Thomas suspected someone was out to discover how his wife’s weaving differed from others so it could be duplicated. Harley, for his part, thought someone might be waiting for her to finish her latest piece and then steal it right off the loom.
The one thing both agreed on was that it definitely had something to do with Lucy Tallwoman—partially because of Clifford Johnson’s death note, the full sum of which was Lucy Tallwoman’s name. The second sticking point was, now that it was out in the open, the inordinately large amount of money the trader was getting for Lucy’s work. It was easy enough to see how that alone might engender jealous reprisals from those not so fortunate. In the end, however, none could say with any real certainty what was behind either of the shocking incidents.
~~~~~~
By the time Charlie Yazzie left his office that afternoon the temperature had dropped thirty degrees, headed for the cellar. According to the afternoon man at KTNN, the Dinétah might be in for a rough few days. This time he was sounding a little more concerned by the forecast.
In the parking lot, Charlie thought of his Aunt Annie Eagletree as he hoped Harley and Thomas had her stock down off the mountain. They’d been working at it every chance they got for weeks now and he thought they should have things pretty much sorted out. He called Thomas earlier but with no answer. Harley finally had a phone in his trailer, but it only worked about half the time.
Charlie fumbled for his keys, hands already freezing cold. He looked up to see Tribal Policeman Billy Red Clay pulling in. He blew on his hands and waited.
Billy rolled down the window, frowning as a sand-filled gust peppered his new sunglasses. “Looks like we’re in for some weather, huh?”
Charlie pulled up the collar on his jacket, and nodded. “Looks like it… That’s what the radio says.” He moved around the front of the truck and got in on the passenger side. Billy had the heater on full blast and the Investigator held his hands to the dash vent as he asked, “What’s up Officer?” He apprised his friend in the moment’s silence, thinking Billy Red Clay isn’t here to pass the time of day.
Billy pulled off his sunglasses, grimaced at the dust, and blew the lenses clean before laying them on the dash. “First of all I just wanted to thank you, Charlie, for running that info from the Benally woman through me first. You could just as easy gone around me and direct to Fred Smith.”
“I could have, but you’re the Liaison Officer, Billy. It’s your job to keep the Bureau informed, on Tribal’s side of things.” The Investigator smiled, “We all need to be following protocol and right on up the ladder, too.” Rubbing his hands together in front of the vent Charlie pretended not to notice Billy’s expression as he turned away.
The Tribal cop looked back for a moment and nodded. “The Bureau thinks this throws a whole new light on the case.”
“That, or it confuses things beyond what they were already confused, I guess.”
“But you feel sure there were two different assailants there that morning?”
“Yes, I do. Francis Benally is a credible witness in my book and I believe when Fred’s people review their findings they may discover evidence to that effect.”
Billy thought this over. “So, this means we have two bad guys still running around loose?”
“There’s that possibility, but as far as I can see the two may not have been acting together. Which reminds me… Old Paul T’Sosi believes their camp is being watched. He says a couple of people have been up on the point spying on them. Harley spent some time up there and thinks the old man is right. Your Uncle Thomas, of course, is all primed to do something about it.” Charlie went quiet as he looked over at the young policeman, and then, “I went over the downside of that with him, but you know your Uncle. Talking never does any good with Thomas once he gets something set in his head. We’ll need to keep an eye on those folks; maybe you could drop by there in the morning on your way in and see what they’re up to. Thomas has a legitimate reason to be upset, but he and Paul both have a reputation for going overboard when it comes to something like this. In fact, I think the old man might be egging Thomas on. It’s not often those two agree on anything but when they do, it can mean real trouble.”
“Do you want me to mention anything to Fred? I can’t believe the Bureau would be up there poking around without letting us in on it, they know we’re connected to those people. I can’t imagine they’d go behind our backs.”
“No, I’m like you, Billy, Fred Smith might jump in if we ask him, but I doubt it’s been them snooping around up there.”
A gust of wind shook the car, causing Billy to look out the window and nod toward the northwest. “Looks like it’s coming, all right…” A curtain of white was moving their way and at the rate it was traveling, wouldn’t take long to get there.
Charlie glanced at the approaching weather and wondered if he would have time to reach home before it hit. He sighed, shook his head before reaching for the door handle and flexed his fingers in the warmth of the heater vent a last time before stepping out of the car. “I’ll call you later, Billy. Those folks up at your uncle’s should be good for now. I doubt anything’s going to be moving in this weather.”
Halfway home Charlie hit the storm head on. After only a mile or two he decided to stop, get out and put the front hubs in. It was just a matter of time before he needed them. By the time he was back behind the wheel his fingers felt like they were about to freeze again. Almost home, the Investigator estimated there were four or five inches already on the ground. Still, he didn’t have to shift into four-wheel drive until he started up his own lane. He’d seen the big drifted-in tracks of the school bus at the stop and was relieved to see they had obviously beaten the worst of it. Should it keep up, he doubted there would be school tomorrow. He parked the truck and sat there a few minutes, watching it snow and thinking of all the people in the outlying areas…some without power, or even basic supplies. Most years brought snow to the reservation but seldom so early…or so much. He suspected drifts were already beginning to block rural roads; it might take days before road crews could re-open them.
When Charlie came in the door, both kids ran to him, excited to tell about the school bus and how it almost skidded off the road. Charlie swore silently under his breath. He’d warned Sue; May Nez, at 22 years old, was too young and inexperienced to be driving a busload of kids in the wintertime. He looked up and frowned as his wife came in from the kitchen. She’d heard the kids and knew what was up with his frown.
“It wasn’t May’s fault, Charlie, she’s a very mature girl for her age. It was that dog of the preacher’s—ran right out in front of her. My God, she was barely able to miss hitting it.”
He took a deep breath, eyeing the children, who were obviously waiting to hear what he would have to say about that. A gust of windblown snow rattled the windows. Slowly shaking his head Charlie held up his hands in resignation, and then turned to go wash up for supper…mumbling to himself as he went. That’s exactly what I meant about the Nez girl not having enough experience for the job—it’s not like she was driving a load of turnips.
At the dinner table the children glanced their father’s way whenever the conversation turned to the bus ride home; Joseph Wiley made sure that happened at least twice before his mother told him to hush up about the bus. The boy frowned down at his dinner and kept a watchful eye on his father hoping to see some support, if there was any support.
Charlie went on chewing his food without tasting it, not saying anything—thinking to de-escalate what might well turn into a situation.
They had almost finished eating when the phone rang and Charlie, happy to leave the table, headed for the front room. They had two phones now, one in the kitchen, and a new one in the living room. Sue thought they needed an extra phone for whatever privacy it might afford Charlie when business came up…or when she and Lucy Tallwoman were discussing matters the children didn’t need to hear; like her mother used to say, “little foxes have big ears and carry lon
g tails.”
“Yazzie residence…” Charlie had to say it twice before the weak answer could be heard above the storm-induced static.
“Charlie, is that you?” Thomas Begay’s voice sounded like it was coming from the depths of a well. The Investigator had to cover his other ear to make him out. “I think we’d better… together in the morning… can even get into town.”
“Is it still snowing hard up there?” Silence… “I say…is it snowing hard?” Charlie realized he would have to almost shout to be heard.
“It’s a whiteout, Charlie!” Thomas was fading in and out and thought it likely he would lose the connection altogether. Thomas’s voice came booming in for a moment. “Here at the window I can’t see more than a few yards and then only between gusts.” The static built to a roar and neither man attempted to say anything for a few moments.
When the noise finally died down enough to hear, Charlie still could catch only bits and pieces of what Thomas was trying to say. “Are you people going to be all right up there?” He was shouting now.
Thomas shouted back, “We’re okay for now, plenty of firewood left and we have an electric heater plugged in…if the power don’t go off.” Suddenly Thomas could be heard like he was in the next room. “It’s not like we’ve never done this before. Lucy just went to the store yesterday, so there should be plenty to eat for a while.” Then as quickly as the line had cleared up it went completely dead.
Charlie still had a dial tone so figured it was the Begay’s line that went down. Not many people lived out that way…making Charlie think it could be awhile before things got fixed. He looked out his own window and could not even see his truck. He couldn’t imagine why Thomas wanted to get together in the morning—something that probably wouldn’t be possible anyway.
Back in the kitchen Sue was at the sink washing dishes and little Sasha was doing her best to learn how to dry. The little girl, not tall enough to reach the sink, was standing on a stool, bellied up to the counter so nothing had far to fall. Joseph Wiley, bent over his homework, glanced up from the kitchen table as his father came in. He was still hopeful his father would say something in his defense.
Sue asked, “Who was on the phone? I thought I heard you say ‘Thomas’ a couple of times… The wind’s making so much noise I wasn’t sure.”
“It was Thomas, all right, sounds like they’re getting snowed-in up there.”
“Oh…? They’re okay though, huh?”
“I think they’ll be fine, but their phone’s gone dead. I guess Thomas wants to meet up in town tomorrow; I don’t know what that’s all about; I didn’t get a chance to ask. He doesn’t even know if he can get into town in the morning. It might take half the day before plow trucks get out that way—even then, I doubt there will be phone service.” Charlie walked up behind Sasha and peered past her out the frosted window. “If it keeps up like this I may not be able to get into town tomorrow, myself.”
Sue went to click on the radio and tuned it to KENN in Farmington just as the weather came on. Charlie turned to listen.
“An early winter storm is currently centered over the Canyon Lands and forecasters say another front is following close behind. This could set up a pattern for more of the same over the next few days. Travel advisories are out for the entire Four Corners area. Officials say roads are becoming snow packed adding to the dangerous conditions. They warned that drivers could become stranded as major roadways drift closed.”
Sue’s face clouded as she moved to turn up the radio; looking back over her shoulder at her husband she pursed her lips and said. “Well…that’s not good.”
Before Charlie could answer the radio went dead momentarily, then came back on with a crackle. “It is now confirmed. There will be no school tomorrow for the entire county. Nor will day schools be open on the Navajo reservation. Stay tuned for further reports as they come in.” Sue turned down the volume, but not before Joseph Wiley gave a rousing cheer. Little Sasha, as usual, was quick to mimic her older brother. School closures were rare in that country and were considered a great gift, as far as most children were concerned.
Sue looked at her youngsters and sighed, it would be a day of mixed blessings for the Yazzie family. “Well, at least the Begays are used to it, living that far out of town and all.” But Sue was thinking of their friend’s downed phone lines, there goes our morning chat I guess. It was the rare day she and Lucy didn’t talk on the telephone—now that they both finally had one. At least that had been the pattern before Carla Meyor came along. It seemed, of late, that her friend had become more focused on a somewhat different path…talking about local Chapter happenings…politics and such… Things her friend hadn’t spent much time thinking about before Carla.
Sue was the one who had, for years, encouraged Lucy to widen her horizons and become more involved socially. Now that she had, Sue didn’t quite know how to take it.
~~~~~~
Paul T’Sosi rose early and went to the hogan’s small window where he scraped a small hole in the icy rime. Where once there had been a view clear to the highway and beyond, now the back of the new house was all he could see, and even that now shrouded in snow. It was only a short distance to the back door of the house but the path appeared to be blocked by a waist-high drift. The old man contemplated the increasing barrier between him and the kitchen, and hot coffee. It wouldn’t be easy, forcing his way through. Putting on his coat and old woolen hat, Paul stood at the window and squinted through the falling curtain of snow. He had let the fire in the old sheepherder stove die nearly to embers and was thinking he ought to rebuild it and stay inside for a while longer to see what developed. That would require the last of his firewood. Then, too, there was still the matter of coffee…that was in the house.
As he stood there weighing his alternatives Paul thought he saw a movement at the back door of the house. Caleb was rubbing a clear spot in the door’s little glass. The boy looked out to see his grandfather peering back at him from the hogan. When the boy smiled and wiggled his fingers at the old man, he could see relief on his grandfather’s face.
Paul watched as a crack appeared, and the door was repeatedly shoved up against the drift allowing Caleb to squeeze outside in his heavy coat. The boy stood there obviously at a loss for something he could use to clear a path. Then he saw Paul motioning toward the end of the house and spotted the shovel Thomas had left the previous afternoon, before the weather convinced him it was a losing battle. The boy nodded at the old man before edging along the side of the house where the snow was not so deep. Breaking the shovel loose from the ice, he began clearing a path to the hogan.
Paul T’Sosi watched intently as his adopted grandson worked his way toward him. The boy was growing into someone that could be counted on to take a hand. The old man thought that was important and smiled at the thought.
Thomas Begay was watching from the stove as he made the morning coffee. He watched from the kitchen as his son put on his heavy coat and signaled to his grandfather. Thomas felt indebted to those helping the boy grow into a man…it was the Navajo way and he was grateful. The entire family must pitch in if a child was to stay to the Beauty Path. If his Uncle John Nez lived closer he might have been an even more important part of Caleb’s coming of age. As it was, John made it a point to check on the boy when he was in the area counseling him in whatever way he could. He had done the same with Thomas Begay when he was a boy, and a willful boy at that…one that might not have turned out even as well as he did, if not for his Uncle John.
It was only a few minutes more until the boy and his grandfather came into the house, both grinning and shaking off snow in the mudroom. The two men and the boy gathered around the kitchen table as equals and with their mugs of steaming coffee, laughed at the predicament brought on by the weather—secure in the knowledge that, together, they were equal to it.
22
The Stretch
By six o’clock Archie was dressed and on his way down to the breakfast bar. He g
rabbed a couple of rolls and his coffee as he watched the television news above the buffet. People seemed excited about the weather. He smiled as the weatherman warned everyone to stay inside and keep warm. Back in New York, winter storms like this were common enough. People there were accustomed to staying inside in such weather and didn’t need to be told. But then few of them had stock to feed or water tanks to thaw. Behind him an older, well-dressed man with a cane, stood smiling, though obviously impatient for his breakfast. The man nodded at Archie as he glanced past him at the buffet, as though worried Archie might be picking through the best of it. He appeared relieved to see the attendant approaching with a fresh supply, and quickly moved aside for the woman. As Archie edged his way past the elderly man, he recalled the man’s room was only a few doors down from his own. He had several times passed him in the hallway and the old gentleman always nodded pleasantly enough.
Back in his room, Archie walked over and clicked on the TV. Putting his breakfast on the table in front of the window, he stood there for a moment staring at the snow, still coming down wet and heavy. He smiled to himself a good time to take a lay day, rest up and get my mind straight. This is just beginning. He had barely finished buttering his second roll when the phone rang causing him to frown. He hesitated hoping it might stop…but it didn’t. He gulped his coffee on the way to the nightstand and sat by the phone a moment offering the instrument one last chance to be quiet. Finally he tossed the Styrofoam cup in the trash and picked up the receiver, listening intently for just a moment before answering. “…Yes?”
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