by Aimée Thurlo
As it often happened in her life, everyone seemed to expect her to take charge. Even as far back as high school, people had looked to her for answers. Maybe they’d sensed her almost instinctive need to make things better for everyone. That was what she’d always done at home, trying to defuse her alcoholic father’s unpredictability by covering all the bases and leaving little to chance. That need to make things better was one of the primary reasons she’d wanted to become a medicine woman. She’d wanted to offer those who turned to her for help something more than words of comfort or leadership without foundation.
“Let’s keep the trading post closed today. We all need time to say good-bye in our own ways,” Jo said.
“His son will have to be notified,” Esther said.
“The police will be handling that,” Jo said. “I found his address and telephone number and gave them to Detective Wells. There’s nothing else we can do for now, so let’s lock up.”
“What about that white van you saw? Was there a delivery scheduled for this morning, Jo?” Leigh Ann asked.
“Nothing was in the log, and when I called our vendors and couriers, I got zip.”
“Maybe it was just somebody who got lost and went to the wrong address,” Esther said.
“Could be,” Jo said, unconvinced. She saw her uncertainty and fear mirrored on their faces, her heart going out to all of them. She turned away, determined not to let them see the apprehension she shared.
* * *
Something was up. Sergeant Ben Stuart had seen it in the eyes of the corporal who’d come to get him. To make things worse, the secretary who sat outside his battalion commander’s office refused to look him in the eye.
Instructed to sit rather than stand across from his commanding officer’s desk, he waited, trying to remain cool and calm.
“Sergeant—son—I have bad news. Your father was found dead in his home earlier this morning,” he said.
Ben stared at Major Johnson and shook his head, the words refusing to sink in. “That can’t be. I just spoke to him yesterday on the phone, sir.”
“It happened last night, apparently. One of his employees found the body at his home early this morning. I spoke to the investigating officer, a sheriff’s department detective. She said he died from a bullet to the temple.”
Ben leaned forward, certain he’d misunderstood. “Sir, are you saying that my father committed suicide?”
“The medical examiner has yet to make that determination, but that’s what it appears to be,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sergeant.”
Ben felt as if he’d been sucker punched in the gut, yet oddly enough, he felt no pain, just a numbness that seemed to go right to his brain. “It’s got to be another Tom Stuart—not my father. It’s a mistake,” he said, then quickly added, “sir.”
“No mistake, son. Employees at his business—The Outpost—made a positive ID, and the fingerprints match those in your father’s service record. You’ll be granted twenty-one days’ emergency leave as soon as the orders are cut. Check with my clerk before you leave so the paperwork can be processed. Again, my condolences to you and your family. You’re dismissed.”
Ben nodded, dazed, then rose to his feet and saluted before turning to the door. There’d be forms and a million steps to follow. There always were. He reached for the door handle, functioning on automatic now.
A half hour later, seated on his bunk, Ben was still shaking his head. This had to be a mistake. It just didn’t make any sense. Former-marine Lance Corporal Tom Stuart offing himself? Impossible. His father would never have taken that way out.
Memories came flooding back to him. Eighteen months ago, Ben had been driving drunk, trying to run from memories of combat. He’d wrecked his car, nearly killing himself. His father, a man of few words, had come to the hospital to see him. There’d been no pity in Tom Stuart’s eyes as he looked Ben straight in the eye. “Only a gutless coward would kill himself, son. If you want to die, die like a man. Don’t hide behind a bottle,” he’d said.
Simple and to the point. No sympathy, no coddling. Tom Stuart had been capable of neither.
Yet that meeting became a major turning point in Ben’s life.
Now they were telling him that the old marine had shot himself? No way, it had to have been murder. He’d go home and find out what really happened. He’d have three weeks, including travel time, to figure things out. Somehow that would have to be enough.
THREE
TWO DAYS LATER
Jo tried to remain calm, but these Anglo memorial ceremonies were not natural, that is according to traditional Navajo thinking. Speaking of the recently deceased could be dangerous. At least, with the body still at the Office of the Medical Examiners undergoing an autopsy, there was no actual physical presence to worry about.
Jo stayed in the back of the chapel, avoiding the Anglo mourners. Honoring her own beliefs, she hadn’t said a word, not joining in prayer or song.
Jo adjusted her long, traditional skirt as she half listened to the preacher speaking of the god the Anglos worshipped, her mind miles away. She and the other employees had been working their regular shifts at the trading post these past few days—five hours a day, seven days a week, with split shifts and long lunches. Business had always been slower on weekday mornings, but even in the afternoons and evenings recently, traffic had been almost nonexistent. Most of the customers were non-Navajo regulars who stopped in to pay their respects and maybe buy one or two items.
All during that time, whenever a white van entered the parking lot, all of them focused on it. Del, their high school stock boy, had tried to joke about it, looking out for Casper the Van, he’d said. Nobody was amused, though Leigh Ann smiled the first time he’d said it.
Fear cast its long shadow over everyone at the trading post these days, leaving little room for humor. Everyone’s future was at stake, including Jo’s. Without her job, things would get tough in a hurry. She had very little money set aside, so she’d have to scramble to get another job fast. More important, she’d also be unable to continue her training to become a medicine woman.
She’d already spent many months memorizing Sings, and learning what each god would accept and how to present her prayers so that the gods would honor the requests. Stopping now would result in a serious setback. She’d lose the continuity of her lessons, and her teacher would undoubtedly take on a new apprentice. His list was always long. There’d be no guarantee that she could continue her training with him at a later time either.
“I know a memorial service is hard for Navajos to attend,” Leigh Ann, who was standing beside her, said. “But at least there’s no body here and it’ll be over soon, hon. Try to think of how pretty it is outside. There couldn’t be a better place anywhere for him to eventually be laid to rest.”
Jo glanced out the window. It was pretty. The small graveyard, with all its crosses and statues, was bordered by a tall hedge of rosebushes laden with hundreds of red and white flowers. “I’m told he’ll be buried next to his wife. That’s good.”
“I arrived late and didn’t get a chance to offer my condolences to the boss’s son,” Leigh Ann said. “I know he’s in uniform, but which one is he?”
“He’s in the army uniform, standing by the reverend,” Jo whispered without looking up.
Sitting in the back of the chapel, Jo caught a glimpse of Ben earlier, but hadn’t spoken to him yet either. He’d changed a lot from the kid she knew back in high school. The boy whose name had been perpetually associated with trouble had turned into a tall, confident-looking soldier with strong, broad shoulders. She’d never seen him look more handsome.
“Honey, if that’s him, he’s older than his dad.”
“Ben’s only twenty-five, what are you talking about?” Jo looked up then and saw a WWII vet in an olive drab uniform and garrison cap. “No, not that white-haired gentleman. He’s old army, one of the honor guard.” Jo glanced around and spotted Ben a second later. “Our
boss’s son is behind the large wreath, just out of our line of sight.”
“You trying to hide from him back here?” Leigh Ann asked.
Jo almost choked, but managed to clear her throat instead. “No. I just didn’t want to be in the middle of those speaking about the deceased so freely.”
“Of course. I’m sorry, hon. I know this is difficult for you,” Leigh Ann said softly. “We all have our own demons to face.”
Jo knew Leigh Ann hadn’t meant any disrespect. To her, the chindi were nothing more than ghosts used to scare children.
“If you want, I’ll give him our condolences,” Leigh Ann said.
“Thanks, but no. This is something I have to do.”
As the service came to a close, Jo watched the handsome sergeant in his dark blue uniform jacket, white shirt, and black tie. His trousers were light blue with gold braid down each outside leg seam. He was wearing a dark blue service cap with a black brim, and stood with his broad shoulders thrown back, his spine ramrod straight. There was just something about a man in uniform.
Ben shook hands and exchanged a few words with each of the people who came up to greet him, but there was little sign of emotion on his face. The only thing that betrayed the pain beyond the mask was the way he’d curled his left hand into a tight fist. Somewhere beyond the polished gold buttons, medals, and campaign ribbons that covered his chest beat the heart of a son in mourning for his father.
As she drew near, Ben’s eyes met hers at long last and Jo felt a deep stirring that almost took her breath away. Memories, good, bad—and overwhelmingly confusing—crowded her mind. She’d intended to say something comforting, but somehow the words got lodged at the back of her throat.
The stranger gazing back at her didn’t seem to need them. He looked tough, hardened by the life of a soldier.
“Jo,” he said simply.
“I’m sorry you had to come home to this,” she managed at last. “You were all your father spoke about these past few weeks. He couldn’t wait for your return.”
A flicker of pain crossed his eyes, but it was gone in a flash. “You’ve suffered your own loss, too. I was sorry to hear that your dad passed away.”
She nodded slowly in acknowledgment, but it was hard to give voice to what she felt. In the silence of her mind she told him how much she’d miss Tom and how hard it was to say good-bye. She couldn’t even count the many times she’d fantasized about Tom being her dad. Her own, in comparison, had always come up short in a multitude of ways. Alcohol had been her father’s only interest, but Tom’s steadfast loyalty to those he loved, his unflagging sense of right and wrong had made him a man who stood out among men. Yet those simple sentiments remained unspoken. Giving Ben a shaky smile, she moved on.
Mentally exhausted, Jo walked back to the parking area. She’d make it a point to go see Ben later. She wanted him to know how much his father had loved him and how badly he’d wanted things to work out between them. Tom’s badass marine exterior had effectively hidden the inward feelings of a man proud of his son.
As she reached her truck, Leigh Ann caught up to her. “Do you think we should keep the trading post closed the rest of today?” Leigh Ann asked.
“Yes, but we’ll have to show up again tomorrow,” Jo said. “Our boss’s attorney made it clear that he wanted us to keep the business running. That’s why we’ve stayed open.”
“I’m really worried that we’ll all end up out of work once Tom’s son takes over,” Leigh Ann said, her voice barely a whisper. “He probably doesn’t want anything to do with the trading post, particularly now.”
Jo could see the fear in her eyes. Everyone at the trading post lived from paycheck to paycheck, and there was no health insurance, just shared commissions on sales of big-ticket items. Even Del Hudson, the high school boy who worked afternoons and weekends, had more responsibility on his shoulders than anyone his age should have. His mom, a teacher’s aide, had been let go by the financially strapped school system. As a result, the entire family lost their health insurance coverage. Del’s medications and those of his dad would be nearly impossible for them to fill without the money Del earned at The Outpost.
With luck, Ben would decide to keep the trading post open and hire one of them to manage the business while he was deployed overseas. Even in good economic times, there weren’t many job openings in the Four Corners area.
Tom’s lawyer, Mike Broome, had been mum about the estate, so Jo was planning to speak to Ben as soon as possible. Tom hadn’t been wealthy, but The Outpost made a good, steady profit, and that said a lot for the small retail operation. If Ben allowed it, they could run the place for him while he continued to serve his country. Everyone would come out ahead.
As Leigh Ann walked away, Jo remained beside her truck a moment longer, hoping for a chance to catch Ben alone. Since there was still a crowd around him, she’d have to wait awhile, but she was prepared to do that. Her eyes were still on Ben when she heard footsteps.
Turning around, Jo saw Mike Broome approach. Tom’s middle-aged Anglo attorney was over six feet tall and carried about forty pounds too much for his frame. His short cropped hair had turned a premature shade of silver that contrasted sharply with his black suit.
“Morning, Jo. How ya handlin’ all this?”
Mike had been a regular visitor at The Outpost for years. In reality, he was just a cowboy in a suit. Though he had an office in Farmington, he and his wife lived on an old farm in mostly rural Kirtland and owned a half dozen or so miniature donkeys.
“I’m fine. How’s Rosie doing?” she asked, referring to his wife. Raising the donkeys had clearly been her idea, but Jo had never quite figured out the attraction. The tiny donkeys were incredibly cute, but they served no purpose that she could see. They couldn’t be ridden, and they certainly weren’t used as pack animals.
“She’s still showing her little guys at county fairs all around the Southwest. Expensive pets, but she sure loves those animals.”
“Do I detect a touch of jealousy?” she teased.
“Maybe,” he admitted grudgingly, “but they make her happy, and when I get tied up with a case, I’m lousy company.” He followed her gaze. “Ben’s taking this a lot harder than he lets show. Don’t let him kid you.”
“His dad had so many plans for them once Ben was out of the army,” Jo said sadly.
“Yeah, but deep down, Tom also had doubts that things would work out between them in the long run. Tom wasn’t big on compromise and his son always had his own way of doing things, too,” Mike said, then shrugged. “No sense in couching the truth with me. I know how Tom’s mind worked.”
“You two practically grew up together, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. We went to the same schools, served in the same marine battalion, married our childhood sweethearts while on leave, and lived within twenty miles of each other all of our lives. I’m sure going to miss that old so-and-so,” Mike said quietly. “He was too young to die.”
Jo took an unsteady breath. “You told me to keep the trading post open for business this week and I have, except for today, of course, but what now? If Ben decides to close down the trading post, I’ll need to give everyone as much lead time as possible—two weeks at least.”
He gave her a long look. “You really don’t have any idea, do you?”
“About what?” His look was oddly penetrating and made her feel uncomfortable.
“I’ll need to see you in my office tomorrow at around one thirty.” Then, as if answering her unspoken question, continued. “Ben will be there, too, of course.”
“Is there a specific reason you want me there?” she asked.
“It’s business. Tom’s estate needs to be settled, and he specifically requested you be present for the reading.”
“Me? Why?”
“You’ll find out.” Hearing voices nearby, she turned her head and saw the trading post’s staff gathered by their parked vehicles. From time to time, they’d shoot a fleeting glance
in her direction.
“They’re scared,” she said.
“Try to remain calm. The wait will be over soon.”
As Mike walked away, Esther hurried over. “That lawyer, did he tell you anything?”
Though Esther hadn’t mentioned the trading post, Jo knew precisely what was on her mind. “I’m going to meet him tomorrow. Hopefully, I’ll find out more then.”
“Why don’t you come over to the trading post this afternoon and have a bite to eat with us? We all need to talk.”
“Talk?” Judging from Esther’s tone, Jo didn’t think she meant a casual get-together.
“We need to settle a few things among ourselves, and while we do, we’ll finish up those leftover deli sandwiches. Otherwise, we’d just have to throw them out.”
Jo nodded slowly. To Esther, waste was a sin. She’d heard it a million times before.
“This isn’t about not letting food go to waste, dear,” Esther said softly, almost as if she’d read Jo’s mind. “Fear’s knocking on all our doors at the moment, but we don’t have to let it in. Together, we can come up with a proposal to offer Tom’s son, and hopefully we can persuade him to keep the trading post open even if he has other plans.”
She looked at Esther and smiled. “That’s a great idea.”
“Good. Then we’ll see you there.”
Navajo Way teachings echoed in her mind as Jo watched Esther join the others. To walk in beauty, particularly now, she’d have to honor the connections between all things and find her place within the pattern. Harmony would then follow.
* * *
Jo left for the trading post before the others did, hoping for a few minutes alone. There were no vehicles out front, and the lights were still off inside when she arrived. She heaved a sigh of relief. She just needed time alone to grieve, to cry, to be angry at life.
