Land of Bones and Tears

Prologue

Author's Note: This story is dedicated to Anita and in memory of Cheyenne

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Early November , Scotland

“A letter has been waiting for you, Red.  I’m afraid that it came in last week but I did not know how to reach you.” Linton looked concerned. He was holding out toward me an old-fashioned letter size envelope, slightly grayish in color, with red and blue airmail markings on the ends, and a ton of stamps, obviously put on by someone who had no idea how to find out the proper postage but didn’t want to risk having it returned.

I was exhausted. I’d just landed on our home airfield after a month long mission to Afghanistan, hunting for the vermin who’d killed some aid workers. Seeing that envelope, however, sent a surge of adrenalin through me that chased all thoughts of rest from my head. Only one person existed who insisted on knowing my real address and had the right to get it from me. No middlemen.

Grandfather.

I stopped myself from violently snatching the letter from Linton’s outstretched hand – but it was close. As soon as it was in my hand I scanned the postmark.  Grandfather mailed it almost a month ago. Damn.  I could feel Linton’s keen eyes on me.

“I do hope it isn’t bad news.  As I said, it arrived last week, early last week actually, but I didn’t have the faintest idea where you were, and without Luke here....” His voice trailed off but I knew what he was trying to say. Luke would’ve just opened it. He and I’ve known each other for over twenty years and Luke knows what my Grandfather means to me. Hell, he means a lot to Luke. I realized that I was just standing there, my hand fisted on the letter. I took a deep breath and looked up at Linton.

“No problem. I’m just gonna take this to my room to read. When d’ya expect Luke?”

“Tomorrow at the earliest. Can I...”

“No.” I was abrupt but I knew Linton wouldn’t mind. He was used to me by now.  “Tell Luke to holler when he gets back. I’m probably gonna sleep till then...and thanks.”

The thanks was for putting up with me being such a rude bastard. Linton pretty much rolled with whatever Luke and I threw at him but he wasn’t like us. He was housebroken, Danny, Luke’s smartmouth youngest brother would say.  It was true. Luke had lost a lot of those housebroken qualities years ago, and me, I never really had any. My grandfather focused on other lessons. Like courage. Strength. Honor. Qualities that made a man a good man. There were few people I respected in this world like I did that old Indian. I never knew my father. He died in Vietnam when I was still in diapers. My mother never got over the loss they said. It was a way to explain her own dying way too young, under circumstances neither grandfather liked to discuss. Said I was better off not thinking about it.  I did of course. Found out she went crazy, Cajun crazy. Too much drinking and drugs – it was the seventies, after all, and she was beautiful and broken-hearted. Wanted to die young like her Indian soldier love.

I’ve been told I’m a stubborn son of a bitch and it seems I come by it honestly as my mother got what she wanted in record time. She was dead before she was twenty-three, before I turned four. To this day, when I try to remember her, I have trouble keeping her image in my mind distinct from other wild, dark-haired beauties I’ve known. 

I started up the steps, then paused. Where was Vasha? Not like her to miss greeting me when I arrived home. Usually the sound of my plane would be enough to alert her. I whistled for her. And waited.  Only English came in response. If I weren’t so annoyed about the damn dog, I’d have ragged him about coming when I whistled. As it was, I didn’t say a word, just looked questioningly at him.

“Vasha has taken to sleeping more during the day. She has a few places she likes,  the sweat lodge is a particular favorite. I could go get her for you.”

I frowned but shook my head. “Nah, I’ll walk out looking for her after I shower and change. I can nap later.” Nodding again I headed back up toward my room but no sooner did I get to the top than I changed my mind.  It really wasn’t like Vasha to pass up on finding me; hell, she used to be able to hear my plane when it was a hundred miles away, Luke claimed. I know I could always count on seeing her dashing toward the landing field, looking like a small horse as she galloped along the field, trying to catch the plane.

Linton would know if she were sick. He was a doctor, after all. Not a vet, but he wasn’t one to be particular. Hell, there were some people he’d treat a lot less willingly than he’d treat Vasha. Why the hell hadn’t she met me?

My pace quickened as I moved away from the house and out of sight of the many windows that covered its western wall. Luke designed it and we built it together. He wanted to get as much sunlight as possible in this northern land, Scotland, so he proved himself to be a pretty good architect as well as engineer when he built his hideaway place.  It was a beautiful place that combined form and function better than anyplace I ever saw. I hadn’t wanted to intrude upon Luke and Linton, which is why I had insisted on staying at my own place for a couple of years, but bit by bit, I’d ended up spending more and more of my time in my room at Luke’s house. I was welcomed by both men and somehow I was never made to feel like a third wheel. And truth was, even with Vasha, and whatever female companionship I met up with in town, my place just never felt like home as much as Luke’s sunlit house did. So, when I felt the need for feminine companionship, I stayed in town for a few days, or if it was one of the women who understood there was no chance of permanency we went to my place, but Luke’s place was kept for the three of us. Soldiers in arms.

I realized I was just standing still, neither reading my grandfather’s letter nor looking for my missing wolfhound. Not like me to prolong bad news. With a final deep breath, I looked down at the letter. I slid my knife under the flap to open it and shook out the single folded page that was inside. Grandfather always had the best pensmanship. Was taught it by nuns, missionaries who came to teach the gospel to the Indians in the mountains of Montana.

                        Time to come home, boy.   I need you for my journey home to the land of

                        bone and tears.

                        Grandfather

                        Think it might be time for you to bring that Wolf dog of yours too.

The letter clenched in my hand, I took off at a run for the sweat lodge. I didn’t want to think about my grandfather’s decision to go back to the reservation after so many years – happy years – living in Canada. I really didn’t want to think about his reason for going back. He was a very old man but he was strong. To look at him, anyone would think he was a good twenty years younger than his age. Thirty even.

The sweat lodge was just ahead. I let out a call that one might call a war whoop – just as someone might call me an Indian, a Native American, a Redskin. Any number of names for a half-breed like me. Idiot might be the most accurate, as I fell to my knees, a relieved mess, when Vasha came dashing out of the lodge and launched herself at me, knocking me to the ground.

She looked fine. Granddad was a strong man; he was going to be fine too. Everything was going to be fucking fine. I’d see to it.

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