Mallory closed her eyes to the frustration—a feeling that was becoming all too familiar. It wasn’t fair. He was holding her responsible for the sins of others, for things she had no part of. He wasn’t giving her a chance.
She took a deep breath, forcing the feelings aside. Fair or not, it didn’t matter. He would never trust her, and she would be wise just to accept it. Like living without him, it was something she’d have to get used to.
“Hey, you two,” Charlie Nez called as he walked up to the booth with his young daughter in his arms. “The Council of Tribal Elders is about to convene. We’ve got seats saved, but you’d better hurry. The tent’s filling up fast.”
Ida smiled up at her son-in-law and gave her little granddaughter a peck on the cheek. “Help me lock up.”
Handing the child to Ida, Charlie pulled the plywood cover down over the stall and secured it with a heavy padlock. “All set.”
The general meeting of the Council of Tribal Elders was the hallmark of the convention—not an event for the tourists. Delegates from each lodge represented at the powwow would meet to address issues and concerns they each had determined to be the most urgent in their communities. These issues would then be discussed and examined, and the floor would be open for dialogue. It was the aim of this general meeting that through discussion and exchange, possible solutions and conclusions could be found and considered for not only the most immediate, pressing concerns of each of the individual communities represented, but also long-range goals could be set and implemented. Whether the issues were government intervention into tribal business, or health and educational concerns on the reservation, the hope of the council was that by banding together and better understanding the problems each individual lodge faced, they could reach out to one another and form a network of assistance.
The green-and-white-striped tent was enormous, and by the time Mallory and her friends arrived, it looked as though all of the more than five hundred seats had been taken. The raised dais at the front of the tent held three long tables, set in a semicircle. Microphones lined each table, and placards in front of each announced the particular tribe or lodge represented, and the name of the individual delegate.
Charlie pointed to a row midway down the center aisle where Esther had saved them seats, and while he and Ida made their way to them, Mallory headed for the press box near the front of the stage.
The crowd was noisy with excitement, everyone anxious to have their own particular agendas and needs open to discussion and analysis. Mallory stepped past the microphone that had been placed in the center aisle for questions from the floor, and slid into the press box—which was merely a section of folding chairs that had been roped off from the rest of the crowd. But most of the seats in the press box were vacant. The small crowd of reporters and cameramen stood at the front of the box, jockeying for position and optimum camera angles.
Mallory recognized a couple of AP reporters, and one from the Flagstaff Register whom she’d met when she’d stopped by Wayne’s office to pick up her fax. She gave them each a brief nod as she elbowed past, making her way through the crowd. No novice to the news pack, she wasn’t intimidated, and she jostled herself into a position near the stage where she could hear and have an unrestricted view. She had just pulled her hand-held tape recorder from her bag and was fumbling around for her tablet and pen when the delegates began entering the tent from a side opening. Climbing the steps to the dais, the solemn-faced assembly began making their way to their seats.
Of the hundred or so tribes and lodges represented on the council, Mallory noted that only a few were represented by women—less than ten. Making a face, she pulled her tablet from her bag and made a note of that on the page. Maybe their cultures shared more than they thought.
With the appearance of the delegates on stage, the crowd began to quiet down. Council president Joseph Brightraven stepped to the center podium, clearing his throat loudly, and called the meeting to order. The crowd stilled almost immediately, with only the sounds of the desert wind gusting through the tent flaps breaking the sudden silence.
Brightraven, a Cherokee from New Mexico, made a few brief opening remarks, then introduced the other delegates and the nations they represented. Mallory had just flipped on her tape recorder and was about to make a notation on her tablet about the delegate of the Navajo being a woman, when she stopped suddenly. She had caught a movement from the corner of her eye, something that caused the blood to drain slowly from her face. Turning her head, she looked up just in time to see Benjamin Graywolf step into the tent from a side entrance.
Chapter 14
Mallory felt light-headed, and the ground beneath her feet seemed suddenly to have a subtle tilt. She staggered to one side, colliding with the man standing next to her.
“Hey, watch it,” he snapped angrily, lifting the clumsy video camera from his shoulder and rubbing the inky spot where her pen had jabbed his arm.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, feeling startled and disoriented. She reared away, overcorrecting in her haste and bringing her foot down hard on the toe of the Register reporter. “Sorry,” she said again, spinning around, cringing. “I’m very sorry.”
Clumsily she managed to nudge away from the stage to a quiet spot near a folding chair at a far side of the press box. For five days she’d wondered how she would react to seeing Graywolf again—and now she knew. She was a wreck. Her palms were sweating and her heart raced like crazy in her chest. It was ridiculous, and one way or another she was going to have to find a way to pull herself together.
With a hand on the chair to steady her, she took several long, deep breaths, forcing her heart rate to slow by sheer willpower alone. When she felt better, she turned again to the direction of the side entrance. Her body and her emotions still reacted strongly to the sight of him, but the shock had diminished, and her legs felt much sturdier beneath her.
He looked so handsome standing there, so endearingly familiar that it almost hurt her to watch. Yet as distressing as it seemed to be, she found it impossible to tear her gaze away.
Seeing him after so many days, and so many long nights alone, was like finding an oasis in the desert. She drank in the sight of him, her thirst insatiable. His powerful shoulders and impressive build were no less imposing in the casual dress clothes he wore now than they’d been in the Levi’s and work shirts he’d worn in the desert. It was all she could do to stop herself from tearing through the crowd and running to him.
She’d seen him as a native craftsman at work in his studio, as a tracker on the trail of his prey, even as a shaman with second sight. But in the dress shirt and expensive slacks, he looked every bit the lawyer now. The pale blue oxford shirt made his skin look as smooth and rich as mahogany, and the fine wool slacks draped his legs with tailored perfection. Even with his long hair falling loose around his shoulders, he wore his grace and profession well.
But as she stood watching him, an icy chill made her shiver. An odd, uneasy feeling began to spread through her body—an uneasiness not unlike she’d felt when Marissa was in trouble. Something was wrong—but it wasn’t her twin sister this time. It was something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But it had to do with the tautness of Graywolf’s expression, and the tension in his stance.
It was only then that she realized Graywolf looked...scared.
A gust of wind blew lazily through the tent, sending the walls billowing outward and sawdust swirling around her ankles. She was being silly, she told herself as she glanced up to the podium and at Joseph Brightraven, who still addressed the crowd in his slow, deep monotone. She was feeling uneasy because of Graywolf, because of seeing him again. Still, as the crowd erupted into applause at something Brightraven had said in his opening remarks, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling.
Mallory’s interest grew when Sam Begay joined Graywolf beside the stage. As the two men began to talk, her feeling of uneasiness increased. It became obvious they were arguing, and their
animated conversation was growing more and more heated.
Mallory slipped her tape recorder and tablet back into her bag and ducked under the tape that roped off the press box. Making her way through the crowded seats and narrow aisles, she headed for them. Something was going on, and one way or another she was going to find out what it was.
* * *
“You’re sure?”
Graywolf turned and looked into Sam’s coal black eyes. “I’m sure.”
“What if... “ Sam let his words drift.
“What if what?” Graywolf demanded. “I’m wrong? It’s okay to say it.”
“Okay, I will,” Sam said, emotion making his voice rise. “What if you’re wrong? It’s a possibility, you know.”
Graywolf closed his eyes, drawing in a frustrated breath. “Are you willing to take that chance?”
“But—”
“There are no buts,” Graywolf insisted, angry now. “Look, Sam, you wait much longer, you might as well forget it. This will all be moot, anyway. It’s on your head now. I’ve done what I can.”
Sam regarded Graywolf for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing with thought. Slowly his hand moved to the walkie-talkie on his patrol belt. “I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing,” he said to Graywolf, bringing the walkie-talkie to his mouth. After several static-filled messages passed back and forth, he returned it to his belt and looked up at Graywolf. “You going to make the announcement or do you want me to?”
“I have no authority here,” Graywolf said simply. “You’re the one with the badge.”
“Yeah, I’ve got the badge,” Begay muttered, nodding his head. He glanced back at Graywolf as he started for the stage. “But it’s your ass on the line this time.”
Graywolf’s eyes narrowed. “Better my ass than a lot of dead Indians.”
Another gust of wind blew through the tent, sending a dust cloud roaring down the aisle, and Graywolf’s fists clenched tightly at his side. He watched as Sam and the other officers made their way into position, and felt an uneasy prickling of nerves along the base of his neck.
“What was all that about?”
“Mallory,” Graywolf whispered, turning at the sound of her voice. She looked like a vision standing there, her blond hair falling loose and free, her lips full and pink. He staggered back a step, wondering for a moment if she were another divination, an apparition from a dream, or if she was real. The sight of her had the breath catching in his throat, and for a moment all he could do was stare.
“Hello, Graywolf,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the catch of emotion in her voice.
“How...how are you?”
Mallory looked up at him, feeling a little foolish now. What could she have been thinking rushing over like she had? There was no apprehension in his face now, no sign of fear or concern. Surely she must have imagined all that. What did she do now?
“Fine,” she said, a stiff smile cracking her lips. “I’m fine.” She gestured to Sam, who was now making his way up the stage to the podium. “What’s all this about?”
Graywolf looked up at Sam on the stage, and then back to Mallory. “Damn it, Mallory,” he groaned, almost beneath his breath. His feelings came back to him in a rush, as did the fear. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I’m covering the powwow. You knew that.”
Yes, he did. And he’d prayed she’d gotten her story on the first day and would have been long gone by now. “Look,” he said, taking a step toward her. “You’ve got to get out of here.”
“What?” Mallory stared up at him, confused. In the matter of a heartbeat, his expression had changed, and all her apprehensions came flooding back. “Graywolf, what are you talking about? What’s going on?”
He grabbed her by the hand. “I don’t have time to explain. Just leave—now.” He pulled her toward the exit. “Wait for me outside, I’ll explain everything then.”
“No—you’ll explain it now,” she insisted, pulling her hand free. “What’s gotten into you? I want to know what’s going on.”
“Damn it, Mallory, don’t argue,” he swore, reaching for her again. “There isn’t time. You’ve got to—”
But the rest of his words were drowned out by Sam’s voice booming over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention.”
“There’s something’s wrong, isn’t there,” she demanded, her eyes moving from him to the stage and back again. “Isn’t there.”
His dark eyes narrowed, and he slowly let go of her hand. “Smell a story?”
His cold words pierced her heart like an arrow. There it was again—the doubt, the distrust. She wanted to tell him he wasn’t being fair, that he was hitting below the belt and she didn’t deserve it, but the loud screech over the PA system as Sam began to speak had them both looking toward the stage.
“May I have your attention, please?“ he asked again. “There has been a small fire in the electrical cables at the rear of the tent.” There was an audible gasp from the audience, and Sam quickly added, “There is no cause for alarm. I repeat—there is absolutely no cause for alarm. The fire has been extinguished—it’s out. Again—the fire is out! But for safety reasons the fire marshall has asked that we clear the tent so a thorough inspection can be made. There are officers in the aisles and at the exits to assist you, so I ask you at this time to evacuate the tent—there is no need to rush—but please exit the tent at this time. The meeting will be rescheduled. Please leave the tent now.”
“A fire?” Mallory gasped as a small uproar exploded in the crowd. She turned to Graywolf, her mind moving immediately to Ida and her family lost somewhere in the mob of people streaming toward the aisles. “My God, Graywolf, I’ve got friends in here.”
“We’ve all got friends in here,” he pointed out. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pushing her toward the exit. “You have to go now.”
She struggled against his hold, but his strength was too great. “You have to tell me,” she pleaded. “I have to know. Is it out? Is it really out?”
What was he supposed to say? Was a lie really a lie if it saved someone’s life? He looked down into her sea blue eyes and felt something stir deep inside him. She was terrified, and he knew she asked out of concern, not as a reporter. He reached out and took her hand, feeling every muscle in his body grow tense. “It’s really out.”
“Honest?” she asked, searching his face.
Graywolf looked away, knowing what was at stake. “Honest.”
She offered little resistance then, letting him lead her through the exit and out onto the hot, dry blacktop. She nodded her agreement when he asked for her promise to stay, and watched in dazed silence as he returned to the tent to help others out.
The wind outside was arid, and dry, and it gusted about, sending huge clouds of dust billowing up from the ground. She glanced down at her bag, and for a moment she thought of the tape recorder and notepad inside. But she had no time to think about reporting on a story or lining up interviews. She had to find Ida and the rest of her family and make sure they made it out of the tent all right.
* * *
“Is that all of them?”
Sam glared up at Graywolf, sweat soaking through the felt of his cowboy hat. “I said I’d get them all. That’s all.”
Graywolf let Sam’s irritability pass. Officer Sam Begay had gone out on a limb for him this afternoon, and he was grateful. As it was, poor Sam was going to have enough explaining to do. Still, Graywolf couldn’t regret the decision. He’d rather risk getting egg on his face than see a lot of good people get hurt—or worse.
“Less than fifteen minutes,” Graywolf said, looking down at his watch. He glanced out the side exit of the empty tent to the spot where he’d left Mallory. She was nowhere in sight now, but that suited him just fine. The farther away she was from here, the better.
“You tell me to clear a tent, I clear a tent,” Sam said, some of his humor returning. He removed his hat
and swiped his wet forehead with the sleeve of his khaki shirt. “But I tell you, I thought we were going to lose it there for a while.”
“I know,” Graywolf murmured as the wind howled through the cavernous tent. He didn’t want to think about how close the crowd had come to panicking. “The work crews?”
“Just finishing up,” Sam assured him. “They’ve cut the power to the cables and secured what they could. The fire department and paramedics are on standby, and my people are keeping the press at bay.” He stopped and looked up at Graywolf. “You satisfied?”
Graywolf smiled, offering Sam his hand. “You know Begay, you’re not a half-bad cop.”
“Would you mind coming back to Tuba City with me and telling that to my captain? He’s going to just love this when he hears.”
* * *
“We’re fine, the baby’s fine,” Ida assured Mallory, reaching out an assuring hand. “No need to worry.”
Ida did her best, but Mallory had seen the worry in her eyes. With the exception of spotting Marissa hobbling out of that cave on the reservation a couple of weeks ago, she couldn’t remember being as glad to see anyone in her life as she was to spot Ida, Charlie, Esther and the baby in the crowd streaming out of the huge tent.
Even with Sam’s pleas for order and the presence of uniformed officers to oversee the flow of the crowd, the exodus out of the tent had been difficult. Some people had ignored the appeals to exit in an orderly fashion and had begun pushing, causing a momentary panic. Several people were knocked to the ground, a few fell over folding chairs, but luckily officers were quick to respond and took swift action to defuse the situation.
“Well, I’m just glad you’re all out safely,” Mallory said, taking Ida’s arm and leading her toward a row of picnic tables across from the convention tent.
“You and me both,” Charlie agreed, helping his wife to a shady spot out of the sun. “A big crowd like that—it’s easy for people to panic. Then somebody really could get hurt.”
Tears of the Shaman Page 19