Vella Munn - The Return of Cord Navarro

He also wanted to draw her attention to the wind’s fragrance, the messages spread by birds and insects, the rhythm of nature to her.

He didn’t ask himself why.

“What are you looking for?” Shannon asked when it seemed that Cord had been gazing around him forever.

“For patterns,” her ex-husband said, the words coming slow and soft. “My grandfather called it the spirit that moves in all things . Once I’ve found the pattern, the rhythm here, I’ll know what the spirit is telling me.”

Did Cord really think she would buy that business about patterns and spirits? Yes, she’d heard him mention such things in the past and had tried to understand what he was saying, but he talked about insight and instinct, making what he did sound like philosophy, not tracking. And, she could now admit, for too much of the time they were together, she’d been so wrapped up in her own life that she hadn’t truly listened. She-they-had been so young.

“What is the spirit that moves in all things telling you?” she asked as a gust of wind shook the nearby trees.

“That this is a people place, a part of nature that has been touched by many and changed.”

She looked around her. As far as she was concerned, they were in the wilderness. There weren’t any buildings, chimney smoke rising in the air, livestock. Yes, Arapaho had been scarred by ski trails and lifts, but there weren’t any nearby and they were idle this time of year. The trees grew so thickly here that even without the rain and ground fog, it would have been impossible to see more than a few feet beyond the trail. She felt completely isolated from the rest of the world. How could Cord say that the wilderness had been changed by mankind?

But Cord knew things, sensed things no one else did; she had no doubt of that. And when he spoke this morning, she listened to the words, the sound, the energy in him, and used those things to keep from losing her mind.

“Does being in a people place make it more difficult for you?” she asked.

“It’s going to make finding Matt take longer. His spirit is mixed in with the spirit of others.”

“Spirit? I guess that’s as good a name to give what you’re looking for as anything. Is that how your grandfather referred to-to… I don’t have a word for what you’re talking about.”

“Not many people do. Gray Cloud had a unique way of describing the wilderness, mystical almost. I’ve held on to his descriptions because that’s better than anything I could come up with.”

“Like the way he gave credit to the Great Spirit for everything,” she offered, almost without knowing she was going to say the words, words she’d never forgotten. “I remember you telling me that Gray Cloud believed that in nature everything lives in harmony. That an ant is as important as a bear.”

“And that we must see with our hearts and that the wind speaks to us and in the wilderness there is only the present.”

“The present,” she echoed. “Time, as we think of it, had no meaning for your grandfather, did it? ‘The rhythm of nature is slow, steady, and has a beat all its own. The ground itself has a heart, and if one knows how to listen, he can hear it.’”

“You remember more than I thought you did.”

She concentrated on the gentle, deep-throated question and asked herself why those lessons and more had stayed with her all these years. She wanted to tell Cord that she’d never forgotten Gray Cloud’s wisdom and had, almost instinctively, incorporated some of it into her life. But they’d come to the first steep rise in the trail. Before much longer they’d leave behind the civilization Cord still sensed. Then, hopefully, he’d be able to put his unique skills to work and find their son. He’d hear the earth’s heart and it would tell him what he needed to know. Maybe she’d be able to listen with him.

Listen to a heartbeat that didn’t exist? What was she thinking? Had fear for Matt unhinged her? Or was Cord somehow responsible?

Repositioning herself in the saddle, she wondered why she felt uncomfortable when usually she could ride all day without becoming weary. The rain hadn’t changed its gentle, almost lazy cadence, thank heavens. Because they were surrounded by trees now, she could hear the wind’s song as it eased its way through the treetops.

She and Cord hadn’t been married more than a few weeks when she first heard him speak of the sound the wind made as a ballad. Back then she’d held on to his every word, awed by his knowledge of what took place beyond roads and telephone wires. His understanding of her, at least her body, had been just as complete. He’d played her as the wind plays with the treetops and her body had sung to him.

When it went wrong between them, she’d forgotten that there were things he knew more about than any other human alive.

At least, she’d thought she’d forgotten.

Here, in his world, as she joined in his effort to find their son, too much was coming back to her.

She felt like crying, like singing. And she wished there weren’t so many years and silences between them.

Cord stopped, reining his horse gradually and gently. He straightened, seeming to lift his body fully off the mare’s back, then cocked his head to one side. The gesture was all it took for Shannon to know he wanted her to listen, as well. Gradually the sound came.

Frogs. Dozens and dozens of frogs. They sang their discordant notes with full-throated joy, proclaiming their delight at having it rain. Up until that moment she had been thinking about the creatures, and the boy, who must be seeking shelter from the drizzle.

But some, like frogs, embraced rain.

“Do you think the frogs know we’re here?” she asked.

“They know,” Cord explained. “But we don’t represent a threat to them.”

She chuckled at that. “Matt loves it when the ones who live in the pond behind our place start croaking. Sometimes, when they get going while he’s trying to fall asleep, he leans out his window and yells at them to shut up.”

“Do they?”

“For a moment. Then they start up again. He had a frog for a pet once. He brought it flies and kept water in its bucket.”

“What happened to it?”

“It died. I told him it would, but he had to see for himself the consequences of his intervention.”

When she looked at Cord, he was nodding, the movement slow and unconscious and so graceful that she felt it deep in her belly. “I’m glad you gave him the experience, although I doubt that the frog would agree. That’s how we all learn. At least, the best lessons. Not because someone tells us, but from doing something ourselves.”

“I agree,” she said, shaken by the depth and breadth of his comment. “Since then, Matt’s never wanted to control another wild animal. He doesn’t even like it when orphaned or injured animals have to be penned up until they’re ready to be re-released into their environment. I don’t think he’s ever going to hunt.”

Cord didn’t hunt. Once he’d been offered an incredible sum of money to guide some wealthy hunters with more determination than savvy, but he’d refused. He hadn’t offered her an explanation of why he’d made that decision. She hadn’t needed one because she knew he believed that no amount of money could atone for putting an end to a wild life.

Because she needed to free herself from yet another memory, she asked Cord if he knew that Matt wanted to be a search and rescue expert when he grew up. Her words turned Cord around again.

“He told me that, but I thought he might be saying it for my sake.”

“He means it.” Cord was backlit and nearly surrounded by forest. It was almost as if the trees had taken claim of him, as if he’d given them permission to do so. If she didn’t keep her eyes on him, he might slide away into nothing like morning mist when the sun hits it. “He thinks the world of you-you must know that. Of course, he tends to idealize what you do.”