by T. Isilwath
He smiled, and for a moment she thought his eyes softened just a little bit.
“Ah, it’s a pity you are mortal. Such a fiery spirit is rare in your species. I could spar with you all night, had I the time.”
He came forward and lifted her chin with the tips of his right-hand fingers, raising her eyes to look directly into his.
“I’ve made my decision.”
“You have?”
“Yes. It’s a shame you won’t remember it.”
Fear spiked through her, and she tried to pull away, only to find herself paralyzed by his eyes.
“Hush. I’ve decided not to wipe your mind. In the end, our memories are all we have, no?” he said gently.
‘Our memories are all we have? Oh no… No…’
“This won’t hurt. You will go to sleep and, when you wake, you will have had a very pleasant dream…”
“Joanna-sama, it’s time to wake up. Joanna-sama…”
“Akihiro?” she slurred, opening her bleary eyes.
Sunlight speared her in the face as Private Begay pulled aside the curtain and opened the blinds.
“Who, Ms. Tindall?”
She sat up and looked around, momentarily disoriented. She’d been having a nice dream. Akihiro had been there and it had been a sunny day on the beach.
She could still hear the cries of the gulls hunting in the surf…
“Norman? What are you…? What time is it?” she asked, disoriented.
“It’s 0736 hours, Ms. Tindall.”
She looked at the digital clock on the bedside table. “It is?”
“Yes, Ms. Tindall. I’ve been trying to wake you, but I think you must have taken a sleeping pill last night because you weren’t answering my calls.”
Her eyes fell on the bottle of sleeping pills next to the clock, and she creased her brow. She didn’t remember taking one last night…
“Are you all right, Ms. Tindall?”
‘Am I? For a moment I could have sworn I heard Akihiro calling me, telling me it was time to wake up…’ “I… I think so. Just waking up, I guess.”
“If you hurry, they are still serving breakfast until 0800 hours.”
“That’s in…”
“Twenty-four minutes,” the young Navajo answered helpfully.
She glared at him and he had the good sense to look chagrined. “Go back out to the hall and give me five minutes. I’ll throw on some clothes, check my blood sugar, brush my teeth, and I’ll be ready.”
“Of course, Ms. Tindall. Should I time you?”
“Out!”
She was ready in four minutes, twenty-eight seconds. A personal best on her part. Private Begay timed her and flashed her a beaming grin when she skidded out into the hall still buttoning up her oxford shirt.
“I’m impressed. Are you sure you haven’t had any military training?”
“No, just a college kid whose first class started at 8am.” He laughed. “I understand.”
They made it down to the communal dining room just in time to grab plates and get the remnants of food from the breakfast buffet. The cook gave them a dour look as they snatched up the last of the scrambled eggs and sausage, but didn’t comment. She avoided baked goods and fruit, much to Norman’s delight because it meant he got the last cheese Danish. They sat together at one of the long tables and ate heartily until the young Navajo dropped a bomb into her lap.
“What did you say?” she blurted, wiping her mouth because she had started to choke on her tea.
Norman shoved another piece of Danish into his mouth and washed it down with coffee.
“I said: they’re releasing you today. Colonel Pyle told his secretary to make all of the arrangements. I’m on the 0500 hours flight to Albuquerque tomorrow.”
“You are? They are?” she sputtered. “Are you sure?” He took another swig from his coffee mug. “Mm-hmm. I’m supposed to bring you to Colonel Pyle’s office when we’re done eating.” She lunged across the table and grabbed his tray. He had finished his eggs and sausage, and had only a bite or two of Danish left.
“Hey! What are you doing?” he complained.
“You’re done. Let’s go,” she said, stacking the trays and plates.
“But… my Danish…”
She was already moving, emptying the trays into the trash bins and sliding them onto the conveyor belt that would whisk them to the dishwashers.
“They’re bad for you anyway. Besides, you can have your grandmomma’s frybread tomorrow.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he bemoaned, dumping out what was left of his coffee and tossing the empty mug on the conveyor belt.
He took her up the elevator and down the hall to Colonel Pyle’s office. She knew he wasn’t angry with her for tossing his Danish, and she promised to get him another one from the commissary. He laughed and told her that wasn’t necessary. And she was right, his grandmother’s frybread was waiting back home.
“Does your family celebrate Thanksgiving in a traditional way?” she asked diplomatically as they walked. It was a loaded question for most Natives.
He gave her a knowing smile. “Do you mean do we celebrate the landing of Whites on our soil, and thus the beginning of the end of our Peoples?”
“Yeah, that.”
He shrugged. “It’s a chance to eat and be with family. We dance. We sing.
We pray. We don’t celebrate the coming of the Whites. We celebrate the survival of the Dineh. They did their best to kill us, but we’re still here.”
“That’s a really good way of looking at it. I know quite a few Natives who refuse to acknowledge the holiday,” she admitted.
He nodded. “I know. So many of them are so angry. It’s not as if they don’t have a right to be. The Anglos brought disease and war; they stole our land and murdered our women and children. To this day, there is always some Belagana telling us we can live better or make more money if we do this or that with our land,” he said, using the Dineh word for White Man. “It’s sad. 350 years and they still haven’t learned a thing.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m half White. I was raised White. I didn’t even know I had a living grandmother who was full-blood Cherokee until I was seven. My mom was almost ashamed of her Native blood. I never understood why. And then it was too late to ask.”
She fell silent and Private Begay did not comment, in keeping with the Dineh way of not filling awkward pauses with chatter. “White people talk too much,” was a common complaint among Natives.
“So will you have turkey with stuffing and cranberry sauce?” she asked him, changing the subject.
“Oh, I’m sure someone will smoke a turkey, but there’ll be lamb and tama-les too. And cornbread and beans,” he answered jovially.
“Lamb? I love lamb, but it’s so greasy that I can’t eat too much of it.”
“My auntie raises these Spanish sheep called Churros. No fat layer at all.
The meat is real sweet and light.” He made a motion of licking his fingers. “So good. You should come to visit. Bring your fiancé and we’ll have a party.” She laughed. “That sounds like fun.”
They arrived at the closed door of Colonel Pyle’s office. She raised her hand to knock, but Norman stopped her by touching her arm lightly.
“About your family…” he began softly, seriously. “We Sing for our dead on Thanksgiving. If you gave me their names, I could add them to our prayers, if you would like.”
Knowing what she knew of Navajo culture and traditions, his offer deeply touched her, and she felt warm and humbled. “Thank you, Private Begay. I would be honored.”
He nodded and dropped his hand. She smiled and knocked on the door.
“Enter,” came Colonel Pyle’s voice, and she gave Norman a thumbs-up.
“I promise not to mess this up,” she assured him in a stage whisper as she opened the door and stepped in.
“Ah, Ms. Tindall. I trust you had a good night’s rest,” Colonel Pyle greeted from behind his desk.
There was
another man in the room, seated in one of the two high-backed leather chairs facing the large, wooden desk, and she knew immediately who it was without him even having to turn around.
‘Neramorte…’
There was something about seeing him again that tripped a warning bell in her mind. There was a familiarity there that worried her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.
“Yes. I slept very well, Sir, and breakfast was good too.”
“Excellent. Please have a seat,” the colonel replied, motioning for her to sit in the chair next to Signor Neramorte as he continued to write something down on a steno pad. She sat down nervously, casting a glance at the black-haired man. His dark eyes flicked her way, and he gave her a sardonic smile.
‘He knows something I don’t…’ An image flashed in her mind of him sitting on the far side of her room, but it disappeared as abruptly as it had come, and she thought she saw the overconfident look on his face falter for a moment.
“Signor Neramorte was just submitting his report,” Colonel Pyle told her, forcing her to refocus her attention elsewhere.
“Report, Sir?”
“Yes. He is a bit of a behavioral analyst. He recommends we release you.” She blinked. Mr. Black Death, Mr. Stone-Cold-Stare, Skin-You-Alive-With-A-Look Black Death was the one responsible for getting her out of there?
“He is? I mean, he does?” she blurted.
“As I state in my report, Ms. Tindall is low risk. She has a great deal to lose by revealing what she knows, and she has strong family ties that will make it easy for her to apprehend,” Signor Neramorte explained.
‘Ha! Tell that to the descendants of Cherokees who fled and hid in the mountains when the soldiers came! If Tsali hadn’t turned himself in to be executed, they’d still be up there, kicking your sorry asses every time you tried to catch them!’ she fumed. ‘Easy to apprehend, my foot!’
She said nothing, however, no matter how much his words insulted her.
She had promised Private Begay that she would not mess up his chance to go home for the holiday, and she desperately wanted out of there herself.
“And I am sure she knows that any breach of confidentiality will result in her being back here under much less pleasant circumstances,” Colonel Pyle added with a thinly veiled threat.
“Yes, Sir,” she agreed.
“It’s good that we understand each other.”
He pulled a set of papers from a folder on his desk and signed them. He kept one, gave a second to Signor Neramorte, and handed the last one to her.
“Give this to Private Begay. They’re your release orders. He will know what to do with them. It just so happens that I have a transport headed for Fort Campbell at 0930 hours. Be on it and they can drop you off in Asheville on their way through.”
She took the document printed on official letterhead and held it close.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Of course, if any anomalies come up on your tests, we’ll bring you back in for more diagnostics, and please forward all bills you may receive regarding your treatment and recovery from the effects of your trip to my office. I will see that they are taken care of. You shouldn’t get any, however. All the appropriate documents were included with your medical records, but this is the Army, you know, and bureaucratic mistakes do happen,” he said with an apologetic smile.
“Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir.”
“Do you have any questions, Ms. Tindall?”
She gulped and nodded. “Yes, Sir. When I was inspecting my luggage, I noticed some items were missing.”
“Missing?”
“Yes. A bow, two throwing daggers, and my hunting knife.” Colonel Pyle sifted through some papers on his desk. “Ah yes. The bow and daggers are period weapons taken from the era where they were forged, and as such you are not allowed to keep them. The hunting knife, however, is from this time period, yes?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I’ll see to it that it is returned before you leave. Is there anything else?”
“No.”
“Dismissed then.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Clutching the release papers to her chest, she rose to her feet and walked as quickly as dignity would allow out of the office. She couldn’t hide the huge grin on her face as she closed the door behind her and looked at Private Begay.
“I trust it went well, Ms. Tindall?” he said with a smile.
She nodded and handed him the papers. “I’m free. You’re free. I have an hour to get my ass on a transport headed for Fort Campbell.” She saw him read the papers and watched his smile widen into a grin that mirrored her own.
“I think we can manage that easily, Ms. Tindall.”
“Oh, I know we can. Let’s go,” she whispered excitedly, reaching for his elbow.
They made it back to her room in record time. Private Begay left her there to pack up her things while he went to fetch her hunting knife from wherever it was they were keeping it, and also to let the men driving the transport know that they should expect a civilian passenger. As soon as she was alone, she reached for the phone and dialed Michael’s cell phone number. Oddly, she got his voicemail again so she hung up and dialed Elisi’s number instead.
“Siyo,” her grandmother answered.
“Elisi. It’s Joanna. Is Michael there? I’m trying to reach his cell, but it goes straight to his voicemail.”
“Yes, Child. He’s helping me in the garden. I will call him in.” She heard her grandmother put the phone down, and a few moments later there was a crackling as someone fumbled with the phone.
“Joanna? Beloved?” Michael’s dear, sweet voice breathed hopefully.
She couldn’t help herself and tears started to fall down her face. “Siyo,” she managed. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I was an idiot. I dropped my phone on a site and a backhoe ran over it,” he explained hastily.
It was so completely and uniquely Michael that she burst out laughing.
“What?” he complained indignantly. “Hey, I’ll remind you that I never wanted the damn thing in the first place. But noooo, you, Miss California Girl, had to insist on dragging me into the 21st century. Well, now you will help me find a new one.”
“Well, I can do that today if you can pick me up in Asheville.” There was a moment of stunned silence, then, “Asheville?”
“Today.”
“Today?”
“In… about 6 hours.”
“Six hours?”
“I have to be on an Army transport going to Fort Campbell in an hour. I’m packing up now. It’ll take about 4 and a half hours to get to Asheville.” He didn’t answer right away, but she could hear tapping so she guessed he was looking up the route on the tablet PC he used for work.
“Better yet, why don’t you have them meet me on Rte. 276 just off I-40 Exit 20? It’s right on their route, and they won’t have to go into Asheville,” he suggested.
“You just looked that up on Google Maps, didn’t you?” she teased.
“Busted.”
“Oh ye who just complained that I dragged you into the 21st century.”
“Yeah, yeah. But this way I’ll just come up 19 and cut onto 276 in Dell-wood.”
“Where will we meet?”
“I’ll borrow Sam Berry’s cell and call you from it. We’ll coordinate from there.”
“Oh, I dunno if these Army types would like that kind of ambiguity.”
“Ok, ok. I’ll call Tom Ward. His son drives truck and goes up that way all the time. He’ll know what’s there,” he offered.
“All right, that’s probably better. My cell’s fully charged now.”
“Ok. Let me call him and I’ll get back to you.”
“Okay. I love you. I’ll talk to you soon.
“I love you too, Beloved, and I’ll see you very soon.” She smiled as she hung up the phone, and began repacking her clothes and toiletries. She tossed Private Begay’s wardin
g charm in as well, not wanting to leave it behind since he had gone through all the trouble of making it for her.
Her eye caught a glimpse of the red photo album tucked into her bag, and she picked it up, cradling it close to as she allowed the reality to sink in.
She was finally, finally, going home.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Michael called back about thirty-five minutes later as Private Begay was escorting her where the Humvee was waiting. As it turned out, Tom Ward’s son, John, suggested the rendezvous point be off exit 24 on I-40 instead of exit 20 because there was a large truck stop off 24 near Waynesville. It meant a little more driving for Michael, but it was still better than going all the way to Asheville.
She handed the phone off to Sergeant Eister who would be driving the Humvee, and the two of them worked out the details. Sergeant Eister was more than happy to meet at the truck stop because it meant avoiding downtown Asheville in the middle of the Thanksgiving Holiday season. It was a nine-hour drive to Fort Campbell so anything that got them back on the road faster was appreciated. He cleared the change in rendezvous point with the higher-ups, and everything was settled.
Once all of her luggage was put in the back with the rest of the stuff going to Fort Campbell, she said goodbye to Private Begay. She wasn’t sorry to be leaving Fort Bragg, but his company had made her stay there more bearable.
She gave him the list of her family’s names and thanked him for his kindness.
He promised to add them to the Sing when he got back home, then she got into the rear seat of the Humvee behind the driver. It was a five hour drive to Waynesville so she knew she would have a lot of time to think about what she was going to do once she was home.
In addition to Sergeant Eister, there was another sergeant who was going along on the trip. He wasn’t too friendly and reminded her of the “escorts” she had been given in Hawaii, and she wondered if he wasn’t another “escort” in disguise. She wouldn’t put it past the army, or DHS, or even the NSA, to put her under surveillance, and she wouldn’t be surprised to discover that one of the people assigned to her had been a spy of some sort. Although she had to admit, if there had been anyone who would have been a decent enough spy, it was Private Begay. If he had been a plant, it would have been easy enough for him to determine if she was a security risk because he had cultivated an easy rapport with her from the beginning.
