Chapter Forty-Five
brEANNA
MRS. HARJO and Dawn Walker stand in the entryway of the big house. Mato got the call a few days ago asking if the cousin could meet the children before official meetings took place, and we set up a time for them to come by on a Saturday morning.
Mrs. Harjo assured us it’s not an official ICWA home check; it’s just an introduction between the children and their ‘blood’ relative.
She requested to meet them in their environment instead of an office that might make them nervous.
At least she was thinking of their comfort.
It still doesn’t make me feel any better about any of it.
We all decided, as a family, that the day would be treated as any normal Saturday.
No special treatment and no hovering. This morning before Dad went down to the stables, he did what he rarely does; he pulled me in for a hug and kissed the top of my head.
Without a word, he let me go and walked out the back door.
Knowing that they would be here sometime before lunch, Mato is still in the stables and I’m in the entryway with them alone.
Mrs. Harjo introduces us. I’m not sure if I feel awkward, or if everyone feels awkward, but it has my heart knocking against my ribs like it wants to break out.
She’s older than me, maybe in her early thirties.
She has the authentic look of a Native American woman; her skin is golden tan and the front of her long black hair is pulled back in a beaded clip.
My anxiety spikes as I wonder if looking at me makes her worry about the children losing their heritage.
Her cream-colored coat is puffy, and the hem almost meets the knee-high boots she’s wearing. She’s holding her purse strap with both hands in front of her; she almost seems nervous as well.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Walker.” The slightest tremor in my voice gives away my anxiety, and she smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Thank you for letting me come.” Her eyes move over the entryway and over my shoulder to the staircase. “I know it’s not usual.”
Linking my fingers, I try to still my shaking hands. “It’s no trouble.” It’s every kind of trouble, especially the terrifying kind, but I don’t say that. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”
She shakes her head, her eyes still taking everything in.
I can’t read her face at all, and my fear is making me wonder if she’s building a case against me, and the thought is sitting on my chest like a stone.
She pauses her perusal on the coat tree next to the front door; there are children’s coats of many sizes and colors hanging from it.
“It’s a nice place.” She says it softly, but it doesn’t really feel like a compliment.
I’m aching to have Mato next to me.
Then Nova runs around the corner.
She’s looking for me, but she stops short when she sees the strangers in front of me. Her little body goes still, and her eyes drop to the floor as her thumb finds the hem of her shirt. She doesn’t make a sound.
I crouch down and hold one arm out for her to come to me. “Hey, baby. This is Miss Dawn. She came to visit. Can you say hi?”
Nova doesn’t look at her, but crosses the room with her eyes on me the whole way, fast, and climbs into my arms. I stand and shift her to my hip like I’ve done it her whole life instead of a handful of months.
She presses her face into my neck for a second and turns just enough to peek out at Dawn from the safety of my shoulder.
I can feel her fingers twisting my hair against my back.
Dawn watches the exchange, her face impassive as she quietly observes Nova.
“She doesn’t talk much.” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.
“No.” Dawn says softly. “Her mama was like that. When we were girls, it took her a long time to trust a new person.”
About that time, the back door opens, and Mato’s quick stride is heard on the hardwood. My heart flips in my chest, and I turn to see him come around the corner, a slight panic on his face because he meant to be next to me when we let them in.
Work gloves are hanging out of the back pocket of his jeans, and he’s taking his coat off as he walks across the floor. “Sorry, I was on the tractor and didn’t realize you were here.”
His hair has grown longer over the past few months and is almost between his shoulder blades, the top pulled back into a black hair tie. As a show of unity, he bends over and kisses me when he steps up next to me, his cold nose presses against my cheek.
Holding his hand out as he steps toward her, he introduces himself. “Hello, I’m Mato Blackwell.”
Her eyes travel over him, and I can’t tell if what I’m seeing on her face is surprise. “Hello, Dawn Walker.”
The silence builds, and I clear my throat. “Would you like to meet Koda?”
She smiles again, the same one as before that didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes.”
“Is he in the library?” Mato asks.
I nod and we turn to walk down the hall. I glance over my shoulder, a smile plastered on my face and Nova’s fingers still twisting my hair against my back. Dawn is still looking around, and I try to see the house from a stranger’s eye instead of as someone who grew up here.
The pictures in the big hallway that connects the kitchen, office, library, and the back stairway is peppered with family pictures that go back decades.
The two small, narrow tables placed diagonally from each other on either side also have pictures, one of which is of me at my graduation with my cords and sashes over my gown.
I’m smiling big and my hair is in big puffy curls under my cap because it rained that day.
Koda’s on the floor in the library, crossed-legged like he always is, next to the big reading chair, and the guts of an old radio spread across a dish towel in front of him. A tiny screwdriver is pinched in his fingers, his focus on the box in front of him, and he doesn’t look up when we walk in.
Biscuit is next to him, her chin on her paws. She lifts her head when we walk in, and her tail thumps on the floor.
“This is Koda,” I say and step aside so she can see him. “He likes to take things apart and figure out how they work.”
Dawn doesn’t answer. I glance at her, and her eyes have softened as she looks at him. I’m not sure what to make of it.
Koda finally looks up and gives Dawn the once-over he gives every new adult; it’s a quick read of: is this person a problem? It’s shorter than it used to be. For a while it took a long time for him to decide if a room or people were safe. Now he just looks back down at his radio.
“Mato says if I get it working we can put it in the stable for the horses to listen to.” He says it to me, not her.
My heart melts because he’s so soft-hearted; he loves being around the animals and taking care of them.
I swallow around the lump in my throat, and I think Mato hears it because he steps next to me and puts his arm around my waist, pulling me closer and positioning Nova between us.
Her head is still on my shoulder as she listens to everything.
Hooking his thumb in his pocket, Mato says. “That’s right, bud.”
I smile at the top of Koda’s head. “Well, you better get it working then.”
The corner of his mouth tips up, but he doesn’t look up again.
I look back up at Dawn, and her eyes are on the bookshelves behind me; they go back generations. It’s the shelves with the journals from my great grandfather times five, and all the books we’ve collected over the decades about Cherokee history, spirituality, and symbolism.
On the same shelf as the journals is a picture of my grandparents, who built this home, in a round antique frame. It’s old, from the 1860s, I think, and my grandmother is in her traditional Cherokee wedding garb standing next to my grandfather in his Army uniform.
Dawn crosses the room and looks at the photo. She doesn’t pick it up, but she leans closer to inspect it. She looks at Mato and asks, “Your family?”
He shakes his head, and I say, “My grandparents. They built the original parts of this house.”
She tilts her head in a way I’ve seen Nova do so many times, as if she’s deciding what to think of me. Turning back to the books, she reaches up and touches the spine of one of the older books and gently slides her finger along it. “These are old.”
I shrug one shoulder. “Each generation adds to them.”
She doesn’t say anything to that. After a few more moments, she steps away from the bookshelf and smiles at Mrs. Harjo. “I think I’ve taken up enough of their time today.”
I’m confused because I thought she would be here longer, and I thought she would want to actually talk to the kids. We even prepared snacks for it.
Mrs. Harjo smiles, and we all walk to the front door. As it closes, I feel my chest deflate, and I turn and set my forehead against Mato’s chest.
“That was strange.” I mumble.
He sets his lips on the top of my head. “It was.”