A Lasting Love

by Mary Tate Engels

  Loren sat on the bed and turned to her bowl of fruit like a sulking child. Finally she offered hesitantly, "Thank you for the champagne breakfast. I'm sorry if I've spoiled it."

  "I guess it was spoiled before it began."

  Loren sipped her champagne thoughtfully. What a rotten way to start the day. "Reid, I can't help it if I think this desert is strange. It's alien to everything I know, everything I'm familiar with."

  He smiled grimly. "I'll admit it's vastly different from Washington, D.C."

  "In a million ways," she answered softly.

  "Yes, I suppose so," he agreed with a sigh.

  "Coffee, anyone?" Lupe's smiling face and warm cheerfulness entered the overcast room along with the most aromatic coffee Loren had ever inhaled.

  "Oh, yes," she answered quickly. "Champagne for breakfast is not my usual fare. I think I'll need some coffee before I go anywhere today."

  "Me, too." Reid rose and lumbered over to fill the western-size coffee mugs, lacing each with thick, rich cream.

  "How's your father?" Loren blurted out. With a pang of conscience she realized that she hadn't even thought of the hospitalized man in over twenty-four hours. Her only concern had been their experience on the mountain. She hadn't even thought of him when she was home, warm and safe in bed ... in his home.

  Before Reid could reply, Lupe broke in spiritedly, "Oh, he's much better. He called me this morning with instructions to send the ledger in to the hospital when Reid comes. That means he's getting well."

  "The ledger? You mean he wants to work? Are you going to let him do that, Reid?" Loren questioned.

  Reid's face was tight, but there was a degree of restrained relief evident in his eyes. "Oh, he's not in any shape to work, although he thinks he is. But it's a good sign, as Lupe says."

  "Oh, Reid and Lupe, I'm so glad the senator is better. I know you both have been so worried about him."

  Lupe smiled and murmured, "Si, gracias, Señorita Loren. Enjoy your breakfast." She left the elaborate silver coffee urn on the table.

  "Seems funny to be relieved when Dad's sitting up in bed raising hell." Reid smiled. "But that's just the way he is."

  "Reid, I feel so guilty. I didn't even think about him last night. Did you—"

  "Go to the hospital? Yes, mi amor. After you were warm and asleep in my bed, I drove downtown to check on Dad."

  "Oh, Reid." Loren's eyes were large and sorrowful when Reid crossed the room to her. Cupping her face in his dark hands, he stared deeply into her blue eyes for a long minute. That overpowering gaze, his electric touch, the masculine fragrance of the man commanding her feminine response, came together in a heart-pounding cacophony inside her.

  In a totally reflexive action her hands reached up to cover his, and the energy that flowed between them as they touched was detectable in a powerful, almost tangible way. A wellspring of jubilance swelled inside Loren as Reid looked at her.

  Eventually even the towering self-control Reid exhibited crumbled and his lips caught hers in a clasp of emotional fervor. The kiss was long and spoke candidly of his desire for her. His tongue edged her lips, then sought the recesses of her sweet mouth until the combination of love and longing cast a spell of absorbing unity between them.

  Somewhere, sometime, Loren was drawn and lifted to Reid, this man she loved . . . had loved for years. Their spirits combined in that one kiss so infinitely that they both knew its full implications.

  "Oh, God, Loren—" he rasped when he finally lifted his head.

  "What . . . what do you want from me?"

  "Your love is all I ask." His voice was low and hoarse. "I don't give a damn what you think of Arizona or the desert or the mountains. The only thing I care about is what you feel for me. And I think that was answered just now, Loren. You can't hide your feelings from me, mi amor. Don't deny your love again."

  He broke the electric trance and strode across the room, leaving Loren to stare after him, dazed and confused.

  Then he turned to her and ordered in a surprisingly tame tone, "Be ready to go to Bisbee in an hour. I'll be back from the hospital then." He closed the large wooden door behind him while Loren sat wrapped in the brightly colored Mexican blanket. She sipped her champagne and wrestled with her emotions alone.

  When she had awakened, Loren thought that she hated everything about this strange desert land, including Reid Mecina. Mostly she hated him for what happened yesterday. They had been in physical danger and it was his fault. The ride into the mountains had been his idea. The day and direction had been his. She had gone along in innocence. It had sounded like fun. Good, safe fun.

  Never mind that she had looked forward to the activity with enthusiasm. He was at fault here. Reid. Or was she blaming him because she wanted an excuse, a reason to find fault with the man she loved . . . and therefore something to end their relationship?

  Oh, dear God! She buried her hands in her face. It had been like this when she had been pregnant, then miscarried. In her numbed mind Reid was responsible for all that grief and unhappiness. She had overlooked her own role in the pregnancy, simply because she wanted to have a reason to blame him. To hate him. But could she? Could she hate him now? He claimed not. Could he tell from one kiss? One breathtaking, all-encompassing kiss?

  Loren walked to the window. What did she want? Did she want to love him ... or hate him? Did she actually have that choice?

  Before they left for Bisbee, Loren called the family of Emmaline Walker to announce their impending visit. They made the trip in relative silence, with Reid pointing out an occasional landmark. Loren was familiar enough with the Catalina Mountains to the north and the Tucsons, which framed the evening sunsets. The Rincons formed an eastern gateway leading to flat, uninteresting desert land bounded by towering, bare mountains in the distance. Gerónimo country, Reid called it. With a little imagination Loren could visualize Gerónimo on horseback, beckoning to his followers outlined against the gray sky. She almost expected to see an ominous half-naked figure rising behind every hill, decorated with war paint, and feathers fanned by the breeze.

  "What are you thinking?" Reid broke the silence.

  "You wouldn't believe it." She laughed spontaneously. "I was wondering if we would be ambushed by Indians over that next rise."

  "It’s not like in the old westerns, although most of those old movies were filmed right out here in Old Tucson. They still use the set occasionally."

  She shook her head. "Filming in this heat is surely a test of your mettle as an actor." It sounded above and beyond the calling to her.

  "Can you imagine living out here before the days of air-conditioning and deodorant?"

  "I can't imagine living here at all."

  "My great-grandparents loved it. They came out for my great-grandfather's health. They fell in love with the wide-open spaces and strange desert creatures. His health improved so much that he could enjoy living again, and I suppose that had a lot to do with their love of the place."

  "I suppose if you had a special reason ..." Loren reflected on the idea that some people lived here and loved it. It was a remote notion to her.

  "Did you say you talked to Emmaline's family?" Reid asked.

  "Yes. Her daughter. She was thrilled and said it would cheer her mother up to have us visit."

  "Good. I imagine she'll be even more cheered when she finds out what you have to say about her long-delayed benefits."

  "Um-hum," Loren answered absently, observing the change of scenery as, having gained several thousand feet in altitude, they entered the picturesque mining town of Bisbee. Loren was first struck by the awesome sight of a gaping hole in the middle of town. They drove past the closed copper mine, located conveniently in the heart of the small city and the charming Victorian houses, complete with elaborate gingerbread eaves.

  Reid stopped on the far outskirts of town before a roughhewn adobe brick house, which had long ago been bleached to a pale ecru by the Arizona sun. Loren took a deep breath, sad to see that her
Navajo friend, the mother of a war hero, lived in such poverty. If she had only known, Loren would have fought for more than the son's minimal benefits. Loren had taken the easy route and accepted what was offered. Next time she would make other demands. Next time. . . oh, yes. She decided as she entered the modest abode, there will be a next time. And I will go informed and demanding.

  "I'm so glad you came. Mother will be out in a few minutes." The dark-haired woman who opened the door greeted them. "I'm Silvie Tanner, Emmaline's daughter. This is my daughter, Tracy, and her new baby." She motioned proudly at the infant, who was sleeping peacefully in the arms of his mother.

  "Please call me Loren," she said, then turned to introduce Reid.

  As Silvia shook his hand, she repeated his name slowly. "Mecina . . . don't I know you?"

  Reid nudged her memory. "You probably remember my father. He was a senator from Arizona a few years ago. Nice to meet you both."

  "Oh, yes, I remember now. He spoke in Bisbee once. Please come in and have a seat."

  The room was sparce but contained no lack of Indian art on the walls and stacked in corners. Weavings of all types, rugs, and pottery were abundant. There were even two looms pushed against the far wall, both containing half-finished rugs. Loren and Reid sat together on the hard, narrow couch.

  Loren smiled at the young mother, a modern version of dark-skinned Navajo beauty. "May I see your baby?" she asked fondly.

  "Certainly." Tracy eagerly shoved the warm bundle into Loren's arms. From that vantage point, both she and Reid hovered over the dark-haired infant.

  "This is the first boy in our family in forty years," Silvia offered proudly. "We're very lucky to have this little one."

  "You certainly are." Loren smiled when the baby stirred in his sleep. "He's a beautiful child. What's his name?"

  "Ben," Tracy responded. "Benjamin Walker Lewis."

  Loren's curious gaze met Silvie's dark eyes. "Benjamin Walker? After—"

  Silvie nodded. "After my brother who died in the war. We convinced Mother it was the modern thing to do."

  Reid looked uncomfortably at the baby and tentatively touched the tiny hand. "How old is he? He's so little."

  "He's six weeks old now. That's why I couldn't accompany Mother to Washington. Tracy needed me."

  Reid nodded, then tried to move his hand. But tiny Ben had grasped his finger and held on firmly while he slept contentedly. The women laughed softly at the expression on the captured Reid's face.

  "I think he likes you, Reid. Here, would you like to hold him?" Loren suggested.

  Reid's quick decline was congenial. "Not now, thanks. I . . . er, haven't washed my hands." His expression was one of desperation as he tugged his finger away from the baby's tight grasp.

  Emmaline Walker chose that moment to enter the room. "I see you have met my great-grandson. What do you think of him?" The pride of her ancestors glowed in Emmaline's dark eyes.

  "Oh, Emmaline, he's just wonderful." Loren handed the baby to his grandmother and rose to greet Emmaline. "I know you are proud of this baby."

  Emmaline smiled up at Loren. "The child has a good name. We have placed much hope on this little one because he is male. Perhaps too much for such a tiny person. But that is the way. The men have the heavy burden these days. For forty years the women in this family have had it."

  "I'm so glad you now have a boy." Loren smiled. "He will liven things up around here in a few years. You know, I have good news for you. I've talked with some people in Washington. You will be getting a check in the mail in a few weeks." Now, after seeing the conditions in which these women lived, Loren felt the sum a paltry amount. She was determined to fight for more.

  "Oh, thank you, Loren," Silvie exclaimed, suddenly overcome with tears of joy.

  Emmaline's wrinkled countenance spread into a placid smile. "Oh, yes. I knew you would do it, Loren. You listened when no one else would."

  "Actually it's what is rightfully yours, Emmaline. For the great loss you suffered," Loren said modestly.

  The old woman took a shaky breath. "See, my Benjamin is still taking care of us! Ah, that is too great a burden! Why can't we just leave him in peace?"

  Silvie's voice was gentle. "We can, Mother. Now we will move back to Window Rock where we belong. There we can watch our baby Ben grow up in the land of his people."

  "Yes." The old woman nodded slowly. "It is good."

  Tracy broke the tight emotional spell. "How would everyone like some iced tea?"

  "Yes, that sounds great," Reid eagerly agreed.

  "I'll help you," Loren offered, and followed Tracy into the small kitchen. The windowpanes were of old, wavy glass and the refrigerator was almost of antique quality. "Are you anxious to move, Tracy?"

  "Oh, yes," responded the young woman. "My husband, Paul, is working in Window Rock. And I want to take our baby there to live. Now, with this money, my mother and grandmother can move too. I can't tell you how much this means to us."

  "You don't have to. I think I understand. Your family should be together." Loren ambled toward the crude shelf along the end wall holding rows of clay pots in various stages of completion. "Tell me about these, Tracy."

  She shrugged. "That's Mother's pottery. She sells it whenever she has a chance. Aren't they nice?"

  "Why, they're beautiful." Loren began to examine some of the finished pottery. "Can Silvie continue to make her pottery and sell it in Window Rock?"

  "Oh, yes. Through the Navajo Arts and Crafts Enterprise. They promote all things that Navajos make and provide a market. Here's your tea, Loren."

  "Thank you. You know, I like this pottery so much, I want to take some back to Washington with me. Are these for sale?"

  Tracy picked up the small plastic tray that held the tea glasses. "Sure."

  They joined the others in the midst of Silvie's animated explanation of the huge wooden loom in the corner of the room.

  "Mother weaves the old Navajo way. Her rugs are very valuable, but it takes a long time to make them. Sometimes I help her when her eyes get tired. Here is a sample." She spread a smaller version of a Navajo rug weaving across her knees.

  "Why, Mrs. Walker, your work is excellent. I think I could sell some of these rugs for you in Tucson," Reid proposed.

  Emmaline rose slowly. "I have some rugs you can take with you today, Mr. Mecina."

  "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."