Gabriel's Stand

by Jay B. Gaskill

  They are stark raving mad. If I run will they follow me?

  Snowfeather pretended to study the handsome black face in repose, the athletic body, so very, very limp. She fought her every instinct to run from the tent, screaming.

  He’s not breathing. They’ve just fucking murdered a U.S. Senator. Don’t they realize that I know this man? Knew.

  GET ME OUT OF HERE!

  “Tan,” Snowfeather said, choking out her words. “This was very unwise.” She had struggled for the matter of fact tone and failed. RUN!

  “Nonsense, dear. The Gaia cause has one less enemy. Don’t worry, your public relations effort won’t be affected at all by this tragic accident.”

  “I suppose not,” Snowfeather managed to say. “You go on with your celebration. I am tired.”

  “You aren’t staying for dinner?” Tam asked, smiling.

  Suddenly Snowfeather thought about Vince. What have you witches done to my Vincent? White hot anger surged. NO! She turned her back, hiding her face, speaking with icy calm. “Your white-eyes’ rituals really don’t interest me, Louise.”

  Snowfeather managed to hold it together until she was safely outside the coven and over the hill where she knelt and vomited.

  Chapter 26

  Snowfeather’s face was once again an impenetrable mask as she boarded the ferry from Friday Harbor Island in the San Juan chain of Puget Sound finally bound for Anacortes. She strode past the ticket office, pausing to glance at the screen over a news kiosk.

  SENATOR STILL MISSING: Body of Senator’s McKernon’s Son Recovered From Puget Sound.

  Seattle. Washington’s Junior Senator, Lance McKernon, was still missing, after failing to attend the Senate Ratification vote yesterday. In an apparently unrelated incident, the body of nine year old John McKernon, the Senator’s son, was found floating in the sound near…

  Snowfeather was too numb with horror to react. She remembered little Johnny McKernon when the Senator and his wife had dropped by mom and Dad’s place in Georgetown a few years back. Her stomach churned. She ran on, mounting the steps like a frightened deer. Quickly reaching the top level, she pushed her way to an isolated spot near the prow. She stood near the railing, panting, hiding her face. Tears stung.

  Then Snowfeather began to weep uncontrollably, wrapping her arms tight about her chest to restrain the wracking sobs. She so desperately wanted to call her parents, to say she was so wrong, so sorry. But now she was really in deep trouble. Did she dare even use a phone? She would have to ditch Vince’s car. Just how powerful were these Gaia people? They killed a U.S. Senator and his son. Her mind spun between grief and panic for a full minute until she let a great and sad calmness overtake her.

  The ferry trip was underway. Gray waters roiled under gray skies, and the wind blew her tears away. The green island fell away to the rear, the thrum of engines and the rush of waves parting two stories below.

  Nothing to do right now but ride…ride the ferry.

  The ferry trip from Shaw Island to Anacortes would be all too brief. She would need every minute, Snowfeather ignored the chill and let the wind blow at her face while the slate sky and dark water mirrored her bleak mood. As soon as possible, she would call her Dad. As soon as I am safely away from this damn place. I feel so lost.

  “We must never forget.” It was her father’s voice, the Standing Bear from several years before. The hard years. She and Gabriel had made their mutual Memorial Day pilgrimage to his father’s grave in Northern Idaho. It had been a hard time for Gabriel, who just been appointed to the Senate with an election looming. This time, Alice, exhausted from the campaign, had begged off the trip. “You two need this time.” As Snowfeather stood on the deck of the ferry, the Idaho scene lived in her memory, still vivid, brilliant and chill.

  Traces of May snow were scattered in the brown grass. The wind was blowing then as now, but much colder. They were a few miles out of Sandpoint, on a hill in the sage at the edge of a forest. The unpretentious grave was marked by a simple black basalt rock, with a brass plaque:

  Sven Tall Bear Lindstrom

  Husband, Father

  Happy Warrior

  Gabriel had placed a hand-picked bunch of flowers along the grass in front of the rock, and arranged the colored pebbles just so. “We must never forget,” he had said, ever so softly. “Who we are. Where we came from. What…”

  Then that damn headphone of his had chirped. “Sorry,” he had muttered. “That vote was not supposed to happen so soon,” he said with annoyance, walking away, his back to his father’s grave. Her eyes followed him. “When?” His tone was strained. “Then I’ll just have to drive to Spokane and catch the first flight.” He turned back, returning to kneel briefly at the grave, but the spell was broken.

  “So,” he said standing. “Is it still George Washington this fall?”

  “You know I hate DC so.” Her father’s face had brightened a bit, still braced for disappointment. “Mother does too,” she added.

  “That is true,” he said smiling.

  “Seattle.”

  “You know Mom wanted you closer.”

  “I know. But it’s time for some distance.”

  He hadn’t answered right away, but his eyes had glistened with tears. “I know,” he said. “But I don’t have to like it…”

  Time for some distance? Damn… Snowfeather recovered from this memory as the ferry rolled through the gray water and fog like a ghost ship, the distant lights of Anacortes still cloaked. Snowfeather still stood at the railing, hands thrust in her pockets.

  Snowfeather’s mind skipped around some more, fighting that awful image of Senator McKernon and the horrific implications.

  Elisabeth is a mother.

  The shock of unsuppressed truth hit her: Dr. Owen is at risk from these awful people, too. And Elisabeth, and…Dad and Mom.

  Berker’s slogan, “Ecological salvation is the religion of the twenty-first century,” had captured her imagination from the very first day on campus.

  Murderers! How could you? Snowfeather shivered. Then another wave of grief hit her, a relentless tide of sadness, an ocean of regret for the loss of her ideals, the risk to her safety, the death of her father’s friend, her missing boyfriend. The threats. The fears…

  She covered her face with her hands, hoping no one would notice.

  “Are you okay?” It was a baritone voice from behind her. Snowfeather jumped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. You seemed so upset.” The voice came from a sturdy man in jeans and wool sweater, standing a few feet from her. He had a kind face, with an aquiline nose and piercing dark eyes. He was wearing a yarmulke.

  Snowfeather was wrung out beyond all pretense. “I just had a crappy day,” she managed to say. “The worst day…”

  “Sorry. I’m always butting in where I shouldn’t. Maybe things will get better for you.” He looked out at the water for a moment. “That didn’t sound right. I’m sorry for your crappy day.” He shook his head. “…and in such beautiful surroundings, too. God does so well with the scenery even when we suffer. Go figure.”

  Snowfeather looked at the man’s skullcap. “Are you a Rabbi or something?”

  “You should have talked to my mother. I’m an ‘or something.’ I just teach law…the man-made kind.” He smiled. “Roberto Kahn,” he said, holding out a hand.

  She took the man’s hand. Roberto Kahn was impossible not to like. He smiled gently. “I’m really sorry you had a crappy day.” He studied her face.

  Encouraged by Snowfeather’s smile, Roberto added, “May I ask you a question?”

  “Okay.”

  “Aren’t you a famous environmental activist?”

  “Hmm. What if I were?”

  “Then I think I met your dad a few years back. I was right out of law school, and got a job as a legal consultant for some Native American tribes in the southwest. Right away, I met this up-and-coming Congressman, Gabriel Standing Bear. He was very proud of his daughter named Snowfeather who wa
s on her way to becoming a famous environmental activist.”

  “Let’s say I am an ex-famous environmental activist with a father who is in the Senate.”

  “Then I’d ask you another question if that’s okay. Why do I feel so uneasy about what happened with this Treaty? This was supposed to be a good thing, is it not? Why am I so uneasy?”

  “Strange,” Snowfeather said. “You asking me that question today rather than yesterday.”

  “Your answer has changed?”

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Yes, actually. My very crappy day changed my answer. So where are you from?” Snowfeather asked, now distracted from her worries.

  “Right now, I’m teaching law at the University of Arizona.”

  “Tucson. Is it still a nice city?”

  “Yes. Of course, I love the desert. Here,” Roberto reached into his jeans. “My card, in case you ever pass through. Maybe it’ll bring you good luck.”

  “I could use some good luck right now.” Snowfeather tucked Roberto’s card into her wallet.

  Kahn studied the water below for a moment. “One more question?”

  “Sure.”

  “You are Helen Snowfeather Lindstrom, aren’t you?”

  She smiled. “Frankly, Roberto Kahn, I’m not sure who I am at the moment.”

  Chapter 27

  It was after midnight. Snowfeather had decided to replace Vince’s car on the street and return to her almost empty apartment. Using the land line, she phoned Gabriel’s office and left another nonchalant message. She tried to reach her mother at home and got the chirpy recording. Must be with Dad, she thought, the left a message. “Hi guys,” she said. “I’m going to be away from my apartment for a while. Actually I’ve decided to take a vacation. Just wanted to hear your voices…”

  It was early morning before she turned out the lights.

  At 4:45 A.M., after fitfully trying to sleep, Snowfeather turned on all the lights and started a pot of coffee. Holding her first cup in both hands, she stared at her phone, contemplating another call to her father.

  Then the phone rang. She had not disconnected the old style answering machine.

  Her hands began to shake so badly it was hard to put the hot cup of coffee down without spilling. She watched while her message greeting played out. Then beep…and dead air.

  Snowfeather took a quick, huge breath, and dialed her father. She almost wept with relief when he picked up immediately.

  “Is that you, Little Princess?” his familiar, gruff voice asked. “We were worried sick.”

  “Dad, thank God you picked up.”

  “Hello? Hello? Snowfeather, are you there?”

  “Dad?”

  “Hello? Hello?” Click.

  Snowfeather dialed again. Busy signal. The back of her neck was tingling. I’m so scared, Dad.

  Clicks on the line!

  Now Snowfeather was shaking uncontrollably. She replaced the phone, leaning forward, letting the smell from the coffee center her. Don’t panic. You probably have some time here. Nobody expects you to run. Then the phone rang.

  “Snowfeather, if you’re screening, I’m calling for Tan. She is concerned for you. Please pick up.”

  The bus. I’ll get out on the bus. I’ll take a small carry-on, hit the cash machine one last time and run.

  “We will be coming by to make sure you’re all right,” the voice continued. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Sure.

  Snowfeather pulled out her cellphone, pried open the case, pulled out the battery, and tossed it through the window into the street below. Then she pried out the SIM card. She would leave nothing behind in the apartment except old food and coffee grounds. She glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes, girl. GO!

  ——

  Snowfeather squirmed in her seat as the bus rolled through downtown Seattle. She held a knapsack clenched between her legs, sitting near the front of the bus with a clear view of the driver—a large bony woman in her fifties. She had sprinted from her tiny apartment building to a cash machine, and dashed to the bus stop. It was before dawn, and through the foggy window on her right she could see the street lamps glistening on wet pavement. It had been one painful, fretful hour, more stops than she could count, and the Greyhound station was still a half hour away. Why didn’t I get a taxi?

  Her mind raced in circles. There! That man in the business suit—much too expensive for bus travel. Damn—he’s looking at me again. The man had picked a seat three rows behind her on the left, visible through a large mirror next to the driver.

  Am I that conspicuous? How could she be, dressed in jeans, old sweatshirt, running shoes? Her hair was drawn up into a tight bun under a baseball cap and she wore no makeup. On the other hand, she was as nervous as a colt among wolves. The man had gotten onto the bus ten minutes ago. Strange time of morning, she told herself. Still, they wouldn’t have somebody like that looking for me. Would they? He can’t know what I look like. Can he?

  That Roberto guy did. God!

  An ancient woman was sleeping in the seat on her left. She had a wonderfully wrinkled face that hinted at Native American ancestors. Next to her on the aisle, a bright-eyed boy of about nine with orange hair sat engrossed in a paperback, sitting across the aisle from his sleeping mother. Snowfeather leaned her head against the window. She didn’t dare doze, even for a second.

  The bus stopped at a traffic signal. Across the aisle, Snowfeather could see that a police car had pulled up abreast the bus on the left side. Snowfeather turned to look back. The man in the seat three rows behind was also looking at the patrol car. When the signal changed, the man turned his attention to the front. Snowfeather quickly turned away—then she risked a glance in his direction. The man smiled. She smiled back and slumped down into her seat. The police car glided into traffic and the bus rolled on. Eventually fatigue triumphed over tension.

  “Are you getting off here?” Snowfeather looked up, startled, disoriented. She had been sleeping. The old woman and the boy were gone. The bus was stopped in front of the Greyhound station. The man was standing in the aisle looking down at her. The bus was otherwise empty.

  “Thanks,” she managed to mumble, now fully awake.

  “My daughter goes to U-dub,” the man said. “You never know, you could be a friend of hers,” he added. Snowfeather managed a weak smile and darted up the aisle, not looking back. Outside, she walked briskly in the opposite direction. When she stole a look back, the man had disappeared.

  ——

  An hour later, the Greyhound bus was lumbering south on Interstate 5, carrying seventeen passengers. There was a bus change in Portland where Snowfeather bought a sack of candy bars and juice. When the bus stopped in Oakland fifteen hours later, Snowfeather began to breathe a little easier. Then Snowfeather noticed that the bus to Salt Lake City and Denver would not leave for forty-five minutes. After a dreadful bathroom stop, she decided to risk a call to Gabriel’s private number in Washington DC. In the absence of a working pay phone, she was forced to buy a prepaid cell from a kiosk.

  Standing Bear’s message machine answered. “Princess, if you call, let us know how to reach you. Please check back.” Beep. “Hi. I’m okay so far,” she said. “I love you guys.”

  Tears stung her tired eyes as Snowfeather pulled the phone’s battery, removed the SIM card, wiped the smooth surfaces and tossed it in the gutter.

  I can’t go home.

  ——

  By Salt Lake, Snowfeather had been on one bus or another for twenty-eight hours. She stood outside for several minutes, staring at the sky, stretching her cramped limbs. The air outside the station was as crisp as if it had blown across a glacier, and her breath was frost white. Shivering, she returned to the overheated station and its stale air, just as the dawn’s orange light struck the buildings across the ice covered street.

  Chill fire, just like home.

  She sighed as she saw a bus leave for Idaho, but decided to wait for the later bus. She had decided to
go south. Snowfeather found an empty a bench near the vending machine and dozed. When the next bus arrived, she climbed aboard and promptly fell fast asleep.

  When Snowfeather awoke again, this time in the back of the bus, she was itching and desperate to move in the outside air. It was late evening and she was thirsty. Shaking her head, she pulled the last, lukewarm cola from a plastic bag and followed it with half of a stale sandwich.

  Two hours later, a road sign announced Las Vegas. God, she thought, give me a sign. In Nevada, she visited the restroom, stocked up with sandwiches and drinks and caught the US 93 Bus to Tucson.

  Several hours later, she saw a road sign announcing Tucson in 135 miles. Snowfeather reached into wallet. The business card.

  Professor Roberto Kahn. A Tucson address. University of Arizona. Fred Loud Owl lives near Santa Fe. Maybe, just maybe…

  Chapter 28

  Professor Roberto Kahn left his Constitutional law class at noon. As he headed across the plaza in the growing heat, he noticed a small disheveled figure step outside the shade of the engineering building. A young woman, wearing a baseball cap, her black hair mostly tied back, a rumpled, denim shirt and worn jeans was walking toward him. She carried a backpack, and her luminous gray eyes were unmistakable.

  “I know you,” Roberto said.

  “Hello, Roberto Kahn. You gave me your card.”

  “Yes…on the ferry from Shaw. Helen Snowfeather, right?”

  “You can call me Snowfeather,” she said, dropping the bag on the hot pavement.

  “You look tired,” Roberto said. “No offense.” He smiled warmly. “I was just going for lunch. Please come along.” Professor Kahn reached down and scooped up Snowfeather’s bag.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ve been hauling that thing forever.”

  “Where are you headed?” he asked. Snowfeather walked along in silence, her eyes tearing. “Whoops. I’ve asked the wrong question. Sorry.”