Tainted Mountain (22 page)

By the time he plodded to his vehicle and drove at an idle down the mesa, Nora was sure she would need a walker and adult diapers and her mother would be dust.

“Many of our young people are not keeping to the Hopi way. They want all the material things of the white man, and it's causing disturbances.”

Nora nodded and hoped she looked thoughtful. She'd get a ride out of here sooner if she didn't irritate Benny.

“Now Mother Earth is in pain. McCreary is taking her guts for money. Coal is her liver and uranium is her heart.” They walked out of the plaza to the alley. Benny's molasses pace made her want to scream.

“You're against mining on the rez?”

He nodded. “Don't matter what McCreary says or how clean it is or how many jobs and royalties it will bring. Would you cut out your mother's guts for money?”

Barrett seemed to be involved in everything. Snow making and uranium mining. Other than both being damaging to the religious sentiments of the Native Americans, what did she even have in common with him, her former idol?

Benny's old Ford pickup used to be white. Now it was tied-dyed with waves of rust and dirt. Bright Indian blankets covered the bench seat that sloped hard toward the door. A large crack split the dash, showing yellowed foam rubber filler. Enough dirt was
accumulated on the floor that he could probably plant a garden.

As Nora's head whirled in five different directions, they eventually made it down the mesa and a few miles south on the highway. Benny turned onto a trail hidden by tall summer grasses.

Worry twanged through Nora like an out of tune ukulele. A Hopi shortcut didn't seem like something that would get her to Flagstaff quicker. “Where are we going?”

Benny didn't look at her but maneuvered the truck down the bumpy trail. “I have to see to my corn.”

“I have to get to the hospital.”

Benny shrugged.

“What about my mother?” She had to protect Abigail from Barrett.

Benny braked the pickup and got out. He headed to the side of the road beyond the tall weeds and started singing in Hopi. His low guttural consonants made a beautiful ringing on the desert floor.

Nora jumped out and ran to him. “Please. I've got to get to my mother.”

He stopped singing and turned to her. “All your worry and impatience won't make your mother well. Let go of your stress and listen to Mother Earth.” He continued on his way.

Arguing didn't turn Benny back to the pickup. And his stubbornness didn't halt her arguing. She followed, topped the ridge still making her case and then stopped, amazed. In the dry desert, surrounded by hills of sand and scruffy weeds, Benny's cornfield grew lush and green.

He turned to her. “Do you know why I sing to the corn?”

She shook her head.

“The corn is like children. I sing to the seeds when I plant them. I sing when I tend them, bringing water or thinning the weak plants. That way, they learn my voice. They will grow toward it, wanting to please me the way a child would.”

Nora wondered if she finally suffered the effects of too much stress. Benny's mystical gumbo sounded logical. “How do you get the corn to grow with no water?”

He smiled proudly at the bushy plants, so different from the endless fields of corn encompassing all of Nebraska and Iowa. “The cloud people have been good to me this year. They have given enough rain but not too much to flood the young plants.”

“Why do you plant them spread out like this and not in straight rows?”

He reached down and pulled a weed growing close to one of the leafy stalks. “I don't use a tractor so there is no need to make straight rows. And spacing the corn like this confuses the cloud people. When you plant in rows all close together, the cloud people know where the corn is and they rain and leave quickly. But when you plant like this, the cloud people must look around and they stay over the field longer, giving more rain.”

Cloud people—really? But he spoke as if he believed it, and he didn't seem like a stupid man.

He focused on her. “We've been growing corn here for a thousand years. The cloud people live on the sacred peaks. If you destroy their home, there will be no rain for my corn.”

“You don't really believe this, do you?”

He walked between the plants, touching their leaves in a loving caress. “Hopi have a respect for life and trust in the Creator. We were told that white men would come and try to take away our lands. But if we cling to the ancient ways, we will prevail.”

“Seems like you could grow more corn if you used a tractor or irrigation sprinkler. Why would your spirits want you to do everything the hard way?”

Benny straightened and brushed his hands together. “Making things hard prepares us for what may happen. Like a runner practices every day, building strength and endurance so he can run the marathon, we Hopi live a meager and hard life so we're ready to survive when the time comes.”

He handed her a stick about a foot long and as thick as a broom handle. He reached into his pocket and brought out a small plastic bag of corn seeds. “You stay here and plant these seeds over there.” He pointed to a sandy spot next to the outer corn plants.

Nora's frustration boiled over. “I can't plant seeds when my mother is lying in a hospital and I don't know how she is.”

He nodded. “I have to tend to another field, then I'll take you to Flagstaff. You plant the seeds and if you can, sing to them.”

“I don't have time to plant corn, Benny.”

He shook his head. “I won't tell you what to do—that isn't the Hopi way. But I urge you to plant these seeds. Do something good for Mother Earth and it will go well for your mother.”

“Like a prayer?”

He nodded. “Yes. Like a prayer.”

She dropped the stick. “I don't believe in prayer.”

Benny started walking toward a low hill, presumably to another cornfield. “Since you've got nothing to do until I'm done, you might as well plant the corn. No one is around to hear you, so go ahead and sing to the seeds. It will help them grow.”

She followed him. “Please, I need to go.”

He topped the hill. “I'll be back soon.”

She waited a minute before moving. Then she trudged back and picked up the planting stick. Might as well, as Benny had said. Planting corn was a stupid idea, and she didn't want to do it. Just because Benny told her to plant was good enough reason not to plant his stinking corn. She ought to sit down in the dirt and wait for him to come back. If he came back.

But action might help ease her frustration. She squatted down and thrust the stick into the ground. It surprised her the dirt held moisture a couple of inches below the surface.

Planting corn while my mother is in a hospital. As if that will help anything.

She dropped in a few seeds and packed the earth around them. She took four steps away, the distance she estimated Benny's other plants were spaced, and squatted down again.

What if Barrett comes after Abigail or Charlie?

The seeds dribbled from her hand into the hole she dug and she covered them with dirt. She thought of Abbey, patting him on the head and seeing the devotion in his eyes.

Oh, God. Abbey.
Had he been caught in the fire?

Hands shaking, she poked the next hole, carefully selected the three largest seeds. Scott. Abigail. Abbey. She dropped the seeds into the hole and patted the loose soil on top. She saw Scott's sweat-drenched face as she climbed from the SAG wagon at an Adventure Race last year. He grinned at her as she handed him his Gatorade and a fresh inner tube for the flat he just suffered. She'd taken care of him for years, holding back the real world by finagling the finances and keeping Kachina Ski running, making sure he had time for the hiking, biking, and outdoor play that seemed to keep him alive.

She'd wanted to care for him with all the love in the world. Love he sucked up without thought. Barbed wire wrapped around her heart and squeezed with every memory of Scott. She'd given him all she had, and he hadn't wanted her. Tears dripped into the mound of dirt she pushed back into the hole.

She straightened and stepped sideways, sinking to her knees to dig a new hole. She dropped in the seeds and scooped dirt. Patting the dirt reminded her of tucking a child into bed. A child she didn't have, but one she wanted with all her heart. Was this what Abigail felt? She loved the seeds and wanted them to grow into strong plants, to tassel and create life-sustaining corn. Her mother wanted that for her. But like Scott rejected Nora, she'd been pushing Abigail away.

Nora rose from the ground, feeling love for the seeds, for her mother, for a child she hoped to nurture someday. For her old dog who might be alone and frightened on the mountain. The Earth gave life to the corn, which nourished the people here in Hopiland. It was this way all over the world. Abigail gave life to Nora and loved her, tried to make life good for her, teaching her and protecting her in her own imperfect way. And if she were lucky, someday Nora would be able to do the same with a child of her own.

Words wouldn't form but rhythm and sound grew naturally, boiling up her throat and erupting from her mouth in a song. She danced, tears falling from her face, her voice loud and deep with love for the corn, for the Earth that would nurture it, for her mother, and even for Scott.

Seeds planted, Nora dropped to the ground, her back against a weathered fence post. Her eyes drooped and her mind floated.

When she opened her eyes a man stood in front of her. Two slits served as eyes in a face flat and smooth. A cylindrical peg looked like a mouth. His bare chest showed zigzags of blue, like lightning. He wore a woven white cloth around his middle like a kilt and carried a hatchet in one hand and feathers in his other. Why she didn't scream at this apparition, she couldn't say. It should have scared the bejeesus out of her. But she wasn't scared. The kachina—and that's what it had to be—didn't frighten her, despite his bizarre appearance.

He didn't speak but pointed to the mounds she'd planted. Small puddles pocked the field where she'd put her seeds. The kachina told her plainly, though he used no words and she didn't know how she knew what he meant, that he'd brought the rain.

“ … brought rain.”

Nora blinked at the words that seemed to be as real as the desert under her. She turned to the sound. The voice belonged to the kachina man, but he wasn't standing there.

She rubbed her eyes and stood, focusing on a lean figure silhouetted on the ridge. Cole trotted toward her. “Nora. What are you doing?”

Thank the kachina or luck or whatever power brought him here. She stood up, her legs weak and waited for him. “How's my mother? H
ow's Charlie?”

“She was sleeping when I left and the hospital staff wouldn't let me see her. They wouldn't tell me her condition because I'm not family.” He stopped in front of her, slightly invading her private space.

A tremor of despair began at the base of Nora's head and tears flooded her eyes.

Cole opened his arms and took the last small step forward. Without hesitation Nora leaned into him and poured her anguish, fear, regret, and sorrow into his beating heart. His arms closed around her, temporarily shielding her from any harm. He felt warm and smelled of sun and pine and safety.

When the worst of her storm passed, she pushed against him. “Okay. I'm done with that. Now let's get to Flagstaff.”

He shook his head. “I just came out to see you. I'll go back and check on Abigail and Charlie, but you've got to stay here.”

“I need to protect Abigail.”

“This is the safest place for you. I'll take care of your mother.”

Nora grabbed his arm. “It's Barrett. She thinks she's going to marry him and she can't. He's a killer. He killed Big Elk.”

Cole stared at her. “Big Elk? When?”

“Yesterday.” Nora started to tremble and tears spilled from her eyes. “My God, he had a man slit Big Elk's throat. Big Elk was working for Barrett.”

Cole grabbed her by the shoulders. “I've got to go. Please, just stay out here for a while longer.”

She shook her head. “I have to go with you.”

A flash of anger lit his eyes. “You're going to get yourself or someone else killed.”

“I've already caused murder. If I would have stopped snow making, Scott would still be alive.”

“If you had stopped it, you'd be dead now too.”

“What do you mean?”

He stood up, all business. “Never mind. Just stay here, Nora.” He strode up the ridge. “I'll get this taken care of and be back for you. I promise.”

Frozen, she watched him disappear down the other side. When an engine started she raced up the hill, desperate not to be alone. She sprinted up the next hill and stopped short.

The whole time she'd planted corn and let her imagination carry her away, Benny's pickup was sitting a short trot away.

She ran to the rusted hulk of a pickup and jumped behind the wheel, pulling the door closed with both hands. It wasn't very smart of Benny to leave the keys in the ignition, but then, he probably wasn't used to taking hostages.

Thirty-Seven

Nora spent the next
two hours with her right foot pushed to the floor, trying to make Benny's old pickup move faster. Unfortunately, it drove like he talked.

Nora fidgeted. Barrett could be with Abigail this very moment. Maybe he didn't have a reason to harm her, but maybe he did. He had to be tied to the explosion that put her in the hospital in the first place, right?

Then there was the dicey situation that if Gary found her before she got to Abigail, Nora would spend too much time trying to convince him of Barrett's guilt, leaving Abigail on her own, unaware of the evil monster she planned to marry.

The rusty truck finally puttered into the hospital lot and parked at the far edge. Nora jumped from the pickup, slamming the door. She struggled not to race to the front door. Her nerves strained like rubber bands stretched throughout her body, twisting tighter and tighter.

A vehicle moving way too fast caught her attention. In the next row Heather whipped her RAV4 into a parking space and jumped out. She'd changed from yesterday's clothes and had, from the look of her wet hair hanging down her back, had the luxury of a shower. She slapped toward the entrance in her flip-flops.

“What are you doing here?” Nora called to her. Despite everything, she envied Heather's shower and clean clothes.

Heather whipped around, obviously surprised. “I thought Cole wanted you to stay on the rez.”

Cole could issue orders, but it didn't mean Nora had to obey. “I need to see Abigail and Charlie.”

Heather hurried toward the hospital entrance. “He called me and asked me to be here with Abigail because he had to check something out.”

Nora outpaced Heather. “Why didn't you wait for me this mor-
ning?”

Heather's face looked gray and cold as granite. “I came back early because I've got to talk to Poppy.”

“Stay away from him!”

“Benny won't tell me who I am. He said I have to ask Poppy.”

Nora grabbed the girl's arm and made Heather face her. “You saw what he's capable of, Heather. Don't go near him.”

“Whatever he is, he's my father, even if I am adopted. He would never hurt me.”

Nora opened the door of the hospital and let Heather enter in front of her. The cold of the air conditioning smacked her skin after the heat of the parking lot and the old truck. She hesitated, not wanting to ask the pink-coated volunteer for Abigail's room number.

Heather strode passed the front desk. “She's on the third floor.”

Heather had more confidence than a normal sixteen-year-old. Nora wouldn't have thought to call hospitals and remember to get room numbers and generally take charge. At that age, passing out flyers about environmental issues or volunteering to plant trees ranked as her biggest accomplishment. And though blowing up the lift was definitely not a good thing, it did demonstrate Heather's ability to act.

Nora leaned over and spoke in a near whisper. “Try to look casual and not draw attention. Keep an eye out for the cops; I can't be seen here until I can get to Abigail.”

They bypassed the elevator and opted for the stairs, hoping to avoid as much human contact as possible. At the third floor, Nora poked her head out the door and surveyed the hallway. Nothing but shiny linoleum, cream-colored walls, and bright lights. She slipped out with Heather behind her. The room numbers led them down the hall and to a nurses' station situated in front of the elevators. According to Heather's earlier phone call, Abigail's room sat on the corridor on the other side of the nurses' station.

Nora took a breath, straightened her shoulders and glanced at Heather. She had no choice but to march confidently by the nurses and hope they didn't take note of her shabby appearance and the smattering of scabs from the flying glass yesterday.

Heather met her eye and gave a nod.

Nora stepped out to round the corner. A splash of dark blue stopped her. She turned and shoved Heather back around the corner.

“Hi, Laurie.” Gary's voice greeted someone who replied with her own hello.

Nora didn't know she recognized Gary's voice, but now he represented a major menace in her life and Nora was gaining survival skills. He must be here to interrogate Abigail. And he was still convinced that Nora had killed Scott and Maureen. Maybe he'd set a trap for Nora so he could snap the cuffs on her and drag her to a dungeon.

Nora leaned against the wall and strained to hear, but her beating heart made it difficult.

Heather tossed her hair and stepped around the corner.

Nora wanted to pull her back, but Heather moved so unexpectedly she lost her chance.

“Hi,” Heather said as if she hadn't witnessed a murder yesterday or blown up a ski lift. Whatever the female version of ballsy was called, that was Heather. “I'm looking for Abigail Stoddard. She's on this floor, right?”

The nurse, or whoever Laurie was, answered. “She's in room 321. But you'll have to come back another time. She needs to rest now.”

“How is she?”

Gary interrupted, “Heather McCreary, isn't it?”

Nora imagined Heather turning a royal countenance upon him
and barely acknowledging his question.

“Your father said you were on vacation in Mexico.” Suspicion sprinkled his voice.

“I came back when I heard about Abigail.” She never missed a beat.

“Do you have time for a few questions?”

Now Nora knew Heather's plan: she would distract Gary so Nora could sneak by. The girl was cunning and, sweet in her own way.

Heather sounded annoyed, exactly as Gary would expect. “I don't have time now. I've got to be somewhere.”

“You came to visit Ms. Stoddard. I think you've got a few minutes.”

“Fine.” Heather sighed with supreme teenage superiority. “But only a couple of minutes.”

“We can use the lobby downstairs,” he said. His black police shoes squeaked and Nora figured he'd moved to the elevator and pushed the button.

“Great. Let's do it in front of the whole world so everyone thinks I'm a criminal.”

Easy, Heather, don't get him too riled up
, thought Nora.

A ding, soft rattle, a little shuffling, a swoosh, and Nora assumed they were on their way down to the lobby. She poked her head around the corner in time to see the woman who must be Laurie scoot down the corridor on the other side of the elevator.

Nora stepped out and strolled past the station. She didn't see anyone behind the counter. Good thing nurses were busy people.

She read the room numbers as she hurried down the hall. She smelled like fire and fear and had to look like a homeless person. If Abigail felt anything close to her normal self, Nora had better brace herself for an epic lecture.

Laurie's friendly but firm voice floated out of the doorway to Abigail's room. Damn. Nora glanced in the door of the room next to Abigail's. The patient inside lay flat on her back with her eyes closed. With any luck, she—or he, it was hard to tell with all the white hair and sagging skin—was asleep. Nora slipped inside the room and into the bathroom next to the door.

“I'm going to ask you to come back another time,” Laurie said. “Ms. Stoddard has had visitors all morning and she really needs to rest.”

“Oh posh.” Steel bands loosened around Nora's lungs. Abigail sounded like her regular self. “I'm not the least bit tired. Having visitors makes me feel better.”

“That may be, but I'm going to have to insist.” Laurie obviously didn't know who she dealt with.

“If you're going to be that way, at least give me a couple of minutes to finish our conversation.” Now Nora detected fatigue in her mother's voice. To allow someone to tell her what to do really clinched it: Abigail was hurt. Nora fought not to run to her mother's bedside.

“Just a couple of minutes,” Laurie said from the doorway. “I'm checking my watch and I'll be back down if you don't come out.”

Abigail's visitor could be one of the women from her service club, but Nora hoped for Charlie. If so, it would mean he was okay. More than anything, she wanted her people safe and healthy and away from Barrett.

Laurie's shoes squeaked with infinite efficiency as she hurried down the corridor.

“Are you the nurse?” A crotchety voice called from the bed.

The voice jettisoned Nora into the air and sent her nerves jangling. She'd guessed incorrectly. The patient was a man.

Nora tried to be calm. “No. Just the wrong room.”

His voice carried much louder than necessary. He probably didn't hear well himself and compensated by shouting at everyone else. “What did you say? I asked if you are the nurse.”

She couldn't shout back. What if Abigail's visitor wasn't Charlie? What if Laurie came back and caught her? What if Heather broke under Gary's interrogation and told him Nora was on the third floor? What if a meteor struck Earth and they went the way of the dinosaur?

Sheesh. She always accused Abigail of exaggerating life to follow a movie script; it must be an inherited trait.

Still, Nora hurried to the old man's bed and spoke quietly. “I'm sorry I disturbed you. I'm in the wrong room.”

His hand shot out from under the blanket, his grip surprisingly strong on her wrist. Nora's heart kicked in at the nightmare prospect of this frail-looking man actually being a demon. Or maybe a kachina, out to stop her from creating more chaos.

“The nurse hasn't been here for two days. No one gives me food. I haven't had a drink of water. She's trying to kill me so she can have my money.”

His lunch tray sat on the windowsill, the gravy not even coagulated yet. An insulated pitcher with condensation from fresh ice water sat on his bedside table. He wasn't an evil sprite or Big Elk's faithful. He was an old, sick, and confused man.

Would life ever be normal again?

Nora reached over to grasp the pitcher, her other arm still in the old man's clutches. A bendy straw stuck from the top. “Let me help you,” she said, grateful when he released her.

She put the straw in his mouth and he drew in the water, his rheumy eyes focused on her. The drink quenched his hostility and his eyes filled with the trust of a small child. He finished drinking. “You're the best nurse I've ever had.”

She set the pitcher down and patted his hand.

His voice changed. “You are here to do good.”

Moisture vanished from Nora's mouth and reappeared as cold sweat on her forehead. The old man's eyes closed and his mouth opened a bit, letting out soft snores as he immediately fell asleep.

The voice hadn't been that of the patient lying in front of her.

He'd spoken with the hesitant and abrupt cadence of the little kachina man.

Nora Abbott, you are certifiably nuts
.
Probably paranoid and delusional too.
She tried to take inventory of what was real. Scott lay dead. Heather, and probably Alex, had destroyed the lift. Barrett had murdered Big Elk. Someone blew up her house with Abigail in it. Charlie risked his life to save Abigail.

Her mother rested next door. Nora had to touch her and know she was alive. She rushed toward the door … And stopped dead when she heard the low rumbled of a man's voice. It wasn't Charlie in Abigail's room.

“You should get some rest now. I'll be back later.” Barrett sounded sincere and tender, all the wonderful things a man should be to the woman he intended to marry.