Darkmoon(84)

“So…what have you been doing all this time?” Besides waiting, that is….

He gestured for me to follow him, and we left the living room and went down a short hallway. Through one open door I spied what must have been his bedroom, with a full-size bed and one dresser, and not much else. But our destination was the other bedroom, now turned into a workshop. I recognized the assortment of pliers on the large table, and the boxes of polished stones — mostly turquoise, with some coral and sugilite and lapis mixed in, and the long bands of silver and copper used for bezels in cabochon settings. There were also chunks of raw stones, which meant he probably did his own gem-cutting as well. His jewelry-making equipment was more elaborate than mine, though, since I could see he also had a kiln for lost-wax casting, something I’d never attempted. On the shelf were various carvings he’d done for ring and pendant settings; a few half-finished pieces still sat in the middle of the worktable, along with a ring that looked ready to be sold.

“You make jewelry?” I asked, trying not to sound too flabbergasted. After all, what were the odds that both my father and I would end up with the same vocation? “That’s amazing. I mean, I make jewelry, too.”

“I know,” he said.

Of course he did. He knew a good deal about me, whereas I knew hardly anything about him. But I was learning, and however I might fault him for staying away, no matter what any prophecy might say, I had to admit that he’d been very honest with me today, even when he knew some of the things he’d be telling me would put him in a bad light.

“Anyway, this was the trade I took up. I have some pieces down at the trading post, and the rest goes to the co-ops that run the roadside stands. It hasn’t made us rich, but the tourists like Navajo jewelry. They don’t need to know that I’m only a quarter Navajo.”

“It’s very beautiful,” I said. I took a few steps over to the table and then picked up the ring that sat there, a piece of beautiful pure blue Sleeping Beauty turquoise with a fine rope bezel and detailed flowers and leaves encircling the entire piece.

“It’s yours,” he said, coming to me and closing my fingers around the ring.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t — ”

“Angela,” he said quietly, and something in his tone made me stop and look up at him. His gaze was earnest, pleading. “I’ve done so little for you. Please, let me do this.”

My protests died on my lips. I nodded, and he let go of my hand, watching as I slipped the ring onto my middle finger. “Thank you.”

He smiled then, just a little, a smile that slipped away as he said, “I suppose we should go back so your fiancé doesn’t think you’ve completely abandoned him.”

“You’re probably right.”

So we headed back to Lawrence’s house, where Connor looked very relieved to see us. He shot a questioning look in my direction and I nodded slightly, indicating that I’d gotten some answers, if not all.

“Come back the day after tomorrow, and we’ll begin our work then,” Lawrence told me.

Although I knew it was important to be as prepared for the confrontation with Nizhoni as I possibly could, I wasn’t really looking forward to coming back out here, partly because I wasn’t sure what this “work” would really entail, and partly because I had a new house full of boxes that weren’t going to unpack themselves.

Now, there would be another handy magical skill to have.

But I promised I would be back on Tuesday afternoon, and after that Connor and I said our goodbyes and went back to the car. It wasn’t until we’d gone back through Cameron and were heading south on 89 toward Flagstaff that he asked,

“So, what do you think?”

I think my head’s beginning to hurt. But I said, “I think they’re telling us the truth. And my father was pretty honest about what really happened with my mother. I’m not saying I like it — finding out your father never loved your mother and was only with her to fulfill some sort of prophecy isn’t exactly fun. But my not liking it isn’t the same thing as not believing them. Because I do.”

Connor was silent for a bit, eyes fixed on the road. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the car, bringing out unexpected glints of copper and mahogany in his dark hair. Finally he spoke. “I get that feeling, too. And I kind of have to respect someone who’s patient enough to wait twenty-plus years for his plans to pan out. But still….” He lifted his right hand from the steering wheel and rested it lightly on my thigh, as if to reassure himself that I really was sitting there next to him. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared about what’s coming next.”