Thursday

CHAPTER 5

“Is Smitty back there with Leonard?” Sheriff Jules Thompson asked as he entered the Sheriff’s office through the public entrance, carrying a box of donuts from Tory’s Market.

“Yeah, Julie, they’re both back there.” The small tinny voice that buzzed from the three inch diameter speaker belonged to Susan Hutchins the dispatcher. She spoke from behind thick protective one way glass on the wall opposite the entrance. “Mary Hendrickson’s mother called from the hospital. Mary had her baby last night and they can’t find Frank. She wanted to know if we had him.”

“Do we?” Thompson smiled at his reflection in the glass.

“Not this time. She said he went off last night with that Jensen boy from Marion.”

“Cletus,” said the sheriff. “I’m going up to Marion this morning. I’ll stop in at the Jensen place.”

“I think he’s working across the block there for Gary Erickson on the new bank building. You might swing in there first.” Susan shifted on her tall swivel stool and leaned closer to the microphone attached to the flexible stand rising up from her console. “Are you holding for state before beginning the investigation briefing?”

“No, Susan, they’ll be along. They’re always late,” Jules spoke with a tone of impatience. “We’ll start with coffee though, can you join us?”

“Well, yeah, if you don’t mind, thank you.” Susan reached up and removed the telephone headset from her ear, placing it on the console. She lifted the hand set from its base and slipped it into the pocket of her uniform.

“You might as well come on back. It’s pretty quiet this morning.” Jules Thompson took hold of the handle on the thick steal door next to the mirrored glass. He paused, holding the donut box in his other hand. After he heard a loud buzz ending with a click, he swung the door outward, blocking it open with his foot. He carefully swung the box around and walked down the hallway to the meeting room. Lighted panels in the ceiling flickered pallid light against the pasty white block walls and the gray tile floor. The heavy door swung closed behind him with a click as Susan emerged into the hallway from his right. She followed Thompson to the end of the hall and they entered the conference room together.

 An investigator, on loan from Duncan County, had come to fill them in on his findings concerning the missing persons that the county had been experiencing over the past year.

A state patrol car eased up to the parking bumper in front of the office. A tall uniformed officer got out. He leaned against the front fender of the car and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke up into the air. He looked around the block through his dark sun glasses.

.

Two flies had awakened with the warmth of daybreak and were flying an oval course above the kitchen table. Will watched them for half a minute. They were easy to see when flying in the sunlight shining through the window, but then they would disappear into the lesser light of the room as they completed their course. The silence would have been complete but for their intermittent buzzing.

The fire in the woodstove had diminished to glowing coals. Will stood and went into the bathroom. As he poured cold water from a small water pale into the basin, he spoke, “Anj?”  He dipped a washcloth into the water and wrung it, folding it lengthwise. “I’m getting a little scared. It’s been weeks now and you’re no better. A phone call to Sally wouldn’t hurt anything and I also really do need to call Leah.” He walked back to Angela and gently placed the cool, damp cloth onto her forehead.

She reached her hand up and held it in place as she spoke. “Listen here Will, you saying I’m sick will only worry her. She does that too much as is. Now please . . .” Angela drew in a long slow breath and pulled the cool cloth down over her eyes. “Thank you, Honey. Make yourself useful and get me some tea. Get me some of that red stuff that Hank brought the other day.”

Will gently placed a small pillow next to her head, and pulled the quilt up over her shoulders. Standing, he rubbed his own left shoulder, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “How about some oatmeal, maybe a little orange juice?” he said as he walked to the kitchen.

“I’ll try it.” Angela’s voice was weak and she had trouble enunciating her words.

 The right glass panel of the window, eased outward as Will turned the window crank over the sink. He reached into the propane-powered refrigerator, and removed a pitcher of orange juice. A gassy stink hissed into the air as he turned the knob on the cook stove. As he struck a wooden match to light the burner, the odor burned off instantly and a blue flame fluffed to life. He shook the match and pitched it into an old copper ashtray half full of match sticks on the windowsill. A thin string of smoke lifted itself from the match tip into the air and was blown apart by the breeze coming in from the open window. The transparent curtain panel lightly wafted inward and the quiet roar of wind in tree tops snuck in with the clean thin scent of pine and sage. It was cold on Will’s bare chest.

He set a sauce pan over the flame, and reached for the pump handle that rose from the base of the sink. A few vigorous pumps brought water up, as the siphon suction awakened deep in the well shaft. Cold water pulsed into a small water pail. As it filled, he stopped pumping and the stream of water slowed quickly, diminishing to a drip.

Lighting another burner, he poured water from the pail into a teakettle, setting it over the flame. He then poured the remainder of the water into the hot pan that was heating on the first burner. Steam hissed and bushed up into the air when the cold water hit the hot pan. Will stirred in a two cups of oatmeal.

Hot water, from the kettle, was poured over the red powder and chunks of root in two mugs, and oatmeal slopped into two bowls. He then poured orange juice into a couple of small glasses and placed the breakfast onto a tray, which he brought to Angela’s bedside table.

Sliding the stool next to her again, he sat and handed his wife her tea. He took one of the cereal bowls and shoveled a spoonful of hot mush into his mouth, then quickly gulped orange juice to cool the hot oatmeal before he swallowed. Angela sipped at her tea. Will pushed another heaping spoonful of cereal into his mouth, and chewed.

“Will, I miss Leah.”

“Me too.” Will mumbled around the gob of mush that he was chewing. Wings flapped and chirps sounded from the bird cage.

Angela closed her eyes. “Will?”

“Yeah, Anj?”

“Did you feed my babies?”

Will swallowed hard, “Uh, yeah. Yes, I did.”

“You didn’t forget Mildred?” Angela’s eyes were still closed.

“I didn’t forget.” Will’s voice was tight. Angela opened her eyes and searched him knowingly. Will frowned with agitation as he deflected, “When do you suppose that flea condo will be getting his own food.” He gestured toward the kitchen with his spoon, “Seems half my time is spent . . .”

“Honey, you know his head wound retarded his natural cycle. He’d starve without us,” said Angela softly. “And Hank said Bear would come out of hibernation slowly. We’re lucky that gunshot wound didn’t kill him.”

“Yeah, lucky.” snorted Will, raising his left eyebrow. “Well, I’d be willing to bet that a retarded bear could get his own food if he got good and hungry. I bet we’d see us a miracle. Hunger might just un-retard his lazy butt.”

“Yeah,” replied Angela, “And he might decide he’s had enough fish and he’s going to try some old man, instead. What then, genius?”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Will exaggerated an expression of being deeply wounded. He leaned back on the stool and searched Angela’s face.

“Yes. Yes I would.” Angela said resolutely, closing her eyes again with smirked satisfaction. “I’d replace you with a couple’a young stud movie stars. Maybe bring me up those guys from that doctor show.”

“You couldn’t handle ‘em.”

“Oh yes,” she swooned, “yes, I could.”

“Well, then. I get to have that girl from the news net . . .” Will’s words were cut short again.

“No you don’t. You’re already bear food, remember? Besides, that tramp wouldn’t have you.”

Will went silent, allowing her to win. He shoved another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, and spoke with a full mouth, “I’m going to kidnap you today, baby, and haul you to town.” He mumbled, swallowing with difficulty.

“You taking me dancing at the Stomp?” asked Angela in a little girl voice. “I’ll need a new outfit. We’d better stop down to Blue's first.” The playful exchange tired her, and the sparkle left her eyes. Her smile faded. Will reached, and gently took the tea mug from her hands and her arms slumped to her chest. “Will, honey,” she said weakly, pausing to gather enough strength to continue, “I’ll eat later.” Her eyelids lowered half closed and she drifted into sleep.

Will, no longer hungry, sat looking at his sleeping wife for a moment. His hand holding the cereal bowl trembled. He set the bowl on the tray. Gently pulling the pillow up close to Angela’s face, he leaned forward and kissed her. She listed into the pillow and lightly snored. Tears etched Will's cheeks. Standing, he took the bathrobe from the daybed post, and swung it over his shoulders. Waves of sadness and worry washed over him. He left Angela’s tea and orange juice on the bedside table and carried the rest of the breakfast tray to the sink. He stood staring out the window at the lake. The view blurred as his eyes filled with tears.

                                                            .

Leah made up her bed and went into the bathroom. She turned the leaver in the shower, causing water spray to slap the tiles. Within seconds, the glass shower door was coated with steam. Potpourri, activated by the humidity of the room, fragrancing the atmosphere from a shelf on the opposite wall. Leah pulled the bedroom door closed and faced her reflection in the mirror hanging on its bathroom side. Pulling the long nightshirt up over her head and dropping it to the floor, she studied herself. As the woman staring back at her blurred to a steamy softness, she became her mother’s twin. Family and friends had told her this for years but it wasn’t until recently that Leah had truly begun to see it herself.

Light flickered in Leah’s bedroom, and then suddenly blazed, as though a thousand camera flashes had detonated at once.

As Leah stood looking into her steamy reflection, her peripheral vision caught the flash. Blinded, she staggered back a step pressing her palms to her eye sockets. She removed her hands from her eyes and blinked, testing her sight. Stars and blank spots danced before her for a few seconds. She timidly opened the door and peered into the bedroom. Nothing was out of place and all was quiet.

Pulling the door closed, she again looked at her face in the mirror. Two water drops had formed from heavy steam and were sliding down her reflection. She touched her forehead to the glass and closed her eyes. It was nothing, she assured herself. You’re a bit of a mess this morning, aren't you?

The fundamental nature of existence--of intelligence, ghosted slowly into reality in Leah’s bedroom. Quintessence of beings invisible to the eye, but felt by the heart, were merged into a glowing fog but then separated into four distinct Muha physical entities.

With a flick of her finger, the ceiling exhaust fan spun into operation. Leah turned to the mirror once more and wiped it dry with a washcloth. Her long blonde hair hung in natural curls over her shoulders but she kept it short in front, framing her face. It was now damp on her forehead. She smiled at her reflection, but her smile faded as concern for her parents again flooded her mind.

“Please make it OK. Please protect them,” she whispered. As a young girl, she had had no doubts that there was something out there to receive her prayers. However, as adulthood had overtaken her, bringing with it reason and reality, life's experiences had caused the flame of belief to all but die out, flickering to nothing more than a pilot light. But here, now this morning, she needed certain aspects of her childhood faith to be true again.

A fifth presence emptied into the bedroom and the others rapidly drifted to a corner rising to the ceiling. Light swirled and increased in intensity as a figure formed; a man with long, wavy white hair, Osiahapahnu.

Memory of a time when she was eight years old leaked into Leah’s thoughts. She examined her antique theories of the supernatural and the stories told her by Old Wolf Shoyo. She smiled at her quaint childhood belief. She had once asked her father if she could go to church with her friend Sally. He had answered, “Going in for a little metaphysical spookiness, are we? Spiritual things are spiritually discerned but the pretentiously pious are transparent as hell.”

“What, Daddy? Why can’t you just say yes or no?”

“Well then, how about,” Will had winked at his daughter and smiled, “yes.” He hadn’t often said no to her.

“Yes.” Leah winked at herself in the mirror and smiled her father’s smile. She turned and stepped into the shower.

The sound of steady, heavy shower spray behind the closed bathroom door was intermittently interrupted with full slaps of water on tile as Leah showered. Jazzy’s chirping came from deeper in the interior of the house. The old clock in Leah’s front room chimed once, indicating the half hour.

They faced each other. Pointing in the direction that they had all entered, Osiahapahnu narrowed his eyes. His order to leave was fully understood by the Muha and they responded with gyrations of protest.

Jazzy stopped singing.

The four once again blended into fading light that found egress through the wall.

Osiahapahnu remained and whitened brighter than the light streaming through the bedroom window and became increasingly more transparent, losing definition, finally fading completely away.

                                                                        .

.           Angela, I’m waiting. I have something to show you.

I'm coming. I can hear you but I can’t see you. The dust is so thick. It’s cool on the soles of my feet. It flies up between my toes whenever I take a step.

Keep walking toward the sound of my voice, Angela.

That’s such a strange sound, what is that? What is that huffing noise? Why do the birds make such a racket?

Keep walking Angela, come to me.

A bear! Osiahapahnu, there‘s a hurt bear lying here in front of me!

Yes Angela, the bear has been shot in the head. You have to help this bear or it will die. Get Will to help you. You are unable to do it alone and you don’t have much time.

Osiahapahnu?

Yes Angela?

My legs are heavy, I can’t run. I am so tired. I just want to sleep. How can I help this bear? I am just an old woman.

I’m here Angela, can you see me? Look up the path, here I am.

I see you Osiahapahnu, you are so beautiful, your hair, your gown. But, what happened to your hands? You’re burnt. Oh no no, this can’t be so. You are badly hurt. Wait, something has come between us. It’s so foggy. I cannot see you, say something to me.

I hear you Angela. Do not be afraid of it. Watch as it changes.

I don’t like this, it’s becoming a person. It is becoming . . . me!

Don’t be afraid of it Angela, it is not you. It is only pretending to be you.

But why? Why would it pretend to be me?

Do you see Will splitting wood by the shed?

Yes I do. Will! I’m over here. He can‘t hear me. He can‘t see me waving.

Run to him now. Get him to help you with the bear.

Will, the bear is bleeding from its head. We must do something right now or he’ll die. Will, the bear cannot die. Flies are buzzing around a pool of blood in the dirt where it leaked from the hole in his head. Run, run faster. Oh the stench. I am going to gag. I cannot stand the smell. Go, go, go, faster Will, drive faster. It’s still alive but we have to hurry. Did you get the cinch binders and rigging straps? We’ll need them.

                                                            .

“Go, go, go,” shouted Angela. Her eyes opened with a start. She blearily looked around the room. “Will?” She closed them and she was again sleeping.

“Anj?” Will turned from looking out the kitchen window.

Angela mumbled an incomprehensible statement and smacked her lips. Pointing to the wall, she spoke lucidly, “Up there.” Will stood listening, hoping she’d say more. Soon, she was breathing deeply and again, gently snoring.

                                                            .

I can run faster than this, let me off of this thing. My legs are not tired anymore. What is that whistling? Osiahapahnu, is that you?

No, it’s Hank.

Over here Hank, we found a bear.

nasundetehaude akoaih hagan ‘iyunde en saiki.

What did you say, Hank?

I just asked this bear, what he is doing here.

What did he say?

He didn’t say nothin’, Angela, bears don’t talk. We need to gather some . . .

What do we need Hank?

Fish. Mukua . . . from . . . from . . . You will know your own heart as you bring him from death to life. The irony is that he will be healing you because you chose to take care of him. He has chosen you.

Osiahapahnu, I can’t make sense of any of this.

I want you to be well for a night, Angela, and to not be frightened.

Well? You want me to be well? What do you mean?

Yeah, yeah, and just who do you think will be getting him his groceries? Me, that’s who; you two will run around healing each other and feeling good about yourselves, and it’ll be me who does all the running and fetching. I ain’t got enough goin’ on but now, I gotta play nursemaid to some old parasite breading ground?

Will, we have to help this bear. If we don’t . . .

If we don’t, what?

He will die.

That is not why you help. You help so you can be helped. If you don’t help, you will never understand the things you need to know in order to escape.

Escape? Osiahapahnu, what do you mean escape? Escape what?

Escape the model. There is a place where you can escape. Read the words on the rocks. As you help this bear, you will know, you will understand.

We’ll go fishing Angela.

You two go on ahead now, go fishing.

Thursday

CHAPTER 4

The irrigation commissioner for Big Knife County had won election on the promise that he would use his personal airplane for head gate inspections. With the county maintaining his plane and providing fuel, he took advantage of every opportunity to take early morning flights around the area. Three natural streams, coming from the mountains in the north of the valley, fed a series of irrigation canals. The water level in these creeks was high in spring and rarely ran completely dry before the next seasonal snowfall in the mountains. At the lower end of the valley, the remainder of the water in these creeks fed into the Big Knife River, south of Big Knife. 

This morning, the commissioner flew low over Marion and increased his air speed, gaining altitude for the run up the valley. As he banked, turning north, a vibration rattled his gauges. He banked harder left and watched as debris fell, splashing into a small pond behind a wrecked beaver dam. The water slowly emptied down a spillway created by the dynamite explosion. A hundred yards north of the pond, a man on the ground waved to him. The commissioner saluted in response.

As he continued his flight, the terrain began to rise up to meet him. Toward the end of the valley, the plane again banked hard left, making a one hundred and eighty degree turn. Again gaining altitude and speed, the commissioner flew his plane in a beeline for the Big Knife air field.

As he flew close to the sloping foothills of Biawihi, something caught his attention. The natural stone tones and scrub brush greens were interrupted by a flicker of non-native color quickly detected in his peripheral vision. Jerking his head right, he scanned the hillside, but saw nothing. Curiosity caused him to bank the plane left and fly another wide, arching u-turn over Marion. Aiming toward the mountain again, he flew along the cleft of a ravine. Decelerating, and descending, he flew comfortably along until he found what had caught his eye.

                                                            .

Leah got out of bed and cautiously stepped to the window. Peering around the curtain, she saw nothing unusual in her front yard. A fat circular roll of store ads lay on the ground just inside her hedge. Exhaling slowly, she relaxed, and then straightened her shoulders dismissively. Store ads thrown over my hedge caused the shadow on my wall, she thought. She smiled, forcing away the uncomfortable fear

Though rare, there were times when she felt vulnerable; times when the secure woman again felt like a little girl. As that little girl, she had run to her seemingly invincible father when afraid. Since leaving home she had easily met harsh conditions with that same steadfastness that made her father a giant in her eyes; a quality that was now her own. The courage that she had inherited by equal parts nature and nurture had given her a tall yard stick by which she measured men. She had never met one who so comfortably inspired security in her as had her father. Well, maybe one comes close. She thought. Why didn’t I think of him?

She again picked up the phone. As she entered the number for directory assistance, she realized that her hands were gently trembling. A voice spoke, asking for her choice. Leah requested the Big Knife Valley area, Gary and Grace Erickson of North Camp Road.

                                                            .

The phone was ringing in the living room. Gary Erickson seldom answered it before having his coffee and showering for the day. He stood in the kitchen, pouring coffee into his Thermos. These early morning callers were usually obsessive clients, hoping to catch his undivided attention before he left for the day. Gary had long ago decided that his personal hours at home would not be mixed with business. He allowed voicemail to collect the calls made after 7:00 pm and before 8:00 am. He took calls during the day on his Blackberry. After three rings, the phone clicked, indicating that the caller had hung up.

            Reaching into the refrigerator, he grabbed two packs of cigarettes from the carton in the door tray and tossed them onto the counter near his lunch box. The coffee cup by the sink had half of an inch of coffee at its bottom, and the cigarette burning in the ashtray had a long ash extending from its tip. Picking up the cigarette and tapping the ash into the sink, Gary put it to his lips and drew in a deep drag. He blew the smoke into the sunlight streaming through the window above the sink and watched it hang suspended for a few seconds. Grace complained about him smoking in the house. While he agreed with her in principle, he defiantly continued to smoke in the kitchen with his first cup of coffee. he dropped the remainder of the butt into the half-inch of lukewarm coffee. Instead of igniting the oil slick on the coffee’s surface, the cigarette sizzled out and floated.

Gary wore torn gray sweat pants and a white t-shirt. He was barefoot. Rubbing his bristly chin, he looked around the kitchen. A cereal bowl containing a small pool of milk with three Cheerio floaters rested on the kitchen counter. The glass next to it was set in a puddle of orange juice, and a stool lay on its side on the floor. The electronic game that his son had received for Christmas perched precariously at the edge of the counter top, hanging on the edge nearly too far to remain in place. Gary reached and rescued his son's toy, giving it a more secure resting place next to the cereal bowl yet away from the orange juice pond.

The television in the living room, left on earlier by his son, announced the local weather forecast: partly cloudy for Portage Falls, the larger town one hundred miles to the west, over the Biawihi Mountain range. A commercial jingle began to play and Gary stopped listening as he directed his attention to the ceiling. There was thumping and the sound of running feet. He heard the muffled voice of his wife Grace, communicating morning instructions to their son Dalton, prompting him to prepare for school.

Again the phone rang.

Gary replaced the coffee pot into the coffee maker and switched it off. He screwed the green stopper into the top of his Thermos, causing coffee to overflow and run down the side. Reaching into the cupboard over the dishwasher while closing the refrigerator door with his foot, he grabbed his go-cup. It had been given to him by the guys on his crew six years earlier. The faded lettering on the side, almost unreadable now, had once clearly proclaimed, Never Trust Anyone Over Thirty. He shook the cup to his ear and heard water sloshing between the outer covering and the inner lining.

Dalton flew down the stairs at that moment and attached himself to Gary’s leg. “Bye Dad, I love you.”

“I love you too, Wild Man,” said Gary as he leaned down to kiss his son. “Get real smart today.”

Dalton detached himself from his father's leg and ran for the back door through the kitchen. After hurdling the stool on the floor, he grabbed his folder of school papers from the table as he passed and was gone with a slam of the screen door.

The phone clicked into message mode, then clicked off. The calling party had given up.

“Hey,” Gary stepped quickly over the stool and reached the back door in four steps. From the porch he yelled after Dalton, “No more throwing pens, do you hear me?”

Dalton was up to full speed as he ran past Gary’s pickup truck, but he turned without missing a step and ran backward to acknowledge his father. “Right Dad, see you later. I gotta catch Tommy.” He turned, making a tire screeching noise with his voice, and ran forward again, rounding the corner of the back fence and disappearing from Gary's view.

            Gary walked back through the kitchen, reached around the stairway wall into the living room and grabbed the phone handset from its base. The screen lit up as he lumbered up the stairs. “Hmm,” he said as he tried to recall the location of the area code on the small screen. “Helix,” he whispered, remembering. He walked into the bathroom and set the phone down on his work folder by the sink. Doesn’t Will’s daughter live in Helix? He shot shaving cream into his hand and rubbed it onto his bristly face. As he looked in the mirror, curiosity got the best of him. Again picking up the phone, Gary looked hard at the number. He wrote it on the cover of his folder, and then pressed the button to return the call one handed, with his thumb. Holding the phone away from his face, keeping it clear of the shaving cream on his cheek, he listened as the call went through. He shaved absentmindedly with his free hand.

Memories of the day, three years earlier when he had met Leah on one of her visits home, flooded his mind. He could see her standing next to her father, his friend, Will Banner in the grocery aisle of Tory’s market.

                                                            .

Will had driven her into Big Knife that cold, snowy morning. An overabundance of steam rose from the river at the submerged hot springs by the turnoff to town. The river had been iced in from its edges but still flowed through the main channel with sulfur from the springs graying the water and filling the surrounding atmosphere with putrid flatulence.

Will down-shifted his Dodge as they entered the city limits, passing the 35 mile per hour speed limit marker. Leah searched Blue’s Department Store’s parking lot as they passed. It was an unconscious habit. Blue’s had been the evening gathering spot for the high schoolers during her teens. Absentmindedly, she always looked that direction when coming into town, searching for her friends of twenty years ago, all in their late thirties now and not easily identifiable. Leah smiled at her lapse.

Will relished their father/daughter time. He asked questions and Leah answered as she spoke of her life in Helix, carefully embellishing certain details while deliberately leaving others out. Will breathed these details in like badly needed oxygen. They’d had breakfast at Jenkins’ Restaurant and then stopped at Tory’s Market to buy the monthly stock of groceries for the lake home. It was there that they had run into the tall construction worker, Gary Erickson. Leah’s heart beat hard as she instinctively sucked in her tummy—a bit late to not be caught doing it.

            Gary had smiled. He looked too deeply into her eyes for someone whom she had just met, unnerving her pleasantly. It was the rare man who could affect her in this way. He had taken her hand gently as Will introduced them. The moment was lost, however, when a pretty woman with menacing eyes had rounded the corner, pushing her cart up their aisle. “Gary?” Grace, his wife, interrupted questioningly.

                                                                        .

Leah answered her phone, “Hello.”

A man’s voice spoke into her ear, “Good morning, this is Gary Erickson, returning your call.”

The sound of Gary’s business voice took Leah by surprise. “Yes, hello, is this Gary?” Of course it’s Gary, she admonished herself, putting her right palm to her forehead and squeezing her eyes closed, he just said so.

“Yes, it is. And who’s this?” he laughed.

Leah hesitated for a second and then blurted, “This is Leah Banner. Remember, Will Banner’s daughter?” Leah pictured him smiling, looking down at her. “Thank you for calling me back. Gary, I‘m having difficulty reaching my folks; have you seen them recently?”

“Not recently.” Gary thought hard, trying to remember his last conversation with Will. “The last I remember talking to your dad has to be about a month ago. That's odd, come to think of it. He usually comes into town once or twice a week. It could be that their road isn’t good.” Gary reached for a towel and wiped the shaving cream from his face.

“I wonder if I could ask a favor of you, Gary.”

“Shoot.”

“Would you mind running up to the lake and checking on them for me? I know that would take the better part of your day but I’d really appreciate it.”

“I could go up Saturday. I’m pretty slammed until then.”

“Thank you; that would be great.” Leah had hoped Gary would offer to take a trek up to Marble Lake sooner, but she politely refrained from pushing him with the request. “I’ll look forward to your call on Saturday afternoon. Say hello to Grace for me.”

Leah shivered remembering the grocery store incident, Grace Erickson’s eyes staring a piercing message that engraved, don’t even think about it, into Leah’s brain. Grace had then taken hold of Gary’s arm and turned him around to walk with her down the aisle of the grocery store. Her eyes had remained locked onto Leah’s as she had walked away, her head turned, looking over her shoulder. She had smiled a knowing smile as she turned away slowly, chin up, with a hint of superiority in her penetrating eyes, closing them in a slow sensuous blink.

Leah hadn’t backed down. She had maintained that eye contact, accepting the challenge, until Grace had broken it. “Unbelievable,” Leah had said in a half whisper, still staring at the back of Grace’s head as she walked away with Gary.

“I sure will,” said Gary, bringing her back to the present moment, “and don’t worry, Leah; everything is probably just fine up there.” Gary reached for the pen from his folder and initialed LB next to Leah’s number. Writing her name, instead of merely the initials, would have been inviting a fight with his wife if she should happen to see it. He had learned to be very careful.

While at the Banners’ the previous season, Gary had enjoyed conversing with Leah, who had been visiting over Thanksgiving. Will had invited him up to see their bear. Gary slipped and mentioned to Grace that Will’s daughter Leah had been there. The fight had lasted three days.

Gary said, “I’ll call you Saturday, then. It’s good to hear from you, and I hope we get to see you again, soon.”

“Thank you, Gary; I hope to be up soon. Bye now.” Leah ended the call and leaned back against her pillows.

She slowly closed her eyes; the vivid image of Gary sitting at her parent’s table, laughing and talking--almost flirting--brought a smile to her face. The memory of the topic of that conversation was unimportant at the moment but she allowed the sound of Gary’s voice to continue in her mind as he spoke his last words again in her freshly forming fantasy. I hope to see you again . . . soon. Leah imagined him pulling her down into the bed as she slid once again between the sheets, her nightshirt twisting up around her waist.

Thomas!

Leah tried to force her present boyfriend’s visage from her thoughts and rejoin Gary, but it was not possible. Thomas’s face intruded into her ethereal desire, demanding her focus and dissolving the intense pleasure that she had been cultivating. Her fantasy of making love with Gary evaporated.

 

Thursday

CHAPTER 3

“Hello. You’ve reached the voice-mail of Will and Angela Banner. Please leave a detailed message for my entertainment and someone might call you back.”

The feminine voice that spoke after her father's outgoing message provided lengthy options and Leah sighed impatiently. As the prompt tone beeped, she paused. Her father usually returned her calls within a couple of days, but she had received no word from him in nearly three weeks, during which time, she had left several messages. Leah dropped the phone to the blanket that covered her lap as she sat upright in bed, leaning against her pillows.

Moving to Helix, seven hundred-seventy three miles southwest of her parent’s home near Big Knife, had seemed like a great idea a couple of decades earlier when they had still been young and strong. But, as the years passed, the distance she had purposely placed between herself and her childhood home had become a source of anxiety.

Leah had launched herself from Big Knife in order to establish her own life and career. Her two semester attendance at the community college in Helix had run afoul of her ingrained initiative. That, coupled with youthful impatience, had driven her attempt and success at passing the state realtor’s exam. So, by age eighteen, Leah Banner had begun her adult life as a member of the Helix business community.

Maybe their phone is on the fritz or maybe Dad just forgot to charge the battery, she thought. But three weeks?

She sucked in a quick breath at the thought of the orphan her mother had taken in the previous autumn. Leah’s imagination sparked and then exploded as the graphic thought of a wounded grizzly bear going berserk, ripping, snarling and tearing attacked her morning contemplation. She shuddered as she pushed the horrible vision from her mind. During her visit home the previous Thanksgiving, Leah’s mother had showed her the wounded, sleeping bear in the tool shed.  Leah had turned to Angela disbelievingly and said, “Mom, what are you thinking? You can’t keep a bear.” She had then implored her father, “Dad, reason with her.” But he had only shrugged his shoulders and said; “You think it’ll do any good?” he had then turned and walked back to the house.

The bear had begun to play indistinct roles in a recurring nightmare; an opera that had been plaguing Leah’s sleep in recent weeks. The dream would begin with Hank’s father, Old Wolf Shoyo rocking in his chair on the back porch of his cabin, his eyes closed. In her dream, Leah was a little girl again. She sat on the porch looking up at Old Wolf as he rocked slowly. She could hear him whisper as his lips moved. Soon he was speaking a name in repetition and rocking faster. She joined him in his mantra. It built and grew until she and the old man were shouting aloud. The bear would walk slowly out of the dark murky trees into the clearing behind the house. He seemed to float through the low fog toward her. Old Wolf threw his eyes open just as the bear reached them. The animal leaned in to sniff Leah’s face. She was screaming aloud helplessly “Osiahapahnu,” the name being chanted; the only portion of the dream left unremembered as her own voice would awaken her.

Opening her eyes, Leah erased the grotesque vision. It was only a dream but her anxiety was real.

No one would just happen by to help. They were on their own up at the lake; no electricity, no land-line phone service and no wireless phone signal.

Six years earlier, Leah had talked her father into purchasing a wireless phone in order to make use of voicemail. She had also tried to sell him on the idea of putting up a satellite dish for Internet reception. This had fallen completely on deaf ears. But her father, Will, did agree to the phone and, to Leah's surprise, a television dish. He now spent most evening hours watching the news channels and having one-way arguments with the pundits on the TV screen.

On one visit home, she and her parents had been walking the Marble Mountain trail.  Halfway up, her phone awakened with a signal strong enough to make a call. She stopped to show her father the bars. His feigned confusion had caused her to over explain the system.  She said “Dad, you can check your messages and answer the calls from up here when you take your walks.”

“So, now I need to get one of them little phones now?” Will rubbed his chin.

“You redunded,” explained his wife Angela, as she slapped his arm, leaning around her tall husband to see her daughter’s phone screen for herself.

“I what?”

“You redunded. You said ‘now’ twice.” Angela looked up into his face.

“That’s not a word, Sweetie.” Will spoke carefully and looked at Angela with eyes full of contrived compassion, slowly shaking his head. “I believe the word you are looking for is ‘superfluouisiated.’”

She hit him again.

“I’m not too keen on having a little phone dictate where I’ll be taking my walks from now on.” He directed this to Leah, still speaking slowly. His manner indicated that he was being very patient with the women in his life.

Leah and her mother were rarely taken in. “Don’t be silly, Dad. If you had a phone, you could take it along with you. You could check your messages when you’re up here. I need to hear from you more often. And the signal is good down at the mailboxes, too. So, when you get the mail, take your phone.”

“OK, we’ll stop and get one tomorrow when we take you to the airport. Maybe we can leave early so you can help us choose one. I suppose they’ll trap me into a contract. We fight for our freedoms politically, only to willingly surrender them to some fat-cat corporation. It might be a good thing really, I guess. If the Good Lord comes for me I’ll just remind Him that I can’t go yet, I got a phone contract, have to keep my word, you know.” Will had then leaned down to kiss his daughter on the top of her head.

He turned and walked the path back toward the cabin, muttering loudly. Leah and her mother smiled knowingly at each other as Will exaggerated his confusion. He gestured first with his left hand and then his right, as if trying to get it straight. “Take a walk--check for messages. Take the phone--go to the mailbox.”

There were two, side by side fastened to a common board atop a post down at the county road turnaround. These mailboxes were fashioned into miniature log cabins with red flags on the right side and names on the front. The old Honda Civic, parked between the lane and the box labeled Banner, had seen better days. Shoyo was the name prominently displayed on the other box. The lane leading away from the Shoyo box swung around the ridge to the northwest and ended at Hank Shoyo’s cabin on the tree line, walking distance north of the Banner place via the lake trail.

Leah knew that Hank never turned his phone on except to make calls. He left it under the seat of his Jeep. Those things going off all the time, Leah remembered her father’s partner saying, it’s like people just walking in without being invited. Hank Shoyo never checked his voicemail either, so leaving a message asking about her parents would be wasted effort. Leah doubted if Hank had ever taken the time to learn how to retrieve messages from his phone.

She pondered the ages of her loved ones. “Daddy’s eighty-one…” Her voice trailed off as she comprehended the age. She had arrived at the halfway point between her birth and her parent’s ages. She always thought Hank to be about the same age as her father, although when questioned, “It keeps changing,” was his answer.

From down the hall, her bird chirped and whistled at the sound of her voice. “Morning, Jazzy.” The pleasant distraction lightened her mood and she smiled and then sighed. “Why have I let them live up there alone all these years?” She cocked her head sideways in thought. Let them?  

She had learned to lean on the horn when topping the ridge that began the last leg of the old two track trail that led down to the large cabin by the lake. The way, often rutted and slow going allowed her folks, having heard her signal, plenty of time to put their clothes on.

Leah honked her salutations, but Hank’s was whistled. His shrill signal, (also for the purpose of avoiding a naked surprise), after the quarter mile walk along the path through the woods and along the lake shore between the two cabins, always brought Dog running and barking from the Banner front porch.

No rest home for the Banners, thought Leah. What home for the elderly has woods where they can run nude, giggling like school children? What retirement village has a lake where Dad can take his morning swim? It amazed Leah that her father still walked out onto the boat dock upon rising every morning, in the warm season, to dive into the frigid waters of Marble Lake. In winter, he replaced this ritual with falling backward, unclothed, into the snow off the back deck, to create a snow angel, often in sub-zero temperatures.

            “It’s good for the circulation—keeps the blood flowing. Ain’t that the truth, Anj?” Leah remembered her father teasing her mother. “Ain’t that the truth, Anj?” Leah smiled. He often repeated himself when her mother ignored him, which she did often when he pressed her to join him in some playful banter. Her mother, having heard his tired old wit for many years, enjoyed making comments of her own, proving that she could easily keep up. “I’ll just take it as it comes, Old Man.” She would pause for effect. “When,” then she’d smile sweetly, “if.”

Leah’s memories awakened her longing. “I’m homesick,” she said with subtle surprise. What happens to people who grow old without loved ones--without children? She wondered. Who holds them up? She shook with a shiver of loneliness. “Leah Banner doesn’t need anyone,” she lied, “except…”

“Are you still there?” asked the automated voice, the small words spoke quietly to Leah from the handset lying in her lap. “Press one for more op . . .” Leah pressed the off button. No more messages, I’ve left too many already, she thought. The helplessness of the situation brought a furrowed brow over her green eyes. A tear of frustration leaked onto her cheek.

The increasing light of morning glowed through her window and equalized the weak blush coming from her bedside lamp. She switched it off. Sunlight focused on the wall opposite the window. Sudden shadowed movement across the lighted wall caused Leah to jerk with alarm. Sucking in a breath and holding it, she slid slowly down into the bed. Fright kept her silent as she waited, straining to hear further evidence of an intruder--a tap, a creaking footstep in the hall, or a quick careless breath.

Thursday

CHAPTER 2

 

Wisps of vapor burned off of low vegetation along the pavement’s edge as the early morning sun warmed the cold asphalt. Will drank coffee from his Thermos cup while seated next to Hank, who drove the narrow two lane highway at 70 miles per hour in his old pickup truck. Hank mumbled, “Dad’s teaching Angela and Leah stuff.” 

Will sat quietly waiting for Hank to continue but he didn’t. He just watched the road intently as he drove.  Will slowly asked, “What sort of stuff, Hank?”

Hank was startled. “What?”

“What sorts of things is Old Wolf teaching Angela and Leah?”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Uh huh.” The two men again sat silent for a minute before Will again pressed. “What is Old Wolf teaching them?”

“All kinds of stuff, I guess. Angela seems to know a lot about some stuff, as much as I know, anyway. She talks to me about things like I should know what she’s saying. Sometimes, though, I don’t.” Hank often pulled subjects out of the air. He spoke continuations of his thoughts. “She asked me the other day about Osiahapahnu--said she thought he had something to do with Tap Neh Apahnu, and asked me if I could fill in the blanks. She said Dad told her that stuff.”

            “Tap Knee A-who?”  Will’s aspect was that of restrained mirth. He would often make fun of things that he didn’t understand, employing his sense of subtle, dry humor. He had long battled with himself trying to stop being such an uninformed cynic, but it often crept out before he was able to stop himself. Looking at Hank with an affected solemn expression, he spoke, “Yeah, she talks to me about that stuff too, says I contracted Pahnu somehow.”  

            Hank remained composed, not willing to fall prey to his friend’s setup. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he took the bait. “Contracted? You mean like a disease?”

“Yeah, something like that. I think it’s an Indian thing, some sort of Indian spiritual stuff, right?”

“You don’t make any sense, Will.”

“Well, whatever. I got it. Angela says so,” answered Will with self-assurance. He waited, hoping Hank would engage him farther. When the silence began to undo his timing, he again pressed. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“Pahnu or whatever, what is it?”

“Thought you said Angela told you.”

“She said I had it, didn’t say what it was.” Will again reached for Hank’s Thermos bottle. He poured coffee into Hank’s old dirty coffee cup that rested on the dashboard, and then topped off his own. He lifted Hanks cup and nudged his friend’s arm.

Hank took the cup and took a sip. “Thanks.”

“Well?” said Will after another brief silence.

“Well what? I said thanks.”

“Not that, Pocahontas. Pahnu--what is it?”

“Oh I see the coffee was a bribe?” said Hank. “Might not be enough. What else you got?”

“I s’pose I maybe could give you a little kiss, maybe. But that would make me sort of a whore wouldn’t it?” The situation was more comfortable now that Hank was playing along.

              Hank glared. “You don’t want to do that, Will.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “You wouldn’t like it.” He sipped his coffee, and then continued, “Pahnu?” Again he looked at Will, weighing his response and considering the consequences of delivery, “She thinks you have a guardian guide or spiritual power from Tap Neh Apahnu.”

“What?”

              “Pahnu, dummy, you asked about Pahnu. Tap Neh Apahnu is like . . . like God, I guess.” English definition was failing him. He hadn’t spoken of Tap Neh Apahnu to anyone but his father, Old Wolf and certain older members of his tribe years ago. He lapsed into the tongue of his childhood and mumbled, “Da`bai makua.” He sat quietly for a moment, trying to think of how to explain to Will.

Will was aware of his friend’s seriousness and became worried that if he pressed Hank again, or joked at the wrong instant, he might not get the information he wanted. But after a minute, he couldn’t help himself. “Don’t really know what that is either, Hank, what you just said there.” Will’s voice was low, and he spoke slowly.

“OK, Will, it’s like this.” Hank cleared his throat. “A long time ago, there were some young men who went off on their own. The tribe did not send them, they just left. When they returned, they claimed to have seen things.” Again there was silence. Hank seemed to be deep in thought.

“What things, Hank? Am I playing twenty questions here? Why can’t you just tell me?” insisted Will.

“Thought I was.” Being ordered to explain irritated Hank.

              Will realized that he had to back off or Hank would stop talking altogether. “I'm sorry, Hank.”

Hank smiled with a hint of satisfaction and continued, “Some stuff they said made certain important members of the tribe angry. These young men claimed to have experienced Puha together. They all told the same story. The tribe decided that they should be banished. These men went to live up on Marble Mountain with their women, on the flats off the trail up there.

“In the season when the tribe returned from the south, they always expected these men to be gone or dead, but they lived up there just fine, year round. Dad says their Puha brought game through the winters. Sometimes people would go up to them to learn the things they had seen, but people always went up in secret, not wanting nobody to know what they were doin’.”

“Did they write that stuff on the rocks up there?” asked Will.

“Dad thinks so, yeah. They held to their strange story, the things that the beings of their Puha had told them. A small number of my people have kept the story. My dad is about the last one who knows it. The story is about two medicines struggling for control over people. It’s why Dad has worked all his life to buy that land around the lake. He wanted to keep the sacred ground. The tribe don’t care at all about it.”

“Hank, what’s Puha?”

              “No one disputes that, just what these men said about it. My people go on vision quests as boys and come back as men after receiving Puha in vision; it might be a bear, a wolf or anything, even a bird. Puha becomes your companion throughout your life. You never hunt your Puha for food, but it helps you hunt and brings game to you.

“How about you Hank, you got a Puha?”

“It’s none of your business, Will.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s just a personal thing, Will, that’s all I meant.” Hank took a sip of coffee, and then continued, “These young men claimed that their Puha was a bear, a big grizzly standing quietly on all fours. It’s a good thing that the bear was not standing on its hind legs, dancing. That’s a bad thing. And they said men were there with the bear and these men talked to them. They told them, ‘Beware of others who are coming.’ They said to not be fooled, because they would be untrue.

“Then later, when white men came preaching to us and making us speak English, it sounded to some a lot like the old stories of these men from long ago, except the god in Christianity was angry with my people. At least in the old stories of Pahnu, Tap Neh Apahnu wasn’t mad at us, so most of my people didn’t listen to missionaries much. And the ones who knew the story of these men on Marble Mountain figured the white men were the ones coming, like they had said.”

              Hank’s voice lowered. Will leaned closer to hear. “Knowledge comes from the teachings of the old men. It is understood because we are blood. I mean, understanding comes easy through our generations.” Hank sipped more coffee. “The old ones teach but it is like we really already knew it when we first hear it. My father is the last of the old men who knows these stories. I know some, but they are mostly lost now. It’s funny that Old Wolf tells Angela about them. I doubt she understands so well. Daiboo’,” said Hank with an indignant tone, “there’s no . . . Tsuqupe` deesua-,” Again he fell silent. He looked at Will as if Will should know what he had just said and would be in agreement. Will just shrugged his shoulders and looked confused.

Hank didn’t wait for him to ask. “Tsuqupe` deesua--old men. White men don’t have any teachers. You have old men, but no one listens to them. And it doesn’t matter anyway because they don’t know anything. Now we are becoming like you. Our old men and old women still tell us, but no one listens to them. We have become like you.” Hank relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. He hadn't realized how tense he had become trying to explain things to his friend.

“OK Will, it’s like this: Tap Neh Apahnu watches. People don’t mind if Tap Neh Apahnu watches because they don’t give him any thought really. So they don’t find ‘im because they don’t look, no one asks. He’s there but no one knows it and no one cares. Tap Neh Apahnu grants wisdom, power and protection to them that searches for it. To them that feels a need.

“So, you see, you probably don’t have Pahnu. Did you ever have a vision? No, you didn’t. Did Pahnu come to you in a dream? No. You have never gone on a vision quest and you don’t even understand Puha. Angela just felt sorry for you. She was tryin’ to be nice, I think, saying you have Pahnu like that. I think it is funny how she knows, though. Dad is telling her and little Leah about things that no one believes anymore.”

“Except your tribe. Right?”

“No, my people don’t believe it neither. Mostly no one has ever heard of it except the old people who say it’s bad and wrong. It's considered untrue even today, maybe especially today. No one ever talks about it.”

              Hank's truck radio was turned on but it wasn't tuned to a station. It emitted a low level white noise that was all but drowned out by the whine of the truck tires and the breeze whistling steadily through the truck’s worn window seals. After several minutes of deep deliberation, trying to get his mind around the things that Hank had just told him, Will shrugged dismissively and said, “You don’t really believe all that stuff, do you, Hank?”

“Will, you are a prejudiced man. Don’t even ask me nothin’ no more. Why do I bother with you?” Hank looked out the side window, hurt, a disgusted, angry expression on his face.

“Because you love me,” Will spoke softly.

“No, I don’t.” Hank shook his head deliberately, looking quickly at Will.

Will was painfully aware that he had again offended his friend, and kidding around wasn’t going to help the situation. “I didn’t mean it, Hank; I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you did too. You’re not sorry,” said Hank quietly.

Will looked at Hank sheepishly and cautiously asked, “Can I ask you something else?”

“No, don’t ask me nothin’ no more.”

Will ignored the statement. He needed to understand what was being taught to his wife and daughter. “Leah was talking about protectors yesterday when they came home from Old Wolf’s cabin.”

Hank looked at Will incredulously. “Protectors?”

“Yeah, protectors. Leah said Old Wolf told her she had a protector, sort of like a guardian angel, Indian style.”

              Hank was thoughtful as he shook his head in resigned futility. “Will, I just told you. That’s Pahnu. You think it’s all ridiculous anyway, so why are you asking me about it?” Hank’s better judgment was screaming for him to keep silent, to not be drawn in again, but he couldn't stop. “OK, Will, look here: Dad thinks that this Osiahapahnu that Angela dreams about is real. He thinks when Angela dreams, Osiahapahnu comes and gives her answers to things that are important for her. That’s Pahnu. It's these people who come and talk with us. The animal we see in vision quest is Puha. Got it?”

“Yeah, but how does she contact him? The Pahnu, I mean? Do you shake rattles and do a dance or something?” Again Will’s comment was cutting, but there was a quality of desperation in his tone. It surprised him and he shrank, hoping Hank hadn’t caught it.

Hank had caught it, and he looked at Will with amused understanding. “Well now,” Hank smiled. He had the upper hand again. “It’s simple enough; even little Leah understands it. Maybe she will explain it to you so you can, too. Maybe if she explains real slow.”

                                                            .

              Will chuckled and shook his head. It seemed to him that only days had passed instead of decades since he and his best friend had had this conversation on their way to work that day long ago.

            “What’s so funny, old man?” said Angela. “It’s a good thing we live up here. The way you’re always talking and giggling to yourself, most people would have put you away a long time ago.” She closed her eyes and spoke tiredly. “So you’d just better be good to me. You never know when I might come to my senses about you.”

Will answered quietly. “I just was thinking. That’s all, Anj. Remembering when Hank first told me about Tap Neh Apahnu.”

Angela opened her eyes and looked at her husband. “That was a long time ago, Will.” She fell silent for a minute, and then gently, she probed, “It took you a long time to believe. Do you still talk to him?”

Will raised his eyebrows. A touch of red came to his cheeks. This subject was the only one that made Will feel shy around his wife. It was deeply personal for him. He deflected, “Do you, Anj?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “and Osiahapahnu still comes to me when I dream.”

Will smiled and nodded approvingly.

The gas lamp on the kitchen wall of the Banner cabin burned dimly. Long shadows mixed with soft yellow light danced in the living area of the open main floor. When the light flickered the shadows contracted, then, just as suddenly stretched to exaggerated length. In the corner of the room, behind smoky glass, fire crackled in a woodstove, providing accompaniment to the shadow dance and penetrating warmth that can only come from wood heat. A thin haze hung in the upper atmosphere of the high room’s log structure. The bedroom loft extended halfway into the vaulted area, directly above the position of Angela’s daybed. Snaps of pitch exploding in the stove sent fragrant pine perfume into the living area.

                Full daylight would reveal a complete view of Marble Lake from the kitchen's east window. The west wall, consisting mostly of modestly draperied glass, held two center panels which egressed to a large pine deck. Beyond the deck was a meadow of tall grass. To the north of this meadow was forest, and beyond the grasses to the west of the cabin, the terrain was dotted with boulders and patches of sage. The ground sloped up from this point and formed the ridge that semi-circled the lake valley.

Will Banner smiled at his wife Angela, stroking her hair as she lay on the daybed in the great room. He sat next to her on a stool. “Doc Sally would have you feeling fit in no time, Anj, if you’d just let me take you to town.”

              Angela reaffirmed her intention to persevere, free of medical assistance. “I don’t want to go into Big Knife, Will. If you put me in St. Michael’s, they’ll never let me out. I’ll die there. That’s what old people do in hospitals--die. Do you really believe they’d allow you to bring me back up here home? They’d probably stick me in that god forsaken old folks’ center they’ve got down there.” She narrowed her eyes, boring into her husband’s. “Are you wantin' rid of me?”

Will’s attention had drifted. He stared at the large family portrait that hung on the south wall of the great room in a rough pine frame. The photo, taken twenty-three years earlier, revealed a dark haired version of himself sporting gray temples. He was leaning forward to lessen his height as he smiled for the camera from over his wife’s right shoulder. Angela, posed sitting sideways, her head turned toward the photographer, smiled her closed-lipped smile, and seventeen year old Leah sat directly in front of and below her mother, beaming. The photo was taken the last year that Leah had lived at the lake.

“Hey, where’d you go? Are you listening to me?” demanded Angela.  

              Will trembled a single, subtle jerk. He looked down at Angela, as if just discovering her lying there. His eyes refocused and he was back. “Huh?”

“What did I just say?”

“You said you think you’re pregnant.”

“Will!” she said, looking away and feigning exasperation.

“No doctor? How about a medicine man?” Will became animated. “I know the best in all Big Knife Valley. I could send up smoke signals to Hank. Hank, the Medicine Man.” Will’s face expressed pride. Staring into the distance, he slowly enunciated the last words, left eyebrow raised.

“You’d probably get it wrong and send up ‘spank the medicine man’ and I’d have to explain to Hank that you aren’t stupid really, just no good at spelling with smoke.” Angela’s mouth turned up at the right corner, smiling as she spoke softly.

“Yes, that's true,” said Will, his gaze again fixed on something distant, his face frozen in a pleased expression.

Angela laughed. “What are you talking about?” She closed her eyes slowly. “Will, honey, my eyes are so hot. I wonder if Hank has something for dry eyes.”

Will chuckled quietly, “Hank.”