The Personal History of Rachel DuPree_ A Novel - Ann Weisgarber [34]
“I would not take it,” Mrs. Fills the Pipe said, “when there’s chokeberry tea.”
“Oh. Me neither, I don’t suppose.” That was polite of Mrs. Fills the Pipe, I thought. I gave her a sideways smile. She smiled back. I took a small sip of water. As I did, I saw that her moccasins were decorated with red, blue, and white beads. Around the ankles, the beads were in the shape of zigzags, making me think of lightning, making me think of courage. To my surprise I said, “I’m so glad you could stop, that you weren’t in too much of a hurry.”
“My cousin’s place is between here and home. We will get there before dark.”
“How nice,” I said, relieved that Mrs. Fills the Pipe knew this invitation to tea did not mean staying on for supper. “You’ll get to visit with family.”
“That’s right. This is Inez’s last time home before she leaves.” There was pride in her voice. “She will be gone two years.”
“Mercy, Inez. Where you going?”
“Minneapolis,” Inez said. “The nuns have a place for me there.”
“You’re going to be a nun?”
“No. Nursing school. They want me to be a nurse.”
“Why, my goodness.”
“It’s not my idea. I want to go to California. Hollywood, California.”
Mrs. Fills the Pipe clicked her tongue. “Doesn’t matter what she wants,” she said to me like Inez wasn’t sitting right there. “The nuns are giving her an opportunity.”
Opportunity. The word set me back. That was the very thing Isaac had said about coming to South Dakota. Now here was Mrs. Fills the Pipe, a Sioux, sending her daughter east. Suddenly I ached with envy. I wanted to be able to send my daughters east to school. I wanted my daughters to become beautiful young women in fashionable clothes. Where did Mrs. Fills the Pipe get the money to do so much for her daughter? Must be another handout, I decided. Just like free land and free food. But instead of the government, this time it was the Catholics.
A gust of wind caught and lifted our skirts. We each pressed them back into place before they could bellow even bigger, but in that one instant, I saw a mended tear in Inez’s right stocking just above her knee.
Something about that made me feel better, and I had to look away to keep from smiling. A little way off from the cottonwood the older boy had a long strand of rope knotted into a lariat. Our horses stood nearby. The boy twirled the rope near his feet. Then he played it out a little and let it loop big and loose over his head.
“Showing off,” Mrs. Fills the Pipe said, also watching the children.
Envy was the devil’s work, that was what my mother used to say about that. I told myself to put it behind me. The dress was a handout. I put my teacup to my lips and blew on it, giving me time to push away the envy. Everything the Indians had was a handout. Me and Isaac would never stand for such a thing.
I said, “How’s your sister-in-law? Is she feeling some better?”
“If she stays in out of the wind, stops eating the dust. My brother does not see to Eleanor right.” She pointed her chin at the children. “Those two are his. Franklin and Little Luther.”
“I’m sorry my boy John isn’t here. He’d like your nephews.”
Mrs. Fills the Pipe smiled. “Boys.”
“Aren’t they something?”
Mrs. Fills the Pipe nodded at my belly. “That one’s a boy.”
I couldn’t keep from smiling. “Nothing would please my husband more.”
“Men,” Mrs. Fills the Pipe said.
I laughed, surprising myself.
Side by side the three of us sat, each of us thinking, I supposed, our own thoughts. Our rockers creaked over the wood-planked floor as we rolled our feet, ball to heel, back and forth. The wind, caught on the south corner of the dugout, howled low.
I said, “When you came by last, you had that quilt you’d made for your sister-in-law. It was so pretty. She must be proud of it.”
Mrs. Fills the Pipe smiled, accepting