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Authors: Aimee & David Thurlo

BOOK: Plant Them Deep
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“I see no reason not to introduce new strains of plants to the reservation—ones
that would give extra nutrients to both cattle and people—but I also see your point about making sure it doesn’t force out the plants that are already important to the tribe.” He paused, then added, “But, truth be told, this is the tribe’s business, not mine, and I only advise when I’m asked.”
After checking another site along the way that Willie suggested, they headed for the one Clara Henderson
had recommended. About halfway there, Rose asked Willie to make a small detour. “I need to talk to a friend who lives just up that
rise,” she said, pointing with her lips, Navajo style. “It involves the death of the Plant Watcher we both knew.”
“Do you think the person you’re going to see is involved?”
“No, not at all, it’s just …” But she hesitated to say more. Curtis Largo had accused her
of neglecting her business. If Willie really wasn’t her ally …
“If it makes you uncomfortable to explain, you don’t have to say anything else. I’ll be happy to take you wherever you need to go.”
She wanted to trust Professor Hoff, but his association with Maria had already raised too many questions in her mind. On the other hand, if he’d wanted to make trouble for her, he already had more than
enough ammunition.
“It’s complicated,” Rose said at last. She then told Willie about the second body and the matter of Charlie’s identity being in question. “No matter what his real name was, he was a friend of mine, and since he obviously wanted us to find the remains of this other man, I intend to follow it up until I learn the truth behind it all.”
Willie nodded. “I suppose you also need
to understand why a man you considered a good friend kept a secret like this from you,” he said, glancing over at her. “Right?”
He’d managed to hit on the one thing that bothered her most about the situation. “Yes. I’ve always thought of myself as a good judge of character, and I need to know if I was wrong to trust him all these years.”
“I understand.” Willie glanced at her and nodded. “I really
do, you know.” He paused for a long moment before continuing. “I know firsthand how secrets can undermine everything—even the way we see ourselves.”
She gave him a questioning look, but didn’t press him. Soon, he continued.
“When I was fresh out of college,” he said in a faraway
voice, “I fell in love with a Navajo woman while working on what became my first published handbook on southwestern
plants. I was very ambitious back then, and knew I’d have to travel a great deal and do all I could to get my name known in order to get ahead. I asked her to marry me, and she said she wanted to, but she wouldn’t leave the reservation.”
“So you left but never forgot her?” she asked, accurately reading his tone of voice and expression.
He nodded. “But I returned to the area on business a few
years later, and decided to look her up. When we saw each other again, it was as if our years apart had never existed. We spent the night together, but the following morning, all the problems that had kept us apart were still there. I couldn’t stay and she wouldn’t leave, so we parted for good.”
Willie’s gaze was fixed in the distance. “A month or two later, I passed through again on my way to
accept a teaching assistant’s position in Denver and heard she’d married someone from the tribe. Eight months after the night we spent together, a mutual friend of ours wrote to tell me that the woman I’d loved had died giving birth to a baby girl.”
“You think it was your child she was carrying?” Rose asked quietly.
“I never knew for sure, and to try and find out would have caused more harm
than good, so I let the matter rest.”
Rose nodded, understanding. He hadn’t given her any names, but she had a feeling that he believed that Maria was his lost child. If that was the case, then he was, at best, a dubious ally.
They arrived at an old stone house at the edge of a small meadow southwest of Sanostee near a place called Old Pine Spring, partway up the Chuska Mountain Range. The
Arizona state line was only three or four miles west of there, Rose knew.
As they waited in Willie’s SUV for someone to invite them
in, the professor leaned back in his seat. “Kenmore and I will wait in the car. If it gets too hot, I’ll walk with him over to the shade of those ponderosa pines,” he said.
“I won’t take long,” Rose promised, “if I’m invited to visit.”
A moment later, Rose saw
an elderly man in faded jeans, a long-sleeved flannel shirt, and a headband come outside to greet them. Jeremiah hadn’t changed much, except for more gray in his long hair, and a bit less energy in his stride. He’d used a cane for many years, and now more than before. Rose left the truck and went to join him.
Once inside and seated in a worn brown-and-yellow-striped couch, Rose explained to Jeremiah
why she’d come. “I’m trying to find out who my friend really was,” she said after filling him in.
“This story surprises me. I knew the same man you did. We fought the same campaigns and we went through Code Talker school together. I have no doubt he was who he said he was. Maybe the government made a mistake when they fingerprinted him. They processed a bunch of us Navajos back then.”
Rose handed
him the photo from the military papers. “Is this the man you knew?”
“Sure looks like him. I remember those days clearly—sometimes better than things that happened a few days ago.”
Rose laughed. “Yes, me too, sometimes.” She looked at the photo again and then placed it back in her purse. “Did you ever wonder why he never settled down anywhere?”
“Some of us carried memories of the war we never
could put behind us,” he said slowly. “I always thought that the war had scarred him somehow. His unit went through some tough times, I know. Half his battalion were casualties at Iwo Jima, though he escaped untouched, at least on his body.”
Rose thanked Jeremiah, then went back outside to join Willie. She didn’t doubt that the horrors of war could follow a
man until the day he died, but somehow
she had a feeling there was more to Charlie’s story. The skeleton in the Marine Corps uniform with a Charlie Dodge dog tag was still unexplained.
As Willie and she continued to search for “white at night.” Rose had to struggle against the fear that swelled up inside her as the hours passed and they failed to find any specimens of the plant. By the end of the afternoon, though the dog seemed to
have had a great time, they still had nothing to show for their efforts.
As they walked back up the hillside toward the road where the SUV was parked, Kenmore, who was sniffing the ground ahead of them, stopped and barked once. Rose spotted a man through a break in the treeline, about twenty yards ahead, digging up something. He turned and glanced in their direction, but Rose only managed to
get a fleeting glimpse of his face.
She quickened her pace, wondering if they’d gotten lucky enough to catch the thief at work. Kenmore, at Willie’s command, stayed with them without running ahead. As they drew near, Rose realized it was John Joe. He was digging up a small “wondering about medicine” plant.
Glancing at the mastiff often, he continued working, picking up the plant and placing
it carefully in a small pot made of fiber and peat. “This is for my garden, or should I say gardens,” he said, and his expression confirmed for the first time that he knew she’d been the one checking out the garden at his home. “I know there are only a few of these plants around the Rez these days, but if I leave it here, it could soon become nothing more than forage for a wild animal. As you yourself
said, we have to protect the endangered Plant People.”
“Not by taking the best,” she answered, scowling.
“There are other plants here, and I have left an offering for its neighbors,” he said, indicating several other examples of the herb, and a small piece of turquoise placed on a flat stone.
“But we shouldn’t argue now. This is a holy time.” With that, he picked up the potted plant and, using
a plastic water bottle, soaked the container thoroughly. Nodding to them, he walked to his blue truck, which they could now see was parked about fifty feet behind Willie’s SUV. He’d arrived after them, obviously, and she wondered if John had somehow followed them.
Rose checked his footprints after he’d gone. His feet were larger than the ones left by the person who’d been with Charlie the day
he’d died. John also wore cowboy boots, not the hiking kind with ripples that she’d seen in the area near Charlie’s body.
“What are you doing?”
Rose smiled. “Acting like my daughter, the policewoman,” she answered. “I’m no expert, but I’m searching for little details that might help me explain what happened to my friend.” She then realized that Willie’s shoe size was closer, but the wrong pattern.
Of course, he could always change shoes, but then again, he’d already admitted to having been with Charlie that day.
“The Singer didn’t have an entrenching tool,” he said.
“I know, but someone with one of those GI shovels came here,” she said pointing to an area about twenty feet ahead where the ground was disturbed.
Willie walked over and crouched by one of the holes, studying the remaining
dried-out leaves and plant debris curiously. “Whoever is taking the plants is sure targeting the rarest ones.”
“You were speaking of Maria Poyer before,” Rose said thoughtfully. “Do you think it could be her?”
His eyes were sharp and alert as they focused on her. “What makes you say that?”
“She may be trying to prove to everyone that we don’t need the Plant People as much as we think we do.
One of the best ways to do that is to make sure no one can find any.”
“I don’t think she’d do that,” he said firmly. “I could see her carefully collecting some of the plants and trying to graft or
hybridize them into stronger versions of the original. But taking them so recklessly, and destroying so many others in the process like this?” He waved his hand over the desiccated plants that had been
uprooted and shook his head. “No way. Whoever is doing this is in an awful hurry, or some kind of mad panic. Look how carelessly some of these have been dug up.”
“Or that’s what he wants us to think. The thief has to be someone who either knows precisely what the plants mean to The People and wants to effect change—or someone who’s got some kind of secret agenda we still haven’t been able to
uncover.”
“You’ll probably come across this person someday when you least expect it,” he warned. “And if that happens, you could be in a great deal of danger.”
He hadn’t said it, but she knew precisely what he meant. Whoever had killed Charlie wouldn’t hesitate to commit murder again. If she wasn’t careful, she might end up sharing Charlie Dodge’s fate.
H
ours later, Rose glanced around the kitchen, having just finished tidying up. Ella was in the living room with Dawn, and it was time for her to join her family.
“Are you okay?” Ella asked as Rose entered the room. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”
Rose looked over at Dawn, who was engrossed in a cartoon video. “There was a letter in the mail for me when I got home. It was
written by your child’s father, acting in his capacity as a tribal attorney It informed me that my friend’s savings account, which he bequeathed to me, is now legally mine. So are all his possessions, except for his new trailer house, which will be taken back by the finance company. I’ll donate most of his things to the church your father founded, but I have to figure out what to do with the money
he left me. That represents a lifetime of savings and I want to use it in a way he would have approved.”
“You could invest it in a program to reintroduce some of the native plants that are so scarce.”
Rose nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a very good idea. He would have liked that,” she said, then sighed loudly. “I said that with such certainty, but since he wasn’t the man I thought he was, I obviously
didn’t know him as well as I’d like to
think. The simple truth is that I don’t even know what his real name was.” She told Ella about the photo and her visit with Jeremiah. “He believes my friend was who he said he was, but until I learn the identity of the person who was already in the ground, I can’t know for certain.”
“Maybe I can help. But first I’ll have to take a look at the military service
record that was faxed to the ME’s office. I’ll call my friend. I bet she’s still in her office. She can fax me a copy here at home, then I can help you look it over for clues that might give you a lead.”
It didn’t take long to get Carolyn to fax a copy over to Ella’s combination fax/copy machine/printer in her small home office. Once all the pages had come through, Ella brought them into the
living room and placed the papers on the coffee table, where they could both examine them.
“They monitored all his passes off base carefully,” Ella said, “and from what I can see here, he only came home once on furlough—after basic training and before he went to the classified Code Talker school. That training was listed in code, of course, but there was an insert in his file added much later
when the program was declassified.”
“What about his family? Does it say anything about them?”
“He had a younger brother by the name of Gilbert who was only sixteen in 1943. Both their parents were listed as deceased by the time Cha … he enlisted.” Ella barely avoided mentioning Charlie’s name, something that wasn’t normally done around a traditionalist until several days after the deceased had
passed away.
“But the brothers must have had other relatives. Who raised the boys if their parents were dead? And whatever became of the younger brother?”
“It doesn’t say here.” Ella paused. “You could try and check the boarding school records—if they go back that far
and if the boys went to school at all. But be aware that old records may be hard to find, or they may refuse to let you look
even if they are available.”
“In that case, I’ll ask
Gishii
’s oldest daughter. She used to work in administration at one of the boarding schools before they closed all of them down. She won’t refuse me.”
Ella smiled. “If there’s anyone who knows how to cut corners, it’s you, Mom.”
Ella turned around and saw that Dawn had turned off the television and was listening to her talking story book.
Rose smiled. “At her age, you were never interested in stories or storytelling. You wanted to be outside running or playing. The hardest thing for you to do was sit still.”
Ella nodded. “She’s her own person in a different time. Do you ever wish you could peer into the future and see who she’ll be in fifteen years?”
Rose laughed. “No, thank you. I’ll take things one day at a time. That’s about
all I can handle.”
Rose watched her daughter tending to Dawn. How quickly time passed these days! She was proud of her family. Raymond and she had done well raising Clifford and Ella. The two were as different as could be, but both were strong and loving people in their own ways. And now there was Dawn, a part of her too. In her granddaughter, Rose saw a future that was yet to be determined,
but one filled with infinite possibilities.
“Mom? You have such a peculiar expression on your face.”
Rose chuckled. “I’m thinking that someday she’ll grow up and have children, and you’ll be where I am right now.”
“Is that a curse or a blessing?” Ella asked.
“Both,” Rose said with a smile.
The following morning, after a much-welcomed rainy night, Rose set out early while there were still
gray clouds overhead
and actual humidity could be felt in the air. She’d received a call from Sadie Black Shawl and something in Sadie’s tone had worried her. The young woman had seemed too subdued.
When Rose arrived at Lena’s home, she saw Sadie outside, kneeling by some plants in the garden. Seeing Rose, she waved.
“I don’t know what made you stop by, but I’m glad you did,” Sadie said, brushing
the dirt from her jeans as she stood.
“I had a feeling something wasn’t right.”
“Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you about it.”
In the kitchen, Sadie poured them both a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter, then suddenly looked at Rose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think. Do you drink coffee?”
“Sometimes, but I prefer it with cream and sugar, lots and lots of both.”
Sadie brought over the
sugar bowl and the container of coffee creamer. “My mom and I always discussed whatever was bothering us over coffee, and I got used to the ritual,” she said with a sheepish smile.
Rose waited patiently for her to begin, noticing how ill at ease Sadie appeared to be.
“Last night after I went to bed I heard a strange noise outside. The porch light was on, so I turned it off so I could see through
the window. That’s when I spotted someone outside running back to his truck. It roared off before I could get a good look at the license plate.”
“What was he after, do you know?”
“I went out with a flashlight after he was gone and took a good look around, but I couldn’t see what he’d taken.” She hesitated, then added, “But I found footprints that prove he was by the garden. That’s why I wasn’t
going to tell anyone. I knew that if the news got back to your friend that someone had
been messing around in her garden again, it would really upset her.”
“You’re right about that, so let’s keep it between us for now. Do you remember what the man looked like?”
“I was still half asleep, and I only saw him from the back. All I can tell you is that he was tall, had wide shoulders, and ran like
he had a bear chasing him,” she said. “Later, after I calmed down, I remembered that everyone’s looking for ‘white at night’ for your friend. That’s when I began to wonder if the man I saw was one of your tribe’s medicine men who’d come to check her garden.”
“If the person had been here on legitimate business, he wouldn’t have run,” Rose said, “or come at that hour. Traditionalists don’t like
to be outside roaming around late at night.”
“I also found out something else … .” Sadie took a deep breath. “I’ve been trying to help by seeing if I could find any patches of ‘white at night’ up in the canyons north of here. That’s pretty rough terrain that the older Plant Watchers usually don’t visit. I didn’t find any of the plants, but I ran into Sara Henderson, Clara’s daughter. She was
up there working on one of her paintings. Sara told me that two of the Plant Watchers have had plants taken from their gardens late at night. But the thief didn’t take any endangered plants, just a few varieties that are hard to locate.”
“Like what?”
“Joe-pye weed, for one.”
“That’s used to heal deep cuts, particularly puncture wounds,” Rose said thoughtfully.
“I know. It was one of the varieties
I listed in a medicinal plant report for one of my botany classes.”
“You did a report on herbal medicine?” Rose asked. “I’d love to see it sometime.”
“Sure. It’s in my computer. Let me print out a copy for you.”
Ten minutes later, Rose sat in the living room reading the term paper. As she glanced at the footnotes on the first page, she noticed that Bradford Knight was one of the experts cited.
“I didn’t know Mr. Knight was an authority on herbal medicine,” she said.
“I found that out during my initial research. He’s written several papers on the subject recently too. Although they’re not specific to plants found on the Navajo Reservation, I found them useful. He also has several articles on the Internet. Would you like to see them?”
“Yes, I would.” She was curious to learn the Anglo
man’s viewpoint on herbal medicine. She had a feeling it wasn’t something he practiced or really endorsed. For many educated Anglos, herbal medicine was simply a primitive substitute for someone who mistrusted or couldn’t afford conventional medicines.
Sadie went to a specific site she’d bookmarked on the computer. On the table of contents listing the writers that had contributed to the literature
on the site, Rose saw Professor William Hoff’s name as well.
“So he also writes about herbal medicine?” she asked, pointing.
“He’s one of the best. His articles are really wonderful. I think he believes in herbal medicines—and he uses them himself. I don’t know that for a fact, mind you,” Sadie added quickly. “But that’s what he said in one of his articles.”
“Do you remember which article it
was?” The news had come as a surprise and now Rose intended to learn more.
Rose sat at Sadie’s computer for quite some time reading the articles both men had written. In one, Willie claimed to have successfully used
Penstemon barbatus,
also known as beard-tongue, as a cough suppressant.
From the photo Rose recognized the plant. Navajo called it
“hummingbird food,” and it was one of the endangered
plants.
“He used ‘hummingbird food’ as cough medicine,” Rose told Sadie. “We use it in the same way. Does it say anywhere in here when this article was written?”
Sadie reached for the arrow key and scrolled down. “It was published in 1980, so it would be sometime before that.”
Back then, “hummingbird food” had grown almost everywhere. Rose remembered the story Willie had told her about falling
in love with a Navajo woman. It was entirely possible that she’d taught him about their native plants.
Bradford Knight’s articles were written in a completely different tone. He treated the subject exactly the way she’d suspected he would, stating that none of the health claims had been proved, and that reliance on dubious medicinal plants could result in harm to the user, not only from ingesting
folk herbs that could have hazardous side effects, but by delaying the ill person’s visit to a physician.
“I really appreciate your help with this,” Rose said as she finished the second article.
“No problem. It was my pleasure,” she said. “Are you going plant hunting today?”
Rose nodded. “Yes, but I have to make another stop first.”
“Do you mind if I tag along with you? I’m going a little
stir crazy. I thought I wanted to be alone so I could study, but there’s such a thing as being too alone—and studying too much,” she added with a smile.
“I’d love to have your company, but I should warn you that I have to go to my friend’s trailer, and that’s bound to be difficult, and very sad,” she said, and explained about Charlie’s final requests.
“From the sounds of it, you’ll definitely
need a friend along, so it’ll work out for both of us,” Sadie answered. “I’ll drive so you won’t have to worry about anything.”
They said little to each other during the forty-five-minute drive to Charlie’s trailer home near Teec Nos Pos. The tension and discomfort she felt about entering the home of a recently deceased Navajo built inside her with every breath she took.
Soon they arrived near
the base of a low cliff and parked in front of a shiny new single-wide aluminum structure, topped with an evaporative cooler. Rose stepped out of the SUV and glanced around. Charlie’s truck wasn’t around, and she guessed it was still at the place where he’d died or, more likely, had been towed to the impound yard at Chinle. The vehicle would have to be sold to someone off the reservation. Charlie
had loved that relic more than anything else, and possessions that dear to a person called to their
chindi.
She wouldn’t go near it now, and neither would any other Navajo following The Way—a traditional Navajo’s path.
Rose noted that except for a small garden delineated with wooden stakes and white twine, the ground around Charlie’s home had not been disturbed from its natural state. She walked
to Charlie’s trailer, climbed up two steps to a metal porch with decorative railing, and opened the door. It hadn’t been locked.
As she went in, instead of the stale odor associated with closed-in rooms, she became instantly aware of the pleasant aroma that seemed to fill the entire living area. It was a wonderful scent reminiscent of flowers and fruit. She looked around and found only one flowering
plant inside. Somehow the pot had crashed to the floor beside the long planting bench below a large western-facing window and underneath four long fluorescent light tubes.

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