going out with him. It's a business lunch. I asked him to find out whatever he could about what went wrong Saturday night. He said the complaint should have been sent to Mountain Parks. I want to know why it wasn't."
The ranger's dinner invitation had taken her by surprise. A part of her--the same part of her that had spent the past three months thinking about him, remembering how it had felt when he'd comforted her and held her hand--had wanted to accept his invitation just to get to know him better. But she didn't date casually.
It wasn't that she felt no need for a man or a sex life. She was as red-blooded as the next woman. But she believed what Grandma Alice had taught her--that the joining of male and female was sacred and meant to be treated as such. Besides, she'd seen what happened when a woman trusted the wrong man. She didn't want to make the same mistake as her mother, who'd betrayed her husband only to be betrayed herself in the end. Nor did she want to end up like so many other young Dine women, abandoned to raise a child alone on commodities and welfare.
Long ago, she'd promised herself she wouldn't sleep with a man until she met her true half-side--her perfect, matching male half. She would wait for the one man who was meant for her, the man who was worth it, the man she loved so much that going without him felt unthinkable. And if at age twenty-six she'd begun to fear she would dry up and blow away before she met that man?
No one had ever said that walking a good path was easy.
She and the other young women had just finished washing the supper dishes when Glenna came and took her by the arm.
"The old man wants you," she said, a slight smile on her lips.
Damp dish towel in hand, Kat followed Glenna, surprised to find the living room silent, all eyes turned her way. She stood there, waiting for Grandpa Red Crow to speak and wondering if she should make more coffee.
He stood, his face grave, one hand raised. "Not all of you know Katherine James, so I will tell you about her."
Speaking slowly in heavily accented English, he told them how she'd come to Denver from Navajoland to work at the paper and had met him at the Denver March Powwow, where she'd gone in search of decent frybread. This, of course, made everyone laugh. When it grew quiet again, he told them how he'd invited her to an inipi and how she'd soon become a regular at the Saturday night sweats on Mesa Butte. Then he told them how she'd tried to protect the other women when the inipi had been disrupted, taking the wasicu policeman's violence onto herself.
"I call her Kimimila--Butterfly," he said, "but that was the act of a warrior."
"Aho!" the men called in near unison, voicing their agreement.
"Now, the people need her to fight for them again--but in a different way."
Amazed to find herself singled out for such recognition, she saw Grandpa Red Crow pull something out of his pocket.
A pouch of tobacco.
Stunned, all she could do was stare.
He took her hand, pressed the tobacco into her palm, his dark eyes--eyes that had seen so much--looking into hers.
"We need your help to get to the bottom of things, to find out why the inipi was stopped last night. We need the world to know what happened so that good-hearted people of all nations can help us to protect our ceremonies and ways of life. The people need you to be a journalist for them."
Kat closed her fingers around the tobacco, touched beyond words that the elders should ask for her help in such a respectful way. But there was no question as to whether she would do as they'd asked. That's why she'd become a journalist in the first place--to protect Native people and the Earth.
Grandpa Red Crow knew that, of course. He seemed to know more about Kat than she knew about herself, having taken her under his wing when she'd first moved to Denver. A Hunkpapa Lakota medicine man whose ancestors had walked with the great leader Tatanka lyotake--Sitting Bull--he'd accepted her without
The ranger's dinner invitation had taken her by surprise. A part of her--the same part of her that had spent the past three months thinking about him, remembering how it had felt when he'd comforted her and held her hand--had wanted to accept his invitation just to get to know him better. But she didn't date casually.
It wasn't that she felt no need for a man or a sex life. She was as red-blooded as the next woman. But she believed what Grandma Alice had taught her--that the joining of male and female was sacred and meant to be treated as such. Besides, she'd seen what happened when a woman trusted the wrong man. She didn't want to make the same mistake as her mother, who'd betrayed her husband only to be betrayed herself in the end. Nor did she want to end up like so many other young Dine women, abandoned to raise a child alone on commodities and welfare.
Long ago, she'd promised herself she wouldn't sleep with a man until she met her true half-side--her perfect, matching male half. She would wait for the one man who was meant for her, the man who was worth it, the man she loved so much that going without him felt unthinkable. And if at age twenty-six she'd begun to fear she would dry up and blow away before she met that man?
No one had ever said that walking a good path was easy.
She and the other young women had just finished washing the supper dishes when Glenna came and took her by the arm.
"The old man wants you," she said, a slight smile on her lips.
Damp dish towel in hand, Kat followed Glenna, surprised to find the living room silent, all eyes turned her way. She stood there, waiting for Grandpa Red Crow to speak and wondering if she should make more coffee.
He stood, his face grave, one hand raised. "Not all of you know Katherine James, so I will tell you about her."
Speaking slowly in heavily accented English, he told them how she'd come to Denver from Navajoland to work at the paper and had met him at the Denver March Powwow, where she'd gone in search of decent frybread. This, of course, made everyone laugh. When it grew quiet again, he told them how he'd invited her to an inipi and how she'd soon become a regular at the Saturday night sweats on Mesa Butte. Then he told them how she'd tried to protect the other women when the inipi had been disrupted, taking the wasicu policeman's violence onto herself.
"I call her Kimimila--Butterfly," he said, "but that was the act of a warrior."
"Aho!" the men called in near unison, voicing their agreement.
"Now, the people need her to fight for them again--but in a different way."
Amazed to find herself singled out for such recognition, she saw Grandpa Red Crow pull something out of his pocket.
A pouch of tobacco.
Stunned, all she could do was stare.
He took her hand, pressed the tobacco into her palm, his dark eyes--eyes that had seen so much--looking into hers.
"We need your help to get to the bottom of things, to find out why the inipi was stopped last night. We need the world to know what happened so that good-hearted people of all nations can help us to protect our ceremonies and ways of life. The people need you to be a journalist for them."
Kat closed her fingers around the tobacco, touched beyond words that the elders should ask for her help in such a respectful way. But there was no question as to whether she would do as they'd asked. That's why she'd become a journalist in the first place--to protect Native people and the Earth.
Grandpa Red Crow knew that, of course. He seemed to know more about Kat than she knew about herself, having taken her under his wing when she'd first moved to Denver. A Hunkpapa Lakota medicine man whose ancestors had walked with the great leader Tatanka lyotake--Sitting Bull--he'd accepted her without
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