by Mark Reps
“Zeb, honey, I’m so glad you’re sharin’ it with me.”
Tender tears welled in Doreen’s eyes as she slipped her arms around Zeb. Pressing her lips against his cheek, teardrops gently fell from her eyes.
“What’s this?” asked Zeb. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
“No nothin’ like that. I feel good, that’s all.”
Zeb shook his head and smiled.
“If I live to be a hundred years old, I swear I will never understand women.”
“You don’t have to, honey bunch. And it’s probably best you don’t.”
“Come on,” said Zeb. “I have something I want to show you.”
“Just a second,” said Doreen. “Can I say somethin’ first? I got somethin’ just weighin’ heavy on my chest that needs sayin’.”
“Of course.”
“Promise me what I say won’t hurt your feelings.”
“What?” asked Zeb.
“Go on, promise.”
He knew when Doreen wanted his vow stated aloud. He gave it to her.
“Okay Doe, what is it?”
“I know you’re the best damn sheriff in the state and that nothin’ gets by the likes of you...”
“That statement sounds like it has a ‘but’ attached to it.”
“It does. But, I know in my heart that Father McNamara didn’t commit suicide. I just know somethin’ else happened. I can’t say what exactly, but I know he wouldn’t kill himself. He wasn’t like that. I know it for certain as I know I love you.”
“Honey, the state came down and investigated. So did some people from the Catholic Church. Everyone has come to the same conclusion. Doc Yackley is waiting on a couple of post mortem blood tests, but I doubt they’ll show anything. I’m sorry. I wish I could make the pain of his death disappear, but I can’t. You’re just going to have to be patient and let time do the healing. Okay?”
Doreen pouted with her lower lip and nodded. She shook her head side to side. She looked him directly in the eyes.
“One day you will know, Zeb Hanks, one day you will know how I am so certain.”
Zeb had the sudden realization that there were deep and dark secrets hidden inside the woman he loved. He loved her. He could wait to find out exactly what they were.
Chapter Six
Zeb stepped out and held the car door open for Doreen. Opening the trunk of his car, Zeb grabbed a flashlight and blanket and headed down a nearly hidden path.
“Watch your step.”
Doreen gripped Zeb’s hand tightly as he led her into a secluded area that allowed a clear view of the mountain lake. He spread the blanket for his lady as golden rays of twilight sneaked through the heavy growth of pines and lit the forest floor. Sparse beams of light flickering over low-lying ferns projected an illusion of fire painted onto the landscape. The dying sun reflected an orange hue on the lake’s shimmering surface.
“It’s so beautiful,” sighed Doreen.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“A little bit,” she replied.
The couple sat quietly on the woolen blanket. In the unfolding night sky, a solitary star caught Doreen’s eye.
“Zeb, do you know the old children’s rhyme. Star light, star bright.”
“I wish I may I wish I might,” added Zeb, joining with Doreen until they spoke as one voice.
“Have the wish I wish tonight.”
Zeb inhaled Doreen’s womanly fragrance. Overhead the single star gradually became millions of twinkling white specks as night emerged in the heavens.
“Do you believe in God? I mean really believe in God?” asked Doreen.
“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”
“What I mean is…did you ever have any doubt?”
“Sure, doesn’t everyone?”
“Do you now?”
“Do I what?” asked Zeb. “Do I have any doubt now? Right now? Tonight?”
“Yes. At this very moment.”
“Do you want to hear a little story?”
“Oh, Zeb, I would love that.”
Snuggled in Zeb’s warmth, Doreen felt as secure as she had in childhood when her parents told her a good night story. Listening to Zeb’s soft regular breathing pattern, Doreen realized precisely what had been absent in her life. It was something she had not dared to think about for years. It was that sacred place in the heart where safety takes its rest. Her faith had been tested in ways that no one in Safford, Arizona could even imagine. Not even Zeb had a clue to the suffering she had undergone.
“About ten years ago I was wrestling with my belief system,” said Zeb. “My faith in the world was at a real low point. I had done my time in the military where I saw things no one should have to see. I’d put in five years as a cop over in Tucson. One day I woke up and decided it was time to return home. Looking back on it, I probably wanted to show everybody I grew up with just how much of a man I had become. You might say I was riding a high and mighty horse. It was a time in my life when I was pretty good at shooting my mouth off. I said some pretty stupid things.”
“What kind of stupid things?”
“You name it. I was a self-styled expert on everything from war to religion. I was so darn smart I could barely stand it myself. Then something happened and I got a lucky break.”
“What happened?”
“A pair of angels landed on my shoulder.”
“Angels?”
“Jake Dablo and Jimmy Song Bird decided to take me under their collective wing.”
“Human angels you mean.”
“Angels come in many forms.”
“So does the devil,” interjected Doreen. “So does the devil.”
Zeb stopped and eyed her inquisitively. Her eyes told him to carry on with his story. He did but made a permanent mental note of Doreen’s curious statement.
“I was working for Sheriff Dablo as his deputy. Sometimes we’d have the occasion to stop by Song Bird’s place out on the San Carlos. As you know Jake and Song Bird go way back. I think mostly our trips out there were just a way for them to get together to jawbone. Song Bird would put on some sassafras tea...”
“Mmm, I love sassafras tea,” cooed Doreen
“One day we were sitting around the kitchen table out at Song Bird’s. I started yapping about how there just might not be a God. I suppose I was saying it just to shock them. I was real surprised when they didn’t take me to task. Instead they just let it pass. They acted like they didn’t hear my foolish rant. Then, about a week later, Jake asked me if I wanted to go fishing up here at Riggs Lake. I thought, sure, a little trout fishing sounded like a good idea.”
“Look a shooting star!” cried Doreen.
“Make a wish.”
“I already did,” said Doreen, kissing Zeb on the neck.
“The Apaches believe a shooting star is an omen of an advancing enemy,” said Zeb.
“Well, that’s one thing they’re wrong about then. Now go ahead, go on with your story. It’s startin’ to get real interesting.”
“It was around sunset. We fished for an hour or so. I guess we caught a few rainbows, when over the hillside, right over there…” Zeb pointed toward the southern corner of the lake where a small dale and some pine trees nestled near the edge of the water. “Up walks Jimmy Song Bird. Right out of nowhere. He was wearing his Apache Medicine Man clothes. I swear to God, it looked like he was walking right across the lake on top of the water.”
“Did he stop and talk to you and Jake?”
“You bet he did. Song Bird told us this story about how sacred Mount Graham is to the Apaches. He explained how the Apaches believe the mountain spirits, the Ga'an, live here. The Ga'an provide the Apaches with strength against their enemies, fertility for their women, prosperity for their people, rain for their crops and plants to heal their sick. Song Bird said Mount Graham is the most important sacred mountain in the entire world according to the Apache way of thinking. Then Jake started adding his two cents. It didn’t take long to reali
ze my way of thinking was pretty small and narrow.”
“What’d Jake say?”
“Jake grew up listening to his grandfather tell stories about the stars in the heavens. Just like we believe in God, Jake said the Greeks believed Zeus was the Supreme Being. The Romans believed the same about Jupiter. Zeus lived on Mount Olympus, just like the Ga'an live on Mount Graham. Jupiter lived above the mountaintop in the sky. Like the Ga'an, Zeus and Jupiter granted victory in war, protection for the people, good weather for sailors and rain for crops.”
“That’s cool stuff.”
“I thought so too. Song Bird and Jake were sitting right about where we’re sitting, and they agreed there was hardly a lick of difference between the Greeks, the Romans, the Apaches and the Christians when it came right down to it.”
“When you think about it like that, I guess we’re all pretty much the same.”
“I learned everyone has their own view of the world. Ever since that day, I figured if every culture believes in a higher power, who was I to fight it? Besides, it feels better to have faith than to fight it.”
“I know you’re right, Zeb, but sometimes superstition gets the better of me.”
“What do you mean, Doe?”
“Every time I get to believin’ real strong… bang! Just like clockwork somethin’ happens to test my faith.”
“Are you talking about Father McNamara’s suicide?”
“It wasn’t a suicide,” insisted Doreen. “But I am talking about death.”
Once again it was obvious to Zeb that Doreen wanted to tell him something, but she was choosing to keep mum. Before he could pursue, it he heard the hiss of a newly started fire crackling near the edge of the lake. Zeb turned to see the outline of a smallish person leaning over, breaking twigs and placing them on a campfire.
“Someone’s camping. It looks like they’re building a fire. I’d better go over and let them know the fire danger level is high today.”
“Ooh, do you have to?”
“I should warn them. A fire getting out of control up here would be big trouble. They could burn the whole mountain down. It’ll just take a minute.”
Zeb stood to get a better view. He took a few steps toward their unexpected guest.
“Wait for me,” cried Doreen. “I’m goin’ with you.”
Zeb extended his hands helping Doreen rise from the forest floor. His efforts were rewarded with a hug.
“Hello there,” shouted Zeb.
A squeaky voice returned the greeting. Its high pitch made it impossible to tell if they were approaching a man or a woman.
“I saw you two sitting over there. I hope I’m not bothering you.”
In the light of the campfire Zeb could see the stranger was a man. The sheriff’s eyes were drawn to the man’s camouflaged tent, a large cache of food slung over a tree branch and a piece of equipment covered by a bed sheet.
“My name is Venerable Bede,” said the man, extending a hand to Sheriff Hanks.
The lack of calluses on the camper’s hands told Zeb the man did not suffer under the strains of physical labor to earn his daily bread. His thick glasses made him look like a bookworm or a man with severe eye problems.
“I’m Sheriff Zeb Hanks. This is Doreen Nightingale.”
“Pleased to meet the both of you. What can I do for you?
“It’s about your campfire,” said the sheriff. “It’s illegal.”
“You’re not about to arrest me, are you?”
“No,” laughed Zeb. “But I did want to let you know you should build your fire in one of the fire pits.”
“I’m sorry,” said Bede. “I’ll take care of it right away.”
“For tonight, just put some more rocks around the fire so it won’t spread after you’re asleep. You can move it in the morning.”
“Thanks, I promise I will. I’m not one to break the law.”
“I didn’t quite catch your name. What was it again?”
“Bede, Doctor Venerable Bede.”
Zeb didn’t recognize the name.
“Are you from around here?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. I’d remember a name like Venerable Bede, if I’d heard it before.”
“It’s an unusual name. People always remark on it.”
“What’s a medical doctor doing out here?”
“I’m not an MD. I’m an environmental botanist, an ecologist really.”
“Now just what the criminy sakes is that all about?” asked Doreen.
Bede chuckled.
“That’s the same question I get from everyone. It’s a relatively new field of study. My area of expertise is rare plants. It’s not really that complicated. I find rare plants and study them in their natural surroundings. The idea, of course, is to save the species.”
“What on earth can happen to a plant way out here?” asked Doreen.
“Some plants get over harvested when animal populations increase too rapidly. Fire destroys other plants. Some are simply overtaken by more dominant plants. It’s nature’s way. Lately my work is leading me to conclude that the real culprit is the homo sapien.”
“Homo what?” asked Doreen.
“Man. Man destroys plants by moving into their natural habitat. The strongest plants always survive. Occasionally a weaker plant will survive by adapting and actually become the strongest. I study those survivors. My area of expertise is plants able to stand up against much stronger forces. I consider them my children, my babies. My job is to protect them against the evil that man can do.”
Zeb glanced at Doreen out of the corner of his eye.
“So what brings you up to this neck of the woods?” asked the sheriff.
“I have a contract job with the Forest Service.”
Satisfied everything was reasonably in order, Zeb stuck out his hand.
“Good enough. We’ll be on our way. You might see me again, Dr. Bede. My work brings me up here occasionally.”
“I’ll be working up here for the next two months. I have quite a large amount of information to gather,” replied Dr. Bede.
The three exchanged respective good nights and parted company. As Zeb turned his car around, the headlights flashed toward Dr. Bede who was removing the cloth sheet covering his equipment.
“Why did you tell that man you come up here often?” asked Doreen. “You told me it’s been a long time since you been up here.”
Zeb’s lack of a quick response answered her question.
“You were checking up on that guy, weren’t you? You was wonderin’ how long he was going to be around?”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“I’m the sheriff, that’s why. Plus that statement he made about the plants being his children. Don’t tell me that didn’t strike you as a little odd?”
“He’s different lookin’ enough all right with that rounded back of his and those funny glasses. But he ain’t what you’d call dangerous unless he sets out to scratch someone.”
“Scratch someone?”
“Didn’t you notice his fingernails? They were long, manicured like he was fresh from one of them fancy makeovers the rich women get.”
“I missed his nails, but there was something that made me wonder about him.”
“You think that skinny little egghead looked suspicious? What kind of trouble could he be? He looks like a man who couldn’t kick his way out of a wet paper bag even if he was wearin’ pointy-toed boots. Land sakes alive, he was about five foot six and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred forty pounds drippin’ wet in his undies. That lil’ ol’ boy couldn’t hurt a flea if he tried.”
“I suppose you’re right. He is a bit of a flea flicker, but he had a firm grip.”
“Zeb, if I decide to marry you, would you promise to shut down the sheriff’s side of your brain every once in a while and give it a rest?”
Overhead a full moon floated over the desert floor, suspended between heaven and earth.
“All you have to do is say yes,” he said.
Chapter Seven
“Sheriff Hanks.”
The stern vocal intonations of his strict Mormon secretary perked Sheriff Hanks’ ears. Helen Nazelrod came huffing into his office with an oversized armload of paperwork.
“Why, come right in, Helen.”
The sheriff’s semi-sarcastic response was lost on his secretary who had already scooted five feet past the doorway and was now standing in front of his desk.
“What’s on your mind?”
“It’s not what’s on my mind. It’s what’s not on yours.”
Sheriff Hanks scratched his head as he looked at the stack of papers his exasperated secretary had slapped on his desk.
“What’s all this?”
“Well, Romeo, ever since you took that trip up the mountain last week with your girlfriend, you seem to have forgotten about your job.”
With the recent increase in his social activities, Sheriff Hanks couldn’t deny he had been letting his record-keeping lag. But he knew it was not the paperwork that was bugging his secretary. It was the simple fact he was dating a Catholic woman, a Catholic woman who spent little time inside the church. To Helen mind he was betraying a fundamental Mormon tenet by dating outside the faith.
“These all need your signature.”
Helen harrumphed as she took the top third of the stack and smacked it down on his desk.
“And these are from the courthouse. They need to be delivered to various offices. I’m sure you can figure out where.”
A second pile stood stacked on the sheriff’s desk.
“These, well, these I don’t know what you want done with. Some things you’re just going to have to figure out on your own.”
Helen pulled an envelope seemingly out of midair. She dropped it atop the pile.
“Doc Yackley sent this over.”
Zeb fingered the envelope. Helen stomped toward the door. Halfway out she turned to say one more thing. Her voice was somewhat calmer.
“Jake Dablo called to remind you about the planning commission meeting tonight. It’s at seven.”
“Thanks, Helen,” replied the sheriff. “I think.”
Sheriff Hanks rotated his wrist eyeing his watch. Five o’clock. He could probably reduce the work to a reasonable level by quarter to seven if he skipped his intended dinner at the Town Talk.
