A Rainbow in Paradise (21 page)

"I have always been wise," his grandmother
answered. "You just have not always been wise enough to see it."
Logan chuckled as he said a fond good-bye.

* * * * *

"So you've come to me to make up your mind
for you." Reverend Phelps stood up from his desk and paced a few
steps. "Why me, Logan? And why didn't you just make up your own
mind?"

Logan hardly knew how to answer, especially
since he wasn't sure of all the answers himself. "I can't say for
sure," he answered. "I came to you because I have always been able
to trust your advice, and because I knew you wouldn't mislead me,
at least never deliberately. As far as making up my own mind goes,
I did what I thought was right in the beginning and it only seemed
to hurt—not just me, either, but everyone involved. It was Chris
McAllister who suggested I ask for advice from people I trusted. He
told me I might be making a mistake I would long regret."

"Does it feel like a mistake?"

Logan nodded. "So far, yes, it does, but when
I choose the woman who will be the mother of my children, I'm
making a decision that will affect many unseen generations.
Frankly, that terrifies me. If that choice is a mistake, it's one
they will all have to live with."

"That's true," the reverend said, drumming
his fingers on his desk. Then he turned to Logan. "You know I can't
really advise you on this decision. It's too personal. You are the
only one who can make this choice."

"But I was hoping you'd have some wisdom to
share, at least."

"Then again, I might be prejudiced. I like
you, Logan, and I like Eden, too. I might just be swayed to suggest
what I think is right for the two of you without considering those
future generations that have you so concerned."

Logan waited, suddenly realizing the good
reverend was coming to a point.

"What I think I maybe can do is pass on some
good advice that was once given to me. The man who told me this was
a faithful man, a believer not of our faith, a fellow you'd call
belagaana
. He was also a very wise man indeed. He died some
years back, but not before he'd taught me more than I could ever
learn in a lifetime on my own. I wish I knew half the great wisdom
about people that this fine man might have shared with me."

Reverend Phelps filled a paper cup at the
cooler, then slowly drained it, letting his words so far sink in.
"I went with this man to an ecumenical conference many years ago
when I was just beginning my ministry. He was approached by a man
who was having trouble with his wife. That man wanted my friend's
advice on whether the children should live with him or with his
ex-wife, once the couple had separated. My friend gave him a long
look, then he said very soberly—and Logan, I've always remembered
this. He said, 'The best gift a man can ever give his children is
to love their mother.' "

"Well, the man who'd approached him said,
'No, you don't understand. I don't love their mother anymore. I
want to know whether the kids will be better off with me or with
her after we separate.' Then my friend gave him a gentle look and
said again, 'The best gift a man can ever give his children is to
love their mother.' He wasn’t telling him not to divorce, if that
was what the couple needed to do. He was telling him that even if
they separated, he still needed to treat his wife, or ex-wife, with
the love and respect due the mother of his children. He knew that
loving was an action, not just a feeling. So that's my advice to
you too, Logan. Whoever your children are, whatever their
tradition, whenever they come, the best gift you will ever give
them will be to love their mother and to always treat her with
love." The reverend sat again behind his desk. "So, are you sorry
you came?"

Logan didn't feel sorry. He didn't look
sorry, either. "No," he said, as his grin grew and widened. "No,
I'm not. In fact, I think that was exactly what I needed to hear.
Thank you, reverend."

"Don't mention it."

Logan left the church offices feeling lighter
and happier than he had in some time. He practically ran up the
street toward where he had parked his truck. As he neared the
vehicle, he noticed another familiar truck pulling up outside the
Kachina and shifted his gait, jogging toward the cafe.

"Logan," Esther said as he approached the
family group. "We didn't expect to find you here."

"We looked for you out at your place," his
father said in Navajo as he took his son's hand.

"We've been worried about you," added
Celia.

"I'm fine. I'm doing just great," Logan said,
feeling it for the first time in a month.

"You haven't sounded great when we've talked
to you lately," Esther reminded him.

"Not since Eden left town, in fact." Celia
gave him a sly grin.

That was like Celia, Logan thought, always
saying out loud what her elders only hinted at. "I thought maybe
I'd make a trip down to Phoenix," he said, testing the waters. "See
if maybe I could have a little visit with a woman I know
there."

"See if maybe she'll come back to you?" Celia
asked.

"Celia," her mother said, following it with a
rapid chiding in Navajo.

Celia didn't seem to mind. "Are you going to
ask her to marry you?"

"Celia!" her mother said again, and this time
Albert joined Esther in warning Celia that she should not try to
teach the sheep how to eat grass.

Logan smiled. "Would you mind if I wanted her
to marry me?" he asked the family in general.

Albert looked at Esther and they held the
gaze for a moment, then both fired warning looks at Celia, who paid
no attention at all as she answered, "I wouldn't mind. I think
Eden's really cool."

"Celia," her mother said again, but Celia
went on.

"She's not like other
belagaana
s,
Logan. You saw the way she acted at my
kinaalda
, almost as
if she is one of us. She's beautiful, and sweet, and I think she's
just what you need."

"Celia!" Esther chided, then said to Logan,
"your sister has been spoiled, I think. It is not our place to say
what choice you will make in this."

"But you wouldn't mind, would you, Esther?"
he asked, seeing the approval in her eyes.

"No, I wouldn't mind," Esther answered
slowly, "And neither would your father, though it would pain him to
say so."

Albert grumbled a few rough words in
Navajo.

Esther only smiled. "You know,” she said,
“after he saw her at the
kinaalda
, Old Man Manypersons said
he liked your friend so much that he’d be happy to adopt her as his
daughter if you wanted him to—not legally, you know, but for
ceremonial purposes. That way she could come among the Dineh with a
clan heritage of her own.” She yawned as if she hadn’t just dropped
a huge bombshell into his life, changing his world forever. “So,
Logan. Will you join us for some lunch?"

"Nah. Thanks, Esther, but I don't think so. I
have a long drive to make today, and the sooner I get started, the
sooner I can get there."

"You wouldn't want to be late," Celia teased,
poking at him just a little.

"I fear I may be about a month late already,"
Logan answered. He heard Celia giggling in the background as he
jogged back to his truck.

* * * * *

Eden sighed as she set the phone in its
cradle. "That was Geneva," she told Laurel, the bookkeeper and
payroll clerk for the Old Woman's Shoe who was already doing
double-duty as a backup teacher.

"Is she sick, too?" Laurel answered as she
cleared away the remains of the afternoon snack. "She didn't look
well when she left here after lunch."

"She took a nap and when she woke up, she was
running fever of a hundred and two," Eden answered. "She's calling
to let us know she probably won't be able to take her early shift
tomorrow."

"I don't know how we'll replace her," Laurel
said. "Almost all our backup staff is sick."

"I know," Eden answered miserably. "If we're
lucky, some of those who caught this bug early may be almost ready
to come back."

Like other businesses that dealt with the
public, the Shoe had gone through its share of flu epidemics over
the years, but they'd never seen anything this bad. "It's probably
a blessing that the children all have it, too," Eden said as she
pulled out her backup call list. "If we weren't already down by a
third of the kids, we wouldn't have enough staff to stay open."

"We still might not," Laurel said, responding
to the ringing telephone.

Eden waited until Laurel had finished. "I
hope that wasn't another teacher calling in."

"Nope. It was Mrs. Jarvis," Laurel answered,
naming one of the women whose three children were regulars at
Eden's day care. "She said the children weren't
very
sick
anymore, and asked if we'd still take them in the morning."

Eden grunted. "She knows better than that.
We've never taken ill children before, and we can't afford to start
now, though the way we're going, half these kids are likely to come
down with this bug before the day is over."

"At least that's only a couple more hours,"
Laurel said, looking at her watch.

"Omigosh," Eden said, noting the time. "Who
was supposed to have the curriculum for the last activity
time?"

"Miss Dana was working on it yesterday,"
Laurel answered. "When she called in this morning, she said it was
all prepared in the second drawer down in the teacher prep
cupboard."

"It was Thanksgiving stuff, right?" Eden
asked as she began to dig through the drawer. "Pilgrims and turkeys
and such?"

"That's what I remember," Laurel
answered.

Eden dug through the drawer, looking for the
cutouts Dana had prepared and realizing how her politics had
shifted since she'd begun to think more of how her native friends
saw the holidays. “Not everyone is quite so thankful for
Thanksgiving," she mumbled. Then, laying hands on the file, she
realized that, politics or not, she was grateful for an activity
she didn't have to prepare. That would make this next hour ever so
much easier. She grabbed the file of Pilgrims and turkeys and a
bottle of glue, some plain white construction paper, and crayons
for the children to write their names. "Come on, everybody! Come to
the tables!" she called as she gathered the playing children around
her.

Half an hour later, she was up to her elbows
in white glue and wishing the Pilgrims had worn simpler costumes
when she heard the front door open.
I hope one of the parents
has come early,
she thought idly. Anything to take the pressure
off would be welcome just now.

She stood and turned around, ready to put on
a happy face for the parents who made up her clientele. But it
wasn't a parent.

"Logan, what—?" She paused in mid-sentence as
her knees turned to jelly beneath her. Her mouth still half-open,
she slumped back into her chair.

"Hi, Eden," Logan said. "Looks like I've
caught you at a busy time."

"Uh... um..."

"Yes," Laurel answered, protectively stepping
in. "It's a very busy time. Is there something I can do for you,
Mr., er...?"

"Redhorse," he answered. "Logan
Redhorse."

Laurel's eyes widened. "Oh. Redhorse. Oh.
You're the—"

"It's okay, Laurel," Eden said, finally
finding her voice. "I'll handle this."

"Okay. Sure thing, Eden. Can I take over the
Pilgrims and turkeys for you while you two, uh, talk?"

"I'd appreciate that," Eden answered. "Logan,
would you like to step into my office?"

"I'd like that," he said, noticing how
unsteady Eden was on her feet as he followed her. He shut the door
behind her as she stepped into the room. "Are you okay?"

"No," she answered unevenly. She didn't look
the least bit happy. "No, I don't think so. What are you doing
here, Logan?"

He managed a small smile, an effort to cover
his disappointment.
Well, what did you expect, Logan? Did you
think she'd throw herself at your feet?
"I've missed you, too,"
he said, attempting a joke.

Eden didn't smile. "I repeat, what are you
doing here?"

He'd hurt her. He knew he had hurt her. Maybe
he hadn't realized how much. "I was joking when I said I'd missed
you." He reached out to touch her arm; it was a simple effort to
connect. She pulled away, dodging it. "I was joking," he said
again, "but I have missed you, Eden. I've missed you terribly."

"Is that all you have to say?" she asked, her
face defiant. "Because if it is, I've got three teachers out with
the flu and I need to get back to my Pilgrims and turkeys." She
turned her back on him.

He took her by the shoulders. She flinched,
but allowed the touch. "I'm so sorry I hurt you, Eden. Please
believe—''

"What difference does it make?" She turned,
her eyes flashing with anger and limpid with tears. "You did what
you said you'd do all along, so what's there to apologize for? And
why did you come here today if all you're going to do is dredge it
all up again?"

"That's not... Eden, that's not why I'm
here."

She finally looked, really looked, at him.
"Then why are you here? Why have you come?"

This would all be so much easier if she'd
let me hold her
, he thought. "Can we sit?" He gestured toward
one of the chairs.

Eden eased into the chair at the desk and he
took the other. Then she waited.

"Eden, I've done a lot of thinking," he
began.

She nodded. "I guess one
can
do a lot
of thinking in a month."

"You' re not about to make this any easier
for me are you?"

She took a deep breath. Her voice was gentler
when she said, "Okay, I'm listening."

"Eden..." He cleared his throat, then started
again. "Eden, I was wrong."

She raised an eyebrow. "About what?"