Read Online Winter's Child by Margaret Coel - Free Book Online Page A

My generation, we take things as they are. Don’t expect the impossible. People change and grow, and they need to move on. What works for a while doesn’t work forever.”
    She was looking away now, out across the mission grounds and the open, snowy plains where the buffalo herd grazed, and he caught the shadow of disappointment in her expression. She covered it up quickly—she was a good actress, like her mother. He had never been certain where he stood with Eileen. Always off balance.
    â€œAnyway, David and I . . .”
    â€œDavid?”
    She took a moment, as if this was a road she wasn’t sure she wanted to start down. “I guess you’d call him my boyfriend. We’ve been together three years now. We live together. We knew it wasn’t forever, and that was okay. It’s been great, but now it’s time to move on. He’ll finish his Ph.D. in religious studies this spring and take a position at the University of North Carolina.”
    They started up the shoveled sidewalk to the residence. “You could write your dissertation anywhere,” Father John said.
    â€œMaybe for your generation things were that simple, Uncle John, but we accept that everything has an end.”
    They took the steps side by side, and he pushed open the frontdoor. No, things were never simple, he wanted to say. Twenty-five years ago, he had come to that same point, where it was time to move on.
    â€œI’m just saying we don’t pretend to believe in happily ever after . We’re okay with the present.” She was pulling off her jacket, and he took it from her and hung it on a hook. He set his own jacket on the bench and placed his cowboy hat on top. Maybe that was the real difference in their generations: the ability to move on without regret. With gratitude, even. But in the smile she gave him, he detected the smallest flicker of sadness and disappointment, which disappeared as quickly as it had flared up.
    â€œIf you ever want to talk,” he said, but Walks-On came clicking down the hallway, and Shannon swung toward him.
    â€œAnd who might you be?” She leaned over and ran a slender hand over the dog’s coat. “My, you’re a handsome fellow. What happened to your hind leg?”
    â€œHe lost it on Seventeen-Mile Road when he was a puppy.” The conversation about fairy tales and going forward without regret—oh, yes, without any regret that this niece of his would ever admit to—was over.
    â€œLet me guess. You found him and brought him home.”
    â€œAfter a trip to the vet’s. He pretty much patrols the mission, keeps us in line.”
    â€œOf course you would have a dog. I can’t imagine you without a dog.”
    Walks-On had pivoted about. Looking back to make sure his two charges were in line, he headed down the hallway to the kitchen. The air was filled with smells of tomato soup and grilled cheese, the lunch his mother used to make, Father John was thinking, on frosty winter days.
    â€œShannon.” He kept his voice low, a few feet behind her. “If there is anything you would like to talk over . . .”
    â€œThere isn’t.” She glanced back and flashed the same knowing smile he had found so annoying and attractive in her mother.
    â€œWelcome.” Bishop Harry, wrapped in a white apron, pushed himself off the edge of the counter and plunged toward Shannon, hand extended. “A pretty Irish lass, I see. I’m the pastor’s assistant.”
    â€œBishop Harry Coughlin,” Father John said. “I may be the pastor, but he’s the bishop. This is Elena, our housekeeper.”
    Elena stood at the table, holding several plates. She nodded in Shannon’s direction and went about placing the plates on the table. The Arapaho Way, Father John knew. She would hold back until she decided what type of character Shannon had, whether her heart was good. There was no sense in