LYNNE HINTON
POSTED ANNOUNCEMENT
To All Citizens of Pie Town, New Mexico!
Raymond Twinhorse, son of Frank Twinhorse, is a native son of Catron County, born of the Navajo Nation, a lifetime citizen of Pie Town, and now a soldier in need of our attention. Raymond was recently injured in Afghanistan, where he serves as a soldier in the US Army. He has been taken to the military hospital in Germany, where he is receiving the care he needs for his injuries. As a means of encouragement and good wishes, his friends are putting together a “Get Well Parcel” to include letters, small tokens of appreciation, and pictures to send to him. Please take this opportunity to write Raymond and let him know how much we love him!
Oris Whitsett and his daughter, Malene, are in charge of gathering the letters. Father George at Holy Family Church will be accepting any gifts you want to send. Francine Mueller, chief baker at Fred and Bea’s diner, will be collecting the money to help pay the shipping costs for this Hometown Hero Goodie Box. Trina Lockhart is in charge of this Pie Town Project so all questions and concerns can be handled by her. Stop by Frank’s Garage to find her!
Even though we are a small town, a little place, mostly unknown to others across the state and across the country, let’s show our hero that we are big in pride! Just as we have rallied together in the past to take care of each other, let us rally together now and come to the aid of our dearly beloved, Raymond Twinhorse. We are a beautiful village of settlers descended from homesteaders, conquistadors, and Native Americans. We are the hometown of heroes! We are the village of generous hearts! We are the community of those who care! Let us not forget, let us not allow Raymond to forget . . . We are his family! We are Pie Town!
Dear Raymond,
I hereby certify that this letter is written by my own hand without coercion or unsolicited counsel. My name is Oris Whitsett, and I am of sound mind and fair judgment.
I apologize, Raymond, this was first started as a new draft of my will which I never completed but I don’t have much paper for letter writing so I’ve just got to use what’s on hand.
Trina said you liked getting letters. She told us to write you and that she would put all the greetings together and send a big package to the hospital. I even heard that Francine was looking to bake you something special, although I think shipping a pie to Europe might be a bit more messy than she figures. Unless she sends you a pecan pie. Francine’s pecan pies get hard as a rock when they’ve been sitting for more than a day. I suppose if that’s what comes with the letters, you could use it as a weapon, seeing how you’re still in a military hospital and could possibly be an enemy target.
Trina gave us instructions about what we should say in our letters, asked us to be upbeat and encouraging, give some news about Pie Town and what is going on here since you left. She even has some notion that the mail arrives at your hospital in the afternoon and hopes that upon receiving our package you’ll be able to enjoy all these missives, cards, and desserts, when the sun is bright and you’re finished with all your doctor’s visits and the daily therapy; and as you are left with a lonesome hour or so before dinner you will be heartened by all the well-wishes from your hometown.
Personally, I like to read my mail in the morning along with the newspaper, but of course, our mail doesn’t run any more until after lunch since Thelma Gilbert started delivering for all of the residents of Quemado, Datil, and Pie Town. She claims there were budget cuts and they fired the other county carriers. I tried complaining to the Post Office General that the village of Pie Town needed its own post office and letter carrier but like most of the complaints I lodge against our government, I didn’t hear no reply.
Frank told us at the diner yesterday that you were sent from Afghanistan over to Germany where you’re facing a few operations and that you’ll be back stateside in a few weeks or so. He said he hears from your doctors every couple of days and that you’re coming along real good. He was informed that your leg is pretty banged up but that your vital organs are strong and your head is clear. He was mighty worried about you when we first found out about the accident over there, closed the garage and everything. It was the middle of the week when he got the call and he told Trina that he was going out to walk the trails and that he’d return soon enough. A few hours after he left we had a real bad snow storm and everybody got some kind of worried about him. I told them all that Navajos know a whole lot more about surviving the elements than us settlers but they were still worried, sent out a few men to try and find him. Then three days later, he just showed up at the garage working on Christine’s brakes without a word of where he had been or how he was. You know your dad has his ways.
Before I go on I need to say that I’m not much for writing down things to other folks. I make grocery lists, pay my bills by check, keep a diary of money spent, money earned, a good record of my mileage on the Buick, revise my will every couple of months or so; but I can’t recall writing a letter to anyone except for maybe some school project in English class. Miss Dubois was a French lady, came over to the states with her sister who married a soldier during the last world war. She moved out here to Catron County in the late forties, was hard on our little band of students but I learned more from her than anybody else in my eight years of schooling. I believe she had us write letters once or twice, to the President of the United States, the governor over in Santa Fe, and seems like we had to write a letter to someone we admired. I can’t recall who I chose for that assignment, but now that I think about it, it was probably Miss Dubois because I do remember she was easy on the eyes and I was a little taken with her accent. But anyway, all I’m saying is that I not completely sure how this will fare since I don’t have much experience in this kind of thing. Usually, if I’m writing a letter, I’m complaining about something, however, since I know you’re trying to think on more pleasant matters, I’ll try to think of some news to write to you other than how I miss getting my mail and paper at the same time and how the Forest Ranger over at the El Malpais Recreation Area keeps hard liquor in his truck. I saw the bottle for myself when it rolled out from under the driver’s seat when he came into town for lunch.
Things in Pie Town haven’t changed much since you left for the army. My daughter, Malene, remarried her first husband, Roger, which doesn’t make a bit of sense to me. I never understood why they divorced in the first place and then why they would ever bother to go back through the trouble of marrying up again. But that’s their concern.
The church was rebuilt after the fire and though I’m still mad about changing the time of Saturday Mass, I did help put up a few walls, filled in the sidewalk with cement, and helped Bernie King level the parking lot. It was, after all, what Alex wanted for the town and Lord knows, I did anything for that great-grandson of mine when he was living and wasn’t about to stop after he died. He wanted that church rebuilt more than anything and no matter what I thought about the church and that new priest I couldn’t see his pleasures denied. I still miss him as much as I miss my beloved Alice, but that’s not anything to write to you about.
My Buick’s running good. Got it a few months ago and I think the trunk is even bigger than last year’s model. Frank just tuned it up and rotated the tires and I don’t mean to talk bad about your father but he charged me way more than they would have at the dealer in Albuquerque. I try to be neighborly and give him my business but you wouldn’t even know he notices my generosity by the amounts he charges. Maybe when you get home you can man the office and talk him into coming down on his pricing.
Trina does well at the garage. In the little bit of time she’s been working there, she’s learned a lot about engines and such. She can change a timing belt, flush out a radiator, switch out the brakes and replace the muffler without any help from Frank. You’ve picked a fine mate in her, I tell you. I don’t know if she can cook but I guarantee you this much, you’ll never have to pay for another oil change. She’s swift and hardworking and I think she’s quite sweet on you, talks about you every time I see you, seems to care a great deal about what happens to you. That counts for a lot, let me tell you. I miss Alice, my wife, more than anything because I always knew she loved me, cared for me. It’s the most tender part of life, having a companion, so I’m happy you and Trina found each other.
We still got a lot of winter left and the weatherman said we’ll get more snow this weekend. I’m thinking about asking Frank to put chains on my tires but Malene keeps telling me I got nowhere to go anyway. But just let there be some emergency around here and my Buick will be the only car up and running in this whole county. Roger’s squad car is so old I won’t be surprised if he doesn’t go on some sheriff’s call and have to be towed out. I keep telling him he needs a new vehicle but he claims the county can’t afford it. Maybe now that I’m writing this to you, I will have gotten the hang of letter writing and I’ll ask him if he wants me to write to the state and request more funds for the sheriff’s department.
Well, that’s about all I can think of to tell you right now. I suppose if Miss Dubois was grading, she’d probably say I needed to spend a little more time on my spelling and grammar. I reckon I’ll just take my chances with what I got and hope you’ll overlook the errors.
We’re proud of you, Raymond, for signing up in the army when there was a war going on, for fighting for these United States of America, helping us keep our many freedoms, showing honor and bravery in your service on the battlefield. You know my Lawrence has made a career in the military, fought in both Gulf Wars, served as an instructor overseas and now back here in the states but I want you to know that I feel as much pride in your service as I do my own son’s.
We got a fine picture of you on the wall at the diner and everybody here in Pie Town wants you to get well and come back home. We look forward to giving you a hero’s welcome, serving you some decent pie, and making sure you know just how much we appreciate all you have done.
Maybe when you get out of the hospital, come home to Catron County, and wear that nice soldier uniform, you can speak to the General of the Post Office and get my mail back running at a decent time. You take care now and hurry home.
Your friend,
Oris Whitsett
Dear Raymond,
Enclosed in this package that Trina is putting together is a pecan pie I made this morning. It has chocolate and lots of butter and brown sugar and of course, pecans. Frank said you didn’t care for coconut so I left out that ingredient and added half a cup more of the nuts. I thought the pecan pie would ship better than the meringue or fruit ones; and it should stay fresh since we serve it a couple of days past the bake day at the diner and nobody seems to notice.
I’m not sure if you heard that I now officially bake pies at the diner for Fred and Bea. You know, they used to serve just brownies, maybe a pound cake once in a while, but they’ve never been known for their desserts. I started making pies last year just before the festival, won the grand prize at the bake off, and took a class later that season at the community college on creating tasty desserts. I like fixing the pies and have even come up with a few recipes on my own. I just find one I like and add a little something else or take out an ingredient I don’t care for, replace it with something different, kind of like the extra nuts for the coconut in your pecan one.
Don Martinez from over at the steakhouse in Socorro drove all the way out to Pie Town last summer just to taste my banana cream. I heard it mentioned that he would like me to come down there and make the desserts for his restaurant but I think I’ll just stay where I am. Fred and Bea pay me a little more than when I was waitressing and when I get orders from customers at the diner, I am given the full amount received. We charge twenty-five dollars for a pie; so I can do real well when it’s a holiday season or somebody is hosting a family reunion. It’s a nice arrangement and I don’t have to drive so far to work.
When we heard about your accident, the bomb that blew up your army jeep, we all stopped what we were doing and we said a prayer, right then and there. Fred and Bea closed the diner early and then we all gathered at the church and said more prayers. I don’t go to Holy Family Church since I’m not Catholic, but that evening everybody in the whole town showed up. Even Oris came and he hasn’t been to church since they dedicated the building. He drove his Buick, of course, and even brought Fedora Snow, his neighbor from across the street, although he did make her sit in the back.
Father George read a few passages of scripture. Roger sang a hymn. We lit candles and we prayed. Out loud. Everybody taking a turn asking God to heal you, to let everything be alright, to bring you back home to us.
Your dad wasn’t there and we prayed for him too. Everybody knew he took the news real hard. Walked out of his garage and just went up into the hills. Stayed up there three days in the worst storm we’ve had all winter. Bernie took his truck up there to find him, but he said he never smelled a wisp of smoke or saw a single print in the snow and you know, Bernie’s pretty good at tracking.
Of course, Frank came back and even though he doesn’t talk much about it, he seems like he’s doing better now that we know you’re out of Afghanistan, in the hospital in Germany, and doing okay. He’s back to work, at least, which is good for Pie Town because most everybody needs help putting chains on their tires.
Trina said that I should tell you about me and Mr. King, Bernie. I know you worked some for him on his ranch when you were younger. She said that you would like to hear that we started dating because she hadn’t actually told you yet since it just became official only a few weeks ago. She says that, but I figure she already let the cat out of the bag because it was her pushing that really got us together. Bernie, Mr. King, is an old bachelor, set in his ways; and truth be told, I never thought he’d ask me out. But you know Trina. She said something to him and the next thing I know, I’m riding with him over to Silver City for dinner and a movie. It was some crazy western cowboy show that had aliens in it. That Harrison Ford was the main cowboy and Bernie knew I liked him in those Indiana Jones movies so he found out when this new film was showing at the cinema and asked me to join him. He came to the diner to ask and when I looked over at Trina, who was there eating lunch, she just grinned from ear to ear. I figure she knew what he was asking before I did.
Trina’s been a good friend to me in the last year. I know it seems strange, us being so different in ages, me being old enough to be her mother or even grandmother, but she’s just so easy to talk to, so down to earth, truthful. I find her to be a person of great courage and strength. She’s quite a gal, but I guess that’s news you already know, right?
She tells me about how you’ve been talking on the computer, how you write letters, send messages on that thing called Placebook or something like that. Maybe she wouldn’t want me to say this, but Raymond, the girl lights up like a Christmas tree when your name is mentioned. I don’t know how you can see each other on that little computer screen or how you can have a conversation of any real value when you’re so far away, but she sure seems like she knows you as good or better than those of us who watched you grow up. And if my friend is happy, then I’m happy too. Besides I told her this and I’ll tell you the same thing, she couldn’t find a better man anywhere.
I tell her about how you were as a boy, so quiet, like your dad, so interested in how things work. Always reading and learning. As I recall, you were also a sucker for any old stray dog or cat that wandered through town. I remember when you were about ten years old and you found a rabbit near my house. You wrapped it up in your shirt and brought it to the front door. You were so gentle with that little thing. You asked me if it was mine and when I explained I didn’t keep rabbits, you said it hurt his leg and you wanted to tend to it and asked me if it was okay if you took him home. I asked Frank about that rabbit a number of years later and he told me how you fed it and cared for it and then let it out at Bernie’s ranch. When I mentioned it to Bernie a couple of months ago, he told me that he would see that old rabbit near his back shed for years. He said it hung around there longer than some of the barn cats. He claimed you were still feeding it all those months you worked out there as a teenager. All my life living out in the country I haven’t ever heard of a rabbit living longer than a couple of months, maybe a year, especially out here. With all the coyotes and hawks and owls, a rabbit is lucky to make it through one mating season.
Maybe when you get home, you and Trina, the baby, and me and Bernie can ride over to Grants for a nice dinner or even down to Albuquerque for a ball game or a trip to the shopping mall or something. I know we’re old but it would still be nice to spend some time with the three of you. I guess Trina has showed you pictures of Alexandria, maybe held her up to that computer camera for you to see. She’s growing like a weed and jabbers on about as much as her mamma. She’s going to be a talker. But she’s so cute you just want to eat her up with a spoon.
We love you, Raymond. We think of you every day, light church candles, say our prayers. We’re looking after Trina and your father and we want you to come home soon. Bernie sends his greetings. He’s not one for writing down sentiments but he wanted me to make sure you know that he cares for you and misses you a whole lot. He says his farm wasn’t ever as well-tended as it was when you were there in those spring and summer seasons you helped him out. He never found a grown man as dedicated, honest, and as hardworking as you were and you weren’t even old enough to drive. He calls you the hero of Pie Town.
When you get back home to Catron County, I’ll give you the recipe for the pecan pie and I’ll make you whatever dessert you like best. Trina said you like the lemon bars they serve in the army so I’ll start working on a special lemon pie recipe this week.
Hurry home.
Love,
Francine Mueller
Dear Raymond,
I send you all manner of blessings and prayers of healing with this letter. As the pastor of your home church here at Holy Family, I am writing to let you know that we lift you up in the merciful arms of God and keep you in our hearts and minds every day. I think the idea that Trina had of sending you a parcel of well-wishes is a good one and I am happy to include a handmade rosary from the Brothers at the Norbertine Hermitage Center in Albuquerque and a prayer book from the diocese office in Gallup. I have also included drawings from the children in the Sunday School class at Holy Family who are sending their prayers and greetings to you as well. I especially like Little Tillie Romero’s drawing of the church, a yellow ribbon wrapped around the entire building and a star overhead, bright and shining above it. She said it is the same star that brought the wise men to Bethlehem and if it was able to bring them to the baby Jesus, it is strong and bright enough to bring you home.
It’s been a few months since we talked about the Epiphany event and the arrival of the wise men to the stable where our Savior was born, but I guess she finds great comfort in the story and still remembers the long journey across the desert that the Magi made and is considering the deserts of Afghanistan that you have traveled across while making your return to Pie Town. She is also the one who created the bracelet made from wildflowers that is likely to wilt before completing its arrival. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her beautiful piece of jewelry, picked with great care from across the road from her house and braided together, would probably not withstand the time and rigors involved in shipping. When you find the small plastic bag with shriveled stems and petals, just know it comes with great thought and love from Tillie.
I understand that you don’t really know me and that you grew up under the care of Father Joseph here at Holy Family Church. He was a good man and a favorable and popular priest. At the time of his death, all of the members of the church attended his funeral held in Quemado six months ago. He was faithful until the very end and I know will be greeted in Heaven by the saints and angels celebrating his good service and his life of dedication. I know he would want me to send his love and care for you as well.
Of course, you have probably already heard the story of my arrival to Pie Town since I got here the very same day as Trina. In fact, as I’m sure she has told you, we drove into town together. She was quite a handful on that ride. Perhaps she mentioned to you that I was not a very experienced driver and I was unsure of where the parish was, what time I was anticipated, and what folks would be expecting in their new priest. With all these concerns, let me just say that I was not at all inclined to offer a ride to a young teenager from Texas who was arriving in Catron County with about as much information about Pie Town as I had. Even though I worked quite diligently to try and put a distance between Trina and me both in the minds of my parishioners and in any kind of relationship she thought we might have, I now recognize quite clearly my pride, arrogance, and lack of charity and count our friendship as one of my greatest gifts as a priest and as a human being. She has shown more strength of character and gentleness of spirit in the couple of years we have known each other than I could possibly ever demonstrate in a lifetime.
She is a wonderful mother even though she doubts her skills. She loves Alexandria and is very careful to attend to the little girl’s needs and desires. She is a loyal employee at the garage with your dad, knows more about an engine than I ever will; and she has become a faithful friend to many in our little town.
She tells me of your courtship, a relationship I understand that is built upon computer dates and letters and calls and emails. I asked her once how it was that she fell in love with a man she barely knew since I understood she only met you when Frank drove her back to Texas and she attended your boot camp graduation. I intended no malice with my query and although she chooses to tease me about my reasons for such a question, I think at the time she perceived it as innocent. She smiled with the question and explained that the relationship she had with you was the most honest one she had ever had. She claims there is no pretending between the two of you because of all of the difficult circumstances you both have faced. She said you helped talk her through the anxiety and worry she suffered during her pregnancy. She said you were kind and easy to talk to and that she felt you were sincere in your affections and concern.
She seems to think that because you met each other when you were both heading into new territories, journeying across unknown paths, that there is a bond connecting you and a permission to be completely yourselves. She was pregnant and a new resident in this fair village and you were fighting a war in a strange land. Although she understands the differences in what you have both faced, she said the unfamiliarity of the circumstances and the sense of suddenly being pushed into the world alone somehow connected you in a way that will last forever. I don’t claim to know much about romantic relationships but I do know that Trina is loyal and honest and a good judge of character. If she says your hearts are bound together for a lifetime, I believe it.
Your grandmother from Ramah comes to church quite often even though I know the trip is a long one for her, especially in the winter months when I know the roads are icy and difficult to traverse. And yet, she is faithful to the service of Holy Family and to the ways of the Catholic Church. She knows of our prayers for her grandson and enjoys the stories the parishioners love to tell about you while they reminisce of your boyhood times. I guess she didn’t see you all that often when you were growing up and these childhood memories seem to bring her great pleasure.
I try to minister to your father, Frank. He is a kind man and has been generous to me in the sharing of his knowledge and skills in working on the engine of my car as he never charges me for auto repairs. He has shared stories and information about your people, the Navajo, and has offered to take me out to wilderness sites that are sacred to your family and that he is sure I would find beautiful. Although I haven’t actually gone on any camping adventures with him yet, I look forward to opportunities to see the Malpais area and Fence Lake and the North Plains. I’ve heard that Frank Twinhorse is the best person to hike and track this county and I am happy that we will have that opportunity in these upcoming spring and summer months. Perhaps you will be home and well soon and can join us in these outings.
Please receive this letter and these included gifts from the church and me as signs of our love and prayers. Please also know that I am extending to you the gift of my friendship as your pastor and as a personal friend of Trina. I know it will take some time to get used to me and my ways as a priest, but I hope you will allow me the chance to minister to you when you return to New Mexico. I have heard so many lovely things about you, your commitment to hard work, your gentle ways with animals, your volunteer work in the community, and your service to the church and I look forward to the opportunity of getting to know you better.
Your choice to serve in the military is an honorable one and I thank you for your willingness to enlist and join the army while we have been at war. I hope you know your efforts, your choice, and your service is honored here at home and across the country. We pray for your healing and for your speedy return to Pie Town.
In God’s grace,
Father George Morris, Holy Family Church
Dear Beloved Raymond,
Roger and I are sitting at the kitchen table, late on a Thursday evening, sharing our concerns and love for you as we write this letter together. Roger has asked that I do all the writing because he has such poor penmanship. And if you remember all the notes he scribbled to you across the years, you will surely agree. He’s a great man, a wonderful sheriff; but he cannot write a lick. I often wonder how his deputies and secretary ever follow any of his written orders because you can’t tell whether he’s writing in Spanish or English and it wouldn’t matter anyway because I can read both languages, have lived with him for more than thirty years, and I still can’t decipher his words. (He just mumbled something in Spanish but it’s not worth translating it and adding it to this letter.)
First, just let me say that we love you and we are praying for you. I have placed your name on the prayer lists of every church in Catron County and even some in other places across the state. I also called Angel and told her about your injuries and she has promised to place your name in the prayer box at the church where she goes for weekly meetings. We ask God to heal all of your broken bones and wounds from the accident, to mend you back together and bring you home to us very soon.
Frank told me the details of your injuries and even though I haven’t worked as a trauma nurse, I do remember enough from my training to know it will be a long period of rehabilitation and recovery. I say this not as a means to depress you, as Roger is pointing out, but to let you know that if I can do anything to assist the therapists or doctors when you get back to Pie Town, I happily offer all of my services. I have many unused vacation and sick days and I’m sure that my supervisor from the nursing home would allow me to take a leave of absence if you need a private nurse. I will ask Frank to keep me posted on your recovery and if my care is needed, I will make myself available.
Roger says he is happy to drive you around when you get home as long as you don’t mind riding in the squad car. He remembers how much you used to enjoy sitting in the back seat, sirens blaring and lights flashing, and he’d be happy to oblige you those pleasures again. I just told him that you were a boy when you rode with him around the county and that I don’t think you’d be too keen on all that show and noise since you are now an adult. But now that I write that, I realize that the sirens and lights are still part of the reason Roger enjoys his job; so maybe that’s something boys just don’t grow out of!
Although she hasn’t come right out and asked us, both Roger and I get the feeling that since you may be coming home soon, Trina is thinking about moving from the garage apartment into Roger’s house. We’re not sure of what she is expecting regarding your living arrangements but we do know she would want you to be able to visit her. We are, of course, happy to make that possible. In the house, everything is all on one level, after all, and would be easily accessible if you are in a wheelchair and need those capabilities. Roger and I have talked about it and even without a wheelchair, we can’t see how you could maneuver those stairs to the apartment. If this is what she wants, we will support her in this move. It’s easy to see that she cares a great deal for you and we’re happy that the two of you found each other and have supported each other through war and birth. It took longer than it should have but Roger and I realize now how lucky we are to have each other and we both regret what was lost in our time apart. We both agree that there is nothing better than a good partner in life.
We’re still working full-time. His sheriff duties keep him very busy and even though he’s hired a couple of new deputies it seems he has to take care of something for the department every day. I asked him just now when the last time was that he took an entire day off and he can’t remember having one. We are hoping that in the spring and summer we’ll both take some vacation and go to Denver to visit Angel and have some nice time with her.
I guess you may be wondering how our daughter is faring in Colorado and we’re happy to report that we feel like she’s doing better now. After Alex died and she didn’t even show up for her own son’s funeral, we lost touch with her for almost a year. And then, out of the blue, she called and claimed she was in a good program, clean and sober, working at a coffee house, and living in a nice home with five or six other recovering addicts. We’ve seen her once or twice since that call. She came home for the holidays this year, just for a couple of days, and we met her in Santa Fe a few months ago when she caught a ride with a friend who was driving down. She’s still rail thin, but she doesn’t look so haggard any longer and even if I am her mother, I still say she’s beautiful like her grandmother and as smart as her father. All I really think that she inherited from me is her feisty temper and her way with horses. Roger just said, amen to that, by the way.
Of course, we both know it was you who taught her everything she knows about riding. I tried to show her all my tricks and ideas about horses but by the time she was six she had her own way of doing things and her own way of doing things did not include her mother. Roger and I often talk about how grateful we are to you and Frank, the way you took care of our Angel, the friendship the two of you shared as children. You really are more like brother and sister than me and Lawrence ever were and I know she misses you and I know she would want me to send her love.
Roger and I were just talking about the fact that she didn’t take much with her when she left after Alex was born. She didn’t want the furniture we bought her or any of the clothes she had made or bought with her own money. She left the gold crucifix necklace her grandfather gave her when she turned sixteen and the set of pearl earrings Roger and I bought for her when she gave birth to Alex. The jewelry her grandmother gave her, the rings and pins her boyfriends had bought her over the years, she left them all in the little jewelry box on her dresser. But the one thing I know she still has, the one thing she has never lost, left behind, given away, or put aside is that leather bracelet you made her when the two of you turned sixteen. I remember how much it meant to her when you gave it to her, how she explained to us where you found the silver charm, a bear, you bought from a silversmith at the Gathering of the Nations Pow-Wow in Albuquerque and the tiny piece of turquoise you found on one of your trips out in the Narrows, the one you polished and placed just beside the charm. As far as I know, she still wears it, the leather worn and the piece of turquoise, thin from so many years of wear and tear. Still, I like the thought that this is the piece of jewelry she keeps. I have found great comfort, especially in the years when we didn’t know where she was, didn’t know how she was, that she was wearing the bracelet that you made for her, a bracelet that promised protection from all harm. You are the best friend Angel has ever had. Your father was the best godfather a child could ever know; and I have always thanked God for having the two of you in our lives and in the life of our daughter.
I don’t know why I’m rambling on and on about Angel when this letter is supposed to be a letter of encouragement and well-wishes, a letter to let you know about how we’re doing. I guess I just got sidetracked and took a little trip down memory lane. You would think that Roger would have headed me off and pointed me in the right direction but I guess we both love you for many reasons and a lot of them have to do with what you did for our daughter.
We will be here for you when you get home. We will do whatever you need for us to do, to take care of you, to provide you with housing, transportation, home healthcare, and even a babysitter for Alexandria so that you and Trina can have some quality time to spend together. You are like a son to us, Raymond Twinhorse. It will always be that way.
Be well. Come home soon. Know of our love. Roger just gave me a nod that the letter is fine. So, I will say our good-byes.
Love,
Roger and Malene
Ah-hah-lah’nih!
Greetings my son,
Trina is putting together a nice bundle of letters and gifts from the people in Pie Town. I feel a bit odd contributing to this community endeavor but Trina has insisted I participate and include a letter with everyone else. I try to explain to her that you and I have never written letters but she will not let me out of this opportunity to send a father’s own personal wishes for his son’s well-being.
The garage still provides me with a good working wage and I remain able to slide under the chassis and also lift off all four wheels for rotation; so I guess I will continue with my employment for a while longer. Trina is a solid employee, has good work habits, and has learned practically everything I know about engines in her short time at the garage. I suspect she will know more than I once she starts working on the newer models and learns the ins and outs of computer-generated systems. She has small hands which I now see is a favorable attribute for reaching beneath hoses and behind radiators, and in between spark plugs. She is strong as well and can lean over hoods and motors far longer than I. It is not a natural thing for me to be around a woman for so much of the day, but I find her company pleasant and the sharing of the workload a relief.
I talk to your doctor or a nurse there at the hospital every couple of days or so. I am not sure that you remember the conversation you and I had when you were first transferred to Germany, as you seemed a bit groggy from the medication and the trip from Afghanistan, but I cannot say how much it meant to hear your voice. Even with the reports of your recovery, the high marks of surgical success you have had, and the cheerful voices of your caregivers, I have been anxious until I finally heard you speak. It was a great comfort to me.
I have been to Ramah. I know that my refusal to visit our family has been a source of discontent for you for a very long time. I know we have not seen eye to eye about my choices to leave the reservation and to live away from your grandparents and our extended family members. I need to say that I have been wrong about that matter and I have sought to reconcile with your grandmother, my mother, and I will seek to make things right for you and the others as well. I see how important it is to have that support, especially now, especially as you are so far away, and we cannot get to you. Your grandmother sends her deepest love and has asked that you come back to Ramah and live with them when you return.
Even though I do not know if you have decided where you will live when you return, I have not mentioned your relationship with Trina to her. I feel that is not my news to report and I will let you see your own way to discuss this with her. I am, of course, hoping you will return to live with me in the trailer, the way it was before you left for the army and I am already making necessary arrangements for you to be able to transfer a wheelchair easily inside, in case you are still in need of one when you come home. Bernie King is helping me widen the front door and build a ramp but I am still unsure of how we can maneuver the chair through the narrow hallway. Perhaps, it is time, as Trina likes to tell me, to buy a real house that cannot be toppled in the spring winds or hooked up to a truck and pulled away. I try to explain my love for the brown trailer, but she says she spent too many years of her childhood parked in a trailer court and will never make her home in another one as long as she lives. I guess that’s information you might need to know in case your relationship continues to grow. You will not bring her as your bride into a mobile home.
Ah, but what do I know about brides and such? Your mother never mentioned any discontent she may have had in living in a trailer so far away from everyone. She told me when we first moved in that she liked the privacy of our lives, the way she could see and count the stars, the sound of desert wind, the long setting of the sun, the sheer hold that silence can have on a person. I never understood, of course, why she left when she did. I never knew she was unhappy or displeased with our life and as I have told you more than once, it never had anything to do with you. I claim all responsibility for her departure and I hope you never entertained a single thought that it had anything to do with you. She loved you from the moment she knew she was pregnant. I just think the weight of being married to me, the deep longing she had for her family and the inability to find her place in Catron County just became more than she could bear. I no longer even blame my relatives for pushing her away. “It is the curious nature of many unknown things to remain unknown,” as your great grandfather used to say.
If I knew where to reach her, of course, I would let her know of your military service and of the recent events in your life. Even though I never told you this news, I tried to find her when you graduated from high school, having made your plans for joining the army, but I was unable to locate her then and I must admit I haven’t really tried in many months. However, if that is something you would like for me to do before you return home, I will happily search for her again.
I know she would be proud of you, as proud as I am. She would think you are brave and selfless to do what you have done. She would surely hold your face in her hands and smile that beautiful smile at you, whispering those things she told you when you were a baby that she never repeated to me. I hope you know she always loved you.
I have been tracking the coyotes for the past few months since I still struggle with sleeplessness. As you discovered when you were a boy, on those dark nights when I can no longer stay put in my bed, I wander the early morning hours along the hidden trails. The animals have become used to me now and do not even seem to mind when I join them on their hunts. I do believe that the leader of this small group is from the same pack that we met on a trail a few years ago, just before the spring of your departure. Do you remember the family? And do you recall the smallest pup, the one who lagged the farthest behind the others, the one we left our sandwiches for? There was a small ring of white fur around his silver-brown neck. I do believe he is full-grown now and leads this pack I follow. It is odd to say, of course, but it is as if he recognizes me. And all these seasons later, I feel connected to this animal as if we shared something we both can never forget. I even find myself telling him of you as I sense his questioning of why I walk alone. Where it was that we once shared our pity with him because of his small size, his inability to run as quickly as the other coyotes, I feel his pity for me now that I travel with no pack. I suppose that is why I am allowed to track and hunt with him.
I have also seen the old witch running along the canyon floor and the wisp of smoke that you always called “Kit Carson’s ghost” that seems to waft along the north end of the ranch at the Old Sheep Trail. I still find the mounds of rocks that you made as a boy to mark paths for you and Angel to find your way home when you wandered for so many miles. I see all the places we shared, all the trails we walked, the clearings where we rested for the night; and when I lie beneath the stars, so many of them, you know, I call up your name to our ancestors, to the spirits to guide you and protect you and bring you out of harm’s way and back home. I cannot say if I think there is one God watching the world as the white man seems so resolved to make everyone acknowledge and believe in; but I confess to you, I have even prayed to Him.
You are my family, Raymond. You are my son. And I yearn to have you home.
Ah-hah-lah’nih! I will greet you with love and great favor when we meet again.
Your father, Frank Twinhorse
Dear Raymond,
I have no idea if this box of letters and stuff makes it to you. The address the hospital nurse repeated for me has so many numbers and letters and has that German name for a town, I don’t know if I got everything right on the label or not. Christine helped me. She read what I had written over and over to me while I wrote the address on the right forms and then checked the label side by side with my notes from the phone call and she promises me I got it right, so I hope that is true.
In case you’re wondering, I did write the label and got the box before I wrote my own letter. I sometimes have a hard time writing down a lot in one sitting but I guess you’ve figured that out since I tend to do most of my catching you up on the town and my life when we talk on the computer. I know that you said the last time we had a conversation that I should write longer letters but it’s just hard for me to get it all down in words. And plus, you know how challenging spelling can be for me! Malene let me have the old computer that Alex had and she showed me the tool bar where you can check your spelling, but as you can see, I’ll still not likely get all the words written correct. Maybe you’re banged up enough not to notice. Not that I hope that, of course. See, I’m such an idiot. Who would say something as stupid as that? At least, when I’m talking I can take it back. When I’m writing, it’s too hard to erase a whole sentence. Anyway, maybe I should learn to use the computer better if I have to write you a lot of letters. Christine told me you can take away entire lines and paragraphs if you read it later and want to change things. She forgot to show me that tool bar, however, before she left for her shift at the nursing home. So, just forgive my dumb mistakes. I’m real good at running that numbers program for the garage but when it comes to typing up a letter using that long typing software, that’s another whole story.
Oris said he was writing a letter. Francine is doing one and Father George, Roger and Malene and Frank are contributing. I have no idea what kinds of stuff they’ll be telling you about me and Alexandria. And I may read Oris’ before I mail it. He sometimes says more than he ought to say. I know that some of them are sending you a few things too since I told them that I was mailing everything in a box and they can include gifts if they wanted. Francine wants to send a pie and I’ll do my best to get it wrapped good, but if it’s gotten turned over or squashed in between all the other stuff, just get one of the nurses to throw it away and tell Francine you can’t eat pie because of your hospital diet.
Are you on a hospital diet? What do they feed you in Germany? Is it the same food as you get in the army dining room or is it better? Oh, I don’t know why I’m writing you questions. I guess it’s just my mind thinking of things, thinking of you and what you’re doing all day now that you’re wounded.
Alexandria drew you a picture. It’s mostly just red and blue lines of coloring but she seemed real intent on making you a pretty picture so just think of it as a special portrait from your favorite girl. I hung your army photograph on the refrigerator door and every time I get her juice or some milk, I show her your face and say your name. One day a week or so ago, I swear she said “Waymon,” and that should make you feel pretty good because she hasn’t yet said anybody else’s name. Francine keeps trying to get her to call out “Aunt Francie” but even though Alexandria makes a lot of noise and you’d think she’s really talking, she doesn’t know many words and “Fr’s” are a little hard for her, I think.
She recognizes faces, of course. That’s the easy part for her. And she gets picked up and toted by just about everybody in Pie Town; so the good thing is that she’s not afraid of anybody. I guess that’s a good thing. ‘Course, I’ll have to keep a close eye on her if we ever go to a big city or something. She could easily crawl into the arms of the wrong person with that trusting nature of hers.
Frank and I still work together and we’re still eating our lunch together every day. We don’t say a lot about you and the accident. I think talking about it makes him nervous. And when he’s nervous, he just walks out of the garage, heading north. I never know if he’s coming back and I should wait on him or if I should just finish what I’m doing, close the garage, and go home. I told him one time just to let me know when he was leaving but it’s like he just all of a sudden gets a queer thought in his head and has to get out in the hills. I had an uncle like that too but he’d been locked up for a long time. I think he just needed to make good use of his freedom. I don’t know about Frank. I guess he just finds more comfort being with the animals, away from the people, than he does sharing his company with the folks from town. I do know he worries about you even though he never lets on as such.
I’m real glad he approves of the two of us together. I don’t usually care what most people think of me; but I care what Frank thinks. Him and Roger, Malene, Francine, Christine, Fred and Bea, I feel like I have a family here. I feel like I’m a part of something I’ve never had and I guess that means I care how they think I’m doing.
They all love you, that’s for sure. I mean, I knew it when you left for boot camp. I heard all the stuff they said about you joining the army and everything but since they all heard about you getting hurt, everybody has to stop and tell me and Frank how much you mean to them and how they’re all praying for you. It’s a nice thing, Raymond. I hope you know what you mean to the folks here.
Father George asked me the other day how I fell in love with you. I told him about our talks and how nice you’ve always been to me, how it never seemed to bother you that I was pregnant. But he seemed so curious about how we could be as close as we are when we haven’t really spent that much time together. I told him that I thought we had a lot in common, that we seemed to see the world kind of alike. I also told him that I wasn’t trying so hard to impress you, to be something I’m not and that you seemed just fine with that. I told him that can make a girl fall in love more than anything. And then I asked him why he wanted to know so much and whether he was thinking about leaving the priesthood and hooking up with Bea’s niece from Socorro who has started coming to church quite a bit. He blushed when I asked him the question and it was the funniest thing. We were eating dinner together at the diner and he ran out of there so fast he forgot to pay his bill. I tell him that he still owes me for that dinner. And I get a big kick out of that for sure.
I called a travel agent last week in Albuquerque to find out how much it would cost for me to come to Germany. It was a whole lot of money. I know I could ask everybody to chip in and help me buy the ticket but I don’t know if you even want me to visit you. I know that when I feel bad I’m not really interested in entertaining company, not that you’d have to entertain me, but still, you know what I mean. So, I’m just going to wait and let you tell me if you want me to come or not. I got a Visa card when I went to work with Frank; so I can just charge the ticket if you want me to come. Just let me know.
I can’t stand not hearing from you every day like I used to. I hate not knowing what you’re thinking, how bad you’re hurting and what you feel like. I guess I’ve gotten accustomed to having you a part of my every day; and even when we’re not talking, I still think of myself as coming home to you, that you’re waiting for me, waiting to tell me something about those crazy guys you run with and the way it is over there. I still have all these stories I want to tell you about Alexandria, about the new thing I learned about a V–8 engine or a European-made motor, the crazy joke Oris told. You’ve become such a part of my life, Raymond, I can’t imagine not having you in it. So, you get better, you hear me? You get better and come home. Me and Alexandria need you.
Okay, that’s enough. I’m going to try and get Christine to take a good picture of me this evening before I mail the box. So that means I’ve got to go take a shower, wash my hair, and put on something decent. I don’t want you to hang some photograph of me wearing my coveralls and looking like a boy. Then what would your buddies think?
I love you, Raymond. Please come home soon.
Trina