Double Blind
She gazed around the shaded room, grown darker with the dying sun. Perspiration filmed her skin, soaking her hair and clothes, even the bedspread.
A warm, dry breeze blew through the open window beside the bed, pushing past the lapis lazuli curtains. The tang of cedar was pleasant, but it stirred the dead ashes of the dream, evoking once more the monster that kept stalking her into her waking hours—a familiar specter that had impelled her here in the first place.
“Sheila?”
At the sound of her name, she had no trouble imagining the voice of that monster, calling to her from beyond the divide between sleep and consciousness.
“Are you in there?” he asked.
She felt a wash of relief and relaxed. It was Canaan’s muffled voice, reaching her from outside the apartment door. She blinked and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
Canaan knocked.
“Coming,” Sheila called, her voice barely more than a croak. She closed her eyes and swallowed, willing her heart to slow. The day’s events had mingled with her nightmares, making it all more real and more frightening.
“Are you okay, Sheila?”
“Yes, I’m coming, keep your cap on.” Great. She was in no mood to exchange small talk in the school cafeteria with new faces and with old acquaintances who had lived only in her memories for the past twenty-four years, and her reunion with Canaan wasn’t turning out to be as comfortable as she’d hoped it would be. So much for old friendships. After the incident with the dog, even Doc Cottonwood might no longer be so welcoming. She had prepared herself for this, though. She’d known it might not be easy to come back here; this could be a challenging exercise in patience—and fortitude.
She opened the door, still fingering the hair out of her face. It didn’t surprise her to see that Canaan had on a different ball cap than the one he’d worn this afternoon.
Sheila tried to force a smile that she couldn’t quite get to materialize. “Hi. Guess I fell asleep.”
“I’m glad you decided to take a nap. Are we on speaking terms again?”
“I hope so, because I wanted to ask you about your ball cap collection. How many do you have now?”
He grinned. “I’ve whittled them down over the years, but I still have about fifty.”
“You had more than that when I lived here.”
He removed the one on his head to reveal shiny black hair, cut above his ears. Shorter than Preston’s.
And why was she comparing the two men, all of a sudden? “I also wanted to ask you about the beautiful works of art.” She gestured toward two wood carvings on the coffee table. One was a life-size head of a bighorn sheep; the other was a startlingly beautiful replica of the famed Rainbow Bridge stone arch on Lake Powell.
“The initials on the bottoms of these are CY. ” She picked up the carving of Rainbow Bridge. “Anyone you know?”
“Sounds familiar,” he said.
She sighed. Canaan York had always been willing to shoulder responsibility when anything went wrong, and always reluctant to take credit—like for the beautiful results of his creativity.
“So you followed in your mother’s sculpturing footsteps,” she said. “Is she still creating her fascinating works?”
He nodded, obviously proud of his mother. “Her name is known in some circles all across the country.”
“I think these are just as beautiful. I’m honored you used them to decorate my apartment.”
She replaced the carving on the coffee table, aware of Canaan’s flush of pleasure and his effort to suppress it.
“Thanks. Are you hungry?”
“Not too much.” Sheila glanced at her watch. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m really not up to this right now. Why don’t you—”
“You need to eat.” His deep voice suddenly became firm. “Besides, you should start meeting some of the staff. You don’t want them to think that you think you’re too good to eat with them, do you?”
Sheila grimaced. Her head ached. But she did need to start meeting the staff, and she didn’t want to do it all alone.
“You aren’t my boss until I start work,” she said. “But I guess I can force myself to eat.”
Canaan gave her a smile, erasing the serious expression that seemed to be permanently attached to the adult Canaan York. “Hope you still like mutton stew.”
Sheila made a face, and Canaan chuckled.
“It’s a special treat for the others. They’re also serving chicken fried steak for those with biligaana tastes.”
“Good.”
“By the way, Betsy Two Horses is still in the cafeteria. She’s head cook now. She and your mother were once pretty good friends, weren’t they?”
“Yes, they were.” It would be good to see Betsy again. Not that she and Sheila would have time to talk with a dinner crowd around, but just to see her again…Sheila reached up and fingered the turquoise-and-gold cross at her throat.
Seeing Betsy would bring so many of her memories crashing back. But the time had come to face them—and there was no turning back now.
Chapter Eight
C anaan sat on the sleeper sofa in Sheila’s small apartment, listening to the splash of water in the bathroom as Sheila got ready to go to dinner. She obviously was reluctant to join him for tonight’s meal. He wasn’t exactly ecstatic about it, either. He would have enjoyed sharing a meal with her without the prying eyes of the whole student body and faculty on them. How he would love to sit down with her and catch up on the past years.
Sheila joined him, and they stepped out into the darkening, cooler air of evening.
“I had forgotten how suddenly night falls here,” she said. “In Missouri, the sunset hangs on forever.”
“I remember,” he said.
She looked up at him. “You were in Missouri?”
“When I had rotations, I drove through a couple of times. I discovered that, in the Ozarks, the sun seems to spread out into the heavier, moister atmosphere there, and then, just before it starts its plunge past the horizon, it lingers in the line of forest.”
“Sounds as if you enjoyed it.”
“I did.”
“I wish you’d tried to contact Dad or me on your way through. We could have put you up for the night.”
“It just never seemed to be the right time.” Especially since she had been married then. Canaan doubted her husband would have understood an old male friend simply stopping by to spend the night.
He couldn’t help noticing as they walked that Sheila was studying every line of every building, every plant. It must be disconcerting to find a once-familiar home changed so completely.
All of the old school buildings were gone, and it seemed to take her a few moments to realize that the cafeteria, just ahead and to their right, was set in exactly the same position as the old one.
“The new cafeteria’s prettier,” Canaan said, and was rewarded by a fleeting look of surprise. Amazing he could still, at times, read her mind.
Piñon and olive trees, thriving in this climate, surrounded the cafeteria. Canaan had considered planting cactus, as well, but he couldn’t risk harm to children playing in the area.
“It seems as if some calm, gentle spirit has encompassed the school,” Sheila said.
He warmed at her words of praise. “Thank you.”
“Don’t tell me you did the landscaping,” she said.
He nodded. “Doc said I needed a deeper tan.”
“That sounds like something he would say.” Warm affection filled her words. Sheila had once been one of Doc Cottonwood’s favorite young students; when he had taken her under his wing, it had helped establish her as just another student, and not a biligaana. Her friendship, in turn, had encouraged Canaan to face up to the bullies who’d picked on him.
“I enjoyed the gardening,” Canaan said.
“More than you enjoy medicine?” she asked.
“No, but I like it more than being principal. Besides, the physical activity did me good.”
She glanced up at him, and he thought he caught a brief gleam of approval as her gaze rested on the breadth of his shoulders, and again he relished that approval. Having been the smallest in his class, he had despaired as a child of ever growing. His growth spurt had hit in his senior year of high school. Perhaps it was this feeling of isolation for so long in his childhood that had kept him hitting the books when other classmates were more active in sports.
“Once the trees have matured,” Sheila said, “this whole place will look like an oasis from the road.”
“That’s the plan.” He hesitated. Though it would be great to bask in her kind words—particularly after the uncomfortable circumstances accompanying her arrival—he couldn’t linger there. “Were you looking for an oasis when you decided to come here?”
“Nope.” Clipped. Almost sharp, and the tone relayed Back off clearly enough for most people.
“So why did you come?” He wasn’t most people.
“Because I’m between permanent jobs at the moment. And no, I wasn’t fired from my previous position. The hospital where I worked lost federal funding and had to cut back on staffing.”
“A loss of federal funding would shut down most hospitals.”
“It probably will this one, as well, eventually, but it’s still limping along right now.”
“What was the infraction?”
“One of the doctors refused to accept a patient being transferred from a smaller hospital. The patient died in transit to the other hospital in town.” She looked up at him. “Do I have to undergo another employment interview? Your grandfather already asked me these questions.”
“I’m just curious,” Canaan assured her. “So you suddenly decided, after all these years, that you’d like to work for room and board and paltry pay in the isolation of this school?”
She didn’t reply.
“It’s been a bad homecoming for you,” Canaan said. “I’m sorry I’m not making it any easier.”
“You sure aren’t.”
He glanced at her, appreciating the profile of the grown-up Sheila. She looked a lot like her mother, though her hair was darker; her mother had been blond. Evelyn Metcalf had been a beautiful woman—at least, from the viewpoint of a ten-year-old boy who didn’t know very much about women. Sheila had inherited those looks.
It appeared that she’d also inherited a strong strain of her father’s dynamic personality. Although that strength seemed to have left her earlier today.
“I think you’ve had a difficult couple of years,” he said.
She didn’t look at him, but slowed her steps to match his. “You’ve been talking to your grandfather.”
“Of course. I was sorry to hear about the death of your husband.”
She nodded but said nothing.
Canaan wanted to ask why she’d resumed using her maiden name, but that was pushing it too far. Maybe after dinner.
“I gather you’re not thrilled about my presence here,” she said.
“I am, in a way.”
Amusement came and went in her expression. “A very small way.”
“Fishing for compliments?” he asked.
She chuckled suddenly, and he couldn’t help smiling. When they were kids, any time Canaan became frustrated and bemoaned his size, she’d poke him in the ribs and say, “Catch a big one, York, but you’ll have to clean it yourself.” Since Canaan wasn’t a fisherman, she’d had to explain the fishing reference she’d learned from her father.
“We’re not talking about how I feel right now,” Canaan said. “We’re talking about your true mission here.”
She scowled at him. She even had a pretty scowl.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “If I weren’t in the position I’m in, I wouldn’t be asking any questions, I’d just be happy to see you, no matter why you came.”
“That wasn’t the impression I got.”
He spread his hands. “Things aren’t as I’d like them to be.”
“What did your grandfather tell you about me?”
“Not enough for me to form an opinion, only that you’d had a rough two years, you needed a break for a few weeks and that you were the best nurse in the county.”
She glanced at him.
He shrugged. “Direct quote from your father, I think.”
“Are you still open to discussion about the dog this afternoon?”
“To be honest, though I was upset about Moonlight, something else about your behavior concerned me.”
“Because I didn’t realize I’d hit her?”
Canaan shook his head, not sure, exactly, why he had even admitted that much. “Because you probably didn’t hit her.”
Her steps slowed further. “You really think that?”
He nodded.
“You could have fooled me.”
“You didn’t defend yourself, Sheila. Tanya jumped to conclusions because of that.”
“I had the impression that she didn’t need much encouragement. It’s been a long time since I’ve been called a biligaana with such vehemence.” She shrugged. “Hillbilly, yes, but not biligaana. ”
“That’s another thing,” he said. “The words I used in an attempt at a joke, you interpreted as hostility.”
As a group of children marched past them on the sidewalk, Canaan called greetings to them, then returned his attention to Sheila. “You weren’t yourself today.”
“You don’t know me as an adult, so you can’t say that.”
“Okay, sorry. I meant to say that the Sheila I once knew would never have allowed anyone to unfairly accuse her.”
“Well, this Sheila couldn’t help second-guessing what she saw. Did you ever think that there might have been two dogs on the road today? The dog I saw in the desert distracted me at the wrong time, and the dog alongside the road—perhaps a buddy—got under the wheel of the tire as I veered from the road.”
“So now you’re trying to work out a scenario in your mind that you can accept. The Sheila I knew would never try so hard to place herself in the wrong.”
“That makes the third time you’ve mentioned the Sheila you knew. Mind telling me a little more about this other me?”
No difficulty there. He’d given it a lot of thought since his last conversation with his grandfather. “The Sheila I remember best is the one I knew when her mother was alive.”
She looked away. This interested him, since he could have sworn Sheila had returned to Twin Mesas, at least in part, to discover more about Evelyn Metcalf, her death and her life here. He had no idea what her father had told her, but Canaan wasn’t going to pass along old hurtful gossip about Evelyn.
Although there hadn’t been much. The People did not make a habit of speaking ill of the dead, because they rarely spoke of the dead at all.
“Don’t you and your father discuss your mother?” he asked.
“We’re talking about young Sheila right now.”
He nodded. Fair enough. “She laughed a lot, she spoke her mind and she despised bullies. She wasn’t afraid to face down the biggest kid on the playground if he was picking on the pip-squeak.”
Canaan saw her wince at the name he’d been called so often.
“No one would call you that now,” she said.
“Sometimes I wonder if I grew so tall just to prove those bullies wrong.”
She smiled at him. “Or maybe to prove me right? That you were the best guy at Twin Mesas.”
He tentatively returned the smile. “I sure missed that after you left.”
Her smile was a fleeting thing, and once again she stared at the ground, looking pensive.
“I often wondered if the real Sheila ever resurfaced,” he said. “By the time you and your dad left here, your heart had gone into hiding. You never cried for her.”
She looked at him, obviously startled. “I cried.”
“For your mother? I know you cried about leaving here, and about leaving me. You never mentioned your mother’s name, never talked about her.”
“My father never mentioned her.”
A troop of little girls pranced across the sandy playground from the dormitories. Their dorm mother, a plump woman with short black hair and olive-toned skin, waved to Canaan. He waved back as the group filed through the cafeteria entrance.
“You remember the day of my mother’s death that well?” Sheila asked.
“It isn’t something I’m ever likely to forget, the day Granddad carried you in from that desert, dehydrated and nearly catatonic.” He could still close his eyes and see his grandfather’s gaunt face and tortured eyes as he carried her, surrounded by teachers and dorm parents from the school.
“It was the day I lost my best friend,” he said softly. “You were never the same.”
He watched her close her eyes, and he knew he’d scored an unintentional hit. Sheila Metcalf had come back to Twin Mesas to find what she’d lost as a child.
Why did he suspect that the tragedy of Evelyn’s death could somehow be connected to the recent tragedies that had taken place here at the school? Could it be because Wendy Hunt had called him just before the fire, telling him she had found something disturbing, and that he needed to see it?
Evelyn Metcalf had done the same long ago. Canaan had been in the cafeteria, slouched over his food, under orders from his dorm room father to eat it all before leaving. Canaan’s smallness had seldom been a bonus for him, but at that time no one had seen him. He’d overheard Evelyn whisper something to Betsy behind the counter. “I need to talk to you later,” she’d said. “I found something in the medical records that I can’t figure out.”
Moments later, Canaan had seen a teacher, Kai Begay, get up from his table in the faculty section, behind a partition. Later, Evelyn had been found dead. Canaan had always wondered if anyone else had heard the exchange.
If it had been just his child’s imagination that made him suspect something sinister had happened, then why was he so anxious now that danger may have lain in wait all these years?
Chapter Nine
S heila felt sick all of a sudden—and in over her head. She had lost all her curiosity about her mother, though she was sure that would return. But now, everything seemed to be happening too quickly.
“So, I think we’ve exposed everything about Sheila that we can tonight,” she said drily, hesitating at the cafeteria door. “Why don’t we learn a little about Dr. Canaan York?” Anything to delay the inevitable plunge.
To her relief, he took the hint and ceased further probing. He also didn’t open the door. “I’m not a good principal.”
“Most doctors I know wouldn’t make good principals, but this position is temporary, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “If I can make it three more weeks.”
“I understand this has been your first year at the school clinic.”
He looked at her. “I’m sure Granddad managed to tell you everything about my life since you left. He has a tendency to…um…boast a little more than I’d like him to.”
“Oh, yeah, you mean the way he has of saying, ‘My grandson, the doctor,’ every other sentence?”
Canaan chuckled.
“He told me you joined a clinic practice in Ganado as soon as you’d completed your residency.”
“That’s right,” Canaan said. “Many of the Twin Mesas’ graduates went to college in Ganado, so I knew many of my patients already.”
“Sort of like built-in job security,” she said.
Canaan hesitated. How he wished he’d been able to have built-in marriage security so easily. “You know how hard it can be for The People to trust outsiders, or even strangers in our tribe.”
“Your grandfather said a large percentage of Twin Mesas’ graduates go on to college.”
“Yes, Granddad’s proud of that.” Canaan hesitated. “I am, too.”
Sheila glanced up at the change in his voice. “You don’t sound too sure of that.”
He shook his head. “Some of the graduates didn’t make it to college. Two didn’t even live to graduate. They had such high hopes for the future, but they died before they could realize their dreams.”
“How?”
“Accidents.”
“What kind of accidents?”
“One from heatstroke. He was found out in the desert two years ago. He should have known better. He grew up in this desert.”
“And the other?” Sheila asked.
“Car wreck down in Gallup last year. Hit by a drunk.”
“So the deaths were unrelated.”
He grimaced.
She wondered if he realized how poorly he hid his thoughts. He’d never been good at keeping his emotions off his face. “So you came here after you became so concerned about the deaths.”
He didn’t return her look. “After Grandad asked me to.”
“He wanted you here to keep an eye on things,” she guessed.
He glanced through the glass doors into the cafeteria. “And that didn’t work, either. Three died under my watch.”
“And the Hunts were also former students,” she said.
“All three were former students. Bob Jaffrey was, as well.”
“You’re desperate to find out what’s going on.”
He nodded.
“Tell you what, I’ll keep a close eye on your work next week, and give you a critique on Friday.”
“Just what I need,” he said dryly. “Another critic.”
“I’ve heard there’s been quite a turnover of principals in the past few years,” she said.
“Seems that way.”
“I’m not getting myself into the middle of a mess, am I?” she asked. “You know, student pranks, stuff like that?”
“No pranks. Nothing we can’t handle.”
“But there is something.”
He turned to look at her for a long moment as his hand went to the cafeteria door. He grasped the handle, then stood still. “Do you remember when we were kids, we used to try to help Granddad’s neighbor herd his sheep?”
“And we spooked them every time.”
“Right. The kids remind me of those spooked animals.”
“How?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head. “I’m afraid you’ll see what I mean when you start talking to them.” He pulled open the door. “If you do, will you tell me?”
“I’ll add it to my critique.”
Sheila took a deep breath and preceded Canaan into the noisy cafeteria. The huge room, as modern and clean as the exterior of the building, had been designed with children in mind. Bulletin boards held beautiful drawings and collages. She wondered if Canaan had a hand in the inspiration for some of the masterpieces.
The aromas were the same as they had been nearly a lifetime ago. Sheila knew if she closed her eyes, the smell of yeasty rolls and bubbling stew would draw her back to the days when Betsy Two Horses had stood at the serving line, teasing and laughing with the hungry children.
Recognition and remembered affection warmed Sheila as she caught sight of the Navajo woman. Funny how she could remember Betsy and Canaan and the ruggedness of the land surrounding the school so very well, but she could barely remember her mother’s image.
No, not funny, but certainly sad.
From across the length of the large cafeteria, Betsy didn’t look more than fifty, though she must be past seventy. Tendrils of her hair, still as black as Sheila remembered, had escaped the ponytail that emphasized her thin, angular face. As she reached up to push the strands back, her dark eyes met Sheila’s.
For a moment, Betsy stared. Her thick, dark brows gave her a glowering appearance, until a gleam of recognition lightened the woman’s expression.
Canaan touched Sheila’s arm and led her forward, past the chattering kids holding their trays and the dorm parents who monitored to make sure their charges behaved while the principal was in the room.
“Well, Betsy?” Canaan said. “You told me you’d recognize her.”
Betsy looked at Canaan, then at Sheila. In the light, the deep lines of her face belied the youthful blackness of her hair, but the warmth in those eyes welcomed as it had so long ago.
“I knew her,” Betsy said, then directed her gaze to Sheila. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“It’s been a long time,” Sheila said.
Betsy studied Sheila more closely. “You’ve always looked like Evelyn.” She explained to Canaan, “Sheila’s mother.”
“I know,” Canaan said dryly. “I was here, too, remember?”
Before they could talk further, a group—Sheila guessed they were teachers—entered the cafeteria, talking and laughing as energetically as students…until they saw Sheila.