Stealing Thunder

Kate frowned. “Sounds really sad to me, Tiernan…whether it’s settling…or living alone out of fear—”

He interrupted. “There are worse things.” How could a man live with himself if he caused his woman’s death? he wondered, knowing how his aunt’s death had crushed Uncle Ross. Better never to love at all. “Now, I would appreciate your telling me about the new job with the film company.”

Even as he changed the subject, Tiernan remembered that moment on the cliff when Ella had grabbed his arm and something disturbing had passed through him. Just his response to an attractive woman, he told himself. After the tragedies he’d seen happen to love-happy people he cared about—after seeing Aunt Megan lying still and cold and broken on the pavement and knowing there would be no justice for her death—he could never let it be more.

Not a problem since he probably would never see the lovely Ella Thunder again.

TRYING TO KEEP herself relaxed and entertained by thoughts of Tiernan McKenna with his mesmerizing green eyes, seductive Irish lilt and fascinating way of getting to her with just a touch, Ella drove through the rez. Despite her determination, a memory of her father in his last moments came back to her, cramped her stomach and pushed Tiernan out of mind.

Ella took a deep breath and shook away the vision as she drove past sad-looking houses and trailers, kids shrieking as they played in the dirt, their imaginations turning junk into toys. Though the rez was small in size, with residences mostly scattered far and wide over the land—only a few dozen had been built around the center of town—Grandmother had written that the houses and trailers were overcrowded, that there were too many people and not enough money.

Looking around, Ella could see it for herself. Though she didn’t remember the rez looking so worn, she supposed it always had been. Things always looked different through the eyes of youth.

Other than work provided by the casino or general store or gas station, or for the tribal police or council, there simply weren’t enough jobs on the rez. People had to drive into Bitter Creek or Custer or to one of the farther towns or cities to find work. She knew the film company was not only paying the rez for using their land and horses, but hiring many of the Lakota to do odd jobs or to be extras in the movie. A few had even been given speaking parts. Hopefully enough money would be infused into the rez to kick-start the economy here.

The first building of any notable size that she passed was the casino. And then the government offices. A few dozen homes were scattered around the rez’s center.

Ella drove straight to what used to be her own home and left the SUV, her stomach in knots. The air outside was thick, hard to breathe, her mounting tension no doubt the cause.

Then the door opened, and a small woman in long skirts and a bleached cotton shirt shuffled out. Her hair was pure white now, her skin like elephant’s hide. Dina Thunder was an old seventy-one. And seventy-one was old for the rez, where people rarely survived their sixties. The smile that curved Grandmother’s lips and lit her eyes exactly as Ella remembered made her a welcoming committee of one.

“My Ella!”

Grandmother held up her arms and Ella couldn’t help but notice the arthritic joints in her hands. When she stooped to hug Ella, Ella was aware of how fragile the elderly woman had become despite the roundness of her figure. Grandmother held on to her as if she might never let go.

A white-haired man stood in the doorway—Grandfather. Samuel Thunder was still an imposing figure, his face a carved reminder of her own ancestry. His eyes were unfocused, his head cocked slightly as if he were trying to get a sideways look at her.

Ella knew eye disease hampered Grandfather from making out details, such as her features, but he could get impressions, and whatever he did see made him smile, showing off his gold tooth. She went to him and hugged him, too. She used to think Grandfather was so tall, like Father, but now she was nearly his equal.

“Grandfather, I missed you.”

“You are a woman now, Ella. Strong and beautiful, Joseph’s true daughter.”

“I hope this is so.”

“Can you eat?” Grandmother asked.

“I’m starving.”

“Inside with you.”

The walls were painted white, better to show off the collection of woven baskets that surrounded the combination living and dining room. A threadbare rug covered part of the planked floor, and a bow and arrow perched over the stone fireplace.

Ella inhaled the luscious aroma coming from the stove and sighed—the memory of Grandmother’s cooking kicking in. “There’s no bison stew as good as yours.” Her mouth was already watering.

“I made a corn pudding and baked pumpkin, too. And blueberry Wojapi to go with the fry bread.”

As they ate, they caught up on the missing years, concentrating on the positive rather than dwelling on the dark past that sent Ella, her mother and sister, Miranda, fleeing to the white world. A past from which her mother had never recovered. The grandparents wanted to know every detail about Ella’s work as a teacher of history, especially of their history.

“We have your book on the table by the couch so everyone who comes here can see it,” Grandmother told her.

“Your father would be proud of you,” Grandfather said. “Your returning to us shows that you are as fierce a warrior as he was.”

Ella’s pulse fluttered and her chest tightened. “Not fierce. The movie interested me…I couldn’t resist. A couple of weeks here seemed perfect.”

The grandparents exchanged looks that told Ella they didn’t accept that. Believers in fate, they would assume her presence had been guided by her animal spirit. While the film had delivered her, they would be convinced she was here for something more.

When they finished eating, Grandfather went outside to sit and to puff on his pipe, and Ella began clearing the table.

“It is so good to have you home, Ella.”

“Only for a few weeks, Grandmother. Only for the movie. This isn’t my home anymore.”

“This is where you are needed.” Grandmother hesitated only for a moment before saying, “We have no shaman. No one will practice here after what happened to Joseph.”

“I’m not a shaman.”

It is time…whispered through Ella’s head, but she instantly denied it.

Time for what? To give the people hope? Or to give hope to herself?

Ella pushed back the confusion. She reminded herself that she was just here for a summer job.

“Please, Granddaughter, the people need a spiritual leader. Do it for your grandfather and me—for your father—so that the legacy of the elders continues.”

The plea got to Ella—Grandmother had never asked anything of her before. While Ella remembered the tenets of her father’s beliefs and powers, she wasn’t sure she could actually execute them. Furthermore, even if it was something she wanted to do, she feared what might happen if she tried. She’d shut herself off from calling on the elements for fifteen years because Father had proved using abilities people didn’t understand was too dangerous, and she wasn’t about to embrace the danger again.

Still, having to deny the elderly woman made her feel bad. “I can’t help anyone, Grandmother. I am no medicine woman. And I don’t know if I remember enough of what Father taught me.”

“Talk to Nathan. He remembers.”

The tight, scarred skin on her arm twitched and Ella smoothed the cotton sleeve covering it. Part of her thanked her cousin for saving her. Part of her blamed him for letting her live burn- and memory-scarred.

Pausing a few seconds, she then asked, “So Nathan turned his back on shamanism?”

Grandmother nodded. “He has other interests that concern our people.”

“What kind of interests?”

“He’s become an activist. He’s part of First Nation.”

Ella knew about the long-standing activist group First Nation—a group that believed the Lakota should withdraw from all treaties with the United States and should reclaim the Paha Sapa for The People. Paha Sapa—the heart of everything that is—otherwise known as the Black Hills, Ella thought. Father had taught her the mountain held great power that needed to be respected. She knew that three decades ago, a federal court had agreed that in taking the land to mine gold in the 1870s, Custer had broken the treaty. The court had awarded the Lakota money that had now amassed to nearly a billion dollars. The Lakota were unwilling to trade their rights to the land for money. They didn’t believe in buying or selling the earth they walked upon.

Ella said, “I don’t think the U.S. government is ever going to give the land back to The People.” Her band was lucky to have been awarded a small reservation on one edge of the mountain, a lush piece of land compared to Pine Ridge, the next closest reservation on the Badlands.

“No. But I fear what First Nation might do to reclaim land they believe belongs to us,” Grandmother said. “We don’t need more war. Poverty and disease already take their toll on The People. What we need is someone who can heal the ills, not increase them.”

Doing the dishes gave Ella time to consider Grandmother’s words, as scary as it was for her.