13
Julius
The leaves on the oak trees turned scarlet and persimmon and gold. They tumbled to the ground in gentle, windy waves. The burdock was in bloom beneath the evergreen pines, fuzzy brown pods on the ends of thick, woody stems.
Mickey made a face and pointed out the pods. "They taste like shit," she said. "Just like that guy I got to bite at the ballpark. Can I do that again?"
"No, you absolutely cannot," I said, my palm on the crown of her head.
Mickey giggled. Nothing was going to spoil her mood today. Mine, either. The weak autumn sun peeked out from behind the soft gray clouds. The reservation was alive with families rushing out to the farmland, wicker and willow baskets on their arms.
Rafael and Mickey and I followed the lane down familiar rolling hills. Mini mewled imperially from Mickey's willow basket. I'll let it go this time, I thought. Like I said, my mood was pretty good.
The plains between the ranches and the farms were set up with stalls, tables, and picnic blankets. Aubrey chased his young sons just beyond the iron gates. Reuben and Isaac stood chatting underneath an apple tree, Reuben's arms folded, the tree branches fat with their rosy yield. A group of very old individuals sat in a circle on the ground and sang supplication to the Great Spirit. The Great Spirit was generous in autumn.
"Wow," Mickey said, gazing around the site. "It's like a green festival!"
"It kind of is," I agreed.
We walked among the farm gates, the farmers rolling their pumpkins out onto the grounds. "Can we carve a pumpkin?" Mickey asked. "For Halloween?"
"Why would we do that?" asked a baffled Rafael, who had never celebrated Halloween a day in his life.
I jumped in before Mickey could protest. "Of course we can," I said. "You pick out the one you like."
Mickey wrinkled her nose at Rafael. She traipsed over to the Takes Flights' gates, smart girl that she was. Nicholas waved at her and pointed at the pumpkins on the ground.
A few minutes later and we resumed our walk, Rafael's arms stretched around the gargantuan pumpkin, his face unappreciative and disagreeable.
"Tough," I told him, and smiled.
"I bet the Hopi don't have farms as cool as ours," Mickey said, and skipped along at my side. Mini hissed with disapproval. I don't think she liked being swung that way.
We stopped at different farms and picked the scallions and the kale, the leeks and the onions and the peas. Mini hopped out of Mickey's basket so Mickey could carry potatoes and lima beans. We stopped at Mrs. Siomme's ranch on the other side of the flourmill and Mickey looked worrisomely at the snap beans and the bell peppers standing between the paddock and the cozy barn.
"What's wrong?" I asked Mickey.
"We're running out of room in our baskets..."
"We don't have to pick everything," I told her. I touched the back of her head. "Whatever doesn't get taken, the farmers put it into storage. That way if you need something in the future, you just come back here."
"Are you sure?" Mickey said skeptically. "The food's just gonna stick around?"
I didn't need to be told she had probably grown up without a surplus to eat.
"Come on," I said, and climbed over the wooden paddock fence--with difficulty. When did I gain so much weight? "We've got enough room. Let's take some apples."
The cows and the horses grazed lazily on the other side of Mrs. Siomme's fence. Rafael set the pumpkin down and wheezed. I led Mickey to a lush apple tree and pointed out the knots in the bark. She climbed--expertly--and knocked the thick fruit off the branches. I stuffed them into one of our empty baskets.
"Why don't you guys pick up some honey, too?" Mrs. Siomme asked.
Mrs. Siomme belongs to the tribal council. She and Dad have been friends since before I was born. Just looking at her, you can't help but feel calm. She exudes calm; she speaks calm. I've never known her not to smile.
Her brown hair was flecked with gray; the lines around her eyes could have been laugh lines just as easily as wrinkles.
"Honey?" Mickey asked, when she shimmied back down the tree. Mini leapt and batted at the tall blades of grass.
Mrs. Siomme showed Mickey to the red maple tree on the other side of the paddock, its full, dagger-shaped leaves a shade of luscious crimson. Mrs. Siomme took a matchbook out of her jeans pocket. I knew what came next; the smoke from the match would lull the bees to sleep, and Mrs. Siomme would pluck the honeycomb right out of their hive.
Rafael's arm snaked around my hips. He leaned against me, comfortably, and a kind of peace washed over me, an unprecedented peace I didn't even recognize by sight.
"Our daughter is awesome," he said. "And kickass."
"She must get that from me," I mused.
I felt his mouth on the crook of my neck, his lips parted in a grin. I grabbed a handful of his shirt. I shoved his shoulder.
"Ass," he said.
"Oh, no," I said. "Henry Siomme, ten o'clock."
"Where?"
I pointed at the paddock fence closed to the silo. The charming little monster hopped the wooden gate, his ponytail bobbing behind him. He strode over to his mother and Mickey, his hands in his back pockets, a friendly smile on his face. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but he gestured at one of the mares.
"Oh, no," I said again.
"He's gonna kidnap her by horseback," Rafael whispered; he sounded stricken, like we had already lost her.
Mickey trundled over to us through the grass. I felt Mini brush against my ankle. Perhaps we were fighting on the same side of the war this time.
"Sky," Mickey said. "Rafael. Can I ride a horse with Henry?"
I watched the internal dilemma play out across Rafael's face. He was a boy once. He didn't trust boys. He knew all about the inner workings of their devious minds. But if he denied her--would she sulk? Would she be sad? And really, how can you deny that sweet little face?
I pat Rafael on the back; he started. "Sure you can," I said to Mickey. "But make sure you hold onto him very tightly."
"What?" Rafael demanded.
"Rafael, she's ten."
Mickey gave Rafael a weird look. She shrugged as an afterthought and loped back to Henry. Henry whispered to her and the two of them ran to the barn.
"A woman's heart can't be tamed," Mrs. Siomme told us gravely. She tucked the sticky honeycomb into my basket and sent us on our way with pats to our shoulders.
Rafael and I trailed off the ranch and out to the countryside. We found his family sitting under a smoke tree. Have you ever seen one of those? They're pretty amazing: Tall and spiny, trunks the shade of bronze, spindled branches covered in soft, blurry, ashen gray leaves.
"Where's Grandma Gives Light?" I asked. I sat down between Mary and Charity.
"She's over there singing with the old folks," Charity said kindly. She pointed at the distant circle of elderly Shoshone. They slapped their hands against their hand drums and sang Yepani Hupia. "Our autumn, our rebirth," they sang in Shoshone. "The sun is heading south." They were so stern about it, so particular, they sounded to me as though they were on the warpath.
We lit a small kindling fire and roasted apples beneath the smoke tree. Like flies to honey, Zeke Owns Forty came racing over.
"Hey!" he said, and sat down. It wasn't long before Holly shuffled after him, looking sullen. She always looks sullen. One month to go before they married. I guess that's a reason to look sullen right there.
"Zeke," I said, "you mentioned something about a homestudy?"
"Oh, yeah," he said. He helped himself to an apple and bit noisily into the soft flesh. Charity winced politely. "I can write one up today if you want." Juice dribbled down his chin. "So you're gonna adopt her, huh? I'll bring the papers by later!"
"Rafael," Gabriel said, in his "I'm about to impart some wisdom" voice. "I've watched you grow from a boy to a man. And I'm very proud of you--"
"A boy to a man?" Mary cut in. "
I don't remember this mythical man we're talking about. Are you sure we lived in the same house?"
"Mary!" Rafael said through his teeth.
"P.S., your kid's screwed," Mary said cheerfully.
"Oh, they've had her for some months now," Charity said. "And she seems to be alive still. Mary, may your little sister have a roasted apple?"
"Only if you go dancing."
"Dancing" in Shoshone is a euphemism for sudden death. I've got to assume that's what Mary was trying to say.
"I notice you didn't think to adopt a kid," Holly said to Mary.
"Damn right I didn't. What would I want with a kid? I can't be bothered feeding it and cleaning up after it."
"You sound like you're talking about a dog," Annie said, when she came over and sat with us, Elizabeth and Celia in her arms.
"Same difference. But really, Little Hawk, you're getting knocked up all the time. It's kind of like you're making up for my deficit!"
"Yes, Mary," Annie said. "I get pregnant just so you don't have to."
Dad and Racine were the next to join our happy little circle, Dad's arms wrapped around a sizable pumpkin. Dad likes jack-o-lanterns almost as much as he likes cats. Rafael threw him a look of sympathy and the pair of them sat down on the sparse brown grass.
"I can't wait to visit the Hopi," Racine said. She cackled and clapped her hands. "They hand out all that piki bread. I don't have to do any baking for months..."
"I don't remember you ever baking," Dad murmured. Racine shot him a warning look and he shrank in apology.
I heard hooves cantering down the country lane. I looked up and saw Mickey and Henry astride the chestnut mare, the reins in Henry's hands. Henry pulled the mare to a placid stop; he climbed off the saddle and helped Mickey down from the stirrups. Rafael was as alert as a watchdog, inspecting Mickey for bumps and bruises.
"Guys!" Face flushed bright, excitement in her eyes, Mickey dashed over to us. "That was so cool! We rode around the farms, and the canals, and even by the badlands--"
"The badlands?" Rafael said. "I'll kill him--"
"I'm fine," Mickey said. And I joined in: "She's in one piece, isn't she?" And Charity chewed on an apple and waved at her.
"Horses are so cool," Mickey said, and sat down with us. "I want to take care of horses when I grow up."
I saw Dad smiling at her, feeble though his smile was. "You know," he said. "Before we had horses, we used to train wolves to do their work."
"Wolves?" Mickey said, her eyes wide.
"He's right, actually," Gabriel chimed in, cheerful as could be. "There weren't any horses in America until the Spanish came along. So that's...what, late 1500s? Early 1600s?"
"And oftentimes," Dad said, "when we were traveling the Plains, we had a very heavy load to bring with us. And we couldn't carry it ourselves. So we built sleds."
"And you tied wolves to the sleds?" Mickey asked.
"It started with a litter of wolf pups," Dad said. "It's been said that many years ago, the chief of the tribe, Twice a Mother, found newborn wolves whose parents had been killed by bears."
"Stupid bears," Mickey grumbled.
"Twice a Mother raised the helpless wolves to adulthood. And because wolves are very impressionable when they're young, they got along quite well with the humans who had reared them. And although most people nowadays will tell you that wolves can't be tamed, that's actually not true. The trick is that wolves prefer to talk with their eyes, not their ears. They don't want you giving them verbal commands like 'Sit,' 'Stay,' 'Roll over,' the way a dog does. And because we Plains People knew sign language before anyone else did--"
"Really?" Mickey asked.
"Yes, we invented it," Dad said.
"Not you," I said, and threw him an impish little smile.
Dad colored. He'd never understood sign language, though not for lack of trying; he was, as he insisted, a very poor learner. "Anyway," he said. "It was because of sign language that we could communicate with the wolves. So we harnessed the wolves to our sleds, and they pulled the sleds for us across the Great Plains with ease. And our children would sit atop the sleds and watch the terrain pass them by. We called it bia'isa-soto--'wolf-drag.' "
"That sounds like so much fun..." Mickey said.
"You know what?" Racine said. "Skylar raised a coywolf."
Mickey turned on me. "You did?"
I smiled sheepishly. "When he was a baby."
"Where is he now?"
"He grew up and passed away. But his pups still come around the house every now and then. Maybe you'll meet them sometime."
At the words "passed away," Mickey looked warily around. She scooped Mini onto her lap and stroked the back of her head.
We went home around noon and Mickey sat at the kitchen table, scribbling a goofy face onto the pumpkin with a thick, black marker. Carole stopped by with the addresses of legislators from Delaware. I don't know why that girl can't just e-mail me.
"Want to make honey with us, Carole?" I asked. "You can take some home with you."
Carole sputtered. "Um..."
I cleaned off the kitchen counter. Carole and Mickey and I washed our hands--Rafael sat boorishly at the table, reading a book--and scraped the wax off the honeycomb. We crushed the comb with our fingers.
"Here," Mickey said, and threw the wax at Carole's shoulder. Carole screamed.
By night, Rafael and Mickey and I settled down in the sitting room and listened to a serial on the radio. Dinner was in a couple of hours, but for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel remotely like leaving the house. I wasn't sure about Rafael--he falls into a foul, black mood if you keep him indoors for too long--but then that's why we built the sitting room with such airy windows: to keep his temper at bay.
"Hey," Rafael said to Mickey. "Wanna see something?"
"Sure," Mickey said. She set Mini on the floor and padded over to Rafael's armchair. Curiosity got the better of me; I looked over, too.
Rafael pushed his sleeve up to his elbow. He pulled the pilot whale bracelet out of the way. That was when I saw the new tattoo on his wrist. Just one word: Mickey.
"Well, that's..." Mickey started, but never finished.
"You've got my blood in you," Rafael said, "and now I've got your name on me."
"And you've got Sky's name, too. I saw it on your neck." Mickey turned on me. "And you've got freckles, just like me."
"I do," I said, and smiled.
"It's like we're really a family!" Mickey exclaimed. She instantly blushed.
"I like the sound of that," I said. If I smiled any harder, maybe my face would crack in half. "A family. Don't you?"
Rafael picked up his book and pretended to read. I knew better.
"I never had a dad before," Mickey said. She toyed casually with the hem of her red sleeve. Oh, did I know better.
Mickey looked up when she thought it was safe, peeking between her fringe.
"So...it would be kind of cool to have two dads," she said.
"I wouldn't know," I said. "But I'd have to agree with you."
Rafael closed his book. Why was he trying to hide his smile? I swear, the only way those two could be more alike is if she had sprung from his loins.
"M'gonna make dinner," Rafael announced.
"Oh, God, no," I said.
Mickey burst into delighted little giggles. She settled down next to me on the sofa. "We should have the fire department on speed dial," she told me.
"First we need a phone," I said seriously.
Rafael scowled at the both of us and trudged into the kitchen. That was when I heard a knock on the front door.
"Huh," said Mickey, puzzled. "Do you think Carole came back for more honey?"
"Maybe she came back so you'd throw the wax at her again," I said. I stood up and headed into the front room, Mickey following me.
I swung open the front door and found Zeke standing on the other side, a
stack of papers clutched in his hands.
"Zeke," I said warmly. I stepped back to let him in. "Why did you knock?" In Nettlebush, you never knock on a friend's door. You just walk right in.
Zeke walked right past me. I thought he looked a little preoccupied. Maybe he had had another fight with Holly. I closed the door.
"Is Rafael around?" he asked.
Rafael stuck his head out through the kitchen door. "You wanna stick around for hotbread?" he asked Zeke.
"I love hotbread," Mickey piped up.
"Wasn't talking to you, brat."
"Bite me, moron."
"Guys," Zeke said.
By now I was starting to worry. I've known Zeke since I was a kid. I know when something's wrong with him.
"Mickey," I said, "why don't you listen to the rest of the radio show, and you can tell us how it ends?"
Mickey saw right through me. You can't fool that kid. "You're trying to get rid of me," she said.
"Just for a little while," I admitted.
"Fine," she said. She slouched back into the sitting room. I heard her turn up the volume on the radio.
Zeke followed me into the kitchen where Rafael was--unskillfully--cutting up chili peppers. Rafael tucked his hair behind his ear and looked up at our arrival.
"What?" Rafael said.
"I've got the papers you need," Zeke said, his eyes bouncing from floor to wall to window. He laughed nervously, his hyena's laugh. "But uh..."
"What, Zeke?" I asked quietly.
"I got a fax from CPS," Zeke said. "Her mother gets out of prison next month."
There was a moment during which none of us spoke. A moment during which I could hear Whacky Bob's voice trilling through the room from the children's radio station: "Gee, Gus, that sure looks like a pickle to me..."
"Correct me if I'm wrong," I said. "She was convicted three years ago, wasn't she?"
"Yeah," Zeke said.
"And she only served three years? After trying to kill her own daughter?"
"She didn't go to jail for attempted murder, man. She went in for aggravated assault."
Momentarily, I closed my eyes. Class 5 aggravated assault's only a three-year sentence.
Three years for nearly murdering your own daughter. Not bad.
"She stabbed a seven-year-old in the chest," Rafael said. I could hear the anger quavering in his thick voice.
Zeke shrugged. "I don't make the law. I don't even practice the law. I'm just telling you what they told me, okay?"
"All the same," I said. "It doesn't matter whether her mother gets out a month from now or a year from now. CPS terminated her parental rights."
Another silence. I was starting to like these silences less and less.
"Zeke," I said.
"We did terminate her parental rights," he said quickly. "But she's looking to reinstate them."
"She can't," Rafael said at once.
"Look," Zeke said, and raised his hands. "I'm on your side! I've always been on your side. We go way back. But adoption laws always favor the biological parents. I don't make the law--I told you that--"
"Zeke," I said. My voice sounded strangled to me. "This woman tried to kill Michaela."
"I know that. But she says she didn't..."
"Zeke, you can't let them do this to us."
"I'm not," Zeke said. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm on your side? I'm going to testify on your behalf--"
"Testify?" Rafael said bleakly.
Zeke straightened the lapels of his jacket. Not that it did much to improve his appearance. He's always been a slob. A hyena wearing a business suit is still a hyena.
"Mrs. Morales doesn't have any rights over her daughter right now," Zeke said. "To get them back, she has to petition a judge. If she wants Michaela, and you want Michaela, you'll have to go to family court and fight it out."
My stomach turned. I hated family court. I wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the place. It's an absolute nightmare--the moment you step inside, the vigor drains right out of your heart.
"She can't take Michaela," I said. I was beside myself with disbelief. I was about ready to throw up. Rafael must have seen that, because he moved closer to me, and he gripped my hand. "She'll hurt her again. She could kill her..."
"I know," Zeke said. "Believe me, I know. And I'm going to mention it in my homestudy. So just...calm down, okay? This isn't a bad thing!" Oh, it wasn't, was it? "It just means we've got a ways to go! We're not going to lose this!"
"I'll kill her," Rafael swore. "I'll kill her before I let her touch Michaela."
"Rafael," I said. The last thing I wanted was to worry about the both of them.
"Hey," Zeke said, chuckling nervously. "Actually, if you kill her outside the rez, and you come back here, they can't prosecute you for it, so..."
"Zeke," I said, and closed my eyes again, "please don't encourage him."
Zeke left us a little while later. The milk, the eggs, and the chili peppers stood abandoned on the kitchen counter. Neither Rafael nor I could think much about dinner right now.
"What do we tell Mickey?" Rafael muttered. I almost didn't hear him.
"Nothing," I said. I massaged my temples. "We're not going to worry her with this."
"But--"
"We're not going to let her mother take her away," I said. "Even if we have to get creative. Are you forgetting when we were teenagers? That whole year we spent thwarting the government?"
Rafael frowned. "But we lost," he said. "They got your dad in the end. They got what they wanted."
I thought about Dad in a prison cell, shriveled, aging, fighting for his life. A part of him was missing now. I knew it, no matter how well he feigned otherwise. A shudder traveled through me.
For the most part, I thought we held up a pretty good pretense at normalcy. I finished making the hotbread and Mickey was chatty and agreeable throughout dinner. "Mr. Siomme's taking us to the badlands tomorrow," she said. "He's going to show us where the coal comes from." Mini climbed in through the kitchen window--I don't remember her going outside to begin with--and I slid the window closed. Already it was getting very chilly outside.
I was chilly when we went to bed that night. I could hear Mickey's door snapping shut down the hall. I peeled the bedcovers back and tried to settle down.
"You're freezing," Rafael said, when we lay together.
"I don't know why," I said. "The hearth's warm."
"Don't give me that," he said, and put his arm around me. He pulled me close to his body, the warmth of him heating me from the outside in.
"She can't," I said. My fingers tangled in his t-shirt. "She can't take Michaela from us. She can't hurt her..."
"I'm not going to let that happen," Rafael told me.
I was silent. He went on.
"You remember when you were in foster care?" Rafael said. "And CPS gave you to that couple that wanted to adopt you?"
"Yes," I said, and thought about Danny, Marilu's friend.
"I came looking for you, right?"
I smiled, if only a little. "You certainly did."
"You remember how you you couldn't talk for twenty-two years? So I read all those boring books--"
"I've never heard you call a book boring before," I realized.
"--shut up, Sky, and figured out how to put your vocal cords back together? You remember that?"
"Well," I said, and I couldn't help it if I teased. "Considering I'm talking to you right now..."
"I'm always gonna protect you. And I'm always gonna protect that little girl. There's no way in hell I'll let that woman get her hands on her."
"Rafael," I said.
"Yeah?"
"You are the most wonderful person I've ever known."
It took him a moment to answer me--and when he did, I thought he sounded bashful.
"I'd better be," he said. "Because, you know. That's what you deserve."
/> I smiled. "Thank you."
"Stop thanking me."
"Are you sure?"
"Is the door locked?"
"You lock it. I can't get up. I'm the fat one."
"You're not that fat..."
"But I'm not that skinny..."
"How is it thanking me if I'm doing all the work?"
"Aren't you usually doing all the work anyway?"
After careful deliberation, and much well-delivered oration (of various sorts), the problem seemed to settle itself. And I must say that the results were very satisfactory. I professed my gratitude not once, but twice, and Rafael was graciously receptive both times, which ought to have surprised me because we're not exactly spring chickens, he and I. I took his enthusiasm for a compliment. And he swallowed me up in his arms, the same as every night; and somehow, I thought, that was my favorite part of all.
I drifted off to sleep with my head on his chest, his fingers buried in my hair. And I probably would have slept a dreamless sleep--if not for the reservation pager ringing loudly on the floor.
"Go'way Mary," Rafael mumbled, half asleep. His arm swung out and smacked me in the face.
"Ow," I said. I stumbled out of bed. Whose pager was beeping? I dug through our discarded pants pockets on the floor.
Mine, by the looks of it. A simple message glowed through the darkness, stamped across the small, digital screen.
where is your father?
Racine. Racine couldn't find my father?
I considered, for a moment, how I ought to reply. Obviously Racine thought there was a good chance Dad was with me. I didn't want to panic her by saying, "I don't know."
he's on his way home, I wrote back. It wasn't necessarily a lie. Not if I could find him.
I glanced back at Rafael on the bed. Sound asleep. That man could sleep through a hydrogen bomb, I'm telling you.
I dressed quickly--not entirely sure whose clothes I was pulling on--and stuffed the pager in my back pocket. I kissed Rafael's cheek, partially to see whether he would wake up and partially because I just felt like it.
A hydrogen bomb, I am not. He slept on, unperturbed. I slipped out the door.
The reservation was cold by night. Of course I hadn't thought to bring a jacket with me. I very rarely think that far ahead. The wind whipped my curls about my face, cold air stinging my eyes. The moon was full as it rained down on the forest path, guiding my way to the cluster of houses just beyond the beech trees.
Truthfully, I had no idea where I was going. I didn't even know whether Dad was still on the reservation. When I was very young, he used to go drinking at night; sometimes I wouldn't see him for two and three days at a time. Now that I was older I understood he wasn't really getting drunk at those dive joints. He was collecting information on Rafael's runaway father.
The first place I checked for Dad was our old house, the one in the north of the reservation. Not my grandmother's house; my mother's house.
The house was in shambles. Shoshone always abandon a house where a death occurred; they're not allowed to rip it down, or give it away to another family. Out front was what might have been a garden once, sanctioned off by worn and peeling gates. The planters beneath the dust-laden windows were faded and crumbling. The vines tangling up the west-facing side were as thick as jungle growth.
I pushed open the swollen, bloated door. Beyond the doorway was darkness.
"Dad?" I called out. I didn't feel like going inside. That house was the scene of too much heartache.
I called for Dad a couple more times, but without any response. Finally I conceded that he had to be elsewhere.
I closed the aged door carefully. I started the trek south.
Granny's house was in much better shape than my mother's, but it stood abandoned, just like its counterpart to the north. Granny had died here--unexpectedly, in her sleep. A headstrong, ornery old woman, she probably wouldn't have moved into a wickiup even if the Wolf himself came strolling out of the woods and advised her to do it.
I climbed the steps to the front porch. Nostalgia gripped my heart tightly, painfully, and wouldn't let go. This was the house I had grown up in. This was where I had met my grandmother and my heritage, where I had learned about my family, where I had met my first friends. This was home in a way that no other house could be.
I eased the door open and glanced inside. Moonlight streaming through the front room windows. The closet door ajar.
I stepped inside the old home, overpowered with its unfamiliar, musty scent. When did it start smelling like that? It's like the house just knew its caretaker had passed away, so it had relinquished its own spirit, too.
Granny's quiltwork still hung on the wall above the mantel. Oh, I wanted to touch it. I wanted to brush it with my fingers and remember the aged fingers that had brought it to life, the woman I loved more than life itself. The back door stood locked, much as it had been even in life. The staircase to the right of the house--the stairs I had climbed up countless times on my way to bed, or a late night rendezvous with Rafael...
"Dad?" I called out.
No response.
The chill of the empty home took me in a vicegrip, the hearth empty and black. The hearth Balto used to climb into as a coywolf pup. The hearth Granny and Dad and I had sat before on so many occasions while Granny told us her favorite stories, or taught me the songs of the Plains.
And then I noticed something on the mantelpiece I'd never noticed before.
I drew closer, tentative. I reached for the object--the picture frame. My uncle Julius stared back at me from the weathered snapshot, his eyes big and brown, his five-year-old smile big and toothy.
I have brown eyes, too.
And then I noticed something else about the photograph--
No filmy dust sitting on the glass frame.
Somebody had been here before me.
I started out the front door with haste. Suddenly I knew where Dad had gone for the night.
The graveyard behind the little white church stood gray and desolate unto a howling autumn night. The loose black gates creaked and slapped in the wind. Rafael used to be afraid of this place when we were kids. He'll deny it with all his heart, but take him out here sometime when it's dark out. Watch how fast he wants to leave.
I walked between the rows of uniform headstones. Everyone who's ever lived in Nettlebush is buried in this graveyard. Over the years we've had to extend the territory out into the western woods. It was a very small plot of land to begin with.
I found Dad sitting on the ground, cross-legged. I crouched down and sat with him. I read the gravestone before his water-gray eyes.
"Julius Looks Over. 1966 - 1971. Our children have a wisdom all their own."
Dad drew a deep, rattling breath. "Everything that ever went wrong in my life...it started with him."
I placed my hand on Dad's knee.
Do you know what blood law is? For the longest time, it was the only real "law" the Plains People had to their name.
When one man kills another without reason, the family of his victim is entitled to take his life in return. It's not really about retribution. It's about the souls of the departed. The departed will wander the earth as ghosts, scared and confused, unless the man who took their life is laid to rest. That way he can't take any other lives. That way men who might follow in his example will think twice.
"He can't rest..." Dad said.
I jolted. "He's beneath the soil," I said. "He's home."
"No, Skylar. Everything that's gone wrong..."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You think Uncle Julius laid a curse on you?" I asked.
"Not intentionally. He was too good of a child. He would never... These things come about. There's a balance to the world, to every life on the planet. When that balance is disrupted..."
"Dad," I said wildly. "Don't. Don't you dare start talking like this..."
"I ought to have died," Dad said. "When I took his life, I ought to have died, too."
He looked me in the eye. His eyes were unnaturally pale in the moonlight. For a moment I thought: He's the specter. He's the one who's been wandering the earth, scared and confused.
"Okay, Dad," I said. Was my voice wavering? I couldn't help it. "Okay. So you should have died when you were ten? Then what?" I could see he was about to interrupt me, so I kept talking. "Then I never would have known you."
"You would have grown up with your mother," Dad said. "Because she never would have met me. She never would have moved to the reservation. You never would have lost your voice. Your mother would still be alive today."
"I wouldn't have my father," I said. "My real father," I said. I didn't care to know who my biological father was. "I never would have known my grandmother. Or Marilu, or Aunt Cora and Aunt Melissa..."
"You would have your mother," he said. In his voice was conviction. He wouldn't hear otherwise. "Your mother would still be alive--"
"I don't want my mother!" I snapped.
It's not like me. It's really not like me. Even before I had a voice I never used to express myself when I was angry. On principle, I don't like anger. It's too much of a waste of energy.
I was angry now.
"I don't want my mother," I went on. My voice was shaking; I could hear it. But I wasn't quite yelling. There are still some things my vocal cords just don't know how to do. "I want my father. If you hadn't raised me, how do I know I would even be myself? Why would you take that away from me? You know something else, Dad?" He didn't interrupt me. "If you had died when you were ten years old, I never would have come to live on the reservation. I never would have met Annie and Aubrey, and Zeke--"
"You never would have lost your voice," he said. "I never would have taken you to therapy. That woman never would have touched you--"
"I never would have met Rafael."
"You'd have a different family--"
"I want this family."
Dad looked up at me; and in that moment, I was sure, I was positive, that he had never considered how happy I was just being his son.
"Nobody gets a perfect life, Dad," I said. "If my mother had raised me instead of you... What? You don't know that I would have been happy with her. And even if I was, does that mean I never would have been sad at some point? You're not really that naive, are you? Dad?"
"Your voice..."
"I like my voice just fine, but if growing up with you has taught me anything, it's that I don't need one. I don't need a voice to be happy. I just need you. You," I said, "and Rafael, and Michaela. And my brother and my sister, while we're at it. And my stepmother, because she may be a terrible cook, but damn it, she can shoot a gun."
To my amazement, Dad began to laugh.
"I must have done something right," he said. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. I didn't believe for a second that I had swayed him, but maybe--maybe this was a start. "Raising you, I mean. You're a very funny kid."
I smiled at him. "Not a kid anymore, Dad."
He hesitated. "I know," he said.
I reached for his hand and found it. I grasped it tightly.
"If you had died when you were ten," I said, "just think. Eli might never have been caught. I don't know about you, but I'm positive he would have taken more than seven lives. Maybe not my mother's... But Rebecca Takes Flight? Naomi Owns Forty? Mercy In Winter?"
Dad's eyes were difficult to read. He's always been like that. He's always existed on a different plane from me.
"And if you were to die today..." My throat felt dry. I swallowed. It didn't help. "You'd miss out on a lot of ball games and shinny tournaments. Christmas parties and New Year's gifts. And your granddaughter..."
His eyes widened, just slightly.
"How do you know she won't want to get married someday? Maybe she'll want her grandfather there to see it."
"My granddaughter," Dad said. "I had no idea..."
"She's decided to stay with us," I said.
"Ah," Dad said. A faint smile glimmered on his face. "Very gracious of her..."
"Of course. She's our little princess."
"I heard about her health scare..."
"It's fine now. We've been feeding her a lot of sugar, if you can believe it."
"That's very smart."
For a while, neither of us said a word, the night wind speaking in our place. Dad reached out and touched Julius' name on the headstone. His eyes sealed closed.
"I've always wondered what kind of a person he would have grown up to be... Maybe we would have been friends, he and I. Maybe he could have taken care of you while I was looking for Eli. Would he have married? Had children? I don't know... I knew a small and smiling baby. I never knew the real Julius. He never got to..."
"I think," I said, "he would have been a terrific man. A very good judge of character."
Dad looked up at me. His lips tilted into a wry half-smile. That's how he is, my Dad. He never lets himself smile completely.
"How do you know?" he asked.
"Because he loved you," I said. "That's a pretty good judgment call, if you ask me."