After he had hung up, Abe frowned, relocked the door, and followed the flagstone path back to the guesthouse. He popped the top on a beer and sat down in the rocking chair, his mood having changed from eager anticipation to broodiness.
It’s probably nothing—a girl has an argument with her parents and takes off—maybe to a friend’s house or a boyfriend’s. Kids are like that, he reasoned. But what if it is something more? Emily is like a little bulldog with a pork chop when she gets on a case. She sometimes thinks she’s a one-woman police force. No telling when she’ll get back.
Abe swallowed a swig of beer and tried to push a nagging thought out of his mind: What if something terrible did happen to that girl and Emily is alone out there, in the dark?
He knew the Navajo people avoided going out at night—that they believed evil things carried by the wind happened in the darkness. No young girl would choose to be out there alone. Neither would Emily—even though she was a seasoned police officer, a fact he often had trouble coming to grips with no matter how many times he told himself, “It’s her job.”
Abe emptied his beer and tried to shift his thoughts to other, more pleasant things, like Emily in his bed later that night lying naked in his arms, and the warm-all-over feeling he would have when he woke up in the morning and she was still there.
They’ll find the girl and everything will be all right, he told himself.
Three hours later Abe finished the dinner preparations while Emily lay soaking in the big, old-fashioned, claw-foot bathtub. The clean scent of rain-drenched sage he always associated with her intermingled with the smells of fried potatoes and onions in the kitchen. Abe poured two glasses of wine and carried them into the bathroom, sat on the side of the tub, and handed a glass to Emily.
She looked up at him, her skin sleek and glistening, her small, firm breasts peeking over the edge of the water, her smile not quite erasing the worried look in her eyes.
“Other people are working on that case, you know. They’ll find her, Em.”
“All I saw were tire tracks, some shoe prints, and her moccasin. Someone took her against her will, Abe. Why would anyone do that?”
Abe sighed because there was nothing he could say. Emily had explained to him that Darcy had disappeared while running a race as part of her Kinaaldá ceremony, a joyous and proud time for adolescent girls.
Why indeed would anyone abduct her during such a celebration?
Later that night, concerns of the day were momentarily forgotten as their desire for each other grew. Their bodies pressed together in the age-old dance of lovemaking, becoming increasingly more urgent. Seconds before she thought Abe would explode, Emily let out a moan, and they came together as one.
Afterward, lying side by side, Abe took Emily’s hand in his. “La petite mort,” he said.
“What?”
“The little death—and worth dying for, sweetheart.”
3
Saturday, April 7, 1990
Mattie Simmons’s Sheep Ranch
Bloomfield, New Mexico
Abe awoke the next morning to a pink-streaked sky and the sound of the wind rustling through young cottonwood leaves. He looked at Emily, still sleeping, her black hair fanned on the pillow. They had talked long into the night, speculating on the case of the missing girl. Abe knew, no matter how hard he tried to distract her, that Emily’s preoccupation would continue.
He gently brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and got out of bed. The sun poked its fiery head above the eastern horizon, spreading shimmering light on patches of new grass. Along the river, pale-green willows alternated with silver-gray Russian olive trees. It was a beautiful day, and Abe looked forward to the ride after breakfast to Teec Nos Pos with Emily—and the rest of the weekend together.
While he was outside recounting the yearlings, Emily joined him. She looked like a schoolgirl, dressed in blue jeans and plaid flannel shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“Good morning. I made coffee.” She handed him a steaming mug. “What’s up? You look worried.”
“Hey, sweetheart. I didn’t want to wake you—you looked so peaceful.” He ran a hand through his shoulder-length curly hair. “It looks like one of the yearlings is missing. I should have checked into it yesterday but forgot. Want to take a walk this morning? Maybe we can find some trace of it in the pasture.”
Abe noticed Emily’s distraction, how quiet she had become while they traipsed along the fence line. “What’s on your mind, Em?”
“Sorry, Abe. It’s the missing girl. I can’t stop thinking about her or wondering what happened. I know what it’s like to lose a child. Hosteen is supposed to follow up on the case while I’m off. I hope he puts the time in. He seemed so casual and unconcerned yesterday.”
“Look,” Abe said, cupping her chin with his hand and forcing her to look into his eyes, “they’ll find her. She can’t be far. And you may not like Hosteen, but he’s a pro.”
Emily shook her head and tried to smile. “You’re right. Let’s find that yearling.” The 250 acres of grazing land were fenced off into five separate fields, allowing the sheep to be rotated and the grass to grow back when eaten down. Abe and Emily walked the roadside fence line of the fifty acres designated to the yearlings but found no sign of an animal kill.
“What do you think?” Abe said.
Emily pointed to a cut wire on the fence. “I think you’ve got a sheep rustler.”
“Shit. These lambs are all designated to go to deserving Navajo families, namely, those involved in rug weaving. On the market, each one is worth about two hundred twenty-five dollars. But I guess you know that better than I do.” Sometimes he forgot Emily was not just his girlfriend, not just a Navajo Nation police officer, but also a member of a clan of longtime sheepherders.
Closer inspection of the area around the cut fence revealed a pair of boot prints, which led to a dirt road bordering the pasture. Any incriminating tread marks had been erased by those of several other vehicles that had driven along the road.
“Yep,” Abe said. “A rustler.”
4
Saturday, April 7, 1990
Herman Tallbrother’s Sheep Camp
Teec Nos Pos, Arizona
I’ll call it in.” Emily didn’t tell Abe how frequently sheep rustling occurred, or how hard it was to catch the guilty party once the thieves removed the ear tags. “This is San Juan County Sheriff’s Department’s jurisdiction.” She also neglected to tell him the county didn’t give a damn about Navajo sheep.
“This fence needs fixing now. I can deal with the rest later, Em. I can’t stick around and wait for ‘Deputy Dave’ to show up. Got to get those lambs loaded and delivered. Those folks are waiting for their check.”
While Abe repaired the fence with new sections of wire and clipped away the loose ends so the sheep wouldn’t get snagged, Emily returned to the house and made toast and scrambled eggs. Most of the time she thought this domesticity was all right, but occasionally worries nagged at her. Like now.
What if Abe leaves again? He always seems so unsettled. Maybe he’ll never be able to love me as much as he loved Sharon. Can I live with that? Do I want to? Am I ready to give up my independence?
For Emily, when it came to men, trust remained an issue. Past experience had left scars that were slow to heal. She quickly brushed her concerns aside when she heard Abe at the door.
“Just in time,” Emily said, putting two plates on the table.
Abe sat down at the table across from Emily. “I like it when you’re here with me.” He smiled at her over the brim of his coffee cup. “Patch helped me cut six yearlings from the herd and corral them. I’ve got the truck backed up to the gate and the loading chute ready. We can take off right after breakfast.” Since Abe’s truck was used more for utility than traveling now, he had removed the camper shell and equipped the bed with a stock rack and back gate. It would hold six young sheep without a problem.
“Good. Looks like a beautiful day fo
r a road trip.” Though everyone in the northwest plateau wished for spring rain, it didn’t look like it would happen that day. A brisk breeze chased wispy white clouds across the robin’s-egg-blue sky. Emily grinned back at Abe. “I know someone I can talk to about the lost lamb.”
Abe raised his eyebrows and gave her an inquisitive look.
“If anyone knows about missing sheep, it’s Charley Nez.”
“Why Charley?” Abe asked.
“He’s a wheeler-dealer, his fingers in a lot of different pots, and he has contacts all over the rez. If a Navajo stole sheep, he’d know something about it. It might take some coaxing to get information out of him, but Charley has his price.”
“I know Charley. I give piano lessons to his daughter. I’ll call him when we get back. As I said, I’m sorry to put you to work on your day off, but it sure makes things easier for me.”
Emily pitched in with the dishes, and Patch helped Abe load the lambs, nipping at their heels until they climbed the chute. He closed the tailgate, making sure it was secure, and surveyed the surrounding countryside. The bottomland along the San Juan River was lush green compared to the barren high desert outside Farmington and in Arizona, but even it would wither and die if there weren’t enough spring rains. Last year’s winter snow had been sparse, leaving little to soak into the water table. Water, or the lack thereof, was an ongoing concern for the Navajo sheepherders and other ranchers in Northwest New Mexico.
It was barely nine o’clock when they took off for the sheep camp ten miles north of Teec Nos Pos. By the time they neared their destination, distinctive pink-and-orange rock formations, red mesas, and steep canyons had begun transforming the desert into a surreal wonderland.
Wedged on the seat between Patch and Abe, Emily barely noticed the striking scenery. She was still thinking about the missing girl and wondering if Hosteen had followed up on the note she had left on his desk the night before. Emily needed to explore all possible angles, and wanted to know if there had been other young girls reported missing in the previous five years, or if any of the investigators had interviewed the search party on horseback at the Benally place. I should have done it myself, she thought, then admonished herself for not being able to leave work behind on her day off. Work had been her life and her redemption for mistakes of her past. If she had not made such bad choices, her little boy might be alive. The man she had chosen to live with and who had fathered her child had taken her baby from her during a drunken rage. He’d stumbled, with the boy in his arms, and they had both fallen into a rain-swollen ravine. Little Christopher’s body was not found until three days later. Emily closed her eyes at the memory and tried to focus on the present.
Abe tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, playing an invisible piano, a habit he had developed because of the music that always coursed through his head. He stopped to look at her. “You’re so quiet. What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”
Emily’s eyes lingered on Abe’s for a moment before she gazed out the window. “Darcy Benally. She’s out there somewhere—alone, scared. I can’t stop thinking about her. I want to find her, Abe. I should have run a search on the computer myself, but I was in too much of a hurry to get to your place.”
“The others are working on it, Em. Maybe they’ve even found her by now.”
“Maybe,” she said, but her voice sounded doubtful. “Do you mind stopping at the Benally place after we deliver the sheep? I’d like to talk to the mom and dad again.”
“No problem, if it will put you more at ease,” Abe said.
“Thanks. I promise I’m all yours the rest of the weekend.” She rewarded him with a peck on the cheek.
Abe hummed snatches of a haunting nocturne while Patch stared out the window at passing cacti and sagebrush, and Emily silently brooded over the missing Navajo girl—until she realized that Abe was asking her a question.
“Earth to Emily. Are you there?”
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“We’re coming into Teec Nos Pos, but I need to find the location of the Bitter Water Clan sheep camp. Any ideas where to start?”
“Pull in at the trading post up ahead. The shopkeeper will know. I’ll go inside and ask.” Because of her familiarity with the landscape and her ability to speak Navajo, she would be better able to get directions.
The parking lot in front of the picturesque sandstone-colored adobe building contained several cars and SUVs with out-of-state plates.
“Tourists passing through from the Four Corners Monument or on their way to Monument Valley,” Emily said as she opened the door and stepped down from the cab. She ducked under a sign proclaiming the trading post had been established in 1905 and entered the building. The proprietor, a tall Anglo wearing a straw hat, was busy discussing the price of an intricately woven rug with a tourist outfitted in pseudo–Santa Fe style, so Emily looked around until she spotted a young Navajo woman near the register.
“Yá’át’ééh.” The two women exchanged pleasantries in Navajo before Emily got to the point of her business. “We’re delivering some yearling lambs to the spring sheep camp of the Bitter Water Clan. Can you tell me how to get there?”
“Aoo, sure. It’s not hard to find,” the woman responded, gesticulating with her hands while giving directions. “Herman Tallbrother took his sheep up there last week. The halfway camp is located near the creek, before you climb out of the canyon.”
Emily bought two orange sodas, thanked the woman, and wished her a good day.
Abe wrinkled his nose at the orange drink and declined the offer. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. So? Where do we go from here?”
“Follow Highway 160 until you cross a dry creek bed, and turn left onto the first dirt road. Their camp is about eight miles in. Name’s Tallbrother, if you didn’t know.” Emily took a long pull on her orange soda. “Coldest drinks around, and the only place on the Navajo Nation that buys Churro yarn from Diné sheepherders,” she said. “World-renowned rugs are woven around Teec Nos Pos.”
Just as the salesgirl at the trading post had indicated, the camp was not hard to find. Three older-model Ford and Chevy pickup trucks were parked in a clearing near a small hut constructed of wooden poles and canvas tarps. Two of the trucks had trailers attached, and the third contained a two-hundred-gallon water tank in the pickup bed. An elderly woman worked a spindle under the roof of an open outdoor kitchen area, and two other women were busy hand-cleaning freshly sheared piles of wool. A young girl played with three mixed-breed dogs. Near a wooden corral containing about twenty sheep and a llama, two men were busy with hand shearers, cutting wool from a couple of hog-tied sheep lying on their sides on a tarp. When they finished, they released the animals’ binds, and the pair of freshly shorn, naked-appearing ewes scampered off to join the flock. A teenage boy gathered the wool, then singled out another sheep for shearing. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up when Abe’s truck pulled into the camp.
“Wait until they come to greet us,” Emily said to Abe.
“They’re expecting me.” Abe opened the glove compartment and retrieved a brown manila envelope. “I need someone to sign the sales agreement.”
“Do they pay you?” Emily asked.
Abe shook his head. “No exchange of money involved. I guess they’ve worked out something with Mattie Simmons. They’re supposed to give her a rug for each sheep delivered. She’ll pick up the rugs later and sell them in Dallas, to collectors.”
“An authentic Teec Nos Pos rug is worth a lot of money—a lot more than one yearling lamb. What else is the Bitter Water Clan getting out of the deal?” She couldn’t help thinking this seemed like another case of the “white man” ripping off the “dumb Indian.”
“A percentage of the selling price. I don’t know for sure how much because I haven’t read the agreement. The contract goes back in another self-addressed envelope and is mailed directly to Ms. Simmons. Once she sells the rug, she sends the weavers their share.”
&nbs
p; “Hmm. I’ve heard most of the weavers are not very happy with the money they’re getting.” Emily was still pondering this when a stocky man with a deeply creased brown face approached the truck. He was followed closely by a second man, younger and taller, but the resemblance left no doubt the two were brothers.
Abe and Emily stepped down from the truck when the first man approached. Patch didn’t waste any time hopping out to sniff around and meet the dogs, who seemed friendly enough. The man extended his hand to Abe.
“Herman Tallbrother,” he said. “My brother, Tom.”
“Glad to meet you,” Abe said, shaking hands with both men. “Name’s Abe Freeman, and you probably know Emily Etcitty. I’ve got six yearlings from Mattie Simmons’s ranch in the back of the truck for you.”
The teenage boy wandered over and peered through the slats at the sheep. “They’re Churros, all right, Dad,” he said. “Want me to unload them?”
“Wait,” his father said. He climbed into the bed of the truck and examined each sheep until satisfied they were all in good health. “Okay, Junior, put them in the corral. Careful you don’t spook them.”
Abe pulled the loading chute out of the back and let the tailgate down. The yearlings bleated loudly, looking confused and terrified until they spotted the other sheep.
The boy, aided by the dogs, made quick work out of corralling them with the rest of the herd.
Emily and Abe accepted an offer of coffee and sat at a table in the tarp-covered kitchen. The delicious aroma of fry bread filled the air as the women began preparing a fresh batch for their visitors. While Herman Tallbrother studied the sales agreement, Emily let her eyes drift to the camp. She spotted a loom with a large, partially completed rug and recognized the pattern as a traditional Hero Twins, woven with shades of brown, gray, and black yarns. The pattern was tight and expertly done. Worth at least $9,000 or $10,000, she thought as she accepted a hot piece of fry bread from the woman. She smiled and thanked her, but did not miss the disapproving looks she received from all the women. They might as well have said their thoughts out loud: Stick with your own kind. Isn’t a Navajo man good enough for you?
Abducted Innocence (Emily Etcitty) Page 2
