He took a deep breath, then continued. “It helped her, but she still struggles. That’s why she’s chosen to live a solitary life. Of course that’s not unusual for a Navajo. Great distances often separate us.”
“What we have to offer would be a blessing to her and us,” Myka said.
“It’s good that you think of it that way,” Rudy said with an approving nod. “That’s the essence of harmony, when both sides are in balance.”
“Do you think it’s safe for us to pay her a visit?” Joshua asked.
“That depends. If you drive up and wait in the truck until she asks you to approach, you’ll be fine. If you go up there like the
bilagáanas,
the white people,” he said, “and knock on her door, you’ll probably not get the welcome you want.”
Myka bit back a smile at what she would classify as the understatement of the year. She’d heard about Maxine’s shotgun-style greeting.
“We’ll stay in the truck,” Myka said. “We don’t want to offend anyone.”
Rudy smiled at her. “Respect will get you far here.”
“She’s been in a better mood ever since she adopted that horse, a mustang from the Bureau of Land Management. She’s training it, and working with the animal makes her happy,” Emma said. “The horse, too, has found its purpose.”
“Can you give me directions to her place? This is what I’ve got,” Joshua said. He showed his uncle the hand-drawn map he’d made based on information from a friend of his father’s.
“The rain last summer washed out part of the road, so you’ll need to turn here and go through this canyon,” Rudy said, and gave him more precise directions. “It’s actually a few miles shorter this way, too.”
Soon Joshua had what he needed. “Thank you, uncle.”
“Walk in beauty, nephew,” the man said.
“Ask about her native blue dye, too,” Emma told Myka. “Blue has always been difficult, but she’s found a way to create a particularly beautiful shade.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that,” Myka said.
As they set out, Myka felt a touch of excitement. “We use mostly commercial dyes, so that sounds really interesting.”
“Remember that out here knowledge isn’t shared easily. It’s considered a living thing, something to be protected. Lead the conversation, but don’t force it. You’ll get farther that way.”
“What an incredible place the Rez is. It’s like entering a different country—with its own rules and customs.”
“A lot of our young people can’t wait to get away from here. It’s hard to make a living off the land, and not everyone has the motivation to farm or raise livestock. Those who are able to move away generally leave.”
“Like your dad?”
“He left the Rez at eighteen, but I was never really sure why.”
“Maybe he had dreams, too, and those led him away,” she said, and in a thoughtful voice, added, “it takes a special kind of courage to leave everything that’s familiar to you and reach out to the unknown.”
“A quiet strength, the hardest of all for a teenage son to see or appreciate,” he said, his words all but drowned out by the rumble of the engine.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A
S
THEY
TURNED
off the main highway, the path ahead became nothing more than two ruts lined with bone-jarring holes that forced Myka to hold on to the armrest.
“How much longer do we have to drive on this washer board track?” she asked, then clenched her teeth as another pothole bounced her hard from side to side.
“The house should be up ahead, two miles.”
They continued traveling at a slow, steady rate, then at long last, she saw a huge, fenced-in pasture extending up and over a low rise, then down into a low area along a shallow creek. Sheep were everywhere. “That’s the largest herd of
Churros
I’ve ever seen! And look at that wire fence. It must be eight feet high.”
“Helps keep most of the predators out,” he said, turning toward the house and driving down the fence line. A moment later he parked the truck in full view of the main house, a cinder block home with a gray scratch coat of mortar instead of paint. Beyond, adjacent to the fence, was a large red barn.
He leaned back, prepared to wait. “She’s got it better than most. Out here you see lots of single wide mobile homes or three-room houses with sheep pens nearby, but usually no overhead cover.”
“Even with such a tall fence, it must be hard to keep out the coyotes.”
“Yeah, it is. They might not be able to jump that high, but some can climb or dig under. She probably has some dogs to help discourage attacks.” He shifted in his seat, making himself comfortable. “There they are.” He pointed toward three large mutts who’d come over to the fence to check them out. Just as he spoke, the animals began to bark.
“So how long does it take before a person invites you in?” she asked.
“Depends. Things run on Indian time out here.”
After about ten minutes, Myka began to get restless. The dogs had stopped barking, having disappeared somewhere across the large enclosure. “Do you think this is her way of telling us to leave? Her truck’s parked over by the barn, so she’s probably home and keeping an eye on us, right?”
“Not necessarily, and it hasn’t really been that long, not by Indian standards. Also, keep in mind that if she’s working in the barn she may not have heard us pull up. She probably ignores the barking dogs except at night.”
Josh had parked in the sun, and after a while, the truck’s cab began to heat up. He rolled down the window.
A second later, Myka sat up. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” he asked, glancing around.
“That frantic whinnying. When I took riding lessons in high school I learned about horses, and that sound means trouble. Something’s not right.”
He stepped out of the truck and listened. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s probably what got the dogs’ attention, too.”
“Your uncle told us not to leave the car, but if she’s in trouble...”
“Hang on for a bit,” he said. The whinnying stopped, then started again, followed by the sound of barking dogs.
“Come on, we’ll both go,” Myka said. “If she gets angry, you can blame it on me.”
Myka took a small baggie from inside her purse, then ran along the wire fence toward the barn.
About five feet from the entrance, she heard someone yell, “Quiet!” The dogs instantly stopped barking.
As Myka ran up, she saw the dogs sitting inside the fence, staring at something in the turnout area just beyond the stall. She tried to get a closer look, but a large black horse was running back and forth inside a welded pipe corral, snorting, pacing and pawing the ground. He had a halter on and was dragging a lead rope behind him.
Myka walked up slowly. “Easy, boy.” As she approached, Myka saw a tall, slender Navajo woman in jeans and a flannel shirt on the ground in the center of the small enclosure. Her black hair hung in a single braid down her back.
“Hang on!” Myka called to her in a soft voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joshua moving slowly toward the woman, staying outside the enclosure, and trying not to spook the horse more than it already was.
“Don’t come in while he’s upset. If he runs at you or spins around and kicks, I’ll get trampled,” the woman said.
“All right. Are you hurt?” Myka asked.
“I twisted my ankle when I fell, but I’ll be fine.” She reached down, gingerly feeling the side of her scuffed Western-style boot.
“I’ll call 911,” Joshua said in a quiet voice, his eyes on the horse.
“Don’t bother. They’ll take an hour to get here and I’m not lying on the cold ground that long. Give me a few more minutes,” she said firmly. “I’ll be fine.”
Myka slipped between the fence rails into the adjoining turnout area. Standing at one end, she took some apple slices from the baggie she’d brought and placed them on the palm of her hand. “Come on, big guy. You like apples, don’t you?”
The horse sniffed the air, nostrils flaring, but didn’t approach.
“If I get the horse to come over to me, Joshua can help you out of there,” Myka said.
“He won’t come to you,” the woman replied. “He’s ornery.”
“What’s his name?” Myka asked.
“Frank—short for Frankenstein. He’s...moody. One second he’s great—the next, nuts.”
“Wild mustang?” Joshua asked, slipping through the rails and drawing closer while Myka kept the horse’s attention.
“Not so wild anymore, just unpredictable.”
Myka placed a second piece of apple on her palm, then reached into the baggie, and began eating one herself. “These are good, Frank,” she said, holding out her hand a little farther.
Frank came over slowly and took the apple slices. As soon as he did, Joshua went to the woman, lifted her into his arms, and carried her out of the enclosure.
Myka watched him, realizing how strong he was and wishing she could be in his arms like that. With a tiny sigh, she focused and went to meet them.
Although Joshua would have carried her all the way back to the house, the woman refused. “Just let me lean on your shoulder. I’ll hobble back.”
“You’ll need to see a doctor to make sure you haven’t broken anything,” Myka said.
She shook her head. “I handle things differently. There’s a
hataalii
at the trading post near here. He knows the Plant People—the plants that grow on the Rez,” she added for Myka’s benefit. “He makes a herbal salve for sprains and swollen joints that works wonders. I’ll call him as soon as I’m inside.”
“He’s my uncle,” Joshua said.
She looked up at Joshua. “I’m Maxine Redhorse. Did your uncle send you?”
“No, we came on another matter. I’m Joshua Nez and this is Myka Solis.”
“I’m really glad we came by when we did,” Myka said, helping Maxine along by giving her another arm to hold on to.
“So am I,” Maxine said. “I would have crawled back to the house, but it’s a ways.”
Myka heard the pride in her voice and understood. When all else failed, sometimes that was the only thing that kept you going.
Once they were inside the house, Myka helped Maxine into a weary-looking sofa placed beneath the window.
Maxine shifted, sitting sideways with both her legs up. “Would you be willing to get me some of that salve from your uncle?” she asked Josh. “I’ll pay you for your time. There’s money in that desk drawer.”
“I’ll go, and there’s no need to pay me,” Joshua said. “Will he know what you need?”
“Ask him for the yellow salve. It’s made of rabbitbrush, asters and some other ingredients.” She gestured with her chin toward the drawer. “Take thirty for the
hataalii,
and some to cover your gas.”
“While he’s gone, why don’t I help you slip your boot off and get some ice?” Myka said.
“I’ll take the boot off myself, but you can get me some ice from the freezer and wrap it up in the dishcloth by the sink.”
Myka returned moments later with the makeshift ice pack. By then, Joshua was gone.
As Maxine held it against her ankle, Myka walked to the display case hung on the wall. “Wow, so many medals and commendations!”
“Most are campaign ribbons for Iraq, then Afghanistan. I’d stuck all of those in a drawer, but the seniors at the local VFW made me that case and I didn’t want to disappoint them.” Maxine remained quiet for a moment, then added. “They display their medals because they’ve had time to move on. My memories are still too fresh.”
Myka said slowly, “The pain from a wound that has yet to heal can be nearly overpowering.”
“Yeah, it can. Did you serve overseas?”
“I’m not a vet,” Myka said. “I’m a widow.”
“Did your husband serve?”
“No. He was in an industrial accident,” she said.
Maxine nodded, but respecting her privacy, didn’t ask any further questions. “So tell me, Myka, what brought you and Joshua here today?”
Rather than give the sales pitch she’d rehearsed, Myka told her about Independence and HMI. “Things are finally turning around for us, but we need more quality wool if we’re going to meet the demand. You were recommended to us,” she said.
“Once a year my aunt and I shear the sheep and wash the wool. We don’t process it any farther than that—it’s not carded or anything.”
“What were you planning to do with it?”
“Sell it, eventually, but I don’t have much to do with people these days, and I’d need the right contacts. Since it’s all properly stored, I’m in no rush. Reach into that first drawer,” she said, pointing. “There’s an envelope with a sample of my wool. Take a look.”
Myka did, studying the color, fiber diameter and staple length. “It’s very good quality. Can I see the rest?”
“There’s a storeroom inside the barn, first door on your left. If you want to open one of the bags, go ahead, but when you’re done, make sure you reseal it properly.”
Myka went outside, and following Maxine’s directions, found the storage room. The wool had been placed in vacuum-sealed bags stacked ceiling high atop a layer of wooden pallets. There was enough wool there to keep HMI going until next shearing season.
Ten minutes later, Myka returned to the house. “I’m interested. Let’s talk terms.”
* * *
B
Y
THE
TIME
Joshua returned, Myka had closed the deal. They loaded as much wool as Joshua’s truck could carry, covered it with a canvas tarp and tied it down. Then they made arrangements to have the rest delivered.
“You got a very good price for all that wool,” Joshua said as they pulled out of the ranch.
“I thought so, too. That’s why I bought all of it. I also offered her a percentage of the profits for any wool we process using her special dye. She mixes sumac and blue clay to make an amazing shade of violet.”
“Good deal all the way around,” he said, “but it was still a lot of money. I didn’t realize HMI had that much cash on hand.”
“Our company’s still running on a tight budget. That’s why I took the money from my personal account.”
He felt his blood run cold. “Myka, you
never
use your own funds. I learned that the hard way.”
“You were willing to take the risk. Besides, the company can pay me back later.”
“Myka, listen to me. If a company’s going to survive, it has to be able to stand on its own. When you start funneling your own funds into it you lose the dividing line that protects you, personally and professionally. More importantly, you can end up putting an unbelievable strain on your own finances, particularly if you’re pulling out money intended for your food, home and gas.”
“It won’t be a problem,” she said in a whisper-soft voice. “It’s from an account I’ve done my best to ignore. It didn’t feel right to spend that money on just anything.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s the settlement IVA offered me after Tanner died. I got the initial payment, but after the company filed for bankruptcy, I never got the rest.”
“So they admitted Tanner’s accident was their fault?”
She nodded. “After corporate knew they were going to shut down, safety inspections outside the production lines were given a low priority. They fixed obvious problems, but the emphasis was on cost cutting, not preventative maintenance,” she said. “Tanner was inside the freight elevator when the wiring in the shaft caught fire. He died of smoke inhalation before anyone could get to him.”
There had been very little emotion in her voice, but he saw her quickly wipe a tear from her eye.
“I’m sorry, Myka. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories,” he said, reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
She didn’t pull away. “I try not to dwell on things I can’t change.” She took an unsteady breath. “I’ve been waiting and holding on to that money because I wanted to use it on something Tanner would have liked.”
“And you think he would have approved of Handmade in Independence?”
“Oh, yeah. He would have supported anything that helped Independence get back on its feet. You know how much he loved this place.”
“Is the success of HMI important to you because of him?”
She looked at Joshua in surprise. “No, Tanner’s gone. I’m only dealing with what’s in front of me right now. Independence needs HMI, and we all need our town. It’s a marriage that can’t fail, right?”
“I don’t know about that, but it
is
a good partnership,” he said. After a brief pause, he added, “Tell me something, Myka. Do you ever think about getting married again?”
“Not really, but if that time comes, I know one thing. It won’t be like the marriage I had with Tanner. I’m not a kid anymore. I can’t define myself as just the other half of my husband. I have my own identity.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to put Tanner’s memory behind you and love as deeply as you did then?”
“Of course. Tanner will always be part of me but love isn’t something you use up. You just add to what’s already in your heart.”
Joshua nodded. She wasn’t the same Myka, but he liked the woman she’d become even more than the girl she’d been.
* * *
F
IVE
DAYS
AFTER
their trip to the reservation, it became clear that HMI desperately needed a facility where its newly acquired wool could be processed. Working individually wouldn’t give them the uniform quality the company needed to maintain. In Myka’s mind, the search for a suitable building had become top priority.