Steal the North: A Novel

by Heather B Bergstrom

  “I’m fine. You’re fine, I’m fine. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me either.”

  “You feel sorry for me?” he asked with sudden attitude.

  “You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

  “What? How?”

  “You want to know all about me. Yet there are parts of you that you’ll never open to me.”

  I got out of bed.

  “That’s bull,” he said. “You have no idea.”

  “Why? Because I’m white? A spoiled white girl from California?”

  “I don’t think you’re spoiled. And you’re from here. I mean you have no idea how open I’ve been with you. I feel almost—gutted.”

  What a thing to say. It made me incredibly sad. I felt the fight go out of me. I sat back down on the bed with my back toward him.

  “I don’t want to argue,” he said, pulling me to him. “Let’s be careful with our time together.” He kissed my forehead.

  His stomach growled for a second time. “You feel gutted because you’re hungry.”

  “I’ve been hungrier. And you’re the skinny one.”

  “I’m not skinny. I have a little belly pooch.” Connor had pointed that out once.

  “What the fuck? Where?” He lifted up his shirt that I was wearing. “Where?”

  “Reuben, stop.”

  He laid his hand flat on my lower belly. Maybe I would carry his baby one day. Was that what he was thinking too? He said something to me in his native language. The words sounded like a prayer. He repeated them.

  * * *

  An hour later, when I dialed Jamie Kagen’s number, a woman answered. “Hello,” I said back to her. “I’m calling to speak to Mr. Jamie Kagen.” I put my hand over the receiver and whispered to Reuben, “She wants to know who’s calling.”

  “Tell her,” Reuben said.

  “This is Emmy Nolan, his daughter.”

  The woman didn’t sound as shocked as I’d expected. Though certainly rattled. She asked me to hold on. Then she got back on the phone and asked if I’d please call back in half an hour. Jamie was in the field. She’d go get him right away.

  “Do you think she’ll disconnect the phone line?” I asked Reuben.

  “Don’t call back, Emmy.”

  “I have to.” I was panicky now. I held Reuben’s hand, and we waited.

  A man answered when I called back. “Hello,” he said. I couldn’t reply. He sounded younger. What did I expect—a fifty-year-old? He was Matt’s and Spencer’s age. About thirty-five. His voice was deeper, though, than either of theirs. “Hello, Emmy?”

  My dad just said my name.

  “Hi,” I said, so he wouldn’t hang up.

  “Is it you, Emmy?”

  “Yes, it’s me,” I said. “Emmy Nolan.” I took a deep breath. “My uncle Matt—Matthew Miller—gave me your card. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Reuben shook his head. He’d already told me not to apologize for calling.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  Did he really care? “I’m in Washington. In Spokane.”

  “With your mom? Is Katie there?”

  I had never heard anyone call my mom that before. It made my knees weak. So did his deep voice. He could’ve taken good care of us.

  “No,” I told him. “I’m here with my aunt and uncle. Aunt Beth’s in the hospital.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” He sounded sincere.

  “And my boyfriend,” I added. “I’m here with my boyfriend, Reuben Tonasket.”

  Reuben grinned.

  “Where is Katie?”

  “In Europe,” I was proud to reply. “With her boyfriend.” I wished I could’ve said “husband” or at least “fiancé.”

  Jamie didn’t respond right away. “We should meet, Emmy. You’re close by.”

  “That’s why I called. I’d like to meet you, if that’s okay?”

  Reuben shook his head again.

  “Of course.” He cleared his throat. “There’s nothing in the world I want more.” If he really meant that, why had he never searched for me? Maybe I’d ask him why in person, but not until after I asked for his help persuading Mom to let me stay in Washington. We made the arrangements for our meeting. Noon, tomorrow. I wrote down the directions to his farm on the small hotel tablet. “Until then,” he said. “Give Matt and Beth my best.”

  “I will.”

  “Emmy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please come.”

  I hung up the phone.

  “His voice was so deep,” I said to Reuben.

  “All kids think their dad’s voice is deep.” He kissed me. “You’re a brave girl. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

  “His voice was deep.”

  Reuben and I walked to a restaurant to have dinner, but then we decided to get the food to go instead so we could eat with Uncle Matt in the hospital courtyard. I told Matt that I’d called Jamie and was meeting him tomorrow. He said he’d gotten through to the hotel in Paris, and a message was being sent to the cruise ship. After we ate, Uncle Matt took me upstairs to say good night to Aunt Beth. With him beside me, I actually touched her hand and told her I loved her. But I couldn’t confess what I still needed to, not with Matt in the room. Not in the morning either because Matt’s brother was at the hospital with his wife. That was my excuse anyway. After all, his family waited in the lobby, as did Reuben, while Matt took me upstairs. For Aunt Beth, time had completely stopped. Her body was in the exact same position as the night before. Her blankets had no wrinkles. She was suspended between life and death. As Uncle Matt walked me to the elevator, he said he had booked Reuben and me another night at the hotel. “If your mom calls here,” he said, “I’m going to say you’ve been staying with my family. I’ll tell her the truth later. Let me worry about that.” As if he hadn’t had enough to worry about. “Tell Reuben to drive safe. The Palouse is hilly.”

  * * *

  He wasn’t kidding. Rolling wheat fields, mile after mile, on both sides of Reuben’s truck, behind, in front. I’d never seen anything like it. It was the most peaceful place. California was beautiful: the valley, the Sierras, San Francisco, farther up and down the coast. I also admired what I’d seen of the Cascades with Aunt Beth. And the starkness of the scablands and Reuben’s reservation was haunting. But this was different. This place felt familiar. These hills and the wheat swaying in the wind and the clouds casting shadows, I’d dreamed. No, this wasn’t dream territory. It was memory. I’d physically been here before. I felt it in my bones. The continuous contours of the land and the endless wheat comforted me. Red barns appeared every once in a while, and I sighed each time.

  “You okay over there?” Reuben asked. I was on the edge of my seat.

  “I’ve been here before.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know.” He smiled. “Will you pull over a second?” He did. I got out of his truck and walked right into a wheat field. Rueben got out of his truck also, but he wouldn’t follow me, not even when I yelled for him to come on. I was in the land of my father. How many generations back? I didn’t know. The land pulled on the bones of my feet. I kept my hands in the dry, rustling wheat and just breathed. A warm, earthy scent rose from the soil. But the breeze smelled of morning: bread toasting and a newly opened box of cereal.

  Returning to Reuben, I said, “I love it here.” He was smoking a cigarette, leaning against his truck. He kept his eye on the road. “You’re watchful.”

  “I’m Indian. No farmer wants me on the edge of his field.”

  “I’m sorry.” I felt stupid, though still euphoric.

  “For what?” He pushed up the sleeves on his thermal shirt. It was getting warm outside.

  “I don’t know.” But I did know. “I’m sorry for what white people did to your people, for the dam. I’m sorry for the way they
still treat you now, for—”

  “Holy shit.” He put his hand up. “Enough.”

  We got back in his truck. He took off his thermal. He had on a T-shirt underneath.

  We drove awhile in silence.

  “What mountains are those?” I pointed to the east.

  “The Rockies. That’s Idaho over there.” More silence. “This area suits you, Emmy.”

  “You’re making fun.”

  “I wouldn’t. And I’m talking about the land, not the crops.”

  I loved both.

  “Washington State University is only fifteen minutes from here,” he said. “I’ve been on school field trips.”

  “Are you applying there in the fall?”

  “I am.” He shifted in his seat. “I was.” We avoided the subject of college. “I am.”

  Maybe I could apply there too. But Mom didn’t have a dime to send me to college. She had fifteen more years to pay on her own school loans. She was counting on my receiving state grants, doing work-study, and writing essays for private scholarships. Mom swore that not only did California give more student aid to kids than any other state, but tuition rates in California were some of the lowest in the nation. At WSU, I’d have to pay out-of-state tuition.

  “Here we are,” Reuben said. “Colfax.”

  The town was set among steep hills with scattered pine trees on them. Old brick buildings lined the main street. It was a small town, but far more charming than the ones we’d passed through yesterday on our way to Spokane. My dad had walked these sidewalks his whole life. Mom too had been here. Maybe they’d eaten together at that café.

  Jamie’s farm was south of town on Shawnee Road. We followed the directions I’d written on the hotel tablet. Suddenly I could see the roof of his two-story farmhouse, nestled in more gently sloping hills than the town. He had a red barn (gasp this time, not a sigh) and shop buildings and large farm equipment and a tractor like the one that had supposedly killed him. The horses in his pasture were almost as pretty as the horses on the reservation, but not quite. The place was like something out of a magazine: the hills of wheat, a long gravel driveway, shade trees on the lawn, pots of flowers on the porch. “Don’t pull in yet,” I said. “Let’s park along the road for a moment.”

  We sat in silence, just looking down at the place. Before long, a boy about eleven years old drove past the truck on a four-wheeler and turned into the driveway. He stopped and looked back at us. He had the same color hair as I did. My stomach fell. “What if that’s my brother?” I asked Reuben. Before he could respond, another four-wheeler whizzed past with a younger blond-haired boy driving. He took the corner too sharply, and the four-wheeler went up on two wheels. I grabbed the door handle to jump out if he fell, but the boy was fine. He laughed. He stared back at us. Shit. He looked like me. He must’ve realized it too because he kept staring. Finally he waved. Then they both sped up the driveway. “Why didn’t Jamie tell me on the phone that I have two brothers?”

  “You don’t know for sure.”

  “But I do.”

  All those years alone in Sacramento, and I had two little brothers.

  Nauseated and hot, I climbed out of the truck. The wheat on the hills around my dad’s house started swaying too fast, and suddenly it was too much. I doubled over and threw up. My throat burned. I couldn’t tear apart this family. I was my dad’s secret, his sin. Mom was the madwoman in the attic of his past. What would Mom say—how would she tear at herself—if she knew that Jamie had gone right on living without her? He didn’t skip a beat. I hated him for that, or I wanted to. Mom had never recovered. Her teeth hurt. She wouldn’t let Spencer get close to her. I wished my hair were the color of Mom’s hair to remind my dad, to reprimand him. Instead my hair was the color of the wheat fields that surrounded his house. I threw up again.

  Reuben was beside me with a water bottle. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, rubbing my back. “You’re making yourself sick. We’ll find a different way.”

  There was no other way. I needed Jamie’s help if I wanted to stay.

  Obviously my dad was ready to face his sin and make amends. He’d already told his wife—that was clear in the way she hadn’t screamed or been rendered speechless on the phone when I said I was Jamie’s daughter—but what about his sons? Would they forgive him? If I were to interrupt their lives, they might not forgive me.

  “Oh, shit,” Reuben said. “Here he comes.”

  I looked up the driveway. A man was walking from the house. My dad. My dad. Yes, he had the stride of a man for whom life had worked out. I couldn’t let him see me all sweaty and with barf in my hair. Why was he coming out here? Couldn’t he wait? I almost threw up a third time, but there was no food left.

  “Get in the truck,” Reuben said. “This is fucking bullshit.” He started the engine. My dad walked faster. “Emmy, do you still want to do this? If you do, I’ll pull into the driveway. I’ll hold your hand the whole time.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t need Jamie. I never had. And I’d make damn sure I never did. I could fight my own battles. Reuben drove me away. I didn’t need a dad to love me when I had Uncle Matt and Spencer.

  Then why did I look back?

  I shouldn’t have looked back. My dad ran to the end of his driveway. Then the cocky boy from camp, who had chosen this land—this wondrous land—over my mom and me, went down on his knees. I forgave the man instantly for all the loneliness and longing he’d caused me, but not for what he’d done to Mom. That would have to come later, if ever. I didn’t ask Reuben to turn his truck around. I curled up on the seat, rested my head on Reuben’s leg like a pillow, and kept my eyes closed tight until we were out of the Palouse, away from my father’s hills—and the land my brothers called home.

  13

  Jamie

  I saw her, Katie, our daughter.

  I’ve been told over the years by uncles, brothers-in-law, and neighbors that a daughter can bring a man to his knees. Now I know this is true. My sons have kept me awake at night with their fevers, fears, even broken bones. But they are sturdy again come morning. Our daughter—my daughter threw up at the edge of my driveway, so nervous was she to meet me, her own dad. My child. My baby girl I never held. That I never once assured things would be okay. I can’t stop thinking about her. About the three of us. All I should’ve done but didn’t. What type of man does what I did? Not a respectable sort. That’s for sure. What type of man tucks his stout boys into their beds, night after night, making sure their bellies are full and their worries calmed, while his baby girl may be hungry somewhere, anywhere?

  I thought I heard an echo of your courage, Katie, in our daughter’s voice. Your courage used to astound me. I was cocky and sure. But I faltered in the face of the first challenge that presented itself to me. That says a lot about a man. A boy. I pray my sons grow up to be better men. I thought when Emmy called, how brave she must be. I understand now she’s not as brave as all that. She’s fragile, and I made her that way. Emmy is as fragile as this land, which I am trying to be a good steward of. I try harder than my father ever has anyway. He might be a better businessman than I am, but I try harder.

  An Indian boy brought Emmy here in his truck. At first I thought that meant our daughter was troubled, to be hanging with an Indian. But I don’t think so. After all, he, not I, was rubbing her back as she threw up. And I’ve promised myself not to do to my kids what my parents did to me, no matter. Let them love whom they love. That is one of the greatest gifts a parent can give to a child.

  And speaking of gifts, I realize now that you didn’t hold back any part of yourself, Katie. You gave it all to me: your mind, body, heart, soul, spirit. And what spirit you had. I was too young and stupid to see how rare it is for one person to give herself so completely to another.

  I pressured you a bit the first time we had sex to meet me at a motel and make it “official” betw
een us. Up until then we’d been meeting every Saturday, or every other, mostly by the Snake River. We’d spend three or four hours together at a park or, once it started getting cold, in the cab of my truck: talking, touching, and listening to songs on the radio. One afternoon together could sustain you for weeks, you said, because you’d relive every moment, every touch, word, and song. You had so little, then, that it was enough for you. But I needed more. You were naturally nervous when we met at the Appaloosa Inn. You’d never been in a motel room. You looked in all the drawers, peeked in the shower, held the little soaps, rearranged the chairs—as if it were a fancy hotel in Spokane or a quaint B and B instead of a cheap motel paid for with a farm boy’s allowance. You made us coffee and turned on the fuzzy TV. I was dumbfounded again that your family didn’t own one. You had no idea who Farah Fawcett was. Nor had you seen a single image of the hostages in Iran or heard the newly elected Reagan speak. My body had been aching to be inside yours for months. When the ache became palpable in the motel room, you stood, shut off the TV, and started to unbutton your dress. I held my breath. One bare shoulder, another, and then the dress slipped off you. To this day I’ve still never seen anything more provocative. You reached behind and unhooked your bra and then took off your underwear. I was speechless, and I couldn’t move from the chair. I couldn’t even reach for you when you stepped directly in front of me—as if I were the inexperienced one. You took my hands and placed them on your body. “I’m yours, Jamie.” For a moment I just rested my forehead on your beautiful belly, the soft weight and lure of your breasts hovering above me.

  “Do whatever you want with me,” you said. “But be gentle.”

  Your offer scared and deeply aroused me. I cupped your ass. When you bent forward to kiss me, your hair enshrouded us both.

  You didn’t cry afterward, like other church girls. You didn’t feel dirty or the least guilty. I made sure as I held you between the sheets. You seemed more alive than ever. Full of joy. Your body lit somehow from within.