Abducted Innocence (Emily Etcitty)

by Sandra Bolton

  “My name is Emily. What’s yours?”

  The woman shot her a quick glance but said nothing.

  “I need to talk to someone. I’m frightened. I miss my family. I don’t know where we are. Won’t you please talk to me while we work?”

  “We’re not allowed to talk here at the Harmony Home Ranch,” the woman said, a tone of bitterness tingeing her words. But after a few minutes, she added in a whisper, “Betty. My name is Betty.”

  So this place has a name, but I still don’t know where I am, Emily thought.

  “Thank you, Betty. You are the only one here who has shown me any kindness. This ranch, where is it located?”

  “Utah, near Cortez.” The woman ducked her head and began viciously attacking the soil with her hoe, then stopped, looking around to see if anyone was watching. “They banished my boy and my husband,” she blurted out before returning to her task. “My son was sixteen when they ran him off.”

  Cortez! I’m not that far from home. If I can win Betty’s trust, maybe I can get away.

  Emily stared at Betty and saw the trail of a tear cut a path through the woman’s dirt-smudged face. “Why did they do that—run your son off?”

  “Keep working. Don’t look at me.” When Emily returned to planting, the woman began talking again in a hushed voice. “The Prophet said there were too many men—not enough women. He saw my husband and son as a threat to his power.”

  “Why didn’t you go with them?”

  “I couldn’t. I didn’t even know what happened or where they went,” she said in hushed tones. “It’s been two years, and I haven’t had a word from them, where they are, or if they’re dead or alive. I’m kept here, a prisoner like you—a breeder and a source of welfare money.” The blade of the hoe pummeled the ground with ferocity. “They don’t know I can’t bear any more children.”

  “I don’t understand. Why did you come here in the first place?”

  “We believed in the Prophet, in his goodness, and his message—it was God’s voice coming through him—telling us how we should live. All of us believed.”

  “And now?” Emily said as she moved up the dirt row behind the woman.

  Betty hacked relentlessly at the brown earth, but before she could answer, the loud clang of a cowbell summoned them to lunch.

  18

  Thursday, April 12, 1990

  Cortez, Colorado

  I don’t have time to sit around and drink coffee right now,” said Abe in response to the Navajo lawman’s suggestion they go to the corner café. “What I need is information. I want to find Emily and those girls, and people are waiting for me.”

  Hosteen cocked an eyebrow. “Guess I beat you to the punch. I can save you some time and trouble. Look, Freeman, I’m as determined to find them as you are. Emily’s my partner, and Lina needs immediate care. I should have been there, so I’m following every lead to find out where they are.”

  Abe stared at Hosteen, debating with himself whether he should listen to what the man had to say or go ahead and check on his own. “What did you learn at the assessor’s office?”

  “Let’s get coffee, and I’ll tell you about it. You look like you could use something a little stronger, but this is not the time.” Abe felt his stomach grumble. His last meal had been nearly twenty-four hours ago. He had been in a hurry to get on the road that morning and had been too nervous to eat or drink anything. He could go for a cup of coffee. “Okay, but let’s make it quick.”

  They walked the half block to Angie’s, a small diner advertising freshly baked bread and the best doughnuts in town.

  After settling in a booth, Abe ordered coffee and repeated his question. “What did you learn at the courthouse?”

  Hosteen studied the menu and smiled up at the young waitress. “I’ll try one of your Danish pastries and a cup of coffee. You sure you don’t want something to eat, Freeman?”

  Impatience and annoyance gnawed at Abe. “Just coffee,” he growled—his agitation showing by the constant drumming of his fingers on the Formica tabletop. As soon as the waitress left two cups on the table, he looked at Hosteen. “You said you could save me some trouble. Seems like you’re wasting my time. I need to get going.” He stood, ready to leave, but the officer waved him down.

  “Harmony Home Ranch,” Hosteen said. “In 1980, they bought ten thousand acres south of Cortez and began some extensive construction. Looks like they used their own people for nearly all the work—plumbers, electricians, carpenters. Even made their own cement.”

  Abe slid back into the booth and studied Hosteen. “What’s the connection?”

  “I logged on to the land data system and property records for the last ten years in Montezuma County. After a cursory examination of the abstracts for land bought or sold in the last decade, that one that stood out as peculiar. Somebody had a hell of a lot of money and applied for a mess of building permits—septic, water, electricity. But they didn’t want to pay taxes—claimed they should have an exemption because they are a nonprofit religious organization and describe themselves as providing ‘a safe and loving home for unwed mothers.’”

  Abe jumped to his feet, nearly spilling the coffee. “That’s the place. Why the hell are we sitting here while you order some goddamned pastry?”

  “Hold on,” said Hosteen. “I just got this information. You and I are the only ones who know about it. Why’d I share it with you? Don’t know. Maybe because I can see how much you care about Emily, or because you are close to her mother and brother, and they’re out there looking for her, too. The thing is, no one can just burst onto private property based on suspicions—not even the cops. We need enough evidence and probable cause to get a search warrant. Sorry, man, it’s the way the system works.”

  Abe ran a hand through his hair and sat back down. He knew Hosteen was right. “Okay. So how do we go about getting the evidence we need?”

  “What do you mean ‘we’?”

  “I want to be a part of this, damn it. I can help.”

  The waitress delivered Hosteen a fat Danish oozing cream cheese. “Looks great,” he said. She smiled shyly and walked away. He took a bite, closed his eyes, and chewed. “Mmm.”

  Abe looked at him and waited while the man nonchalantly devoured the sweet pastry. After he had finished, Hosteen took a swig of coffee and regarded Abe.

  “I told you before. Let the law handle this.”

  “Hosteen, I’m going to do this either with you or on my own. You can’t stop me from trying to find Emily.”

  Hosteen stared at a spot over Abe’s shoulder for a long minute before speaking. “When are you meeting up with Emily’s folks?”

  “Today at noon, here in Cortez at a restaurant called La Casita.”

  “It’s a couple of blocks up the street. Good food. Don’t think I’ll be too hungry, but I’d like to be at the meeting.” Hosteen swiped at his mouth with a napkin. “In the meantime, we’ve got two hours. I’m going to take a drive out to the Harmony Home Ranch. Do you want to ride along?”

  “Yeah, of course. We’ll take my truck. Draw less attention. What’s the location of this so-called ranch we’re looking for?”

  Hosteen unfolded his long body from the confines of the booth and handed Abe the tab. “Almost all the way back to New Mexico. It borders the Ute Reservation. Sure you want to drive?”

  Abe nodded. “If you have no objection to riding in a beat-up old Toyota, my truck is in front of the courthouse. Let’s go.”

  A contemplative silence marked the first few miles of the trip. Abe couldn’t help wondering what sort of opinion Hosteen had of him. “We should be running into Bertha and Will somewhere out here,” he said, breaking the ice.

  “Bertha? She’s Emily’s mother, I guess? How long have you known the family?”

  The story of how he met Emily and the Etcitty family was not something Abe wanted to share with the Navajo lawman. So he kept his answer short and cryptic. “A couple years.”

  “How’d you and Em
ily meet?” Hosteen persisted.

  “It’s a long story.” Abe exhaled an exasperated breath.

  What right does this guy have to question me about my relationship with Emily? No way am I going to tell him anything. Nosy asshole.

  Abe said, “Right now, I’m just interested in finding Emily. Judging from what we’ve learned, I think Emily and the girls might be at this ranch you were talking about. Do you know something you’re not telling me, Hosteen?”

  Hosteen took a pack of Juicy Fruit out of his shirt pocket and offered Abe a stick. When Abe shook his head, the lawman unpeeled one and popped it in his mouth. “A habit I picked up when I quit smoking,” he said, chewing slowly. He rolled the wrapper into a ball and dropped it back into his pocket. “We have reason to believe the men who snatched the girls belong to a religious cult—maybe a breakaway sect from the Mormons. The word is that they still practice polygamy. I got a hunch when I read about this Harmony Home Ranch. I haven’t had enough time to check into it further, but I called headquarters, and they’re going to assign someone to investigate cult activity in this area.”

  “Makes sense—kidnapping young girls for wives. Fucking creeps.”

  “There’s nothing substantial yet,” Hosteen said. “Once we get inside, we should know more.”

  “So why don’t you have a search warrant?”

  “It’s still only a little after ten in the morning, the day after our ladies were snatched. Cortez is a small town with limited resources. Judge Mobley is out of town, and he’s the only one who can issue a warrant. One of our men is tracking him down, but he’s on a fishing jaunt somewhere around Navajo Dam, and they haven’t been able to reach him yet. He’s scheduled to return late tomorrow night.”

  A jackrabbit, his long ears pressed flat, tail between his haunches, leaped a zigzag pattern across the road. Abe slowed, allowing the animal to pass. Bright sunlight, promising a warm day, glinted off the flat, dun-colored plateaus. Creosote bush, yucca, sagebrush, and greasewood hugged the high plains of the Four Corners area while buzzards, flying in concentric circles, surveyed the barren landscape.

  They were five miles from the Ute village of Towaoc when Abe spotted Bertha’s Honda parked at the side of the road. Emily’s mother, shading her eyes with one hand, peered at a sign on a locked steel gate. She turned at the sound of Abe’s truck pulling onto the gravel and looked at the two men as they approached.

  “Bertha, I was hoping to run into you,” Abe said. “Have you met Joe Hosteen, Emily’s partner?”

  Before speaking, Bertha took a minute to solemnly regard Hosteen. When she spoke, she did so in Navajo, introducing herself and her maternal and paternal clans by name, and telling him where she was from. She waited for his response.

  “I’m sorry,” said Hosteen, coloring, not meeting her gaze. “I don’t speak Navajo.”

  A frown creased Bertha’s face. “It’s a shame, Joe Hosteen, that you have lost your language. Never mind. I am Emily’s mother, Bertha Etcitty. I suppose we should shake hands like the bilagáana.” She extended her right hand and asked, “What have you learned about my daughter’s disappearance?”

  “We ran into each other at the courthouse,” Abe said before Hosteen could speak. “Joe got there before me and had already done some background checking in the assessor’s office.”

  “I don’t know anything for sure about Emily and the missing girls, Mrs. Etcitty. But I’d like to know what’s really going on behind that gate.” Hosteen glanced up at the sign. HARMONY HOME RANCH was written on an ornate iron scroll. “The description in the assessor’s office got my attention, and I asked Abe if he’d be interested in riding out here. He said he planned on meeting up with you and Emily’s brother at noon, so I figured we had plenty of time. How’d you end up here, Mrs. Etcitty?”

  “I studied the layout of all the ranches on this side of the highway. Most of them are easy to access, but this one is a fortress. Something about it . . . tell me why this particular ranch caught your eye,” Bertha said, showing interest in Hosteen.

  “I noticed the amount of acreage they bought and was curious about where these people came from and what they’re doing here,” said Hosteen. “They’re outsiders, possibly a cult.”

  “It would be nice if Will were here,” Abe said. “Have you seen him?”

  Bertha tilted her head toward the highway. “He’s working the other side. Should be along pretty soon unless he ran into something or someone. I told him to meet me back here when he finished up. It’s the first place I checked out and, after seeing the rest, is the only one that doesn’t look like a regular cattle ranch.”

  Hosteen nodded and walked to the gate for a closer look. Thick vertical steel bars stood at least eight feet high. The electronically controlled gate required a code for access. A trench about twenty feet wide and ten feet deep ran along the fence line, and large boulders had been placed near the gateposts. Eight strands of barbed wire, stretching in both directions, presented further discouragement to anyone considering breaking in.

  “Sure looks like they don’t want company,” Hosteen said.

  “I feel something evil here. This is where they’re holding my daughter,” said Bertha. “Emily and two little Navajo girls are in there somewhere—and maybe more girls we don’t even know about. I want to break that damn gate down.”

  Before anyone could respond, Will arrived on the scene. He parked the Chief, nodded to Hosteen and Abe, and solemnly studied the gate—the sign welded to the top, the secure fence. He went over to his mother, wrapping his arms around her. “If she’s in there, I’ll find her and bring her home. I won’t let you down this time, Shimá.”

  A shudder shook Bertha’s body. When she regained her composure, she faced Abe and Hosteen. “Will and I are going after Emily. I don’t know what your plans are, but I’m getting my girl out of here.”

  As much as Abe wanted Emily back, he knew they couldn’t rush headfirst into a highly barricaded site without running into resistance. “We need to figure out the best way to do this, Bertha. Some way we can succeed within the limits of the law. And making sure no one gets hurt.” He turned to face Will. “You know I’m right. We can’t screw this up.”

  “We’re going to arouse suspicion if anyone from the ranch comes down the road and sees all of us out here. Especially since I’m in uniform,” Hosteen added. “More than likely, they carry portable radios so they can alert the people inside if someone is snooping around. If the girls are hidden, we’ll have no proof they’re being held captive, and we won’t be able to do anything. Judging from the building permits I saw at the assessor’s office, there are a lot of people living on this ranch.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair. “We don’t know if they have weapons either. I’m getting a search warrant as soon as I can.”

  Will’s battered face looked even gaunter after his drinking binge of the night before. Bloodshot eyes peered out from under the rumpled brim of his hat. He looked first at Hosteen, then at Abe. “The rest of you can go. Do whatever you want—wait for a search warrant. I’m gonna try to follow this fence line. They couldn’t have made a trench all the way around, and even if they did, there has to be a way to get across.” Before anyone could stop him, Will fired up his Chief. “I’ll meet you in Cortez at the café,” he yelled as he began working his way through the rough terrain along the south edge of the fence.

  “He’s a damn hardheaded fool,” said Hosteen. “Freeman, I told you to let the law handle this. Instead, you bring in the family. Why don’t you all just go on home and let me take care of this?”

  “If he’s hardheaded and stubborn, he got it from me,” said Bertha, glaring at Hosteen with her arms crossed over her chest. “Do you think I’d sit at home, not knowing what’s going on, and wait for the cops to make some kind of move? We’re talking about my only daughter.”

  Abe stood beside Bertha, trying to hide how much his knee was paining him. He knew he was in no condition to scale fences and hike into th
e ranch. Still, he had no intention of leaving. He felt they were close to finding Emily, and he wanted to be there. “I’m staying with Bertha. There must be something we can do.”

  “You can stay out of the way and let me do my job,” Hosteen said, his voice edged with frustration. “I don’t want to babysit you.”

  Two pairs of unflinching eyes stared back at him.

  In a gesture of surrender—hands up, palms out—Hosteen faced the stonewalling pair. “All right, all right. I’m calling this in and asking for backup; I need to go to the Montezuma County Sheriff’s Office, see if he can expedite a warrant. If you want to be useful, go back to Cortez and see what you can learn about this Harmony Home Ranch bunch. Ask around town, but try not to be too obvious. I’ll meet you back at La Casita around noon. Now let’s clear away from this gate before we’re spotted.”

  After dropping Hosteen off at the Montezuma County Courthouse, Abe parked on a side street and waited for Bertha, who was not far behind. He caught a glimpse of his face in the rearview mirror—purple bruise under his left eye, swollen split lip. He looked like a street brawler with a gimpy leg. He wondered if anyone would bother to talk to a mug like his. I’ve got to try, he thought. He also pondered where to start: local businesses, government agencies, library, newspaper? Someone had to have information about that ranch and the people out there, and he was determined to find out who.

  19

  Thursday, April 12, 1990

  Women’s Compound

  Harmony Home Ranch

  The lunch break was short—washing up followed by a lengthy prayer and a bowl of chicken soup that only had a hint of chicken. After the meal, Emily was due to return to the potato patch. As the women and girls sat at the long dining-room table, their heads bowed while the matron prayed and extolled the merits of the Prophet, Emily surreptitiously scanned each face, searching for Lina and Darcy. They were not at the table, and that worried her.