Fall 1979, California
Johnny Gage blinked, brought back to the present when his aunt, Bent Willow – his father's sister – stopped her narration. Being a master storyteller, he found himself so immersed in her story that it was a jolt when she stopped.
"She didn't have lots of children," Johnny added to end the story.
In a quiet voice his aunt answered, "No. Just you."
"And the ranch?" Johnny asked.
"Sold. After they were killed in the car crash nine years after your birth," his aunt stated matter-of-factly.
"Why didn't you tell me their story sooner?" An angry edge crept into Johnny's voice.
"It wasn't the time for telling."
"And now is?"
"Yes."
Johnny stood, paced in his aunt's small kitchen. "You made them sound so happy."
"They were."
"Even when they only had one child?" Johnny's voice softened.
"Your mother, Sarah, was so pleased to have you that more didn't matter."
Johnny just nodded his head, unable to speak. He continued pacing.
"When you looked so much like Bill, your father, Sarah was on top of the world."
Sitting again, Johnny pounded his fist on the table. He only had a few memories of life at the ranch. Mostly the faces were blurred images now. He only had one photo of his parents and it was taken before his birth. Those were the faces his mind attached to the memories, but they didn't fit exactly. Those memories always gave him a warm feeling, even faded as they were now.
Memories of his time on the reservation were bitter. But he now realized that the bitterness was inside of him, tainting his view on everything to do with life on the reservation. He'd hated all of the People, the anthros that came with so many questions, even himself. He recalled lashing out at Chet Kelly the one time when he'd pressed Johnny about living on the reservation. He'd never felt that he'd belonged there. He hadn't understood much after his parents were gone. Now, listening to his aunt tell, in her amazing way, about his parents, he found the bitterness changing to curiosity.
The pain in her nephew's eyes stung Willow. He'd had a great loss. But, loss was part of life. And no one knew that better than her.
"He took her family name. Why?" Johnny asked, his mind replaying the story she'd spun.
Bent Willow smiled. It was healing to ask questions, seeking knowledge that leads to understanding. "That's the way of the People. The men belong to their chosen woman's clan, become part of that clan. That's why it's forbidden to take a mate from your mother's clan. Kinship is too close. The tribe's bloodlines are pure."
"But you sought a man from your mother's clan, right? That's why you were expelled?"
"Yes," Willow sighed. "When I saw how happy my brother was with his chosen woman, I decided to pursue the man of my heart. But, he was a man of the People first and my mother's clan. He spurned me and I was sent out."
"That's not right." The sadness his aunt carried all these years, never seeking another man. To Johnny it just seemed cruel.
"Yes, it is right," she countered. "And I know it is. I went willingly. It's easier to pine here than see him with someone else."
Johnny watched his aunt's face as she answered. It was easy to judge the harshness of her situation from his place and time. He wanted to learn more about what made his aunt turn away, willingly, from everything she'd known and loved. There was a strength there that'd he never thought about or noticed in his pain filled years living amongst his father's People. His People, he supposed.
"What's on your mind, boy?" Willow asked, seeing that Johnny was stewing on something.
"I don't know," he answered honestly.
"Well, I'm a tired old woman. I'm going to bed. You should rest, too." She gathered herself up, shuffled out of the kitchen.
Johnny picked up his jacket, gave his aunt a gentle hug. "Thank you."
She shooed him away, locked the door behind him. She hated stirring up her nephew, but it was the time for telling. He could deal with it all now. With a heavy sigh, she slipped into bed, nodding off to a dreamless sleep.
Unable to sleep, Johnny sat in his apartment, his US atlas open to Oklahoma. His finger sat on Seminole, OK. A couple days drive was all it'd take, he mused. He had time off he could take, a couple of weeks. His finger tapped the map as his plan to reconnect his native roots formed. Like his aunt had said, it was time.
