NO SALE EVER
It had been two months since the deaths of Bernard Phillips and Fredrick Marsh. The art world was shocked by the immensity of the scandal. Bernard’s father, the notorious Jim Callahan, who had been so reviled in the early sixties, was a hot subject once more on the New York social scene. The now-retired Brit Currency had been interviewed by all the magazines for his story of two generations of deceit by Callahan/Phillips males. Numerous reporters had tried to interview Bloom, even offering money, but he was reportedly in seclusion somewhere in Arizona, according to his best friend Brad Shriver, owner of the Upper Deck Gallery. Everyone assumed it must be a place like Canyon Ranch; instead it was a small metal hogan near Toadlena, New Mexico.
The Yellowhorse market had exploded since the auction. Everyone wanted a piece. All of Bloom’s old clients had called, leaving messages on his cell phone, asking if he had anything available by Yellowhorse. Bloom couldn’t deal with the thought of selling another Yellowhorse, and finally turned off his cell phone. The images of Marsh he had taken on the now-silenced cell phone had weeks ago been downloaded by the police and the case closed. Marsh’s complete collection of paintings was locked up in a huge police warehouse, never to see the light of day again.
Willard Yellowhorse’s body had been exhumed from Boston’s Mount Auburn Cemetery and returned to Toadlena for a traditional burial. The body of Craig Lendskip was also exhumed, and taken back to Darwin, Minnesota. Lendskip was placed next to his mother and father, and in very close proximity to his mentor, Francis A. Johnson.
Mount Auburn refunded fully to the Marsh estate the money Fredrick had paid for his plot, and removed forever any trace of his evil presence. The state of New York was the recipient of Marsh’s estate money since Fredrick Marsh had no heirs or will. His body was placed in a common state grave, one of many in a sea of simple wooden markers of the unwanted or unknown, a grave that was never to be visited or found again. Bernard’s body was buried near his father’s in the family plot.
Hastiin Sherman would never see the funeral of his grandson, but would be forever near him, as Sherman died the day after finding out the coyote spirit was no longer alive and his grandson Willard would be returned to him. Sherman had left his hogan and made a small encampment at the base of Canyon del Muerto where he died in his sleep. The family hogan could remain occupied, as the old medicine man had purposely vacated it, knowing it was now his time. He left a note for Rachael on her grandmother’s loom giving her the hogan and its contents, and his blessing to be with her bilagaana/Cherokee, and telling her how proud he was of the way Charles had followed the Diné path.
The bodies of Hastiin Sherman and Willard Yellowhorse were taken to their final resting places high above Canyon del Muerto’s wall and placed in their ancestral vaults next to each other for eternity.
The STRUGGLE canvas Yellowhorse had died on was returned to Rachael and Preston. Amazingly, Bloom had been asked about the availability of the piece as if it were something that would soon be for sale.
Charles, Rachael, and Preston decided Willard’s death canvas still had the spirit of Willard in its essence, which would best be freed by burning it along with his boyhood hogan, which had been abandoned since his death.
The day was a cool July morning when Willard’s spirit was finally set free into his ancestral sky. A large gray smoke cloud appeared on the calm Navajo vista, floating effortlessly southeast toward distant Mount Taylor. A lone eagle gently glided through the piñon smoke as the family watched and said their final good-byes.
Rachael’s mind cleared of all thoughts while looking at the magnificent bird slowly disappearing into the distant horizon. An image suddenly appeared in her consciousness: it was a flock of sheep. She knew what it meant. It was time to finish her grandmother’s weaving and then start one of her own.
The End