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
