Sacred Ground (30 page)

He hadn't missed the tears in the corner of her eyes. "Damn!" he muttered under his breath. Only hours ago things were perfect. Now, everything seemed to be falling apart.

* * *

Willow
set the phone back in its cradle, then collapsed into the kitchen chair. Images of her son's thumb, torn from its socket, flashed through her mind. She pressed her face into her palms and sobbed. Soft, quiet, cries only Napi, the Great Spirit, heard.

John seemed to already know something had gone wrong with the boys. He sensed things, like her father did. She found comfort in his words and felt a certain relief he'd be doing the driving.

She bolted from the chair and raced up the stairs, taking two at a time. She rushed into the bathroom and quickly brushed her teeth and washed. When she got to her room, Brett had already left. She'd just finished pulling up her moccasin when she heard the horn of John’s Chevy van. She grabbed her fringed jacket and purse, and then ran down the stairs, not waiting, or looking for Brett.

Without questioning her actions, she opened the side door and slid across the back seat. Brett came at a fast hobble and she shut the large door. His expression revealed worry and anger.

"Hello,
Willow
Howling Moon. Morning, Shadow Chaser," John said, speeding down the drive the moment Brett closed the door.

"Thank you for coming,"
Willow
said, glancing sideways at Brett. "Were you able to get Mrs. Turner, Elsie on the phone?"

"No. They'd already left. My brother, Harold Listens Well, said Evil Spirits has always been a mean bull. The rodeo plans on buying him, and that’s why he was in the corral. None of this would have happened otherwise."

"It's not Harold Listens Well's fault,"
Willow
said, her tone a mixture of fear and understanding. "Our boys are spirited. They should have been sleeping like everyone else. If there is fault, it's the boys. This will teach them decisions, good or bad, have consequences."

"Bullshit!" Brett snapped. "They're nine-year-old kids, for God's sake. You believe for one moment they think about responsibility or consequences? That's why they need to be watched and protected. It's not easy keeping up with their wild ideas. Sometimes I wonder what they're thinking."

"My point exactly."
Willow
drew in a deep breath and watched Brett out of the corner of her eye. She wondered what thoughts crowded his mind. Did he realize the boys were responsible?

"If I might say something," John said, pausing for any objections, then continuing, "I would point out, this is the time to give strength to each other. You should not be fighting. The boys will need your strength. They will need to know you are happy. They want to be brothers. You must work out your differences before you see the boys. They will sense the truth."

Silence answered.
Willow
knew John was right. She gave Brett another glance, this time realizing he looked back at her. He needed to apologize, not her. She returned his stare, waiting. He broke the connection, turning back toward the front. She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat.

Pride! Damn pride. The miles seemed endless and so did the tension. She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.

"You are a lot like me, Shadow Chaser," John said.

"Meaning?"
Brett asked.

"I, too, have much stubbornness and pride. We have the opposite problem," he said, a slight chuckle warmed the icy atmosphere.

"Opposite problem?
Don't think I follow you."

Willow
didn't like Brett's short cryptic sentences—she'd been the recipient of his antics many times. He used them when trying to control his anger. She didn't like him using them on his father, especially when they should be getting to know each other. This side of Brett Turner she’d known her whole life. She longed for the man who shared her buffalo robes the night before.

"I am a proud man," John continued, his voice even and slow. "I held a strong hidden hatred for the white man, as you do the Indian." He held up his hand. "Wait, don't start defending yourself. Let me speak,
then
you will have time to respond." He paused, concentrating on passing a slow-moving truck.

"I don't think―"

"Give me the courtesy of listening, son."

Willow
held her breath, expecting Brett to jump at the word, surprised when he didn't.

"When I fell in love with your mother, I was not proud of myself. I had decided at a young age that I would marry a full-blood Blackfeet girl. I did not want children part white. You must understand I was young and did not understand the choices our heart makes, even when we don't agree."

Willow
shifted slightly, getting a better view of Brett, without being obvious.

"When I realized I was hopelessly in love with Elsie, I tried denying it. I said hurtful things. I stayed away for a long time, hoping the feeling would pass. I found an Indian girl and told myself she was going to be my wife, even though I did not love her. I drank and I nearly destroyed myself. What I could not destroy was the love I felt for your mother."

"Why didn't you want to love her?" Brett asked. "You admitted she's―"

"A wonderful, loving, caring, giving, woman?"
John said, laughing softly. "Yes, but don't forget white and married."

"So what?
She could have gotten a divorce. You should have been happy a white woman wanted you. It's not often a white woman would want an Indian man. She was taking a chance too."

Willow
clenched her teeth, wanting to slap his pompous mouth. She remained still, which wasn't easy.

John turned on the windshield wipers. "I didn't see it quite like that, Shadow Chaser. I wondered how I could find a white woman attractive. Her yellow hair and blue eyes reminded me of all the injustices and degradations the white man had handed me all my life. I wanted to revive the pride and heritage of my People. I had gone to school to study Indian cultures and through hard work, long hours, and overcoming prejudices I earned my doctorate degree. I had been offered a professor job at colleges in
Minnesota
and
Washington
."

Willow
knew he thought over his words carefully. She could tell Brett seemed impressed with what John said.

"Why didn't you take a job as a professor? Pay would have been good and you'd have been able to teach about your Indian stuff." Brett stared straight ahead, as though the scenery held incredible interest.

"I thought about it. Even said yes and packed my bags for
Washington
. Fortunately, I stopped to tell Elsie goodbye. She wouldn't say those words to me. I told her I would always love her, but I couldn't accept her white blood. I told her I didn't want to bring a half-breed into the world and that we were both better off apart."

"You didn't want me after all," Brett accused.

"Give me the respect of listening. Then, when you have all the facts, form your opinions." John passed another car,
then
clicked on the speed control.

Willow
wanted to tell him to continue, anxious to hear what happened next. She didn't doubt Brett felt the same, although he hid it well.

"Life has a way of handing you situations at the worst time. Just when you decide what to do, just when things seem right, and just when you realize things feel balanced, something changes. But that is the way of life, is it not?" John asked, not waiting for an answer. "Life handed me something I never expected. Your mother was expecting you. The one thing I told myself I didn't want was arriving in seven months. I didn't know how I felt. At first I felt the strangest thrill. I grabbed Elsie and whirled her around in joy. I kissed her with all the love I felt, which was a lot. Then it hit me―"

"The kid was a half-breed!" Brett provided.

"Right," John admitted.

His honesty made
Willow
pause, as it had Brett. Silence returned. She wanted to scream, "Get on with it. What made you change your mind?" but she didn't. Instead, she waited.

Chapter Eighteen

I never felt more confused in my whole life," John finally said. "I had enough anger for a hundred warriors. It didn't seem fair. Elsie told me to leave. She said she would handle things. I was not to feel responsible. Nor did she ever want to see me again."

"My mother said that? But you told me you watched me grow up. I remember seeing you, kinda, some times. You were there, I know you were," Brett said, turning toward his father.

"Yes. I was there. But it wasn't that easy at first. I did leave. I went to
Washington
. I ran away. I left your mother alone. She told Harold the story about those Indians raping her, because she had no choice. If the baby was born with Indian features, and you were, then Harold would have known the truth or a part of it anyway. She had to protect you, and I guess her."

"He wasn't a nice man," Brett said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I'm sure she was terrified. He never let her forget it either. I grew up with his accusations and―"

"I know," John uncharacteristically interrupted. "But, it would have been worse for her, and you, had she ever told him the truth. So you can see she did what she had to do in order to protect you. I'll admit I felt like a man hiding behind a skirt. It got worse when you were born and they had to do a hysterectomy to save her life. That meant no sons for Harold Jenkins. He blamed her, the drunken bastard!"

Willow
had never heard John swear.

"He could have had a son if he'd wanted one." Brett said, his tone revealed his hurt. "I was there. I'd have done anything for a kind word.
Lorraine
made sure I knew, the moment her belly started growing, Sean wasn't my son, but, by God, he is in my heart.” Brett adjusted his seat belt. “Just forty-five more minutes and we'll be there. Damn, this waiting and not knowing is hell."

"You might say I've spent plenty of my time knowing that feeling. I had to stay in the background. I couldn't take the slightest chance of casting suspicions, for everyone’s sake. Harold's drinking was most of the problem, yet there were too many times I felt grateful for his alcoholism. It took him away from the ranch, your mother, and you."

"I know what you mean. I was glad when he left, scared shitless when he got back. I knew one day I'd kill him for the way he treated my mother. I think Gordon Jenkins was the same way," he paused.

Willow
looked up to find a kind gaze meet hers. She managed a slight smile and closed her eyes once more.

"Only difference," Brett continued, "Gordon used his fists and my dad used hateful, destroying words. I don't think there's a whole lot of difference between physical and verbal abuse. Both destroy. I decided a long time ago that the demon liquor destroys. I want to protect Sean from its disease."

"You've learned something by it, some never do," John said in a quiet voice.

"If my mother didn't want to see you again, and you went to
Washington
, what made you come back?" Brett asked.

Willow
was completely surprised. Brett didn’t usually probe or ask questions, he either assumed or imagined what he wanted to know.
One of their problems, for sure.

"What made me come back?
You.
I realized no matter how much white blood you had . . . you had Indian blood too.
My Indian blood.
I couldn't turn my back on that. I still loved your mother, even if I didn't want to. I felt a responsibility. I loved you before you were born. Elsie let me put my hand and even my ear to her stomach. I could hear and feel you move inside her.
Your life, our life.
Nothing else seemed to matter."

"You could have been a college professor. Doesn't that ever bother you?" Brett asked.

Willow
thought about his wanting to be a vet. He'd put that behind him for Sean. They were a lot alike, she thought.