A Certain Kind of Hero (18 page)

“We did smoke the pipe together.”

“You and your grandfather?”

“He said I shouldn't smoke cigarettes, like he does, but that the pipe isn't like smoking. It's like a holy thing. I didn't understand all the prayers, but it felt…” A grunt conveyed his frustration with the puniness of mere words. “I liked the way it felt. Like someone was listening.”

Gideon affirmed the feeling with a nod. “I know what you mean. You try to hang on to that, okay? Don't let anything make you forget.”

That goes without saying,
Peter's big, brown, twelve-year-old eyes said. The look was all innocence, total trust.

Gideon suddenly felt like a very old man.

“I want you to know something, Peter. You and your mother are both very important to me. You're family, and that means
everything.” He stood next to the boy, their backsides resting against the counter, arms identically folded, one ankle crossed over the other, each contemplating his own bare toes. “I know we haven't been close, but if you're willing, I'd like to see that change.”

Raina appeared in the doorway, her sleepy eyes underscored by gray smudges of fatigue. By the look she gave him, Gideon knew she'd heard what he'd said. He saw no sign of approval, and none of disapproval. Only weariness.

“You look like you could use some coffee,” he said, straightening as though somebody had said,
Hop to it.

“I could, thanks.”

“I could make you some toast, Mom,” Peter offered, following Gideon's swift lead. “We've got English muffins, too, and raspberry jam.”

“Just…”

Gideon looked up from the coffeepot. Peter turned from the refrigerator. Both pairs of beautiful brown eyes anxiously awaited her command.

She smiled. “Actually, I think I could go for an English muffin, too.”

Peter smiled, too. “I'll make it for you.”

 

Despite Gideon's efforts to pave the way for a friendly, open-and-shut hearing, the group that gathered in the lobby outside Judge Half's chambers could well have been an assembly of strangers from different parts of the globe. And they might well have been gathered for a wake, unhappily scheduled for a still, sticky, sluggish summer afternoon. The air was cloying, the silence deafening, the eyes politely blind.

In reality, the only new face belonged to Raina's attorney, Jeffrey Metz, who met her at the courthouse. He shook hands all around, then sidled up to Raina and quietly assured her
that he had done his research and that he was “on top of the issues.” The judge had acted in accordance with state and federal law so far. “But we'll see,” he concluded as the judge opened his office door and announced that he was ready to discuss the Defender case.

They flowed toward the voice like molasses. First Arlen, then Metz, then Peter filed in. “Sorry about the air-conditioning,” the man who was waiting for them was saying. “It broke down yesterday.”

The judge's voice sounded prophetic. Gideon dragged his feet, reluctant to heed the call. And so did Raina. Just before they reached the office door, she tugged on his arm, suddenly desperate to draw him away from the others for a quick word. She looked up at him plaintively, as though ultimately he were the one she trusted.

“Gideon, I'm scared.”

He wanted to hold her in his arms, then and there. He glanced at the plain round clock that hung on the wall just above her head, but he didn't see the time. What he saw was two people holding on to each other for dear life. What he felt was her silky hair against his cheek, and what he heard was his voice promising her that she had nothing to worry about because he would take care of everything, and the hell with Mr. Jeffrey Metz.

He looked down at her again and smiled. In her long-sleeved blouse and navy skirt, she looked the perfect image of the fourth-grade teacher of every nine-year-old boy's dreams. Bad things should never happen to a woman like this, he told himself. He cast about for some magic words, but he drew a blank.

“You're doin' fine, Raina.”
Yeah, right. Some pitiful imitation of a hero you turn out to be, Defender.

Raina closed her eyes and shook her head. Her lips were
so pale they were almost translucent. “No, I'm not. They're going to take my son away.”

He put his hand on her shoulder and slid it slowly down the back of her arm. “I don't think so.”

“What if they do?” She glanced at the office door, which stood open, waiting. Her chest heaved on a quick, panicky breath. “There must be something I can do. Something
you
can do. Isn't there?”

“Arlen's not going to press this thing much further, Raina. After what happened this past weekend?” With a cluck of his tongue he shook his head. “It's not gonna happen.”

“What if it does?”

He squeezed her hand, her frantic question echoing in his head. As far as he was concerned, there was only one ultimate answer. “You're his mother. Nothing's ever gonna change that.”

The judge's voice shot through their circuits like a power surge.

“You two coming?”

Judge Half made the session feel more like a meeting than a hearing. Everyone sat around in a circle. Each face in the room glowed with its own sweaty sheen. Arlen sat near the window, fingering his pack of cigarettes. Gideon rested his ankle on his knee and waggled his booted foot. Peter had his knees going up and down like pistons as he bounced his heels on the floor. Raina's hands were knotted in her lap.

But everyone had a say. As promised, Judge Half was interested in hearing from almost everyone present. Jeffrey Metz simply took notes. The judge said he'd heard a rumor that Raina had inquired about a teaching position with the Pine Lake School.

“We're getting a new facility pretty soon, right, Chairman? Casino profits are goin' for a good cause.” At Gideon's
affirming nod, the judge turned to Raina. “If you really want to teach here again, I hope you get the job.”

“I enjoyed teaching here before,” she said.

Playing his role like an orchestra leader, the judge swung his seat toward Peter. “I see you're getting along with your grandfather pretty good.”

“We spent the weekend together.” Peter gripped his knees, trying to force them to be still for a moment, but they kept popping up at odd intervals, as though they had a mind of their own. “We went to the powwow and stuff.”

“That's good.” The judge cued Arlen. “How did that go, then?”

“Good, good.”

“I did sorta screw up on curfew times and stuff,” Peter admitted. “But, you know, if
nimishoomis
is still willing to let me come and visit once in a while, I'll behave myself a lot better.”

“
Nimishoomis,
huh? That's very good.” Judge Half reflected for a moment. “What would ‘once in a while' be, do you think?”

“I don't know.” The knees started bouncing furiously again. “I get pretty busy once school starts. But we can come back next summer.” Peter lifted one shoulder. “Or spring. I'd like to learn how to spear fish when Uncle Gideon gets us our treaty settlement.”

“You've been getting to know your uncle pretty well, too, I see. These are interesting times for all of us, Peter.” Without missing a beat in his lecture, Judge Half swept a handful of papers off the desk top just behind him. “It's good to be Chippewa. We are a small minority in this big American country, but we have much to be proud of. And these are interesting times for us. We know who we are, and we will let our neighbors learn who we are. And learn
from
us, if they
will.” He eyed Peter pointedly. “But we need every Chippewa we have.”

“Well, I'm Chippewa, Judge. I know that. I've always known that.”

“Good, good. Mrs. Defender has done well by you.” He spared Raina a deferential nod. “I encourage you to follow up on the teaching job. We need teachers. Don't we, Gideon?”

“We do.”

“So I just want to encourage that.” Turning to his papers, the judge gave the top one a cursory glance, then set it aside and scanned the next as he spoke.

“Now, I've gone over all the records. There is one glaring piece of information that is missing, and that, of course, is the identity of Peter's biological father. In fact, the court records contain an affidavit requesting his mother's anonymity, so that information was not available to the social worker, or to Mrs. Defender. But Arlen knew, because his daughter told him. And Jared Defender knew, because he had contact with her. According to the records, Jared made all the legal arrangements.” When he finally looked up, he directed his attention to Raina. “I found that interesting.”

“Jared was able to make the arrangements because he was a lawyer,” Raina explained quickly. “And Gideon told him that he knew—” she glanced at Arlen and said the next words softly, gently, seemingly for his benefit “—a woman who was looking for…adoptive parents for…”

It was as though another piece of the puzzle had dropped into the judge's handful of papers. He looked up at Gideon. “You knew.”

“Yes.”

“I see.” Ostensibly deep in thought, the judge set aside another page. “You realize that since Arlen is Peter's closest blood relative, and since every case of this kind affects not
only a child and a family, but also the interests and the future of the Pine Lake Band of Chippewa, I'm inclined to declare that the boy's biological grandfather—”

Gideon leaned forward. “Judge, my brother was an enrolled member of this band, and he was legally—”

“You're interrupting me, Mr. Chairman. And I am presiding here.”

There was a brief stare-down. Eyes smoldering, Gideon glanced away.

Having made his point, the judge continued, his imperious tone never wavering. “Now, I'm willing to recognize Mrs. Defender as Peter's mother in every sense but the biological sense. And the biological sense is what establishes Peter's degree of Chippewa blood, his right to tribal enrollment, and his right to call himself Pine Lake Chippewa. So I hope that Mrs. Defender will continue to take part in Peter's upbringing—in fact, I intend to stipulate with Mr. Skinner, who, as primary custodial—”

“No!” Gideon shot out of his chair, instinctively putting himself between Peter and the judge.

The move stunned everyone. Gideon could feel the eyes boring holes in him from all sides. He had but one ace, and it took him a moment to drag it up from its deep, dark, well-guarded hole.

With it came an icy exterior and a calm, steady voice. “Excuse me, Judge Half, I meant to say no, Arlen is not Peter's closest blood relative. I am.”

The judge didn't look too surprised. “I guess a simple blood test is all it will take to clear up this whole thing—”

“What are you talkin' about?” Peter demanded.

Gideon steeled himself against the voice until it came pounding on his ear. The boy's rising confusion speared Gideon right between the shoulder blades.

“Uncle…
Uncle
Gideon, what the
hell
are you talkin' about?”

Turning slowly, Gideon struggled with a thick tongue and a dearth of words. “Jared raised you, Peter. He was your father. I've got no right to make that claim.” He forced himself to look the boy in the eye. “But I…”

“Gave me away?”

Gideon rubbed his forehead with unsteady fingertips, then muttered an expletive into his palm. The room seemed to be tipping and swaying like the deck of a big fishing boat, and somewhere on the periphery, seesawing at odds with him right now, sat Tomasina's father and Peter's mother. He wished one of them would just blast him and get it over with.

But it was Peter who demanded, “Why?”

“All I can tell you right here and right now is that it wasn't because I didn't want to be your father.” Gideon turned unseeing eyes on Judge Half. “In a million years, I never thought you'd take the boy from the mother who raised him and give primary custody to…”

“An old man?” Arlen put in. “At least I know my duty to the boy.”

“You see it differently is all.”

Judge Half sat back in his chair. “Gideon, I guess you and me should have had a little heart-to-heart before we got everybody together for this. You know what's at stake here. We suffered the wholesale removal of Indian children from their tribes and families for longer than either one of us can remember, longer than Arlen can remember, and he's older than both of us put together.”

When his nickel's worth of humor fell flat, the judge turned his lecture back on Gideon. “We've been through this before, in this court. And you stood with the tribe. If you hadn't been personally involved this time—”

“Yeah, well, I
am
personally involved. And I thought some kind of a compromise could be worked out, so that Peter could have his grandfather as a
grandfather.
And his mother…and his father, Jared was his…” Suddenly the words wouldn't go together in the right order. Jared was his real, legal, undisputed… “Hell, I've been Peter's uncle all these years. I'm not… I promised—” He closed his eyes, and his voice drifted in frustration. “I promised not to interfere.”

“I'll order the blood tests. Soon as we have some results, we'll be able to make a decision.” For Gideon's benefit, Judge Half added a footnote. “I don't know who you made this promise to, but I suspect he's dead.”

He motioned Peter closer. “I'd like to talk with you just a little bit more, son, but the rest of them can listen in if they want. I have a feeling there's going to be some heated discussion after this little set-to breaks up, and I just want to give you a little background.” He glanced at each of the adults as he expounded. “'Cause I get 'em in here every day. Domestic entanglements. I deal with 'em every day. It's hard for people to get along. Gettin' harder all the time, seems like.