Tainted Mountain (17 page)

“We had a few drinks and he bought me supper— ”

“At the Tavern? You know they only serve fried food there.”

“I had a fairly nice salad.”

“Okay, salad. How did you get from drinks and salad to spending the night with Charlie?”

Abigail's eyes blazed and she shot a look at the still-dozing man at the table. “
I did not spend the night with Charlie
.”

Nora grinned. “You're right. You're home before dawn.”

Abigail pulled the skillet from the stove. “Sometimes you're so crude.”

“So what happened?”

“You know I'm not much of a drinker … ”

Nora laughed, “You have a cocktail or two every day.”

Abigail gave her a warning look. “While we were walking home I felt queasy and Charlie gallantly took me to his cabin. He gave me seltzer and aspirin, and I'm afraid I fell asleep.”

“You passed out at Charlie's house.” This was getting better and better.

Abigail slid the omelet onto a plate and picked up a knife. “Would you please try to act like an adult?”

Nora lifted her mug to hide her amusement. “Sorry. Go on.”

“That's all. There's nothing more. I woke up, Charlie walked me home, and I promised him breakfast.”

Nora followed Abigail as she carried the plates to the table and set one down in front of Charlie.

He opened his eyes and smiled at Abigail. “This looks perfect.”

Abigail sat. “You need some companionship, Nora. Charlie and I think you should start seeing Cole Huntsman.”

Nora nearly spit her coffee. “Good idea. It will make it easier for him to kill me.”

Abigail laughed.

“You agreed with this?” Nora asked Charlie.

Charlie smacked his lips, loving the omelet. “He's a fine man.”

“Well, if you love him so much, why not take him a cup of coffee—make stalking me more comfortable?”

“What do you mean?” Abigail said.

“He's sitting in the parking lot right now making sure I don't get away.”

Abigail smiled. “That's so sweet.”

Nora wanted to go to bed forever. She glared at Charlie. “You approve of what he does for a living?”

Charlie sat back and patted his belly. “Nuclear energy is cleaner and more efficient than coal, though I don't think they need to gut the Grand Canyon for uranium. But Cole's a good man and he's working on other things. ”

“What else? Murder?”

Abigail set down her coffee cup. “Really, Nora. You should get more rest. You sound confused.”

Charlie stuffed a giant bite in his mouth and closed his eyes in ecstasy. Or was he hiding something about Cole?

When he swallowed and opened his eyes, he saw her staring at him. “You ought to get that front window fixed,” Charlie said.

“I'll get to it later.” She sipped her coffee. “Did you rip the screen or just bend it?”

Abigail sighed and got up for more coffee.

“And why didn't you use your key?” Nora asked.

Abigail filled Charlie's cup and gave her a puzzled look. “I did.”

Nora reached for a piece of bacon from Abigail's plate and received a slap for her effort. “If it was so easy for you guys to break in maybe I ought to put bars on it.”

Abigail's head snapped up. “Are you listening? We didn't break in, Nora. I told you, I used my key.”

Twenty-Seven

She left Charlie to
the window repair and as soon as Cole drove away and Abigail turned her head, she jumped in the Jeep and started for the rez. Maybe Cole could sit around and wait for his friend to intercede, but Nora needed action. She had to help Heather and do something to stop Alex before he broke into their home again. The next time, Abigail might be home and ripe for murder.

Nora traveled as fast as she dared the nearly seventy miles to Winslow. She turned off the interstate onto a two-lane paved road and pushed the accelerator even more, the bumps and swells of the poorly maintained surface creating a sway like a sailboat. The sign to Second Mesa told her she had to travel another sixty miles on a road that ran straight to the horizon.

She headed toward the three Hopi mesas, each with some villages. Nora had heard that Old Oraibi, on Third Mesa, was the oldest constantly inhabited village in North America. Cole had said today's dance would take place on Second Mesa.

Poor farms and ranches of the Navajo Nation dotted the roadsides miles apart, each compound with a hogan, the traditional home structure of the Navajo people.

After what seemed like five hundred miles, the road ended at a T. On the right, a mesa rose and Nora barely detected the symmetrical lines of structures on the flat surface above her. The buildings blended with the yellow dirt of the desert, effectively camouflaging the town. A sign pointed left to Second Mesa. She passed a large, new school and turned right on a road leading up the side of Second Mesa. Around a switchback the road tilted sharply upward. It continued to get steeper with two more switchbacks. Shanties and worn buildings with signs identifying them as tribal and U.S. government and health facilities squatted alongside the road.

The third switchback, about halfway up the mesa, brought her to a stretch of road occupied with cars, people, and several card tables set up under bright awnings. The tables displayed food and crafts.

Whatever Nora expected of the ancient village, the truth disappointed her. The settlement looked like a Third World country. Dirt dominated everything. Yellow dust covered the paved strip of road, which broke off in uneven edges and dropped to windblown dirt shoulders. Houses made of cinder block, rock, and cobbled-together materials clung to the bare dirt hillside.

Nora stepped out of the Jeep. A candy wrapper fluttered under her feet. Feeling uncomfortable and unsure, she headed for the sound of drums.

Several groups of Native Americans meandered up a route etched into the side of a nearly vertical mesa. Nora crossed the road and started onto a rocky trail that switchbacked up the steep mesa. The path was ground to fine yellow powder by centuries of feet trudging through the village.

From time to time bunches of weeds survived, covered in yellow dust. A few food wrappers and other trash flitted across the ground on the dry, hot breeze. The sun beat on her; with no sunscreen or hat, she'd be crispy in a matter of minutes.

Nora topped out on the mesa and the savory smell of roasting meat struck her. The muffled sounds of men singing joined the constant beating drum. The people on the roof of a two-story building looked down the other side at whatever activity caused the singing and drumming.

She assumed the building held two stories because it rose that high above the mesa, but no windows showed on this side to indicate its structure. Built of natural rock, it became a part of the mesa as if it had been uncovered by shifting desert dirt. Cars and pickups ranging from shiny and new to rusting heaps, all under a coating of dust, crowded the narrow alley behind the building. Smatterings of Native Americans moved in and out of the confusion. Like any other outdoor celebration, they carried camp chairs, water, and bags full of necessities.

Nora approached a friendly looking older woman. “Is this the way to the dance?” A few heads turned toward her, but Nora didn't feel hostility or even much curiosity.

The older woman eyed Nora's jeans and though she didn't change expression, Nora felt chastised. “This your first time?”

How could she tell? Nora nodded. “I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do.”

“Follow me,” the woman said. She led Nora to the corner of the solid structure, where another building stood at a right angle leaving a narrow passage. People crowded into the opening all facing toward the drumming and singing. A young woman with a little girl about ten years old shuffled aside and made room for Nora. She nodded her head at the older woman.

The two buildings comprised half of the parameters of a village square, with an identical set of buildings making up the other half. Nora stood transfixed by the scene in front of her.

The plaza was about as wide as a basketball court and twice as long. Color, drums, and singing whirled around her as she tried to sort out the images. A circle of bare-chested men lined the length of the plaza—all wore masks, their long black hair falling down their backs. In a symphony of feathers, paint, leather, bells, plants, and animal skins, the men danced in their vibrant costumes, each one different from the others. Or maybe some looked similar to one another; the alien mix made it impossible for Nora to capture all the details.

The fifty or so men chanted and stomped their feet. Some held rattles they shook in rhythm to the drumming. It sounded like unintelligible syllables to Nora, but apparently they were singing words and verses because suddenly they all stepped back and turned in a line dance more synchronized and impressive than one in any cowboy bar.

“Wow.” She couldn't muster more intelligent words.

The older woman didn't take her eyes from the dancing.

The dancers continued to sing and move in unison. The drums pounded, rattles kept time, spectators sat quietly and watched. Time and place vanished from her normal life of businesswoman in the middle of American society. Through the space between the buildings across the plaza, the desert stretched from the mesa into eternity. The sky offered bunches of clouds in the expanse above.

“What is this about?”

The woman whispered. “Those are the kachinas. They come from the sacred peaks every spring. They perform dances, most of them secret in the kivas. This is a summer dance. Just a celebration.”

“What exactly
is
a kachina?”

The old woman considered before answering. “The kachinas represent things that are important to Hopi. There are more than three hundred of them. They act as a kind of go-between for Hopi and the supernatural world. Mostly they are spirits, like animals or ancestors or plants, clouds, stuff like that.” She shut her mouth as if the conversation officially ended.

The celebration resembled a Fourth of July picnic. Smells of cooking wafted around the plaza. Women in aprons moved in and out of the houses, taking a moment to sit and watch the dance, then going back to attend to whatever emitted the wonderful aromas. Unlike the American holiday where children ran and shot off fireworks amid a buzz of activity, for the most part the crowd focused on the dancers. It seemed like a mix between church and a barbecue.

With a final hard pound of the drum the dancers stopped chanting and stamping their feet. The bells and rattles ceased, and the kachinas took up a moaning sound. Perhaps it was in lieu of applause. Their chorus sounded strange; like the deep cooing of doves or the low whine of dogs, but not really either of those. Maybe a combination. Maybe it was a Hopi amen.

A man in the middle of the circle shouted as the cooing accented whatever he said. Sometimes the drums beat or the rattles sounded. Several men moved from the circle to the crowd to distribute parcels of food. Nora couldn't unravel the mystery of why certain women received these. They offered no exchange of smiles and thank yous, as she'd expect. The women simply accepted the food and passed it back to other women, who disappeared through the doors with it. It looked like an arbitrary mixture, store-bought white bread, homemade cakes and pies, fresh vegetables, cooked ears of corn, melons, bags of chips—all gathered in various containers such as cardboard soda flats, plastic storage containers, baskets, and bowls.

The food distribution and oration went on for a while. Nora tucked herself next to a building, taking advantage of a sliver of shade. Time became irrelevant. How long did she stand watching the dancing and gift giving?

The kachinas eventually formed a line and exited the intersection of the buildings opposite Nora.

Whatever the ceremony meant, the Hopi had performed it in almost the exact same way for centuries. The masks and costumes might have gained a few modern touches over the years; the jingle bells on the dancers' legs wouldn't have been available until after Europeans brought trade goods, and there were probably other bits and pieces constructed of synthetic fabrics, though none were obvious to Nora. How was it possible that these customs—older than the castles in Europe—had survived intact?

The heat and yellow dirt yielded the answer. The mesa didn't welcome stray visitors. Outsiders who did venture up here didn't want to stay. Even early settlers coveted rich farmland and easy water sources. The harsh environment here kept the Hopi isolated and able to focus on the old ways.

Nora's gaze wandered back to the crowd and she realized how off-track she'd gotten. She couldn't waste time on a cultural mission. She needed to find Heather. With a thudding heart, she scanned the plaza. She finally spotted Heather on a rooftop across the plaza. At least she appeared uninjured from the lava tube blast.

Heather stood with folded arms, her body rigid. She had no interest in the plaza. Behind her, a decorated figure moved into sight. He towered above Heather. His hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder.

Alex.

Nora gasped and ran several steps across the plaza, but a glimpse of a familiar beaked nose and sunburned red skin stopped her in her tracks.

Big Elk.

Twenty-Eight

It was a regular
convict convention, w
ith no law enforcement around to protect them. A costumed Alex now stood within a few feet of Heather, and they were alone on the rooftop. Nora could tell by his body language that he was very upset. Who knew what he could do to Heather up there?

And Big Elk. He hated Nora enough that her white hide would be worthless as soon as he saw her here on the rez.

Alex reached out and Heather let him touch her arm. Nora had to get up there without being seen. Even without horses available, being drawn and quartered seemed possible if Big Elk spied her.

Big Elk held several young women in thrall. He could look over here any time. He'd sic his minions on her and she'd disappear into the desert wind without a trace.

Sweat dribbled down Nora's spine and she dared not move from her shady safe spot. Big Elk now spoke to a middle-aged woman. She considered his words then shook her head and walked away.

Big Elk scowled after the woman. He glanced in the other direction and hurried from the plaza. Today's faithful following was noticeably devoid of Guilty White People. He must have thought they'd bring down his cred out here and asked them to stay away from the rez.

Alex pulled away from Heather and she reached to stop him. He shrugged her off and disappeared off the back of the rooftop.

Here was her chance. Nora lit out after Heather.

A hand on her arm made her squeal.

A man decked out in yellow mud with facial features painted in black frowned at her. He looked like a clown. “You can't go back there, miss. That's for the kachinas.”

Heather disappeared down the back side of the building, following Alex.

“But a bunch of other people went that way.”

He stared at her. “Only Hopi are allowed. The next dance will start pretty soon. You can go down and look at the art or try the piki bread.”

“Sure. Thanks”

She felt the man's painted black eyes on her as she sauntered toward the displays. She had to grab Heather before the girl got into trouble, get her to come back to town with her, and keep away from knife-wielding Alex. But Nora couldn't just traipse off anywhere she wanted. Obviously, a white w
oman wandering by herself over the mesa spelled trouble.

The mud-caked man watched her. Many of the spectators had disappeared, and those left in the plaza visited with each other. Nora acted as if she intended to wait for the next dance.

She glanced behind her. The alley was empty. Wherever the audience went, they weren't loitering there. She looked back to the center of the plaza, her muddy guardian now nowhere in sight. What to do? The rez was foreign territory—a misstep could get her into trouble and not help Heather.

But Big Elk shouldn't be here. Whatever he had planned might involve more explosions. Nora stepped out of the shade into the alley.

A hand clasped her arm, squeezing her heart into her throat. Expecting Alex or another of Big Elk's foot soldiers to drag her off and dismember her, Nora threw herself out of the grasp.

“Come on,” someone hissed into her ear, “we've got to stop Big Elk.”

Heather! Nora sucked in a breath. “Are you okay? Where's Alex?”

Heather pulled in a breath and straightened. She arranged her face into a calm mask. “I'm fine. You didn't need to come rescue me, but since you're here you can help. ”

“How did you know I was here?”

Heather gave her an “oh, please” look. “You don't stand out at all.”

Nice. “Let's get out of here before someone decides to kill me.”

“We can't go. We have to save the dance.”

Teenagers and their distorted sense of priorities. Big Elk plotting murder constituted a crisis, and Alex attacking Heather reeked of disaster; one ruined dance performance didn't really matter. “It's just a dance.”

Heather glared at her. “You don't get it. Nothing is ‘just' anything up here. Follow me.”

“There will be other dances,” Nora said, keeping close to Heather's back as they walked.

“Maybe there won't be any more. Maybe this is the last test and we fail.”

“What makes you think this is a failure?”

“Big Elk. The guys need to be in their kivas doing whatever they do, and he's got them listening to his stupid shit instead.”

“Kivas? What do they do?”

They wove between a rusty Ford pickup and a newer compact car. Heather said, “Every clan has a kiva they get into by a ladder through the roof. It represents the way people climbed from the Third Word to this one. I don't know what they do in the kivas. Each clan does their own secret ceremonies. And now they aren't doing it because of stupid Big Elk.”

A young woman walked by with a baby on her hip. She nodded to Heather.

They rounded a corner and Nora saw the backs of three or four young men, Alex among them. Big Elk spoke, his face red.

Big Elk was nothing but a poseur out trying to stir up trouble to make himself important. As much as she'd like to charge into the center of the circle and wring his neck, her coward's heart balked. Nora pulled back, trying to slow Heather. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don't know. I saw you ram Poppy's car to prove a point. I thought you'd come up with something.”

Nora felt her face flush in embarrassment. “That wasn't one of my best moments.”

“We've got to do something. You think Alex can hurt me, but Big Elk can hurt
everyone.
” Heather took Nora's hand and dragged her forward.

Bad idea, bad idea
, her brain screamed. “Let's just … ”

“Hey!” Heather yelled.

Clever plan, Heather
.

Big Elk barely glanced up. His eyes flitted over Heather and lowered to the men, his mouth never ceasing the sales pitch. “The way to power is wealth. White people with money crave the spirituality and connection of the Hopi. They'll buy a kachina doll or pottery in hopes some of your wisdom will rub off. I'm telling you we can give them what they want and help the tribe at the same time.”

But a few lines later, his gaze found Nora and his lips stopped moving. He straightened. The men in his circle turned to see what distracted him. Alex stiffened like a dog with raised hackles.

“Well, well.” Big Elk swaggered past his posse to stand in front of Nora. “It's not enough you desecrate the sacred peak, you have to bring your vileness to the mesas?”

Heather shook her hair back. “I brought her here so she can understand the Hopi way. You're the one destroying the ceremony.”

Big Elk raised his eyebrows. “Miss McCreary, Uranium Princess. Maybe you look Hopi, but we all know you're your daddy's little pawn. You want to rape this land and disrupt the balance.”

The exchange drew a group of women. Except for the four young men with Big Elk, the other dancers must have gone in their kivas. These young men looked like a pack of hungry wolves waiting for their Alpha to turn them loose.

“I belong here,” Heather said with a touch of defensiveness.

Big Elk turned to Alex. “What do you think? How dedicated is she to our cause?”

Alex's face looked as hard as his fingers around Nora's neck, his voice as sharp as the knife that sliced her ankle. “I'll take her back to Flagstaff.”

“You want me to leave?” Heather's eyes couldn't hide the betrayal she felt.

Alex looked at Big Elk, waiting instruction.

Heather scowled at Big Elk. “The Hopi way is not one of in-
hospitality.”

“How would you know the Hopi way?” Big Elk spat out. He jutted his chin toward Nora. “You're smoking the peace pipe with the enemy, babe.”

“Nora is not the enemy,” Heather said.

Big Elk shifted his malevolent force on Nora. “You killed your husband on sacred ground and the kachinas are punishing you. She's here to bring discord to the peaceful dance of the Hopi,” Big Elk said, revving the angry men around him like race cars at the starting line.

Nora hoped her words wouldn't stick in the dry desert of her throat. “Big Elk has been desecrating the sacred peak himself.”

“Enough talk,” Big Elk said.

The young men crowded behind him.

Nora heard a quiver in her voice. “The kachinas weren't up there last night ‘bringing fire to the mountain.' Big Elk manufactured the whole thing with some explosives and a couple of old white people.”

Confidence oozed from Big Elk like blood from a tick. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

“You made a good living by pretending. Why not tell them your real name, Ernie.”

Big Elk stepped closer to Alex. “Don't listen to her. She's a deceitful
pahana
.”

Her hands shook and her stomach churned, but Nora forged on. “Big Elk doesn't know about Hopi or respect for your land. Before he became Big Elk, champion of indigenous people, he was Ernie Finklestein, robber of the helpless.”

Heather made a fist. “I knew it!”

Big Elk turned on Heather. “Go back to your white mansion. You have no business here.”

Alex's face roiled with anger like a thunderstorm about to break loose.

Nora pointed at Big Elk. “He's importing fake Native American art that he plans to sell to line his pockets and ruin your people's reputation. Talk about angering the kachinas.”

“I gave you a chance to walk away. Now it's too late.” Destruction flashed in Big Elk's eyes.

The mud-caked clown who had accosted her in the plaza pushed his way from behind Alex. “What are you even doing here?”

“She's disrupting the dance! Spreading lies and discontent!” Big Elk said.

Heather sounded like a volatile teenager. “He's the bad one! The kachinas won't like what he's doing.”

Big Elk directed Alex. “Get her out of here or I will.”

Heather folded her arms. “I'm staying.”

“Do it,” Big Elk said.

“All right.” The clown held up his hands in a calming gesture. “Let's settle down.” He pointed to Heather. “She's from a powerful clan and has a right to be here.” His gaze swung to Alex and the other young men. “I see some of you are Hopi. Go to your kivas.” He addressed the others, including Big Elk. “The rest of you are from other tribes. You're welcome to observe the dance. But please stay in the plaza. This area is reserved for Hopi only.”

He turned to Heather. “Sikyatsi, I'm glad to see you.” His gaze held affection, then he shifted gears to business. “You're welcome here, but bringing her”—he nodded in Nora's direction—“wasn't a good idea. She should go now.”

Gladly. With relief, Nora took a step backward.

Heather didn't move. “She's not leaving until he does.” She pointed at Big Elk. “He shouldn't be here.”

The clown sighed. “He's helping us to save our sacred mountain.”

“He's ruining the dance and messing up the balance.” She might as well have been stomping her feet and crying.

Since Heather wouldn't allow them to get away while they could, Nora added, “And he's using Hopi beliefs to manipulate you.”

Big Elk's face turned redder than his usual sunburn. He looked over the clown's head to the young men behind. “We can't let this evil
pahana
destroy Hopi. Where will the kachinas live when the mountain is clear cut for skiing and water is pulled from the veins of the Mother and She is trampled on by white men's skis?”

When had the crowd multiplied? Where there had been four young men and some curious spectators, now what seemed like a large group of Native Americans glared at her.

“Everyone calm down,” the clown said again, but his voice disappeared in Big Elk's bellow.

“Our ancestors didn't allow the
pahana
priests to destroy our way of life. In this time, when the Fourth World hangs in the balance, we need to have the courage of our grandfathers.”

The clown held his hand up to silence Big Elk. “Hopi people value a humble life, self-respect, respect for others, compassion, integrity, self-control.” He inhaled. “We are not activists in the white man's way. We protect the world by carrying out our clan responsibilities.”

Nora took hold of Heather's arm. “Let's get out of here.”

Heather pulled loose. “I'm not going.” She raised her voice. “I belong here, and I won't let Big Elk ruin it.”

Big Elk's shout rose above the mesa. “Lies from the rich white girl! This was foretold in prophecy—it's our duty to stop you.”

“Now, Heather!” Nora said.

Any attempt at calm was drowned in Big Elk's ranting. Of course the people listened to Big Elk. In their eyes, the money-chasing whites—that would be Nora and Heather—had set out to destroy their sacred lands. They had lived and worshipped here for over a thousand years. The courts wouldn't listen, the governments wouldn't listen. Now frustration built to the breaking point.

Add a dance that was deeply rooted in religious significance, being on their own ground with their own people, and a talented instigator, and this combination could lead people to forget their normal sensibilities, embrace the mob mentality and …

Big Elk continued to stir the pot. “We need to take extraordinary steps, like our grandfathers did when the white priests tried to ruin Hopi with their baptism. If we don't, it will be like the time of Lololama, when they took our children to their white schools and tried to wipe us out. But we won't let them this time.”