Bordello Walk

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Bordello Walk Page 13

by Melissa Bowersock


  She let out a sighing breath. “Harmony for all the ghosts,” she said, looking up at him. “And harmony for us?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Harmony for us.”

  She leaned her head against his chest and felt his heartbeat beneath her ear.

  They stood like that as the stars wheeled overhead.

  ~~~

  TWENTY-ONE

  Lacey slept like the dead. Not the restless dead—the exhausted dead. She’d feared the uneven ground or the cold might keep her awake, but none of it did. Sam’s body warmed and comforted her.

  She first heard Ben shuffling around in the dark, then heard the soft squeal of the wood stove door opening, the thud of new wood on the dying embers. She was ready to go back to sleep when Sam flipped the blanket off and sat up.

  “Is it time?” she asked.

  “Yeah. It doesn’t look like it, but it is.”

  They dressed warmly and pulled blankets over their shoulders as they went outside. The eastern horizon was only reluctantly turning a soft blue gray. Overhead, the sky was still black, although pinpricks of light twinkled weakly in the brittle cold.

  Ben was still making preparations inside the hogan. Lacey blew out a breath and watched the warm vapor drift away.

  “This won’t take long,” Sam said. “Then we can go get warm again.”

  “I don’t suppose we could convince Ben to put in a hot tub,” she mused.

  The bloom of brighter sky expanded, both outward and upward, although the light brought no warmth. The dusk began to thin; the shapes of low hills and sandstone bluffs became more visible.

  The old medicine man ducked through the doorway, holding a blanket around him, clutching it beneath his chin. He carried the staff, and his forehead was ringed with a red bandana.

  Sam and Lacey were already facing east; Ben took up a stance in front of them, also facing the brightening horizon. He raised the staff and spoke quietly to the still unseen sun. His soft words hardly carried at all, as if he murmured only to himself, then faded in the stillness.

  The first star of sunlight winked on between distant peaks, and Ben turned to face Sam. The staff still held high, he chanted in full voice, and released the blanket so he could raise both hands to the sky. The blanket fell away, revealing the thin naked chest, the faded blue jeans and bare feet. Although the spoken words erupted with accompanying clouds of vapor, the old man showed no evidence of the cold. He was solely focused on this final prayer.

  Sam abruptly dropped his blanket as well and, closing his eyes, pulled in a deep, heavy breath. He held it for one heartbeat, two, then released it slowly. Again. Lacey watched as the sun inched higher, its light rolling across the desert toward them, pushing the blue shadows into the distance behind them. Sam breathed again, deep and slow, then opened his eyes as Ben spoke the last words of his chant and lowered his arms.

  Ben stared intently at his grandson, looking for something that Lacey had no knowledge of, but which apparently the old man found. He took the staff in both hands and broke it over his knee, letting the two halves fall to the ground. Then he spoke softly to Sam, who leaned down, and Ben lifted the ghost beads from around his neck. These, too, were tossed down on the ground with the broken staff.

  Ben turned and raised both hands to the sun, said a quick prayer, then motioned for them all to go back inside the hogan.

  A battered old tea pot sat on the wood stove, steam piping from the spout. While Sam and Lacey took seats at the table, Ben poured three cups of hot water and served them up with a tea bag each.

  “Lipton?” Lacey asked, reading the tag.

  “Sometimes he likes something quicker than greenthread leaves,” Sam said with a smile.

  She dunked her tea bag. “So,” she said quietly, “you’re good?”

  Sam nodded. “I’m good.”

  “No more residuals?”

  “Nope. All gone.”

  “Thank God,” she breathed. “And Ben, of course.”

  Sam smiled. “Of course.”

  They gave the world outside time to warm with the sun and ate corn cakes with prickly pear syrup. Lacey marveled at the sweet taste from such an unassuming cactus.

  “We’ll take some home with us,” Sam said.

  Home. She was dearly looking forward to being home. This trip had turned into more of an odyssey than she’d ever expected.

  When Gabe, Roxanne, Kira and the boys arrived, they all assembled under Ben’s rough shelter, sitting in a circle around the dry painting. Sam took a seat beside it, the subject of the Blessing Way.

  Lacey wasn’t sure why, but the ritual felt much less intent to her. Perhaps it was just knowing the Evil Way had worked its magic, knowing that Sam was free of any spectral hitchhikers, but the Blessing Way felt lighter, like dessert after a heavy meal. Still, she watched with interest as Ben brought a basin of some thin, sudsy fluid and Sam proceeded to wash his hands and face with the clear liquid. Once dried, Sam sat quietly as Ben chanted, and the medicine man began a process of pressing his open palms to the dry painting, then holding his hands—and granules from the painting—to Sam’s skin. She noted that Ben took from the tall, thin beings of the painting, perhaps passing their powers to Sam.

  Still chanting, the old man did the same with several objects taken from a leather pouch—a medicine bag. Lacey could not see clearly what the objects were, but glimpsed a stone, a feather, a bit of dried sage. Ben moved around Sam carefully, applying the objects to him with intent and soulful songs.

  Then a break of sorts. Ben gave Sam another bowl, this one filled with cornmeal mush, and Sam dipped in two fingers and consumed the offering. He then passed the bowl to the others, and each of them took a bit of the nurturing food. Lacey let the sweet, grainy feel of the cornmeal dissolve on her tongue.

  At the last, Lacey recognized the small bundles she and Roxanne had assembled, bits of feathers and herbs wrapped in strips of yucca fiber. Ben took these, one by one, and pressed them to Sam, then very abruptly yanked them off and away, banishing whatever inharmonious things the bundles might carry away with them.

  With the end of the ceremony, Ben raised his thin, brown arms to the sky, to the sun, to the powers that be, and evoked their blessings on this man, this group, this family. Lacey didn’t need an interpreter to divine this final invocation. When Ben lowered his arms and looked around the circle, everyone was smiling. Even Lacey.

  All that was left was the clean-up. Lacey helped Roxanne gather up the ritual items—blankets, food, clothing—and load them in the truck. The three kids climbed in the back as well.

  “You coming?” Roxanne asked Sam.

  “In a couple minutes,” he said.

  “Yeah, you gotta find a place in Lacey’s car for all that sheep dung, you know?” Gabe called. “You might have to drive all the way to LA with the windows down.”

  Sam chuckled, and Lacey dearly hoped Gabe was kidding about the smell.

  Waving, Gabe pulled his truck away from the hogan and headed for home.

  Lacey was sure she and Sam had all their belongings in Roxanne’s truck, but Sam ducked back into the hogan one last time. “Just a sec,” he said.

  Lacey went to Ben and hugged his frail old body carefully. “Thank you so much,” she said. “I’m so grateful for all you’ve done for Sam.”

  Ben grinned, his leather-like face creased with wrinkles. “You come back again,” he said.

  “Oh, we will,” she replied. “We’ll always come back.” She kissed his dry brown cheek, but as she pulled away, thought she saw tears brimming in the dark eyes. Her own eyes stung with tears in response, and she laughed to keep from crying. Ben nodded and patted her arm.

  Sam emerged from the hogan, a large bundle wrapped in a brown paper sack in his arms. He brought it to Ben, held onto the sack, and pulled out his gift.

  Lacey sucked in a surprised breath. It was one of his latest, a large bowl of glazed midnight blue with streaks of orange. It gleamed in the sunlight, the colors flashing
like quicksilver.

  Ben took the bowl with obvious glee. He held it in both hands, examined the curve of the inside, the smooth exterior, running his fingers over the silky glaze. Finally he raised his eyes to Sam.

  “You make?” he asked simply.

  Sam nodded. Lacey could see the anxious hesitation on his face, the held breath.

  Ben stroked the smooth side of the bowl again. “Is good,” he said. He smiled at his grandson. “Is very good. Like sunrise at midnight.”

  Sam exhaled, a smile of relief on his face. “Okay,” he said, hugging the old man—and the bowl. “Thank you.” He spoke a few words in Navajo, and Ben answered in kind. Sam clapped both hands on the old man’s shoulders, kissed the top of his head and laughed.

  “Come on,” he said to Lacey. He took her hand and headed for Roxanne’s truck. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us. And you know what? I’m starving.”

  “All right,” she said with a laugh. “Let’s go get our sheep dung, grab some doughnuts and go home.”

  ~~~

  FACTS VS. FICTION

  Jerome, Arizona, located above the Verde Valley in north central Arizona, and its fascinating, tragic history are all true.

  The Grand Hotel still exists and was, originally, a hospital. It was built in 1926 and was an architectural marvel of the time, as it was constructed on a 50-degree slope on bedrock and designed to withstand earthquakes and the frequent blasting inherent in mining. It is estimated that about 9,000 people died there, and there are many legends of ghosts still today in the restored hotel.

  The Mine Museum in Jerome is run by the Jerome Historical Society and has an extensive exhibit of Jerome’s rise and fall, including much about the prostitution during the mining era.

  The JHS Archives are truly housed in the old Episcopal Church of Jerome.

  The Crystal Slipper is purely fictional, although the building, its location and its history mirror many of the buildings still existing on Main Street in Jerome.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and do not portray any real person, living or dead.

  Handmade Pottery is fictitious, although there are several shops in Jerome that offer pottery.

  Ghost Sickness is a real malady among the Navajo, and similar afflictions appear in other Native American lore. Symptoms include loss of appetite, sleeplessness, fatigue and depression.

  The Evil Way (Enemy Way) is a days-long ceremony that is employed to clear a person of negative beings that cling to them. It’s often used on warriors returning home from battle. It’s much more complex than what I’ve described here.

  The Blessing Way is a ritual designed to restore balance and harmony to the universe, and to invoke blessings. Again, it is more involved than what I’ve shown here.

  Sheep dung is still used today to fire pots in open pit fires. It burns hot but leaves pottery with an attractive pink, red or rose color, while cow dung turns pottery black.

  The website www.samfirecloud.com has more about Sam and Lacey.

  Thank You for Reading

  I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, I would greatly appreciate a short review on Amazon or your favorite book website. Reviews are crucial for any author, and even just a line or two can make a huge difference.

  --MJB

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Melissa Bowersock is an eclectic, award-winning author who writes in a variety of fiction and non-fiction genres: paranormal, action, romance, fantasy, spiritual, satire and biography. She lives in a small community in Northern Arizona with her husband and an Airedale terrier.

  For more information, visit

  http://www.newmoonrising.net

  or

  http://www.melissabowersock.com

  Find Me Online on Twitter and Facebook or visit my blog at:

  http://mjb-wordlovers.blogspot.com

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