Rose came and stood beside her. "I'd say we proved that things are finally turning around for us. No one was hurt, the fire was checked in time, and the damage, considering how bad it might have been, is slight. By the time we're through redoing your room, it will fit the person you are now. The master bedroom will also be changed. The fire cleansed us of the past. Now it's time to move forward."
Ella hugged her mother tightly.
Wilson came down the hall holding a brightly lit gas lantern, two mops, and a bucket. "No time like the present to start."
268 It AIMEE & DAVID THURLO
Mercifully, it didn't rain that night. Wilson had patched the roof, where the shingles were burned away, with boards and plastic, but it wouldn't have held up against a driving summer rain. Ella and her mother slept in the living room, Ella in a sleeping bag that had once belonged to Clifford, Rose on the sofa. Ella was sure she'd never be able to relax enough in the smoky room to get even a wink of sleep, but exhaustion made its own demands. She shut her eyes and knew nothing more until daylight.
The next morning, Wilson and Herman Cloud arrived with supplies and began the job of properly repairing the roof while Ella and Rose worked inside. The women started by removing the fire-damaged curtains, mattresses, and furniture. As each treasured piece of her past was stacked in a pile, Ella felt as if a part of her heart was being discarded.
Ella untacked the Shiprock Chieftains banner and pulled it away from the charred surface of the wall. The felt disintegrated beneath her fingers, dropping to the floor in shreds.
She picked up the water-swollen remains of a high school photo and tossed it into the trash. She'd spent so many years trying to disassociate herself from the past; why was she mourning it now? To her, the future had always been far more exciting and important.
Rose glanced around the room. "It's looking so much better already! I think once the roof is patched and we get the room painted, it'll be almost as good as new. Then we redecorate. Do you know what you want to do with the place?"
"You've always wanted a sewing room, Mom," Ella said. "Maybe we should make my room over that way."
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"No, this is your room. That's what it'll always be, until you marry again."
Ella laughed. "Plan on this being my room for a long time, then."
Wilson knocked on the open door and came in. "The tar covered well, and should hold even if it rains this afternoon. We've repaired the windows and fixed the door frames. Although the fire destroyed most of the wiring in your mother's room, the rest wasn't quite so bad. I've shut down the damaged circuits at the fuse box, so you can use the generator again. Herman had to leave, but he said he and his son-in-law could come back tomorrow if you needed him."
Hearing a car approaching, Ella walked to the window. She shook her head in disgust. "Now we get an official presence," she muttered. "It's a tribal police unit."
Wilson gave Ella a worried look. "More trouble, you think?"
"Probably more questions about what happened at the dance."
The vehicle stopped out front. Peterson Yazzie climbed out and waited beside the car.
Ella walked to the porch and waved him inside. "What can I do for you?"
Peterson looked around, his eyes wide. "What the heck happened here?"
Ella explained about the fire. "We called the fire department. No one showed up," she said, leaving all emotion out of her words.
Peterson stared at her. "How could that. . ." His voice trailed off. "I'm going to make a few calls on my radio. I'll be back in a minute or two."
He returned to his unit and picked up the mike. Watching, Ella saw flashes of anger cross Peterson's features. At
27Q X A1MEE & PAVIP THURLO
the moment, siding with her was a risky proposition, even for a tribal cop, yet he'd never hesitated. Peterson had turned out to be a staunch and loyal friend, more than she had a right to expect. Then again, maybe sharing a career in law enforcement—in addition to their tribal and family ties— had made a bond between them.
He returned several minutes later. "There's no record of your mother's call. In fact, there were no calls to the fire station last night."
Rose stood behind Ella. "When I called, I got the answering machine. I didn't worry because I know it also rings at Harvey Ute's home or Charley Kodaseet's."
Peterson shook his head. "I'm sorry. They claim they have no record of the call. The tape is blank."
"That's bullshit, and you know it," Ella snapped. "Someone erased the message."
"Maybe," Peterson answered, "but I can't prove it, and neither can you. Without that, my hands are tied."
She exhaled softly. "Well, everything's under control now."
Peterson glanced at Rose. "If there ever is a next time, or any emergency, ask for me. The dispatcher will pass along the message."
"I'll remember that," Rose answered.
Wilson gave Peterson a long, pensive look. "What brought you out here today?"
"Business," Peterson said brusquely, then glanced at Ella. "Can I see you outside?"
"Sure."
Peterson glanced at Wilson. "I may need to ask you a few questions later too."
Wilson nodded. "I'll be around."
Ella watched the men. There was an animosity between
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them that she couldn't quite understand, but it obviously went deep. She would have to ask about it later.
Ella took Peterson into the shade of the tall old elm tree at the front of the house. "What's on your mind?" she asked when they were alone.
"There's lots of gossip going on about the dance last night," he said succinctly, "but not when a cop shows up. People are even more afraid, now that a hataalii has been killed."
"I figured as much."
"Anything you saw, or would like to tell me about?"
"Without a look at the medical examiner's report, I don't have an opinion. I only got close enough to see the blood on his chest."
"Did you talk to him, either before the ceremony or during the dance?"
"No. The only person I spoke to was Herman Cloud. I actually only got there a few minutes before the shooting."
Peterson kicked at a pebble by his boot. "In some ways that's even worse."
"Yeah, I know. They'll say our family brings only trouble."
"Word of the fire here will get out too. Things are going to become very difficult for you, particularly since there have been some new developments in the case."
"Like what?" she asked, struggling for a cool, professional detachment to mask her feelings. Finally she was going to get some answers, but from Peterson's expression, she wasn't going to like what she heard. The tension in Peterson's tone of voice made her want to shudder.
"This is difficult," he admitted, "but I thought you should know."
"I'm listening." She wished she could shake him, make
him stop drawing it out. Had something happened to Clifford?
"We found three bodies by the river, south of the old high school. Two were mutilated like your father's had been. The third died of gunshot wounds, a .30-30 perhaps. Your brother owns a rifle of that caliber, doesn't he?"
Ella remembered the shoot-out near the hogan. There was no doubt in her mind that their enemies had carried their dead to the river and dumped them there—after carving up the bodies. "Yeah, I'm sure my brother has a rifle of that caliber. So do three-fourths of the men on the reservation!"
"Yeah, but only a handful know about mutilation specific to a medicine bundle."
She tried to lead their conversation back to ground more familiar to her. "Have the bodies been identified?"
Peterson nodded. "That's another piece of circumstantial evidence that also points to your brother. One of the men was Gene Sorrelhorse. Remember, I told you about him? He's bad news, a self-styled vigilante."
She nodded. "He was one of the volunteers looking for my brother?"
"Once the
news got around that Clifford was involved with witchcraft, Sorrelhorse decided to go after him. He's been asking questions, searching for your brother, and driving around with a rifle. And now he's dead."
"You think they met, and my brother shot him?" She saw Peterson nod. "From the way you described Sorrelhorse, what makes you think it wouldn't have been self-defense?"
"I won't know that, not until we find Clifford and ask him some questions."
BLACKENING SO IMC It 273
"Do you believe my brother is guilty of all they accuse him of doing?"
"No/' he answered slowly. "I've known your family a long time. But that's not going to help. Blalock plans to get your brother—that's no surprise. Although he alienates everyone he comes in contact with, he also has good police instincts. He had us searching along the river. That's how we found the bodies."
She wanted to tell Peterson to look further north, near the mesas, until he found the hogan. Maybe, if he saw evidence of the assault on Clifford's hiding place, he'd understand why her brother had to remain on the run. Yet she couldn't say anything without revealing her own complicity.
"I'm on your side. Remember that," Peterson said. "But play it straight with me. If you learn where Clifford is, come to me first. I can make sure he's safe, and that his rights aren't trampled over. FB-Eyes is starting to get impatient, and I'm afraid he'll start cutting corners soon."
"How so? Any ideas?"
"No, not really, but I can't see him sitting back, waiting for the case to break."
"No," she admitted grudgingly, "neither can I."
"Just be careful around Wilson Joe. I know you're relying on him quite a bit."
"Not as much as you might think," she answered, deliberately being vague. "I keep hearing about his violent streak, but I haven't seen any evidence of it."
"It's there, believe me. A few years ago, I came across him really beating up some guy in a parking lot."
"I heard. A relative?"
"His cousin." Peterson shook his head. "And at the
chapter house the other day, I understand he threw a boy out a door." He grimaced, then shrugged. "Just watch out for yourself, okay?"
For a moment, Ella was uncertain how to respond, but she quickly recovered. Just yesterday, she'd warned Clifford to be cautious in trusting Wilson. Now Peterson was saying essentially the same thing to her.
"I'll be careful around him. Thanks," she said. "On a different subject—have you received any reports about grave-robbing?"
"Sorry. We've been so busy with Blalock. I'll try to ask around when I get back to the station." Peterson checked his watch. "Tell your friend I may need to talk to him about last night. Right now I have to go to a meeting."
Before she could say good-bye, Peterson turned and left. Ella stood on the porch and watched Peterson walk to his car and drive away. A cloud of dust rose in the air behind him, and lingered there.
Rose came to stand beside her. "What did he have to say?"
"Peterson's keeping me current on the investigation. He's turned out to be a good friend to our family, Mom."
Rose remained silent. "I don't think Wilson would agree."
Ella nodded pensively. "There seems to be some bad blood between them. What do you think's behind it?"
"You." Rose chuckled softly at the surprised look on Ella's face. "Wilson's jealous."
"No, you're misinterpreting it. I'm sure of it." Before she could argue the point further, Wilson came down from the roof and joined them.
"I bought some paint when I was in town. Do you want me to give you a hand inside?"
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"You've already done too much/' Rose said. "If my son had been here ..."
"Look at it this way," Wilson answered with a grin. "Back in high school, when I was caught writing on the wall with a marker, I had to repaint practically the whole school in punishment. Clifford helped me. Without him, I would have been at that all year. It's a debt I never had a chance to repay until now."
Rose laughed. "If I recall, my son also had a part in the mischief. Only he ran faster than you did."
"Well, true, but he didn't have to come back."
"Oh, yes he did," Rose answered with a tiny smile. "It would have gone against his nature to let you face the music on your own. He could no more have done that than I could forget I'm Navajo." She turned and went back inside. "Come on, I'll fix us all a snack. We've worked hard and deserve a break."
"I'll be right there," Wilson called. "Let me put the tools away." He took down the ladder and hauled it toward the shed.
Rose had left a pile of burnt items on the porch. Looking at the rubble, Ella noticed a short length of electric cable still attached to a plug. A badly melted aluminum wire extended from one of the burned outlets. Ella moved it with her foot. The wire had been cut.
"I had to cut away three of the damaged outlets. You'll be without power on that circuit," Wilson said.
"We're grateful for all you've done, but you shouldn't have cut that box away. It's evidence." Ella tried to show patience in her voice, but she couldn't quite hide her annoyance.
"What's so special about the box? It can't be repaired." Wilson shrugged.
"Look at it carefully. Someone stuck a piece of wire in there. It got hot and wore away the insulation, shorting out the box. I bet that's where the fire started. You should have left it in place for an arson investigation/' Ella explained.
"Where's the closest arson squad? Farmington? Albuquerque? Even if the fire was no accident, how would that change things?" Wilson's tone showed that he found Ella's attitude irritating. "This isn't L.A., remember?"
"You're right." Ella relented, wanting to avoid any further argument for now. She still was going to take the outlet to Blalock. If he didn't send it to a lab, she would. "Let's go have a bite to eat. You've been working all day." Ella smiled and motioned toward the house.
Later, when Wilson was leaving, Ella walked outside with him. "You must be dead tired."
"Yeah, but I've still got some papers to grade. Afterward, if you don't mind, I'm going to pay your brother a visit and make sure he's okay."
"Excellent idea. If someone saw you, your presence wouldn't create the same problem mine would."
"Anything you want me to tell him?"
Ella considered, then nodded slowly and recounted what Peterson had told her, omitting the personal observations. "He's in danger from every side now. I don't know how to keep him safe. He has to turn himself in soon."
"Your support, and your faith, are what matter to him the most. And in case you need to hear it, he's worried about you, just as much as you are about him."
"He shouldn't be." Then, remembering the coyotes and the men who had attacked the hogan, and the fire, her expression became somber. "Then again, maybe he should."
"One bit of advice?" Wilson saw her nod and continued. "You're being asked to accept and act according to rules of
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behavior that conflict with the law enforcement career you worked hard to attain. You can't expect to become comfortable with that overnight. Be patient with yourself. We're all trapped in something we have no control over. Be thankful that at least we're not alone," Wilson said.
Yet Ella was alone. A gulf as wide as the desert separated her from her people. Wilson's life had been punctuated by normality. His father and mother had been educators, like him. Their life had been predictable and comfortable, framed by stability and common ground. Despite the mistakes he'd made today, something told her he wasn't the wolf in sheep's clothing Peterson had described. All the violence she'd seen in him had been purposeful, not self-serving.
"You've never known what it's like to need to define yourself apart from those around you," Ella argued softly.
"Everyone goes through that to one extent or another."
"I'm not talking about a search for individuality. I'm talking about fear and survival," she affirmed.
"In my own way, I
've known both." Wilson had a faraway look on his face.
Before she could ask him about that, or for his side of the story Peterson had told her, he walked away without another word. Ella let him go, and waved as he started the pickup.
There was no way Wilson would ever understand her or what it had been like for her to grow up as part of a family that people stood in awe of. All her life, her family, and traditions she couldn't understand, had called to her, even as they pushed her away. The battle was one she'd fought as long as she could remember, and one whose outcome was still undecided.
278 It AIMEE & DAVID THURLO
Ella and Rose spent the next two days working to restore the house. They brought in an Anglo technician to get the wiring back in operation. Ella hadn't yet told her mother about the possibility that the short circuit had been induced. Maybe she never would. She'd cajoled Blalock into sending the fused outlet to the bureau's crime lab, but it would be weeks before they got a full report.
Hearing the telephone ring, Ella put down her paintbrush. The doorway trim was almost finished, and that would be the last of it. The smell of fresh paint seemed a victory over those who were persecuting her family. Her mother reached the phone first. Holding the receiver, Rose staggered back into the easy chair, her face ashen. "Have you called the police?"
Ella's heart began to race. "What's wrong?" she mouthed.
Rose looked at her daughter. "Thanks for calling," she said, and hung up.
Images of Clifford in trouble raced through Ella's mind, each more frightening than the last. She jammed her hands inside her jeans pockets to keep them from shaking. "Tell me what has happened."
"That was the church's construction foreman. They set up their trailers today, getting the site ready for on-site work. About thirty minutes ago, someone called in a bomb threat. The police advised them to evacuate. The foreman was calling from the construction office back in town."
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