Free Love Never-Ending by Anny Cook

Yes, this was exactly what she needed—chili
and barbahla bread and time to contemplate the rapid changes in the
valley.
    She added the rest of the meat and when it was browned, a
pot of her chopped stewed tomato preserves from the year before and the black
and white harlequin beans that had simmered all day in the heavy bean
crock. While the chili bubbled gently she cleaned up the kitchen and then sat
at the table to work on her beadwork.
    Soon it would be time for the Midsummer Gathering and her
beadwork bags were usually in great demand. The tiny jewel-colored beads were
fashioned from the same material as the chinkas . Years ago, her father
and his partner, Nathan, had devised a way to make the beads from the leftover
scraps from chinka production.
    A small grin crept over her face when she thought of the
other things they’d invented. Singing stones , jeweled bottles for
precious oils and the tiny jewel-handled knives called sliths . Men and
women all over the valley spent barter credits on the baubles so they could
gift their loved ones—especially bond mates. Samara just happened to know that
Eppie had commissioned a special slith for Dancer with his personal
glyphs on it.
    She snickered. Dancer had commissioned a beaded bag for
Eppie for the Midsummer Gathering. Who did they think they were fooling? It was
a silly dance they had led each other to the bonding circle, to be sure.
    For a brief flashing moment, pain tightened her chest when
she wished for her own silly dance but she pushed away the heartache and bent
her head over the painstaking beadwork, following a pattern she carried only in
her mind’s eye. In a little while she realized she was squinting in the growing
dusk and she rose to twist the light stones on and taste test the chili.
    After adding a pinch of the spicy herb mix that Robyn
Llewellyn prepared for her, she stirred the chili once more and removed it from
the fire. She inhaled deeply, savoring the sharp scent of spice and meat.
    Gathering up her beadwork, she put it away for the evening.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to finish the tiny bag. Then she set out a heavy
soup bowl and a plate for her bread. The barbahla bread was warm from
sitting near the fire. She sliced several narrow strips from the flat bread and
set them on her plate. Everything was ready except for a quick dash of hot
water to freshen her tea.
    She froze in the act of pouring the hot water when a sharp
knock reverberated from her front door. It was late for visitors. Setting her
kettle back on the stove, she went into her living room and twisted on a light
stone near the door.
    “Who is it?”
    “Mali and Arturo.”
    Puzzled, she opened the door. Mali stood on the porch, while
Arturo waited down on the walkway. “Mali? What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing is wrong,” he hastened to assure her. “I’m sorry if
we alarmed you. I volunteered to bring you this from Mama.” He held up his arm
and she watched a heavy metal wind chime jangle into place. “It’s her
housewarming gift.”
    Down in the yard, Arturo chuckled at her dumbfounded
expression. “It took a while for Micah to finish it. Then he hung it up in the
shop and forgot about it.”
    “And he remembered it this time of night?”
    “No. He broke his leg this morning. Hoel and Jago were
checking the shop to see what will be needed to be done before he’s fully
healed. Jago spied it hanging from the rafter.”
    Arturo leaped up onto the porch and examined the hanging
plants in the deepening gloom. “Do you have an extra hook, Samara? If so, I’ll
put the wind chime up for you.”
    Her eyes widened in surprise. Since suffering a brutal
attack earlier in the spring, Arturo seldom volunteered anything, even words.
“I believe I have several of the hooks left. Just a moment. I’ll fetch the hook
and a light stone.” In a few moments, she returned with an assortment of
cast-iron hooks, a hammer and a bright light.
    After a brief deliberation, Arturo chose a hook and