33 Meeting Chief Morningstar

Lily

 

We had been there for almost two hours when Aubrey asked the inevitable question.

“ How ’ d you guys get here? ”

By this tim e, Arturo had filled me in on everything that had happened between the two of them. Aubrey had asked Arturo right away if he was looking for Amber Jensen—apparently native lands were great places for Seed Savers to duck into while traveling from place to place. Aubrey then suggested we stay and speak with his father. Besides being the police chief, his father was also on the council. Aubrey said if we had any questions or needs there was no better place to be than right here . I felt a little nervous about it, but Arturo was one hundred percent sure, so we stayed. Aubrey knew better than to ask a lot of questions. Up until now the only other thing he had asked was whether we had travelled a great distance and the nature of our relationshi p .

“ ATV, ” Arturo answered . “ But they wanted to get us an EVC. ”

“ You came on an ATV? ” Aubrey seemed quite excited. “ What model? ”

Arturo swelled with pride as he described Bronco ’ s features.

Aubrey looked around. “ So where is it? ”

“ Down by the road; we walk up. ”

“ By the road? ” Aubrey’ s voice and face registered alarm. “ The garage was locked, wasn ’ t it? ”

“ Yes. We le ave in the forest. Cannot see from the road. ”

“ You better hope not, bro. Let ’ s go. That was not a bright idea. ” Aubrey dashed around the side of the house and down the trail, Arturo at his heels with me right behind. Sure enough, when we got to the place we had parked the cycle, it was gone.

“ Oh no! Bronco! ” I looked at Arturo. He said something in Spanish that didn ’ t need translating.

Aubrey shook his head from side to side. “ Around here if you don ’ t want to go looking for your things, man, you need to lock them up. But don ’ t worry. We ’ ll find it. ”

“ What ’ s that supposed to mean? ” I couldn ’ t believe it—I had finally spoken directly to this kid and I sounded impertinent.

He looked at me without speaking, then turned to Arturo and answered as if Arturo had asked the question rather than me. “ Somebody out joyriding. They ’ ll leave it when they ’ re done. M y dad can find it before then. ”

I wanted to say more, say how dumb that was. Ask if they just let thieves run around like that all the time here on native land. But I was too polite. Or maybe I was intimidated. Or maybe I knew it was a mean and ugly thing to say. I ’ m not sure, but I kept my mouth shut.

 

Mr. Morningstar arrived home around seven as the sun taunt ed the mountains with its descent, the evening light soothing my anxious heart. He parked his tribal police truck in the garage at the bottom of the hill and trudged up the mountain, four large black dogs darting in front and behind, on and off the trail, all the way up the hill. Mrs. Morningstar had shown up around five. We had been offered food when it was discovered we were hungry, but dinner had waited for Mr. Morningstar.

The meal was tasty and filling. Arturo had advised that I eat it without asking questions, and he would tell me more about the food later on if I wanted.

Here ’ s what I remember: steaks, cooked outside, like the time we had the meat at Arturo ’ s house; vegetables; and some bread—but not the kind of bread I ’ d had at Evelyn and Abner ’ s. For dessert we had something called “ putting”—at least I think I got that right. A strange name for food, I know. And it was strange. Very soft, almost liquid. Tasty and soft. I tried to act natural, but I think they could tell I didn ’ t know much about real food. I felt them watching me, and Mrs. Morningstar kept talking to the twins in their other language, warning them, I suppose, to behave and not bug me. During the meal everyone was polite and talked only of the day ’ s events rather than about why we were there or that the bike had been stolen or about police business. After dinner Aubrey ’ s dad invited us into his study, alone.

“ Aubrey tells me you are friends of Amber Jensen. ”

“ Yes, ” I said.

“ And you came here because . . . ? ”

“ We saw the purple flowers. ”

“ Is near some coordinates, ” Arturo interjected. He told Mr. Morningstar about Sara Jane and our brief stay with her.

His massive eyebrows raised. “ I see. ” He looked hard at me, then at Arturo. “ You are looking for him ? ” he asked.

“ Yes. James Gardener. He’ s my father. ”

“ So I thought. ”

Mr. Morningstar was a man of few words—unlike his son. And yet I found him a bit unnerving.

“ How did you two get here? ” he asked.