Mesa, AZ
Thursday
A song about seasons came on the radio, and North Wind laughed softly.
Like everyone in Arizona, he knew that the state had only one season: summer. Okay, there was the brief cold snap in March where the temperature would dip to around ninety, but as far as it went, Arizona had the longest summer in the country.
Speaking of country… He went to the CD player and pressed the ”˜play’ button. White Feather liked country, and Kenny Rodgers had some great romantic songs.
He took stock of the setting.
The enchiladas were cooking in the horno, the clay oven that his family had used for generations to make such delicacies although enchiladas were a decidedly modern American dish, cucumber-tomato salad was chilling in the fridge, and the rice was steaming nicely.
He added a dash of ground cayenne pepper to the rice and stirred it gently before heating the tortillas and checking that the cactus jelly was chilled.
His parents had given their consent, her parents had given theirs, and their respective tribal shamans, had agreed to join him and White Feather in marriage.
North Wind looked at his reflection in the mirror one last time. His ebony hair was still black, neatly combed, parted down the center, and braided; his bronze skin was still copper and mercifully acne-free for a change; his eyes were still coal black and framed by rimless glasses; and he was still a Hopi.
A Hopi marrying a Navajo was scandalous in his parents’ time, and unheard of in his grandparents’ day. The two tribes had been at war since the beginning of time. Marriage was between a Hopi and a Navajo was unthinkable… until now.
He looked around his dining room to make sure everything was perfect.
The table was set, the music was playing softly, and the enchiladas and rice were almost ready.
Brave, tall, and the iconic image of Indian dignity and pride, North Wind was glad he was alone when the doorbell rang and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. Getting spooked by a doorbell wasn’t something he’d live down any time soon.
This was it.
White Feather, tall, willowy, and graceful as ever, smiled kindly when North Wind opened the door. She wore simple moccasins, and a beautifully-beaded leather dress. She looked like she could’ve stepped out of any of a dozen postcards that the gawking tourists visiting the reservations sent to families elsewhere.
To North Wind, White Feather was a vision of serenity, elegance, and beauty. Was it any wonder his heart had been captured like a like a rabbit in a snare?
White Feather walked into the house and smiled. “You’re cooking?”
North Wind’s face became a tad closer to copper than was normal for him. “I’d walk across the ceiling for you.”
White Feather’s tan face was broken by a dazzling smile that made North
Wind’s heart soar and a smile cross his face. “What’s the occasion?”
“You,” North Wind held a chair for his friend of nearly twenty years. “I thought that since this was a day when everyone else gathers to give thanks and our people mourn what was done to us over the years, we could start our own tradition.”
“Sounds good.” White Feather poured cool, clear water for herself and North Wind while her friend took enchiladas out of the horno.
White Feather served the rice while North Wind served the enchiladas and went for the sauce. “You’re careful with the enchiladas.”
“I don’t want to ruin them.” North Wind set warm tortillas and cool prickly-pear jelly on the table. He froze when he realized he had forgotten the most important part of the meal.
He looked at the counter, the table, and then at the barstools at his counter, but it wasn’t there. He’d last seen it in the kitchen on the counter near the sink.
A surge of worry flooded him when he realized he had no idea where the hand-crafted ring he’d paid Running Bird to make had gone. He didn’t think it fell into the sink. He’d had have heard it fall if it had so that meant it likely fallen into...
He bit his lip when he realized where it had gone.
Hesitantly, he took White Feather’s hands in his, their palms pressed together, and their fingers laced. This was the part where, in the custom that they’d made for themselves, they said something romantic to the other before sitting down to eat. He was hosting, so White Feather had to speak first.
White Feather thought for a moment, rehearsing what she wanted to say. She had worked so hard on finding the right words and then learning them in Hopi. She didn’t want to ruin it by bad timing, rushing, or mumbling. “Your eyes shine like the stars on a night with no moon, and your smile makes the sun hide in envy.”
North Wind met White Feather’s eyes evenly and he spoke in a soft, gentle tone, hoping he didn’t mangle what little Navajo he knew. “The engagement ring fell into your enchilada when I was cooking. Be careful when you chew.”
White Feather’s eyebrows knit slightly. “Okay,” she answered slowly.
North Wind wished the floor would open up and swallow him. He’d meant to say something romantic, and that was by no means what he’d had in mind. “That was so not what I wanted to say.”
“It was certainly different,” White Feather agreed with a smile. “Not the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, but it’ll make a great story when people ask how you proposed.”
His face burning, North Wind looked at the table and then White Feather. There was still time to salvage the moment. The question was how to do it. “Can we just skip to the kiss?”
In reply, White Feather walked around the table and gave her future husband a tender kiss. “Yes and… yes.”