Chapter 2: Wind
Señora Violeta had left the ranch and she'd taken the young lady, Easabella, with her.
He hadn't known that the woman was leaving. That in itself wasn't an issue to him since he really had no regular interaction with her other than occasionally carrying meals to or from the bunkhouse or collecting clothes on wash day. The lady was a good cook and seemed to be rather indispensable to Mrs. Cannon, but he was sure Mr. Cannon's wife had taken any needed precautions to cover for her during the señora's absence. Therefore, Wind didn't have an opinion one way or the other on Señora Violeta's departure.
He'd also had no idea that Easabella was leaving; after all, they'd never actually spoken other than in the barest and briefest necessity so it really wasn't like she would bother to inform him. True, she always met him with a smile—or perhaps it was a smirk?—as she looked at him under generally downcast eyebrows, but he wasn't sure she really knew he existed other than in passing.
What sat front and center on his mind was that he wasn't there when she'd left. That meant he'd lost the opportunity to try to finally say the words he'd been considering for the past couple of months as their paths crossed on those seemingly rare occasions.
Wind was half Pawnee, but he was also half white. His upbringing had been partly in both, so the two worlds were ever in conflict in his mind. Unlike some in similar situations, this inner strife was not clear cut to him since he felt it his duty to consider both sides and choose the best course, and not just the best course for one side or the other. He pictured his situation somewhat like paint, where a bit of a darker color is poured into a pot of lighter color and then gently stirred. In Wind's case, he felt the stirrer only made one slow, deliberate circle around the pot, so the two colors were intricately swirled together and inseparable but never fully mixed to form the new color. As such, he felt free to pick and choose from the best of both worlds, leaving him to hope for the best result for everyone.
Unfortunately, the resulting complex spiral sometimes had the effect of keeping the right path hidden from his view, so the words Jama had heard quietly practiced a number of times in a number of forms in recent weeks kept changing at least a little with each attempt. Furthermore, he knew that they would likely continue to change over time until Señora Violeta and Senorita Easabella returned and he finally had the opportunity to attempt to convey them since he was still somewhat confused and since his horse, ever the dutiful listener, offered him no significant insights in return.
Thus, he reached his real concern: he had no idea how long they would be gone, or even if they were coming back at all.
~HC~
Author's Note: Thanks to Cathy, wotwasithinkin, and Junebug for the nice comments to kick off this story. Thanks, too, to those who've favorited or followed the story.
