Shaman Winter (38 page)

“And you'd better tell your hacker that we've got his number. Tell him it's a federal offense tapping into our computers.”

“Don't know what you're talking about,” Sonny called. “It's been a pleasure. Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“I'm sure I will,” Mona answered, glancing at Eric. “Not even your break-in can ruin that.”

Sonny scooted his chair out of the room, followed by Eric.

“You know she could have killed you.”

“I thought of that,” Sonny said.

“I don't want your blood on my hands. I think it best you forget about playing a role in finding the plutonium. I'm calling Paiz. As of now, our relationship is ended. We never met you, do you understand?”

“You mean you're firing me?”

“I never hired you. Your role was to help Paiz. It's over.”

“Yeah,” Sonny replied. “Except I was being used, and I don't like that. Look, I don't mind you folks playing your games and blowing yourselves to pieces, but there's a lot of good people who shouldn't get hurt. People who still think a democracy suits them fine.”

Eric laughed. “Think what you want. I'm only saying this for your own good.”

Sonny's anger rose to the surface, but he kept it in check. They had used him, but he was on their turf, and this was no time to blow his top.

“Sure,” he said, and scooted down the walk to the van.

A very concerned Lorenza greeted him. “Thank God you're safe. I saw them drive in, but there was no way to warn you. We've got to hurry. Rita's in the hospital!”

“Hospital?”

“Don Eliseo just called. She had a miscarriage!”

23

“She never told me,” he whispered, shaking his head. Don Eliseo's message had hit him like a ton of bricks.

“She didn't want to worry you,” Lorenza said, gunning the van down the hill. “What's going on with you is a matter of life and death. Finding the kidnapped girls means a lot to her. She wanted you to concentrate on them.”

“You knew.”

She nodded. “That's why I suggested she see a doctor. She made me promise not to tell you.”

“Not to worry me,” Sonny said. “She should have told me.”

Nothing was more important than Rita. But she was thinking of him and the girls, and so she kept her pregnancy a secret.

“Hurry,” he urged Lorenza, realizing she was already driving as fast as she dared. He wanted to go faster, to fly to Rita's side. Concern for Rita's safety pumped through him, mixing with self-anger. Why hadn't he been more aware of the change in Rita?

At Presbyterian Hospital they headed for the maternity ward, and Sonny manuvered his chair down the corridor, whizzing past startled nurses and patients. Lorenza ran beside him. He turned the corner and careened into the nurses' station.

“Rita López! What room is Rita López in?”

The heavyset black nurse peered over her glasses. “Hold on, young man—”

“I need to see Rita!” Sonny shouted. Behind him Lorenza put her hands on his shoulders.

“Easy,” she whispered.

“Rita López? She just came in.” The nurse flipped through her charts.

“Yes,” Sonny cried. “Where is she? Is she all right?”

“You the husband?” the nurse asked.

“No,” Sonny shook his head. “Yes, she's my—”

“Uh-huh,” the nurse said, flipping again through the charts on the clipboard. “Sonny Baca?”

“Yes.”

“Husband. She just came out of the operating room—”

“Operating room! Is she okay?”

“She's fine,” the nurse said, putting aside her chart, turning to Lorenza. “It was a standard procedure. Went just fine. The miscarriage began at home. She's resting—”

“I've got to see her,” Sonny interjected.

“Humm,” the nurse puckered her lips. “If she's awake, you can visit awhile.”

“Yes, please—”

“Follow me.” She led them down the hallway.

“Does she need anything?” Lorenza asked the nurse.

“She did ask for lipstick and a comb. By tomorrow she'll be up and around, so she'll need a robe.” She opened the door to the room. “Rita, honey, you got some company. You up for a little company?”

“You go on in,” Lorenza whispered to Sonny. “I'll drive to the house and pick up some of her things.”

“We can do that later—”

“There's things I know she needs. Be back as soon as I can.”

“Okay. And flowers. She loves roses.” He fumbled for his wallet.

“I'll get them,” Lorenza said. “Go on.”

Sonny nodded and guided his chair into the room.

“She's resting,” the nurse said to Sonny. “Bed number two.” She pointed at the bed by the window.

The pregnant woman in bed number one, swollen stomach covered by a white sheet, lay staring at the television. She glanced at Sonny, then turned her gaze back to the set. The TV's light flickered in the room as a soap opera played itself out on the small screen.

“You got company, honey,” she said to Rita. Sonny pushed around the curtain to Rita's bedside.

“Sonny,” she greeted him, her voice weak, her face pale and drawn. Sonny drew close and took her hands.

“Oh, Sonny,” she cried.

He kissed her. “Rita …”

“I'll pull the curtain so you can have some privacy,” the nurse said. “Now don't go tiring yourself out. And you call me if you need anything,” she whispered to Sonny, patting his shoulder as she walked out.

“Yes, thank you.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Rita cried. “It came so suddenly. There was nothing I could do.”

“Shuu,” Sonny whispered, his voice choking. “You're all right. That's what matters.”

“I tried to stop it, but suddenly it started letting loose. There was nothing I could do.”

Her words came in soft sobs, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Don't cry, don't cry.” Sonny tried to comfort her, holding her hands, reaching up to touch her face, handing her a tissue from the box on the bed stand.

“I don't know why,” she sniffed, trying to control her sobs. “Our baby—”

“Don't think about it,” Sonny said, searching for comforting words. “Whatever happened, you're safe. That's what matters, amor. You're all right.”

“After you and Lorenza left, I went to take a nap. I felt tired. I must have fallen asleep, because I remember the dream. It wasn't a dream; it was a horrible nightmare. Where is Lorenza?”

“She went to the house to pick up some things for you.”

“God bless her. She thinks of everything. I have to tell you my dream—”

“The nurse said you have to rest—not to worry yourself.”

“No, I have to. It was so vivid, I actually felt I was living it. I finally understand what you've been trying to tell us about your dreams. You said you were
actually
in the dream. That's how I felt.”

Sonny felt a shiver. “Yes, tell me your dream.”

“I could see everything so clear; I was a Navajo woman, and the red cliffs around me were home, I was in a hogan, about to give birth. Yes, women were there, taking care of me. Then there was shooting and fires, and the army was killing the men and burning the hogans and the peach orchards. You know what it was? It was the time Kit Carson drove the Navajos out of Canyon de Chelly. The men cried his name, like a curse. They shouted for us to run into the hills and hide, but it was too late. It was an army of wolves. We were rounded up like sheep and made to march many miles.”

She stopped to blow her nose and wipe her eyes.

“Don't tire yourself,” Sonny pleaded, knowing what was coming.

“No, I want to,” Rita whispered. “I want to tell you. Something about the terrible nightmare was so real. I was there, pregnant, and there was no rest. No food. No protection from the cold wind. I began to bleed. I looked around me, and all the women were bleeding. All the strong Navajo women were bleeding to death as they walked, and the blood was staining the earth. No children could be born. We were all strong women, but we were slaves, leaving our land. The babies in our wombs drained out and became the blood marking that trail of tears.”

She clutched Sonny's hand. “What does it mean?”

Bile seeped through Sonny's veins. He knew what it meant. He had lost his child, perhaps a son who would carry his name, perhaps a daughter whose beauty would fill their home—Rita had lost her child. That loss was cause enough for the anger he felt, but a new emotion swept over him that was far stronger. Something boiling in his blood, something he tried to control as he held Rita's hand. Vengeance.

“The Long Walk,” he whispered. “The Navajos were taken to Bosque Redondo, where the land was so poor it couldn't be farmed. There was no rain. The smallpox nearly finished them. They learned to drink whiskey. The U.S. Army wanted to bring them to their knees.”

“Why so much suffering?” Rita questioned.

Because Raven, in many guises, came to bring death and destruction, Sonny thought, but said nothing.

“It's just like you said. We planted corn,” Rita continued. “The women were skeletons of death, planting corn, and the plants sprouted, but there was no rain. We prayed, but it wouldn't rain. There wasn't enough food for the people. There was hunger. It was a nightmare. It was so real I must have Navajo blood in me.”

“That's what makes you so beautiful, morenita.” Sonny kissed her hands.

“My father used to tell stories about the Nuevo Mexicanos who went west, past Jemez Pueblo over to Cebolleta to trade with the Navajos. When they weren't trading, they were fighting each other and taking slaves. Navajo women brought here as slaves. Not one or two, but hundreds. Maybe my ancestors were some of those who went to bring Navajo women to the Río Grande.”

“Yes,” he whispered. It was so.

“I let you down—”

“Don't say that!” he said. “You didn't let me down. We'll get over this.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, we can. I love you.”

“But everything seems so bleak.” She looked out the window. The afternoon had darkened; a cold wind scratched at the window. “The girls? Is there any word of the girls?”

He shook his head.

“Feels like the world is coming to an end,” she said sadly. “I don't think we can ever have a child again.”

“Shh. Don't think that way.”

“You're right. We can get over this. I'll be all right. A little weak, but you're right. I can't let it get me down.”

Her eyes filled with tears again.

“You've never seen me cry.”

“No.”

“God, it's left me empty. Inside.”

“You'll be home in no time. Then it's my turn to take care of you.”

She smiled. “Oh, sí, you in your chair.”

“I feel strong. Really I do. Mira.”

He lifted himself forward and stood up, holding the bed.

“See. I'll be walking in no time.”

He stood straight, then leaned over and kissed her.

“I'll be able to take care of you.”

“Gracias a Dios,” she whispered, holding his hands tight for a moment, then letting go as he sat back down.

“I've got new energy. De veras, we'll be okay.”

“Yes.” She tightened her hold on his hand again.

He leaned his head on the bed.

“Yes, we'll be okay,” Rita said, running her fingers through his hair. “I feel a lot better now that you're here.”

“Rest,” he said, and wiped her tears. He knew he couldn't really feel what she was going through, her loss, but she was safe and that's what mattered to him. They had lost the child, but she was well.

Sonny thought of her nightmare, the torturous journey of the Navajo women. The history of the Navajos, like that of the other New Mexican tribes, was written in blood. Was it only a coincidence that that morning on their way to Mona Vandergriff's, he had been reading about the Diné, the Navajo nation of the Four Corners area?

In the summer of 1863 Kit Carson from Taos had been hired by Brig. Gen. James H. Carleton of the Department of New Mexico to round up the Navajos. The U.S. Army vowed to put an end to their raids once and for all.

Kit Carson, a man who couldn't even write his name, gathered together a New Mexico regiment of volunteers, men who would fight the Indians for any excuse and a few dollars a day. All summer Carson waged war against the Navajos, killing hundreds, burning fields of corn, scattering sheep, burning hogans, requiring unconditional surrender of those who survived.

By early 1864 he had trapped what was left of the resisters in Canyon de Chelly, the ancient home of the Diné. He stripped them of everything they owned, then marched them across the state to a place near Fort Sumner, a reservation called Bosque Redondo. The Navajos remembered the forced march as the Long Walk. They still told stories of their exile. Hundreds died on the march. Men killed themselves rather than leave their homeland behind. Women and children froze to death in the February cold.

Bosque Redondo became the place of death.

“Qué piensas?” Rita asked.

“Nada,” he replied.

“You're probably as tired as me,” she said. “Rest.”

Yes, rest. He had been with Billy the Kid in Fort Sumner in the previous dream. Did Rita's nightmare have anything to do with his? Did he have to go back into the dreamworld to find Billy, or Coyote, or someone who would help him understand the tragedy?

He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Rita's body by him, secure in her aroma, a scent he knew so well. He was surprised to see the luminous door in front of him, and just before he passed through it, he thought he must be entering the world of Rita's dream. He had never entered someone else's dream. Why now? To return to the Fort Sumner of 1864, find Rita among the Navajo women? Maybe with Billy's and Coyote's help he could rescue her! Maybe he could still reverse what had happened to her in her dream!