A Lasting Love (21 page)

"Fine! I'll have them sold by the end of the
week, Mrs.
Walker. I'm sure of it. Now, you must set
the prices and
advise me on quality and size. I
definitely don't want them
underpriced."

"I'll help you, Grandmother," Tracy said, and
went
with Emmaline to gather the rugs.

"I'd like to buy a couple of your pots, Silvie.
They're
beautiful," Loren said, and gestured to
them.

"Thank you." Silvie smiled gratefully. "I just
started
making the pots a few years ago. I had always
been a
weaver, like my mother. Then a neighbor here in
Bisbee,
a Pueblo potter from New Mexico, taught me to
work with clay. My daughter gave me the encouragement to break with
tradition. So now I do both."

"Well, I'm so glad Tracy urged you to branch out with
your talents. What excellent artists you two are."

"Did you see Tracy's weavings?" Silvie moved to
expose the smaller loom. On it was an elaborate circular picture in
free flowing, woven pieces, depicting a western landscape in three
dimensional splendor. "Talk about breaking tradition. This girl has
a mind of her own when it comes to weaving."

"She certainly does." agreed Loren, admiring the
intricate designs.

"Now, Mother . . ." Tracy admonished as she laid an
armful of Navajo rugs next to Reid.

"This is just beautiful, Tracy. Where did you learn
to do this type of weaving? It's so different from what your mother
and grandmother do," he commented.

Tracy smiled bashfully, obviously delighting in the
praise she was receiving. "I had a good art teacher in high school
who taught me various kinds of weaving, then set me free. I loved
it. I'm sure my grandmother thinks I'm rebelling against tradition,
but I only want to add to it."

"She is proud and happy when she sees what lovely
weavings you make. She has seen a lot of change in her lifetime.
Just look at the differences in life styles since she was a young
woman," Silvie reminded them.

Tracy nodded. "I know. I hope the Navajo life for my
son will be different. I'm going to work to improve it."

"This woman has a good head on her shoulders,
Silvie." Loren smiled her approval. "She is very talented and
wise."

"As her mother, I have to agree with you." Silvie
chuckled. "Why don't we choose those pots you want?"

Loren picked several of her favorite pots and Reid
conferred with Emmaline about the rugs. They loaded the truck in
preparation for the journey back to Tucson.

Emmaline pressed a small rug into Loren's arms,
asserting with finality, "This is gift for you, Loren. You are
woman who listens. I thank you."

Loren shook her head frantically. "Oh, no, I
couldn't-—"

"It won't do any good to try to change her mind,"
Silvie admonished. "She wants you to have it. We all do. It’s just
a little one."

Loren looked helplessly at Reid. She felt extremely
guilty, knowing how much these women needed money. The rug in her
hands was worth nearly a thousand dollars. He gave her a barely
discernible nod, and she smiled weakly. "Thank you, Emmaline. I
will always treasure this gift from my Navajo friend. I hope we'll
meet again." She hugged the old woman, then the other two in
turn.

"Tracy, keep doing your unusual weavings and making
your own traditions. Little Ben is just beautiful. You're very
lucky.”

"Silvie, thanks for everything. You have a wonderful
family."

The women turned to go. Suddenly Loren gasped.
"Silvie—" She scrambled in her purse. "Silvie, your mother gave me
this in Washington. But I can’t keep it. You will value it. And so
will little Ben, when he is old enough. This is your brother’s
greatest military honor." She pressed the small box into Silvie's
hand.

Silvie opened the lid to reveal the gleaming Silver
Star awarded her brother, Benjamin Walker, for bravery in Saipan as
a Navajo code talker. With tears overflowing her dark eyes, she
nodded. "Yes, oh, yes. This is ... beautiful. This is an honor we
will cherish. I will save it for Ben. Thank you, My mother calls
you the woman who listens, and you do."

"Please explain to Emmaline why I can't keep it,"
Loren whispered through a growing lump in her own throat.

Silvie hugged her again and waved as they
climbed into
Reid's truck along with the load of
valuable Navajo crafts.

They were silent for a while. Loren ran her
hands over
the firm weaving of Emmaline's rug. "Oh,
Reid, those
women need so much. It breaks my
heart."

"You gave them exactly what they need, Loren.
En
couragement and hope."

"But, I mean ... so much more."

"I know. But they don't want anything given. No
hand
outs. They're too proud. Look how long it took
them to
ask for the Marine benefits they
deserve."

Loren glanced at Reid and one could almost see
the
wheels turning inside her head. "Reid, where is
Window Rock? Would Raul mind driving a truckload of their
fur
niture up there?"

Reid shrugged, considering the idea. "Window
Rock is
about six hours north, on Navajo
Reserva
tion."

"You know, I'll bet all of their household
belongings would fit in the back of this pickup. The largest,
most
valuable items they have are the looms and
finished crafts.
Things would have to be packed very
carefully, but they
wouldn't take up much room." Her
voice rose in pitch as
her enthusiasm grew. "Now, you
give me one good reason
why Raul wouldn't want to make
this trip. He could take
another ranch hand along to
assist in the hauling. And you
would just continue to
pay them as if they spent those days
working on the
ranch. Why not? Who wouldn't love a
chance to take a
little trip and still get paid for it?"

"Well, I—"

But Loren interrupted. "It'll save these three
women
considerable money for movers, Reid. When we get
home,
let's start making plans for this. I can't wait
to call Silvie
about it. We'll send Raul down in a few
days, so we can
be at the ranch while he's
gone."

"Loren, Loren, is this the same whimpering
pussycat who was afraid of a little rain just this morning?"
Reid
eyed her as if she had changed skins since
morning.

"Whimpering pussycat!" Loren exclaimed,
grabbing for
his nose. "Hey, watch out for that big
hole in the middle of town. I've never seen a
town
built around a damned huge hole."

He avoided her teasing hands and quipped,
"
You're not a kitty at all. More like a fighting
tiger." His
long arm encircled her shoulders and
pulled her against
his chest. "Come here, Woman Who
Listens. I'll have to
tell Emmaline that you're really
Tiger Woman. And when
you get a crazy notion in your
head, you don't listen to
anyone."

"One thing I'm sure of," she purred against
him. "I'm
not a mountain goat. No more mountain
climbing for
me."

He nuzzled her hair, kissing her forehead. "I
like tigers
best, anyway."

They took their time on the way home, grabbing
a bite to eat in
Tombstone, "the town too tough to
die." When
they drove back to the hacienda in Canada
del Oro, dusk
was approaching.

Raul hurried out to meet the truck before Reid
had time to switch off the engine. The expression on his face told
them that something was wrong. Loren froze inside,
fear
ing the worse.

Reid opened the door and shouted, "Is it Dad,
Raul?
What's wrong?"

Chapter Eleven

"Oh,
Señor
Reid," Raul puffed as he ran toward them. His dark face
flushed with exertion
or was it something
else?

"Por
Dios, hombre!
Speak up!" Reid rasped. Patience was not
one of his virtues when he was upset.

"It's not
Señor
Mecina," Raul explained with
effort, and Loren detected barely concealed anger. "It's
Lupe!
Come along.
Come on inside."

"Is she ill? What is it?" Reid jerked the truck into
park and followed Raul's pace.

"No. She's . . . she's hurt."

Visions of everything from snakebite to a
broken leg filled Loren's mind as she dashed behind the two men.
When they entered the kitchen
Lupe
was sitting at the table, dabbing her
eyes with a white handkerchief. She appeared perfectly normal until
she turned to face them.

"Por
Dios,
Lupe!
What happened?" Reid demanded, scrutinizing her
face.

Raul hovered, nervously stuffing his hands in his
pockets. Against the wall stood a gangly youth of about fourteen,
of Mexican descent.

"Lupe,
darling, you've been hit!" Loren gasped when she was afforded
an inspection of the older woman's features.

Lupe's left eye was swollen almost shut and a
huge, ugly
bruise under her eye had already turned
various stages of
red and purple. There was a slight
cut in the corner of her lip, but the blood flow had been
curtailed. Loren quickly deducted that she had
been
abused.

In disbelief Reid regarded Loren with a
bewildered ex
pression.
Hit?
Unbelievable.
His instinct resisted the
no
tion, yet his reason knew. "Is it true,
Lupe?
Have you
been
hit?" His lips drew back in fury, for he knew,
even before
she nodded. "Who did it?" His voice was a
steel-edged
expulsion.

Lupe's voice was a hoarse whisper. "Geraldo."

"Geraldo?" Reid repeated, casting a questioning
look at
Raul.

"Her husband," Raul said quietly.

Reid's temper exploded loudly. "How in hell
could
something like this happen? When? Why did you
let that
bastard in? How could this happen right
here
under our noses?" Reid had turned into a raging
bull and
shot questions at everyone in the room that
only
Lupe
could answer.

"Take it easy, Reid," Loren admonished quietly,
plac
ing a cooling hand on one of his flailing arms.
"Let's find
out what happened."

"That's what I'm trying to do here. Then I'm
gonna go out and find the bastard! How in hell could a man lay
a
hand on a woman? On
Lupe?"
His dark eyes burned
with
his unrelenting rage.

Loren's tone was quiet, but firm. "Reid, I
agree. But just
calm down a few minutes." She then
turned to
Lupe,
who
was once again sniffling into the
handkerchief.
"Lupe,
please stop your crying long enough to
tell us what
happened. Have you put anything on that
eye?"

"No."
Lupe
shook her head miserably.

"Well, then," Loren advised as she walked to
the refrig
erator, "we'd better get some ice on it
before it swells any more. I'll just make a quick ice pack for you
now. Then we'll talk about what happened." Loren worked while she
talked. She grabbed an empty plastic storage bag, filled it with
ice cubes, and wrapped the whole thing in a dishtowel.
Lupe
sat,
benumbed, watching Loren, waiting for the soothing ice
pack.

Loren knew the makeshift ice bag was temporary, but
it had already served its initial purpose, that of diversion. Even
the men stood around watching her work and talk, as if it were the
most important activity going on at the moment.

"Here you go,
Lupe.
This will check the swelling
and make it feel a little better." She placed a comforting hand on
Lupe's shoulder and sat beside her. "Now, tell us what
happened."

Lupe
turned somber eyes to Loren and saw another woman who cared,
who understood. Who would listen. Ignoring the gaping men around
them, she began to pour out her story. "Roberto, my nephew, was
home from school today with a sore throat." She gestured to the
youth. "He called me around noon to say that Geraldo was at home,
demanding to see me. He said that Geraldo wouldn't go away, even
when Roberto told him I wasn't there. That I was at work. It only
seemed to make Geraido madder, and he pounded on the doors and
windows and caused such a ruckus that he scared Roberto and the
neighbors. When Roberto called me
otra vez,
he was crying. So I
said I would go and talk to Geraldo. I thought I could make him
leave."

She paused, and Loren encouraged. "You left here and
went home?"