The Price (42 page)

“It’s like he’s calling to me in my dream. Crazy isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” Jack sat up and placed Jesse on his lap. “Some folks believe that dreams mean something.”

“Well, I have no clue what these dreams mean.” She laughed it off. “I think it’s just jumbled nonsense my subconscious is trying to process.”

“You should ask Luke what they mean?”

“Why Luke?”

“Because he is Native American and he comes from a long line of dreamers and healers,” answered Jack.

“Well, if I want to find out its meaning, shouldn’t I go straight to the horse’s mouth, in a manner of speaking,” she smiled. “I should ask his grandmother.”

Jack stopped playing with Jesse and started to pay attention to Kate.

“What did you just say?” he asked as his mind began to whirl in thought.

“I said I should ask Mariah,” said Kate, seeing the wheels in Jack’s head spinning.

It was never a good sign when that occurred, for she never knew what crazy notion he would get fixed in his head.

“We should call, Mariah.” Jack stood and picked up their son. He walked over to the couch and sat next to her. “Indian medicine is awful powerful, baby. She might be able to help.” A twinge of hope surfaced within him.

“I don’t know, Jack.” She shook her head. “It’s kind of mumbo jumbo. Let’s stick with the chemotherapy for the time being, and if it doesn’t work then we can look for an alternative treatment.”

“Kate, we need to talk.” A cloud of sadness washed over him.
It was now or never
. “The doctor—well he thinks—your test results came back, and they weren’t too good.”

“What does that mean,
not too good
?” She saw the scared look in his eyes.

Jack stood up and placed Jesse in his playpen. He handed his son the talking Tow Mater truck to occupy him while he returned to the couch and took Kate’s hand in his.

“He says the cancer has advanced.” He watched her for signs of comprehension. “He feels the chemotherapy would be more for maintenance than a cure.”

“I don’t understand,” said Kate as a fog settled in over her. “No, it’s supposed to make me better.”

Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes. It was harder than he thought. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Saying them aloud would mean that it was true and he was having a difficult time accepting it. If he couldn’t believe it, how could he expect his wife to believe it, too? A lump formed in his throat and he tried to clear it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Tell me, Jack?” Kate grabbed his shirt in panic. “Tell me what did the doctor say?”

“I can’t.” And he broke down in front of her. “Oh God, I can’t!”

“TELL ME!” She shouted louder.

Jack covered his eyes with his hands and wept. Kate just stared and sat back against the couch. A dead silence filled the room and all she heard was his tears.

“How long?” asked Kate in a numbed state as she stared at the clock on the wall and watched the hand move slowly around its dial. As it moved it occurred to her that her time was ticking away just like the clock. “How long, Jack?”

“A year if you continue treatment,” he said in between sobs.

“And if I don’t continue treatment?”

“He couldn’t be certain,” he choked. “A few months perhaps.”

“So, I’m dying,” she said, hearing her own words echo back to her.

Jack took her by the shoulders and made her look at him. “We’re going to fight this thing, Kate.”

“How are we going to fight this?” She shook her head.

“I made you a promise and I intend to keep it.” His anger set in. “I’m not giving up and neither are you.”

“I know you promised, baby, but it’s out of our control,” she said, seeing his self-torture of a promise he couldn’t keep.

“Don’t you dare give up on me!” Jack yelled and practically shook her.

She was too calm and that scared him more.

“I’m not giving up.” She stared lovingly into tear-stained eyes refusing to see. “I’m accepting what I have been feeling for a while now. We need to prepare for this, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I can’t listen to this right now,” snapped Jack, throwing his hands up in the air. “I won’t! Do you hear me Kate? I won’t listen to you tell me we have
to prepare
. The only thing I want to prepare for is the future with you, having more babies with you, growing old with you. You got that?”

“There’s no more babies, Jack,” sighed Kate, tears forming in her own eyes. Their dream was over. There would be no more children lying at their feet playing on the front porch as she and Jack sat on the swing. It was only going to be Jack sitting on the porch with Jesse, telling him stories about his mother. “You’re going to have to grow old without me.”

“Dammit Kate, I’m not growing old without you, and the sooner you get that in that crazy head of yours the better,” he hollered obstinately. “I made you a promise that I wouldn’t let you die, and by God I’m going to keep to that promise.”

“How are you going to do that? You’re not God and you don’t have a magic potion to heal me.”

“No, but Mariah could,” he said, hanging on to the last shred of hope. “I’ve seen her do the impossible. Let me bring her to you, Kate.”

He was begging now, and Kate didn’t have the heart to say no. What could it hurt if the old Indian woman tried her voo-doo? She was dying anyway.

“All right,” she surrendered. “Call Mariah!”

“Thank you.” Jack hugged her tight. “We’re not done yet, baby. You have to trust me on this one.”

Kate did trust him but she didn’t believe.

It had been a long day on the ranch for Luke, working non-stop training one of Jack’s new mares. But after receiving the phone call from his employer, he was heading back and bringing his grandmother, Mariah, with him.

Luke glanced over at his grandmother, and saw her staring out the passenger window of the truck. Her white hair hung loose about her shoulders and her garment was marked that of a shaman’s dress.

Pride swelled within him, his heritage holding strong like a well-built foundation as one of the elders of his tribe shifted in her seat and placed her hands gently over the leather pouch that lay upon her lap.

To the rest of the world, she was just a crazy old woman but to Luke and his tribe she was highly respected. For she carried the ancient wisdom of their ancestors in her soul, and in those old bony hands was the healing power by touch. She had the shaman’s gift of second sight, foretelling of things to come and visioning what most people were too blinded to see.

She’d known that his employer, Jack, would be asking her to call upon them and that there was a darkness over his wife’s soul, creating a blackness that the white race called
disease
. It happened just the way she told him it would, and it grieved Luke to see his grandmother’s prediction come to fruition.

Luke parked behind Jack’s pick-up by the main house and helped his aged grandmother from the truck. Mariah stood for a moment gazing at the house before proceeding up the porch steps.

“The pouch Lucas, don’t forget my pouch.” Her voice crackled like the scraping of bone.

Luke ran back to the truck and retrieved the deer skinned bag then helped his grandmother on to the porch. Before they had a chance to knock, the front door opened and Jack greeted them, stepping onto the porch.

“Thank you for coming.” Jack offered Mariah his arm and escorted her into the house.

“Where is your spirit talker?” she asked, staring in the direction of his wife. Jack noticed cataracts clouded Mariah’s eyes, and her vision was more impaired than the last time he saw her.

“Kate is lying down on the couch,” he answered, stepping into the living room. “I’ll take you to her.”

Mariah was slow in her movements and by the time she reached the sick woman, she was winded. Jack directed her to sit in a chair next to the couch and Kate sat up to greet her.

“Hello Mariah,” said Kate, reaching over and taking the woman’s hand.

“Your blond hair is gone,” said Mariah, pulling Kate closer to get a better look.

“Courtesy of chemotherapy,” she replied.

“The white man’s answer to cancer,” the old woman scoffed. “Poison to kill poison.”

“I guess it is.” Kate never thought about it quite like that, but Mariah did have a point.

“You’re thinner,” the old woman continued, feeling the white woman’s lack of flesh to her arm.

“Kate has been having trouble keeping food down,” said Jack as he sat next to Kate. “They say in addition to the breast cancer, she has a stomach ulcer.”

“Lucas, hand me my bag,” instructed Mariah.

Luke gave his grandmother the deer-skinned pouch. Mariah untied it and began to pull curious items from the bag—a tortoise shell, a stick of sage, a figure made of twigs. She handed them to Jack, and one by one he placed them on the sofa table.

“Ah, here it is,” she said, pulling what looked like a root from the pouch. “Chew on this. It will settle your stomach and heal the sore.”

She placed it in the sick woman’s hand. Kate wasn’t sure what kind of root it was. It was tan like the earth and it resembled rhubarb.

“You want me to chew on it?” She looked at Jack, thinking the old woman was crazy.

“Yes, gnaw on it like a mouse,” explained Mariah. “Try it!”

Kate hesitated before putting it to her mouth. She rubbed her teeth on it and chewed. Her face puckered from its bitterness.

“Oh, it tastes terrible.” She scrunched up her nose.

“Taste bad, medicine good,” said Mariah.

“Have you anything in that bag to cure cancer?” asked Jack.

“There is no medicine to draw out bad spirits,” the old woman responded. “We call on Grandfather Spirit to take darkness from soul.” Mariah reached in her bag again and pulled out a set of gold bells braided together with rope. “Lucas, light the sage and cleanse the room,” she instructed.

Luke lit the sage and held it over the empty tortoise shell. He walked around the room fanning its smoke. The air filled with a pungent odor that smelled heavy and sweet. He was knowledgeable in the ways of his ancestors, and he created a sacred space in order for his grandmother to perform the healing ritual.

Mariah closed her eyes and shook the bells then she began to chant. Her low voice mixed with the bells, sounding almost eerie, and it sent goose bumps up Kate’s arms and the back of her neck. It was trance-like and when Mariah opened her eyes Jack saw they had changed to a smoky-gray.

“Come spirit talker.” She pointed her finger at Kate and directed her to sit at her feet.

Kate looked at Jack with trepidation. He nodded that it was okay for her to go. She was apprehensive but she did it anyway, sliding from the couch and kneeling by the old woman’s feet.

Mariah withdrew a handmade necklace from under her garment. There was another small pouch tied to its end and she removed it from around her neck. She pulled on the two strings and opened the pouch, pouring its contents into the palm of her hand. It looked like white powder, and it shimmered silver against her aged skin.

“There is always a price for healing.” Mariah placed her crooked finger under Kate’s chin and lifted it high so she could see her. “A sacrifice must be made, but with sacrifice comes death and with death comes re-birth. It is the path of the Wheel, and all of life comes from it. Are you willing?”

“Yes,” Kate whispered.

Mariah lifted her palm containing the white powder and blew. Like a floating cloud, it drifted through the air and engulfed Kate, filling her nostrils with the powdery substance until she could taste it in the back of her throat.

She heard Mariah’s chants return, resonating the sacred language to an unrecognizable pitch. It was luring, and Kate couldn’t help being mesmerized by the tone. Her eyes lids grew heavy and she closed them into darkness. The darkness began to swirl before closed eyes and Kate felt like she was being pulled through a vastness of nothing.

And then as if she opened her eyes, she was standing on the desert floor. Clouds of dust swirled around her feet, and she felt a Nevada wind blow against her face and billow through her hair. She was vaguely conscience of the return of her hair as she brushed the blond strands back from her face.

In the distance she heard the sound of a locomotive. It steadily grew louder with its approach. She heard snorts and the beating of hooves and Black Thunder came into view. He reared back on his hind legs and bellowed out a warrior’s cry.

Black Thunder
, she whispered inside herself, and watched the magnificent steed transfix her with the blackness of his eyes.

“He is with you?” the old woman asked as she heard Kate whisper his name. “The great stallion?”

“Yes,” she mouthed, but nothing came out.

“You must find his purpose,” Mariah instructed.

His purpose? What was his purpose, Kate didn’t know. She steadied her feet in the Nevada earth, watching in joyful anticipation as Black Thunder lifted his head and began prancing toward her. He nudged her with his nose and she felt his wetness upon her hand.

“Hello, my friend,” she greeted, holding him around his neck as she placed her check against his coarse fur.

Black Thunder shot his nose up in the air and released a snort.

“Yes, it has been much too long,” said Kate hearing him but not in an audible way.

His front hooves scraped the ground and like that of a prince, he bowed before her. Kate ran her hand along his long torso, stopping by the center of his back. Black Thunder lowered himself further, beckoning Kate to climb on.

She slid her leg over his back and then lay, pressing against his strong frame. A peace swept over her as she laid her head on his neck and wrapped her fingers in his mane. It was soothing and Kate felt like she could truly rest while lying against this magnificent beast. She closed her eyes and quieted her soul as all her worries and worldly cares disappeared. Everything went still around her, and she stayed in this sacred space of solitude while feeling Black Thunder’s strong heart beating against hers. In that moment, she found his purpose.

She was drifting again—drifting back as the presence of her body returned. She felt her fingers moving as she flexed them open and closed then open again. Her eyes fluttered and the room slowly came into view. She looked up and saw the old woman staring at her.