A Rainbow in Paradise (11 page)

If he had intended to embarrass and distract
her, he was doing a bang-up job of it. She struggled for composure.
"No, I don't believe you have, but you're welcome to, if you'd
like."

He laughed. "All right, I will," he said, but
there was no humor in either his voice or expression when he spoke
again. "You are beautiful, Eden Grant—as beautiful as your name, as
beautiful as paradise." He slipped his arm around her, drawing her
close.

"Paradise," she whispered, breaking the gaze
before the spell of it carried her away. She looked into the
pristine beauty of the canyon. "I almost feel as if we're
there."

"We are," Logan answered
matter-of-factly.

She cocked an eyebrow. "We are?"

"Or at least, it's close. You see, your
people and mine have very different legends of paradise."

He had slipped back into his storytelling
mode, giving them both a break from the romantic intensity that had
been building around them. Eden followed his lead, easing away as
she asked, "How is that?"

"Your stories," he said, his voice almost
challenging. "They're all of paradise lost." He must have seen her
skeptical expression, because he added, "Think about it. Adam and
Eve had perfection in the Garden of Eden—you're named for it—and
then they fell from grace and were cast out of paradise into the
world, right?"

"Right," she conceded. "They were cast into a
dreary world full of thorns and thistles, a world where they earned
their bread by the sweat of their brow. At least that's the story I
was told."

"That isn't the story Navajo children are
told," he said, his eyes fixed upon the ruins. "Our children are
told of worlds beneath this one where all creatures of the earth
lived mixed together in an ignorant and sinful state, content to be
both wicked and slothful until the spirit beings became so
disgusted, they decided to sweep them away." He turned to face her,
caught now in the rhythm of his story.

"Windstorms and floods purged that first
world until only the strongest and purest beings remained. They
sought a way to leave their ruined world behind and finally climbed
a sky ladder. Piercing the top of the sky, they climbed through and
emerged into a better realm.

"But they were wicked there, too," he
continued, "and were punished again, world after world, until
finally they emerged into the sunlight. They had found their
paradise."

He turned back to the canyon, gesturing
toward it as he spoke. "The place of emergence is not far from
here. It is shown to every Navajo boy and girl upon initiation into
the tribe—and no," he added, "don't ask to see it. Even if I was
sure I could find it, which I'm not, I can't take you there."

"Because I'm
belagaana
," she said,
making the explanation for him.

"Because you are uninitiated," he clarified.
"So you see," he said, finishing the tale, "our legends are of
paradise found—and we found it here, in Dinehtah."

She nodded soberly, letting the realization
sink in. "That explains why your people are so attached to this
place."

"It explains more than that," he said. "Don't
you see? Our old ones teach us to cherish this place of our
emergence, to treat it with honor and dignity. But if your people
believe they're in a dreary world full of thorns and thistles—"

"—then they feel freer about abusing it," she
finished for him, the full impact of his point settling in. “They
care less about polluting the air and water or ravaging the
topsoil."

"Why should they not? They're looking for
their paradise somewhere else."

Eden let out a long sigh. "I never realized
how much difference an attitude like that might make."

"There is much power in the legends we tell
our children," Logan said thoughtfully.

Our children
. Eden heard the words in
a far different context than Logan had spoken them. The thought was
too dangerous to consider. Instead she asked, "Do you plan to teach
your children of the emergence?"

He nodded. "I promised them I would."

"You promised... your children?"

"Um-hm." His look had grown serious,
searching. "That was the commitment I spoke of, Eden."

"A commitment to your children," she said,
not understanding.

He took her hands. "Do you know about my
people?"

"Do you mean about your mother?"

Logan nodded. "That's part of what I mean.
Among the Dineh, every individual is identified by his people. I
told you that before. I am Logan Redhorse, born to the Tall House
People, born for the Salt People."

"I remember," she said. "Those are your
clans, inherited from your grandmother."

"Right," he said. "And I told you what my
grandmother called my mother's people."

"The Surface-of-the-Earth people," Eden
began.

"Yes, or the Paradise Lost People," Logan
finished.

"Paradise Lost," Eden repeated, understanding
more than Logan had said. Logan's
belagaana
mother had
certainly lost a paradise she would never know when she had
sacrificed this fine son.

"My grandmother has always been great with
me," Logan said, his voice far away, "but there were times when I
took a ribbing from people who knew I was claiming my father's
kinship. One day—I guess I was about fifteen—I had been praying to
be worthy of the kinship I claimed. I looked into the heavens and
swore to my ancestors that I would never forget the heritage they
had given me. Then I looked toward the future and promised my
children that they wouldn't have to borrow their relatives as I
had. I swore to them they would inherit an honorable heritage of
their own from a mother who was a child of the desert, a daughter
of Dinehtah."

Eden nodded. "That's why you thought it
better if we didn't see each other."

"That's why." He turned her toward him,
lifting her chin so she couldn't avoid his eyes. "I like you, Eden
Grant. I think I like you too much, and I don't want to forget the
promises I've made to my generations, both before and after."

Eden's heart lurched. She understood now why
there could be no future for her with Logan Redhorse, but the
energy still buzzing about them told her it was too bad, too bad
indeed. Feeling she must say something, she chose to respond to the
surface of his comment. "You are lucky to know your
generations."

"You said that earlier, about the goats," he
answered. Then, "Are you interested in genealogy?"

Eden shrugged, deliberately distancing
herself. "Only a little. I have records of my parents' parents and
their parents, and then I've got a couple of the family lines back
a little farther than that. That's part of the reason I never felt
any personal guilt when Native American students I knew in college
wanted to accuse me of killing the buffalo and driving their people
onto reservations, just because my skin is pale."

She gave him a careful, sidelong glance, but
his expression betrayed nothing. She went on. "I know my father's
family came to New England in the early eighteen-hundreds, after it
was well settled, and my family stayed there until my dad left to
come west in the nineteen sixties. None of them were involved in
the westward expansion."

"And your mother's?" he asked.

"As for my mother's family..." Eden sighed.
"There are other modern Americans who might have a case against me,
since I'm told that some of my mother's ancestors were Georgia
plantation owners who held slaves, but other family records show
that a great-great-grandfather on my mother's side was a noteworthy
abolitionist." She smiled, hoping to take the sting out of anything
she might have said. "Somewhere along the line, I decided the only
guilt I could handle was what I'd earned for myself. It didn't
always make me popular in my American History classes."

Logan's answering grin was wry. "I can
understand that. Some modern descendants of the First Nations like
to spread the guilt around."

Eden spoke tentatively. "I was a little
surprised when you seemed so angry with me because you thought I
was claiming guilt over what happened to your people. Some of the
native students I knew at school would have wanted me to assume all
the guilt I could muster."

Logan made a soft huffing sound, but his
expression was gentle when he said, "I guess we each have our own
ways of handling past injuries. Mine is to try to keep the
belagaana
out of my hair."

Eden felt the sting. She suppressed any
outward show of it, but Logan saw the expression that crossed her
face. He blurted, "I didn't mean—"

"It's all right, Logan. I understand."

He took her hand then, and for a moment they
stood looking down upon the canyon, then he stepped a little away
from her, breaking the warm contact. "I'm sorry, Eden."

"It's all right, Logan, really. I don't blame
you if you want to keep my people out of your hair. Your people
have certainly suffered enough at the hands of mine."

"For you, Eden, I could choose to make an
exception," Logan whispered.

"I think you already have," Eden answered,
quietly smiling. "Thank you for bringing me up here."

"It has been my pleasure," he assured her,
tenderly kissing her hair.

Chapter Six

"Pass the paint, please,"
Eden said, reaching behind her for the can she expected Logan to
hand down to her from his stool.

" 'Fraid you'll have to reach," he answered.
Then, when Eden stood to take the can from him, he touched the tip
of her nose with a wet-painted finger, smearing it in dusty
rose.

"Skunk," she growled at him. "You did that on
purpose!"

"You bet I did," he answered, "and you ought
to see how cute you look."

"Cute. Right."

It was Wednesday, and they were working in
the hallway, where they had been since early that morning. Logan
had arrived shortly after sunup and had awakened Eden by tapping on
her window until she couldn't ignore him any longer. He'd brought
breakfast, picked up at a nearby fast-food stand, and more painting
tools, as well as a half-gallon of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Had
it not been for the juice, one of Eden's little weaknesses, she
might have been less willing to forgive him another near-sleepless
night. She seemed to have had a great deal of trouble sleeping
since Logan started coming around.

"The painting is going quickly," Logan
observed.

"Yes, thanks to you. So what do you have in
mind for this weekend? It must be pretty special for you to put in
all this extra effort helping me paint."

"It is. Special, I mean. Really, it's a favor
I have to ask."

"A favor, huh?" Eden made an exaggerated
grimace. "If it's such a big favor that you have to spend hours at
hard labor before you dare ask it, it's probably either illegal or
immoral."

"Maybe just uncomfortable," Logan answered,
"that is, depending on how you feel about weddings. I understand
some people actually like them."

Eden raised one eyebrow. "Weddings?"

"That's right, but only one this weekend.
That would be wedding. Singular."

"Smart aleck. It's the Labor Day weekend,
right? Who's getting married on Labor Day?''

"Nobody. That is, no one I know." He reached
to get a high spot where the dusty rose paint hadn't quite covered
the dirty yellow beneath it. "This couple is going to be married on
Saturday. You may even remember them. Max Carmody and Lucretia
Sherwood?"

She tried to recall. "Max. That's Meg
McAllister's brother, right?"

"Right. He and I kind of got to know each
other this summer while he's been out here visiting with his
sister."

Eden's comment was wry. "Apparently he got to
know somebody else as well."

Logan grinned. "I think you could say that.
Cretia works for Meg and her brother-in-law, Kurt. She did the cake
for Chris and Sarah's wedding. Maybe you saw her there."

Eden summoned a vague memory of a slim woman
with dark hair who had put together the wedding cake in the yard of
the McAllister family home, but all her memories of that day were
vague—except those having to do with Logan. He and Sarah were the
only people from that entire day she remembered clearly. "I think
maybe I did," she answered. "Besides, Sarah mentioned they were
getting married. Seems to be going around, doesn't it?"

"Among certain groups, anyway."

Eden blushed as she recalled Logan's
commitment to his generations. There would be no fear of
wedding-fever contagion in this quarter. "So, what time's the
wedding?"

"Saturday morning. They're being married on
the deck of the new home they just bought for their family—that is,
his daughter and her two kids. It's here in Rainbow Rock, just the
other side of the high school. Max invited me and suggested I bring
a date. So, about that favor? Are you willing to sit through a
wedding with me?"

"Sure. I'd like that."
If it's at all like
the last wedding we shared together, I may not come away with my
heart intact, but I guess I can handle that. At least, I hope I
can.
"Sure," she repeated, smiling.

* * * * *

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Logan led Eden
into the front rows of the folding chairs set up in the Carmody's
new backyard. They were early. Few other guests had begun to
arrive.

"It is," Eden answered. "It's beautiful. They
must have put in some serious effort to get the yard looking this
good this quickly." She gazed around her, admiring the rich green
lawn and blossoming shrubs and vines.

"I know they worked hard at it," Logan
answered. "I came over a couple of evenings myself to help them put
new plants in. Max special-ordered a number of them, in order to
get mature or nearly mature plants, and they rolled out sod for the
whole back lawn."

"Well, they did a great job," Eden repeated,
"if I hadn't known this was all brand new, I'd have had trouble
believing it. By the way, it was awfully nice of you to help here,
but I guess I shouldn't be surprised, considering the way you've
been helping out at my place."