by Judy Kundert
As she walked along the rows housing books about ancient Greece, her mind nudged her. What about the Lost Tribe of Israel? She sighed. What? She told herself to expand her mind, explore, travel, and meet new people. That’s what she’d said she wanted at her stewardess interview, and she knew that’s what every woman told them. But when she reflected on her lame, clichéd reason, she bowed her head and looked at her feet. If she dug deeper, she would find that her actual quest was to find the real Katherine. She realized that her quest for self-knowledge came in messages from other people. She wondered if she was like Emma Jean’s mama, who took in stray puppies. But then she remembered a quote from one her favorite authors, Emerson: “What you are comes to you.”
She rubbed her brow. How to begin her research? Should she ask a librarian or let serendipity help? Her thoughts crystallized with a clear message: forget the Greeks. How do I explain that I am looking for a mysterious connection between Native Americans and the Lost Tribe of Israel? I’ll find the right research since it was a coincidence that it came up during my dinner with Adam and his friends. It must be a message that I must follow.
Katherine moved her finger across the spines of the books. She closed her eyes and waited for one to spark at her touch. A true scholar applies an organized approach to research, but Katherine wanted a magic guide to help her.
A spry, wiry-haired librarian touched her shoulder. “Miss, are you looking for a particular book?”
“No. I found the right book. Thanks so much. I’m okay.”
“If you need me, I’ll be over at the reference desk.”
Katherine looked at the tome she’d grabbed off the shelf and examined the brown leather cover: World Heritage Encyclopedia. Flipping through the pages, she ran her fingers along the black thread of words in the index. Tapping from one foot to the other, Katherine bounced her way to a comfy corner armchair in the back of the library’s top floor. After zooming past topics, her finger stopped at “Lost Tribe, 17th–20th Centuries, Theories.”
Is this fate’s finger pointing to the prophecy I received at the Oracle of Delphi that I would help a great nation? Is this the reason for Adam and me to be friends? Israel could be that nation.
Her heart pounded like a snare drum against her chest as she read:
THE UNITED STATES, AMERICAN INDIANS
In 1650, a British divine named Thomas Thorowgood, who was a preacher in Norfolk, published a book entitled Jews in America or Probabilities That the Americans Are of That Race, which he had prepared for the New England missionary society. Tudor Parfitt writes, “The community was active in trying to convert the Indians but suspected that they might be Jews and realized they better be prepared for an arduous task. Thorowgood’s tract argued that the native populations of North America were descendants of the Ten Lost Tribes.”
Katherine gulped, and a gentle breeze ruffled the pages as a bright brown feather with an ivory tip landed on the library table. Katherine gazed at it. She placed it against the book’s one-foot-long binder. The glossy plume met end to end with the book’s cover. With a magnetic force, it slid toward Katherine, and she retrieved it. Her hands shook. She looked around the library. She and silence were alone with the sacred eagle feather. What does this mean?
The giant white clock’s numbers glared 3:00 p.m. Katherine’s throat tightened. She envisioned Charlotte calling Emma Jean to tell her that Katherine lacked dependability and how Katherine had left her to move by herself to the Playboy Mansion. But that didn’t matter. A powerful force held her. She couldn’t move. Soft Native American flute music waltzed around her mind with peace. The odor of cedar lulled her into a trance. Eyes closed, she tipped forward until her face landed on the library table. A feather whisked across the back of her neck.
Katherine didn’t move. Visions and voices beckoned to take her on a journey to the time when she and her father stood in the woods behind their home in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. His hand caressed a bright brown feather. The sun’s rays made it glisten. Her father’s cupped hands protected the feather from the wind. His rough hand looked small compared to the length of the bright feather. “Katherine, have you ever seen a feather similar to this one?” he asked.
She gazed at the quill then raised her eyes to her father. She nodded. Awakening her mind was the image of the glossy plume on display at the Chippewa Falls Logging Museum. It was on an elementary class trip, but Katherine sensed the importance of the feather.
Katherine and her father sat on a log and he placed his arm around her shoulder. “This belongs to one of my clients. Because of attorney-client privilege, I won’t show their name or any details. It’s a bald eagle feather sacred to Native Americans.”
“Yes,” Katherine said, “the sacred eagle feather awards honor to my Native Americans. The Creator chose this majestic bird as the master of the skies. The eagle flies higher than most other birds. I want to fly high just like the eagle sometime. The eagle soars the highest.” Katherine paused and touched the feather.
“You’re right; they’re very significant. We’ll take it the National Eagle Repository. My client received a bald eagle feather as part of a bequest from their aunt’s estate. She did nothing with it, and now I have a major entanglement to unravel. Do you know what happens to anyone who keeps an eagle feather?”
“The guide at the museum told us it comes with a $100,000 fine and imprisonment.”
The vision of her father and her younger self-vanished into the mist, and she awoke in the library. She heard a soft voice chanting over the wind instrumental music. “Hold this feather in your hand. It means trust, honor, strength, wisdom, power, and freedom. We choose you to receive this feather. It’s from the Great Spirit. You have done a brave deed.”
A shrill voice awakened Katherine. “That’s her. She’s got the feather.”
Katherine jerked her head and opened her eyes. She released her clenched fist and spied a lustrous brown eagle feather slip from her clutched fist.
A weathered, hairy hand grabbed the feather and waved it in front of Katherine’s face. “Okay, miss, can you explain this? You better have a good one too. You committed a federal offense, and I’ll have to report you. What do you have to say in your defense?”
Katherine felt as though she’d entered into another dimension. She stared up at a fat man with a dark blue uniform with badge-embellished lapels. She couldn’t speak.
“I’m Tom O’Leary, head of library security. Miss Polkas alerted me to check on you.”
“Remember,” the wiry-haired librarian said, “I offered help over there by those shelves. You looked confused. Now I understand. You wanted to hide that feather.” She stopped and took in a breath. “You made me suspicious. Just by chance, I had a picture of eagle feathers on my desk. You should be so ashamed of yourself. And furthermore—”
The official-looking O’Leary raised his finger to his lips. “Helen, we must let her tell her side of the story. Miss, gather up your things and come with me.”
Katherine’s face turned white. Her lips trembled as she mumbled to herself. “I don’t have $100,000, and why should I spend the rest of my life in prison for something I didn’t do? What can I say? That my great-grandmother’s friend and dead shaman Soaring Eagle slipped the feather to me while I slept?”
Katherine walked behind the librarian with the feather. The plume waved and moved against its captivity in her arthritis-twisted hand. Katherine could only hope Soaring Eagle would come to her rescue.
14
DANNY O’BRIEN WALKED into the St. Andrews boys’ locker room after an hour-long boxing workout. He nudged his young Chicago Boys Club trainee. “Hey, Luther. You looked like Ali today! You deserve an ice cream cone, but only one. You’re in training for the Silver Gloves!”
Luther gave Danny a high five. “I want a chocolate fudge Sunday with lots of nuts.”
“How about this: If you let me take you to the library, I’ll get you a triple scoop sundae.”
Luther shrugged.
“Can’t I have the ice cream without the books?”
Danny ruffled Luther’s curly black locks. “When we cruised past Lakeshore Drive’s tall luxury high-rises, you asked me how you could live in one of the sky mansions.”
Luther smirked. “Yeah. But my people never leave the hood. Why should I bother?”
Danny motioned to the exit of the exercise room. “Let’s go, kid. I’m giving you a ticket out of the ghetto. If you want it, walk out this door and follow me.”
Danny and Luther sauntered to the Fastback. Danny beamed when he saw Luther’s eyes pop at the sight of his red Mustang.
“Don’t you want a hot ride of your own, some day?” Danny asked.
“Right on.”
Danny started the motor and glanced back to check traffic. “If that’s what you want, then keep boxing for concentration and body building for strength and read books for your move up and out to the stars or wherever you want to go. And you can buy nice rags for yourself, your mother, and your whole family.”
Luther stared out the window. “You’re a white guy. That works for you.”
“Skin color is a cover for the real person. The person’s insides—their mind and character—are the hardware that drives dreams. When you read lots of books, you’ll find heaps of guys with dark skin who made it. You ever heard of George Washington Carver?”
“Maybe. So, what?”
Danny cleared his throat. “He was born into slavery and became a world-famous scientist and inventor. Education,” he said, “is the key to unlocking the golden door of freedom.”
Luther bit his bottom lip. “Sure. He’s one guy.”
“Holy moly. Where’s that street fighter who told me nothing could stop him?”
Luther jerked away from Danny. Danny shivered when he glanced out the corner of his eye, and a sunbeam reflected on a glimmer of a tear flowing over Luther’s cheek.
Danny opened the car window and cranked up the radio volume. The spring breeze and the lyrics from Music Explosion filled the car as they drifted along Lake Michigan: “Now when you’re feelin’ low and the fish won’t bite. You need a little bit o’ soul to put you right.” Danny swayed with the music while Luther snapped his fingers and glided his shoulders in sync with the beat. A smile slipped across Luther’s face.
“I drove past ice cream,” Danny said. “Here’s the library on the corner.”
Luther slammed a high five on Danny’s hand. “I’m cool.”
Climbing the circular stairs to the children’s book section, Danny scratched his head, put his hands on his hips, and wondered out loud, “What are your interests? Have you read any comic books?”
“I read when I have to. Hey, anything with books is creepy.”
Danny jabbed him. “Remember? What is reading?” Danny paused to let Luther respond.
Luther smiled and returned a jab to Danny, “Reading is the ticket to a high-rise on Lakeshore Drive and a fast, cool car?”
“Good kid. But you have to act on that thought. Don’t just parrot what I said. Live it. Why not try and read three books in the next six months?” Danny paused and searched for help.
A reference librarian raised her eyes from her papers and smiled at the two lost souls. Danny smiled, since he’d found the best person to help them—a kind, young hippie with round wire-rimmed glasses and long, curly hair. Danny waved at the beacon of aid and guided Luther to her book-laden desk. “Hi, I’m Danny O’Brien. This is my friend Luther Williams. Luther has dreams and places to go, so we’re looking for a reading program that will make him a champ. Isn’t that right, Luther?”
Luther lowered his head to avoid eye contact with Danny or the librarian. Luther coughed and mumbled, “Yes, sir.”
She leaned down to look at Luther. Her peace necklace dangled in front of Luther’s eyes. “Hello, young man, you’re in the right place. I’m just the lady to guide you on your road to wonder.”
Danny coughed to stop a laugh at the librarian’s comment. He knew what Luther was thinking: Wonder? Yuk. Let’s halt the babble and give me those books so I can get my ice cream.”
Turning to Danny, she asked, “Are you his guardian?”
“No, I’m his boxing coach. He’s ten years old and goes to Richard R. Byrd Community Academy. I haven’t talked to his teachers, so I don’t know his reading skills.”
She smiled. “Well, I bet I can give him suggestions for books. Let’s try Huckleberry Finn. After you’ve read a couple of chapters, tell your friend what you learned from the book.”
The three of them walked over to the shelves. Grabbing a well-worn book, the young woman leaned toward Luther’s face. Her sapphire blue eyes beamed into his chocolate brown eyes. Neither one of them moved or blinked. She reached for Luther’s hands and placed the ominous looking tome in his strong boxer hands. “Here ya go, young man.”
Luther took a step and gulped. “How long do I keep this book?”
“You can check it out for three weeks. If no else requests the book, you can renew it.”Luther jerked. With a quick pass, he dropped it in Danny’s hands. “Yikes. One day is enough for me.” He smiled at Danny. “You can keep it longer. Not me.”
Danny laughed. “Don’t speak too fast. Once you dive into those pages to other worlds, we won’t be able to get the book away from you.”
The young librarian confirmed Danny. “He’s right. Now you better check it out, so you can get started.”
Danny smiled. “Thanks. I bet he reads the whole thing and wants more books.”
Luther shrugged.
Danny put his hand on Luther’s shoulder. “Okay, guy, let’s get this book checked out so you can have your ice cream.”
On the way to the checkout desk, Danny bumped into Tom O’Leary. O’Leary was Danny’s neighbor on the Chicago Southside.
“Hey, Tom, how ya doin’?” Danny waved, and then he noticed Katherine walking with O’Leary and the librarian. Danny’s mouth dropped open. He coughed to cover his reaction. Katherine’s face glowed like Christmas as she lifted the World Heritage Encyclopedia over her face. Her eyes moved from side to side.
“Hey, Danny boy. Do you know this woman?” O’Leary asked.
Danny had to tell at least half the truth. O’Leary’s years as a Chicago cop made him better than a lie detector. “Well, I don’t know her, but I met her at a party once.”
O’Leary glanced at Katherine and motioned to her to follow him as he tossed Danny a parting comment. “Keep your mother happy and give her my best when you talk to her.”
Luther cocked his head toward Danny with eyes fixed on this mysterious woman.
Danny pulled up the image of Katherine at the Playboy party. To him, she’d glowed with innocence in the midst of the wild partygoers. He leaned toward Luther’s ear and whispered. “She’s a beautiful girl who must have got in with the wrong people.”
15
CHARLOTTE STOMPED AROUND the apartment, dashing from her former bedroom to the living room. She looked nervously at her watch and whispered, “Now what? It’s 4:30. Kate is one and a half hours late. She’s usually an on-time fanatic.”
Charlotte searched for answers. Looking for Emma Jean’s phone number, her fingers flipped through Kate’s phone book. Emma Jean’s sweet southern charm made Charlotte want to vomit. Maybe I’m jealous of their friendship. I knew Kate first. Now I’m just her old friend from home and her former roommate. But I could still use her help.
“Hello.” Emma Jean’s charm oozed through the receiver.
Charlotte breathed deeply. “Hi, Emma Jean, it’s Charlotte. Do you know where Kate is?”
Charlotte waited for Emma Jean to respond. All she heard was Emma Jean’s fingernails tapping on a table like rain hitting the roof.
Then, in her usual southern way, Emma Jean blurted, “Well, shut my mouth. I told that girl to forget that guy. I gave her good advice, too, that she should learn how to play the piano and read poetry. Katherine didn’t even want to go shopping with me at Bonwit Teller. What r
eal lady rejects a fantastic experience at the poshest store in town to take a book to a dead-end guy? Could he be a kidnapper?”
Charlotte’s heart pounded. “What do you mean?”
Emma Jean released a sigh. “Well, Darlin’, after our morning coffee and sweets, your dear roommate left me to go take a book to that Angelos fellow. I warned her about foreign men. Who knows what he’d do with a girl that brings him a stupid book. Do you think men want women to bring them books?”
“Where did Katherine go to meet him?”
“Oh Darlin’, what a dreadful situation. To that strange place called Greek Town. Athens was fine, but this Greek Town must be in a bad part of Chicago. I never leave the Gold Coast. My Heavens.” Emma Jean sighed. “Once a policeman friend told me that I had to be careful in some areas of Chicago. He said women had been kidnapped and used as sex slaves. That silly girl left me on the corner of Dearborn and Rush Street at 11:00 a.m. I had my hair appointment at 11:15. I hurried to get there on time. Now I’m mad at myself. Have you ever seen Katherine’s look that shows when her feelings are hurt? Like, the one where she wrinkles her brow and her lips quiver. She refused to go to Bonwit Teller with me and chose that silly idea to take the book to the Greek guy. You know she’s almost too kind-hearted for her own good. I worried that her eagerness to help every manner of person would get her in trouble sometimes. Bless her heart!”
