The National Museum of the American Indian was an impressive building. Surrounded as it was by all the other important buildings on the Mall and sitting in the shadow of the Capitol. There was just something very special about it. The sandstone colored exterior was curved and layered, reminding the viewer of the cliff dwellings of the southwestern natives.
It was almost ten o'clock, the time of their appointment with Clarence Blackfoot. The weight of the message contained in last night's dream still held sway in Ronny's mind.
"Fierce Beaver didn't live to see the stone again, that's so sad," The boy had said when they awakened.
Although they had gone to separate beds, Mark awoke with the boy in his arms and saw tears on his face. The ancestors in Ronny's dreams were family to him. He had accepted them as such and embraced their lives.
"He died a warrior's death, Ronny. Even Grey Eyes respected him for that, you understand that don't you?" Mark asked.
"Yes, but they were so close…except for the Christian beliefs. Are you a Christian, Mark?"
"You mean was I baptized? Yes, my parents had that done when I was a baby. But I don't see myself as Christian. I wasn't allowed to make that decision which I think is unfair. For a lot of reasons I reject Christianity…what about you?"
"I never was, my mother wouldn't allow it."
"So as a Christian, Grey Eyes never dug up the stone. We can't know why, but it seems the promise Fierce Beaver made falls on you," Mark said.
Ronny nodded. "It's why I cried, I feel him inside of me…does that sound weird?"
"No, not at all. You have a unique bridge to the past, Ronny. It's why I think we need to pursue this knowledge and do something about it. I never thought we could do this alone. I still don't know exactly what we can do, but that's best left to experts like this man Dr. Blackfoot."
Ronny sighed. "I just hope he believes me…us. I don't feel alone, I have you…I love you."
And then Ronny slid over and gave Mark a kiss, a sexy soulful kiss on the lips. Mark allowed the feelings to flow and then pushed Ronny back.
"We don't need to go there, sweetie. It won't do either of us any good."
Ronny nodded and then slid out of bed, heading for the bathroom. Mark sighed and stared up at the ceiling as he heard the water come on in the shower. It would be too easy to let the barrier down and make love to this boy. It would also be a disaster.
He had wondered if waiting three years for Ronny to grow up would stretch the limit of their patience. Mark had strict taboos about sex with underage kids, and there was that student/teacher relationship to consider. No, if they could hold out it would mean something about the way they regarded one another, something grand.
It took little imagination to know that Ronny was in the shower relieving the tensions of that kissable moment, fifteen year old boys were like that. Of course his body had responded as well, but the reality of their situation wouldn't bring him to orgasm. Lucky little brat.
If the curved exterior of the museum was beautiful and filled with meaning, the domed ceiling on the inside was stunning. Ronny stumbled along with his head tilted back as Mark dragged him over to the information desk.
"Good Morning," Mark said to the uniformed woman behind the counter. "We have an appointment with Dr. Clarence Blackfoot."
She smiled and looked at Ronny. "He's going to hurt his neck, but I understand, it is impressive when you first see our ceiling. Dr. Blackfoot is in the office wing, I saw him earlier. Go straight across the lobby to the green doors, its marked office and you can ask the secretary where to find him."
"Thank you," Mark replied. "Ronny, look at the floor before you walk."
Clarence Blackfoot had a serious face and a warm smile. He was a lot younger than Russel, but still had a classic Indian face and long dark hair much like Ronny's. He shook Mark's hand and looked at the boy.
"Shekóli, young man…is that the proper greeting in your native tongue?"
Ronny smiled. "It is, but I don't really know the Oneida language."
"You're still in school, there is time for you to learn," Clarence said. "Russel gave me few clues, but said I would understand the significance of your visit once we spoke. How about I show you around and you can tell me what he's talking about."
"That's fine," Mark said. "What is the significance of the fourth floor? Russel said we should start there."
"Of course…the Peace Tree," Clarence said. "Let's take the staff elevator."
They walked down a hallway and Clarence inserted a key which brought them the elevator. Once the doors closed Ronny asked his question.
"What's the Peace Tree?"
"Do you know your Oneida history?" Clarence asked.
"Some of it," Ronny said.
"Maybe a lot more than any of us knows," Mark said. "That's why we're here."
Clarence nodded as the elevator moved upwards. "We have only a handful of actual Oneida artifacts on display here, but this is a statue which speaks to the value of the Oneida in the birth of our American nation." The elevator came to a stop and the doors began to open. "It's called Allies in War, Partners in Peace," He said and they stepped out of the elevator.
"Whoa," Ronny said, and Mark could only agree.
The bronze finish on the statue gleamed in the overhead spotlights, but the piece would have stood out anywhere because of its towering height. Ronny slowly walked over and stood in front of the statue, looking up at the three larger than life figures. Clarence and Mark stood behind him. There was a display plaque which explained the statue, but Ronny didn't even look at it.
"That's George Washington…Polly Cooper...and that is Chief Skenandoah," Ronny said.
Clarence smiled. "You've been here before, or seen the photos?"
Ronny shook his head. "No, I've never see this statue before…I saw them in my dreams, they looked just like that."
Clarence gave Mark a quick look and received a nod in reply. "Now you know why we're here," Mark said.
Clarence went on to explain how the statue was a tribute to the Oneida who joined with the colonists in support of their revolution. Every detail in the statue was a part of the Oneida cultural belief. The white pine tree was sacred to the Iroquois, and in its branches sat an eagle and the five arrows bound to signify watchfulness and unity.
He pointed to the three clan symbols, the Bear, Turtle and Wolf, and then led them around to the back and pointed at a rock at the base of the tree.
"That symbolizes the Onyota'aka, The People of the Standing Stone we know as the Oneida, and…"
"But that is not the stone I've seen," Ronny said.
"Enough for now, Ronny," Mark said. "Dr. Blackfoot…is there someplace quiet we can talk?"
"I suppose we can go to my office…right this way."
Mark had seen a lot of college professor's offices, men and women who lived in what seemed to be caves surrounded by the trappings of their academic field. Clarence had a bright and cheerful space on the second floor. His bows to academia were the dozens of photos hanging on the walls. Mark couldn't help but look at some of them before he took his seat.
"Research sites, I get to travel a lot, thank goodness," Clarence said. "So what is it we need to discuss?"
"Ronny has dreams…visions of his ancestors. Have you ever heard of the Oneida Spirit Warrior?" Mark asked.
Clarence's eyebrows went up. "There are legendary figures like that in many tribal cultures. Strong spirits are often viewed as warriors. But then you already seem to know what you’re talking about."
"Ronny is the embodiment of a Spirit Warrior, something that has passed down to him from his ancestors," Mark said. "They speak to him in his dreams."
Clarence looked at Ronny and nodded. "And what do they tell you, Ronny."
"I must keep a promise made to the Great Mother. I have to find the sacred stone and restore it to my people."
A moment of silence. "This sacred stone, do you know where it is?" Clarence asked.
"Yes, I've seen it," Ronny said.
"How is that possible…?"
"You can show him, Ronny," Mark said, and then he turned to Clarence. "You’re a spiritual man, Russel says. Seeing is believing…close your eyes."
Clarence never took his eyes off of Ronny, but then he closed them. The image came at him suddenly. Ohni:ta Pebbles stood before the sacred standing stone and held up her arms in supplication. Around her were gathered the clan elders dressed in their ceremonial robes. Clarence could feel the heat of the day and smell the smoke in the air as her words rang out.
"Give strength to our purpose, Great Mother. My spirit feels joy to be in your presence." And then the sun broke through the clouds and the people began to chant. It was an incredible vision, and then it disappeared just as quickly as it came.
Clarence opened his eyes to see Ronny smiling at him. "I have seen the stone and watched it be removed to a place of safety. I know where that is, will you help me find it?"
The request was so sincere, and coupled with that incredible vision. Clarence could only believe what he had been told, the boy was a Spirit Warrior and Russel had sent them to him.
"I…I will do everything in my power to help you. Your Atunhetsla is very strong if you can see the past like that, you are blessed," Clarence said.
"Russel said you were a spirit healer like he is," Ronny said. "I have shown both Mark and Russel my visions because I trust them. How do I know to trust you?"
Clarence smiled. "You are right to question my trust, your ancestors would understand. The Ojibwe fought against the Oneida for many years until the American Revolution ended most of the conflicts. Like many of your people we moved west and our culture evolved.
"Now I will tell you something no one else besides my people knows and you will have to keep it secret for me. I am a priest in the Midewiwin belief, it is known as the Great Medicine Society among the Ojibwe people. We believe in the power of stones, so you have come to the right person on that account."
"You believe in this stone, you've heard about it?" Ronny asked.
"No, I've only heard some ancient legends," Clarence said. "If the Oneida possessed such a stone it would have been kept hidden in the belief that the power in it was for them alone. But I do believe that they would have gone to great lengths to conceal it. Will you tell me where it is?"
"It's across the road from my great-grandmother's house, but she's dead now," Ronny said, and then he looked at Mark. "You know the place."
"I think it's in a Hopewell era burial mound on the Seneca reservation in upstate New York," Mark said. "At least that's what Russel and I have figured out."
"A Hopewell mound, how very clever," Clarence chuckled. "The Seneca and Oneida had a long history of animosity, but I blame that on the French. But hiding your most valuable possession on enemy land is a brilliant strategy. The Seneca believe those mounds are haunted, but then they have no reason to go looking for anything unusual. Brilliant."
"The dreams lead Ronny to believe that he must restore it to his people," Mark said.
"I assume this means you've seen these visions as well?"
"Ronny shares them with me. It's the most amazing thing I've ever experienced."
"And what significance do you get from the meaning of restoring the stone to his people?" Clarence asked.
"I think it's supposed to go back where it came from," Mark said. "In the dreams they speak of great spiritual power in the stone, only a chosen few may touch it. Those people were all Ronny's ancestors so I think it's a given he will be allowed to touch it if he says the right prayers."
"Go back, so you even know where it came from…the original site?"
"No, not exactly, but we have clues," Mark said.
"Finding that site in the modern age might be very difficult," Clarence said. "But think of the possibilities, it would be an archeological site of great significance. The evidence all those people left behind would…"
"I'll know where it is," Ronny said.
The boy had remained silent, and now both men turned to look at him.
"How will you know, Ronny?" Mark asked.
"I'll feel it," Ronny said. "Once we dig up the stone it will tell me."
"I believe you," Clarence said, and the boy smiled.
"Can I see the museum now?" Ronny asked.
Mark could feel the energy Clarence had building inside as they toured the museum. To have an academic of such good standing behind them would make this work. Russel had known Clarence would join them in the search, he knew his friends quite well.
As they walked around the exhibits Mark began to tell Clarence the finer details.
"You saw the stone in your mind's eye, did you see the runes?" Mark asked.
"Yes, that was the most fascinating part. The early ancestors of the Oneida must have discovered this stone a long time ago and incorporated it into their beliefs."
"In the dream Ronny's ancestor is called Fierce Beaver," Mark said. "He died during the Revolutionary War. But he was the one who moved the stone to its hiding place and he was told to say a prayer before he touched it to neutralize the power of the spirits within. That's what gave me the idea that Ronny could do the same thing."
Mark sighed. "Now I have to tell you that a stone holding protective spirits is a bit outside my realm of knowledge, do you believe in them?"
"Absolutely," Clarence said. "In anthropology we study people, most of them long dead. You learn to see their lives in relation to the culture in which they lived. Do you know about voodoo?"
"A little bit, it's mostly superstition, isn't it?" Mark replied.
"Just where the belief and reality intersect we'll never know," Clarence said. "But if a man believes the superstitions then they will affect him physically and mentally. Ronny is a creature of the Twenty-First Century, he shouldn't believe in the old ways but he does, I can tell. The dreams have taught him to respect the old beliefs. Something we ought to keep in mind."
"Just to give you an idea of how valuable this original site might be, I have to tell you something else," Mark said. "In the prayer there is a reference to pale gods and their bones being buried under the stone."
Clarence gasped. "You heard that?"
"Yes, Russel and I figure it might be a reference to the Vikings who carved the runes on the stone."
"Oh if only that were true, we could change the history of this continent overnight," Clarence said. "With observation we can probably date the stone, at least get an idea of the time when it was carved. The writings of northern Europe still exist for comparison and we have scholars in those areas."
Clarence stood still a moment and allowed Ronny to move on in to a display of ancient Woodland artifacts. Mark knew he was about to ask something important.
"If we discover the original site of the stone can't be found, or if it's under a twenty story building…what should we do with the sacred stone?" Clarence asked.
"I think we would follow your advice on that matter. But the Seneca will surely know the stone is on their property and want to keep it, don't you think?"
"That will become a complex issue, I guarantee it," Clarence said. "The Seneca have certain rights on their own treaty lands, but the stone predates all that. The Oneida have a claim as well since much of that territory was theirs before the reservations were established. I imagine the government will get involved to mediate, and somehow that seems plain wrong to me."
"What if it was brought here for all Americans to see, would the Smithsonian accept a religious symbol like that?"
"It's not considered religious these days, now it would be seen as an artifact of an ancient culture. But for the Smithsonian to take possession then ownership will have to be established. Does Ronny's family still live up there, or do you know?"
"His parents live in Maryland, but his mother's people probably still live near the grandmother's place, if they still own it. We need to find out, don't we?" Mark asked.
"Yes, it could be very important in relation to the ownership issue. I don't imagine that if his family were the ancestral guardians of this stone that they would move far away from it. They may not know of its existence, but I bet the grandmother knew she couldn’t leave her land. Most of the Oneida moved west to Wisconsin, but she stayed…we need to find out why."
It was lunchtime and Clarence offered to take them to the museum café. The Mitsitam Café, the native Delaware word for good eating, made available cuisine from a half dozen Native American regions. They took a table amidst the crowd of tourists and realized they would be unable to have private conversation about the stone.
"If you would like to eat Iroquois food then try the Woodland turkey with onions, and some of the corn," Clarence said. Ronny smiled and picked just that. "So what are you doing for the rest of your visit," He asked.
"We plan to visit Mount Vernon tomorrow, Ronny wants a feel for the place," Mark said.
"I understand, Washington was a great friend of the Oneida."
"Fierce Beaver was his friend too," Ronny said.
"The man was one of those who brought corn to Valley Forge. He had some kind of ongoing relationship to the army until he was killed at the Battle of Newtown in New York. His son survived, but I haven't seen anything in dreams past that point," Mark said.
"Would you mind if I went with you?" Clarence asked.
"You want to come? That would be great," Ronny said.
Clarence smiled. "I don't know what inspires dreams, Ronny. I often wonder if it could be the things we experience in daily life. I’d like to see what you do tomorrow."
Mark took Ronny out for Thai food that evening, it was a rare experience. The little restaurant off Seventeenth Street was crowded and they were seated at a small table not much larger than the menus they were handed. Of course Ronny deferred to Mark's understanding of the Asian cuisine and expressed delight at the Pad Thai and the sampling of other dishes that were ordered. It was delightful to watch the boy giggle his way through the meal.
This is the way Ronny should be, a child who was delighted by the small things life presented. The past few months had been like watching him be reborn and so it was with a bit of trepidation that Mark realized he would soon have to tell Ronny that they needed to speak with his mother.
If they were to find out anything about the Pebbles family in New York State then she would have to be approached. It would even be better if she accompanied them, Ronny would probably like that. It was the father that became the issue, he would be an obstacle. Mark would have to avoid a confrontation because he had this irrational feeling that he would like to punch the man in the face as hard as he could.
Clarence was the key to approaching the family, he could give a trip to New York the image of a scholarly pursuit and any mention of the stone wouldn't be necessary. Mark knew the man was already committed to the success of their search, but it remained to be seen what other tricks he could pull off.
Mark didn't even bother to make Ronny sleep in his own bed. They had left Mr. Allen in the apartment sitting on Mark's nightstand, but tonight he would have something else to cuddle. It was all wrong, but Ronny had assured him that he wasn't going to think about sex.
"I love you just the way you are," Ronny said.
They were lying on their sides, face to face in bed and Mark could see the emotions playing across Ronny's face. What powers lay in that boy's mind? Neither of them had been in real love before and that meant they didn't know how it worked.
"I know you do, and I love you just as much," Mark said.
"But you don't know why, I'm just a boy."
Mark smiled. "You will never be just a boy. I can’t begin to tell you how special you are. It’s not the Spirit Warrior I love, it's you. And every day I spend around you I watch you grow into a man and wonder what I did to deserve you."
There were tears in Ronny's eyes and Mark reached out to touch the boy's cheek. And he remembered something he had read years ago about tears.
"Your eyes are the windows to your soul, Ronny. And the gift of water cleanses the spirit of the giver. I don't see sadness in your heart, just a joy that you need to share with me. I accept the gift of your tears and know they will bind us together."
Ronny smiled. "Did you make that up?"
"No, I think it was something I read in college. It's always good to remember the wisdom of others. So many people have gone before us and the collective thoughts of others exert a great influence on the way we think.
"I remember a teacher telling me that there is no such thing as an original thought and that everything we think has been thought of before. I guess I believed that until I met you. You are the exception to the rule and even that makes me love you."
"I'm sleepy," Ronny said. "We will share dreams again…there are still things we have to discover."
"Good night, sweetie." Mark said and he leaned over and kissed Ronny's forehead. The brown eyes were closed and Ronny smiled as he snuggled in close with a sigh.
* * * * *
The image in Mark’s mind was of a fire crackling on the hearth, the room a bit too warm, but still welcome. Fierce Beaver sat in a chair with a cup in his hand, the taste of the brandy and water still in his mouth. It had burned, but the warmth it generated was also welcome, especially since it had been poured by the hand of the man sitting across the table from him.
General Washington looked weary, and yet he had taken the time to bring Fierce Beaver in for his opinion on how the Iroquois would react to the news.
"The French have joined us against the British," Washington said. "I do not believe they did this because of some great respect they have for our battle for independence. The French will enjoy being a thorn in the side of the English king. But their support on the oceans and in trade will be invaluable."
He didn't understand a lot of the thoughts Washington had just expressed, but he did gather the French were now on their side.
"The French…you ask us to forgive the past?" Fierce Beaver asked.
"Your enemies remain the same, at least among the Indian nations who now fight for the British. I don't think the Iroquois will see any French soldiers in their lands. They will be too busy with the British up in the Canadian territories. I would just ask you to tell your people they are no longer the enemy. You like the Marquis de Lafayette well enough I hear."
Fierce Beaver laughed and nodded. "He is a man I respect, even if he is crazy in the head. He tells me his people favor eating the legs of frogs. This is a good joke, I think. A frog does not have enough meat to satisfy a warrior."
Washington smiled. "He is different, I'll grant you that. I wanted you to know of our changing situation with the French, but there is also something more important to your people and in particular you, my friend."
Fierce Beaver smiled. Yes, he had become the friend of this great general over the past two winters. Washington had explained the need for the rebellion and what the colonists wanted from this war. But the man had been exceedingly blunt as well, the Indian would not fare well when all was said and done.
"I told you of the desires of my people," Washington said. "They will move west, seeking new lands for their businesses and families. There is only one thing in their way…you, and all your Indian brethren. We will try to negotiate treaties with each nation, but you know the colonies will need land.
"And with that in mind I have written up this document. I don't know how welcome this will become after the war, but it will speak of your bravery and support of our cause. I have copied this document out with my own hand, one for you and the other to be sent to our Congress for their approval. They are busy with the war at the moment but I expect they will heed my words on your behalf."
Fierce Beaver looked with interest at the paper Washington handed him. He could not read it, of course, but that did not matter. The man had spoken welcome words and his intent was to speak of their friendship.
"I know you do not read our language so I will explain what it says," Washington said. "In my younger days I surveyed land for the colony of Virginia while others did the same thing to the north. The Oneida lands are on those maps and will become of great interest to the farmers and settlers in the next ten years. I want this paper to protect a piece of your homeland, so this is what is written:
"In consideration for their loyalty to the American cause, and their unswerving dedication to the success in the formation of our country, I, George Washington, Commander in Chief of the Continental Army so appointed by the Continental Congress, do hereby recommend the following award. To Fierce Beaver of the Oneida people and all his descendants, our undying affection and gratitude for the service they have rendered this army and this nation which has been declared free of colonial rule by the tyranny of the English monarchy.
"In light of this service I wish to grant the sum of ten thousand acres of land in the State of New York, the homeland of the Oneida people, in perpetuity for their sole use and dwelling. The land I have in mind is in the western Indian territories of New York as surveyed by the British Crown Survey of 1749. The parcel is fifty-four miles due east of the point at Fort Niagara and thirty-two miles due south of Lake Ontario, the land is bisected by a small river at this point.
"It is in the best interests of this nation and its people to reward brave service, and should the Congress approve of my bequest on their behalf I would expect Fierce Beaver and his Oneida people to take possession immediately upon cessation of hostilities. Given by my hand on this day, March 23rd, 1778. George Washington, General, Valley Forge."
Washington smiled. "There that says it. I'm glad you told me about that place, it's been a long time since that survey but those charts have been invaluable to our cause in the fight against the British. We see the land differently, my friend. To us it is a distance on paper that can be measured; to you it is spoken in terms of travel by foot. At least we both now know it takes forty-two miles distance to escape the sound of those mighty falls."
"I am grateful," Fierce Beaver said. "That land is sacred to my people and holds special meaning in my heart. This is the true meaning of friendship."
"We have been allies in war, now we must remain friends when we have peace," Washington said. "I have seen your heart and know you will not turn against us. The time will come when others of your native race will not fare as well. Many tribes have gone against us, only you and your friends the Tuscarora have remained true. The fate of the others will not be pleasant in the years to come.
"We will be leaving here quite soon, the army is ready and I have never seen them look better. I would like you to go north with General Sullivan's soldiers and scout the land for him. Your enemy the Mohawk and Seneca have been raiding settlements and burning crops we so desperately need, it's time to stop them."
Washington sighed. "It is not done yet, my friend, we still have a long way to go. I know you long for the peace and quiet of your village and I wish to return to my home in Mount Vernon. If it wasn't for the presence of my wife these past few months I would not have survived." And then he smiled. "I see your son is still with us, a grown man, you must be very proud."
Fierce Beaver smiled. "He is very much a man, he has become a Christian."
"Oh? And what does the father say to that?"
"A father serves to guide a boy into manhood, he walks his own path now and my words have less meaning. I think it is the same in all worlds, my lessons are done and he will begin to teach himself. He may believe in the Christian god, but he will never forget the needs of his people."
"You are wise, Fierce Beaver…and you never did tell me how you came by that name," Washington chuckled.
"It was in my time of manhood changes…"
* * * * *
The images quickly faded as Mark awakened. The sound of cars in the street, a distant siren, they were still in the city…and there was a beautiful boy in his bed.
The dream had revealed new details and opened up new possibilities they would have to share with Clarence. Mark smiled. Old Fierce Beaver was such a sly dog. He had allowed George Washington to reward his service with the very piece of land where the sacred stone lay hidden.
But Fierce Beaver had been killed and buried by his son a year after Washington had signed that document. This dream had emphasized the importance of that piece of paper. It was a most critical detail…almost as important as the location of the stone.
The clock on the nightstand showed that it was seven in the morning and Clarence would come for them at nine. Ronny was still deeply asleep, the dreams seemed to do that to him, it must be mentally exhausting.
The boy was a marvel of patience these days. Mark wasn't sure he could have slept in the same bed with the man he loved and not been frustrated. But then he didn't have the same mental abilities, and he never would…thank goodness.
Mark slid out of bed without waking Ronny and took a shower. He was standing in front of the mirror shaving when the door slowly opened.
"I have to pee…now," Ronny said. And without further comment he stood in front of the toilet and cut loose. Mark chuckled as Ronny sighed, and then they both started laughing.
"No…stop that, I'll pee on the floor," Ronny said, but he was still laughing.
Mark was standing there with shaving cream on his face and wearing nothing but a smile. On the other hand Ronny was wearing his boxers with this large morning wood sticking out the slit as he tried to aim it in the bowl. Okay, Mark had to look.
Ronny kept his head down, concentrating on his business, and what a tool he had. Fifteen year old boys were mature males and this boy had nothing to be ashamed of. For someone with the deeply tanned skin of his ancestors it was still obvious the boy was blushing. He quickly finished his business and stepped in the shower, pulling the curtain behind him. A moment later the boxers were tossed out on the floor.
"You weren't supposed to see that," Ronny said. "I didn't show you my penis on purpose."
"I know, but thanks for the show," Mark laughed.
A moment of silence as the water came on. "You do have a nice ass, mister." Ronny giggled, and then started laughing again. "I wasn't supposed to look either...thanks for the show."
Mark grinned and finished scraping his face. The sound of the shampoo bottle dropping into the tub gave him an idea. With a head covered in lather Ronny would have his eyes closed and so Mark reached into the shower curtain and turned off the hot water knob.
"What? Hey…that's cold as hell," Ronny yelped as Mark fled the room. "I'll get you for that…"
It was only natural that they should see one another naked. If anything it might diffuse the sexual tensions. Mark knew it would be better to joke around like this, especially if they didn't touch one another. He pulled out a pair of shorts and a nice sport shirt, today they would be tourists.
Ronny took enough time in the shower to shampoo his hair, wash his body and masturbate…all normal functions at his age. He walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and the dirty boxers clutched in his hand.
"Good, you’re dressed casual…I didn't know if we had to get dressed up today," Ronny said.
"Not this morning, Mount Vernon is a walk around tour," Mark replied.
Ronny dug in his bag and pulled out clean underwear. Turning his back to Mark he dropped the towel and slid the boxers on. Then he turned around with a grin.
"Do I have a nice ass?"
"Respectable, at least you’re not hairy like a gorilla," Mark said.
"Mom said I may not shave until I'm older, Katherine I mean."
"Then you'll be lucky. I think at some point we're going to have to see your parents, at least your real mother," Mark said.
Ronny frowned. "Why would we do that? I don't want to see my father."
"We need your mother's permission to travel, and we also need an introduction to your family in upstate New York."
"Oh…yeah, I get it. The dream last night was strange…I didn't understand all of that."
Mark nodded. "Washington appears to have given your ancestors the land upon which the sacred stone is buried. We don't know if the Congress approved it or if there's a record somewhere, but we have to look. Clarence may know what to do."
"I like Clarence…uh, Dr. Blackfoot. Do you suppose he would mind if I call him Clarence?"
Mark smiled. "We'll ask him…put some pants on."
They were standing out in front of the hotel when Clarence pulled up in a Land Rover. Ronny was immediately interested in the vehicle and Mark allowed him to sit up front while he took the back seat.
"Why do you drive this?" Ronny asked. "It's way cool."
Clarence nodded as he pulled away from the curb and immediately hit a pot hole.
"Washington is well known for its pot holes, one of them ate a Volkswagen last winter, and it was in all the newspapers. But I've driven these things all over the world, I'm used to them. Mark will tell you, lots of folks around here in the city don't even own a car."
"You live in the city?" Ronny asked.
"Chevy Chase, I take the Metro to work every day," Clarence said. "So are you hungry?"
Mark laughed. "With Ronny that's a given."
"Then we'll go eat."
Clarence took the Anacostia Freeway south out of the city and picked up the Washington Beltway to cross over into Virginia on the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. They were now south of Reagan International Airport and heading into Alexandria. They ended up on King Street in the heart of the fish market and waterfront district.
"The Bittersweet Café, one of my favorite places," Clarence said.
And for good reason Mark soon discovered. He'd never been able to keep up with all the restaurants spread out around the city, but Clarence knew his way around. The Old Town of Alexandria had a long history of attracting tourists, and this place was one of the hot spots.
Ronny had scrambled eggs and waffles, grinning as the maple syrup dribbled down his chin. They had told Clarence of the dream and he was thrilled.
"We can find the records of that period in the Library of Congress, I have access. If they approved the bequest then we might have something there. Previous ownership is always hard to prove, but this might do it. What do you hope to accomplish at Mount Vernon?"
Ronny shrugged. "I just wanted to see it."
Mark was a little more thoughtful. "I think the relationship of his ancestors to George Washington prior to his serving as President is important to Ronny. In the dream with Fierce Beaver the General was acting like the friendship meant a great deal to them both. They had two years together at Valley Forge, a long time for two men to come together in understanding."
"War forges strong bonds," Clarence said. "The Iroquois did not fare well after the war's end. They were pushed off their lands as more and more Europeans arrived on our shores. Treaties were made and broken so fast the ink probably wasn't dry on the paper.
"I believe other men from the south had a great influence on Washington. Thomas Jefferson despised the Indians without really knowing them. There was a general policy of pushing the tribes west across the Mississippi River and many fought to keep their homelands. How sad that the forefathers didn't see the Indian fight for their land as part of the same revolution they had all just gone through."
"I still think Washington tried to do the right thing," Ronny said.
"He did great things, Ronny. He set the course for a nation, and as imperfect as they were back then look what we have today," Mark said.
Clarence smiled. "That would be your opinion, as a native I have a slightly different viewpoint. Let's finish up and go visit Mr. Washington's house."
The site for Mount Vernon was majestic. A working plantation for crops and tobacco, the plans for the layout and construction were all done by Washington. The National Park Service had changed little on the grounds and they were still maintained very much as they were back in the late 1700's.
They walked the brick pathways in the garden and looked in the sheds and workrooms behind the house. The walk around tour of the house revealed a great deal of information about the man and his lifestyle. The rooms were roped off, but everything was still there as if the family might return to take up residence any day.
They stood on the front porch and gazed down the lawn at the Potomac River. Washington would have enjoyed this same view, maybe sitting in a chair as the sun set off in the western sky.
"It's not a fancy place, is it?" Ronny asked. "I mean not like the White House."
"This was a working farm," Clarence said. "There was no White House. Washington did become involved in plans for the capital city and there was a fight over that. But he died here in that bedroom upstairs. This is where he was happiest."
"Can we see his grave?" Ronny asked.
"Yes, it's right over there in the trees," Clarence said.
The pathway to the tomb was well worn as hundreds of thousands of people came yearly to pay their respects to the first president. The building that housed the tomb was designed by Washington and built after his death. A simple brick mausoleum, it had two covered crypts with a black iron gate across the opening.
Ronny stood back and viewed the scene. Neither Mark nor Clarence said a word since this was the boy's moment. Mark could almost see the tense concentration on Ronny's face…what was he feeling? And slowly Ronny approached the gate, standing quietly before it and staring in at the white marble box that held George Washington's remains.
They had chosen the moment well, no one else was near. Ronny bowed his head and Mark could almost feel the boy's thoughts reaching out. Ronny placed a hand on the gate for just a moment and then turned with tears on his face.
"I just came to say good-bye and to thank him for my people," Ronny said. "All is well…he kept his promise."