Willow

The florescent lights of the depot waiting room cast a greenish glow over her parents, Naima and Hugh, and her twin brothers, Frankie and Rory. They were waiting eagerly for her. Her heart did a little skip at each beautiful face. Her mother was of Iraqi descent, golden skin and warm dark eyes. Her artist father stood tall and strong, his slate-blue eyes accustomed to scanning the big Montana landscape for just the right painting subject. And her brothers – they were just bigger versions of the high school boys she had left behind as she departed for the brave new world of her college campus. Everyone surrounded her in a circle of arms, making her laugh and catch her breath at the same time. The twins collected her duffle and her backpack, grunting and staggering to make a great show of how heavy they thought the bags were. Aisling made a face at them, causing her parents to laughingly declare that nothing much had changed among their children. The family strode through the blowing snow to their parking place. Little whirlwinds of flakes blossomed from their feet with each step they took. The SUV already had miniature drifts around each wheel, and the entire windward side of the vehicle had a thin skin of ice crusted on it. Hugh pulled the snow scraper from the rear compartment and rasped the snow and hoarfrost off the windows while the boys loaded the back compartment of the vehicle with their sister’s things. Inside the car, Aisling leaned back. She was delighted to be returning to the familiar and loving embrace of her family. It felt like a respite from exile among the challenges of academic and social life at the University. Here, there was no need to be anyone but herself and she began to relax, both physically and spiritually. Her mother told her the plan was to spend the night at home then go to the Lorrah Ranch near Lodge Grass for their traditional visit. They always spent several days before and after Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her grandparents, great aunts and great uncles. Sometimes cousins their own age were able to come, too, but this year would include only Aisling and her brothers. When they reached the house, Hugh triggered the automatic garage door opener and pulled in quickly, closing the door behind them. The garage provided some shelter for them to hurry inside to the warmth of the kitchen. Wonderful smells of homemade soup and bread greeted her, and she lifted the lid of the big pot her mother had left warming on the stove to allow the aroma to rise directly to her face. Aisling felt tears of joy prick her eyes when she looked at the familiar settings on the table. It was good to be home. They sat for dinner, and conversation turned to the upcoming holiday. “I am so glad to be going to the ranch,” Aisling said. “It will be wonderful to see everyone again.” Naima nodded. “The Elders are looking forward to it, too,” she said. “Tradition is so important to them.” The “Elders” of the Lorrah family were her grandparents, Sean and Lydia, and her great-aunts and great-uncles. Great-aunt Kathleen and Great-uncle James also would drive from Billings, and Colleen and Andrew always came out of the Big Horn Mountains for this family time. No one else Aisling knew called their relatives “Elders,” but it was something that had always been done in the Lorrah family. She was told it came down from a long custom, and there was something about the word that she liked. It had a sense of ancient myth and mystery, and it fit her family perfectly.