A Wedding In Willow Valley. Joan Elliott Pickart
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the floor was swept, salt and pepper shakers filled, and on and on.
It was only when Laurel had to replace the ketchup bottle that Ben had nearly emptied onto his lunch that the entire episode began to replay, frame by frame, in her mind.
Ben didn’t want her to cut her hair, she mused as she checked the supply of napkins in the metal holders. He’d even said that her hair was beautiful and that he could remember how it had felt when…
Laurel sank onto a stool at the counter, plunked her elbow on top and rested her chin in her palm as she stared into space.
Goodness, she thought, this was so confusing. Why should Ben care one way or another what she did with her hair? And why had he been able to remember so quickly how it had felt when… This didn’t make sense at all. Ben Skeeter despised her, saw her as the person who had broken his heart by breaking her promises. So why…
“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