First, just let me say that we love you and we are praying for you. I have placed your name on the prayer lists of every church in Catron County and even some in other places across the state. I also called Angel and told her about your injuries and she has promised to place your name in the prayer box at the church where she goes for weekly meetings. We ask God to heal all of your broken bones and wounds from the accident, to mend you back together and bring you home to us very soon.
Frank told me the details of your injuries and even though I haven’t worked as a trauma nurse, I do remember enough from my training to know it will be a long period of rehabilitation and recovery. I say this not as a means to depress you, as Roger is pointing out, but to let you know that if I can do anything to assist the therapists or doctors when you get back to Pie Town, I happily offer all of my services. I have many unused vacation and sick days and I’m sure that my supervisor from the nursing home would allow me to take a leave of absence if you need a private nurse. I will ask Frank to keep me posted on your recovery and if my care is needed, I will make myself available.
Roger says he is happy to drive you around when you get home as long as you don’t mind riding in the squad car. He remembers how much you used to enjoy sitting in the back seat, sirens blaring and lights flashing, and he’d be happy to oblige you those pleasures again. I just told him that you were a boy when you rode with him around the county and that I don’t think you’d be too keen on all that show and noise since you are now an adult. But now that I write that, I realize that the sirens and lights are still part of the reason Roger enjoys his job; so maybe that’s something boys just don’t grow out of!
Although she hasn’t come right out and asked us, both Roger and I get the feeling that since you may be coming home soon, Trina is thinking about moving from the garage apartment into Roger’s house. We’re not sure of what she is expecting regarding your living arrangements but we do know she would want you to be able to visit her. We are, of course, happy to make that possible. In the house, everything is all on one level, after all, and would be easily accessible if you are in a wheelchair and need those capabilities. Roger and I have talked about it and even without a wheelchair, we can’t see how you could maneuver those stairs to the apartment. If this is what she wants, we will support her in this move. It’s easy to see that she cares a great deal for you and we’re happy that the two of you found each other and have supported each other through war and birth. It took longer than it should have but Roger and I realize now how lucky we are to have each other and we both regret what was lost in our time apart. We both agree that there is nothing better than a good partner in life.
We’re still working full-time. His sheriff duties keep him very busy and even though he’s hired a couple of new deputies it seems he has to take care of something for the department every day. I asked him just now when the last time was that he took an entire day off and he can’t remember having one. We are hoping that in the spring and summer we’ll both take some vacation and go to Denver to visit Angel and have some nice time with her.
I guess you may be wondering how our daughter is faring in Colorado and we’re happy to report that we feel like she’s doing better now. After Alex died and she didn’t even show up for her own son’s funeral, we lost touch with her for almost a year. And then, out of the blue, she called and claimed she was in a good program, clean and sober, working at a coffee house, and living in a nice home with five or six other recovering addicts. We’ve seen her once or twice since that call. She came home for the holidays this year, just for a couple of days, and we met her in Santa Fe a few months ago when she caught a ride with a friend who was driving down. She’s still rail thin, but she doesn’t look so haggard any longer and even if I am her mother, I still say she’s beautiful like her grandmother and as smart as her father. All I really think that she inherited from me is her feisty temper and her way with horses. Roger just said, amen to that, by the way.
Of course, we both know it was you who taught her everything she knows about riding. I tried to show her all my tricks and ideas about horses but by the time she was six she had her own way of doing things and her own way of doing things did not include her mother. Roger and I often talk about how grateful we are to you and Frank, the way you took care of our Angel, the friendship the two of you shared as children. You really are more like brother and sister than me and Lawrence ever were and I know she misses you and I know she would want me to send her love.
Roger and I were just talking about the fact that she didn’t take much with her when she left after Alex was born. She didn’t want the furniture we bought her or any of the clothes she had made or bought with her own money. She left the gold crucifix necklace her grandfather gave her when she turned sixteen and the set of pearl earrings Roger and I bought for her when she gave birth to Alex. The jewelry her grandmother gave her, the rings and pins her boyfriends had bought her over the years, she left them all in the little jewelry box on her dresser. But the one thing I know she still has, the one thing she has never lost, left behind, given away, or put aside is that leather bracelet you made her when the two of you turned sixteen. I remember how much it meant to her when you gave it to her, how she explained to us where you found the silver charm, a bear, you bought from a silversmith at the Gathering of the Nations Pow-Wow in Albuquerque and the tiny piece of turquoise you found on one of your trips out in the Narrows, the one you polished and placed just beside the charm. As far as I know, she still wears it, the leather worn and the piece of turquoise, thin from so many years of wear and tear. Still, I like the thought that this is the piece of jewelry she keeps. I have found great comfort, especially in the years when we didn’t know where she was, didn’t know how she was, that she was wearing the bracelet that you made for her, a bracelet that promised protection from all harm. You are the best friend Angel has ever had. Your father was the best godfather a child could ever know; and I have always thanked God for having the two of you in our lives and in the life of our daughter.
I don’t know why I’m rambling on and on about Angel when this letter is supposed to be a letter of encouragement and well-wishes, a letter to let you know about how we’re doing. I guess I just got sidetracked and took a little trip down memory lane. You would think that Roger would have headed me off and pointed me in the right direction but I guess we both love you for many reasons and a lot of them have to do with what you did for our daughter.
We will be here for you when you get home. We will do whatever you need for us to do, to take care of you, to provide you with housing, transportation, home healthcare, and even a babysitter for Alexandria so that you and Trina can have some quality time to spend together. You are like a son to us, Raymond Twinhorse. It will always be that way.
Be well. Come home soon. Know of our love. Roger just gave me a nod that the letter is fine. So, I will say our good-byes.
Love,
Roger and Malene
Ah-hah-lah’nih!
Greetings my son,
Trina is putting together a nice bundle of letters and gifts from the people in Pie Town. I feel a bit odd contributing to this community endeavor but Trina has insisted I participate and include a letter with everyone else. I try to explain to her that you and I have never written letters but she will not let me out of this opportunity to send a father’s own personal wishes for his son’s well-being.
The garage still provides me with a good working wage and I remain able to slide under the chassis and also lift off all four wheels for rotation; so I guess I will continue with my employment for a while longer. Trina is a solid employee, has good work habits, and has learned practically everything I know about engines in her short time at the garage. I suspect she will know more than I once she starts working on the newer models and learns the ins and outs of computer-generated systems. She has small hands which I now see is a favorable attribute for reaching beneath hoses and behind radiators, and in between spark plugs. She is str
ong as well and can lean over hoods and motors far longer than I. It is not a natural thing for me to be around a woman for so much of the day, but I find her company pleasant and the sharing of the workload a relief.
I talk to your doctor or a nurse there at the hospital every couple of days or so. I am not sure that you remember the conversation you and I had when you were first transferred to Germany, as you seemed a bit groggy from the medication and the trip from Afghanistan, but I cannot say how much it meant to hear your voice. Even with the reports of your recovery, the high marks of surgical success you have had, and the cheerful voices of your caregivers, I have been anxious until I finally heard you speak. It was a great comfort to me.
I have been to Ramah. I know that my refusal to visit our family has been a source of discontent for you for a very long time. I know we have not seen eye to eye about my choices to leave the reservation and to live away from your grandparents and our extended family members. I need to say that I have been wrong about that matter and I have sought to reconcile with your grandmother, my mother, and I will seek to make things right for you and the others as well. I see how important it is to have that support, especially now, especially as you are so far away, and we cannot get to you. Your grandmother sends her deepest love and has asked that you come back to Ramah and live with them when you return.
Even though I do not know if you have decided where you will live when you return, I have not mentioned your relationship with Trina to her. I feel that is not my news to report and I will let you see your own way to discuss this with her. I am, of course, hoping you will return to live with me in the trailer, the way it was before you left for the army and I am already making necessary arrangements for you to be able to transfer a wheelchair easily inside, in case you are still in need of one when you come home. Bernie King is helping me widen the front door and build a ramp but I am still unsure of how we can maneuver the chair through the narrow hallway. Perhaps, it is time, as Trina likes to tell me, to buy a real house that cannot be toppled in the spring winds or hooked up to a truck and pulled away. I try to explain my love for the brown trailer, but she says she spent too many years of her childhood parked in a trailer court and will never make her home in another one as long as she lives. I guess that’s information you might need to know in case your relationship continues to grow. You will not bring her as your bride into a mobile home.
Ah, but what do I know about brides and such? Your mother never mentioned any discontent she may have had in living in a trailer so far away from everyone. She told me when we first moved in that she liked the privacy of our lives, the way she could see and count the stars, the sound of desert wind, the long setting of the sun, the sheer hold that silence can have on a person. I never understood, of course, why she left when she did. I never knew she was unhappy or displeased with our life and as I have told you more than once, it never had anything to do with you. I claim all responsibility for her departure and I hope you never entertained a single thought that it had anything to do with you. She loved you from the moment she knew she was pregnant. I just think the weight of being married to me, the deep longing she had for her family and the inability to find her place in Catron County just became more than she could bear. I no longer even blame my relatives for pushing her away. “It is the curious nature of many unknown things to remain unknown,” as your great grandfather used to say.
If I knew where to reach her, of course, I would let her know of your military service and of the recent events in your life. Even though I never told you this news, I tried to find her when you graduated from high school, having made your plans for joining the army, but I was unable to locate her then and I must admit I haven’t really tried in many months. However, if that is something you would like for me to do before you return home, I will happily search for her again.
I know she would be proud of you, as proud as I am. She would think you are brave and selfless to do what you have done. She would surely hold your face in her hands and smile that beautiful smile at you, whispering those things she told you when you were a baby that she never repeated to me. I hope you know she always loved you.
I have been tracking the coyotes for the past few months since I still struggle with sleeplessness. As you discovered when you were a boy, on those dark nights when I can no longer stay put in my bed, I wander the early morning hours along the hidden trails. The animals have become used to me now and do not even seem to mind when I join them on their hunts. I do believe that the leader of this small group is from the same pack that we met on a trail a few years ago, just before the spring of your departure. Do you remember the family? And do you recall the smallest pup, the one who lagged the farthest behind the others, the one we left our sandwiches for? There was a small ring of white fur around his silver-brown neck. I do believe he is full-grown now and leads this pack I follow. It is odd to say, of course, but it is as if he recognizes me. And all these seasons later, I feel connected to this animal as if we shared something we both can never forget. I even find myself telling him of you as I sense his questioning of why I walk alone. Where it was that we once shared our pity with him because of his small size, his inability to run as quickly as the other coyotes, I feel his pity for me now that I travel with no pack. I suppose that is why I am allowed to track and hunt with him.
I have also seen the old witch running along the canyon floor and the wisp of smoke that you always called “Kit Carson’s ghost” that seems to waft along the north end of the ranch at the Old Sheep Trail. I still find the mounds of rocks that you made as a boy to mark paths for you and Angel to find your way home when you wandered for so many miles. I see all the places we shared, all the trails we walked, the clearings where we rested for the night; and when I lie beneath the stars, so many of them, you know, I call up your name to our ancestors, to the spirits to guide you and protect you and bring you out of harm’s way and back home. I cannot say if I think there is one God watching the world as the white man seems so resolved to make everyone acknowledge and believe in; but I confess to you, I have even prayed to Him.
You are my family, Raymond. You are my son. And I yearn to have you home.
Ah-hah-lah’nih! I will greet you with love and great favor when we meet again.
Your father, Frank Twinhorse
Dear Raymond,
I have no idea if this box of letters and stuff makes it to you. The address the hospital nurse repeated for me has so many numbers and letters and has that German name for a town, I don’t know if I got everything right on the label or not. Christine helped me. She read what I had written over and over to me while I wrote the address on the right forms and then checked the label side by side with my notes from the phone call and she promises me I got it right, so I hope that is true.
In case you’re wondering, I did write the label and got the box before I wrote my own letter. I sometimes have a hard time writing down a lot in one sitting but I guess you’ve figured that out since I tend to do most of my catching you up on the town and my life when we talk on the computer. I know that you said the last time we had a conversation that I should write longer letters but it’s just hard for me to get it all down in words. And plus, you know how challenging spelling can be for me! Malene let me have the old computer that Alex had and she showed me the tool bar where you can check your spelling, but as you can see, I’ll still not likely get all the words written correct. Maybe you’re banged up enough not to notice. Not that I hope that, of course. See, I’m such an idiot. Who would say something as stupid as that? At least, when I’m talking I can take it back. When I’m writing, it’s too hard to erase a whole sentence. Anyway, maybe I should learn to use the computer better if I have to write you a lot of letters. Christine told me you can take away entire lines and paragraphs if you read it later and want to change things. She forgot to show me that tool bar, however, before she left for her shift at the nursing home. So, just forgive my dumb mistakes. I’m real good at running that numbers
program for the garage but when it comes to typing up a letter using that long typing software, that’s another whole story.
Oris said he was writing a letter. Francine is doing one and Father George, Roger and Malene and Frank are contributing. I have no idea what kinds of stuff they’ll be telling you about me and Alexandria. And I may read Oris’ before I mail it. He sometimes says more than he ought to say. I know that some of them are sending you a few things too since I told them that I was mailing everything in a box and they can include gifts if they wanted. Francine wants to send a pie and I’ll do my best to get it wrapped good, but if it’s gotten turned over or squashed in between all the other stuff, just get one of the nurses to throw it away and tell Francine you can’t eat pie because of your hospital diet.
Are you on a hospital diet? What do they feed you in Germany? Is it the same food as you get in the army dining room or is it better? Oh, I don’t know why I’m writing you questions. I guess it’s just my mind thinking of things, thinking of you and what you’re doing all day now that you’re wounded.
Alexandria drew you a picture. It’s mostly just red and blue lines of coloring but she seemed real intent on making you a pretty picture so just think of it as a special portrait from your favorite girl. I hung your army photograph on the refrigerator door and every time I get her juice or some milk, I show her your face and say your name. One day a week or so ago, I swear she said “Waymon,” and that should make you feel pretty good because she hasn’t yet said anybody else’s name. Francine keeps trying to get her to call out “Aunt Francie” but even though Alexandria makes a lot of noise and you’d think she’s really talking, she doesn’t know many words and “Fr’s” are a little hard for her, I think.
For Love and Honor Page 8
