Crow Mountain (31 page)

P
eople stared at the two police officers escorting a scruffy, barefoot, wild-looking teenage girl, pushing her when she halted, uncertain and desperate in the gathering bustle of the terminal. A squad car had been waiting at the airport.

‘I will never, ever forgive you for this,' Hope turned and said to Meredith, a policeman's fist bunched in the back of her shirt. ‘This is everything you're supposed to be against.'

Meredith's mouth tightened as she took Hope's arm, pulling her out of the police officer's grip. ‘It's for the best.'

‘Not for Cal. Not for me. How could you
do
this? You're going back on everything you've ever taught me.'

‘They're calling your flight, ladies,' Chief Hart said. ‘We'll take you to the plane.'

Hope looked at him with murder in her eyes. Their things
had already been checked, and in Meredith's hands were passports and boarding passes. As they were escorted to the gate, Hope's heart and mind raced. She pulled the diary from her pocket and clutched it to her middle for comfort. There had to be a way to stop them taking her away, like Emily had been. There had to be.

The large doors were open ahead of them and as their documents were checked Hope could see they were to be the last people on the plane. She looked around. Life continued as normal in Helena's small airport. Hope felt as if hers was ending.

As they walked out on to the tarmac, Hope's feet became more leaden with every step. Her hand trembled when she reached for the handrail of the metal steps and she wasn't sure she could make it.

‘We'll be home soon, Hope,' Meredith said. ‘Here, take these.' She passed Hope her passport and boarding pass, ready for the flight.

The attendant was waiting at the top of the stairs, smiling and holding out a welcoming hand.

‘Let me take that for you though,' Meredith said, reaching for the diary.

Hope jerked back.

‘Hope? Hope!' Margaret Redfeather was sprinting across the tarmac as the plane's engines wound up, badge clutched in her hand. Behind her were two security guards and what looked like a porter. They skidded to a halt, breathing hard.

Margaret shook her head. ‘John Hart, who the
hell
do you
think you are?'

Hart folded his arms. ‘Just making sure Miss Cooper here doesn't miss her flight.'

‘You are not border control and you have no right to do this.' Margaret's voice was clear and strong. ‘You can't just deport people.'

Hart stared at Margaret. ‘You interfere, I'll get you fired.'

‘Try it. One more reason on a long list for me to find a way to kick your ass, eventually. And who knows when that day will come?' A hint of a smile crossed her face.

He snorted. ‘You people. You've been beat for a hundred and fifty years and you still can't see it.'

Meredith hoisted her bag a little higher on her shoulder. ‘I want to take my daughter home. She's not thinking clearly.'

‘
I am
,' Hope objected. She looked at the police chief, then at her mother. ‘This is about you, Mum. You're trying to control me. I don't
want
to go home.'

Margaret turned to her, taking her shoulders. ‘Hope. You're sixteen, right?'

‘Yes.'

‘And you're on your own passport with a tourist visa, yes?'

Hope nodded.

‘And you want to stay here. I need you to say it aloud, if that's what you want.'

Hope looked at her mother, at all of them. ‘I want to stay,' she said in a level voice. She clutched her passport firmly to her chest with the diary.

‘Hope—' Meredith began.

‘No, Mum, personal agency, remember? I'm choosing this.
Me
.'

Margaret nodded, once. ‘Good enough for me. You can stay. You've done nothing wrong and no one can make you go.'

‘I say she goes,' Hart snapped, leaning over Margaret.

She eyed him, only an inch or so shorter, not backing down. ‘This is your life, isn't it? Endless little abuses of your power to make yourself feel like the big man. Hating on my people, fitting up others for things they didn't do because of some grudge you imagine you got. And that's only the tip of it. I know, 'cause I've looked. Well, I've called Internal Affairs.'

‘You called IA on me?' Chief Hart began to go purple in the face and drew back his arm, fist clenched.

Margaret took a step away, pulling out her gun from under her black jacket, pointing it directly into his face. ‘You strike me and it'll be the last thing you do. For a hundred and fifty years the Harts have been lying and cheating their way into Montana law enforcement. No more.'

He spat on the tarmac at her feet. ‘Dirt-worshipping
bitch
. You've gotten above yourself with this one.'

Margaret laughed. A wild, joyous laugh that battled the plane's engines. ‘Call me all the names you want, shitheel, but you won't touch me and you won't make that girl go anywhere she doesn't want to go.' She turned to Hope. ‘When you're ready, the car's parked out front.'

Hope looked over her shoulder at her mother, standing on
the metal steps of the plane. Then she ran back to the terminal, bare feet pounding the tarmac.

In the old convertible, more grey than silver, Hope held the diary on her lap and waited as the wiry policewoman slid into the driver's seat. Margaret turned the engine over and pulled away from the front of the terminal. Hope felt awkward in the silence.

‘Thanks, and everything. Although I don't really know what I'll do now.'

Margaret pulled on to the slip road from the airport. ‘The Crows are good people – they'll make sure you have somewhere to stay. And there won't be any trouble, that was just Chief Hart scaring your mom. I'm going to take you back to the ranch now, get you some shoes and some warmer clothes, and then I'll take you to the hospital. OK?'

‘Thanks.'

‘You English are real polite, aren't you?' The corner of her mouth turned up. ‘But the best way you can thank me is by telling me what happened out there.'

Hope opened her mouth to speak.

‘Wait, I think I need a cigarette. Pass me one from . . . yeah, perfect.' Margaret put the cigarette between her lips. ‘I know, I know,' she said, to Hope's unspoken words. ‘It's a filthy habit.' She looked surprised as Hope burst out laughing. ‘What?'

‘Nothing. I can't explain.'

‘Yeah, well, you'd better try, because it sounds as if I'm going to have to call in a favour or two and I want to know the
reasons why. Start with the crash and go from there.'

As quickly and clearly as she could, Hope began to explain about finding the diary, about the crash, and about how things had happened on the mountain. It was a long story, mixing together both the tale of Emily and Nate and that of herself and Cal, and it all came tumbling out, a story of the sort any writer would be proud. They were some distance from the town, heading out on the road to the Broken Bit by the time she finished.

Margaret Redfeather said nothing, but paid attention to the road and smoked another cigarette.

‘So,' she asked, when Hope ground to a halt, ‘what happens in the end?'

Hope looked at the diary on her lap. ‘I don't know. I haven't had time to read to the end.'

‘Then read, Cooper.'

A few short minutes later, Emily's story drew to a close. ‘
. . . His name is Caleb
.' Hope's voice cracked as they approached the outskirts of Helena.

Margaret gripped the steering wheel. ‘Hope?'

‘Yes?'

‘The Apsáalooke. Nate's people? That's
my
tribe. We're the Crow Nation. Rose Redfeather was the head of my family. Emily's son is Caleb Crow. The Crows have owned that ranch since what, 1871, right?'

‘That's how it began, with Nate and Emily. And the cabin.'

‘Holy shit,' Margaret said. ‘I thought I knew everything there was to know about Rose. You know she's a legend, right?'

Hope shoved her hand under her nose, trying to stop the tears from falling. ‘No, but how can we stop what's happening to Cal and his family?'

‘What if . . .' Margaret drummed the wheel. ‘What . . . if—'

The car leapt forward from the lights and Margaret executed a sharp U-turn as Hope clung on to the seat. ‘What?!'

Margaret took her eyes from the road for a second to grab her phone. She put it into Hope's hand. ‘I think we may have halted it already, just by stopping you leaving.'

‘I—'

‘Think about it, Hope. It went wrong for Nate and Emily when his Crow family left. If they'd been there, the outcome would have been real different. Dial this number.'

Putting in the number Margaret dictated, Hope heard it dial, then ring.

‘Put it on speaker,' Margaret said, just as a voice answered.

‘Davis.'

‘Andrew?'

‘Margaret?'

‘Remember that favour?'

‘Yes,' the man said warily.

‘I'm calling it in. I'm going to call out some names and I need you to look at the records and meet us at St Peter's as soon as you can. Like, now.' Margaret hit the accelerator and the old Mustang shot through the stop light, dust spinning in its wake.

Back at the hospital, they ran through the ward to the ICU.
A man in a suit was waiting outside the unit, a police badge displayed over the breast pocket.

‘I've been calling you back,' he said to Margaret.

She felt for her phone. ‘I was driving. There's been a lot going on.' She turned to Hope. ‘This here's Commissioner Andrew Davis. Hope Cooper.'

The dark-haired man offered his hand to Hope, his expression serious. They shook.

‘OK, I've been looking, very quickly, at the history of police harassment against the Crow family by John Hart over the past decade and particularly the last couple of years,' the commissioner said to Margaret. ‘It's all way out of line. There are other things too, other cases, with witnesses who've come forward, but we don't need to get into that now. I understand, Margaret, that you have a statement from Carrie Hart to confirm that there should be no outstanding accusation against this boy. I have no reason to disbelieve you, although we will obviously need to check this, but I can state clearly now that there are no official charges against Cal Crow and there won't be. His record is also clean.'

Margaret turned to the police officers still sitting outside the ICU. ‘You can go now,' she said abruptly. ‘Cal Crow is a patient here, nothing more.'

The commissioner showed his badge and handed the officers a piece of paper. One of them took it, surprised, getting to his feet.

The commissioner turned to Margaret. ‘And I wanted to tell Mr and Mrs Crow in person, apologize to them on behalf of
the force. They should have come forward with this a long time ago.'

‘Yeah, well,' Margaret said, ‘I think you'll find they ain't complaining people.'

Suddenly Hope felt the deep silence from within the unit. She turned and stared through the window. Then she saw Elizabeth sitting silently, tears running down her face.

‘I'm so sorry—' The nurse who had been so kind began, coming out from behind the station. She put her hand on Hope's arm.

‘What?' Hope's voice was faint. She burst into the room, even as the nurse tried to hold her back. ‘What's happening?'

‘Hope,' the young doctor said gently, taking her arms. ‘We've done all we can to stabilize him, but his vital signs went into decline just after you left.'

‘You have to let me talk to him. I need to speak to him – there's things he needs to know. It doesn't matter how many people are in the room now, does it?' Hope said urgently as Margaret Redfeather and the commissioner came in behind her.

Margaret nodded to Cal's parents and pulled a key from her pocket, unfastening the handcuff from Cal's wrist, the metal bracelet falling on to the webbed blanket.

As they all looked on, Hope took his hand. ‘Cal? Cal, it's me. It's Hope. The police are here. But it's not what you think. They're here to tell you they know what happened. You're in the clear!' She rubbed his cold knuckles. ‘You have to help him now!' Hope pleaded with the gathering medical staff who
watched her, awkward and unsure. ‘Please!'

An unwilling audience in a tiny theatre.

She fumbled in her hip pocket with the other, pulling out the diary. Pressing her forehead to his, she touched a quick kiss to his mouth, distorted by the intubation tube, the ventilator pumping air in and out of his patched-up chest. ‘Listen. What if Emily was right, that the universe does have a system of checks and balances? What if the white horse led us on to the bridge so that we could put things right?' She held the diary close between them, against her heart. ‘Nate and Emily didn't get to choose, but we do. She came back to the mountain and wished for someone to inherit their story. And she wished that we'd have the time they didn't get. So you were right, this is crazy. But it's beautiful, and it's only just beginning.'