“I hate you!” Tru yelled. “You pushed my mom. You were mean to my grandpa. I hate you!” Tru picked up a tennis ball-sized rock. Before I could stop him, he hurled it at Linc's truck. The rock clunked into the pickup bed.
I trotted to my son, shouting, “Tru! No!”
By the time I reached him, Tru had managed to climb the side of Linc's truck. He stood on the back bumper, and his feet dangled as he reached into the bed.
“Truman!”
Tru twisted around, pulling a cloth bag the size of a woman's purse with him. A pointed stick protruded from its drawstring. He jumped to the ground, clutching the bag.
I grabbed my son's shoulder. “Did you hear me? You know better than to throw rocks.” I could barely keep from shaking him.
Tru started to cry. “I’m sorry, Mom.” Still gripping the cloth bag, he took off his glasses and wiped at his tears. “Linc made fun of Grandpa, and he hurt you. I hate him.”
He leaned against the bumper and hung his head. I gathered him in my arms and hugged him, the bag in his hands squeezed between us. I stood back and pointed. “What is this?”
Tru shrugged. “I was getting my rock and this was in the back of the truck.” He opened the drawstring. “Looks like a bunch of cool stuff.”
I took the bag. “The kap’n stick,” I whispered, holding out what looked like the root stick from Dad's photo. I rifled through the bag's contents. “Oh, my goodness!” I pulled out the heart-shaped rock. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
Tru's eyes widened, and his voice shook. “I was only going to look at stuff, Mom. I was going to put it all back. Honest.”
“Don’t worry; you didn’t do anything wrong.” I crammed everything back into the bag and pulled the drawstring tight. “You’re not a thief. But I know who is.”
Tru pushed up his glasses. “Linc?”
I nodded. “Wait until George sees this. C’mon.” I took Tru's hand, and we trotted toward our place.
We followed the hill trail. Tru ran ahead by a good hundred yards. As we headed over the rise, the fence I’d come to love would be there, beckoning us home.
Tru ran back toward me, hollering and waving his arms. “Mom! Hurry! There he is! There he is!”
I yanked off my sweater and looped the bag's drawstring around one arm. The bag nestled against my side but the stick poked at my underarm. I threw the sweater back on anyway and picked up my pace until I saw what Tru was yelling about. I stopped. For one instant I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Linc Jackson, the man who called himself our neighbor, was tearing down the fence my father built.
I wheeled Tru around. “Stay here.” I shook my finger at my son. “Promise me you won’t move until I say so. Got that?” My hands shook as I buttoned my sweater up to my neck.
“Okay,” Tru said. “Promise.”
I yelled. I waved my arms and raced toward Linc, running faster than I ever have. “Hey! You can’t do that!”
Linc uprooted an aqua oven door from its place in the fence and turned around. “Watch me,” he said. He tossed the panel onto a pile of other oven doors that had already been pulled up. “I warned you, Mizz Pond.” Linc was breathing hard. He leaned against what was left of the fence. “The water, the creek—and the Chief's place—are mine.”
“Not as long as I’m around.” I lifted the edge of the aqua door but let it thud in the dust. Those things are heavier than they look.
Linc sneered. “You got no say.” He turned and continued dismantling the fence. “You people brought it on yourselves. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“What you’ve done, Mr. Jackson, is more than wrong. It's immoral. My heritage, my father's heritage. You don’t give a flying fig what you destroy.”
“How do you destroy water?” Linc grunted with every effort. “That's what ticks me off about you city folks. You don’t know the first thing about living out here.” He tugged on the next oven door, heaving it to one side.
I picked up the edge of the same door. “I know this much,” I said between breaths, “you’d run my family off—and anyone else who stands in your way.” I dragged the bulky metal door back to where it had been and attempted to replace it. The door teetered but held fast.
Linc tugged on the base of the next door, a pink one. It didn’t budge. “Stubborn as your old man,” he said and yanked again.
“Yes, I am.” I let go of the aqua door.
Linc was undeterred. The oven doors groaned as they were pried from the earth, metal and tempered glass buckling. Tru darted up from behind me. “Tru! Get back!” I cried. Before I could stop him, it was too late.
My son tackled Linc, who looked surprised and then let a sea-green door crash to the ground.
“That's my grandpa's fence!” my son screeched. “Get your stinking hands off my grandpa's fence!” But he was no match for a grown man. Linc shook off Tru. My son went flying, landing on his rear end.
“Out of my way, kid,” Linc growled, as if he assaulted children every day. He resumed tearing out fence panels. Tru sat in the dirt, his face the same red as the earth.
I don’t know where I got the strength to hoist an oven door; my fingers barely reached around the sides. But before I knew it I’d swung a pink door around and clocked Linc a good one. At least his hat fell off. He doubled over with a loud “oof,” then grimaced and staggered over to a part of the fence that still stood upright.
I patted my side, thankful the drawstring bag had stayed under my sweater. Tru cheered like I’d just caught the “hail Mary” pass for a touchdown.
Breathing hard, I stood there not quite sure what I’d done, the bulky pink door still leaning against my thighs. “You won’t get away with this,” I said. I allowed the pink door to thud to the ground. “This creek is on my property, and you’re trespassing.”
Linc's stare cut through me until I glanced down. The dream catcher that had hung on the fence lay trampled in the dirt. I picked up the bent circle and dusted off the strings and feathers. I held it against my chest and prayed the bag under my clothing wasn’t obvious. “You may own the land temporarily, but the water's mine,” he said, holding his side. Linc narrowed his eyes. “You’re out of your skull, just like your old man.” Linc limped away over the hill.
When Linc had disappeared I said, “Go tell Aunt Lutie what's happened. And tell her to call Rubin. We’ll never get this fence repaired by ourselves.”
Tru brushed off the seat of his jeans. “Mom,” he said, “would Linc really hurt us?”
I pulled him into my arms. He was shaking. “I told you to stay put,” I said. “God only knows what Linc might do.”
Tru hung his head. I lifted his chin. He was crying. “But you were very brave, son. I’m proud of you.”
“For real?”
I nodded. “Your grandfather Joseph would have been proud too.”
Tru straightened his shoulders. “I wish he hadn’t died,” he said. “I wish he was here right now.”
“For all we know he's watching us from heaven. Now run home.”
Tru jogged toward the trailer.
Linc had only managed to pull down a few sections of the fence, but the man had a lot of nerve. I scanned the edges of the horizon in case Linc decided to finish what he’d started. He was gone, and I was alone. The hills huddled together, dark and silent. I removed the bag from under my sweater.
The stiff breeze grabbed my hat. Over and over it threatened to lift it from my head. Maybe heaven was taunting me, daring me to say I didn’t need help. This was the last straw, the way you let go of pent-up tears after you stub your toe. An intense anger welled up in me and exploded. Fears and resentments rushed out. I cursed. I screamed. I screeched and threw pebbles at what was left of the fence. God would have to give up on me now.
I stood with my fists clenched. I hated Linc Jackson for defacing my father's property and for pushing my son around. “This is your fault,” I yelled at God. My throat felt raw, yet as I ranted, the myst
ery pressed against me. A dust cloud kicked up, but instead of red, it was bright, like looking into the poet Mary Oliver's white light. The more I tried to ignore it, the more it felt like a lover's hot breath.
The sun dipped below the skyline. I don’t know how long I stayed there, maybe minutes, maybe hours. Finally, I felt a strange calm, and my eye twitch disappeared.
There were no fireworks, no angelic hosts strumming harps, or clouds parting with shafts of light. There was no voice, audible or otherwise. There was only a deep and surefooted peace. The mysterious presence was something I’d never be able to explain but was real nonetheless. Everlasting arms encircled me. I’d never felt so safe.
My thoughts ran to Lutie with her Bible and Tiny's comforting grin. “I love these people,” I said. “They make me feel as if I know you, Dad.” When I raised my head I tasted my tears but they weren’t bitter as before.
Nova's face sprang into my mind. “Help me find her,” I begged. “Please, God.” I thought of promising to join a convent or become a missionary if God delivered Nova safely back to me, and then I laughed at my impulse to bargain. The God Lutie talked about seemed absolute and as real as my own heartbeat.
I wanted to kneel down in the red earth, but instead I sat down at the base of the splintered fence and pushed my face up to the wind. I didn’t care who saw me speaking to the air. The only thing I knew was that I was in the presence of a Father who loved me. He was there, somewhere. He’d been there all along. I pulled on dry grass and ran my fingers through the reddish earth. My father had worked on this very spot. It was here that I had opened the door to a God I’d rejected. As I brushed away soil from the hole where the pink oven door had stood, shreds of what looked like straw or raffia poked out from the fence line.
With my fingers, I scratched in the dirt. Whatever was buried lay only a few inches below the surface, revealing more of itself with every handful of soil I removed. The same oven door I’d whacked Linc with had sat atop the mystery.
After more digging, I unearthed what resembled a tattered canvas bag. I worked carefully, watching in case Linc made a comeback. After brushing off the dirt, I opened the bag. A woven item lay inside. I cradled what looked to be part of a basket and pulled back one edge. A dark, sausage-shaped rock lay inside the basket. I couldn’t say a word. Dad's journal had told about finding something special, about hiding a basket made from camas. My father, lost all these years, helped me to find answers to the questions I didn’t know I had.
I carefully folded the basket into its bag, careful not to squash the fragile basket. I brushed the soil from my jeans, hung the crumpled dream catcher on one of the remaining oven doors, and raced home. The pulse of my father's blood pumped through me. In the deepest places of my being, I knew who I was.
27
Furious about my confrontation with Linc, Lutie couldn’t stop crying. “Tell George we’re pressing any and all charges— from trespassing to destruction of private property to assault. Hand me a tissue, will you?” She blew her nose. “Dear Lord, we can’t let that skunk get away with this.”
Tiny comforted her. “Don’t worry, my sweet Pearl.” He set a box of tissues on the recliner arm. “Muri is going to help make things right, aren’t you, Muri?”
I sat on the sofa, the artifacts spread over the coffee table like a museum display. “Let's see what George has to say.” I held Dad's box on my lap. “I asked him to bring the photos. He’ll know if we’ve got enough to make it stick.”
Tru clung to my side. He picked up an arrowhead. It slipped through his fingers and landed, unharmed, on the carpet. He quickly retrieved it and held his hands behind his back.
I smiled at my son. “Tru, don’t touch, okay?” He nodded, pushing up his glasses.
The easy part would be showing the bags of artifacts to my attorney. It would be much harder to prove what only Tru and I had seen—the bag with the missing kap’n stick in Linc's truck. And it might be impossible to prove Linc knew where the camas basket was hidden under the oven door.
George arrived a few minutes later and was awed by the collection of ancient items spread before him. He whistled softly. “Joe sure did a fine job,” he said. “This is pretty impressive stuff.” He ran a hand through his silvery hair.
I glanced up. “That's what Rubin's archaeologist friend said.”
Tiny helped Lutie out of her recliner. “George, what do you think? I mean, which angle do we take?” She stood with her hands on her hips.
George frowned. “We aren’t home free just yet, but—”
Lutie broke in. “I know that. Are we better off charging Linc with grave desecration or do we go with theft? Or even assault? Good glory, George, he shoved my niece here off the bed of a flatbed truck and could’ve seriously hurt Tru.” Lutie's eyes shone wet again, and my son got up and hugged her.
George held up his hand. “I was going to say, it's not open and shut just yet, but I finally got the search warrant. They’re looking for evidence in Linc's place as we speak.”
“Thank the Lord,” Lutie said.
Tiny nodded, and Tru yelled, “Cool!”
I had to agree. God's love felt almost overwhelming, and I could barely hold back my own tears.
The phone rang again, and I felt a leap of hope. The call wasn’t about the search warrant. It was Nova. The moment I heard my daughter's voice I shouted. Tiny and Tru danced around the kitchen table as if we’d won the lottery. Lutie waited until I nodded frantically to her, then she started praising God out loud again, crying harder than before. My newfound faith had just got a boost.
“Nova? Baby, are you all right?” I would have crawled right through the fiber optic cable if I could have.
“Yeah, Mom. It's me.”
“Nova.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
I detected the small waver in her voice, knowing instantly she was far from okay. “Where are you?”
“With the people who were at Rubin's party. They say you know them.”
I interrupted her. “What on earth are you doing at Denny and Gwen's place? Did detox give you my message?” I was afraid she’d hang up on me, but I had to know. Nova didn’t answer immediately. “It doesn’t matter, honey,” I said, trying to mend my words. “I’m just glad to hear your voice.”
Nova sounded tired. “I didn’t get any message. I wasn’t in detox, Mom. It's Marvin. He OD’d. Denny and Gwen found me.” She said it as if I ought to have figured that much out.
“Stay put then,” I said. “I’ll be there right away.”
“Denny and Gwen say they’re bringing me today.”
I was surprised but grateful for these two relative strangers and their generosity. “Don’t you just love them?” I asked Nova.
“I love you, Mom,” she said, something I hadn’t heard in a very long time. She put Denny on the line.
Denny explained that he and Gwen had retrieved Nova from the street outside the detox center and taken her to their home.
“We’re more than happy to drive over with her,” Denny said. “Gwen's mom is watching Leila. We’re shoving off in a few minutes. We should make it to your place by late this afternoon.”
I was too worn-out to protest. “Thank you so much, Denny. I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for finding Nova.”
“No need,” Denny said. “I’m just glad we found her safe. See you in a few hours.”
After I hung up, George said, “Rubin's pal is an expert, right?” Lutie had apparently filled George in on Dr. Denny the archaeologist.
“Not to mention an absolute angel,” Lutie put in.
George smiled. “We’ll have a much better chance in court if an expert witness testifies that the things Tru found in Linc's truck are the same artifacts in the photos. Denny's opinion, combined with the journal and all the rest, might be enough.” He shook my hand. “Let me get back to the office and see what the warrant turns up.”
I marveled at how complex this issue had become. “Law i
sn’t always an exact science, is it?”
George opened the door and turned. “A good piece of luck helps,” he said and grinned at Lutie. “If you believe in luck.” He left without banging the screen.
When George was gone, Lutie said, “What we have here isn’t luck. It's a miracle. Thank you, Jesus.”
Nova was coming home. I sat in a daze, while Lutie stroked my hair in the maternal way I’d grown to love. “God's been looking out for your pretty girl,” she said.
I nodded. “I’m sorry for what I said to you about angels,” I said. “No offense.”
Lutie smiled. “None taken.”
I suddenly didn’t care who knew about my experience with God. I told my aunt the details. She laughed long and hard when I got to the part where I tried to make a deal with God.
“Folks will say anything when they’re desperate,” she said. “God knows your heart.”
I had to agree. Even if nothing else worked out, my daughter was safe. I hoped God didn’t really expect me to join a convent. As for punishment, waiting for Nova felt like torture.
“Mercy, you sure been through the fire.” Lutie kissed the top of my head the way I used to do Nova when she was a little girl.
A few hours later, Denny and Gwen met us at the trailer with hearty hellos and hugs. I was already looking past them at my daughter. Nova slouched against the doorway, wearing a tank top and a long flowing skirt adorned with Chinese characters. I couldn’t remember when I’d last seen her wear anything but worn-out jeans.
For a long awkward moment I couldn’t budge, afraid if I touched her she might evaporate like a desert mirage. Finally, she moved in my direction, so I took that as a signal and swooped over to her like a mother bird.
I hugged my daughter hard enough to make sure she was truly alive until finally, she pushed away. “Mom, I can’t breathe.”
I stood back, crying. I examined her in the same way mothers of newborns carefully check for adequate numbers of fingers and toes. “It's so good to see you, baby.”
She looked away. Crying had never been something she did freely or often. Later, we would both break down and bawl. She couldn’t let go just yet—not in front of everyone.
The Fence My Father Built Page 24
