Blackening Song (10 page)

It was ten in the morning and the temperature was already past eighty degrees. She leaned back as memories of her father filled her mind.

This was his room, his domain, where he’d spent hour upon hour planning sermons and outings for the members of the church he’d loved. She remembered sitting on the woven red-and-black area rug a few feet away,
reading and keeping him company. He’d devote time every evening to preparing his service or studying the Bible, but no one in his family had ever been neglected.

Still, being his kid hadn’t been easy for either Clifford or Ella. So much had been expected of them! Raymond Destea had wanted his children to learn and accept his adopted religion, but Rose had insisted that they make their own choice.
Consequently, Rose had taught them Navajo beliefs, while Raymond instructed them about Christianity.

In the end, both Ella and her brother had disappointed their father. Clifford had chosen the old ways, turning from his father’s path. And as children often did when their parents pressed them in opposite directions, Ella had refused to choose. Being guided by her own sense of right had been enough
for her, at least for a while. About a year and a half ago, when she’d come to her brother’s wedding, she’d realized just how different she’d become from everyone she cared about. Though she had her career, and the satisfaction she derived from it, something was missing from the center of her life.

Ella had kept busy since then, volunteering for every assignment that had come her way. But in
the back of her mind, uncertainty about her life choices had continued to grow. Now, choices she’d avoided were demanding her attention. She could feel the pressure building with each passing day.

Her mother entered the room and sat down on the chair near the window. “Peterson called earlier, when you were out searching your father’s pickup. He told me the body would be released soon.”

“He’ll
do his best for us, Mom. He understands what we’re going through.” Ella replaced the contents of the file drawer she’d searched. “Will you help me with something?” Seeing her mother’s nod, she continued. “I haven’t been able to find any of the threatening notes you said Dad received.”

“Your father threw them out. He never took them seriously.” Rose walked to the small bookcase that held a snapshot
of her husband, taken years ago. She touched his image lovingly. “He was stubborn, and impossible to deal with. But I do miss him.”

Ella felt her mother’s sadness as keenly as she felt her own. She would find her father’s killer. Whoever was threatening her family would soon learn that Ella made a dangerous and relentless enemy.

“Don’t try to hide from your sorrow by burying it under your work,”
Rose said softly. “You have to let your feelings out before you can be free of them.”

“I can’t run away from the pain, I know that,” Ella agreed. “I only wish there was something I could do to make things easier for you.”

“I have to face this in my own way. No one can help me with that.” Rose leaned against the wall and stared outside. Heat distorted the land with shimmering, undulating waves.
“There’s a ground-breaking ceremony and a barbecue today at the site of the new college. Your father and I were expected to attend. I’m exhausted inside as well as out. I need time to think. Will you go in my place?”

Sensing that her mother wanted time alone, Ella nodded. Her mother seldom asked anything of her. “I’ll be glad to.”

“You’ll be asked if I’m in favor of the construction of the new
church. Tell anyone who wants to know that I’ve agreed to lend my support to the project since it meant so much to your father.”

“Who else knows your position on this?” Ella asked, remembering Wilson’s concern for her mother’s safety.

“The ones from his church,” Rose answered with a shrug. “I made my feelings clear to all who attended his memorial service.”

Ella felt her stomach tighten. Her
training warned her to expect trouble. That she wasn’t sure what form it would take made her all the more uneasy. “I wish you hadn’t said anything.”

“You shouldn’t worry. My association with the religious aspect of the new church is minimal. As acting building committee chairman—or chairperson—my involvement starts and ends with the actual construction. It’s something I’m doing strictly in deference
to your father’s wishes. Everyone knows my beliefs are different.” She took a deep breath, then let it out again. “Please don’t feel you have to stand and watch over me every moment. I am, and will be, all right.”

“That’s not what Wilson Joe thinks,” Ella commented.

“He means well, but his concerns are not valid.”

“Why do you say that?”

“If there was danger, I would feel it,” she answered
simply. “Trust my judgment on this. You should attend the barbecue. Many people will be there, it’s an excellent place for you to continue your search for answers.”

She couldn’t argue with her mother’s logic, though she was surprised at her matter-of-fact acceptance of Ella’s investigation during what should be a period of mourning. But Ella wasn’t willing to trust her mother’s safety to a premonition.
“It would help me if we went together. To many people, I’m just a stranger, someone they don’t know enough to trust. I may have a difficult time getting anyone to talk to me unless you’re there.”

“I’m staying here.” Rose’s voice was firm.

She’d heard that tone before. Trying to talk her mother out of anything after she’d made up her mind was impossible. Her father had been extremely flexible
by comparison—and he was as stubborn as a mule. “Okay. I’ll go alone,” she answered, struggling to accept what she couldn’t change.

Ella showered, brushed her ebony hair until it shone, and prepared to go. Her dark green slacks and cream-colored silk blouse looked good on her, and took the middle road between dressy and casual. She secured her small derringer inside her boot using a strap of
Velcro. The feel of the gun above her ankle would act as a constant reminder of what she was really there to do. Since there was no way to conceal it, her duty pistol would remain locked in the family truck.

Ella walked to the living room, where her mother was knitting a colorful wool sash, probably for a ceremonial costume. “I’m taking the truck.”

Rose nodded, not looking up from her work.

At the door, Ella turned back to her mother. “Will you be okay?”

“Go.” An order, but an indulgent one.

Ella drove down the dirt track. Home would never be the same without her father. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what her mother was going through. Anger rose in her as she thought of the person responsible. She’d bring him down for what he’d done.

No matter what Ella did, her mother would
continue to suffer. Pangs of guilt and second thoughts assailed Ella as she thought of her mother—alone at the house with just the mutt to keep watch. But there were times everyone needed privacy.

Wilson had to be wrong; her mother couldn’t have any enemies. Both traditionalists and progressives loved her. The traditionalists admired her because she’d held on to her beliefs despite the path her
husband had chosen. The progressives respected the way she’d learned to live in both worlds, a goal they often professed to hold.

Reassuring herself, Ella drove across an empty span of alkali soil, a barren flatland she’d known about for years. It was a lonely route, but the terrain would make it difficult for anyone to ambush her. There weren’t many places to hide.

*   *   *

She arrived at
the newly developed housing area around noon. The three-bedroom stucco houses each had one or two vehicles parked in the dirt driveways or along the washboard streets. Though the houses had carports, the People used them more often as covered porches or to store hay.

Curbs had been installed, but asphalt roads were months or years away, if ever. Sidewalks were probably out of the question; Navajos
simply walked straight where they wanted to go. Maybe the college would have them. Anglos liked sidewalks. Ella saw the advantages, though she still wasn’t fond of them herself. Then again, even walking down some L.A. streets was out of the question. In many ways, the simpler Navajo lifestyle had a lot to be said for it.

Ella viewed the changes on the reservation with mixed feelings. Progress
was often a two-edged sword. This brand-new community had risen up in an area where her ancestors had left only moccasin prints. A mile from here the new community college would be built. It saddened her to see miniature cities cluttering up what had once been beautiful open country.

She wished she felt more sure that the tribe was moving in the right direction. The changes facing the People
had left many trapped in an in-between world that lacked the firm foundation the old ways had given them. For instance, murder had been extremely rare among them a decade ago, but now power and greed strengthened their hold with each passing day. What her father had viewed as progress could yet become the tribe’s death warrant.

A large gathering of cars encircled the site of the ceremony. Fortunately,
the customary cloud of choking dust that usually enveloped such an event had not yet materialized. The rain had indeed been a gift of the gods this time. The amplified ramblings of a local politician filled the air, and the aroma of barbecued ribs, wafting through her open window, made her mouth water. Ella parked in a field, at the end of a long row of vehicles. A country-western band was
setting up on a low wooden stage. A large half circle of people, mostly Navajos, stood facing a wide speaker’s platform.

Ella approached the obviously restless but silent crowd. It was past lunchtime, and she knew most of the people had come for the food and entertainment rather than the speeches and political strutting associated with these events. The men and women, many with children at their
sides, were clad in traditional Navajo or western wear.

Ella moved on the fringes of the gathering, wondering what to do next. People who knew her nodded slightly in acknowledgment. The uneasiness in their eyes told Ella some were probably grateful for the irritating speech that allowed them to avoid speaking with her.

Ella noted that the last folding chair to the right on the speaker’s platform
was unoccupied, and deduced hopefully that the other six dignitaries seated there had spoken already. Maybe she had timed her arrival properly after all.

The politician, a tribal council member whose name she’d forgotten, ended his speech in English, then began again in Navajo. Ella crossed her fingers, hoping it had been brief, because the Navajo version was usually at least twice as long in
duration. She had to concentrate to get the gist of his message. It was something about the children and the future of the Dineh, and the preservation of the Way.

Ella realized how long it had been since she’d spoken her native tongue, except to her relatives on the phone. Her Navajo was embarrassingly rusty.

As she studied the crowd, Ella saw one of her older cousins, Anna Goodluck. Anna was
pregnant again. Ella had lost count of how many children she and her husband, Ronald, had. Ronald, an electrician, worked at the big power plant just off the Rez. Anna caught Ella’s eye and motioned her over with a wave.

“I heard you were back,” Anna whispered, ignoring a frown from Ronald, who was holding an infant in his arms. “I’m sorry about your father.” She gave Ella a big hug and a smile.

“Thanks, cousin. It’s good to see a friendly face. I see you haven’t changed.” Ella glanced down at Anna’s swollen belly, then winked.

“We needed another daughter. With four boys and only one girl … we Goodluck women are outnumbered.” Anna nudged her husband with her elbow, and Ronald tried unsuccessfully not to smile while pretending to listen to the speech.

“I wish you all the…” Ella mumbled,
remembering the words she’d used to tease her cousin after she’d married Ronald.

“I know, good luck.” Anna laughed. “And when are you going to get lucky and find the man of your nightmares … uh, dreams?” Anna responded, looking to make sure Ronald had heard. This time he managed to not smile.

“Aren’t they all taken?” Ella suggested, looking around as if taking the measure of the men in the crowd.
Ella envied Anna her husband and children, wondering if putting her career above everything else was really right for her after all. She was so alone when she was by herself, with only her thoughts for company.

“There’s an eligible one, I hear,” Anna gestured toward Wilson Joe, who stood near the bandstand. “Go say hi. I’ll talk to you later, when we eat.”

Wilson was looking at Ella. Like many
of the Navajo men, he was wearing a new white straw cowboy hat and a colorful western shirt. His new snakeskin boots were buffed to a shine. He looked prosperous; Ella wondered what Clifford would have thought of that. If you looked too well heeled, Navajos, particularly traditionalists, soon began to wonder what you’d been up to. Then again, maybe she was being too cynical. He could just be trying
to impress someone. She joined him.

“If I’d known you wanted to come, I would have offered to give you a ride,” Wilson said.

“To be honest, I didn’t know I was coming until an hour ago. My mother suggested it.”

He nodded slowly. “There’s a lot you can learn here if you listen to the right people.”

“We’ll see,” she answered, painfully aware that except for a few relatives and former classmates,
most would avoid her. Knowing that fear of the accusations against her brother, and respect for the trouble her family was experiencing, lay at the root of it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

The last speech ended, and the grateful crowd applauded loudly. Most were already heading for the serving tables, where women stood by large kettles of hot mutton stew and pots laden with barbecued beef.
Golden fry bread was heaped in small mountains on metal trays, and more was being prepared in enormous pans of oil kept hot on portable stoves. The aroma enveloped Ella, and fond memories came to mind.

As they stood in a long food line, Wilson was greeted warmly, but few of the people they met were willing to say more than a few words to Ella. Her sense of alienation grew. “I’m still one of them,
yet they can’t see that,” Ella muttered in despair.