gained his respect. “Are you disappointed—to miss the chance for a promotion?”

  “Nah. I’ll have other opportunities. Next time, I won’t break a leg.”

  “Emily, I love you.”

  “Thanks for loving me, Abe Freeman. I know I can be difficult at times.”

  “A wild woman—especially in bed.”

  “Does that mean I’m bad?” she asked in a teasing voice.

  “Oh, no. It means the opposite. You are amazing, both in bed and out. I wouldn’t want you any other way, sweetheart.”

  41

  Monday, April 23, 1990

  Ellen Jorgenson’s Home

  Bloomfield, NM

  After Abe had outlined his proposal, Ellen stared at him, her mouth open, the coffee cup suspended in midair. “Why would you give up your job for Danny and me?”

  “I’m applying for a position in the music department at the college, Ellen. It’s the sort of work I love, and I’ve had some positive feedback from my interview with the department head. Besides, Danny is better at sheep raising than I’ll ever be.”

  “That’s why you took Danny and me with you the other day, out to meet those herders and their families, isn’t it?” Ellen said with a knowing grin. “You were already setting things up.”

  “All right, I confess. Yes, I was. Look, I know the guesthouse has only one bedroom, but there’s a good-size storage room you can convert, and the place is comfortable. Plenty of space for two.”

  “I know. I loved working there while you were gone.”

  “Well, what do you say? I won’t be moving for at least a month, so you could give your landlord notice and have plenty of time to get ready. You and Danny can ride with me when I deliver new lambs to the buyers so you’ll become more familiar with the operation. The pay is twelve hundred a month, with free rent and paid utilities.”

  “I’d be crazy to turn it down. Danny will be out-of-this-world happy,” said Ellen. “He’s gonna miss you and Patch—and I have to say, especially Patch. He’s become very attached to that dog.” Ellen brushed a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. “How do you know she’ll hire us?”

  “She will. Trust me.”

  42

  Monday, April 30, 1990

  Mattie Simmons’s Sheep Ranch

  Bloomfield, New Mexico

  The color drained from Mattie Simmons’s face as she read the copies of her business transactions with the Navajo. She sat in a nearby chair and grasped the papers in one hand, shaking them at Abe as if to scold him. “How . . . how dare you snoop into my personal affairs? You won’t get away with this. My lawyers will see to it.”

  The words that spewed from her mouth were cold and venomous, but her eyes lacked conviction.

  Emily stood beside Abe, her arms crossed over the shirt of her Navajo Nation Police uniform. “Do you deny you sold Navajo rugs at an inflated price to European collectors and lied to the Diné about the selling price, thereby cheating them out of thousands of dollars?”

  Simmons stared at her with narrowed lids, her steel-gray eyes hard as ball bearings.

  “Do you want to call a lawyer?” Emily said. “There’s going to be quite a scandal when we arrest you and this story hits the newspapers.”

  Biting her lower lip, Simmons turned and riveted her eyes on Abe, her mouth a tight, thin line. She glowered, breathing heavily, before turning away.

  Emily and Abe waited in the tense silence while Mattie Simmons fumed. When she answered, Abe read the defeat in her voice.

  “No. A scandal will ruin my business, and I have an extensive list of very prestigious clients waiting for an authentic Navajo rug. You are blackmailing me, you bastard.” Mattie Simmons inhaled deeply. “What do you want?”

  Abe handed her another paper. “I’ve made a list of the people you owe money to and how much. Contact your bank and start writing checks. I will be your driver and witness when you deliver the checks to the families. I’m also giving you notice—I will no longer be your employee after this month. I have someone I want you to hire in my place, however. I’m sure you will be pleased with their work, as they’ve already shown themselves to be more than capable of handling this job.”

  “What? You think you can dictate to me who to hire? Go to hell. You’re fired, and I want you out of here.”

  “Well, here’s the deal, Mattie. It’s all or nothing. If you don’t hire Ellen Jorgenson and her son, Danny, and if you don’t repay the weavers, copies of these business transactions go to the FBI, the United States Fish and Wildlife Service, the Navajo Nation, and the Farmington Daily Times.”

  “Get out of my sight,” the woman hissed.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Abe said with a small grin. “Tomorrow morning we need to deliver two yearlings to Sammy Begay, so you can put his check first on your list. I believe his mother, Sylvia, made the beautiful Yeibichai rug you sold for eighteen thousand.”

  Mattie Simmons’s cheeks flared bright red.

  Abe thought it was time to back off. “We’ll leave at nine, and you’ll have a chance to meet Ellen and Danny.”

  He heard the door slam behind him as soon as he and Emily stepped outside.

  Emily shook her head and gave Abe a wide-eyed look. “You amazed me in there—you were tough as old boots with that broad.”

  “Guess I’m growing a thicker hide—and I had you as my backup, sweetie pie.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what, white man. You can be my backup anytime.”

  Abe kissed her on the forehead. “I need to get in the barn. Three ewes are about ready to give birth. You know, a pregnant ewe was having a hard time the other day. She had twins, and one was breech. She couldn’t deliver until Danny turned it and pulled the lamb out. He reached in and brought the head forward—saved both lambs. I’m not so good at delivering babies, but it didn’t even faze Danny. He’s in the barn waiting for me now.”

  The following morning, Abe and Ellen rode in the front seat of Abe’s truck as they made their way to Luckachukai, the home of Sylvia Begay, master weaver of Yeibichai Navajo rugs. Danny and Patch opted to ride in the back with the two yearlings. Mattie Simmons, not wanting to spend any more time with Abe than necessary, followed in her rental car. Abe wished he’d had a camera to catch the expression on Sammy Begay’s face when Simmons handed him a check for $10,000, the amount due on the selling price of the last rug. After the shock had worn off, the new sheep had been integrated into Begay’s flock, and the coffee had been drunk, Abe looked around for Danny. He spotted him sitting on the ground under a lean-to shed, surrounded by six wriggling puppies. He knew the mother must have weaned them because they had a food dish, and the Blue Heeler mix didn’t appear concerned about visitors.

  “How much would you take for one of those pups, Sammy?” Abe said. “I think I know someone who would give a young sheepdog a real good home.”

  EPILOGUE

  On a hot and dusty Sunday afternoon in August, four months after
Emily Etcitty and the two kidnapped Navajo girls were returned to their homes, Abe Freeman smiled down from the stage as the audience rose to their feet in a standing ovation. Abe had been working as a piano teacher at San Juan College for the past three months, but this was his first concert—a program he called “Five Not-So-Easy Pieces,” which he had memorized. He had played compositions by Chopin, Bach, Beethoven, Satie, and Bartók to the appreciative crowd. As he gazed out at the audience, his eyes searched for one familiar face—Emily’s. Unable to spot her, and uncomfortable with the cheers of acclaim from the audience, Abe wanted to get off the stage as quickly as possible. After an awkward bow, he headed for the sidelines, where he found Emily waiting with open arms. A flush of warmth spread through his body as he gave her an ear-to-ear grin.

  “You were magnificent,” said Emily.

  “Sweetheart, I was scared shitless. Let’s sneak out of here so I don’t have to do the meet and greet.”

  “You’re skipping out on the reception?”

  “I’ll make an excuse.”

  As he spoke, a tall blond woman wearing a little black dress and bright-red lipstick approached. Abe had also dressed in black slacks and shirt, as required.

  “Marvelous,” she said, stretching her lips into a broad smile. “The audience loved you. See you in McKinley Hall? That’s where the reception is being held.”

  “Thanks, Margo, but something important has come up. I’ll have to bow out. Please give my regrets.”

  Her mouth turned into a pretty pout. “Oh, Abe, I know you are merely shy.” Her eyes flickered over Emily, who was wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a T-shirt. “And this is . . . ?”

  “My girlfriend, Emily Etcitty. Emily, the chairwoman of the music department, Margo DeVries.”

  They shook hands, mumbling niceties and appraising each other with their eyes before Emily spoke up. “Abe, we better get going. Very nice meeting you, Miss DeVries.”

  Once they slipped out the back door, Emily poked him in the ribs. “I think she’s got the hots for you.”

  “No way. She has a husband and is at least ten years older than me.”