A Wedding In Willow Valley

“You look deep in thought,” Jane said, sliding onto the stool next to her daughter. “We’ve been so busy we haven’t had a second to talk all day. Are you all right after your…encounter, shall we say, with Ben?”

Laurel sighed. “I guess so. The whole thing was…confusing. That’s the word my mind keeps coming back to because it describes it the best. Confusing.” She paused. “Thank goodness that the majority of the customers today were tourists and I didn’t have to deal with the locals staring at me like a bug under a microscope.”

“That will come,” Jane said, laughing. “People have been watching you and Ben ever since you came home, and something finally happened between the two of you. Ben Skeeter definitely does not want Laurel Windsong to cut her hair. I imagine that news flash has been delivered through town and out to the rez by now.”

“Great,” Laurel said glumly. “What would we do without Cadillac? We have him, so we ought to do away with telephones.”

“All you can do is hope some fresh gossip comes along very quickly,” Jane said. “Like…oh, I don’t know…someone robs the bank.”

“Not going to happen,” Laurel said.

“Nope,” Jane said. “You’re just going to have to grin and bear this until people get tired of talking about it.” She stared into space. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when Ben hollered that you were not to cut your hair. That man certainly has a strong opinion on the subject, doesn’t he?”

“Mother,” Laurel said, sitting up straight on the stool, “you’re doing what everyone else is doing by now. You’re speculating about what happened and enjoying every minute of it. Shame on you. Where is your loyalty to your only child?”

“Well, honey,” Jane said, smiling, “you must admit it was quite a show.”

“It was a confusing show, that’s what it was,” Laurel said, sliding off the stool. “And I don’t wish to discuss it further, thank you very much.”

“Yes, dear. I understand,” Jane said. “Well, I’m going home for a while and put my feet up before it’s time for the dinner crowd. Everything is under control here. Do you want to come with me?”

“No, I feel edgy, restless,” Laurel said. “I think I’ll go for a walk and—oh, that’s brilliant. If I stroll down the sidewalk, everyone will pounce on me. Yes, Mother, I’ll drive home with you. And once I get there, I’m going to hide in my closet.”

Chapter Two

At the small house where Jane and Jimmy Windsong had lived during their entire marriage, Jane decided to walk down the block and check on an elderly woman neighbor who had been a bit under the weather.

Laurel wandered into her bedroom, slipped off her shoes and stretched out on the bed, hoping to take a nap for no other reason than it would give her a reprieve from replaying in her mind yet again what had happened with Ben at the café.

After staring at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, she sighed, gave up the attempt and sat up on the edge of the bed to look out the window facing the tiny backyard. A playful breeze chased a colorful autumn leaf across the expanse, swirled it around then picked it up and carried it away to yet unknown adventures.

Ten years ago, Laurel thought, she had been like that leaf. She’d left the familiar, this bedroom in the home where she’d grown up, the charming town of Willow Valley, her mother, friends and…and Ben. She’d traveled across the country to Virginia to attend the college that had awarded her a scholarship, obtained her degree then begun her career as a high school psychologist.

She’d been brimming with optimism and enthusiasm, had been convinced that she was going to accomplish great things, help the troubled youths entrusted to her care, make a difference in their lives. She would unravel their confusion, untangle their problems, bring smiles to the frowning faces of those who sought her out.

Laurel shook her head and wrapped her hands around her elbows as she continued to stare out the window.

Such lofty dreams and goals she’d had, she thought. She’d ignored the yearning for those she loved in Willow Valley, the chilling homesickness that had woken her in the night to stare into the darkness, feeling so alone.

The lack of money had not allowed her to come home often during the years she was away. But when she had returned for visits, she’d savored every moment, wrapped the memories of her time here around her like a warm, comforting blanket. She’d spent hours with her best friend, Dove Clearwater, talked long into the night with her mother, gone for walks among the tall pine trees with Grandfather, listening intently to every word of his quietly spoken wisdom.

But she hadn’t spoken to Ben Skeeter.

They had not had a private conversation in over ten years…until today at the Windsong Café.

Ten years, Laurel mused, watching a squirrel chattering to another one in the backyard. Ten years had gone by, and here she sat in the bedroom of her youth, having come—no, run—home four months ago to seek solace like a trembling child in the arms of her mother. Jane Windsong was the only person in Willow Valley who knew what had happened in Virginia.

She hadn’t even told Dove or Grandfather why she had returned so suddenly. But because they cherished the ways of the Dinet, the People, the Navajos, neither would pressure her for an explanation. Their beliefs stated that if they asked her the question four times, she was honor-bound to tell the truth, but neither would do that. She was so grateful for that, because she just couldn’t bear to tell them that she had… No.

Laurel got to her feet.

She was thinking too much again, she admonished herself, dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed and depressing herself. She had to quit this pity-party nonsense she kept indulging in, start distancing herself emotionally from what had taken place in Virginia and move forward with her life.

Forward? Toward what? she thought as she walked across the small room. To a future working side by side with her mother at the Windsong Café? Her mother seemed perfectly happy with her existence as it was, but…

“Oh, stop thinking, Laurel Windsong,” she said aloud, with a cluck of self-disgust. “Just turn off your mind and shut up.”

She went down the short hallway, through the medium size living room and on to the kitchen, where she found her mother sitting at the table with a cup of tea and the evening newspaper.

“Hi,” Laurel said. “How’s Mrs. Henderson feeling?”

Jane smiled. “She was on her way out the door to play canasta. Claimed she was as good as new.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Laurel said, sitting down opposite her mother. “May I ask you something?”

Jane set the newspaper aside. “Of course.”

“Dad died when I was sixteen,” Laurel said. “During all these years you’ve been alone have you ever considered the possibility of marrying again? You’re only forty-six years old, Mother, which means you’re facing many, many years yet on your own. Wouldn’t you like someone to share your life with?”

“My goodness,” Jane said. “Where is this subject coming from?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I try to envision my own future and it’s just a foggy mess. Then my mind bounces around and I think about you. I was just wondering if you’re as happy and contented with your existence as you appear to be.”

Jane laughed. “Ah, my daughter the psychologist is attempting to delve into my mind. Well, good luck with that, my sweet girl. But to answer your questions… Yes, I am very contented and happy. As far as marrying again? No. That will never happen.

“Jimmy Windsong won my heart when I was fifteen years old, Laurel, and he still possesses it even though he isn’t here with me. He’s the only man I have ever—will ever—love. I married him at eighteen, had you at nineteen, started the Windsong Café with him and there I’ll be until I’m old and creaky.

“The love I shared with your father was so rare and beautiful, Laurel. It was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and I’d never have anything like it again. Since I’m not willing to settle for less, I have no intention of ever remarrying. I believed that you and Ben had that same kind of love, but… Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was very insensitive on my part.”

“That’s all right,” Laurel said quietly. “I thought Ben and I had something special, too, but I was wrong. I wanted to go to college, but he refused to understand that, to wait for me.

“You know what happened. He gave me an ultimatum. Stay here in Willow Valley while he went to the police academy in Phoenix, then marry him when he returned or we were done, finished, over. And that was that. Laurel Windsong and Ben Skeeter did not have the kind of love that Jane Nelson and Jimmy Windsong did. Not even close.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Jane said.

“Mother, facts are facts. I was determined to go to college and Ben… Never mind. I keep doing this. I keep dwelling on the past and I’m driving myself crazy. It’s my future I should be thinking about. What on earth am I going to do with my life? Please don’t take offense, but I don’t see myself being fulfilled by working with you at the café year after year after year.”

“Of course you don’t,” Jane said. “That café wasn’t your dream, it was your father’s and mine. You’re just stopping off there at the moment until you get things settled in your mind. You’re still healing from what happened in Virginia, Laurel. Be patient. Be kind to yourself. Take one day at a time for now and wait for the inner peace to start to blossom within you. It will come.”

“Maybe,” Laurel said. “I certainly haven’t made any progress with that since I came back to Willow Valley. I’m way overdue to stop feeling sorry for myself, dwelling on what happened. Let’s change the subject. Was there anything interesting in the newspaper?”

“Dove wrote a lovely article about the autumn leaves we’re enjoying and how they never fail to appear each year like a promise from nature that is always kept. Our Dove is such a talented writer.”

“Yes,” Laurel said, nodding. “Yes, she really is. I also think the rugs, blankets, shawls and what have you that she weaves on her loom are the most gorgeous ones in the shops here. They certainly sell well.”

“Indeed they do,” Jane said, then drained her cup. “Oh, there was a short paragraph regarding the fact that there was another robbery in one of the summer homes. Whoever is doing this knows exactly which houses are not lived in year-round. That indicates it’s someone who lives in Willow Valley or on the rez. That’s rather chilling when you think about it. It’s one of our own.”

Laurel frowned and nodded.

“Ben was quoted as saying,” Jane continued, “that he and his deputies will be increasing the patrols around those homes and that he won’t rest until the person—or persons—are apprehended.” She paused. “So tell me, Laurel Jane Windsong, are you going to cut that gorgeous hair of yours or not?”

Laurel shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s all the way to my waist when it isn’t braided. I don’t think a single thick braid worn day after day is very sophisticated for someone of twenty-seven.”

“It is,” Jane said, smiling, “if you’re half Navajo. You have Jimmy’s hair, tawny skin tone and those dark, dark eyes. If it wasn’t for your features being a bit delicate and your being tall and slender, there wouldn’t be any evidence that I had a part in creating you. But anyway, it’s your hair and you should do what pleases you.”

“Oh? The whole town probably knows by now that Ben Skeeter doesn’t feel that way about my hair. The nerve of that man to… Oh, don’t get me started.”

“I think that scene in the café was rather sweet,” Jane said.

“Oh, spare me,” Laurel said, getting to her feet. “I’m going to go freshen up so I’ll be ready to head back to work.”

Jane watched her daughter leave the room, marveling yet again at her beauty.

“Oh, Jimmy,” she whispered, “our baby girl is so troubled, so unhappy, and I don’t know what to do to help her.”

As a breathtaking sunset streaked across the sky, Ben strolled along the sidewalk of the main street of town, his last self-appointed duty before ending his shift for the day.

Seven local citizens so far had asked him if he planned to eat dinner at the Windsong Café, something he very rarely did, preferring to prepare something for himself at home after a busy day. He’d also received some smug smiles and raised eyebrows from half a dozen of the shop owners who had made it a point to come to the door of their stores as he’d gone by on his patrol.

Oh, yeah, he thought, the story of the ridiculous scene with Laurel regarding whether or not she should cut her hair had definitely spread like wildfire. There was nothing he could do but say nothing and wait it out until the next bit of juicy gossip took its place.

Ben slowed his step even more as he went past the old-fashioned ice cream parlor.

Man, oh, man, he thought, he and Laurel had spent countless hours in that place eating hot-fudge sundaes and talking about their plans for the future. They had been so young, so sure that everything would go just the way they were laying it out, their hopes and dreams connecting like a jigsaw puzzle that created a fantastic picture.

But then Laurel had decided she wanted more than he could offer, more than his love and the life they were to share in Willow Valley after they were married. Everything had fallen apart as though an invisible hand had reached out and flung the pieces of the puzzle into oblivion.

In the years after she left he’d tried to make a new puzzle, but there were always pieces missing. It was never truly whole again without Laurel in his life. He had learned to go on as things were, slowly but surely, but now Laurel was back and…

Ben stopped suddenly as he looked down to see a boy about five years old staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Hi,” Ben said. “Where’s your mom, kiddo?”

“In that store,” the boy said, pointing to the one next to the ice cream parlor. “Are you a real Indian?”

Ben nodded. “Yep. I’m a Navajo.”

“Wow. Is that a real gun?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. How come you gots a gun instead of a bow and arrow?” the child said.

“Well,” Ben said, smiling, “because my bow and arrow doesn’t fit in this holster I’m wearing. I have to settle for a gun.”

“Wow,” the boy said. “Do you shoot bad guys?”

“Only if I have to,” Ben said. “Are you a bad guy?”

“Me?” the child said, his eyes widening even more. “No. No. I’m good. Honest.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Jacob,” a woman said, hurrying out of the shop, “I told you not to leave the store. Don’t ever do that again.” She looked up at Ben. “I’m terribly sorry. One minute he was there and the next…”

“He’s a real Indian, Mom,” Jacob said. “He shoots bad guys with his gun ’cause his bow and arrow doesn’t fit in that holster thing.”

“Wow,” Ben said, chuckling.

The woman smiled. “Thank you for the patience with my son. I do apologize if he said anything to offend you.”

“Not at all,” Ben said.

“Good,” the mother said. “Come on, Jacob.”

Ben watched as the pair went on down the sidewalk, the mother still lecturing the inquisitive child about staying close to her.

Cute kid, Ben thought, tugging his Stetson lower on his forehead. He and Laurel had talked about the children they’d have. Two for sure, maybe more. Yeah, they’d daydreamed about a lot of things, all part of the life they would share together. What a joke.

“Aw, hell, forget it,” Ben muttered. “It’s time to go home.”

Ben lived in an A-frame house on two acres of wooded land on the edge of town next to the reservation. The house was set well back from the road, and the entire front of the structure was windows, affording a spectacular view of nature’s bounty.

The inside was open and airy with a river-rock fireplace against one wall banked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a half wall dividing the living room from the kitchen, an eating area, small bathroom and laundry room.

The upstairs had a balcony overlooking the downstairs and two large bedrooms with a connecting bath. The second bedroom was an office of sorts, with a computer and more book shelves.

The furniture throughout was big, comfortable and rustic. The gleaming hardwood floors had several large Navajo rugs, and one of Dove Clearwater’s woven creations adorned one wall. Scattered among the multitude of books on the shelves were Navajo pots and baskets, all made by people he knew on the rez.

Ben entered the house from the covered garage that led to the kitchen. He went upstairs, changed into jeans and a faded sweatshirt, locked his gun in the metal box on his closet shelf then headed back to the kitchen to find something for dinner.

A short time later he sat at the table and ate a plate-sized omelet filled with ham chunks, green and red peppers, cheese and onions and topped with a generous serving of hot salsa. A tall glass of ice water stood at the ready above the plate.

After eating, he cleaned the kitchen, then settled into his favorite recliner to watch the evening news on television, which failed to hold his attention.

Laurel had never seen this house, he mused, glancing around. What would she think of it? Would she be able to envision herself living here? Or had he decorated with too much of a guy-thing touch to make her feel at ease? Well, that was easy enough to fix. Add some girl-thing doodads, or whatever, to make it evident that a woman was in residence, too.

He’d drawn endless pictures of this dream house while he and Laurel were still in high school, sharing them all with her. They’d decided together which bedroom would be theirs and…

“Damn it, Skeeter,” Ben said, smacking the arm of the chair. “Why are you going there? Why are you doing this? And why in the hell are you talking to yourself?”

Ben dragged both hands down his face, then rested his head on the back of the recliner.

Change the mental subject, he ordered himself. Now. Do not think about Laurel Windsong. Think about…yes, the robberies at the vacant summer homes.

He’d phoned the sheriffs over in Flagstaff and Prescott on the off chance they were dealing with the same type of crime wave. Both men had said things were quiet on those fronts. It had been a long shot anyway, would have meant that a very sophisticated group was casing an extremely large area of the state to establish which homes were empty during the fall and winter.

No, he thought, this was his problem and whoever was doing it was from Willow Valley or the rez. As much as he hated the truth of that fact, that was the way it was. They were taking things that were easily moved. Televisions, VCRs and DVD players, computers, hunting rifles and ammunition, even microwave ovens.

Why? The stuff wasn’t worth much when sold in a dark alley somewhere. It was big risk for small return, which indicated that it was probably kids, teenagers who were bored and out for a thrill that would mess up their futures when he caught them.

And he would catch them, no doubt about it.

He was, Ben knew, bouncing back and forth between thinking it was one person pulling this off and several who were urging each other on. Whichever was the case, they would make a mistake and he would get them. Oh, yeah, he’d get ’em.

And then tears would flow and hopes for the future would be shattered and lives disrupted for all time.

A sudden image of Laurel appeared in crystal clarity in Ben’s mind.

“Yeah, well,” he said wearily, “there’s a lot of that going around. Decisions are made and pretty puzzles get ruined with no way to put them back together again.” He paused. “And, damn it, I’m talking to myself again.” He shook his head. “Maybe I should get a dog.”

Laurel stomped into the busy kitchen at the Windsong Café and crossed the room to stand next to her mother, who was frying hamburgers and steaks on a large grill.

“One more person,” Laurel said, planting her hands on her hips. “If just one more person asks me if I’m going to cut my hair, I’m going to scream the roof down.”

Jane smiled as she flipped hamburgers over with the ease of many years of experience.

“You knew it would happen tonight, sweetheart,” she said, glancing at Laurel. “I would think you’d have prepared yourself for the fun and games.”

“I thought I had, but this is really ridiculous,” Laurel said.

“No,” Jane said, laughing, “this is Willow Valley. Some things don’t change. The love of juicy gossip is one of those. The locals have waited four months for something—anything—to take place between you and Ben, and it finally did. I’m sure he’s getting the same nonsense thrown at him as you are.”

“He has it coming,” Laurel said. “He’s the one who opened his big mouth. And I still don’t understand why he did it in the first place.”

“Don’t you?” Jane said, giving her daughter a meaningful look.

“Goodbye,” Laurel said, walking away. “I’m not discussing this further. I have customers to keep happy.”

“Goodbye,” Jane called, laughing again. “Or rather, hagoonee, to show off my expertise in speaking Navajo.”

May, who was a short, plump woman in her early sixties, took a pie from one of the ovens and set it on a cooling rack.

“Laurel is all in a dither, isn’t she?” she said, smiling.

“Yes,” Jane said, turning over several steaks on the grill. “Oh, I do wish she and Ben could work out their differences, but ten years is a very long time.”

“Not when it comes to love.” May laughed. “Jane, remember when we’d take the babies to the park? We’d spread out a blanket and watch them wiggle and reach for each other. There was Laurel, Ben, Dove and my Joseph. Cute as buttons, every one of them. My goodness, how the years have flown by, haven’t they?”

“Yes, they certainly have,” Jane said as she served up the hamburgers and steaks.

She carried the plates and red baskets to the pickup ledge in several trips, called for the waitresses waiting for the orders and returned to look at May again.

“Think about it, May,” she said. “My Jimmy is gone and so are his parents and mine. Dove’s folks were killed in that tragic accident so many years ago. Ben lost his mother and father in that flash flood.”

“And Joseph’s father flew the coop before Joey was even born.” May shook her head. “I’m glad we don’t have crystal balls to see into the future or we’d wonder what the point of it all is. Well, Joey is happily married and spoils his two kids rotten, and I’m grateful for that.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me yet why Laurel suddenly came home from Virginia.”

“I’m sorry, May,” Jane said. “I promised her I wouldn’t say a word.”

“That’s fine. I can wait until she’s ready. There’s a sadness in her eyes, though, that breaks my heart, and I don’t believe Ben Skeeter has been truly content since Laurel left all those years ago. And Dove? Oh, bless her heart. She had such plans to go to college and study journalism and ended up staying on the rez to raise her twin sisters and her brother. Seventeen years old, she was, and put aside all her dreams to care for those youngsters after their parents were killed.”

“Dove has done a fantastic job with her siblings,” Jane said, preparing hamburger patties. “Wren is married and has a baby. Robin is studying nursing over in Flagstaff. Eagle is a senior in high school this year. Once he graduates, it will be Dove’s turn to live her life the way she wants to. Finally.”

“But will she?” May said, pouring corn-bread ingredients into a large bowl. “Dove is very organized and set in her ways. I suppose she had to be to take care of those kids, but I can’t help but wonder if she might just keep on as she is after Eagle graduates. You know, live on the rez in that little house where she grew up, write for the paper now and again, make her rugs and what have you to support herself. I don’t believe change will come easy to Dove now.”

Jane shook her head. “Oh, wouldn’t that be a shame if Dove… Goodness, I don’t even want to think about that happening.”