In the Arms of Stone Angels (13 page)

To get a better look at the train wreck that was about to happen, Jade crawled onto a bar stool and craned her neck over
the sea of heads. Chloe worked her way through the masses, but so did some chick named Misty that Jade had met near the bathrooms. She'd paid the stacked blonde—who had the best rack money could buy—to plant a deep wet kiss on Lucas and pretend to know him intimately.

And everything played out like Jade had planned.

Misty wrapped her arms around Lucas, yelling, “Baby! You played our song.” And she even grabbed his ass as she drove her tongue down his throat. With Lucas still working off his stage adrenaline, he took full advantage and kissed her back.

The crowd went wild, but Chloe didn't.

She had broken through the hordes just in time for a front row seat. She stood next to Lucas, so close she could touch him. Even from a distance, Jade saw the shock on her face…and the tears that followed. Chloe melted into the mass of people and got swallowed up. And Jade lost sight of her. She plopped down on the bar stool and smiled.

Seeing the hurt on Chloe's face should have made her feel bad, but it didn't.

It only brought back terrible memories of the same crap Heather used to pull on her. Lashing out at Chloe—to make up for Heather's sins—was never enough, but she'd become addicted to the power of controlling other people's lives. Hanging with Heather had been the stepping stone she'd needed. And now it was her turn to be on top.

Outdoing Heather's cruel pranks really got her off and the other kids hadn't seen anything yet. She was only getting started. Jade loved how everyone talked about
her
now and not that dead bitch anymore. Erasing Heather's memory in everyone else's minds was like a drug she couldn't get enough of.

And Chloe had made it way too easy.

Shawano

Mom had fixed hot tea, something Joe Sunne had asked for. We sat at the small table in the kitchen, one of the few areas of Grams's house that the painters had left intact. And the Shaman's deep voice captivated me, especially when he talked about White Bird.

“The first time White Bird came to me, he wanted to know about vision quests. And with me being Shaman for my people, it was natural he would come to me. I explained to him that a vision quest is a rite of passage for boys before they reach puberty and that he was too old for the ritual. But when he insisted on knowing more about it, I told him that I couldn't help him. I turned him away because he wasn't a tribal member and I didn't want responsibility for an outsider.”

“An outsider?” I let my anger show. “He took pride in being Euchee. You don't know what it meant to him.”

“I know that now, but at the time, I didn't realize how strongly that boy felt about being without a tribe.” He looked into his mug of tea as if he was staring into the past. “Weeks later, I found tools stolen. A shovel, an ax, a knife that my grandfather had made, and some other things were missing from my shed, like tarps and tanned hides and some old blankets. I swear that I didn't know it was him. If I had, I would've kept my mouth shut. But I thought it was some white kids down the road from me and I wanted that knife back.”

When he realized that he said “white kids,” he looked at Mom and me and said, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Mom said. “Go on, Joe.”

“After the police told me the fingerprints they found were White Bird's, I felt real bad. I knew he'd taken those things to do his own vision quest. And he took them to make a point
with me. He was building a sweat lodge somewhere. He knew enough about vision quests to know he'd need one.”

“Once you found out those fingerprints belonged to him, why didn't you explain to the police that he'd come to your place looking for help?” I asked. “You let them believe he'd stolen your stuff. That's not right. Maybe he was only borrowing them.”

“Brenna.” Mom jumped to Joe's defense.

“No, she's right, Kate. That kid could have borrowed my stuff. And I should have said something to the police, but by that time, he'd been arrested and charged with murder. My tribe wouldn't have wanted trouble with the whites. I was afraid they'd blame my people and our customs for what happened.”

Joe took a long gulp of tea before he continued.

“You see, White Bird may have taken peyote or mescaline to enhance the visions on his quest. That was an old custom practiced by the ancestors of many tribes. It was considered a sacred medicine. I would not have recommended that for the boy. Fasting and sleep deprivation would have been sufficient, but without my guidance, he didn't know.” He hung his head low. “I had no idea what would happen by turning him away. If I had it to do over again, that never would've happened.”

“But you let them file theft charges against him. I don't understand.” I shook my head, not letting it go.

“I figured if the theft case ever went to court, I'd recant my story. Those charges never would've stuck. But they had him for murder. And as volatile as Shawano got over one half-breed boy murdering a white girl, imagine what it would have been like if my tribe had been drawn into the investigation. Guilt by association can get real ugly, especially in a small town.”

“Believe me, we know about that,” I said. I could totally
see his point. And I also knew what it was like to live with guilt and regret.

“But what's eating me alive is that he might have killed that girl while under the influence of a hallucinogen. And all because I said no.” He clenched his jaw and stared at his hands. “That's why I came to see you, Brenna. I can't sit back and watch that kid take all the blame. And I think you might have what it takes.”

“What it takes for what?” I leaned forward in my chair and put my elbows on the table.

“The other night when you came to my house, I saw something in you. I know this will sound strange…”

I was BFFs with strange. And all ears.

“Go on,” Mom said. Even she was getting into this.

“I sense you have a gift that you keep secret. Am I right?”

Holy shit! Didn't see that coming.

Mom did a double take and stared at me like I was a friggin' alien. I'd seen the look before. And Joe Sunne waited for me to confirm something he might already know.
A gift?
My life was more like a damned curse. I was a borderline schizophrenic who saw dead people and was channeling a great guy who had only two flaws—he'd been arrested for murder and had a room at the local asylum.

What part of me was a gift to anyone?

I had no idea what the man was talking about, but with him being mystical and all, maybe I didn't stand a chance of fooling him, a guy who could probably bend a spoon using only his brain. He'd see right through me. And with him and my mom both staring at me—waiting for an answer—I didn't know what the hell I'd say.

“I don't have a gift for anything except getting into trouble.” I shrugged at Joe Sunne, who sat across from me at our kitchen table. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Mom grimaced, but I noticed she didn't contradict me. And when Joe glanced at Mom and back at me, I could tell he felt the awkwardness of talking in front of her, too.

“I sense you are a very perceptive girl. You see things that others don't. I was the same way when I was your age,” he began.

“My sympathies,” I said. “Go on.”

“Your ability to see things might help White Bird.” Joe set his mug of tea aside and leaned across the table. “I can't be sure of this, but I believe he is trapped in a vision. If he ingested a drug to enhance his quest—and his vision was interrupted by something traumatic while he was under the influence—he may be trapped in his own mind and unable to find his way back.”

“What?” Mom asked the same time I did, but she wasn't nearly as shocked.

“This'll sound strange to both of you. You aren't familiar with the spiritual beliefs of my people.” He hesitated. “But if you promise to keep an open mind, I'll explain.”

“Please. I'm very intrigued. And I'll keep an open mind, Joe,” Mom promised and I nodded.

He took a deep breath and went on.

“I've seen this only once before. And it was decades ago. A rattlesnake bit a boy while he was alone on his quest. He nearly died. These things can happen, but the strange part was that he stayed in a coma for weeks. And the doctors had no explanation for his condition. Later when the boy regained consciousness, he remembered that he'd gotten separated from his spirit guide and lost his way. That was bad, but good eventually came of it. When he had grown into a man, this same boy had greater insights into the spirit realm because of what he had survived. White Bird's condition reminds me of that boy.”

“Spirit guide? Why would a boy need a guide to wake up from a vision quest? Couldn't he just open his eyes?” I asked.

“Something like what happened to that boy is rare. Maybe what happened to White Bird was part of his test. That's why I believe we must help him find his way back. And I think you can reach him…as his friend,” Joe explained. “When a boy goes on a vision quest, he is in search of his spirit guide. My people believe that a person needs a guardian for the journey they will take in life. Such a supernatural being is similar to your Christian guardian angel. They give us special prayers and songs and symbols that protect us against evil and help us transition to the next life.”

I decided that White Bird must not have connected with his spirit guide. No guardian angel would have let him cross paths with Heather Madsen.

“White Bird would have fasted and prayed until his guide was revealed,” Joe said. “To whites, this would sound like superstition, but my people believe we must open our minds and hearts to know when the spirits are speaking to us. Like all living things, we're a part of the earth and the universe. And we are connected to our ancestors, too.”

“You sound like him.” I smiled. “White Bird told me something like that. And he said that he'd chosen his clan. The
Dala.
He told me that was the bear clan. He'd picked it because the bear was strong and symbolized Mother Earth. And it's a totem sign for a healer,” I told Joe. “Would the bear have been White Bird's spirit guide?”

“The clan name is spelled with a
D
but it's pronounced
Tala,
” Joe corrected me. “Our language is nearly forgotten and difficult to learn.”

I'd heard the pronunciation from White Bird. He'd gotten the clan name wrong, too, but without a Native speaker to help him, he probably got lots of stuff wrong, but that didn't stop him from trying.

White Bird talked a lot about the Euchee. He said that the tribe kept their language pure and did not teach it to outsiders or take on the influences from other cultures. But in the mid 1900s, when Native children were forced into boarding schools to teach them how to be white, the language was all but lost. The Euchee were forced to use English as their main language. But just like White Bird clung to his beliefs without giving in, so did the Euchee tribe. The language exists today, even though it's spoken by only a few. “And the
Dala
is a good clan for him.” Joe smiled. “That
boy has the spirit of a healer. I felt it in him. But the spirit guide in his quest could have been different. The quest is very personal and private. And only White Bird would know his guide. It would be up to him to share that.”

“Is that why you didn't tell me you knew him the other night?” I asked. “You were keeping his vision quest a secret, huh?”

Mom looked confused, but she went with the flow.

“Yes. I didn't think it was right to tell,” he said. “It wasn't my place. And Euchee ceremonies are sacred. They are not spoken of outside the tribe. I hope you understand.”

“Yeah, I do. And I respect that.” I nodded and smiled. “He would have, too.”

The pieces to the puzzle were falling into place. Now I knew that White Bird had been preparing for his vision quest during the week before Heather died. I was sure of it. And even as close as I thought we were, he might have felt that the secrecy was part of the ritual and an ancient tradition. I breathed a sigh of relief, but another question hit me.

“Tell me about how he'd prepare for his quest. I have to know. Please.”

“I can only guess what he did, but how is that important to you?” Joe asked.

“What are you thinking, Bren?” Mom chimed in.

“Because I know White Bird. He would've done his research preparing for his quest. He'd even told me that he needed some space and I wouldn't see him for a while. I thought he was breaking up with me, but now I don't think that was it.”

I narrowed my eyes and dug into my memory.

“He had no patience for someone as shallow as Heather Madsen. And she would've been a complete distraction from
something he wanted more than anything, to become a man with the Euchee tribe.” I turned to Joe. “Even with the Euchee not claiming him, he would've gone through the ritual on his own. He wanted it that bad. So tell me what he would've done to prepare. Please, I have to know.”

Joe shared as much of the ritual as he could. And as he did, I pictured White Bird in my mind.

He would've picked a very secluded and special spot near water to build the sweat lodge for his vision quest. And he'd taken Joe's knife to cut, strip and sharpen the sapling branches he'd need to frame the lodge. And once he had constructed and shaped the outer shell, he would have used the tarps, blankets and hides he'd “borrowed” from Joe to keep the inside dark and watertight. And the floor on the inside would have been covered with grasses, leaves or wildflowers to make it soft, like the little hut he'd built near the creek.

Once he'd built his sweat lodge, he'd dig a pit outside for the fire he'd need to heat the large stones for steam. The sweating part of the ritual, to cleanse his mind and body. I thought about all he had to do to prepare for one of the biggest events in his life. It would've taken him time to build his sweat lodge, fast for days and gather wood and water for the steam, enough to last for his quest.

No wonder he needed space from me.

“That sounds like a lot of work. Amazing,” I said.

“It is. It takes a strong boy to do this, especially by himself and without guidance from an elder.” Joe's expression grew dark. “And under the influence of peyote or mescaline, his quest would have been very risky.”

Joe told us how White Bird would have stripped off his clothes and remained in the sweat lodge, praying and sitting cross-legged near the steam, fending off hunger and the
never-ending heat and his growing hallucinations to pray for his spirit guide to come. It was a grueling ritual that required real commitment and courage…and faith.

White Bird really believed his soul was connected to all living things, past and present. And he believed in the power of his mind and had faith in his senses. His quest was spiritual. Something bigger than he was. I had nothing like that in my life. I didn't have his passion. I wanted to belong somewhere and got good at complaining about what I didn't have. But White Bird saw what he wanted and went for it.

“I had no idea he did that,” I whispered.

Although anything Joe told us about what White Bird might have done was pure speculation, it helped me to imagine what was in his head as he prepared to endure the physical test to become a man in his tribe. It made me even more proud of him.

But it also reminded me of our first and only argument. It was the last time that I saw him before I made the call to the sheriff that got him arrested.

Two Years Ago

When White Bird had told me he wanted his space and didn't tell me why, I was sure he was letting me down easy and that he'd grown tired of hanging with a girl like me. And it hurt worse because he'd told me at his shelter by the creek. I always looked at that spot as our place.

But instead of asking him why he didn't want to see me anymore, I got mad. Losing my temper had put him on the defensive. It was the only way I could handle the hurt.

“This has something to do with your tribe, doesn't it? They don't want you with a white girl.”

“Brenna, that's not it.”

“I thought I was your tribe. Why do you want to be an Indian when they don't want you? They never have.” I felt the heat on my face as tears drained down my cheeks, but my misery didn't come close to matching the pain I saw in his eyes.

“I need to belong, Brenna. It's important to me. And I want you to respect that. I hope you can.” He turned his back to stuff something in his knapsack. He was packing to leave. I took a deep breath, but I couldn't let it go.

“I don't know why you care about a tribe who has been so cruel to you. I wouldn't want people like that in my life…people who can hurt me. I don't need that.” I reasoned with him while he grabbed his stuff.

We were very different when it came to needing other people. We both felt the urge to belong somewhere and fit in, but when others made that impossible, that's where our differences showed. I'd get pissed and ditch them before they rejected me. Lashing out made it my choice, not theirs, even though it still hurt.

But White Bird had a quieter way. He knew what he wanted and patiently focused on getting it, one way or another. He didn't blame others for what made him miserable. Any changes he made were inside him.

After he'd stashed his things, White Bird slung his rucksack over his shoulder and turned to me one last time.

“I know there's a bigger picture, Brenna. We belong to the tribe of man first,” he said, without anger. “Our humanity is what we share and it shouldn't matter what our skin color is or what language we speak. But it makes me feel special to belong to the Euchee. It makes me happy. I thought you had accepted that.”

I thought I had accepted it, too, until I realized that his
becoming Euchee might mean I'd be out in the cold. I didn't belong anywhere. He'd asked me to be his tribe, but that was when he thought he had no one else. Maybe he got a better offer and had changed his mind.

“I don't see the world the way you do, White Bird. I just see my little corner of it. And I don't understand why you can't be satisfied with…that.”

I wanted to ask why he wasn't satisfied with
me
—why I wasn't good enough—but I wasn't sure I could handle what he might tell me. So I didn't wait for him to say anything at all. Before I left, I looked into his eyes and saw that I'd hurt him.

I also knew I'd never forget what that felt like.

 

Even now, I felt a lump welling in my throat when I remembered the hurt I saw in his eyes that day. Of all people I should have understood him. Why didn't I? He could make me bleed with just a look. He still could. Everything that he felt was in his eyes.

And that made him beautiful.

Without making a big deal about it, White Bird had the courage to stick with what he wanted—what was right for him. He didn't whine about not belonging anywhere or feel sorry for himself like I did. He took charge of his destiny and made things happen. And he would have done it too if the tragedy of Heather's death hadn't happened. Whether Joe and his tribe accepted White Bird for the man he'd become, that didn't matter. Not to him and not to me.

 

And I loved him for that. Even gone from my life, he was teaching me.

“I wanted to understand what he'd been doing during the
week before Heather died, because he'd been secretive with me. After what you've told me, I know his vision quest would have been his whole focus. Nothing else would have mattered.” I fixed my gaze on Joe. “So with all he had going on, why would he kill Heather?”

“What are you saying, Bren?” Mom asked. Joe kept quiet and waited for me to finish.

“How did their paths cross, Mom? Heather wasn't a nature girl. She wouldn't have been caught dead in the woods.”

When I heard what I said, I gasped and nearly choked. Mom snorted a tension laugh and Joe raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to…say it like that.” I heaved a deep sigh and rolled my eyes before I went on. “Anyway, White Bird was totally into his quest. He would've been at his secret location in the woods for days before. How would they get together…him and Heather?”

“But he was found over the body,” Joe said.

“Yeah, by me. And I didn't see a sweat lodge near the bridge at Cry Baby Creek. That would have stood out. It would've reminded me of White Bird.”

“Maybe his lodge is near that bridge,” Joe said, smiling. He finally got my point.

“Maybe it still is.” I grinned.

“What just happened?” Mom was confused. “Will one of you fill me in?”