Steal the North: A Novel

by Heather B Bergstrom

  * * *

  Kate and I walk down the road, the same direction Emmy and I used to, toward the hay bales. Kate finds a good place to stop, where she can lean on the fence. Irrigation sprinklers are clicking away in the potato field. How fitting. The flowers are gone, and the plants are now about knee high.

  “First, Reuben, let me say thanks.”

  Why is she thanking me? For not knocking up her daughter? “For?”

  “For being Emmy’s friend.”

  “Don’t thank me for that.” I refuse to lean on some farm fence with her.

  “And for helping Matt.”

  “Again, don’t.” I put up my hand. I’m going to try to be as frank with Kate as she is with everyone. “I didn’t do either of those for you.”

  “I have a lot of respect for what you’ve accomplished so far in your life,” she says. She stops leaning on the fence so she can face me. “Matt has filled me in. But I’m sure as a white man he doesn’t know the half.”

  “I haven’t had it that bad.” And isn’t she white?

  “Or that easy.”

  A car is coming down the road toward us. I stand with my back to the road, my heels on the pavement to put as much space between Kate and me as possible. Kate actually reaches for my arm and pulls me from the edge of the road. I almost stiffen and refuse to budge, but I decide to choose my battles.

  “I don’t pity you,” she says after the car passes. “You have too much pride for that.”

  “You don’t know anything about my pride. What do you want, Kate?”

  “I want you to let Emmy go.” Her eyes are relentless.

  “I’m not holding her.”

  “You’ve been holding her all summer, it seems.”

  “Don’t make it sound dirty. I love Emmy. She doesn’t have any friends in California. Why should she go back?”

  “To finish high school.”

  “She can finish it here.”

  “With you?”

  “I do great in school, Professor. Believe it or not—even an Indian.”

  “Oh, I believe it. Some of my smartest and hardest-working students are ethnic kids.”

  “Emmy and I can get through high school together.”

  “She needs to be in California,” Kate says. “I’m sorry. But that’s her home.”

  “No, this is her home.”

  As if on cue, a truck with a ridiculous six-inch lift kit passes by with country music blaring. The asshole driver has on a sleeveless camo shirt and an enormous wad of chew in his lower lip. He revs his engine as he passes by us, but he also nods—probably at Kate, who’d be easy on the eyes if she wasn’t such a bitch.

  “You’re wrong, Reuben. Emmy was born here, but she doesn’t remember it.”

  She turns back to the fence and leans on it with both arms, studying the field.

  “She does.” I join her on the fence in case it will help my argument. “She’s part of this land. You should see her by the Columbia.”

  “I worked hard to get Emmy and me out of here,” she says. “Away from poverty and the church and rednecks.”

  “That’s not all there is here.”

  “No. There’s you.”

  “Yes, I’m here. My people have been here a long time.”

  “Your people are suffering.”

  Damn. I step away from the fence for good. “Yes, but we’ve survived.” And when Coyote returns, he’ll set things right again. He’ll break down Grand Coulee Dam.

  “I want more for Emmy than survival.” Kate also turns from the fence. “In California she can thrive.”

  “She wasn’t thriving. She was lonely as hell. That’s why she let her fuckhead ex-boyfriend do things to her—well, you don’t even want to know.”

  That shuts her up for a moment. “Spencer and I are getting married.” She twists her engagement ring. “He built a house—a home for Emmy and me. It’s beautiful. We’re going to be a family. Emmy has always wanted a dad. Spencer loves her like a daughter. He always has.”

  “I love her more.”

  She looks at me. “You just might.” She pauses, and I think maybe. “But you can’t provide for her.” I should’ve known. She’s just getting started.

  A car passes by, slowing down to gawk. Kate waves it on before I can. That’s probably more traffic than there’s been on this road all summer.

  “You’re only a kid,” she continues. “You need to finish high school yourself. You need to take care of yourself first.”

  “She’s part of me.”

  “Emmy has a chance to go to U.C. Berkeley, one of the best colleges in the country. She’s been on track since sixth grade. She’s worked her butt off. She’s the vice president of three different clubs at her high school—not an easy task when she goes to school with state politicians’ kids. If you know what I mean.” I don’t. “She’s been on the academic decathlon team for years and won medals. Did she tell you any of this?”

  I shake my head. Kate should know her daughter better than to think she’d ever brag about anything. Academic decathlon? What the hell is that?

  “She’s in the top five percent of her high school,” Kate continues. “That practically guarantees her a place in the University of California system. A top system by world standards. Do you want to take that opportunity away from her?”

  “That’s an unfair question.”

  “I came from here. I don’t know what it’s like to be a Native American youth, but I know what it’s like to come from nothing.”

  “I don’t come from nothing.” How dare she. I take back my thoughts about her attractiveness. That redneck would’ve nodded at a female skunk.

  Hell, Indians nod at our animal ancestors.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” she says. “I’m very sorry.” Again she pauses. “I’m sorry.” She regroups. “For sixteen years I’ve worked to give Emmy more than Beth or I ever had. More than we could have imagined: education, art, culture, travel.” She counts on her fingers. “They have travel abroad programs at Berkeley, and not just to Europe, but Asia, India. And Spencer has money.”

  “Money isn’t everything.”

  “It certainly isn’t. But education is.”

  I wish another car would pass by.

  “Are you marrying Spencer for his money?”

  She doesn’t get mad. “I could’ve married that man years ago for his money.” She twists her bling ring again. “I love him. I’m tired of my pride, and I’m tired of being afraid.”

  Kate afraid? I seriously doubt it.

  “Spencer’s a good man. He works hard. Emmy can have the world at Berkeley. She just has to reach out and take it. She won’t, though, if you don’t let her go.”

  I hate Kate. “You say that as if it were a choice. As if love were a choice.”

  “You can choose to let her go. That’s a choice.”

  “And you think she’ll be happy back in California?”

  “Not at first, no. She’ll be miserable for a time. We are going to get her into counseling for her shyness and to help her with grief over Beth.”

  “A shrink? Emmy doesn’t need a fucking shrink. She needs me.”

  “And if something happens to you? She needs to learn to stand on her own two feet.”

  That sounds like Teresa.

  “You are one to talk,” I say. “Emmy grew up terrified you might die and leave her all alone. It practically paralyzed her.”

  “I’ve definitely made mistakes with Emmy. Big mistakes.” She sighs. “I’m going to do better. She has to come home to California.”

  “This is her home.” I start to cry. I can’t help it. “Her home is with me.”

  “Not yet, Reuben.”

  She’s right. She’s fucking right. Damn. She is so right. Fuck. Fuck me. There’s no fucking way I am go
ing to hold Emmy back from college in California. Maybe I knew this all summer. I start to walk off, farther up the road toward the hay bales. I’m losing Emmy. I lost.

  “Reuben.” Is she actually following me?

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “As if you give a shit.”

  “I do.”

  “I’ll make you a deal, Kate.” I turn back. “I’ll let Emmy go. You quit acting like you care about me. Like I’m one of your fucking ethnic students.” I take a deep breath, or I try to. It’s suddenly hard. “And you leave me the fuck alone.”

  * * *

  Emmy finds me, not on top of the hay bales but behind them. I don’t want the view from the top. I sit with my back against the hay and my knees up. My head is in my hands. It’s never been so difficult to breathe. The lack of oxygen gives me a headache, and my body is cramping. When I first heard Emmy’s footsteps, I thought maybe it was my dad. But why would he show up now, when I need him the very most of all? He warned me about today. I guess he feels that was enough.

  “Reuben.” She kneels in front of me. “I’m not leaving.”

  “Yes, you are,” I say. “Don’t touch me.” I’ll have to be a total asshole to Emmy to get her to leave. I can’t let her touch me, or I may falter.

  “What did Mom say? She’s a liar, remember?”

  “Don’t touch me. I hurt all over.” My head. My arm. Both arms. My whole body. The pain is intense.

  “She can’t make me leave.”

  “I want you to leave, Emmy.” I can’t look her in the eyes. “You have to go back to California. It’s your home.”

  “That’s a lie. She’s a liar. This is my home. You know that.” She’s crying. “You are the only one who ever knew that. How can you say otherwise?”

  “Because it’s true.” I force myself to look at her. “You don’t belong here.”

  “You don’t mean that, Reuben.” The panic in her eyes and the way she doesn’t know what to do with her hands—my body can’t take any more. Help me, Dad. She smiles. Why does she smile? I love her fucking smile, and she knows it. Jesus, I hurt. “Look what I made you,” she says, pulling an origami fish from her pocket, as if we were just hanging out. How did she not crush it? “It’s a salmon. See?”

  It’s beautiful—like all her paper creations, only more so. She tries to hand it to me, but I won’t take it. “It’s a retarded salmon,” I say, “from a hatchery.” I have to be brutal. “It’ll never find its way.”

  That did the trick. She’s too shocked to speak. If only she’d get up and walk away, find the strength to tell me to fuck off. Instead she starts unfolding the paper salmon, carefully, slowly, which is far worse than her just wadding it up in a ball.

  I need to make this quick. But time seems to be unfolding with that paper fish. We’re back in her aunt’s garden, the first day we met, only my head pounds.

  “I was born here,” she had said.

  “No shit.”

  “That’s the first swearword I’ve heard all week.”

  “My apologies.”

  “No. It’s refreshing.”

  Wait. I close my eyes. Wait. I press my temples with my palms. I groan in pain. “I wish you’d never come.” And maybe at that very moment, I really did wish that. “You don’t belong here.” No white people do. This is our land. It was the Whitmans who brought the whites. Emmy touched the wagon grooves with her palms.

  “I was born here,” she says. Like the Whitman child. The Cayuse loved the Whitman child because she was born here. They called her “Cayuse Girl.” She spoke their language as naturally as she did English. “I was born here.”

  “Stop, Emmy.” I look at her.

  “If I don’t belong here,” she says, remaining oddly calm, “I don’t belong anywhere. I can’t live without you, Reuben. I need you. You are my very best friend, remember?” She sounds so young. She tries to take my hand, to give me the unfolded fish. “Remember?” She smiles again. I’m powerless for a second and let her touch me.

  But then I jump up. Dad, please.

  “No, don’t,” she says, the panic returning. “Don’t get up. I won’t touch you again. Here, I’ll wad up the stupid fish.” She does and throws the ball of paper. “We don’t have to be boyfriend and girlfriend.” She stumbles trying to get to her feet. I don’t help her. “But be my friend. Just be my friend.”

  “It’s over, Emmy. Go home.”

  “I am home.” A flash of anger. I wish she had more.

  “If you won’t leave, then I will. Good-bye, Emmy.”

  “No, Reuben.” She tries to hug me. I push her away. Dad. “You need me,” she says. “You need me to love you.” I shake my head. “Take me with you to the reservation,” she begs between sobs. Her braid is completely undone. “Let’s run away.” Her voice pitches. “We can hide there.”

  “Whites can’t hide there.” I try to look disgusted as I push her away more firmly. “And I don’t need you.”

  She crumples to the ground.

  But she’ll get back up. I tell myself this as I turn and start to walk away. Then run. She’ll get back up and return to California. She’ll go to Berkeley and to India. Emmy may have stepped into my clearing. I may be hungry, even starving, but I won’t shoot.

  18

  Matt

  Emmy flies off the front porch to find Reuben when her mom comes walking back without him. Kate tries to stop her, but Emmy won’t hear of it. I miss Beth like crazy, but I’m glad she’s not here today to witness this fighting. What did Kate say to that boy?

  “Kate,” I say as she climbs the steps. I’m still trying to digest what she revealed about her past an hour ago. I can’t help feeling responsible. It’s like a rock in my gut.

  “I’m mad at you,” she says, never one to hold back. “How could you let those kids get that close?” She appears shaken and sits down on the stool where I plop twice a day to put on and take off my work boots. “You knew Emmy had to come home at the end of summer.” She rubs her forehead.

  “Kate, not even you could’ve stopped Emmy from falling for that boy.”

  Spencer opens the door before she can respond. He’s been pacing inside, giving Emmy and me the porch. “Come in here, Kate,” he says. “We need to talk.” She goes inside.

  I wanted to be mad at her when she showed up here too late to see her sister. Kate and Beth are as different as two sisters can be. But Christ, I saw Beth in Kate when I walked into the house three days ago. My anger disappeared.

  Before Kate gave birth, the three of us had some nice evenings, despite her being heartbroken. I felt proud going to work for both sisters, even if it was just to sort potatoes. Kate can be lively and funny. She called me spud stud back then. She felt bad that I supported her. I called her front-end loader. But I was only joking. She got the waitressing job as soon as she was physically able. Emotionally she wasn’t prepared to be out in the world. The church likes to keep girls and women that way. It’s not my church anymore. Kate must’ve been mortified the first time a trucker propositioned her. I remember hoping Kate’s new waitressing job would help her get over Kagen. I was an idiot. What a secret for someone like Beth to have borne all those years. You should’ve told me, darling.

  Oh, no, here comes Reuben without Emmy. Something isn’t right. He wouldn’t leave her on the side of the road. I meet him at his truck. “Stay back, Matt.” He’s clearly upset.

  “Where’s Emmy?”

  “I didn’t mean anything I just said to her.” He’s so tense that he’s rigid. “You believe me, right? I didn’t mean a word of it. I had to say it.”

  “Where is Emmy?”

  “At the hay bales. Let me leave before you go get her. Please. She has to think I meant it. Please.”

  “You can’t leave her this way, Reuben. We’ll figure something out.”r />
  “It’s over.” He breaks down.

  I don’t know what to do. So I do what I’d do if he were my nephew or my son. I hug him.

  He lets me for a second longer than I expected, and then he pulls away abruptly. “I have to go. Let me run inside and get my keys. Give me one second.” He does. He grabs nothing else. Then he drives away. Does he even have any money?

  I find Emmy behind the hay bales. She’s in a ball. I squat down beside her. “Emmy, sweetie, come back to the house.” I touch her back. “Emmy?”

  “I don’t want to go back to California.” She looks at me. “Why can’t I live with you?”

  “If it were up to me, you could.”

  “Reuben dumped me.”

  “He didn’t.” I sit down.

  She nods. “He did.” She looks terrible. There’s straw in her hair and dirt on her face, and her eyes are red and swollen.

  “He didn’t want to.”

  “But he did.” She smiles, which seems odd. She seems odd right now. “I didn’t want to call you and Beth aunt and uncle when I first heard about you guys. I’m sorry about that. I love you both.” She smiles again. “I’m sorry, Uncle Matt.”

  “Stop apologizing.” She’s worrying me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t a virgin for that ceremony.”

  “Oh, Emmy. It doesn’t matter.”

  “I gave Beth false hope.”

  “You gave her real love. You made her happy.” Happier than I could.

  “I want her. I used to pretend I had relatives.” She laughs strangely. “I’d tell kids at school that I was at my grandma’s house all weekend in San Francisco or that my new shoes were from my aunt in Fresno. Especially after holidays, I’d lie. Isn’t that stupid? I’m such a liar.”

  “No, you’re not.” I could kill Kagen, I swear.

  “Why would God take Beth away from me when I barely had her? Why?”