And then Naomi had to ask. “Did you tell her—about me, I mean?”
“Oh, yes. It was a shock for both of us. But don’t worry—she’s not angry with me for something that happened a decade before she met me. She certainly won’t hold it against you. She was upset to hear that you’d been abandoned.”
The house was quiet. Winona and Grandpa had gone to bed, while Chaska had gone to his office to work, giving Naomi and Doug time alone together. Naomi had already showed him her website and told him about her plans one day for a jewelry store. He had seemed impressed and had ordered a pair of earrings for his wife, insisting that he pay for them. Now, he was sharing his family with her.
“This is my oldest son, Mato, who is thirteen. His name means ‘bear.’”
The boy in the image wore a football jersey and held a football as if he were about to throw a pass.
“Star and I have our Indian names, but our given names—the names on our birth certificates—aren’t Lakota. She insisted on giving our kids Lakota names.”
“Mato is big like a bear. I take it he likes football?”
“Oh, yes.” Doug chuckled. “This is my oldest daughter, Chumani. That means ‘dewdrop.’ She’s eleven and has started to learn about beadwork. She wants to be a singer when she grows up.”
“She looks just like her mother.”
“Chayton is eight. His name means ‘falcon.’”
“He’s adorable.”
“Yeah? Well, his mother spoils him. This is our youngest, Kimímila. She’s five. Her name means ‘butterfly.’”
Naomi stared at the little girl. “She looks like…”
“She looks likeyou.” Doug looked at the image for a moment, then met Naomi’s gaze. “That’s what Star said when she saw that picture of you. ‘She looks just like Kimímila—apart from her eyes.’”
Naomi had to ask. “How could I have blue eyes? Brown eyes are dominant. Even if my mother had blue eyes, I should have brown eyes.”
Doug chuckled. “We Otter Tails have done a fair amount of mixing it up, if you know what I mean. My grandfather—old Maggie’s husband—was supposedly mixed, and my mother was half Irish. There are some interesting recessive genes in this pool.”
Naomi found hope in his answer, but the very act of hoping brought her worry to the surface again. “If it turns out that you’re not… that you’re not my father, I just want you to know how grateful I am that you took the time to come up here. It means more than you could ever know that you took this seriously, that you care.”
“How could I not care? A young woman with unknown parents comes forward with the medicine wheel my grandma made for me—there are a lot of questions there that demand answers. We’re going to find them, Naomi. If I’m not your father, we’re going to keep searching—together—until we have the answers you need to find peace. I’m not going to disappear from your life. That medicine wheel you wear—that’s an unshakable bond between us, no matter what our DNA says.”
Naomi drew the medicine wheel out. “I suppose this belongs to you.”
“No!” He held up his hands, palms facing her in a gesture of refusal. “It’s yours. It’s your birthright. I gave up any claim I had twenty-eight years ago when I gifted it to a young woman I thought I loved.”
She dropped it back inside her shirt again. “Thank you.”
They spoke late into the night, until after Chaska, too, had gone to bed, Shota’s plaintive howls drifting in through the open kitchen windows.
“Time for me to get to bed.” Doug stood. “Can you make it upstairs on those crutches alone?”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks for a good evening.”
“Thank you, Naomi.”
She climbed the stairs, undressed, and slipped into bed beside Chaska, who woke and took her into his arms. “I feel like the whole world is holding its breath.”
He kissed her. “Sleep, angel.”
Eventually, she did.
Chaska stayed in bed, watching Naomi sleep, not wanting to wake her. Today was going to be a long day for her, and the longer she slept, the better. It was almost eight when she finally stirred.
He kissed her forehead. “Hey.”