Read Online The Girl with Braided Hair (A Wind River Reservation Myste) by Margaret Coel - Free Book Online Page A

bottle away and laid Luna back in the box. The baby was gulping screams as Liz got out. She opened the gas tank, jammed in the nozzle and stared at the black numbers jumping in the white box on top of the pump, conscious of the muffled sound of Luna’s crying, the white man watching her from the other side of the car. It was never like this when they were together—Arapaho, Sioux, Crow, Blackfeet, Ojibwa, and a lot of tribes she’d never heard of, gathered together, standing up to the white man.
    The hose bucked to a stop in her hand. She put it back into place, closed the gas cap, and got in behind the wheel. The white man loomed in the side mirror as she drove past the pump. She pulled into the vacant lot next to the station, and crawled into the backseat. She gave the bottle to Luna again and made herself sing, trying to focus on the song she’d written when she’d learned she was pregnant. Her voice was trembling; she couldn’t keep it calm: “Baby, baby, it’s a long way to go. The road is hard, I’m telling you now. I love you so. Pick up your pack and keep on going. Keep on going. Keep on going.”
    She thought Luna’s eyes were drooping, but she couldn’t be sure in the darkness pressing around the car. Beyond the darkness, across the vacant lot, the gas station stood in a well of light, red and yellow neon lights flashing through. The sucking noise stopped, leaving only the trace of her own voice humming the song. She was singing at the bar in Rapid City when Jimmie Iron had walked in. Another song she’d written— Mama said, you get in the car, girl. We’re gonna ride outta here, ride into a new life and everything’s gonna be fine. I promise you, promise you. Mama lied. Girl, there’s a new man gonna take care of us and everything’s gonna be fine. He’s got eyes like diamonds and gold in his pockets. I promise you, promise you. Mama lied.
    She could see Jimmie smiling as he lowered himself onto the bar stool. He spoke out of the side of his mouth when the bartender walked over, because he hadn’t taken his eyes from her. Pretty soon he was drinking a bottle of beer, but she could tell he wasn’t paying attention to the beer. And that had made her want to laugh right in the middle of the song. She’d strummed a wrong note on the guitar, thinking that the bartender could have handed Jimmie any kind of drink and he wouldn’t have even noticed.
    She switched to another one of her songs, one she usually didn’t feel like singing, but that night, with Jimmie watching her, it had just come out, almost on its own. Indian girl, you’re a long way from home, that’s what they told me. Indian girl, you’d better get along. I didn’t listen, no I didn’t listen, ’cause there were dreams I had, dreams waitin’ for me. Oh, I had dreams waitin’ for me.
    It was good then. Ni isini. She’d felt warm all over, like summer sunshine coming over her after the long, freezing winter. When she’d finished the set, he’d walked over. “What’s an Indian girl doing here?”
    “Singing. Didn’t you hear?”
    “Yeah, I like what I hear,” he’d said. “Like what I see, too. Like that long braid you got down your back.”
    “You from around here?” She’d never seen the likes of Jimmie Iron at Pine Ridge. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but strong looking with dark eyes that looked straight at her and a feeling of power in the way he held his head and walked, like he owned a piece of the world. He was from Minneapolis, he’d said. Moved onto the rez for a while to get things organized. She ever heard of the civil rights business going on? Happening for everybody ’cept Indians. Now things were gonna be changing, did she know that? We’re gonna get what’s ours, get our rights. White folks don’t think we got any rights. We gotta teach ’em otherwise. It’s gonna be a good ride. You wanna come along?
    And she’d said, yeah, sure. Why not? Rights? What was he talking about? White folks