12:43 P.M.
Austin and I waited in the small terminal building at Newell Airport for our respective charter flights to Monterey and Boise. The weather had turned hot and humid, and the air-conditioning had chosen the occasion to malfunction. I regretted having to turn up the emotional heat as well, but there were questions I needed answered.
“How’d you know where your father was Sunday night?”
Austin kept his gaze averted from me as he replied—a pattern with him over the past days. “He told me that afternoon that he was going to settle things once and for all with you. It sounded too much like what he said at Cinder Cone, so I followed him to the airport and bribed the charter service to take me where he’d gone. He’d rented a car there and asked for directions to Bearpaw’s house, and a sob story about a family emergency got me the same.”
“Why’d you bring the shotgun along?”
“… I thought you were in danger. He’d killed before.”
And that silence tells me everything.
3:50 P.M.
I stood by Saskia’s hospital bed, my eyes on her face—taking in small details, cataloging our similarities and dissimilarities, then trying to look beneath the surface to who this closely related stranger really was. Her eyes did the same.
Neither of us had spoken since we’d said hello. I couldn’t imagine what she was feeling, but my response was flat and cold; for days I’d been steeling myself against this meeting, building up my defenses in case of rejection, and now I’d fallen victim to the distance I’d placed between us.
Saskia broke the silence. “When I gave you up, I thought I’d never see you again,” she said in her low-pitched voice that was very like my own.
“Until two weeks ago, I didn’t know I was adopted.”
“Robin told me what you’ve been through since then—including what happened in Modoc County. How did you know to go there?”
“I didn’t. I was curious about the land Austin planned to develop and thought I could pick up a lead to whoever ran you down. But once I was at Cinder Cone, I realized it was important because you mentioned it while you were slipping in and out of the coma.”
“I did?”
“Yes. You said, ‘cinder,’ ‘cone,’ and ‘find.’ I guess you wanted somebody to look for your Uncle Ray’s body.”
“I guess. I’ve always felt guilty for running away and not seeing that he got a proper burial.”
“The way I heard it, you had no choice.”
Silence fell again—heavy, uncomfortable. Saskia’s face was ashen, blackish shadows under her eyes. I knew I should reserve the tough questions for another time, but they were weighing on me, and I had a right to know.
“Why didn’t you report Ray’s murder after you escaped Joseph DeCarlo?” I asked.
“I was deathly afraid of him. He was rich, powerful, and I’d seen him shoot my uncle.”
“But you couldn’t have been that afraid. Otherwise, you’d never have allowed Fenella to blackmail him.”
“What?”
“Those checks she wrote you at the beginning of each semester in college and law school—where did you think the money was coming from?”
“She told me it was from your adoptive parents.”
“My parents never had that much money to spare in their lives. It came from Joseph DeCarlo.”
She shook her head as she absorbed the knowledge.
“Seems Fenella lied to both of us,” I said.
Saskia stretched out her arm and took my hand. “Don’t blame her, Sharon. She was a very caring woman. Neither of us would be who we are today if it wasn’t for her.”
“Think of who we might’ve been to each other if she hadn’t told so many lies, kept so many secrets.” I wanted to pull away, but instead left my hand where it was—a limp, unfeeling lump of flesh and bone.
Saskia’s mouth tensed as she realized I was not only angry with Fenella but with her as well. After a moment she said, “I want to ask your forgiveness. When I gave you up, I thought I was trying to protect you from Joseph DeCarlo, but I suppose it was selfishness as well. I had dreams; I wasn’t equipped to raise a child on my own.”
“Later on, after those dreams were realized, you never even tried to find me.”
“Because Joseph was keeping track of me—and he made sure I knew it.”
“What did you think he would do? He didn’t want me.”
“Exactly. And he would have done his best to turn your… Austin against you. That kind of rejection can be devastating to a child or a young woman.”
“Sounds like a pretty flimsy excuse to me.”
Tears welled up in Saskia’s eyes. “Please don’t do this, Sharon.”
I looked down at our linked hands, incapable of a response. After a minute I said, “There’re a few more things I’d like to know.”
“Yes?”
“Where were you during your pregnancy?”
“With Fenella and Great-aunt Mary.”
“Mary McCone was your great-aunt? That means I’m actually related to my adoptive family, in a weird way.”
“Yes.”
“Was it an easy birth?”
“No, difficult.”
“Well, some things don’t change. I’ve been difficult my whole life. Was I on time?”
“Exactly nine months from the date of your conception.”
I nodded. She’d told me what I needed to hear.
Saskia said, “Please don’t blame Fenella or your adoptive parents for the lies. If anyone’s at fault, I am.”
“I don’t blame anybody.” As I spoke I realized all my anger—at her, at Ma and Pa, at Fenella, at my birth father—was gone. I squeezed her hand, bridging the distance between us.
“So,” I said, “what shall I call you?”
“Why not Kia? Most everyone does.”
“And what will we be to each other? You’re my mother, but…”
“But your real mother is the woman who raised you. I can accept that. But you and I can be friends, can’t we? Let’s try.”
“Of course we can be friends,” I said. “In a way, we already are.”
9:50 P.M.
I stepped out onto the front porch of the Blackhawk house and breathed in the crisp autumn air. Robin had organized an impromptu barbecue tonight, inviting a few of her friends; now the guests had departed and she’d given me orders not to help her with the cleaning up. I went to the railing, looked through the trees until I found the near-full moon.
Someone moved in the corner of the porch. I turned, saw a tall figure whose hair glistened like cotton candy in the rays from the streetlight.
“Darcy?”
“Yeah.” The tip of a cigarette glowed, went out, and I caught the scent of marijuana.
“How come you didn’t join the party?” I asked.
“Had to work, and then when I got here you were all having such a good time…”
“And you wouldn’t’ve?”
He shrugged.
“You’re feeling bad because I saw your mother today.”
“My mother? Why not yours?”
“Because, as Kia and I agreed this afternoon, my real mother is the woman who raised me.”
“… You both agreed?”
“Yes. Just as Robin and I agree that my real sisters and brothers are the ones I was raised with. That doesn’t mean your mother and Robin can’t be my friends. You too, if you like.”
“… I guess.” He ventured a few steps closer to me. “How many brothers and sisters have you got?”
“Two of each.”
“What’re they like?”
I smiled, realizing I had a surefire way to cement our tentative friendship. “Which horror story would you like to hear first?”
11:27 P.M.
“What’d you say to Darce?” Robin asked. “The two of you were out there laughing, and he was still smiling when he left.”
“Oh, I just told him some stories that convinced him he isn’t the sorriest excuse for a brother on the planet.”
“What kind of stories?”
“About my brothers and sisters.”
“Will you tell them to me, too?”
“Now? It’s pretty late.”
“Why not?” She held up a bottle and two glasses. “We’ve got wine to finish.”
“Okay.” I sat down on the old-fashioned porch swing. “I’ll start with the time John and Joey rolled me up in the rug.…”
LISTENING…
“Will Camphouse is your nephew?”
“In a distant way. Our familial relationships aren’t as clear-cut as whites’, or as formal.”
“Does that mean he’s related to me too?”
“… Possibly. There’s been so much mixing among the tribes, and other ethnic groups as well, that those connections are very difficult to sort out. If you and Will want to be related, then you should consider yourselves so.”
“You speak as if you knew Fenella well, but you say you never met her.”
“I didn’t, but I feel as though I did. That year I returned to the reserve for Christmas, stayed into January. Talk of your great-aunt was rekindled when she sent presents, as well as two big crates of Florida oranges.”
“Can you think of anyone who might be able to tell me more about Fenella’s visit?”
“Well, there’s Agnes Running Horse, my cousin. She lives on the Middle Fork of the Flathead River near Glacier National Park.”
“Would she be willing to talk with me?”
“I’m sure she will.”
Something moved under the surface of your gaze, Elwood. Deep, dark, sad. At the time I couldn’t put a name to it, but now I think I have.
“Can you tell me who this man is, and where I might find these women?”
“Where’d you get this?”
“From Mr. Farmer. He named the women, but he didn’t know the man.”
“Yes—Lucy Edmo, Barbara Teton, Susan New Moon, Saskia Hunter. Barbara’s dead, breast cancer. Everybody thought Elwood would marry her, but they had a big fight the last time he came home to the reserve, and that was it. Saskia Hunter, I heard she went to college, made something of herself, but I don’t know what. I’m surprised Elwood couldn’t tell you; they were real good friends.”
Yes, Agnes Running Horse, I’m surprised too.
“You never even tried to find me.”
“Because Joseph was keeping track of me—and he made sure I knew it.”
“What did you think he would do? He didn’t want me.”
“Exactly. And he would have done his best to turn your… Austin against you. That kind of rejection can be devastating to a child or a young woman.”
“Was it an easy birth?”
“No, difficult.”
“Well, some things don’t change. I’ve been difficult my whole life. Was I on time?”
“Exactly nine months from the date of your conception.”
I think I know another reason you wanted to keep me from Joseph DeCarlo, Saskia. Are you working up to telling it to me? Or are you hoping I’ll figure it out on my own?
“So the photograph appeared in Newsweek…”
“And my father saw it. Up till then, he had no idea I was living with Kia. I went home before Christmas, stayed a couple of weeks—which didn’t please Kia one bit—and gave him a story about working on a ranch outside of Billings, Montana. He approved of that, assumed that eventually I’d come home for good.”
I’ll have to confirm that with you, Austin. And when I do, maybe then I’ll finally know the whole truth.