Eternal Time Shadows Box Set 1 / Volumes 1-10 Page 7

I looked down at myself.

  I was dressed in a beautiful deerskin dress with delicate white embroidery along its sides. A blue-stone necklace hung at my neck, the center pendant an intricate shell-based wheel. My feet were within soft deerskin slippers. I had a knife hanging at my waist, and on the other side of my hip was a small, leather pouch. My dark hair was braided down my back in one long, thick plait.

  My hands had that beautiful brick color that I had seen from my trips out west to Mesa Verde and the saguaro deserts.

  The color of the Navajo.

  6 – Navajo Destiny

  I drew in a deep breath, taking in the stunning beauty of Monument Valley below me. I’d been here once before, in modern times. US 163 plowed straight through the scenery, and indeed many photographs seemed to feature that stretch of road more than the natural rock formations. Sort of a “Look at the beauty of civilization - come take a road trip here!” promotion for car travel. But I was seeing the pristine landscape in its natural state. No roads. No cars. Simply the Tsé Bii’ Ndzisgaii - the Valley of the Rocks - with its massive sandstone buttes.

  I looked down again at my beautiful deerskin dress with its delicate white embroidery. Navajo. This meant it was after 1400, at least, because the Navajo had expanded out from the Alaska region during that timeframe. They had been expansionists and settlers, much like the English and European colonists who would come to this continent some two hundred years later. However, where the Navajo had integrated fairly peacefully with the local tribes - the Hopi, the Zuni, and so on - the U.S. Army would be less gentle when their conflicts began in the mid-1800s.

  Tension spiraled into me. If I had to guess, I would imagine that was exactly where I was.

  Hoof beat sounded from behind me.

  I stood and turned. There was nowhere for me to go, as behind me was a sheer drop, and certainly I could not jump down that distance and survive. Besides, if the person was on horseback, I could hardly outrun them. It was better to wait and see what fate had in store for me.

  My lips gave a twitch of a smile. I was certainly coming to appreciate this point of view, given what I’d been through recently.

  The horse came over a rise and into a view. I immediately recognized the uniform from countless westerns. Cornflower blue with bright yellow stripes down the legs. Black boots. A dark, wide-brimmed hat. The horse was dark brown and agile, making its way along the rocky path with ease. But it was the cavalryman who rode it who had my heart.

  It was Robert. I knew him from the moment he came into view, and as he drew closer I could make out the tawny eyes, the thick, dark hair, and the look of focused determination that I had come to know so well. I swept the dust from my dress as he approached, nervous butterflies settling into my stomach. What was our relationship in this timeframe? Would he know me? Would he have dreamt of me?

  He reined in near me and easily dismounted, coming to stand before me. His gaze was shadowed, and he shook his head. “It’s all over,” he reported without preamble. “Colonel Carson has thrown in the towel on negotiations, and they’re going to scorch the earth. They’re going to lay waste to your entire homeland, to drive you to surrender.” His shoulders were tight. “They’re going to round you up like wild mustangs and drive you to a corral. Keep you within those walls … forever, I suppose.”

  My stomach twisted into knots. I had known it was coming. Heck, I knew just how bad it was going to get, going forward. The massive destruction. The forced Long Walk of the Navajo people from Fort Defiance to Fort Sumner. If Carson was starting the process, we had to be in 1861.

  Robert was staring at me, tension tight in his face, and I blinked. I was coming to know him so well. It was clear he had more to say and was holding back for some reason. I put out a hand to gently take his. “It’s all right,” I assured him. “What is it?”

  He swallowed, then dropped to a knee, looking up at me. “Come away with me,” he pleaded. “I know you love your family and your people. I know you treasure your way of life here. I understand with all my heart. This place is beautiful. So much more beautiful than I could ever have imagined, when I was sent here from Massachusetts. But -” He shook his head. “It’s all coming to an end. We have to run away. Get you to safety.”

  His eyes swept to the beautiful vista of Monument Valley behind us, and then back to me. “We can carry the memories in our heart. We can treasure how beautiful this once was. But I can get you back home. You will learn to like it there. I promise it.”

  His voice grew rough. “All the dreams, they must mean something. That we have to get through this somehow.”

  My heart pounded against my chest as I looked down at him. He did remember the dreams. The dreams of me saving him at Pompeii. Of him saving my life in Scotland. Of us running, hand in hand, fleeing together in Japan. It seemed we were always running.

  I turned to look at the beautiful landscape before me. At the two “mitten” formations, like hands raised, praying for hope. And I would be running away from them.

  I listened within myself, to the version of me who had grown up in this stunning region of the world. Who had taken her first steps in the rich dust of the southwest. Who had fallen asleep beneath its high, star-filled skies.

  Would she want to run away?

  The answer echoed back to me with stunning power.

  No.

  I turned back to Robert, my face serene. “I cannot go with you.”

  Anguish etched his features, and he pressed my hand. “But you know what awaits your people. They will be slaughtered like sheep.”

  I shook my head. “We will survive,” I promised him. “We will face many challenges, it is true, and the government will try to pack us away, hoping we die off. But we will rise above it. We will be the people who finally return to our homeland. The ones who, against all odds, reclaim our treasured native soil and build a fresh life.”

  Disbelief was clear on every feature of his face.

  I smiled down at him. “I offer you this. Come with me, back to my people. Help me convince them to go peacefully. Let us maintain our strength as best we can, rather than being run down and destroyed.”

  I stood tall. “We will go with Carson. There is no fighting that. We will endure our penance at the Bosque Redondo. And then we will return back home.”

  Sadness eased in on me. “It won’t be the same as it is now. It can never be the same. But at least we will be home again, which so many other tribes could only dream of. And, with effort, we can retain our native language and traditions. We can ensure our children - and our children’s children - treasure our way of life.”

  My determination grew. “This is the path I have chosen.”

  His face was tense. “But in Massachusetts you’d be free.”

  I shook my head. “In Massachusetts I would be a strange Indian woman. Even if I dressed in tight skirts and did my hair up artfully on my head, they would always see the redness of my skin. Hear the accent in my voice. How would those around you react to me?”

  His hand tightened. “I don’t care a whit about what any of them do or think. All I care about is keeping you safe.”

  My eyes held his, and I put breath to a long-distant future. “And if I someday married and had children? How would those beautiful children, with their brick-red skin, be treated in this world of yours?”

  His mouth opened - and then closed again.

  I nodded. “At least come with me and help me break this news to my community. Help me make them understand that this is real. Unless -”

  My throat closed up. “Unless you would rather simply head back to your camp -”

  He shook his head, his gaze firming. “I will stay by your side. And if you choose to face down Kit Carson -” He shook his head, his voice dying away.

  “Not face him,” I gently corrected. “We will bend like the reed at the edge of a rippling stream. We will bend so we do not break. And when that wind dies down, we will still be there, able to grow and flourish. To sing
our song and remember.”

  He drew to his feet, his eyes shining. “You are an amazing woman. I could not be more proud of you.”

  I smiled. “Then let us begin.”

  He helped me up onto his horse, and then he mounted behind me into the saddle. I tucked within his embrace as if I’d always belonged there. The musky smell of his body, the broad chest behind me, it all felt as natural as if we had been together forever.

  A smile lit my lips. Maybe in some way that was true. Pompeii had been destroyed in 79AD. Here it was, 1861. And these were only two points in our continuum. Who knew what other lives we had led. What other crossings of our souls had occurred. How many times we had drifted past each other, unseeing or unknowing, without realizing that the deepest of true loves was a hand’s touch away.

  I looked forward as he carefully guided our steed down the rocky slope, heading for a small village. It was a collection of hogans - circular, domed structures with a log foundation covered by packed mud and rock. Each was perfect for staying cool in the summer, while a central fire kept them cozy and warm in the winter.

  My heart swelled as I looked at the village. It fit so beautifully within the landscape. It blended in, as if it were meant to be there. There were no honking horns or distracted people with heads down staring at their smart phones. It was serene. Tranquil.

  I had to do what it took to ensure these people went through the fire - and made it out the other side.

  As we approached, brick-skinned Navajo in tan deerskin dresses and leggings, their dark hair plaited in braids or held back by bandanas, drew into the center of the village. Most eyes held suspicion or concern. But there were two which I was seeking out -

  There. My smile grew. Clearly it was Mary, with yellow beads decorating her long braids and her jewelry. I climbed down from the horse and ran to her, drawing her into my arms with a laugh.

  She grinned as she drew back from me, looking between me and Robert. “You’ve really done it this time. Have you gone completely crazy? Bringing him down here?”

  An older woman came up to us, her steel-grey hair shining in the afternoon sun. Cooper’s face was more serious. “I think bringing Robert here was the only thing to do,” she murmured. “I imagine the news they have to share will take both of them to tell.”

  I nodded, moving back to twine my fingers into Robert’s. “I’m afraid it does.”

  A movement, and the crowd rippled and parted. I had no doubt who this couple was who approached me. The man was older, his deerskin of the finest embroidery, a woven cloak over his shoulders sporting geometric designs in black, white, and red. At his side was a younger woman, her sleek, black hair intricately plaited with shimmering stones of blue and red. She wore several layers of necklace in the same color.

  Her eyes drew down me in sharp disdain.

  Her voice carried an edge. “Causing trouble, as usual, I see, Haloke.”

  I heard the name in two parts. One was its simple pronunciation. The word chosen to represent me in this time frame. But the other came with echoes of the Navajo language that I knew she was speaking. And within that layer the word carried meaning.

  Salmon.

  I smiled.

  “Salmon I was named,” I responded, pitching my voice to carry to all present, “and salmon are known for their tenacity. Their willingness to do what it takes to return to their homeland. For no matter how far a salmon is driven away, for whatever reason, it struggles with all its force to eventually return home.”

  Mary drew in against Cooper, her eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

  I motioned to Robert. “You all may see this man as merely a drone bee in the large hive which is the U.S. Army. But he is far more than that. He is a brave warrior. One who thinks and reasons for himself. He comes to you today not as a representative of the Army, but as a man who wishes to share what he has seen. Who wants to convey important information which you should consider in your deliberations.”

  My stepmother scoffed. “Why should we listen to him? Why should we trust him?”

  I gave Robert’s hand a squeeze, then looked up into his eyes. “Because I do.”

  His gaze shone, and for a moment it was just him and me. Just us, alone, and the rest fell away.

  Cooper’s voice spoke up. “I think we should hear what he has to say. All knowledge is important in order for us to come to a wise decision.”

  There were murmurs of agreement all around us.

  My stepmother’s voice rose high. “But he is -”

  Cooper smoothly interrupted her. “He is a man, and a man with details which none of us know. We should hear what those details are. If you then, personally, choose to ignore the information, well, that is up to you.” Cooper turned to give my stepmother a sharp glare.

  My stepmother crossed her arms across her breast. “Fine, then. What does this man have to say?”

  Robert looked down at me in concern, then nodded. He turned to address the community. “You have seen the signs for years now. In the rising tension between you and the waves of settlers coming in from the east. Before, your time here with the Zuni and Hopi had been relatively peaceful. You had found a way to share the lands in harmony. But in our current situation, there is only discord. Tensions are high. Colonel Carson has decided the only way to achieve piece is to have the Navajo contained in an isolated area - the Hweeldi.”

  I gave his hand an approving squeeze. He had given the Bosque Redondo its Navajo name. It showed how attentive he was to presenting his case well.

  My father’s face sagged. “But that is over three hundred miles from Fort Defiance!”

  I nodded. “That it is. And that is why we must prepare. We need to ensure that every member of our village can make that long, arduous trek. Arrange sleds for the elderly. Focus on building up our stamina. For if we are to get through this, we must be ready to endure.”

  My stepmother scoffed. “Endure? You want us to go like lambs to the slaughter! They will take everything from us! Everything!” Her hand went to the layers of beads at her neck.

  I nodded, looking out at the group. “Yes, they will. But the alternative is that we hole up here, clinging to our beads and rugs, and identifying those objects as the most important thing we treasure. When Carson and his solders thunder in with guns and flames, and they burn everything in their path. We will die. We will be wiped out, all to protect a few beads.”

  Mary looked as if she might faint.

  I opened my hands to them. “But that is not what is important about us. If all our beads are taken from us, we can make more. If our rugs are stripped away and sold, we can weave new ones. What matters is that we endure. That we stay alive to pass our traditions and lore down to our children. That we make it through this crucible and emerge on the other side.”

  My voice rose. “Other tribes will not get this opportunity. They will be wholly wiped out. They will be destroyed and no trace of them will remain. We have the chance here - the precious chance - of returning to our homeland, once we make it through the flames. We will stand again beneath the mittens and be able to call that sacred ground home. We will be able to speak our language and perform our dances. That is what we must stand for here. Not for grasping at fleeting material pleasures. But for standing up to preserve what really matters.”

  My father slowly nodded. “I see the wisdom in what you say.”

  My stepmother’s eyes were wide. “But everything we have -”

  He turned to her. “Everything we have will be destroyed,” he pointed out, “if we try to resist the war machine. Wholly and utterly destroyed. What will we have then?”

  She had no answer for that.

  My father turned to Robert. “We thank you for coming to bring this news to us. Could you stay to join us for our evening fire?”

  Tension drew across my shoulders. “I imagine Robert has to return to -”

  Robert gave my hand a gentle squeeze, and his eyes met my father’s. “I would like to, very much. Than
k you for your kind offer.”

  My heart swelled, and I looked into his eyes.

  Home. It felt wholly, restfully, peacefully like home.

  We took his horse down to tether it with the small herd, and then we sat on rocks by the stream. We simply watched the water drift by, the sunlight sparkling off its twisting ripples. There was no need for words. We had already been through so much together. Simply being here, in peace, seemed more than I could ask for.

  A distant part of me wondered when it would come, the attack which would pull me away from him. Perhaps whatever tipping point we needed to reach was not yet here. But until then, I treasured every moment I had. I soaked in the stunning sight of the landscape before me. The freshness of the breeze which blew along the canyon floor. The cry of the hawk as it circled above, looking for a meal.

  Robert’s hand squeezed mine. “It is beautiful here,” he murmured. “I can see why you would do anything to protect it.”

  “Not just the landscape,” I countered. “Us. Us as a people. We are precious, too. And unless someone is here to shepherd the group, to ensure they stay strong and endure what must be endured, it could all be lost. We could be bones and dust, a culture forgotten forever in the mists of time.”

  He drew in a deep breath, then let it out again. And he turned to me.

  “Please let me join you.”

  I blinked and turned to him. “What?”

  He nodded, his voice growing in strength. “Let me become part of your tribe. I have strong arms and legs. I can help carry the weak when they can no longer walk. I can do my part to maintain the community when we reach Bosque Redondo. Building hogans, tilling fields - whatever it takes. And if you are right - if we are finally able to return here to your homelands -” his throat closed up and he looked down. “Then, with the blessings of your community, perhaps we could be more.”

  My heart sang within me. It was all I could possibly hope for. My eyes welled with tears. I forced myself to ask, “Are you sure? The road will be one of agony. This is not your burden to shoulder.”

  He fingers gently traced along my cheek. “You are willingly walking into the fire, for what you believe in. I shall gladly be there at your side.”