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  “To be honest, though I was upset about Moonlight, something else about your behavior concerned me.”

  “Because I didn’t realize I’d hit her?”

  Canaan shook his head, not sure, exactly, why he had even admitted that much. “Because you probably didn’t hit her.”

  Her steps slowed further. “You really think that?”

  He nodded.

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “You didn’t defend yourself, Sheila. Tanya jumped to conclusions because of that.”

  “I had the impression that she didn’t need much encouragement. It’s been a long time since I’ve been called a biligaana with such vehemence.” She shrugged. “Hillbilly, yes, but not biligaana.”

  “That’s another thing,” he said. “The words I used in an attempt at a joke, you interpreted as hostility.”

  As a group of children marched past them on the sidewalk, Canaan called greetings to them, then returned his attention to Sheila. “You weren’t yourself today.”

  “You don’t know me as an adult, so you can’t say that.”

  “Okay, sorry. I meant to say that the Sheila I once knew would never have allowed anyone to unfairly accuse her.”

  “Well, this Sheila couldn’t help second-guessing what she saw. Did you ever think that there might have been two dogs on the road today? The dog I saw in the desert distracted me at the wrong time, and the dog alongside the road—perhaps a buddy—got under the wheel of the tire as I veered from the road.”

  “So now you’re trying to work out a scenario in your mind that you can accept. The Sheila I knew would never try so hard to place herself in the wrong.”

  “That makes the third time you’ve mentioned the Sheila you knew. Mind telling me a little more about this other me?”

  No difficulty there. He’d given it a lot of thought since his last conversation with his grandfather. “The Sheila I remember best is the one I knew when her mother was alive.”

  She looked away. This interested him, since he could have sworn Sheila had returned to Twin Mesas, at least in part, to discover more about Evelyn Metcalf, her death and her life here. He had no idea what her father had told her, but Canaan wasn’t going to pass along old hurtful gossip about Evelyn.

  Although there hadn’t been much. The People did not make a habit of speaking ill of the dead, because they rarely spoke of the dead at all.

  “Don’t you and your father discuss your mother?” he asked.

  “We’re talking about young Sheila right now.”

  He nodded. Fair enough. “She laughed a lot, she spoke her mind and she despised bullies. She wasn’t afraid to face down the biggest kid on the playground if he was picking on the pip-squeak.”

  Canaan saw her wince at the name he’d been called so often.

  “No one would call you that now,” she said.

  “Sometimes I wonder if I grew so tall just to prove those bullies wrong.”

  She smiled at him. “Or maybe to prove me right? That you were the best guy at Twin Mesas.”

  He tentatively returned the smile. “I sure missed that after you left.”

  Her smile was a fleeting thing, and once again she stared at the ground, looking pensive.

  “I often wondered if the real Sheila ever resurfaced,” he said. “By the time you and your dad left here, your heart had gone into hiding. You never cried for her.”

  She looked at him, obviously startled. “I cried.”

  “For your mother? I know you cried about leaving here, and about leaving me. You never mentioned your mother’s name, never talked about her.”

  “My father never mentioned her.”

  A troop of little girls pranced across the sandy playground from the dormitories. Their dorm mother, a plump woman with short black hair and olive-toned skin, waved to Canaan. He waved back as the group filed through the cafeteria entrance.

  “You remember the day of my mother’s death that well?” Sheila asked.

  “It isn’t something I’m ever likely to forget, the day Granddad carried you in from that desert, dehydrated and nearly catatonic.” He could still close his eyes and see his grandfather’s gaunt face and tortured eyes as he carried her, surrounded by teachers and dorm parents from the school.

  “It was the day I lost my best friend,” he said softly. “You were never the same.”

  He watched her close her eyes, and he knew he’d scored an unintentional hit. Sheila Metcalf had come back to Twin Mesas to find what she’d lost as a child.

  Why did he suspect that the tragedy of Evelyn’s death could somehow be connected to the recent tragedies that had taken place here at the school? Could it be because Wendy Hunt had called him just before the fire, telling him she had found something disturbing, and that he needed to see it?

  Evelyn Metcalf had done the same long ago. Canaan had been in the cafeteria, slouched over his food, under orders from his dorm room father to eat it all before leaving. Canaan’s smallness had seldom been a bonus for him, but at that time no one had seen him. He’d overheard Evelyn whisper something to Betsy behind the counter. “I need to talk to you later,” she’d said. “I found something in the medical records that I can’t figure out.”

  Moments later, Canaan had seen a teacher, Kai Begay, get up from his table in the faculty section, behind a partition. Later, Evelyn had been found dead. Canaan had always wondered if anyone else had heard the exchange.

  If it had been just his child’s imagination that made him suspect something sinister had happened, then why was he so anxious now that danger may have lain in wait all these years?

  Chapter Nine

  S heila felt sick all of a sudden—and in over her head. She had lost all her curiosity about her mother, though she was sure that would return. But now, everything seemed to be happening too quickly.

  “So, I think we’ve exposed everything about Sheila that we can tonight,” she said drily, hesitating at the cafeteria door. “Why don’t we learn a little about Dr. Canaan York?” Anything to delay the inevitable plunge.

  To her relief, he took the hint and ceased further probing. He also didn’t open the door. “I’m not a good principal.”

  “Most doctors I know wouldn’t make good principals, but this position is temporary, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “If I can make it three more weeks.”

  “I understand this has been your first year at the school clinic.”

  He looked at her. “I’m sure Granddad managed to tell you everything about my life since you left. He has a tendency to…um…boast a little more than I’d like him to.”

  “Oh, yeah, you mean the way he has of saying, ‘My grandson, the doctor,’ every other sentence?”

  Canaan chuckled.

  “He told me you joined a clinic practice in Ganado as soon as you’d completed your residency.”

  “That’s right,” Canaan said. “Many of the Twin Mesas’ graduates went to college in Ganado, so I knew many of my patients already.”

  “Sort of like built-in job security,” she said.

  Canaan hesitated. How he wished he’d been able to have built-in marriage security so easily. “You know how hard it can be for The People to trust outsiders, or even strangers in our tribe.”

  “Your grandfather said a large percentage of Twin Mesas’ graduates go on to college.”

  “Yes, Granddad’s proud of that.” Canaan hesitated. “I am, too.”

  Sheila glanced up at the change in his voice. “You don’t sound too sure of that.”

  He shook his head. “Some of the graduates didn’t make it to college. Two didn’t even live to graduate. They had such high hopes for the future, but they died before they could realize their dreams.”

  “How?”

  “Accidents.”

  “What kind of accidents?”

  “One from heatstroke. He was found out in the desert two years ago. He should have known better. He grew up in this desert.”

  “And the o
ther?” Sheila asked.

  “Car wreck down in Gallup last year. Hit by a drunk.”

  “So the deaths were unrelated.”

  He grimaced.

  She wondered if he realized how poorly he hid his thoughts. He’d never been good at keeping his emotions off his face. “So you came here after you became so concerned about the deaths.”

  He didn’t return her look. “After Grandad asked me to.”

  “He wanted you here to keep an eye on things,” she guessed.

  He glanced through the glass doors into the cafeteria. “And that didn’t work, either. Three died under my watch.”

  “And the Hunts were also former students,” she said.

  “All three were former students. Bob Jaffrey was, as well.”

  “You’re desperate to find out what’s going on.”

  He nodded.

  “Tell you what, I’ll keep a close eye on your work next week, and give you a critique on Friday.”

  “Just what I need,” he said dryly. “Another critic.”

  “I’ve heard there’s been quite a turnover of principals in the past few years,” she said.

  “Seems that way.”

  “I’m not getting myself into the middle of a mess, am I?” she asked. “You know, student pranks, stuff like that?”

  “No pranks. Nothing we can’t handle.”

  “But there is something.”

  He turned to look at her for a long moment as his hand went to the cafeteria door. He grasped the handle, then stood still. “Do you remember when we were kids, we used to try to help Granddad’s neighbor herd his sheep?”

  “And we spooked them every time.”

  “Right. The kids remind me of those spooked animals.”

  “How?”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head. “I’m afraid you’ll see what I mean when you start talking to them.” He pulled open the door. “If you do, will you tell me?”

  “I’ll add it to my critique.”

  Sheila took a deep breath and preceded Canaan into the noisy cafeteria. The huge room, as modern and clean as the exterior of the building, had been designed with children in mind. Bulletin boards held beautiful drawings and collages. She wondered if Canaan had a hand in the inspiration for some of the masterpieces.

  The aromas were the same as they had been nearly a lifetime ago. Sheila knew if she closed her eyes, the smell of yeasty rolls and bubbling stew would draw her back to the days when Betsy Two Horses had stood at the serving line, teasing and laughing with the hungry children.

  Recognition and remembered affection warmed Sheila as she caught sight of the Navajo woman. Funny how she could remember Betsy and Canaan and the ruggedness of the land surrounding the school so very well, but she could barely remember her mother’s image.

  No, not funny, but certainly sad.

  From across the length of the large cafeteria, Betsy didn’t look more than fifty, though she must be past seventy. Tendrils of her hair, still as black as Sheila remembered, had escaped the ponytail that emphasized her thin, angular face. As she reached up to push the strands back, her dark eyes met Sheila’s.

  For a moment, Betsy stared. Her thick, dark brows gave her a glowering appearance, until a gleam of recognition lightened the woman’s expression.

  Canaan touched Sheila’s arm and led her forward, past the chattering kids holding their trays and the dorm parents who monitored to make sure their charges behaved while the principal was in the room.

  “Well, Betsy?” Canaan said. “You told me you’d recognize her.”

  Betsy looked at Canaan, then at Sheila. In the light, the deep lines of her face belied the youthful blackness of her hair, but the warmth in those eyes welcomed as it had so long ago.

  “I knew her,” Betsy said, then directed her gaze to Sheila. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “It’s been a long time,” Sheila said.

  Betsy studied Sheila more closely. “You’ve always looked like Evelyn.” She explained to Canaan, “Sheila’s mother.”

  “I know,” Canaan said dryly. “I was here, too, remember?”

  Before they could talk further, a group—Sheila guessed they were teachers—entered the cafeteria, talking and laughing as energetically as students…until they saw Sheila.

  Silence descended, amusement disappeared and the expressions on various faces ranged from curiosity to resentment.

  For the first time, Sheila became aware of the paleness of her skin. It felt strange. She couldn’t remember ever feeling out of place at this school when she was a little girl. Always, when she’d been here, she had belonged.

  Canaan touched her arm and addressed the new arrivals. “Come and meet Sheila Metcalf, the nurse Johnny Jacobs has hired to help me in the clinic. She and I attended school together here when we were children, which means she’s one of us.”

  Sheila felt only slightly relieved when a few of the expressions lightened. One heavyset woman who had passed them earlier with a group of children stepped forward and picked up her tray, interest sharpening her delicate features.

  “I hear you’re going to examine my kids,” she said, selecting her silverware. “I have first-and second-grade girls.”

  “This is Jane Witherbe,” Canaan told Sheila, putting an arm on the woman’s shoulder. “She’s been a teacher and dorm mother here for a lot of years.”

  Jane nodded, dark eyes friendly, and the smile revealed she was older than she first appeared. “I remember you, Sheila. My first year here was—” the smile disappeared “—it was the year you left.”

  “You’ll like her kids,” Canaan said smoothly. “They’re well behaved.”

  Another of the women spoke up. “They’re all good kids. They mind their teachers and dorm parents.”

  One of the men snorted, his expression still grim, his gaze most unwelcoming as he studied Sheila’s face. “That’s because they’re all Dineh.”

  Sheila knew that word. It was what the Navajo called themselves. It meant The People. The man looked familiar, and for a moment Sheila held his dark gaze. She remembered his name without having to be told. Kai Begay. He’d been a teacher-parent when Sheila had lived here. But he hadn’t been unfriendly then, had he?

  “Sheila was with us for several years, Kai,” Canaan said. “You should remember her, since you were here at the time her parents came. Her mother was our nurse, and her father helped the local farmers to utilize their land more efficiently.”

  Kai Begay’s chin came up as he met Canaan’s gaze and held it for a moment. Canaan returned the look. Kai cleared his throat and looked away.

  Something relaxed inside Sheila. Canaan might not feel as if he would make a good principal, but he was obviously making an effort to retain control of the staff, no matter how unpopular that might make him.

  Betsy Two Horses returned her attention to the steam table in front of her.

  As the talk increased and the tension eased, Sheila pushed her tray along the counter.

  Betsy gave her a quick once-over. “You’re starving yourself,” she said, her voice brusque as always, but her eyes still warm.

  “I’ve actually gained some weight,” Sheila told her.

  “Well, gain some more.” Betsy held up a ladle of stew. “Mutton.” Her dark eyes gleamed with the barest touch of humor. “Your favorite.”

  Sheila nodded and enjoyed the look of surprise on Betsy’s face. She’d never developed a taste for the stew as a child, and she’d been teased about it a few times. But who was to say her tastes hadn’t changed in twenty-four years?

  When Canaan turned with his tray toward a far table, Sheila glanced at Betsy wistfully. When the glass door opened and more people entered, Sheila turned away and wove between the tables to where Canaan waited. Later. She and her old friend would have time to become reacquainted soon.

  In spite of what she’d told Canaan, Sheila had no appetite. In fact, she hadn’t felt hungry all week. Now, as she glanced into
the bowl of thick stew, nausea bubbled in her stomach. The reaction of the dorm parents, especially Kai Begay, concerned her. It didn’t help that she felt as if time had shifted, as if she were a child again.

  Canaan held her chair out for her.

  He sat down after she did. He bowed his head, said a brief prayer softly, as if to himself, then tore off a corner of his bread and dipped it in his stew.

  “Fry bread?” Sheila asked. “I didn’t see that.”

  He chewed, swallowed. “You were so busy watching Betsy, you pushed your tray right past it. She was always good with us kids, wasn’t she?”

  Sheila nodded, fingering the cross at her throat. “She gave me this.” She glanced toward the serving line, where Betsy was greeting incoming diners with a quick word or nod.

  “That necklace?” Canaan bent forward and examined it more closely. “Did she make it?”

  “No, her husband made it for her a few years before he died. She gave it to me after my mother died.”

  “It’s skillfully made. Do you wear it often?”

  Sheila nodded. “Almost all the time when I was growing up. Every time I touched it, I could remember that someone loved me enough to give me something that meant a lot to her. She told me that she had worn it constantly after her husband’s death, until her fear of life went away and she no longer felt alone.”

  “Do you still feel alone?”

  She gave him a wry look. “I’m thirty-four years old, I have plenty of friends in Hideaway, my father is whole and healthy and Preston…” She smiled.

  “Yes? Preston…?”

  “A good friend.”

  “Is that a euphemism for a person of consequence in your life?” Canaan asked.

  “Let’s just say my life is full and very interesting at the moment.”

  “Because of Preston?”

  Though Canaan watched her intently, she didn’t elaborate. Best not to get into a discussion about other difficulties in her life right now.

  Obviously curbing his curiosity, Canaan gestured toward the teachers and dorm parents who were making their way to a long table set apart from the children. “Most of the staff are warmhearted, good people. There will always be a certain percentage of people who have trouble accepting newcomers, no matter who they are, or what color.”