A Wedding in Willow Valley (Willow Valley Women) Read online

  “He’s learned some very important lessons. I believe he’s on the right road, now, I really do.”

  “Good,” Laurel said, nodding. “That’s good.”

  “Mmm,” Dove said.

  “Are you worried about finances because of the shortened tourist season, Dove?”

  “Yes, I’m very concerned, as is everyone I talk to.”

  “Yeah,” Laurel said, nodding. “The situation is bad, very frightening.”

  “Yes, it is.” Dove paused. “Grandfather had Eagle and Yazzie take Thunder over to Molly Redhawk’s place. She has a decent barn and those corrals we all helped build for her years ago. Thunder is going to live there, now. I think that’s the last of his personal business that Grandfather has to tend to, Laurel.”

  “Oh, Dove, it’s so hard to believe that Grandfather is going to leave us,” Laurel said, shaking her head.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Dove, I was talking to my mother, saying how much I wished I could go to Grandfather with my problems as I’ve always done, but that I knew I couldn’t do that because he’s so ill. She said I was wrong, that Grandfather would be pleased to know that I still trust in his wisdom. What do you think?”

  “I thoroughly agree with your mother,” Dove said, nodding. “Grandfather would want you to come to him.”

  “I’d like to talk to him about Ben,” Laurel said, tracing the top edge of the mug with a fingertip. “Ben… Well, you see, he said he stills loves me. Then I told him that I still love him but because of what happened in Virginia I’m not who I was before. I’m such a confused mess.”

  Dove got to her feet, came around the table and snatched Laurel’s jacket from the chair and shoved it at her.

  “Goodbye, Laurel,” Dove said. “Give Grandfather my love.”

  “But…”

  “Goodbye,” Dove said, folding her arms over her breasts.

  “I believe,” Laurel said, lifting her chin, “that I’ll go visit Grandfather now.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Dove said, smiling.

  When Laurel stood outside Grandfather’s hogan a short time later, having not yet called out a greeting announcing her arrival, she was in the process of convincing herself that perhaps another day would be best for this baring of her soul. She took one step backward, then her breath caught as the wooden door to the hogan opened and Grandfather appeared, leaning on a walking stick.

  “Come in, Dahetihhi,” he said. “Don’t flit away like the hummingbird.”

  Laurel took a steadying breath and walked forward to stand in front of Grandfather.

  “Are you well enough today to listen to my troubles?” she said.

  “Yes, my Laurel Windsong. It’s time for you to tell me of your nanilin. The secret you have kept since you arrived home. Enter now. It’s cold out there.”

  Laurel smiled and went into the hogan. She removed her coat, then sat next to Grandfather on a blanket in front of the fire.

  “It’s peaceful in here,” Laurel said quietly. “I just wish that your being in the hogan didn’t mean… Oh, Grandfather, I’m going to miss you so much.”

  “Hush,” Grandfather said gently. “Some things can’t be changed, others can. We have to accept what is true.” He paused. “Tell me, Laurel, are you afraid of the chendi? The evil spirit of the dead?”

  “No. My father taught me not to fear the chendi.”

  “That is good,” Grandfather said, nodding. “Jimmy Windsong was a wise man. After I leave Mother Earth, you might wish to come to this peaceful hogan before it is sealed for all time. There is much comfort to be found in this place.”

  “Thank you, Grandfather. I’ll…I’ll remember that.”

  “I want to show you something.”

  Grandfather reached into the breast pocket of the flannel shirt he wore and removed a deep blue turquoise stone. It was the size of a quarter and about a half inch high in the center.

  “Oh, that’s lovely,” Laurel said. “That’s my favorite shade of turquoise.”

  “My mother gave me this as I was leaving to go to the war, where I became a code-talker. I was so young, no more in years than Eagle and Yazzie,” Grandfather said, closing his hand around the piece of turquoise. “My mother made it clear that the stone held no magical powers, had not been presented at a ceremony for that purpose.”

  Laurel nodded, her gaze riveted on Grandfather’s face.

  “She knew there would be times in that faraway place I was to go to when I would be frightened, confused, wishing to run away and return to my home. The purpose of the stone was to make me stop, touch it and, in that quiet moment, reach deep within myself for strength and courage I was forgetting I had. My fingers found the stone many, many times while I was away. I will hold it again in the days ahead as I face what is yet to come.” He slipped the stone back into his pocket.

  Laurel blinked away threatening tears.

  “I am telling you this, Laurel Windsong, my little Dahetihhi, because you are frightened, confused, and you have run from your fears. You have not reached within you for the strength you have, that I know in my heart that you have. You must do this if you wish to be free of the ghosts that hold you fast.”

  “I don’t know if I have the strength you speak of, Grandfather,” Laurel said, tears echoing in her voice. “I just don’t know.”

  “Tell me your story,” he said. “It is time.”

  Ben drove the patrol car to the far edges of the reservation, looking for any sign of trouble but finding none.

  He stopped at Molly Redhawk’s and gave her some money toward Thunder’s feed. Molly told him that the proud horse was feeling his many years and was beginning to show symptoms of failing health. Ben brushed the stallion until he gleamed, talking to him the entire time in a quiet, soothing voice.

  On his way back he decided to drive by Grandfather’s to be certain that smoke was still visible coming from the top of the hogan.

  “Laurel,” he said aloud as he saw the red van parked by the hogan.

  This was good, Ben thought, his heart racing. Laurel was talking to Grandfather, seeking the great man’s wisdom. Was she telling Grandfather of her love for him, and that he loved her? Was she revealing what had happened to her in Virginia? Oh, he hoped so. His future—their future together—could depend on what took place within that hogan.

  Ben turned off the ignition to the patrol car and crossed his arms on top of the steering wheel, staring at the hogan, wishing he could hear what was being said inside.

  He had to know, he thought frantically. He was now living hour to hour, waiting for Laurel to tell him if she was staying in Willow Valley or leaving. Staying in Willow Valley as his wife. He had to know what she was saying to Grandfather.

  Ben got out of the car and closed the door quietly, telling himself that what he was about to do was wrong, not honorable, then pushing those thoughts aside and justifying his actions with the knowledge that he was desperate, falling apart by emotional inches, a breath at a time.

  He went quietly forward, hesitated, then stopped outside the wooden door of the hogan and leaned close, listening.

  “You must deal with your inner demons, Laurel, reach for the strength I have spoken of,” Ben heard Grandfather say. “You came home to Willow Valley, but you left your heart in Virginia. Troubled, so troubled. You must free yourself of the demons of what haunts you so you may receive the love of the man who is waiting to give you his love for all time. Understand?”

  “Yes, Grandfather, I understand,” Laurel said. “Thank you so much. Thank you.”

  Ben hurried back to the patrol car and drove away, his hold on the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white.

  No! his mind screamed. Oh, God, no. Laurel had left her heart in Virginia? Loved a man there who was waiting to give her his love for all time? No. She had said she loved him, him, but now he realized what she’d meant when she had told him something had happened in Virginia to change her and that she had nothing t
o offer him. She loved a man back there more than she loved him. A man who was the demon who held her heart captive.

  For some unknown reason she had run from that man, and Grandfather was telling her to slay the demons that had caused her to do that so she could…

  No.

  Ben pressed his foot on the brake and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

  He’d lost his Laurel ten years ago, he thought, a chill coursing through him, and now he’d lost her again. She would listen to Grandfather as she always had, know she must return to Virginia to solve the problems with the man who possessed her heart. The man she loved more than him.

  Whatever glimmer of hope he’d had that he and Laurel were to finally have their dreams come true, live out their days together, was gone, snuffed out like a flickering flame on a candle. Gone. Forever.

  Ben lifted his head, swept a hand over his tear-filled eyes, then drove on, acutely aware of the crushing weight of loneliness that consumed him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Three days later a single drum began to beat in a slow, steady rhythm on the reservation. The drum was joined by another, then twenty more, then more yet, until hundreds thrummed in synchronization, filling the air with the eerie, sorrowful sound. It was carried in the wind across the entire reservation and into Willow Valley.

  People in town halted on the sidewalks, and shop owners came out of their stores. Everyone turned to face the rez, no one speaking, only listening to the drums.

  And they knew.

  The smoke had stopped rising from the center of the hogan.

  Their beloved Grandfather had crossed the rainbow bridge to the other side. He had died. He was gone. Tears flowed like a river filled suddenly by the rains of the monsoon, but no one spoke because there were no words to express the chilling sense of loss.

  Laurel stood in the front yard of the house she shared with her mother, tears streaming down her face, her hands wrapped around her elbows as she stared in the direction of the reservation.

  Jane joined others on the sidewalk in front of the Windsong Café and pressed trembling fingertips to her lips as tears tracked her cheeks.

  Dove sat on the ground outside her small house and beat the rhythm on the drum, tears splashing onto her hands.

  Ben forced one foot in front of the other to reach his patrol car, then drove slowly through town, the red and blue lights on the bar flashing, the siren silent.

  When he reached Grandfather’s hogan, the people were gathering, staying a respectful distance away, waiting for Ben. He stood in front of the door and called Grandfather’s name three times, then entered.

  “Hagoonee,” Ben whispered as he wrapped Grandfather in a blanket Dove had made, then lifted him into his arms. “Goodbye, Grandfather.”

  Ben carried his precious cargo from the hogan, the sun shining on the code-talker medallion around Grandfather’s neck and laid carefully on the outside of the blanket for all to see. Cadillac approached with a wagon, followed by four elderly women who would prepare Grandfather for burial. The medallion would stay with him when he was lowered into his place in Mother Earth.

  Within the next week the door of the hogan would be tightly sealed to be certain the chendi, the evil spirit from the dead, was kept inside.

  And through the night the drums continued to beat.

  The next afternoon in the far corner of the reservation, where the cemetery was located, close to two thousand people heard the farewell words of the minister of the church in Willow Valley and watched the Navajo dance of death performed to haunting chants.

  Each person walked by the wooden coffin holding the still form of their beloved Grandfather, who had been dressed in the uniform he’d worn proudly as a code-talker. Each respectfully touched the medallion on his chest. Mother Earth received her gift, and the grave was filled in one handful of dirt at a time by those who wept in a long line of mourners.

  The drums stopped.

  The people moved slowly away with heavy hearts and tear-stained faces.

  “Let’s go, Laurel,” Jane whispered. “It’s getting very cold.”

  “No, you go on,” Laurel said, dashing tears from her face. “I’m going to Grandfather’s hogan for a while. They haven’t sealed the door yet, and I’m not afraid of the chendi. I need to be there. I really do.”

  “You mustn’t light a fire inside,” Jane said. “It will frighten people if there is suddenly smoke coming from the hogan again.”

  “I won’t. There are blankets there,” Laurel said. “I won’t stay long, Mother. I just want to say my own goodbye to Grandfather.”

  Jane hugged her daughter, then walked toward her car. Ben was standing about two hundred feet behind Laurel.

  “Laurel is going to Grandfather’s hogan for a bit, Ben,” Jane said. “She needs to say goodbye in her own way, but she won’t light a fire.”

  Ben nodded.

  “Oh, how he will be missed,” Jane said. “It’s hard to imagine life without Grandfather.” She paused. “Are you all right, Ben?”

  “As well as anyone else, I guess,” he said, his voice gritty. “It’s a sad day for us all.”

  Jane nodded, patted Ben’s arm and went on her way. Ben stared at Laurel where she stood in the distance, then his shoulders slumped and he turned and walked slowly to his vehicle.

  Laurel drove to Grandfather’s hogan, hesitated a moment, then entered. It was surprisingly warm inside. She removed her jacket, dropped it to the ground without watching where it fell, then wrapped only one blanket around her as she sat cross-legged on the pile of blankets, looking at the cold, gray ashes in the circle in the center of the floor.

  She relived her conversation with Grandfather the last time she had been here with him, heard him tell her that she must defeat the demons that held her fast after what had happened in Virginia, must reach deep within herself for strength.

  “I’m trying, Grandfather,” she said, fresh tears filling her eyes. “I’m trying so hard, but the demons are so strong. What if they defeat me? What if I can’t win the battle?” A sob caught in her throat. “Oh, Grandfather, I’m going to miss you so much, so very, very much.”

  Laurel curled up on the blankets and clutched Grandfather’s blanket tightly around her as she wept as though her heart was breaking into a million pieces.

  Ben stood outside the hogan, his hands curling into tight fists as he heard the heartbreaking sound of Laurel’s tears. He paced back and forth in front of the door, warring with himself.

  Leave her alone, Skeeter, he ordered his beleaguered mind. She loved another man more than him, didn’t want a future with him, wanted nothing from him, not even comfort on this day of sorrow.

  But, oh, God, she sounded so sad. She was in that hogan all by herself, filled with such grief and pain over the loss of Grandfather, feeling the absence of the wise and wonderful man just as he was. She shouldn’t be alone. He shouldn’t be alone. Not now. Not now.

  Ben opened the door with a trembling hand and entered the hogan. He crossed to where Laurel was huddled, dropped to one knee, then gently stroked the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

  Laurel opened her eyes and turned her head to look directly into Ben’s eyes. She raised her arms to him, the blanket falling away from her. Ben took off his jacket and his Stetson and stretched out next to her, gathering her in his arms and holding her close as she cried, her face buried in his shirt.

  Laurel finally quieted, drew a shuddering breath then met Ben’s gaze again, his face only inches from hers. He lowered his head and kissed her gently, reverently, as though she was a fragile, wounded entity entrusted to his care.

  A sob caught in Laurel’s throat as she wrapped her arms around Ben’s neck, inching her fingers into his thick hair to urge his mouth harder onto hers. He hesitated, then a groan rumbled in his chest, and he delved his tongue into her mouth, meeting her tongue, as desire exploded within them.

  She didn’t want to think, Laurel thought frantically. She didn
’t want to cry. She only wanted to feel. She only wanted Ben. She was tired, so tired of attempting and failing to defeat her demons. She just wanted to savor the exquisite sensations swirling and churning within her, drink in the taste of Ben, his special aroma, the strength of his body. She loved him so much, but she had nothing to offer him but the moment. Ben. Her beloved Ben.

  Laurel broke the kiss, gazed deep into Ben’s eyes and saw the smoldering passion there, then moved away just far enough to shed her clothes in quick, jerky motions.

  Ben frowned as he watched her.

  Think, Skeeter, he ordered himself. Laurel loved another man more than she loved him. Her heart belonged to some faceless stranger in Virginia. He and Laurel would never be married, have the children they’d dreamed of so many years before, grow old together, their love strengthening with each passing year.

  But, aw, damn, right now, right here, he didn’t care about any of that. He loved this woman with all that he was. He was raw with pain over the loss of Grandfather and knew that Laurel was, too. He needed to feel, not think. Make love, not weep. Live for the moment, with no thought of tomorrow. He needed Laurel.

  Ben removed his clothes swiftly and reached for Laurel at the same second she reached again for him. He captured her mouth in a searing kiss, his hands skimming over her dewy skin. She pressed her body to his, flinging one leg over his as though wishing to melt into him, make them one inseparable entity. Her fingertips dug into his back, harder, then harder yet, urging him closer, wanting him…wanting him…wanting…

  Ben pushed her flat onto the blanket, moved over her and into her, immediately beginning to thunder within her. It was rough and urgent, earthy and held a hint of frantic need so intense it consumed them beyond reality or reason.

  The rhythm pounded, beat like the drums that had sounded for Grandfather, harder and stronger, going on and on and on. Heat coiled within them with such force it was nearly painful as they went higher and closer to the summit, then were flung over and away, not wishing to return. Their hearts raced and their breathing was labored and loud in the quiet hogan. Spasms rippled throughout them, then finally stilled.