The next community down the road was Fruitland, followed by Kirtland, but there were no obvious boundaries along the river valley, an area once comprised mostly of farms and orchards. A few years ago, Bilford Tome had opted to buy his own home. Since no one really owned land on the reservation, he’d ended up here, almost a stone’s throw, literally, from the reservation borders. The Navajo language minister of The Good Shepherd Church shared his modest two bedroom home with his ninety-pound mixed-breed dog, Abednego. Ford loved the adopted stray as much as the animal loved him. Ella knocked and Ford answered the door, Abednego at his side holding a rawhide bone in his mouth. “Come in,” Ford said, motioning to her quickly. Ella stepped into the warmth of his living room. Shrugging off her jacket, she followed the man and his dog to the kitchen. “All I’ve got is some decaffeinated coffee, but if you’re hungry, I’ll be glad to rustle up something more.” She shook her head.
