Soldier Sister, Fly Home

by Nancy Bo Flood, Shonto Begay (Illustrator)

Overview

A tender and gripping novel about family, identity, and loss.
 
Fourteen-year-old Tess is having a hard enough time understanding what it means to be part white and part Navajo, but now she's coping with her sister Gaby's announcement that she's going to enlist and fight in the Iraq war. Gaby's decision comes just weeks after the news that Lori Piestewa, a member of their community, is the first Native American woman in US history to die in combat, adding to Tess's stress and emotions. While Gaby is away, Tess reluctantly cares for her sister's semi-wild stallion, Blue, who will teach Tess how to deal with tragic loss and guide her own journey of self-discovery.
 
Lori Piestewa was a real-life soldier who was killed in Iraq and was a member of the Hopi tribe. Back matter includes further information about Piestewa as well as a note by author Nancy Bo Flood detailing her experiences living on the Navajo reservation. A pronunciation guide to all Navajo vocabulary used within the text is also included.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781607348214
Publisher:	Charlesbridge
Publication date:	08/23/2016
Sold by:	Penguin Random House Publisher Services
Format:	eBook
Pages:	144
File size:	2 MB
Age Range:	10 - 14 Years

About the Author

Nancy Bo Flood was a research psychologist and studied brain development at the University of Minnesota and the University of London before writing books for children. She has a special interest in legends and folklore. Her titles include Warriors in the Crossfire (Boyds Mills) and Cowboy Up! Ride the Navajo Rodeo (WordSong). Nancy lives in Glenwood Springs, Colorado.

Read an Excerpt

Soldier Sister, Fly Home

---

By Nancy Bo Flood, Shonto Begay

Charlesbridge Publishing

Copyright © 2016 Nancy Bo Flood
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-60734-821-4

---

CHAPTER 1

Fallen Warrior

Before dawn, Grandpa stepped into the kitchen. I had gotten up in the dark to take an early-morning run. Grandpa looked at me with eyebrows raised, then lit the kerosene lantern rather than switching on a light. I slipped on my running shoes, stopped, and waited.

Grandpa reached for his rifle from above the doorway, handling it as carefully as if it were one of Grandma's newborn lambs. He sat down and reached for a flannel cloth and a can of oil. With a slow, steady rhythm, he rubbed oil into the dark wood. It was beautiful to watch.

Light from the lantern flickered across Grandpa's face. He reached into his shirt pocket, took out an arrowhead, and placed it on the rifle. He repeated several phrases in Navajo, sat silent for a moment, and then returned the arrowhead to his pocket.

Grandpa revered his rifle nearly as deeply as Grandma did the sunrise.

Slowly he stood up, straightened out his stiff joints. I stepped out of the way as he replaced the rifle above the door.

"Going running?"

I nodded. "I won't be late."

He looked at the round white clock over the sink. "Watch the time, Teshina. This ceremony is important."

"If I'm not back when it's time to leave," I said as my hand tightened around the door handle, "go ahead without me."

"This ceremony is for Lori, for her family." He cleared his throat. "We all need to be there."

My glance met his. Neither of us said another word.

I stepped out, eased the door shut, careful to not make a sound so it wouldn't wake Mom. She'd worked the late shift at the hospital in Tuba City and had returned home only a few hours ago. I looked up at my bedroom window. I had always shared that room with my sister. But not anymore. Not since everything had changed.

Already the light was brightening from dark to gray. Soon streaks of red would appear and a haze of gold would pour over the sagebrush and drifts of sand. Then the sun would lift over the mesa's edge and start warming up the day. So many times my mother's mother — my shimá sání — had reminded me that each sunrise was sacred, a gift, a time to greet the Holy Ones, a time to receive their blessings.

As always, Grandma had gotten up long before dawn in order to be outside facing east, ready to greet the sunrise. Afterward she began hauling hay and water to her herd of goats and sheep. I walked toward the corral, my steps cushioned by the soft sand. The air was still cool and full of good smells — sweet green hay, smoke from the cook fire, and the sour odor of livestock. Grandma turned, her face brightening as I waved. She continued with her work, tossing handfuls of grain to her animals, calling each by name, scolding the troublemakers. Apricot was easy to spot, because of her rust-colored wool but also because she was always nudging close to steal an extra mouthful of grain. Grandma laughed, pushing Apricot away from the feed bucket. Old Jack, with his long scraggly beard, shoved his head in as soon as Apricot's head was out. Grandma pulled Jack away and tossed oats to both of them. Then she gave an extra handful to Betty. I smiled. Grandma had nicknamed that goat Betty-Boobsy because Betty made more milk than any other three goats combined.

I waved again and kept on walking, past the horse shed and the horse corral. Blue was circling round and round, kicking up dust and whinnying his complaints. I shook my head. I hated that horse. He was mean to everyone except Gaby, and he was hotheaded and stubborn. It was his fault that my sister's ankle had gotten smashed. That translated into no more running track, no more trophies and blue ribbons. My sister lost all chances for a college sports scholarship. Then what did she do? She dropped out of college and enlisted in the army — how stupid was that?

My stomach did a flip-flop. We didn't need any more fallen warriors around here.

A curve of sun broke over the mesa's edge, and I was still staring at Blue. Get moving, Tess. Stop thinking about stuff you can't change. Run! I breathed in, said a little prayer to the spirits just in case they really were listening, and took off. My body started feeling alive, and my mind quieted. I looked to the horizon and ran full out. Someday I'd run all the way to Elephant Feet. Gaby had promised to race with me. Nonstop. But now my sister isn't running — she's marching. My throat started getting tight. Stop thinking, Tess. Just run. A steady rhythm settled in, my legs reaching, arms pumping. Breathe. Run. Nothing else.

The horizon shimmered as if the Holy Ones were pouring out their blessings. Running worked its magic. My heart pounded, and I was flying. Running free. Running and wishing I'd never have to turn around. I don't want to go to the ceremony. Not this one, not today.

I stopped. Breathing came in fast gulps. I yelled to the sky, "Gaby, why aren't you here? Lori was your friend!" Overhead a raven swooped low, cawing as if scolding me. I stopped. Breathing ...

I kicked at the sand, turned, ran slowly back home.

Mom, Gramps, and Grandma, dressed in their best Navajo attire, sat around the kitchen table, sipping coffee, waiting. As soon as I opened the door, Mom glanced at the clock. No one said a word.

I rushed through a cold shower, threw on some fresh clothes — my good jeans and the Western shirt Mom had washed and ironed the day before. I hurried outside. Mom had loaded the truck bed with gifts for Lori's family. Grandpa sat in the front on the passenger side, his fingers tapping the sill of the rolled-down window. Grandma sat in the middle. Dad was missing — still in Phoenix, working overtime. He had transferred to Phoenix when Gaby started college. Not that he wanted to, but it meant a higher position in the computer department and more pay. When Gaby found out, she threatened to drop out of college and get a job. Both Mom and Dad had snapped back, "Don't you dare."

Well, she had dared and dropped out. But not for a job.

I climbed into the back of the truck, sat down, and off we went.

The truck bumped along the rutted driveway. Red dust swirled behind us. We turned onto the main road, and my insides got jumpier.

I sat upright, my back pressed against the cab window, and watched the long highway unwind. It felt strange sitting in the truck bed all alone. Usually Gaby and I sat huddled next to each other, singing silly songs and telling goofy jokes, like when we were younger. Riding in the truck bed was our special time. Even after Gaby left for college, every Friday after school I'd ride along with Mom to Flagstaff. We'd do some shopping, pick up Gaby, then head back home. I'd talk nonstop for a while, filling her in with all the latest Rez gossip. For the entire drive it was just the two of us with the wind whipping by.

Once when I was little, Gaby had leaned in close and said, "I've got a secret — promise not to tell?" Of course I had promised.

"I have a boyfriend and he kissed me, a big long kiss." She had grinned. "Tess ... I liked it." She had a ridiculous look on her face. "We're going to do it again."

As soon as we had gotten home, I hopped out of the truck and told Mom. I didn't want my sister kissing some slobbery boy. Gaby hadn't spoken to me for a week. Finally I had written her a long poem about my sorry, sad heart. Even then I had to agree to do her share of dishes for an entire month.

Tuba City came into view as we drove over the final set of hills. Not much to see. Up ahead was the one shopping center — a grocery store, a pizza place, Frank's Dry Goods store, and a Chinese takeout restaurant. Rows of government housing, identical, tan-colored houses with blue metal roofs, lined the streets. All along the barbed-wire fences, shreds of white grocery bags flapped like broken-winged birds. Our truck slowed, and we turned just before the post office, where the US flag flew at half-mast.

My stomach did another flip-flop. Half-mast. For Lori.

Traffic was backed up, a long line of pickups and SUVs. We inched along to the school and finally parked in one of the last remaining spaces.

Mom climbed out and hurried around to help Gramps and Grandma out of the truck. I didn't move. Mom frowned at me. "Teshina, it's time."

I swung myself over the side of the truck. Grandma patted my hand. Grandma looked at Mom. They often said a lot to each other without saying a word. Gaby and Mom were like that too.

Car doors slammed shut. No one spoke. No one shouted hello. An uneasy quiet hovered over the parking lot. I followed my family into the gym.

I felt the drums before I could see them.

Their vibrations echoed through my bones.

Boom-BOOM! Boom-BOOM!

I felt scared like when I was little. I wanted to reach up and hold on to my big sister's hand.

CHAPTER 2

Purple Blanket

Our family paraded single file along one side of the gym and up into the bleachers — everyone except for Grandpa. He was dressed in his full Navajo veteran regalia: his good jeans and official yellow-orange shirt, and he'd put on his string tie and his United States Marine Corps hat with gold initials — USMC — across the front. Grandpa strode straight to the front of the gym, where other veterans had gathered. As an honored warrior, one of the oldest veterans, and a World War II Code Talker, Grandpa would lead the procession.

The drums beat steadily — three large wide drums clustered together. Six or seven men sat circled around each drum. The gym buzzed with the murmuring of voices. Someone coughed. A baby cried. Suddenly the drumming grew louder, more demanding. The tempo accelerated, and the sound reached a crescendo with a final boom-boom beat. Silence. I glanced at my mother. Tears slid down her cheeks. Softly, very slowly, the drums began again. The people in the lowest row of seats stood. Then row after row, like ripples across a pond, we all rose to a stand. The men took off their hats. The procession began.

People stepped quietly, single file, forming a long line that soon circled around the gym. Everyone was dressed to show their respect, to give honor. The men wore stiff new jeans, Western shirts, braided bolo ties, polished boots, and broad-brimmed hats. Older women wore their traditional velvet-layered skirts, satin blouses, circles of silver and turquoise on heavy squash-blossom necklaces, and wide silver belts. White moccasins wrapped up past ankles and softened steps.

Each familiar face caused me to catch my breath. Miss Begay, my kindergarten teacher, had been Lori's teacher too. Mr. Yazzie, the high school basketball coach, stared straight ahead, his ashen face showing no emotion. Behind him walked Mr. Whitethorn, our art teacher, a champion rodeo rider, and Mrs. Goldtooth, the track coach, who had once told Mom that I showed great potential. After starting school in Flagstaff as a boarding student, I seldom thought about these people. Flagstaff was only an hour's drive away, but it was a whole different world — another planet, where I was always an outsider, an Indian, and, even worse, a mixed-blood. At school, I thought about survival, not about the Rez. My teammates called, "Hey, Navajo!" or "Move it, Pokeyhontas!" They never saw me. They never saw Navajo or white — they only saw an Indian.

I kept to myself. I sat alone in the cafeteria, always reading a book. I was invisible.

Here is home. These are my people. But I had left, and each time I returned, I felt more mixed up. Today was even harder than I thought it would be. Part of me wanted to be here, and part of me wanted to escape, even back to Flagstaff.

Row after row of people continued to file down the bleachers to join the circling procession. It was our turn. Mom took hold of Grandma's arm and helped her stand up. Shimá Sání looked small and wrinkled. She stood to full height, head high, shoulders back. It didn't matter that she barely came up to my chin. She was saying, Yes, we can survive this. We have survived so much else. Grandma had lost her oldest son and two of her brothers — fallen soldiers in previous wars.

The drums kept beating. Boom-BOOM.

My mother stepped forward, her hands clenched around the Pendleton blanket we would give to Lori's family. Lori and my sister had been friends here in Tuba. My sister was a few years younger and wanted to be a champion Little League player like Lori.

Lori's dad was an honored soldier, decorated with medals for bravery shown in battle in Vietnam. Gaby had said she wasn't surprised when Lori enlisted. Lori was the first of my sister's friends to join, the first to finish boot camp, the first deployed to Iraq. "Nothing fancy, nothing dangerous," Lori had emailed. "I'll help with supplies, help the soldiers who do the fighting. They're the real warriors. Before you know it I'll be back."

Then the news: Lori's convoy had taken a wrong turn and come under fire.

Missing in action: Lori Piestewa.

Then more news. Lori wasn't missing.

My sister's friend.

Specialist Lori Piestewa, 507th Maintenance Company, US Army.

First Native American woman to fall in combat on foreign soil.

Now, today, this ceremony. Everyone, Navajo and Hopi, had traveled from all the surrounding Rez towns — Shonto, Red Lake, Tonalea, Moenkopi, Tuba City. Lori was half Hopi, half Mexican American. Everyone knew Lori and her family.

Boom-BOOM. I wanted to run, race far away from death. I wanted to feel the tall canyon walls surround me, solid, not leaving, not changing.

Boom-BOOM. The beating of the drums would not let me go.

The stream of people circled the gym. The elders — the oldest veterans — led the procession. My grandpa, a proud warrior, marched with his shoulders back and head high. Then came the younger veterans from other wars. A young Hopi soldier watched from the side in a wheelchair, one leg missing.

I looked away, stared at the gym floor, newly polished. Only a few seasons ago, my sister stood there, center circle, crouching, waiting for the whistle to blow — Play ball! — ready to take the tossed basketball. Today she was far away, marching, rifle over her shoulder. Today Lori's mother stood in that circle, wrapped in a dark-purple blanket. Purple, the color of honor. Fallen Warrior. On each side of her stood two little children, Lori's children. Did they hope Lori would come home and surprise them?

They must hope that. Mothers don't die.

I joined the line of people flowing past, ashamed that I felt glad it wasn't my sister who was gone. That it wasn't my mother wrapped in a purple blanket.

My sister is alive.

But my sister had enlisted. All she had said was "We are warriors, Tess. We help our country when help is needed. And we help our families." She had given me a hug. "Don't worry, I'm not getting deployed — it's boot camp and some maintenance company. Perfectly safe. I'll be back before you even miss me." She had laughed. "Except when you're washing dinner dishes!"

I closed my eyes and pictured the rifle above the door, my grandfather's solemn face. I saw that raven, limp in the red dirt.

I didn't even move.

My sister left, and I didn't stop her, couldn't stop her.

Perfectly safe. That's what you promised, Gaby, perfectly safe.

CHAPTER 3

Cowboys and Indians

The next morning Mom drove me back to Flagstaff, back to school. No one asked where I'd been. No one mentioned Lori's name. Flagstaff was a different planet than the Rez. It hadn't been my idea to transfer from Tuba City and finish junior high in Flagstaff. But Mom and Dad had said I'd get a better education and have more opportunities, especially in sports. I was breaking school records in both track and cross-country. Maybe I could get that scholarship my sister had lost. I had agreed to give a city school a try because Gaby was in Flagstaff, too, a college student at NAU, Northern Arizona University. It would be our year, a year with no parents. We had big plans. Well, maybe not so big — eat pizza for breakfast, rent movies, stuff ourselves with popcorn. She'd come to my cross-country meets, cheer me across the finish line, and every time I came in first, double chocolate malts would be on her.

(Continues...)

---

Excerpted from Soldier Sister, Fly Home by Nancy Bo Flood, Shonto Begay. Copyright © 2016 Nancy Bo Flood. Excerpted by permission of Charlesbridge Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---

Editorial Reviews

★ 05/30/2016
In this slender, elegant novel from Flood (No Name Baby), half-Navajo/half-white Tess, 13, feels like she doesn’t belong anywhere. Schoolmates at her Flagstaff boarding school call her names like Pokeyhontas; on the reservation she looks—and sometimes feels—more white than Navajo. Set against the backdrop of the Iraq War (the book opens with a memorial ceremony for a young Navajo woman killed in combat, and Tess’s beloved older sister, Gaby, is deployed soon after), the book successfully presents Tess’s shifting emotions as she grapples with the vicissitudes of a close sibling relationship, revels in her daily runs in the desert, and struggles to bond with a temperamental horse. Navajo traditions, ceremonies, and family relationships are described with gentle reverence; even the butchering of an ewe is depicted as a beautiful act. Navajo words and phrases are used throughout in a fashion that always feels natural. Flood lived and taught on the Navajo Nation for 15 years, and this quietly moving story of Tess’s growing maturity as she searches for her cultural identity resounds with authenticity. Art not seen by PW. Ages 10–up. (Aug.)

Publishers Weekly

♦ In this slender, elegant novel from Flood (No Name Baby), half-Navajo/half-white Tess, 13, feels like she doesn't belong anywhere. Schoolmates at her Flagstaff boarding school call her anmes like Pokeyhontas; on the reservation she looks—and sometimes feels—more white than Navajo. Set against the backdrop of the Iraq War (the book opens with a memorial ceremony for a young Navajo woman killed in combat, and Tess's beloved older sister, Gaby, is deployed soon after), the book successfully presents Tess's shifting emotions as she grapples with the vicissitudes of a close sibling relationship, revels in her daily runs in the desert, and struggles to bond with a temperamental horse. Navajo traditions, ceremonies, and family relationships are described with gentle reverence; even the butchering of an ewe is depicted as a beautiful act. Navajo words and phrases are used throughout in a fashion that always feels natural. Flood lived and taught on the Navajo Nation for 15 years, and this quietly moving story of Tess's growing maturity as she searches for her cultural identity resounds with authenticity. Art not seen by PW.
- Publishers Weekly, starred review

Tess and her older sister, Gaby, siblings who live in Navajo Nation with their family, are close, but when Gaby enlists in the military, their bond is threatened. Gaby entrusts Tess with her beloved stallion, Blue, whom Tess deems unstable and scary. Tess would much rather take in and experience the canyon while running on her own two legs, yet she makes the promise to her sister that she will look after Blue. After Gaby leaves, Tess questions where she fits into the world and how her biracial identity affects her sense of self. At school, she is seen as "the Indian girl." Even at home on the reservation, Tess still feels like an outsider. After spending time with her grandmother, her shima sani, at sheep camp, she begins to realize there are many answers as to what makes a person who they are. When tragedy strikes Blue, the true strength of the sisters' bond is tested. Tying in this book with the death of real-life fallen soldier Lori Piestewa feels a bit forced; the story would have stood alone without this inclusion. Endnotes suggest that Flood consulted with Navajo people; however, there is no mention of Piestewa's family. VERDICT A tender story set in contemporary Navajo Nation, with themes that will resonate with many readers on their own journey toward self-discovery.
- School Library Journal

When Tess' older sister is deployed to Iraq, the 13-year-old is bereft. To make matters worse, she is grappling with her sense of identity as a part white, part Native American teen—an inner conflict exacerbated as she splits her time between a mostly white boarding school in Flagstaff and her Navajo reservation. Racist taunts, both on the reservation and at school, leave her unsure of where she belongs. After school lets out for the summer, Tess joins her grandma for "sheep camp," where she helps care for a flock and experiences several important revelations. Flood provides a detailed portrayal of Shima Sani (Grandma)—an iconic figure who can weave Pendleton rugs as well as she can work the Internet, and herd sheep as easily as she can connect with Emily Dickinson—who plays a pivotal role in helping Tess bridge the two cultures of which the girl is a part. Despite some cultural heavy-handedness, this engaging coming-of-age story will resonate with middle-grade readers beginning to find their place in the wider world.
- Booklist

The daughter of a Navajo woman and a white man struggles with her older sister's deployment to Iraq and her own sense of self. Thirteen-year-old Tess feels abandoned when Gaby, six years older, shocks the whole family by enlisting in the military. Worse, Tess must reluctantly accept the responsibility to care for Gaby's feisty horse. Flood nicely captures Tess' anxiety as she makes several attempts to befriend her sister's aggressive stallion, as well as her sadness as a lone sibling left behind. She feels out of place both at boarding school in Flagstaff, where she's taunted for being an "Indian," and at home on the Rez, where kids call her an "apple": red on the outside but white on the inside. She slowly comes to peace with her sister's absence and her own identity during a summer idyll with her grandmother, taking care of the family's sheep in the canyon. Tess narrates her story with a healthy sprinkling of Navajo, and though she is likably earnest, there is a lot of telling—to Gaby, her family, and readers—about her cultural clashes with her peers and not enough showing. This story loses its way by not letting readers into the modern world of the Native American teenager, who would more likely write rap songs than ceremonial poetry. At times Tess' grandmother feels more part of that world, with her purchase of Day-Glo green sneakers, than Tess does. Heartfelt and poignant, the tale nevertheless feels a little out of touch.
- Kirkus Reviews

Thirteen-year-old Tess is part white, part Native American, and she lives a split life between her white boarding school and the Navajo reservation. Tess joins her grandma for summer "sheep camp", where she helps care for the flock and experiences important revelations that help her bridge her two cultures.
—Book Links, included in Middle Grade Mania roundup

From the Publisher

05/01/2016
Gr 5–8—Tess and her older sister, Gaby, siblings who live in Navajo Nation with their family, are close, but when Gaby enlists in the military, their bond is threatened. Gaby entrusts Tess with her beloved stallion, Blue, whom Tess deems unstable and scary. Tess would much rather take in and experience the canyon while running on her own two legs, yet she makes the promise to her sister that she will look after Blue. After Gaby leaves, Tess questions where she fits into the world and how her biracial identity affects her sense of self. At school, she is seen as "the Indian girl." Even at home on the reservation, Tess still feels like an outsider. After spending time with her grandmother, her shima sani, at sheep camp, she begins to realize there are many answers as to what makes a person who they are. When tragedy strikes Blue, the true strength of the sisters' bond is tested. Tying in this book with the death of real-life fallen soldier Lori Piestewa feels a bit forced; the story would have stood alone without this inclusion. Endnotes suggest that Flood consulted with Navajo people; however, there is no mention of Piestewa's family. VERDICT A tender story set in contemporary Navajo Nation, with themes that will resonate with many readers on their own journey toward self-discovery.—Amy Zembroski, Indian Community School, Franklin, WI

School Library Journal

2016-06-28
The daughter of a Navajo woman and a white man struggles with her older sister’s deployment to Iraq and her own sense of self. Thirteen-year-old Tess feels abandoned when Gaby, six years older, shocks the whole family by enlisting in the military. Worse, Tess must reluctantly accept the responsibility to care for Gaby's feisty horse. Flood nicely captures Tess’ anxiety as she makes several attempts to befriend her sister's aggressive stallion, as well as her sadness as a lone sibling left behind. She feels out of place both at boarding school in Flagstaff, where she’s taunted for being an “Indian,” and at home on the Rez, where kids call her an “apple”: red on the outside but white on the inside. She slowly comes to peace with her sister’s absence and her own identity during a summer idyll with her grandmother, taking care of the family’s sheep in the canyon. Tess narrates her story with a healthy sprinkling of Navajo, and though she is likably earnest, there is a lot of telling—to Gaby, her family, and readers—about her cultural clashes with her peers and not enough showing. This story loses its way by not letting readers into the modern world of the Native American teenager, who would more likely write rap songs than ceremonial poetry. At times Tess’ grandmother feels more part of that world, with her purchase of Day-Glo green sneakers, than Tess does. Heartfelt and poignant, the tale nevertheless feels a little out of touch. (Historical fiction. 10-14)

Kirkus Reviews