Lindsay McKenna - Heart of the Storm

“Tomorrow, Dana arrives. She will come and you will introduce yourself to her.”

Though he had his doubts, Chase said nothing, just nodded.

“The two of you will work as a team here in the box canyon. There is a small hogan farther up where you’ll stay. The winter sheep hogan has everything you’ll require. Dana will need your brawn and your cleverness as a warrior, Chase. You will pass your experience on to her so that she can confront Rogan and take the pipe back.”

Even though Chase had never met Dana, his protective nature was already at work within him. Oh, he knew that women could be warriors; he’d seen his share on the res, growing up, as well as while he was serving in the U.S. Army. Still, that didn’t erase the age-old conviction that was alive and well within him: that women and children were to be cherished, loved, protected and defended. Chase knew he’d have to readjust this mindset to work Dana into a tough, well-trained warrior. In five weeks. That seemed an impossible time frame.

But when Chase saw the hope burning in Grandmother’s eyes, he kept his worries to himself.

He did not want to disappoint his extended family, especially this most sacred of women elders. He’d already disappointed the U.S. Army, and humiliation still ran hot through him. Clearly, the Great Spirit was setting him up for another test. Perhaps by training this unknown woman, he might salvage his pride, his manhood, and learn to live with what he’d done while imprisoned in South America.

When Agnes passed some homemade fry bread to Chase, and a bowl of fragrant lamb stew, he thanked her. Fasting for four days had left him feeling like a hungry cougar. Dipping the dark, whole-grain bread into the bowl filled with thick chunks of lamb, onions, brown gravy and potatoes, he said a prayer thanking all those who had given their lives so that he might eat.

The moment he took a bite, Chase savored the flavors. Yes, he was home. Finally. It had been a circuitous route, he thought, as he swiftly ate to stop the gnawing in his stomach. Restless, he’d left the res because he was curious about the white man’s world. And he’d tasted it—at West Point and for eight years after graduating. Now, because he’d failed as a warrior, because he’d broken under torture and interrogation, he’d crawled to Agnes, his pride stopping him from going back to Grandmother Doris on his home reservation. Instead, he’d come here to Agnes on the Navajo reservation to reclaim his shattered spirit. He hoped he would lead a productive, honorable life once more.

As he ate the succulent lamb stew, Chase savored the flavors of rosemary and marjoram. Each bite was more than just a physical gift to his body, it was nourishment for his wounded soul. Already, Chase could feel his battered spirits beginning to lift.

A ray of hope threaded through him. He stopped eating for a moment and felt the tenuous emotion touch his war-ravaged spirit. Healing was taking place. Humbled as never before, Chase finished his stew. Agnes was a powerful medicine woman, and he knew she’d said healing prayers over the food. And he was on the receiving end of her loving hands and heart.

“This meal is wonderful, Grandmother. Thank you….”

Smiling, Agnes murmured, “I’ll get you another bowl from the kettle. You’re hungry and too thin. You need to regain the weight you lost, Chase.”

Watching the elderly woman slowly rise, with the elegance of a great blue heron lifting her wings, Chase admired her lean, graceful form. Agnes Spider Woman was a bright beacon of hope in his life right now, and he was grateful to have such a positive role model. He didn’t know how he felt about Dana, and that would be a challenge to him. Women weren’t his strong suit and never had been. Tomorrow, he’d have to start dealing with one.

Ordinarily, Chase would have said he couldn’t do it, but with the support and help of a powerful elder who believed in him, he would try.

CHASE SQUATTED on the smooth red sandstone ledge above the winter hogan. A nearby juniper hid his presence. The sun was hot, beating down on his bare shoulders, and he soaked it in like a man starving for life. He’d been six months in a green hell where there was no direct sunlight. Only rain, cold, and high humidity, all conspiring to break his spirit.

His gaze swept down the escarpment toward the hogan near the wall of the canyon. Restlessly, he sifted the fine red sand through his scarred fingers. The grit felt good. He liked having physical contact with Mother Earth. It was comforting to him. A breeze stirred, moving along the thousand-foot-high rock wall behind him, rustling the cypress and piñon trees.

What was Dana Thunder Eagle like? He’d seen her face in the vision, but he knew dream and reality could be very different. He frowned pensively. He hadn’t told Agnes how powerfully drawn he’d been to the woman in his vision. Hadn’t been able to tell her. It would be his secret. He watched the red grains of sand catch the sunlight, sparkle and then drift to the smooth rock ledge he was sitting on. Of course, Agnes could read minds, so he figured the elder already knew. Maybe it wasn’t important. But it was to him. Women had been a thorn in his side, not a pleasure. Oh, he’d had plenty of one-night stands, had found sexual gratification with a number of partners. But he’d never met a woman who made his world stand still.

Snorting softly, Chase decided that his parents must have had something very special that he would never experience himself. They’d been so much in love. As a child, he’d thought all husbands and wives had devoted relationships like that.

He’d been wrong to think true love was the norm. Going to West Point at age eighteen, Chase very rapidly got ensnared in the dating scene. Everyone wanted to stake a claim on the handsome red man who had broken through the white-males-only barrier. Women danced around him like butterflies, there for the taking if he wanted them. He’d been like a beggar in a candy store, grabbing every beauty who wanted to bed him. And for a while, he’d thought he was in a sexual heaven of sorts. But by his sophomore year, the one-night stands were becoming the same; the faces were a blur and the act meaningless beyond selfish gratification and release. Chase broke off the relationships because they were emotionally empty meetings of body only. He wanted more. Much more and never had found it yet.

The wind gusted sharply, making Chase lift his head. The sky was a blue vault with white horse’s mane clouds stretching across it.

She was here. He sensed it. Dana Thunder Eagle had arrived.

Grandmother Agnes lived at the mouth of this deep, rectangular canyon. The winter hogan was invisible from her summer home. Chase knew that Dana would spend at least an hour talking with her adopted grandmother, to receive her marching orders on how to rescue the Storm Pipe. The elder would then send Dana up here, around the bend of the canyon, to stay for the next five weeks. With him.

The winter hogan was a lot smaller than the summer one, making it much easier to heat during the biting cold and heavy snows. The small potbellied stove was also used for cooking. Navajos were practical about the extreme change of seasons on their large reservation. Still, even though Chase and Dana would sleep on opposite sides of the eight-sided structure, it was a very scant space.

A red-tailed hawk shrieked as it circled the tabletop mesa above the canyon. Chase followed the bird’s lazy spiral and enjoyed seeing its rust-colored tail. Only an adult redtail, five years old or more, had that eye-catching hue on its tail feathers. Chase’s mind—and focus—went back to Dana. What was she like? Did she have the right stuff to undertake this deadly mission? Already, he was worried. Five weeks was an impossibly short time to get Dana ready for such a serious undertaking.