by Janet Dailey
Hawk didn’t sleep well. There were too many sounds that weren’t natural to him. The minute the sun peeked in his window the next morning, he was up and dressed. Once he left his room, there was very little light to show him the way, but he didn’t turn on any of the electric switches.
Making his way onto the porch, Hawk searched through the coats hanging on the wall hooks looking for his own. Behind him, the kitchen was suddenly flooded with light. Startled, Hawk turned sharply to face the door and accidentally knocked over a boot.
“Who’s out there?” There was a thread of fear in the imperious demand made by the woman. Before Hawk could answer and identify himself, she was in the doorway glaring at him. “What are you doing sneaking around at this hour?”
“What is it, Vera? Who are you talking to?” The man, Rawlins, walked up behind the woman and saw Hawk on the porch, unconsciously looking guilty. “Where were you going, Hawk?” the man demanded.
“Hunger and thirst will be killing my horse. I must feed it and bring it water before the school bus comes.” However, he wasn’t at all certain that the school bus would know where to pick him up since he had left his home.
“Don’t worry about your horse. Luther will feed and water it when he grains the others,” Rawlins told him. “As for school, it’s closed for the holidays. Besides, you won’t be going to the Reservation school anymore. You’ll be transferring to another school that’s closer to us. You might as well come in the kitchen. Vera will be starting breakfast.”
The woman turned away from the opening and disappeared into the room, yet Hawk hesitated. “Are there not things I should do?” he asked uncertainly.
“Things?” Rawlins frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It was my work to cut wood for the fire, carry water, and help my mother in the cornfield.” None of which needed to be done here, since water ran from pipes in the house, heat came from a stove that burned oil, and there was no sign of any garden.
“I see.” Rawlins paused to take a deep breath, then smiled. “You’ll have chores here, too. I’ll be checking the cattle after breakfast. You can come with me.”
Chapter IV
The ranch and its way of life was alien to Hawk. There was so little that was familiar to him that he often felt lost and forsaken. Yet his father wanted him to learn of these things, so he accepted the strangeness of it all.
Tom Rawlins gave Hawk his first glimpse of what being a cowboy entailed. The first day he merely observed what was going on around him. The second day he began asking questions.
“Who owns all these cattle?” He gestured to the herd with the Flying F brand on their hips. Their heads were down, feeding on the hay the cowboys had thrown to them from the wagon. Its color was gold against the dirty snow.
Rawlins hesitated an instant. “Mr. Faulkner owns them.”
The confirmation that they did belong to his father merely raised another question. “Everyone comes to you to find out what should be done. You give the orders. Why doesn’t he if these animals are his?”
“Because he hired me to take care of them. I am what is known as a foreman, which means I’m in charge.”
A cowboy called to Rawlins, ending the question period. But Hawk realized that Rawlins was an important man, much respected by the others.
On the morning of the third day, Rawlins sent Hawk to the house with a message. “Tell Vera I have to be in town early this afternoon and ask her to have lunch ready by eleven-thirty.”
When Hawk got to the back porch, he heard voices coming from the room they called the living room. One voice he recognized as belonging to the woman, Vera, although its shrill pitch was muted by a respectful tone. It was the sound of the second voice, soft and pure like the night cry of the owl, that lured Hawk toward the room.
Their talking had evidently covered the sound of the porch door opening and closing, because his presence went unnoticed when he paused in the opening to the room. He stared at the strange woman seated on the long sofa, slim and supple, her hands moving with the flowing grace of a willow in the breeze. Her hair was the color of a newborn fawn, blown away from her face to fall in long waves around her shoulders. Smooth and shiny, her face held the golden hint of the sun, and her lips were as red as the Vermillion Cliffs. She wore a white, bulky sweater that encircled her neck; but, most astonishing of all, she had on a pair of men’s trousers. Hawk was so fascinated by this white woman that he barely noticed the tall boy seated next to her.
“J. B. is convinced there is going to be another land boom in Phoenix,” the woman was saying. “Can you imagine? The place is an inferno in the summer, although I admit, in the winter it’s practically heaven there. Anyway, he’s talking about buying up land there—maybe even building a home and spending the winters in Phoenix. He’s talking about going there this week to look over the prospects.” Her teeth were so white against the red of her lips that Hawk watched the movement of her mouth with increasing interest.
“Is he actually serious?” Vera Rawlins questioned.
“He seems to be. The ranch has always been our home, but you know how bleak and lonely it is in the winter—snowbound sometimes for days, with no outside entertainment. In Phoenix, we could go out for dinner and dancing. Why, it would almost be like it was when J. B. and I were dating.” A smile started to spread across her face, then stopped as she finally noticed Hawk in the doorway. Her lips came together, something hardening their curved line.
The sudden change in her expression turned Vera Rawlins in her chair. Her lips thinned and disappeared when she saw Hawk. “How many times have I told you not to go sneaking around?”
As always, the question confused Hawk. She was constantly accusing him of sneaking up on her whenever she failed to hear him approach, which was most of the time. Yet he walked normally, making no attempt to stalk her.
“Is this the orphaned half-breed you and Tom have taken in?” The woman stressed the word.
“Yes … yes, it is.” Vera appeared embarrassed by the admission.
“Come closer so I can see what you look like.” The woman motioned for Hawk to approach her.
Even as he obeyed the order, he sensed a change in the air, as if invisible tongues of lightning were dancing all around him. He stopped in front of her, looking down to gaze into her brown eyes, flecked with gold. Across the room, he had thought they held the warm glint of the sun, but up close they held the anger of lightning. Their inspection burned him.
When Hawk breathed in, he caught her scent. “You smell like a hillside of wildflowers,” he murmured in awe.
“What is your name?” she questioned, ignoring his compliment.
“Hawk.” When her gaze narrowed with displeasure, he gave her the rest of his name so she wouldn’t look at him that way. “Jim Blue Hawk.”
“Who gave you that name?” she demanded.
“I took it myself.” He would have explained how it had happened, but she didn’t give him the chance.
“Do you have another name?”
“Yes.” Hawk nodded.
“What is it?”
He hesitated. Perhaps by telling her his secret name, the stiffness would leave her mouth and the sunlight would come back to her eyes if he gave her that power over him. He took the chance.
“The-One-Who-Must-Walk-Two-Paths.”
“But you are called Hawk.” She didn’t seem to understand the knowledge he had given her. “My name is Katheryn Faulkner. My husband owns this ranch. Did you know that?” Hawk shook his head. He hadn’t known this woman was his father’s first wife. “Do you know what the name Faulkner means?”
Again he shook his head. “No.”
“It means ‘a trainer of hawks or falcons.’ I find that quite a coincidence, don’t you?” The tightness in her voice made it sound angry. It was a question that Hawk wasn’t expected to answer as she turned to the boy sitting beside her. “This is my son, Chad Faulkner.”
He saw the way her face grew soft with pride an
d warmth when she looked at the other boy. He wished she would look at him that way.
Hawk turned his head to look at his half-brother. He was older than Hawk by four years or so, and several inches taller. His hair was a darker brown than his mother’s, but his eyes were the same brown color as hers. Little Carol was sitting on the other side of him, using his knee as a table to rest her coloring book on. Chad Faulkner studied Hawk with a mild curiosity, appearing distantly amused by the situation.
“Hello,” he said with feigned disinterest. “What are you doing here?”
The question reminded Hawk of the reason he had been sent to the house. Turning to Vera Rawlins, he related the message he was supposed to deliver.
“He said he had to go into town this afternoon and asked to have lunch at eleven-thirty.”
“Who said?” she demanded. And she murmured in an aside to the woman, “I have the hardest time making him refer to people by name.” Her attention was returned to Hawk. “Do you mean Mr. Rawlins?”
“Yes. Mr. Rawlins said it.” Out of the corner of his eye, Hawk saw his father’s wife push back the knitted cuff of her sweater, revealing a slim, gold watch.
“If you have to fix an early lunch, Vera, we should be leaving.” She stood up and moved past Hawk, taking care not to touch him.
“Don’t go,” Carol protested when the knee supporting her coloring book was withdrawn. “I haven’t finished coloring this picture for Chad.”
“Bring it over to the house this afternoon.” Chad stroked a hand over the girl’s golden curls with an indulgent affection. “Maybe we’ll build a snowman.”
“Can we?” The little girl’s face lit up with adoration and excitement, as if she had just been promised the most wondrous thing.
“Chad, you spoil her so,” Vera Rawlins sighed, but Hawk had never seen her look so happy and contented.
Standing apart from them, Hawk watched his father’s wife put on a heavy parka with a fur collar, listened to the warmth of her voice when she thanked Vera for the coffee and said good-bye, and heard the front door close. Vera hurried to the kitchen to begin preparing the noon meal, leaving Hawk alone and forgotten in the living room. The fresh, sweet smell of the woman lingered in the room. Hawk felt an ache of loneliness.
Twice in that week, Hawk saw his father. Each time he was asked how he was getting along, and if there was anything he needed. Hawk had seen into his father’s empty blue eyes and had known he didn’t want to hear the answers to the questions. So he didn’t speak of the strangeness and the loneliness he found. Instead, he made the replies he knew his father wanted to hear.
On Monday, he was to start his first day at the white man’s school. He was ready to leave early, nervous and unsure of what new changes the school would bring. Would it be like the Reservation? Would the teachers strike your hand with a ruler if you were heard speaking Navaho? A white school would not permit Navaho to be spoken, Hawk decided. He tried not to think about his new classmates.
With his coat on and his hair slicked down, he stood at the kitchen window, waiting with a seeming impassivity while little Carol had her golden hair combed and adorned with ribbons. On this day, the man, Rawlins, would take them to school. After that, they would ride the bus.
“You’re going to get overheated with that coat on, Hawk.” Rawlins was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and watching his wife combing his daughter’s hair. “Why don’t you go outside and wait?” he suggested. “Carol will be ready soon.”
Hawk accepted the suggestion with alacrity, leaving the house on nearly soundless footsteps. The frosty air nipped at his face and made clouds of his breath. Hawk was gripped by the desire to run from this place and strike out for the north and the hogans of his relatives. His gaze was drawn past the trees to the white house where his father lived. He saw him walking from the house to a car parked in front of it, but his father wasn’t wearing the sheepskin-lined parka or blue jeans. He had on a long, dark coat that flapped around his knees and dark pants. A raw sense of forboding shook Hawk. He broke into a run to race through the trees, an unnamed fear tearing at him. His father was standing in front of the car, waiting, when Hawk reached him. Beneath the partially buttoned coat, Hawk could see the suit and tie his father wore.
“Are you going with us to school?” He searched his father’s face for an explanation and caught the flicker of guilt that crossed his expression.
“No. I’m going to Phoenix … on business. I was on my way over to Tom’s to tell you good-bye.” He avoided Hawk’s eyes as he glanced at the car keys in his hand.
Dread crawled across Hawk’s skin. “When will you come back?”
“I don’t know. Not for a while.” The expressive roundness of the blue eyes staring up at him pulled the man down to crouch in front of Hawk. “Try to understand, Hawk. I have to get away. I can’t stay here anymore because it’s too easy to believe she’s at the hogan waiting for me. There is so much here to remind me of her—too many things that haunt my memory. I need to be in different surroundings for a while. I’ll come back. I’ve gone away before, haven’t I?”
But this time was different. His father was the solid rock he could hold onto in this shifting world that seemed to constantly change like the shifting sands of the desert. Hawk didn’t understand this need to have his father nearby, so he couldn’t express it. His only reply was to stare at his father in a mute plea.
“You’re going to have a lot to do—what with school and helping Tom. You won’t even notice I’m gone.” His father struggled to convince Hawk that his departure was of minor importance. “I want you to pay attention in school and do the homework the teacher gives you. It’s important for you to learn everything you can. Tom and Vera will look after you.”
Light footsteps approached the car. At the sound of them, Hawk turned his head toward the house. It was the woman called Katheryn who was his father’s first wife. Her eyes regarded him with displeasure again, but the look was gone when she glanced at his father.
“I thought you said you were leaving right away, J. B.?” There was a question in her voice.
“I am.” He straightened after a last glance at Hawk and walked to the driver’s side of the car. Holding the door open, he paused. “Good luck on your first day at school, Hawk.” Then his gaze slid to the woman with the fur hood. “Good-bye, Katheryn.”
“Don’t forget to call me tonight,” she instructed with a stiff smile.
His answer was a saluting wave of his hand as he slid behind the wheel. When the motor was started, Hawk moved out of the car’s path and watched it drive away. He felt abandoned. His gaze was drawn to the beautiful woman standing on the other side of the driveway. There was a certain forlorn look to her expression that seemed to echo his feelings.
“Hawk!” Tom Rawlins’ shouted call summoned him back to the house.
Adjusting to the new school was difficult for Hawk. Because of the low score on a test he had taken, he was placed in a class of students younger than he was. Not only was he older, but he was also much taller, so he always stood out from the others. The students, especially those in his age group, taunted him mercilessly. Instead of making comments about his blue eyes and waving black hair, the remarks they made referred to the copper tan of his skin, or they laughed at his name.
Although Hawk already knew he was different, the experience hammered the point home. He was diligent in his studies. Not because he wanted to excel and prove to the others he was as intelligent as they were—that wasn’t the way of The People. He learned because there was value in knowledge.
His life settled into a routine once he started school. When he came to Rawlins’ house after school was finished in the afternoon, he was made to change his clothes. From there, he went immediately in search of Rawlins to do his share of work. After the evening meal was over, he would do his homework until it was time for bed.
During the month his father was gone, Katheryn made several visits to the Rawlins’ house
while he was at school. Hawk knew this because on the days she came, there remained a lingering trace of the wildflower scent in the house when he returned from school. On those occasions, he would sit on the sofa where the fragrance was the strongest and read his assignments. Enveloped by the warm smell of her, he could almost pretend that somebody cared.
It was nearly one month from the day he left that J. B. Faulkner returned to the ranch. Hawk was on his way to the barns to help with the evening chores when he saw the car driving in. Work was forgotten as he raced to meet him, memories of other homecomings running fresh in his mind.
“You’re back!” A reckless smile split his face.
“I told you I would come back, didn’t I?” his father chided with affectionate huskiness as he reached inside the car to lift out a gaily wrapped package. “I brought something for you.”
Hawk fell to his knees and immediately began tearing away the brightly colored paper to get at the box it covered. Inside was a plaid western shirt like the cowboys on the ranch wore. Hawk held it up with pride.
“I thought you’d like it,” his father said, viewing Hawk’s expression with satisfaction.
“Are you passing out presents, J. B.?” The challenging question came from his father’s first wife, who had walked around the hood of the car. Beside her was the tall boy, her son and Hawk’s half-brother. Hawk had not seen him since that first meeting. His half-brother called Chad did not attend the same school that Hawk did, but lived at an exclusive boys’ academy, so Hawk had heard. Outside of a cursory glance at their first approach, neither of the two paid any attention to him.
“Hello, Katheryn, Chad.” His father turned to greet both of them. The smile did not quite reach his eyes, but there was pride in his look when he shook hands with his older son. “I’m glad to see you made it home for the weekend, Chad.”
