Love Is in the Air (89 page)

It was not until this moment, when she was seconds away from finding Quinton, that Regina actually examined the reasons why she was seeking him out. Certainly a part of her wanted an explanation, and Regina felt like she deserved one, but she could not deny how worried she was about him. She needed to see for herself that Quinton was all right.

Regina knocked at the door and only had to wait a few strained heartbeats for a young woman to answer the door. On her hip was a young child with a bit of food smeared on his face. The toddler smiled wildly and licked his hands as his mother tried to wipe off his leftover food.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m looking for Whispering Flower?” Regina realized she did not even know the old woman’s last name, but the young woman recognized who Regina was talking about immediately and pointed down the road.

“She lives in the last house before the curve. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.”

The young woman smiled graciously as she closed the door. Regina headed back to her car. She never would have guessed that Whispering Flower lived in the home down the block. It was a huge, modern, double-wide mobile home with all the accessories. There was a satellite dish on the roof and an industrial-sized air conditioner on the side of the house. Regina was embarrassed to admit that she had thought Whispering Flower was living in an old tepee or something. Her views on Indians had to radically change, or Regina was going to insult everyone she met. These people certainly were not falling into the nice little stereotypes Regina had learned in town.

Driving over, Regina suddenly felt like simply leaving the reservation. The thought of confronting Quinton was sounding less and less appealing. And having to face the old woman again almost shook her resolve. Whispering Flower would see right through her angry bluff and make Regina face the tough emotions underneath. But no matter how much she wanted to flee, Regina knew that she needed to see Quinton one last time. Certain things needed to be said. Certain feelings had to be resolved. Quinton had been right. It should not have ended like it did the night before.

After parking, Regina slowly approached the front porch. The deck was crammed with potted plants. Unlike the gardens back in Crow’s Landing, this porch was filled with local plants. Down in town the goal was to grow as many exotic and rare flowers as possible. Even Regina was not immune to the urge to fight nature and grow new and varied strains. Whispering Flower seemed content to revel in the local beauty. Wildflowers still bloomed on thick stalks. It was a garden that Regina would be proud of. It was simple yet layered, just like its gardener.

“Are you coming in or what?” a voice called out from behind the door.

Regina entered the house cautiously. The last time she had walked into an unlocked door, she had been quite surprised at what she found. This time Regina need not have worried. The inside was steeped in Indian artifacts and art. A huge dream catcher hung in the western window. Its small crystal glittered in the waning light. Above the muted couch hung a huge blanket with a scenic view of their valley woven in. Regina was speechless as Whispering Flower limped out of the kitchen and set a basket down on the food-laden table.

“Hungry?”

“Um… No, not really. I was looking for Quinton.”

“And here I thought you had come for my fried bread. Now sit. It is an old Indian proverb that the best thinking is done on a full stomach.”

Regina did not want to insult the old woman, but she really wanted to find Quinton and get this all over with. “I’m kind of on a schedule. Do you know where he is?”

“Yes, but women aren’t allowed there. But don’t fret. He’ll be back soon. You might as well rest your feet and get some food in your belly while you wait.”

Reluctantly, Regina sat down at the small kitchen table. She did not recognize half of the foods being served. Whispering Flower spooned up a bit of each dish and tried to hand the heavy plate to Regina. “Try it. This…” The old woman pointed to a yellowish mash. “—is camas. It’s a root, but don’t forget to add fennel or you’ll regret it later.”

Regina just stared at the strange food. The pine nuts that were sprinkled atop some hardy lettuce looked appetizing, but the rest was a little scary.

Whispering Flower urged her again. “Some risks are worth it.”

Regina tried to politely decline. “So far my luck has not been very good.”

“Ignore all my other advice, but trust me on the food. It’s good.”

Finally, Regina accepted the meal and began sampling the dishes. To her great surprise, Whispering Flower was more than right. The rabbit stew was not just good—it was great. The camas were sweeter than yams but had a bite to it. Regina had not realized it until now, but she had not eaten since yesterday afternoon. Without thinking, she began bolting down the meal. Whispering Flower poured some tea to wash down the dinner.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”

“When the soul starves, the body suffers.”

Even though Regina was certain that the old woman was no longer talking about food, she kept the conversation bent toward the dinner. “I’ve never had black beans like this. Do you have the recipe?”

“Is this what you really came all the way out here for?” Whispering Flower asked bluntly.

Taking a huge bite of fried bread so that she could not be expected to speak any time soon, Regina fought an internal struggle. She desperately wanted to talk to someone about all of this. Natalie had been supportive, but not very illuminating. Regina wanted a partial, neutral view of all that had happened. But could Whispering Flower do that? Was this not her wayward nephew that Regina wanted to discuss? Was the old woman not a bit biased toward Quinton?

By the time she swallowed, Regina had her answer. Any advice Whispering Flower gave Regina would be held at arm’s length until she could sort it all out.

“No. I came to find out if Quinton was involved in the sabotage.”

“Do you really believe that he is?”

Regina squirmed a bit. In her heart, she knew that she did not. Then why was it so hard to say it out loud? “I’m not sure.”

Whispering Flower began clearing some dishes off the table. Regina popped out of her chair and helped. As they wandered into the kitchen, the old woman shook her head. “Luckily lying is not one of your virtues, Regina. I had hoped to speak honestly here.”

Nearly dropping the plates she was carrying, Regina steadied herself with the kitchen counter. The force of Whispering Flower’s words grabbed Regina’s heart and would not let go. She could count the number of times she had spoken honestly with someone on a single hand. And most of those times had been within the last week. It felt strangely liberating but terrifying to simply speak her heart.

Regina’s voice was low and wavered just a bit. Almost like her throat was not yet used to talking so candidly. “Besides the fact that I was with him most of the time, I simply do not believe Quinton had anything to do with this.”

Whispering Flower patted Regina’s hand and gave it a warm squeeze. “The truth of those words makes your whole face glow. It is amazing what a beauty elixir honesty is. Now why is that you have come?”

“I… things didn’t… he…” Regina had to plop down onto a kitchen stool before continuing. She had not realized how much hurt had weighed upon her chest. Regina felt like she was preparing to shotput a huge lead ball of angst off her heart. She was not even sure if she was strong enough to unburden herself. Trying to speak more slowly this time, Regina began again. “I felt betrayed. How can I trust him when he is as bad as Wayne?”

Regina actually felt lightheaded now. If she was not sitting, she was certain she would have crumbled to the floor. The burden was off her, but it was like she had given away her ballast at the same time. She felt jostled down to her very soul.

“If you feel this hurt, why did you come to see him?”

“I guess that I wanted to give him a chance to somehow make all of this make sense.”

Whispering Flower laughed lightly as she washed the dishes. “Modern women. Why are the basic truths always lost through ‘progress’?”

“What do you mean?”

“A man cannot make sense out of your confusion. He might be able to give you more information, but it is you who must reconcile your hopes against his reality. It is you who must make sense, not him.”

Shoulders slumping, Regina fought back tears. “I have no idea how.”

Whispering Flower’s tone was warm and reassuring. “You passed the first hurdle. You have asked yourself the question. Now answer it.”

Regina could barely remember to breathe, let alone remember what profound question she had uttered a few minutes ago. “I don’t understand.”

Squeaking a plate as she cleaned it, the old woman looked deep in thought for a moment. “The question that I heard was—is Quinton cut from the same cloth as your husband? Until you answer that question, there can be no trust in your soul.”

How right Whispering Flower was. Even in her dreams, Regina had a nightmare where she was kissing Quinton, only the head reverted to Wayne’s face. It did not take a psychology major to sort that one out. “You’re right. That is what I had hoped Quinton could explain.”

“Child, he already has. More words will not make his case any more sound.”

Regina’s head began to ache. Perhaps living in a miserable rut was not so bad after all. That sort of numb, blind life did not bring this sort of pain with it. “I don’t understand.”

Whispering Flower dried her hands on a towel and sat down next to Regina. “You must make your own evaluation, but to me, Quinton has shown himself worthy of a second chance.”

The word came out more of a nasal whine than a question, but Regina was beyond being embarrassed about her tears. “Why?”

“I could tell you a very long and windy proverb, or I can simply say that it makes all the difference in the world that he had the good sense to be ashamed of his actions. Quinton has not only betrayed you, but he has betrayed himself. And for this he is deeply troubled. Has Wayne ever had a single moment of self-doubt?”

Regina could only shake her head. Of course her husband had never felt bad about anything he did. Wayne felt entitled to torment the world and his family.

Whispering Flower continued as tears streaked down Regina’s face. “Not only has Quinton looked into his own heart and found it wanting, he is willing to make amends. That to me places him far apart from your husband. It does not make Quinn a better man or place him above Wayne, but it does allow me to forgive my nephew and open my arms again to his love.”

Crumpling into the old woman’s outstretched arms, Regina cried, but this time they were tears of hope. Could Quinton be truly different from Wayne? Was he sincere about regaining his pride and ethics? Could he become the man that she had envisioned from the start? How desperately Regina wished that Quinton would walk in the door. There was so much for them to talk about. So much territory to explore, both in mind and body.

“Will he be home soon?”

Whispering Flower looked out the window as the sun began to dip behind the hills. “I can’t imagine he can take too much more heat. I’ll send you over to the longhouse. I’m sure he will be happy to find you when he comes out.”

Regina hugged the old woman tightly. She had a feeling she was going to want to see a lot more of Whispering Flower in the days to come. But first, Regina needed to see Quinton, and tell him all the things she should have said last night. He had a lot of explaining to do.

* * *

Despite all the water he had guzzled, Quinton did not think he had another ounce of moisture left. His naked body was soaked in sweat, which ran down his chest in rivulets. It had been too long since he had cleansed himself in this way. The rest of the men were either sitting cross-legged in a trance or lounging casually. Quinton, on the other hand, was constantly fidgeting. The herbal smoke was bitter in his nose, and the steam stung his eyes.

A little physical pain would be well worth the price of purging his soul of its spiritual agony, except that had not happened yet. Quinton felt as conflicted and agitated as he had on the long walk to the reservation. How could he hope to resolve a lifetime of mistakes in a single afternoon of sweating?

Someone sat down next to him, and Quinton turned to find Bent Arrow. Quinton groaned inwardly. He had hoped to avoid the elder until the meeting later this evening. The wrinkly old man looked much like he did the last time Quinton had seen him. Thick white braids hung down past his shoulders. His chest was riddled with scars from a revolt in the early thirties. This old man had risked death to keep his way of life, and what had Quinton done? He had thrown his away. Ashamed, Quinton would not meet Bent Arrow’s gaze.

“Sweating is nature’s way of purging its toxins, is it not?” Bent Arrow finally asked.

It was rare to speak in the longhouse, but not forbidden. Quinton had hoped Bent Arrow would observe custom, but the old man seemed intent on a conversation, so Quinton answered.

“So it is said.”

“Were it only so easy a thing to do for our souls.”

Quinton only nodded. What would Bent Arrow know of his problems? The old man was a hard-core traditionalist. The elder would have only scorn for the pain in Quinton’s heart. Quinton had brought it on himself, had he not?

“You were more talkative when you had laryngitis, Quinn. The Trickster run off with your tongue?”

“No. Just trying to sort things out.”

“Is not everyone here?” Bent Arrow asked but did not look like he expected an answer.

Glancing around the room, Quinton took in the other occupants. Old Sawtooth was a near sculpture sitting across the room. The ancient Indian was sitting perfectly still, never even raising a hand to wipe his brow.

What did he have to ponder
? Quinton wondered. The rest of the men looked equally at peace. Quinton felt like the only one here with any true problems.

Bent Arrow fingered one of the scars on his arm. “I was wrong, you know.”

“About what?” Quinton asked startled. This was the last thing he expected to here from the elder. Bent Arrow was not given to confessions easily.