The Chief and Her Sister

By Leila Asdal Danielsen and Andrew Genaille

The Chief is dead. Politics, family feuds and the bonds- and breaking points- of sisterhood collide as the Carpenter sisters each vie to become the next Chief. Mary, the reluctant heir to the proverbial throne, has to choose between the life she loves in the city and the one on the Rez she's already turned her back on once. Younger sister, Amanda, is all too eager to prove she should have been the chosen one all along.
But when another death on the Rez threatens to mar the reputation of the family, will they pull together for the better or both go down fighting?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leila Asdal Danielsen
• Release date: Mar 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311132642

Book preview

The Chief and her sister

By

Andrew Genaille

Leila Asdale-Danielsen

Smashwords Edition

Published by Sirperphoulous Films

Copyright 2015

This book is liscenced for your personal enjoyment only, thank-you for respecting the hard work of the authors

Dedicated to

From Andrew

For Naomi and the Godkids.

From Leila

My parents, who taught me a love of First Nations culture; my husband, who always supports my endeavors; and my daughter, who is growing up to know women can and should be leaders.

Chapter 1

Mary was cold, proper cold.

She stood naked next to a pool of water, taking part in a ritual handed down through her family for the last ten thousand years. As one Chief passed away, another must take his place. This had to be done in a sacred pond, deep in the mountains, hidden way from civilization.

The death of her father the night before was expected. He'd been ailing for the last few years, as diabetes took its toll on his heart. The Chief had felt that he'd prepared his family for what was coming and allowed them the time to accept the inevitable, but in Mary's opinion, that wasn't the case.

It was still a shock, – a gut wrenching blow to her soul – and she would've preferred to be at home, curled up in the fetal position bawling her eyes out like any normal daughter over the death of her father.

She wasn't a normal daughter though. Upon his passing, she became the hereditary Chief of the Tait First Nation and there were certain protocols expected of her.

Six-thirty in the morning on January the fourth. The sun wasn't even a glint over the mountains and although there wasn't any snow in the forest, it was cold enough that all along the edge of the pond, a thin layer of ice had formed. In the right conditions, Mary could've seen the mist as romantic.

She definitely would've preferred that her father had not died, but since he had, she wished that he would have at least waited until the spring. Her muscles shook violently in a weak attempt to generate heat. She had no control over how tight her fists were clenched, or over the way her jaw vibrated, and they still expected her to voluntarily walk into the water.

Voluntarily? That was a joke.

Mary's fifty-five year old mother, Tracy, was there with two of her own aunts to make sure Mary followed protocol. The three of them stood off to the side, dressed for the weather and holding a blanket her father's cousins had made for this occasion. It was a mixture of greys and black, depicting a bear on a hill overlooking its young. The bear was a strong symbol of family to Mary's people. Along with this, the two aunts sang a thousand-year-old song.

Rachel was there as well, although it had been a fight to get her there. It was frowned-upon to have a white person at a place as sacred to the Salish people as these waters. It was completely banned to have them at this type of ceremony. Mary pleaded at first, then argued, and finally just said that if Rachel wasn't there for support, she simply wouldn't take part. The elders on the council considered it for an hour, and, based on Mary's thirty-year friendship with Rachel, decided she qualified as family, given Mary considered her a life-long sister. Only Rachel had thought to bring any clothes for Mary.

Amanda was also there, at the edge of the clearing. Although Mary's twenty-two year old biological sister, and therefore, actual relation, she technically had no part in the event. She just wanted to see how it happened.

Amanda stayed back, mainly to avoid getting in the way, but also because the trees provided a barrier from the occasional cold gust of wind. Even in her winter boots, and three-layered coat, Amanda still felt the chill of the morning. She didn’t envy her sister even slightly today.

Mary had to take a deep breath for courage. The rush of cold air caused her nose to burn and her lungs to tighten up. She moved her bare foot onto the thin layer of ice, breaking through into the water. Every inch of the liquid traveling up her legs was another inch of almost fiery pain, but she continued to move the ice aside as she stepped forward.

She stopped when the water reached her navel, losing feeling in her feet but very much feeling the muscles of her legs as they locked up painfully. She sensed the tip of her hair touching the water where it fell just above her waist.

'I can do this.' She thought to herself. 'Please just let me get through this. I hate you Dad.'

The singing stopped. The only sound was the breeze as it moved through the trees.

Mary moved forward another foot but stopped again. She fought the fear of potentially losing her toes to frostbite as her throat tensed up from the agony.

Finally deciding to go for it, she dropped down under the water.

She was there to cleanse, to connect to her ancestors, and by undertaking what hundreds of generations of Chiefs have done before her, to gain an understanding of her new role in this world.

It should have been spiritual; uplifting even. Instead, it only caused one thought to run through her head.

'Fuck my life.'

All Mary wanted to do now was forget, so, fourteen hours after her early morning swim, she found herself downtown at a dance club.

She and Rachel had stopped at Mary's apartment to put on knee-length dresses – black and red respectfully – and then joined a group of hundreds, swaying to the music.

It helped Mary to know they were both a little bit drunk.

She wasn't as drunk as she wanted to be – she was still sober enough to know she wouldn't be able to drive herself home a bit later – and it was that awareness that made her think she could afford to be a little bit drunker. Not fall-down-drunk or anything, she just wanted to be drunk enough to absolve herself of any claim to responsibility for the evening.

Across the room, Ryan took notice of Mary and Rachel, pointing them out to his up-tight best friend, Peter. He was kind of hoping Peter would loosen up a little; just enough for the two of them to go over and dance.

Peter didn't want any part of it, unfortunately. A little more conservative than Ryan to begin with, he wasn’t even there to have a good time, honestly. Like Mary he just wanted to forget.

Karen won't find out. Ryan said, getting to the heart of the issue.

There's a list, you should look it up sometime, Peter shouted back over the music. Of the top twenty phrases people say before they die. One, 'oh shit.' Two, 'does anybody smell that.' And three 'I'm just going to poke it with this stick.'

So?

You just said number six.

I'm telling you. Ryan said sternly, as if changing his tone might be more convincing. Karen will not find out.

And doesn't that sound like something you'd say just before you get killed?

And if she does, she won't care.

What's funny is, on that list, that international list, it's my Karen they're talking about. Peter went back to his drink, and watched the crowd.

Dude, they're two very hot chicks dancing together... Ryan looked longingly back across the room. Peter looked as well and admitted to himself the two women were definitely attractive. The tall, lean, native women with the long, gorgeous, black hair was most certainly a hottie. Her petite red-headed friend wasn’t too shabby either.

And one's an Indian. I've never been with an Indian before.

Peter cringed at his friend’s base comment and, regretting his question before he even said anything, he simply muttered,So?

Aren't you a little curious what that's like?

I'm with Karen right now.

Dude, no.

Yes, it's not over yet, it's salvageable, Peter motioned to the dance floor, and this, this wouldn't help matters.

You keep thinking that. Ryan stepped back. I'm going over to get some Indian chicks.

'This can’t possibly end well.' Peter watched as his friend walked confidently away.

At the very least, Ryan was smooth. He easily moved into sync with the music, sliding comfortably into Mary and Rachel’s private little dance group. The women were both taken by surprise by his sudden appearance. He seemed fun though, all smiles and more than a little attractive, so they let him stay.

It's said that most women know in the first five seconds of meeting a guy whether or not they'll have sex with him. Attractive as he was, both Mary and Rachel quickly decided Ryan wasn't getting laid tonight.

Contrary to popular sentiment, Ryan, however, was pretty sure he was already in a threesome. He just wasn't sure how to dump Peter off without looking like a jerk when his friend was going through such a rough patch.

After twenty minutes of dancing, and several awkward attempts of grinding against Mary, Ryan asked, Do you ladies want a drink?

What?

Can I buy you girls a drink?

Yeah. Mary, realizing she was sobering up, figured she could do with something more.

Follow me. Ryan led Mary and Rachel from the dance floor, back toward the bar and the still reluctant Peter, busy keeping up his vigilance.

Hey, I brought girls.

I see that. Peter wasn't impressed, but smiled politely.

This is Peter. Peter’s a good guy. Ryan motioned to the bartender. Peter, this is...

Rachel. She smiled at Peter, sizing him up in those first five seconds as she’d done with Ryan. Peter did better. He was just over six feet tall, with a nice, business hair cut, and she liked that he was wearing sharp dress shoes. His black dress pants were definitely tailored but she couldn't tell if the light blue dress shirt was. Either way, she decided that if she squinted her drunken eyes just right, he looked like a slightly younger Ryan Gosling. The Gosling look-alike could definitely get her into bed if he wanted to.

Hey. Too bad for her, Peter had already decided he didn't want to.

Mary. Mary leaned forward to get her name heard over the noise.

Hi.

Hey, I love your name, Ryan angled up to Mary, but would it be racist of me to call you my little Indian princess?

Yes. Mary said dryly, leaving no room for interpretation.

Peter chuckled, probably the first time in weeks. Ryan started to say something else but thought better of it and turned to order drinks instead.

She's actually a chief, Rachel said.

A what? Peter asked.

A Chief. A Chieftess? Rachel looked to Mary for confirmation.

Chief. Mary answered, peaking Peter's interest a bit, just enough that he decided to get a better look at her.

Nothing really screamed Chief about her. She was attractive, in a dress tight enough to see she likes to work out. Peter didn't know how to describe her skin though. Olive, maybe? Perhaps darker, but hard to tell in the low light.

So, you're like Indian royalty? Ryan started up again.

No.

Oh...well, you're fucking hot, royalty or not, you're fucking hot. Ryan was sure he was being charming. Hopefully let’s lose our pants charming.

Umm… thank you. Mary wasn’t charmed.

So, what's your deal? Rachel moved up next to Peter.

What do you mean?

How come you aren't dancing with your friend?

Busy drinking.

It's a dance club, you come to dance. You want to get drunk, you go to a bar.

Peter shook his head. He grabbed another drink as Ryan handed them out.

Dude, you need to lighten up. Ryan remarked, backing Rachel up.

Nope, don't care.

Why? What's wrong with him? Rachel’s attention moved to Ryan.

He's going through a rough patch.

Ha, you want rough? Mary chimed in. Up til now, she had been lost in her own world and only wanted more booze. Now, she was ready to compare battle wounds, sure hers would be worse.

Peter looked over, feeling challenged.

You're talking to the queen of rough patches right now. Rachel confirmed, nodding.

Queen now? I thought you weren't royalty. Ryan tried his hand at being cute, which worked about as well as his attempt at charm. The others ignored him.

You want rough? Mary moved on. She wasn’t sure if she was competing or simply after sympathy. Either way, it was going to involve booze. Preferably a lot.

Just wait, my father died yesterday, which has to happen for me to become Chief. My father. And do they give me time to mourn? Nope.

Fuck, no. Rachel yelled, nodding emphatically in support.

They make me bathe in an ice-fucking-cold creek, in front of all these old women. And it was cold! My tits are never going to thaw out.

Rough. Peter conceded.

I’m not done. Then, I have to go to the big hall, and dance in front of hundreds of people like I'm happy. Like I'm there to save them. Like I'm ready to take on this big job and live up to my father's name. It's a lot of shit, but do I look bummed?

Little bit. Peter nodded.

No, you look hot. Ryan tried once more.

So, what's your rough patch? Mary ignored Ryan, her attention completely on Peter.

Peter shrugged, My girlfriend of twelve years just dumped me because I asked her to marry me.

Ah. Mary took a breath to consider; admitting to herself that it might just be a tie. Would taking me home complicate things for you?

Yes.

Excellent. Do it anyway. The please was implied.

Peter lived three blocks away, in a very nice, upscale apartment building. To Mary, it looked like it was made entirely of glass. She smiled at the security guard in the huge marbled front lobby, who simply nodded back at her.

Peter didn't say much on the way to the building nor during the elevator ride up. He did hold her hand and they occasionally made out, although Mary got the feeling he wasn’t giving it his all. He was playful at times, but clearly felt he was taking a major step after the catastrophic ending of his relationship.

He opened the door and let her inside, flicking on the lights to reveal a well put together apartment. He obviously had money. There was a small hallway that opened up into a layered living room. To her left, Mary could see a large, open kitchen with a granite island, in front of a dining room area about the size of her entire living room and kitchen. Two steps down, a living area with a couch, two chairs, and a 55inch television looked to be Peter’s preferred spot in the place. Looking at the view from that vantage, Mary completely understood that. The window took up the entire wall, showcasing a view of most of the city and harbor in the distance.

Mary waited until Peter closed the door before grabbing him, kissing hard as he tried to regain his balance. Peter moved her deftly across the room to the couch, as if they’d done this dance before.

Mary reached back to unzip her dress, letting it slide toward the floor, but Peter caught it before it went too far.

Wait...wait.

No, it's alright. Mary searched his face, recognizing the second thoughts he was having as she decided whether or not to pursue it. Aren't guys supposed to be easy? She decided it was worth going for. It's really nothing to worry about, just getting off: you get me off, I get you off, and we both part ways happy.

Peter’s doubts relented. He let the dress fall and leaned toward her.

Admittedly, the sex wasn't great. It was two mourning drunks going at it, awkwardly grabbing ass, boobs, and hips. There was very little in the way of foreplay, and what there was wasn't anything more than a second here or there.

Mary decided it was worth it though. Right now, all she wants is a moment or two not to think and that's exactly what she got.

Peter woke up around two in the morning to find he was alone and with a desperate need for water.

He grabbed a bottle from the kitchen and drank it back in one chug, pausing a moment to take in the fridge. The front – normally covered in pictures and notes from Karen – was nearly empty. Karen took it all.

Peter was somewhat sad about that, and, at the same time, a little bit hopeful. He wondered if she took their pictures because she still cared, or if they were somewhere in a trash-bag?

A noise from the next room pulled him out of his head and back to lonely reality. Not sure what it was, he went looking for its source.

Peter found Mary in the living room, stopping in the doorway to watch her. She was sitting on the couch facing the giant bay windows, crying softly.

Peter took a breath as he considered what to do. He preferred to be left alone when he cried but knew other people were different.

Deciding, he moved to the couch and sat next to her. She wiped quickly at the tears, trying to pretend she was fine, but it didn't work. Peter put an arm around her and she put her face into his shoulder, crying all the harder. This was the first time she had let her true feelings out since hearing about her father. She was waiting for permission to cry and that was not something she could have surrounded by her family. She needed this freedom from her own home.

Two sad people, comforting each other.

Peter stopped Mary from leaving the next morning, spending a few minutes moving through his closet for an overcoat. Once he found it, he held it out for her.

I don't use it anymore, so you can keep it if you want.

It matches my dress.

This way it looks like you're going to work.

Work?

Proper work. It's a suit coat thingy.

It's Sunday. Who works on a Sunday?

Nuns?

Nuns? In an overcoat and stripper panties?

New pope, new rules.

Mary chuckled as she put on the overcoat and buttoned up the front. She took a moment to check herself out in the mirror, pulling her hair out so it fell down her back, hiding all evidence for her walk of shame.

I could make you breakfast… us, I could make us breakfast.

Mary looked at him. She almost accepted but changed her mind. No, I have work to do.

Oh, right, the Chief thing. Chiefly stuff to do.

No, that's just a title. It actually doesn't mean anything anymore. I work at a store, I own a store and if the books don't get done nobody gets paid.

Right. Peter nodded. So it’s you. You and the nuns work on Sunday.

Mary kissed him on the cheek, smiling, Thank you for last night.

Peter returned the kiss, and then watched as Mary went out the door.

Peter sighed. He also had to get on with his life.

Chapter 2

The Chief’s house sits on a flat edge of gravel halfway up one of the mountains. Overlooking the city of Vancouver, the Tait First Nation's reserve spreads out just below it. A two-story, two-garage domicile house, it boasts a very large back yard that filters out into the forest. Although fifty years old, the house has been upgraded and renovated several times over the years, remaining impressive. It's modern form nothing short of what you would see in the higher end parts of the white city. Of course, the up-kept state of it causes some who see it to claim it's the product of a corrupt Chief, though no one ever dared say it to his face. Never, ever to his face.

The uneducated, the jealous, the quick to jump to conclusions always find the easiest answers but lack the courage of their convictions. They refused to speak of the Chief directly to the Chief.

Occasionally, what they said would reach his ears, and his response was always the same: a list of his educational history, his awards, his hard work and the years of proper investments based on educated guesses.

The Chief was known to go on for hours telling others to apply themselves, to read a book or learn something of their world. If they didn't like the way the band office was run, they should show up to meetings, he always said, and he would be happy to personally set out seats for them.

He had very little patience for anger, for the native with a chip on their shoulder, for anyone who complained but didn't step up to be counted. He would always have a place for those who not only wanted change but also would take the steps to make it happen, even if it conflicted with his own ideals.

He was loved for it.

And hated.

It was a complicated relationship.

Mary parked in the driveway and found her sister Amanda in the kitchen having breakfast. Mary started undoing her jacket but thought better of it when she remembered her dress underneath – a sure sign she hadn’t been home the night before.

Where's mom?

Still sleeping. Amanda looked up from her geometry homework. She watched as her sister went about getting orange juice. You don't want her seeing you come in like that, she remarked pointedly.

Like what?

All slutty and what not.

Mary continued pouring but gave Amanda a dirty side-glance, her brain wasn't up for an argument.

I wouldn't either.

Mary turned to lean on the counter, crossing her arms as she held onto her glass. Not that it's your place to judge me, I went out dancing but stayed with Rachel last night.

Oh, Amanda raised her eyebrows, With Rachel?

Yes, at her place.

Rachel's upstairs sleeping it off. Amanda kept a blank look, amused but wanting to get her sister’s reaction before showing her own.

Mary shook her head implying she's not doing this, then dumped the rest of her juice into the sink before she moved for the door. I have to get ready for work.

Okie dokie. Amanda smirked to herself, going back to her homework.

Mary found Rachel curled up in her bed, still wearing last night’s dress. She was a little annoyed that her friend blew her chance at avoiding judgment, but at the same time, glad Rachel had gotten home ok.

She had offered Rachel her car the night before when she was leaving with Peter. Thankfully, Rachel was lucid enough to recognise she wasn’t sober enough to drive and took a cab instead. Having headed to Mary’s address so many times when growing up, it had clearly become her default "I’m drunk, take