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warm and comfortable, like a mother’s hands when she holds her child.
Her eyes were as gentle as a sunset, and I would never forget the absolute sincerity of her manners. I didn’t
want her to let go of my hands because they were so familiar and comforting. I wanted to spend time with this
person, and I had no clue as to why. I was in the middle of writing my own book, so I didn’t question her gift
and thanked her for her kindness.
She continued to hold my hand and said, “It is I who thank you!” Then she gave my hands one final squeeze
before turning to help another customer, smiling back at me as she moved away.
That woman’s face is as clear in my mind today as it was the day we met. She was the epitome of kindness
and understanding, and yet, she was authoritative in her own way. She knew I was supposed to have that book,
and she made sure I took it.
I began to look for my friend to relate the strange sequence of events that had just occurred. “I couldn’t
believe it,” I told her. “I was looking for the book I told you about earlier. Obviously she didn’t have it, so she
gave me this one in its place.”
I showed her the book. “Let’s go see her,” she said, anxious to meet the woman I described. She took me by
the hand, and we walked back to the book stall. When we arrived, there was a young Native American girl
working the counter who was not older than twenty-five.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” I began. “I was here a few minutes ago and was given this book by an elderly woman. I’d like
to speak with her. I was looking for a book called The Wisdom Keepers, but instead, she was kind enough to
give me this one. Is she here?”
“May I see that book?” she asked.
I passed it to her. She looked at it then handed it back to me. “We don’t carry that book,” she replied.
I smiled and said, “But she gave me this book just a moment ago!”
“I am sorry, sir, but we do not carry that book, and I’m the only one working this booth. It’s my booth!” she
answered, somewhat emphatically.
“You didn’t have someone standing in for you just a few minutes ago?” I asked.
“No, sir. I work the booth by myself.”
I was somewhat frustrated. Then I remembered that the woman retrieved the book from her bag, which
would explain why they didn’t carry it.
“Do you have a book called The Wisdom Keepers”?
“Yes, sir,” she replied, picking up a copy from a stack of books behind her. “How many would you like?”
I was completely puzzled. “Thanks, but I think this one will do for now. Can I ask you one more question?
Can you tell me if there are any other book stalls here at the pow-wow?”
“No, sir. This is the only one.”
I thanked her and left. I looked at my friend and said, “I’m either losing it, or something very special just
She smiled and said, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
I agreed, placing the book under my arm. I didn’t read that book for almost two years. Ironically, I decided to
read it after I broke up with the girl I was with at the pow-wow.
I had been spending quite a bit of time at the farm since it was a great place to experience life. I was
completely immersed in nature, which was what I yearned for more than anything else in my life at the time,
and the horses had become my most faithful friends. While continuing to enjoy farm life, I began to write again.
I had finished my first novel a year earlier and was excited to get back to it since I enjoyed the process of
writing more than anything I had undertaken in a very long time. It was amazing to be immersed in my own
thoughts so deeply that it became hard to think of anything else.
I had begun writing children’s books and sharing them with my mother. She spent her entire lifetime loving
children, and it seemed natural to share my love of them with her. We spent many occasions laughing at my
bizarre sense of humor and the characters I created in the stories I wrote. It brought us together again in a way
we hadn’t shared in some time. She passed on several years later but is always with me, as I would realize later
on. She shared so many wonderful things with me during her lifetime, and I will always be grateful to her for
that. I still speak with her every day, and I know she’s listening, even though this plane is not the focus of her