try to bring our faith, but the desert will swallow our efforts in no time." He put his glasses back on. "It's all for naught. Such changes are coming, my love. I fear we had best heed the future and step aside."
Grace had never seen him in such despair, but of course he would feel that now with his beloved son so recently taken from them. Grace gently stroked her husband's arm and touched his fine red hair. She knew that nothing she could do would help erase the concern that clouded his brow or the weary look in his eyes.
"Grace," he whispered. "Dearest Grace."
At the sound of her name, her heart lightened. The Reverend was always so much alone with his mission. For him to remember her in a time of need was a victory of sorts.
"Why, Lord, in your infinite wisdom, did you take our treasure from us?" the Reverend asked, his voice suddenly rising and crashing against the bookshelves. "How can I carry on in your name when you're a wrathful God and not the tender, wise one whom I once believed in?"
His shoulders began to shake. Tears appeared in his strained eyes and fell onto ink-stained hands. He took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. Grace could feel herself shaking, too, although she wasn't sure if it was from sorrow or joy. In the Reverend's sudden questioning of his faith, he became for her more beautiful and human than ever.
But now she saw that little Wesley was upset by his father's worried tone. The boy rose from the blue floral carpet, his handsome robe fluttering.
"Come, darling, everything's all right," Grace said and reached out her arms toward him.
The boy stood in place and began to wail.
"Come to Mother."
Grace slipped nearer to her son and put her arms around him but felt nothing in her grasp. It was air, all air, though still warm where his body had been. She tried to breathe into her congested lungs and hoped to capture his pure, sweet smell, but it was gone.
Grace awoke as the camel shifted unsteadily over the rough terrain. The body she wrapped her arms around was that of an old woman. Ahead, the Watson cottage rose nearer. It stood silhouetted against the endless blue sky as she had seen it on their first day here. From this distance, the surrounding scene appeared quite lovely, with the nearby river and the willow tree.
But as they came nearer, Grace could discern that the cabin was but a shell now. On the rough earth around it lay wooden boards, useless bricks, and scraps of metal. It had been looted, and the terrible desert weather had done serious damage to the structure as well. The walls of the house remained, but in places the roof had already caved in, and the glass of the windows had all been broken and gaped open to the winds.
"Let's go first to the river with the willow beside it," Grace said and pointed. "We can settle in at the cottage afterward."
The camel lumbered on until they stopped at the edge of the dry river. Ahcho helped her down from the beast. The wolf 's hide was most cumbersome, but she wrapped herself in it to control the shivers. Ahcho took her arm, and together they stepped down into the riverbed where the willow dragged its tendrils against cracked ground. She had remembered the branches as fuller and more protective but knew that she should be grateful the tree was still alive at all given the terrible drought.
"Please bring the trowel, Mai Lin," she said.
As her amah unpacked the satchel slung over the camel's side, Grace looked again at the plains. She and the Reverend had watched their futures rushing toward them across that expanse filled now with dried stubble and dust. She searched for smoke on the horizon but saw none on this clear, early-summer day.
Why had it happened? she asked herself again as she had so many times before. Only now, when she finally knew the answer, she sensed somehow that she had been asking the wrong question all along. Perhaps there was no question, just an acceptance of what was.
Grace untied the embroidered pouch with the twin golden dragons that hung from the dirty red sash. Mai Lin hobbled down into the riverbed and handed her the tool.
"Ahcho, do you mind?" Grace asked. "I believe the Reverend would be most grateful."
Ahcho took the trowel, bent down onto his knees, raised his