Looking Through Darkness (4 page)

Regina sat down on one of the stools, picked up a foam coffee cup from the stack beside the percolator, and added a packet of sugar. “It's Esther,” she said, referring to Esther Allison, the trading post's senior employee. “Her husband's Alzheimer's is getting worse. Last night Truman walked out the back door and she had to call the police to help find him.”

“Is he okay?” Leigh Ann asked quickly.

She nodded. “Reverend Moore and his wife went over to help. They're both fine now, but taking care of Truman is wearing Esther down. If she seems a little distracted at work, that's why.”

Leigh Ann nodded slowly. “That explains why she hasn't changed the display lately.” Part of Esther's job was to make sample garments using fabrics the trading post sold. Once people saw the finished products, they were more inclined to buy the patterns and the materials necessary to duplicate them.

“I'm guessing she hasn't had time to get anything ready for a while,” Regina said.

“I'll mention it to Jo on Monday. Nobody here has given Esther a hard time about that, have they?”

“No, but I thought it best if you knew,” Regina answered.

“Thanks,” Leigh Ann said. “From what I hear, you've got a heavy load yourself these days, working here during the day and teaching Navajo at the community college at night. Three classes a week, is that right?”

She nodded. “I love it. Now that we're living with Mom and she's helping take care of Shawna, I don't have to worry. A two-year-old is a lot of work, but Mom adores her. The best part of all is that I finally get to use my teaching certificate. When Pete was around, he wanted me at home. Since I never liked leaving the baby with a sitter, I thought it was all for the best.”

Leigh Ann looked up at the clock. “We've got a half hour before we open for business. Let's use that time to clear some more space up front. I need to set up a larger display area for Melvin Littlewater. He's bringing us another new sculpture this morning. His uncle John is giving him a ride.”

Regina smiled. “He really likes you.”

“Melvin's uncle?” Leigh Ann asked, teasing.

“No, Melvin!” Regina said, laughing. “I don't know exactly how he does it, but Melvin always seems to know where you are. He'll walk in, stand at the front for a moment, and turn right to you.”

“He's not totally blind, you know. Under bright lights and during the daytime he can tell where someone is if they're not too far away. As for knowing it's me, it must be my perfume,” Leigh Ann said, pride preventing her from admitting it was most likely the layer of hair spray.

Regina sniffed the air.

“It's a pretty subtle floral, but he has no problem picking it out, even in a crowded room.”

Regina, who was a kind woman, smiled and nodded.

They cleared off a large display table, covered it with one of their colorful Navajo rugs and some locally crafted pottery, then placed Melvin's mountain lion in the center. “We'll remove some of the pottery to make room for the new piece.”

Regina repositioned a hand-lettered sign with Melvin's name on it. “Have you spoken to him recently?”

Leigh Ann looked at her curiously. “No, I haven't, not since he told me he'd be bringing in something new today. That was a little over two weeks ago, and we didn't talk very long. He was kind of grumpy.”

“Maybe it's because he hasn't visited the art classes at the elementary school in a while. I know the kids probably miss him.”

Leigh Ann took a deep breath, suspecting his moodiness was the culprit. “He might be in the middle of some project. I know he loves the kids. To them, he's not a blind sculptor, he's just a guy who makes cool things out of clay.”

“Yeah, that's what I've heard, too.”

Leigh Ann was silent for a while, mulling things over. “You know, I used to think that Melvin withdrew from everyone and focused on sculpting to get over bouts of depression, but if there's a plus side to that, I suspect that's when he's most creative. Or maybe it's the need to immerse himself in his work that makes him withdraw. It's his way of focusing solely on what he's trying to create.”

Regina considered it. “I don't know Melvin that well, but my cousin knew him before his accident. She sometimes gives Melvin a ride when John's not around. She's also the one who told me about Melvin's past. He was a nature photographer who loved his work. He traveled all over the country, photographing wildlife for national magazines. Then he lost his sight—and his profession,” she said. “Of course he's moved on and become a successful sculptor, but she's convinced that there's something else still eating at him.”

Leigh Ann said nothing. She'd sensed that on occasion, too, but Melvin was very private, even with friends.

*   *   *

When they finally opened for business, there were people already waiting on the big, covered front porch, ready to shop. The business had been in a slump for months, but Saturday was usually always one of the busiest days at The Outpost.

The morning was even more hectic than usual, but Leigh Ann loved it when the place was like this. Time went by so fast, which made waiting easier, too. Although she was looking forward to seeing Melvin, she also knew there was no guarantee he'd actually show up. He came when his sculptures were ready, and that wasn't always predictable.

As hard as she tried not to dwell on it, every time the cowbell over the door rang, she'd glance up, hoping it would be him. It was close to eleven when Melvin finally arrived. He held the door open for his uncle, John Littlewater, a barrel-chested, slightly bowlegged man in his mid-fifties who was carrying a large wooden box.

“It's good to see you today, John, Melvin,” she said, a special warmth stealing over her as she realized that Melvin had turned toward her even before she'd spoken. If it was just the hair spray, more power to it, she thought, smiling widely.

Melvin was a few inches taller than she was, with strong, broad shoulders and muscular arms. She'd never seen him without his shirt on, but she had a feeling he'd be easy on the eyes.

Taking Melvin's arm, she guided him to the display counter she and Regina had set up, John following close behind. “You know, Melvin, I have a feeling that you'd be able to walk around the trading post by yourself if you wanted to. You just like having me hold on to you,” she teased.

“Busted,” he said, smiling.

“So what did you bring us today?” she said, her voice rising slightly with excitement. “I can't wait to see it,” she added, looking back at John.

“I think it's his best work yet,” John said, carefully lowering the box to the floor. Leigh Ann quickly removed some of the pottery from the table, making space for the new piece while John opened the crate. He set the sculpture, shrouded in bubble wrap, on the table and carefully unwrapped it, revealing a bear. Standing on its hind legs, the work was finished in a satin black luster. Every detail had been crafted with care, from its paws and claws to the ghost of a growl Leigh Ann was sure she could hear coming from its muzzle.

“Wow,” she said at last.

“Wait until you see the other one,” John said.

“Two of them? That's great!” she said, tempted to clap but instead moving quickly to get the rest of the pottery out of the way.

The second sculpture was a stallion, also black but with less sheen, its head arched proudly, tail high. There was something in the cast of its eyes, an expression that was hard to define but immediately captured her attention. Sightless, they still appeared to see far into the distance.

“What an incredible piece,” she said in a hushed tone.

“Do you like it more than the bear?” Melvin asked.

Leigh Ann considered it. “They're both amazing and very different, but this horse…”

“I knew it. Women and horses,” he said with a grin. “There's a special connection there.”

Leigh Ann sighed. “Maybe so.”

“You'll sell both of them on consignment then, usual terms?” John asked.

“Yes, of course. We'll showcase and sell as many pieces as Melvin wants to bring us. His work is very popular with our customers.”

Leigh Ann waved Regina over; the younger woman would position the signs for the works and relocate the pottery to other display areas.

“I wish you'd let me give you one of my sculptures as a gift, Leigh Ann,” Melvin said. “The change in your voice when you see one of my pieces … It encourages me.”

“I can't accept something like that, Melvin. It's your livelihood. It's right that you should get paid for your work.”

John cleared his throat, getting their attention again. “So are we ready to go, nephew?” John asked Melvin. “We've got a lot of errands to run today.”

“Leigh Ann, would you give me a ride home after John and I finish our errands? We should be done around five. John could drop me off here and meet his friends at the Totah Caf
é
instead of having to drive me back,” he said, then quickly added, “Unless you've got plans, of course.”

“It's Saturday, so we won't close until six. You might have to wait for me,” she said. “That okay with you?”

“You bet. I've put in long hours on these sculptures, so I've got a bad case of cabin fever.”

A curious undertone in his voice caught her attention, but she didn't have time to pursue it as customers were approaching the register. “We'll talk later. Why don't you come over for dinner tonight? I'm a pretty good cook, if I say so myself.”

“I'd like that.”

Leigh Ann watched him leave. Though he often touched the shelves along the way to orient himself, his strides as he crossed the room were surprisingly sure, despite the fact that he usually chose not to carry a cane. Wishing they'd had more time to visit, she hurried over to the cash register, smiled at the first person on line, and focused on her work. There'd be time to catch up later.

After a while Regina came up. “Esther's still not here. Should I call?”

Leigh Ann shook her head. “Wait another fifteen minutes.”

As she spoke, Esther hurried in through the front entrance. She was thin and wiry, but strong in every way. “I'm sorry I'm late, Leigh Ann. I had some trouble getting Truman settled before I left.”

Leigh Ann could tell from the strain in her eyes that Esther hadn't been sleeping. “Do you need time off?”

The older woman shook her head, then looked away, a clear sign that she didn't want to talk about it. “I need to get busy. I have to change the display before I leave today.”

“If you need a hand, holler.”

As a customer stopped to take a closer look at Melvin's sculptures, Leigh Ann smiled. She had a feeling the horse and bear would sell within a few days. Even as the thought formed, the woman picked up the bear and brought it to the cash register.

“I've been looking for a birthday gift for my husband, and this is perfect. You take credit cards, right?”

Leigh Ann rang up the purchase, glad Melvin was coming for dinner. She'd fix him something special to celebrate. This sale was practically a land speed record.

As she wrapped the bear and placed it in a box, surrounded by tissue and bubble wrap, she wished she had the money to buy the horse sculpture. A piece of Melvin's heart went into each of his pieces, and that alone would have made it priceless to her.

She sighed. Some things were just meant to stay out of her reach.

*   *   *

Josephine Buck sat on a sheepskin rug on the earthen floor inside the ceremonial hogan. Rudy Brownhat was in a quiet mood today. In his role as teacher, Rudy sat at the rear of the hogan, behind the centrally placed fire pit, which was not in use on this warm day. Jo sat at the north end, facing him.

“She died a few days after the Sing. Went to the hospital with chest pains, I was told,” Rudy said.

“She only came to us for a short pollen blessing. We did as she asked,” Jo said, recalling the young woman who'd come to them a few weeks ago.

“There are those who feel that we somehow gave her false assurances.”

“But that's not true,” she said. “She had no symptoms and asked for no treatment other than the blessing.”

He nodded and sipped tea from his sturdy white mug, which was stained from use. “Her family knows that and understands. I spoke with them after she passed.”

“Then what's bothering you, uncle?” she asked, using the title out of respect, not kinship.

“The man she was going to marry, he's a
bilisaana,
red on the outside, white on the inside. He doesn't respect our ways anymore. I realize he's been grieving for days now, but what happened concerns me,” Rudy said in a heavy voice. “He came by angry yesterday and upset my wife.”

“Did he threaten her or you?” she asked quickly.

He shook his head. “I returned from a Sing I'd done over in Waterflow and found the man waiting for me. He'd just learned of her visit here and demanded to know why I hadn't sent his fianc
é
e to the hospital immediately,” he said. “I explained that she hadn't been ill when she came to us. She'd been looking forward to her wedding and only asked for a pollen blessing.”

“He believed you, didn't he?”

“I'm not sure. He was still very upset when he left. Grief … it changes people, and that much pain can twist a man's inner form.… I just wanted you to know in case he visits you.” He took a long, slow sip of his tea. “It's time to begin your lesson. Have you memorized the Hogan Song that begins the night portion of the Blessingway?”

She took a deep breath. “I've tried, but it's long.” A Blessingway Sing, which took several days, began with the Hogan Song and ended with the Dawn Songs.

“The Blessingway must be done perfectly. Through it, we bring our gods the gift of order.”