The Midwife And The Lawman

Sitting in plastic lawn chairs beneath a brush arbor was Daniel and a plump woman in traditional Navajo dress—long-sleeved blouse and long, pleated cotton skirt with a woven belt. Her hair, gathered into a heavy knot at the back of her head, was black, barely streaked with gray. Her jewelry was silver and turquoise. Devon recognized her as Elena Eiden, Miguel’s mother. She was holding a spindle, spinning yarn from a pile of sheep’s wool in her lap.

Elena put down her work and rose from her chair. “Devon Grant? Is that you?” She shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand.

“Hello, Mrs. Eiden. Yes, it’s me.”

“How good to see you! Miguel told me you were back in Enchantment. I was planning to stop by the clinic. Dad and I have been in Arizona visiting my daughter and new grandbaby. We only returned to town a few days ago,” she explained, motioning Devon to an empty chair. “I have pictures for Lydia. She delivered her, you know.”

“I know she’d love to see them. We all would.” Devon felt gooseflesh rise on her arms. She might have been carrying Miguel’s baby, another grandchild for Elena, if the timing of their night together had been different. Not for the first time she felt a tiny pang of regret, not relief, when the thought crossed her mind.

“Father, you remember Devon Grant. She’s Lydia Kane’s granddaughter.” She spoke in English, although Devon suspected she and her father had been speaking Navajo when she drove up.

“Yah-ta-he, Grandfather,” she said, using the Navajo greeting he’d taught her years before.

“Welcome. It’s been a long time since you came to visit and ask questions about the Diné, Devon Grant.”

“Yes, it has. I don’t have time to come to Enchantment often anymore.”

“But now you’re here to stay, aren’t you?” Elena asked, resuming her spinning. She was a weaver, too, Devon remembered, though not as renowned as her sister-in-law.

“For the time being. I’ve taken a six-month leave of absence from my practice in Albuquerque.”

Daniel let a few seconds elapse before he spoke. It was a sign of politeness among the Navajo, making sure someone was finished speaking before jumping in. “Are you here now to learn more about the Diné?” His face was impassive, but a glint of humor sparkled in his faded eyes.

“I would still like to learn from you,” Devon said carefully, shying from his gaze. Obviously the man’s advancing years hadn’t taken a toll on his mind. He hadn’t forgotten that she’d been as much interested in Miguel as about Navajo lifestyles.

“You have followed the Navajo way in honoring your grandmother’s wish that you return to Enchantment.”

“I will certainly stay until my grandmother is fully recovered from her heart attack.”

“How is Lydia?” Elena asked.

“She’s regaining strength and is impatient to be back delivering babies full-time.”

“I heard you went out to the reservation to help Ophelia Pedroza. Not many whites will make that drive for any reason.”

This time Devon had no trouble meeting the old man’s gaze. “She needed me.”

“Miguel told me the baby was breech. That you had to take Ophelia to The Birth Place to deliver.”

Devon felt the familiar need to explain her actions and fought it down. The silence stretched out a little longer than good manners dictated. “It was a difficult birth. I’m not my grandmother. I don’t have her experience and expertise. For Ophelia’s sake and the baby’s, I felt they should be brought to the center.”

The two Navajos nodded acceptance of her explanation. Daniel changed the subject. “What brings you this far up the mountain? You didn’t come all this way just to say hello to an old man like me.”

“Well, not exactly,” Devon responded, smiling. “I’m also going to drive on up to Silverton. I haven’t been there in years. I used to love to go there.”

“Not a good place to go,” Daniel said bluntly.

“He’s right, I’m afraid,” Elena said. “Dad’s had stuff stolen and whoever’s doing it could be hiding out there.”

“Miguel mentioned it.” Devon wished she’d kept her mouth shut when she saw the flicker of interest in Elena’s face.

“Someone’s been in my chicken coop,” Daniel elaborated. “Couple nights ago they took off with a hen. It’s probably just kids, but if they go after my goats, I’ll shoot them.”

“You will not,” Elena said firmly. “You’ll call Miguel. And then you’ll call Dennis and me and we’ll come and get you, and you can stay at our place until they catch the thief.”

“I’ll stay here.” Daniel’s tone left no room for argument.

Elena’s lips tightened into a straight line, but she said no more, concentrating on tugging a strand of wool from the bundle of fleece on her lap.

“I’m only going to stay there a little while,” Devon assured them. “I just want to see if the place has changed.”

“There are ghosts there,” Daniel said. It was Navajo custom not to mention the names of the dead in case their malevolent ghosts were nearby. But Devon knew he was talking about Teague Ellis. Teague had been Enchantment’s bad boy a generation ago. He’d died in the Silverton mine before Devon was born, his body not found until years later.

“I’m not planning on going into the mine,” she said, rising from her chair.

“It’s still not a safe place to be right now,” Elena said. “Ghost or no ghost.”

“I’ll be careful.” Devon turned to Daniel. “It’s so good to see you, Grandfather.”

“Come back again, Devon Grant. I am here most days.”

Elena once more put down her spinning and followed Devon to her truck. “Thank you for stopping. My father enjoys the company. He misses my mother.” Elena did not mention her mother’s name in deference to her father’s beliefs. Elena herself didn’t follow the old ways. Her mother had been Roman Catholic and Elena had been raised in that faith. The heavy silver cross she wore around her neck was proof of that.

“I’ll stop by as often as I can.”

“Thank you.”

Devon waved a last goodbye to Miguel’s grandfather, then climbed in her truck and headed up the mountain, following Silver Creek. There was only a trickle of water now. The snow melt was long over and there’d been little summer rain to keep it running free and strong.

The turnoff to Silverton was almost invisible if you didn’t know where to look. But she did. She kept Silver Creek on her left and watched for the landmarks she remembered from her teens, the twisted ruin of a huge cottonwood tree on one side, and a big limestone boulder on the other. There was a sign, too, leaning and faded. If you weren’t looking for it, it was hard to see. She nosed the Blazer onto the old roadway and shifted into four-wheel drive.

The Silver Jacks mine had never been large or profitable, and Silverton had flourished as a community for only twenty years or so. It didn’t exist on any maps, and few tourists found their way up here. Even most of Enchantment’s teenagers tended to stay away. It was too far from town to be convenient for a lovers’ lane, and since the way in was the only way out, it was even more inconvenient as a place for underage teens to drink beer or smoke marijuana. The thrill wasn’t worth the price of getting caught.

A mile or so past the turnoff she rounded a big outcropping of rock and saw the narrow valley that housed what was left of the town. The creek ran along one side of what had once been a street, and dilapidated wooden buildings lined the other side. Here and there one-and two-room cabins with caved-in roofs rose out of the tall grass and young aspens that had grown up around them. Above the town she could see the dark opening of the Silver Jacks mine.

Devon parked the Blazer off to one side of the track, reached behind her and pulled a small collapsible cooler from the back seat. She lifted the hatch and dug a flashlight out of her midwife’s kit. She would need it if she wanted to look inside the mine entrance. She walked over to the porch of one of the derelict false-fronted buildings and sat in the shade. The sun was warm on her jean-clad legs, and she could smell the scents of dry grass and pine resin in the cool, thin air. She leaned gingerly back against the weather-beaten porch post, testing its strength.

She listened to the water dance over the stones in the creek bed, watched the sunlight filter through the branches of the cottonwoods that lined its banks and felt a measure of peace. She remembered coming here the summer she was eighteen, trying desperately to understand the dark changes that had come over Miguel when he returned from duty in Somalia. Now, more than ten years later, she understood those changes, what war and death could do to a man. But then she hadn’t been wise, only desperately in love, and his withdrawal had broken her heart.

She slipped the cooler strap off her shoulder, deciding she’d eat after she explored a little, picked up the flashlight and started walking along the faint path that led to the mine entrance. She wouldn’t go inside, of course—it wasn’t safe—but with the beam of the flashlight she could see well into the interior. She wondered if it was still the same as it had been a dozen years ago, a mine entrance straight out of a Wild West movie, wooden supports framing a narrow, gaping hole in the ground that somewhere not too far inside, ended in a deep drop-off where Teague Ellis had died.

Devon stopped walking. A cloud had passed over the sun, darkening the little valley, reminding her that daylight ended early here even in the summer and that dangerous strangers might be close by. The sun came out again, colors regained their brightness and the birds their songs. She turned away from the creek toward the mine, letting her curiosity override her caution. The ground before the entrance was devoid of vegetation. Odd bits and pieces of rusted metal lay half buried in the stony ground. A few old barrel staves stuck up out of the dirt like the rib cages of dead animals. Anything of value, including the silver, was long gone.

Someone had put up a barrier to deter the curious from entering the mine since the last time she was here. A screen of metal mesh, the sort used for a dog run or a schoolyard fence, had been stretched across the opening and secured with heavy wooden two-by-fours nailed to the mine’s supporting posts. But one of the two-by-fours had been pulled away at the bottom corner, and the wire mesh bulged out, leaving an opening big enough for a small person or a large animal to crawl through.

Had a coyote made the old mine its den?

Or perhaps a Coyote of the human kind?