Wind Spirit [Ella Clah 10] (23 page)

Clifford considered it for a moment. “You’re right, but it reminds me of something our Christian father used to say about ‘a house divided.’ Remember that?”

Ella nodded. She’d loved her father deeply but she’d never understood him. Then after his murder all she’d felt
was guilt—for not having taken the time to get to know him, and for never having understood that he had the right to follow his own path, even if it created division in their household. “I still miss him, you know?”

“I do, too.” Clifford sat across from her on the sheepskin rug. “I loved him though he and I never agreed on anything from the time I hit my teens. I think deep down he always knew that I’d never worship the Christian God, no more than Mom would. But he never gave up trying to convert us—which bugged me to no end. Mom was far more gracious about it than I ever was,” he said.

Ella nodded slowly, remembering. “I have a question I’d like to ask you, but this is something that must remain between you and me.”

“Go on.”

“I know from my biology classes that a practical definition of dead is when all the body processes stop and cannot be restarted. That obviously didn’t happen to me, but there’s more than one definition of death. What do you think happened to me that day in the mine? Is it possible that I died—on one level or another—then came back?”

“As a
hataalii
I have to believe that your wind spirit was just lost for a while. Our ways don’t include a belief in a heavenly afterlife, like Dad’s did. To us death is stagnation—a failure to grow and thrive—not an inviting place.”

Ella nodded slowly. She knew that she’d made a conscious decision to return and that was why she was here now, talking to her brother. But she just wasn’t sure whether that pointed to a greater power, or if it was evidence that her own stubbornness and force of will had reversed a biological process.

“You saw or experienced something when you were down in that mine shaft that you haven’t been able to understand, didn’t you?” he asked softly, his gaze on her.

Clifford’s beliefs were set and rooted in the Navajo ways.
She’d been wrong to try to discuss something like this with him. It would only add confusion to his life. “I have no idea what happened to me in that mine. I’ll probably never know for sure. But I’m here now and that’s the important thing.”

Ella was walking to the blanket-covered doorway when her stomach growled loudly.

Clifford laughed. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“I had bits of a crispie a while ago . . .”

“The ones they sell at the college?” Clifford asked.

“You’ve heard of them?”

“Oh, yeah. If you ever see her with some of those crispies for sale, pick some up for me.”

“Okay, Brother. I’ll bring them over and you and I can pig out like we did with fry bread when we were kids.”

“Suits me,” he said, chuckling. “But in the meantime, why don’t you come into the house and I’ll fix us both something to eat.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, worried about how Loretta would react since she hadn’t had a Sing done yet.

“My wife and son aren’t here today. So come on, I made some of my Texas chili last night and there’s still some left. We’ll add some potatoes to it and use it as stuffing for burritos.”

“Sounds great.”

Ella followed him in. Clifford’s house was simply furnished and the wooden furniture well worn. There were no
luxuries here, unless one could count a thirteen-inch TV set as a luxury.

The kitchen was slightly more modern, but there was no microwave oven. Loretta felt the same way Rose did—it would be a waste of money to buy what their stove could already do. At least the refrigerator was large, and although purchased from an appliance renewal place, it hummed along nicely.

“Sit down. I’ll cook,” he said.

“Don’t you want me to fix the potatoes while you get the other ingredients ready?”

“No, I still remember the time you made hash browns for Mom. They tasted like wood shavings by the time you finished with them.”

She remembered the incident well. It was Thanksgiving and she was helping Rose with breakfast. She’d started to cook, gotten stuck on the phone, then remembered the potatoes only when the smoke alarm went off. It had happened over three years ago, but it had become the family’s favorite joke. Every time Ella offered to help in the kitchen someone brought up the story.

Ella sat down and watched Clifford work. “How’s my nephew doing?”

“He realizes he could have been seriously hurt, if not worse, and that really frightened him—for about a day. He was really quiet when we came home and didn’t even want to go outside to play. But now he seems to have forgotten all about the incident and is completely back to normal. Kids are amazing little beings. They live in the present so their recovery time is zero flat.” He switched on the radio to the Navajo station, realized George Branch’s program was on now, and switched it back off. “I know that man must have some redeeming qualities, but I’ve never been able to discover what they are.”

“He’s a pain, but even so he sure didn’t deserve what happened to him. His house is nothing more than rubble now.”

“Don’t waste time feeling sorry for the radio man. I listen to the news on that station and apparently he’s managed to turn his tragedy into a publicity bonanza. Supposedly his ratings have tripled, if you believe the hype. I’m told that he’s asked his listening audience to cooperate with the Tribal Police and help them find the man suspected of setting the fire at his home. He told his listeners that anyone who hides and protects the suspect is mistaking vigilante justice for the real thing.”

“I think the people shielding the man I’m trying to locate believe in our tribe’s traditional methods of justice, not the law as we know it,” Ella said. “It’ll take more than words, particularly those coming from a reactionary like the radio man, to change thinking like that.”

“Word has spread that the one who ended up killing the councilman’s wife, then himself, was at the radio host’s home several times.”

“What? I hadn’t heard that.”

“My sources are good,” Clifford said and shrugged.

Ella didn’t doubt that for a minute. Her brother traveled everywhere on the reservation and spoke to a multitude of people. “I’ll have to look into that.”

Ella accepted the finished burrito her brother handed her. It was excellent—filled with cheese, spicy ground beef, pinto beans, and salsa. “Good job. Do you have a paper plate?”

“Why? You won’t have to do the dishes,” he said, frowning.

She laughed. “I wasn’t worried, but I can’t stay and I’d like to take the food with me. I’ve got a radio personality I’d like to speak to as soon as possible.”

He looked in the cupboard and found a paper plate with
a cartoon Great Dane on it. “Here. It’s leftover from my son’s birthday party. Are you sure you can’t eat like a normal person—at the table?”

“I really want to follow this up. But, listen, this burrito is quite a treat. I’m used to generic fast food for lunch. You should experience the hamburger I bought before I arrived. I took one bite and threw it back into the paper sack.”

“Did you get it from that new place near the bridge?”

“Yeah.”

He made a face. “You don’t want to know what I’ve heard about the way they cook their food. Just don’t go there again.”

“I was going to save the burger for Two, but I just changed my mind.”

Ella drove back through Shiprock, eating her lunch on the way, then directly to Branch’s radio station in Farmington. The first person she met when she walked into the lobby was Hoskie Ben.

“What brings you here?” he greeted with a warm smile. “Are you looking for George?”

“Yes, I am. Will you tell him I’m here?”

“Can you wait a few minutes? Right now he’s with a nervous sponsor. Despite the jump in ratings there’s a lot of negative publicity going around. This businessman is afraid it’ll hurt his company’s image if he continues to run his ads on George’s show.”

“I bet the station isn’t too happy about that.”

He shrugged. “One sponsor might pull his ads, but another two will come along soon to bid for those open slots. Controversy is good for the show.”

“And how are things for you? Busy?” Ella asked.

“Yeah,” he said, adding, “I just keep reminding people that it’s my program notes and research that helps Branch get those ratings.”

She chuckled. “No one can fault you for wanting to get ahead.”

“Unfortunately some people do,” he replied somberly. “Councilman Hunt’s assistant called, wanting us to do a story about Navajo justice. When I asked if the councilman was trying to capitalize on the sentiment surrounding the death of his wife to justify the burning of George Branch’s home, she cussed me out real good.”

Hearing a commotion, Ella glanced down the hall. A door opened about then and an angry Anglo man in an expensive suit stormed out. George Branch came to the door and tried to call him back.

“Jack, wait a minute—”

The man brushed by Ella and Hoskie, then continued out the front door without comment.

Branch’s scowl intensified when he saw Ella. “My day isn’t bad enough?” he muttered, then added, “What brings you here?”

“I need to ask you a question.”

“First, did you catch Cardell Benally? That lunatic might set fire to somebody else’s place if he doesn’t happen to like what they say. Lewis Hunt is stirring him and a lot of others up by calling for ‘Navajo justice’ when the court system fails.”

“My investigation is still ongoing. But I need to know something concerning the first arson. I’ve been told that Bruce Smiley, the man who set the fire that killed the councilman’s wife, was an avid listener of yours and, in fact, visited you at your home more than once. That might explain why Benally and Hunt have you in their sights. You and Hunt have a way of inciting people.”

“That’s such a distortion of the facts, Ella. And I don’t invite listeners into my home. Smiley was a nut job who somehow managed to get my address. He came by to talk to me a couple of times and really pushed to be invited inside. But each time I told him that I really valued my privacy and if he wanted to talk, he should call while I’m on the air.” Branch paused suddenly. “Wait. Come to think of it, things
did get a little weird the last time he stopped by. Smiley wanted to talk about my gun collection, and was so interested in the details I was afraid he was planning to break in later and try to steal something.”

“Did you ever discuss the councilman with him?”

“No. I’m telling you, our conversations lasted only long enough for me to get him off my porch so he’d go home.”

By the time Ella left the radio station she was convinced that Branch had told the truth about Smiley—especially because she’d confirmed the story with Hoskie before leaving. Apparently Branch had grilled everyone at the station trying to determine who’d given out his address, but he’d never managed to get an answer.

Glancing at her watch after she pulled out into traffic, Ella decided to stop by her home once she reached Shiprock. She needed to ask her mother for a favor. As a traditionalist, Rose knew every single rumor that concerned that group. With a little luck, and using her own connections, Rose might be able to get a lead on the sniper for her.

As she pulled up at the house forty-five minutes later, she saw her mother hanging up some laundry outside.

Ella went to join her. “Mom, why are you doing that? I thought part of Boots’s job is to help you with the housekeeping.”

“She asked for some time off today, and I gave it to her. To be honest, I like having the house to myself sometimes.”

Ella smiled ruefully. “And so today of all days, I decide to come home.”

Rose chuckled softly. “I’m glad you’re here. A friend of yours dropped off a small gift for you.”

“Who dropped what by, Mom?” Ella asked, instantly on her guard.

“She said she was a sergeant in the sheriff’s department and her uniform and badge looked real.” Rose led the way inside, then reached for the small flowering potted plant. One
long shoot had a half-dozen purple, white, and yellow orchids.

“Here’s the gift she left for you,” Rose said, handing it to her. “I’ve never tried to grow an orchid in this desert, but I’ve heard that they can thrive in a bright window.” She touched one of the petals. “Your daughter will love it so make sure she doesn’t water it to death.”