Heart of a Native

By Tom St. Dennis

Jack Clay has been unhappy for some time. Despite his material wealth and successful career in real estate, he feels trapped and unfulfilled. As a crushing economic recession takes hold of America and his boss suddenly dies, Jack begins to question everythingsoon realizing that he does not really know who he is other than a Native American who has lived his life in isolation from his people.

As Wall Street greed and political exploitation of the largest body of fresh water on the planet converge into the ecological splendor of northwest Michigan, Jack faces a series of personal and ethical challenges in which betrayal, death, and a burgeoning romance come together and reconnect him to his Native American culture. As he slowly begins to examine his past achievements in life from the perspective of traditional native wisdom, Jacks exposure to this distinctly Native American Seven Generations Ethic helps him address the age-old question of how to define a meaningful life..

Heart of a Native is the compelling tale of one mans journey as he reconnects with his cultural values to combat modern challenges and discover his true destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462069132

Tom St. Dennis

Tom St. Dennis is passionate regarding indigenous American issues and was appointed to the Michigan Indian Legal Services Board of Directors. Tom is a licensed attorney, former corporate CEO, and real estate entrepreneur who currently lives in Manistee, Michigan, with his wife, Julie. This is his debut novel.

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Copyright © 2012 Tom St. Dennis

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Cover art by ©NativeStock.com/Marilyn Angel Wynn

ISBN: 978-1-4620-6911-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-6912-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-6913-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011961230

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 12/16/2011

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Acknowledgments

This novel could never have been written without the selfless devotion of my wife and partner, Julie. I have been blessed that she chose to accompany me on our life’s journey.

We are similarly blessed that our parents, Tom, Gert, John, and Marilyn, gave us the freedom as children and now as a couple to find our own unique path—a fitting accomplishment for any parent!

Also our special friends, Patrick and Alta Wilson and their fantastic children—Sunflower, Pat, and Turtle—have shown Julie and me true friendship and welcomed us into their extended family. They have been the catalyst for our expanding appreciation of the Native worldview.

A final thanks to you as reader and investor in this book. I hope you will enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it, and that you find the Native American wisdom I have highlighted throughout this novel to be of value to you on your own journey.

Tom St. Dennis

Manistee, Michigan 2011

When you see a new trail or footprint you do not know, follow it to the point of knowing.

—Uncheedah, Grandmother of Ohiyesa

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Chapter One

The Event

I am truly astonished that the French have so little cleverness. They try to persuade us to convert our poles … our wigwams, into their houses of stone and wood that are as tall and lofty as these trees. Very well! But why do men of five to six feet in height need houses that are sixty to eighty? Do we not have all the advantages in our houses that you have in yours such as reposing, drinking, sleeping, eating, and amusing ourselves with our friends when we wish? Have you as much ingenuity as the Indians, who carry their houses … with them so they may lodge wherever they please? We can say that we are at home everywhere, because we set up our wigwams with ease wherever we go, without asking permission from anyone.

Which one of these is the wisest and happiest—he who labors without ceasing and only obtains, with great trouble, enough to live on, or he who rests in comfort and finds all that he needs in the pleasure of hunting and fishing …?

—Mi’kmaq Chief (1676)

Jack left his palatial home in Manistee and drove to the church in Traverse City for the funeral mass. As he was driving, he thought about how dreary and depressing the weather had been lately. He hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, and the dirty, late-season snow wasn’t going away, mercilessly extending the harshness of the long Michigan winter. Even the route he had chosen—through the highly acclaimed Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park and then north on M-22, across Arcadia’s bluffs overlooking Lake Michigan—didn’t relieve the darkness of that day or his sense of foreboding. He suspected that this death was the precursor of some uncomfortable adjustments and felt unprepared for change.

The north wind blew surface snow from the dunes onto his windshield as he continued toward the church, and the heat from his vehicle’s defrosters caused the drifting snow to create a crust on his wipers, blurring his vision through the windshield. As he leaned forward to see better, he rubbed the left side of his chest and underarm, where he had been feeling recurring chest pains for years.

Jack had been unhappy with his life for some time—despite his large home, new vehicle, and high-spending lifestyle that allowed him to belong to two country clubs and travel the Americas, fishing and hunting on some of the most opulent outdoor adventures. He was making and fully spending his six-figure salary but felt trapped and unfulfilled in his chosen career as a real estate professional.

The funeral was for Ben Harrison, one of northern Michigan’s largest resort developers and Jack’s boss. Jack had worked for Harrison for almost twenty years and was instrumental to the company’s development of hundreds of acres of residential housing on some of Michigan’s pristine waterfront parcels. Harrison had always told Jack he looked at him as a son, and Jack had given him his tireless devotion.

Jack was the youngest of three boys. That birth order, his parent’s poverty and realities like only wearing the hand-me-down clothes of his older brothers, fueled his desire to prove himself to the world, unlike his happy but complacent siblings. Ben Harrison had a moneyed and larger-than-life persona, so Jack had jumped at the opportunity to work for him right out of high school. His employment as an intern with Ben started just after his eighteenth birthday. Ben became a substitute father for Jack, whose own parents had died in a car accident when he was fourteen. Fatherly praise from Ben and a generous bonus program were all Jack needed to keep him motivated.

Ben had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer six months ago, and his biological sons had eagerly taken the reins of the real estate development company as soon as they heard of their father’s condition. Despite the aloofness of Ben’s twenty-something sons toward Jack, he persisted in his loyal ways, negotiating with tradesmen to build faster and cheaper while also pushing customers harder to buy the company’s product. His indefatigable work ethic and steadfast devotion to his job made him an invaluable asset to the Harrison family. Even though Jack found his growing sense of ennui more difficult to contain each day, he could still meet with town councils, lawyers, tradesmen, end purchasers, mortgage brokers, and appraisers to find common ground that would get the real estate deal done.

Jack arrived early for the funeral mass. Desperate for some relief from his tortured mind, he decided to make a confession. After entering the confessional booth and kneeling, he made the sign of the cross and ritualistically said, Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

Please proceed, the elderly priest said.

I’m just so confused, Jack began. "I’ve let Ben Harrison and my lust for money dominate my life for the last twenty years. Now that he’s dead, I have this overwhelming feeling that I’ve been doing something wrong, but I can’t honestly say what it is! I feel like I’ve just been living my life, accumulating and spending as much as I could, without questioning whether it was really right for me.

Father, I’m sorry I can’t articulate my feelings more, but as I drove up here, the north wind was blowing so fiercely that in between trying to stay out of the ditches, I began to crystallize an idea in my mind—that I really don’t know who I am other than a Native American who’s lived his life essentially in isolation from his people.

Well, the priest interjected, nothing you’ve said so far seems like a sin to me.

Jack replied, "What I mean is that I feel I’ve isolated myself because the most important thing to me has been making money. My job with Ben was the best way to achieve that goal.

But working for him had hidden costs. One of the worst was that he was such a control freak. He always seemed to come up with some emergency project that needed immediate attention whenever I mentioned doing something with my family.

Son, the priest replied, we all had to tiptoe around Ben’s eccentricities and mercurial temper. Although he did a lot for this congregation, he really could hold a grudge—couldn’t he? Being from a poor parish in the Upper Peninsula, I learned to swallow my pride to get what was needed once I arrived here and realized his wealth and what it could accomplish.

Father, Jack asked, "that money may be good for you and the church, but what good is all the money I’m making if I feel so alone and out of touch?

I’ve also swallowed my pride plenty with Ben to make that money, and I think it’s caused me to lose self-respect. Frankly, I don’t feel like I belong in the world I’ve built for myself.

My son, the priest responded, I’m not so sure that this confessional booth is the proper place to discuss the feelings you’re experiencing.

That’s probably fair, Father, Jack replied good-naturedly. Maybe I ought to be talking to a psychiatrist!

No, the priest responded, "that’s not what I meant. I would be happy to meet with you in the rectory over coffee to discuss some of the issues you’re raising. The confessional is a place where you may relieve yourself from the burden of breaking one of God’s laws. Working for Ben, in itself, is not a transgression against the Ten Commandments.

"Ben Harrison was a powerful presence in our community. He gave a lot of money to this church. His money, and this wonderful cathedral that it built, will help us impress many generations about the power of the Lord!

During the funeral service, listen to the Word of God in today’s gospel and see if that doesn’t help calm your troubled mind.

Thank you, Father, Jack replied dejectedly.

Perhaps, the priest offered, you’re just guilty of not listening to the voice of your heart, which, over time, could definitely cause you to sin? Take some time now and listen to the absolution I’m going to give you. For your penance, I’d ask that you make a devout Act of Contrition and say three Hail Mary’s.

As the priest was droning out the absolution, Jack tried to figure out what the priest meant about listening to his heart. Despite what the priest had said about the good things money could do, he continued to feel that those desires had become too dominant in his life.

Jack shook his head as he left the confessional booth, more confused than when he had entered it. He felt stupid for talking to the priest.

The time for the funeral service was drawing near, and Jack looked around the church reflecting on how few people were in attendance at the mass. He had shown up for the viewing the night before and had attributed the poor turnout to the icy roads and bone-chilling cold. He now realized that it was essentially the same people from last night that were there at the church: Harrison’s sons, a couple of shirttail relatives, office staff, attorneys, and accountants.

As the priest went through the motions of the funeral service, Jack thought of Ben’s ferocious reputation and the fact that he was always in some sort of a lawsuit. Jack was certain that was why the many town council people, contractors, and end-users that they had interacted with over the years weren’t there. He felt his chest begin to tighten and ache, as happened regularly when he thought about working directly with Ben. Ben’s death had not resolved the conflict within himself.

During the Consecration of the Sacraments, Jack began to feel sorry for both Ben and himself. After twenty years of dogged service, the dearth of mourners at the church finally drove home the point that Ben had always avoided any meaningful, personal connection to his fellow man. He had always only been looking out for himself, his sons, and his bank account. His leather-bound copies of Machiavelli’s The Prince and Sun-Tzu’s The Art of War said it all! Nothing mattered but the end goal of dominance, and Jack was becoming more like him every day.

Jack left the church and made the short drive to the cemetery, stopping quickly to have his black SUV washed. Pulling up graveside for the burial, he surveyed the short line of clean, black luxury cars that had already arrived. He climbed out and went to join the few that had come to the cemetery.

The interment service was cold and drab, matching the weather and the lingering memories of the man. As Jack was leaving the grave, Ben Harrison’s oldest son, Tyler, came up to him and asked if he would mind meeting back at the Traverse City office on his way home. Tyler was ten years younger than Jack, although they looked about the same age. At a quick glance, they could have been mistaken for biological brothers. They were both six feet tall and handsome, broad shouldered and thin at the waist. Jack’s Native coloration and dark hair looked more agreeable, however, than Tyler’s dyed hair and tanning-booth skin tone.

No problem, Jack replied. I’ll see you there shortly.

Jack drove to their downtown Traverse City office and sat in the parking lot, staring at their building and thinking. When he had started with the company as an intern twenty years ago, they were working out of an old storefront that didn’t even have a view of the city’s magnificent twin bays. At that time, Ben had only been building a handful of scattered spec houses yearly. Since Jack had been on board, the company prospered with the growth of the local economy, and they had developed and built-out many residential subdivisions throughout northern Michigan.

Recently, they had also bought and tore down an old historic building to erect the ultra-modern, five-story, chrome and glass office structure that now served as their corporate office. Tyler had started to demand more of a role in the company after college, and between him and his father, Jack’s negotiations with the city council broke down over the building.

Ben ended up suing the city for interfering with his property rights because they asked him to keep the old historical building intact. Eventually Ben and his attorneys outspent the city, and they let him and Tyler build what they wanted. Jack grimaced as he thought of the tenacity of his deceased boss, still frustrated that Ben wouldn’t accept the compromise building solution, requiring the preservation of the historic façade that Jack had worked out with the city fathers.

Jack finally got out of his truck. He walked around his mammoth SUV and glanced angrily at the He Who Dies with the Most Toys Wins! bumper sticker that Tyler had put on the new chrome bumper earlier in the week. Jack promised himself to remove it when he got home later that day, thinking how juvenile it looked on his new, fifty-five thousand dollar vehicle!

Anxious to see where this discussion with Tyler was going to go, Jack resolutely climbed up the back stairs to the office. As he mounted each stair riser, he became increasingly conscious of a strong sense of foreboding, similar to what he had felt on the drive up from Manistee. When he reached the entry door, he took a deep breath, opened the door, and went in to meet Tyler.

Jack was disappointed to be met by Lincoln, the younger brother, whom he didn’t know all that well. Lincoln had just started with the company, after years of schooling on the East Coast.