A Certain Kind of Hero (3 page)

“I've thought about that, too. About coming back, about establishing some sort of ties.” Too quickly, she added, “For Peter's sake.”

“Of course. For Peter's sake.” Too quickly, he smiled and gave an open-handed gesture. “So, for Pete's sake, here you are. And you look great, as always.”

“You do, too. Your job seems to agree with you, Gideon.”

“It agreed with me better when I was a hunting and fishing guide, working for a good outfitter. Back when I first met
you, I think that might have been the best job I'll ever have.” With a look, he told her that he didn't expect anyone else to be impressed.

“Now, here I am, bucking tradition. Too young to be a tribal leader. But they voted me in, so what the hell.” He caught himself patting his breast pocket for the cigarettes he'd given up, and he nodded toward the restaurant. “Let's go get some coffee.”

She tipped her head in assent, and he gestured for her to lead the way.

“Rumor has it that you're a refreshing change,” she said as the hostess seated them near a sunny window. “Quite progressive, in fact.” She declined the proffered menu. “Just coffee for me, please.”

“Yeah, well…” He spared the waitress a two-finger sign and a nod. He was suddenly more interested in telling Raina what he was about these days, since she'd brought it up. If she hadn't been impressed back then, maybe she would be now.

Not that it mattered anymore. But just for the hell of it…

“The longer I hold this job, the more respect I gain for traditional thinking. The only problem is, the rest of the world doesn't get it.” He braced his forearm on the edge of the table and leaned closer. “They're into money power. They don't understand traditional values. They don't have any respect for spiritual power.”

Raina nodded, her eyes alight with interest. “That's why we're here. Peter needs to know more about what it means to be Chippewa. Without Jared, I—” Her voice dropped into that confessional tone again. “I'm kind of at a loss, because, you know,
I'm
not…”

He watched her align her flatware with the edge of the table, and he wondered which part of what she'd just said embarrassed her. He didn't think it was the Chippewa
part—at least, he'd never gotten that impression from her before. Maybe it was her being at a loss for the insight she was seeking on Peter's behalf. Or maybe just being at a loss for her husband.

He shook his head and sighed. “For somebody who always had a knack for doing the right thing at the right time, my brother sure picked a bad time to check out.”

“It wasn't his idea to have a heart attack.” She raised her eyes to his and smiled softly. “I know you miss him as much as we do, Gideon.”

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “So you're looking for Uncle Gideon to do a little straight-talking, man-to-man?” Less than comfortable with the assignment, he arched an eyebrow as he snatched a toothpick from the holder on the table, peeled off the cellophane and stuck the poor substitute for what he really wanted into the corner of his mouth. “Do you have any idea what I was like when I was twelve-goin' on-twenty?”

“Hell on wheels would be my guess.”

“And you'd be right on.” His smile faded. “Peter knows he's adopted, right?”

“He's thrown that up to me once or twice lately. ‘You're not my
real
mom.'” She leaned back as the coffee was served. “I try not to show it, but that one really hurts.”

“I don't know much about kids, Raina. If I heard him say something like that, I'd probably….” Probably what? He'd hardly known his own father, so he was short on memorable examples. “Well, I'd probably say the wrong thing.”

“I probably already have.” She added cream to her coffee and stirred until the mixture was well past blended. “Listen, I know you're busy. I don't expect you to entertain us. I thought if Peter could meet some people, maybe some kids his age, and participate in some of the—”

“It might be a little risky.” Avoiding her eyes, he sipped his coffee.

“Why?”

“Because he might run into—” He was tempted to say
more complications than culture,
but that would sound like a defeatist attitude. “Some problems, maybe. You never know. A lot of people are up in arms over this treaty issue. We don't have much land left, but we've got a treaty that says we've got major hunting and fishing rights, and we're suing the state over it. Even though there's precedence in our favor, the non-Indian landowners and the resorts and the sportsmen's groups are making all kinds of threats. The tourist trade is down this summer because of all the controversy.” He wrapped both hands around the mug of coffee, took a deep breath and admitted with a sigh, “It's not a good time to learn about being an Indian.”

“What
would
be a good time? When there is no controversy?”

He chuckled. “Good point. We'd need a time machine to take us back a few hundred years, wouldn't we? But I don't know about—”
Right here, right now.
What he should have told her was that he didn't have the time. That would settle it, at least for the time being.

But he had a strange feeling that the die had been cast and that there was no point in trying to change the numbers that had come up. They would just come back. Sooner or later, the same combination would turn up again. Raina, Peter and Gideon. Along with maybe a ghost or two.

Gideon glanced at the door, as though he were expecting someone to come through it and rescue him. Jared, maybe. The brother who did everything by the book.
Read it to me, brother. Where do I go from here?

“It might be a better idea if we got together someplace else. Neutral territory.”

“Neutral? I don't understand, Gideon. Am I unwelcome here? This was my husband's home.”

He gestured with an exception-taking forefinger. “It was a place your husband put behind him, with very little time spent looking back.”

“Not on my account. I never really understood why he stayed away. Believe me, I never asked him to. In fact, if he'd wanted to, I would have—”

“It doesn't matter anymore. We made our choices, the three of us, and it worked out the way it worked out.” He leaned back in the booth, taking a moment to study her, to wonder what she would have done if he himself had asked her. Since he'd denied himself the chance, he didn't want to know the answer, but there had been many a time when he'd taken an awful kind of pleasure in torturing himself with that question, and others.

But those were the days when he'd taken his pleasure where he could get it. No more.

“So you're back again. Full circle, Raina.” And she would find that things had changed some. Gideon had changed. He tipped the coffee mug, studied the contents as though he were reading tea leaves, then nodded. “You need a fishing guide, I guess I'm your man.”

“I'm not asking you to just drop everything on such short notice. I mean, I know you're much too…”

“Too what?”

“Too busy now. I'm sure.”

“You're not sure.” He shook his head slowly, half smiling, taking a new and perverse pleasure in protracting her discomfort. “Not about me, Raina. You never were.”

 

He tried to dismiss the uncomfortable sense of foreboding that plagued him as he followed her up the stairs. If he could handle himself around lawyers and politicians, he could surely deal with a twelve-year-old kid without getting warm in the face and sweaty in the palms. 'Course, maybe that was just a reaction to following Raina up the stairs. He had to remind himself that she wasn't taking him to her bedroom, the way he used to dream she would back when he was a man of large cravings and little character. She was asking him to do her a service, not to service her, and, damn his own hide, it was the least he could do.

But seeing the boy for the first time in over two years, actually seeing the boy with the controls of a child's game in his hands and what had to be man-size tennis shoes on his feet, was a real gut-twister. Before the boy even opened his mouth, he reminded Gideon of Jared. Spitting image, just in the way he moved his hands and the way he spared only a glance for the two people who had entered his domain when he was clearly occupied with important business. Like father, like son, Gideon told himself ironically. He found himself digging deep for an easy, breezy smile as he offered the boy a handshake.

“How's it going, Peter? You remember me?”

“Sure.” One last jiggle of a button elicited an artificial explosion from the game. Peter gave a victorious nod, switched it off and accepted Gideon's greeting. “You're Uncle Gideon. You took my dad and me fishing once.”

“Seems like a long time ago, doesn't it?”

“It was. I was just a little kid. I remember, though.” Peter stepped back as he measured a foot and a half of space between his hands. “I caught a fish that was like
this long.
”

“Close.” Gideon shoved his hands in his pockets as he looked the boy over. Damn, he'd gotten tall. “The three of us had fun that time, didn't we?”

“Yeah, I guess it was pretty good.”

“Wanna try it again?” With a gesture, Gideon invited Raina to join in the reunion. “Take your mom along this time?”

“I guess that's what we're here for.” Peter shot his mother a sullen look. “It was this or else get dragged to someplace like Disney World.”

“Peter actually chose Pine Lake over Disney World,” Raina confirmed.

“Well, that doesn't surprise me. Lots of people choose Pine Lake over Disney World.” Gideon clapped a hand on Peter's bony shoulder. “A born fisherman just naturally knows where to come for the best walleye fishing in the country.”

“But we realize you have tribal business to attend to, Gideon, and Peter and I don't want to get in the way of your—”

“You won't be in my way.” Gideon slid his hand away from the boy's shoulder, disappointed that his friendly gesture hadn't changed the guarded look in Peter's eyes. He turned to Raina. “But we've had a little trouble lately, just so you know. A couple of incidents down at the public boat landings made the local news.”

“I haven't heard about any real violence,” Raina said.

“No violence so far. Just some verbal confrontations between some of the so-called sportsmen's groups and some of our people.” He shrugged. “Rednecks versus Indians. Same old story. A lot of name-calling. Some threats tossed back and forth. The kind of stuff you don't want your kids to hear.”
Anybody's
kids, he thought, recalling the vulgar words thrown around like hot potatoes in a game no kid needed to be taught
to play. “Adults setting the kind of example you wish kids didn't have to see.”

“Kids know how to form their own opinions,” Peter claimed.

“Anybody ever ask you for yours?” Gideon asked. He was inclined to try laying a friendly hand on Peter's shoulder again, but the look in the boy's eyes warned him not to push. “I mean, like your friends or your teachers at school? They know you're Chippewa, right?”

“They know I'm an Indian.”

A distant look came into the boy's eyes. Gideon knew exactly what it meant, and he knew why Raina glanced away. She knew, too, but not from experience. And that was what troubled her most.

“Do they have a problem with that?” Gideon asked gently.

“No way, not my friends,” Peter declared defensively. Then, with a shrug, he qualified his claim. “One guy asked me why Natives think they should have special fishing privileges, like higher limits and using spears and some kind of nets.”

“Gill nets,” Gideon supplied. “So what did you tell him?”

Peter shrugged again. “I told him I didn't know anything about any special privileges. I've only been fishing about three times in my entire life, and I used a pole.” He looked to Gideon for confirmation. “I did, didn't I? I don't remember any weird kind of nets or anything.”

“You used a rod and reel, and I had you casting pretty good for such a little guy.”

“I can't exactly see me throwing a spear into the water like some kind of wild man.”

Gideon laughed, even though, deep down, he hurt for
the boy's choice of words. “You're not much of a wild man, huh?”

“Maybe with a video game, but not a spear. Besides, from what I hear, if the Natives get to use spears and nets, pretty soon there won't be any walleye left in the lakes.”

“Really?” Peter's assumptions echoed the accusations being bandied back and forth in the media and the halls of the Minnesota legislature lately. It chilled him to realize that it wasn't just the so-called sportsmen he had to worry about. It was the kids Peter's age who had no reason to question what they were hearing. The books from which they learned their history told a distorted story. Popular culture had turned his people into stereotypes and foolish-looking mascots. The critics were legion, and there were so few Native American voices left to be heard.

And for Peter, who was growing up surrounded by caricatures and critics, it must have been scary to hear all this stuff, then look in the mirror and see himself, living and breathing inside real Chippewa skin. It had to make him wonder,
What the hell is this all about?

And Jared had neglected to leave the answer book behind.

Which left Gideon.

He gestured instructively. “Spearfishing is a sport that non-Indians indulge in during the winter, so they've made sure it's legal then. But spearfishing for our people is a food-gathering skill. We have traditionally practiced it in the spring for hundreds of years. And there are still plenty of walleye.”

“Yeah, but they say there won't be if you guys get your way.” Hearing himself, Peter instinctively looked to his mother for help, then shook his head, as though coming to his senses. “I mean, if you get this treaty settlement thing.”