Woman on Fire

 

Copyright 2014 Fran Lee

 

She tried not to stare at his strong, lean hands on the steering wheel as he pulled out of the little parking lot and turned the T-Bird toward the tiny cluster of small businesses about eight miles down along the main street she'd traversed on the way to the school very early this morning.

 

She shifted her eyes to the approaching buildings to keep her mind off him.Jacobs was a tiny town of one hundred fifty souls, give or take a chicken or two, with a single pump gas station, a ma and pa grocery, and a little cafe that seated about a dozen people. She knew because she had eaten breakfast there at 6:45 after driving all night from Bismarck. There were two booths, a small table, and six stools at the little counter.

 

She'd grown up in a small res town like Jacobs, after her mom had married Frank. She was used to having to drive seventy miles to buy items you couldn't find in a small town, or shopping for school clothes from catalogs. Big businesses didn't bother with little hamlets where the customer base was scarce, and money scarcer. As he drove, she sighed as memories kicked in with a vengeance. Not all her memories were all bad.

 

Frank had been a retired Marine Sergeant who had returned injured from ‘Nam when Madeline Coleman had met him. A young widow with a small child, alone, being hounded by an unwanted predator interested in a no-strings for-fun relationship with a needy woman. Frank had wiped up the floor with the creep, in spite of being minus a leg, and had instantly offered her mom a job on his little ranch. Cooking, cleaning, and companionship for a good man who had spent his life alone after mustering out with his Navy Cross and his purple heart.

 

Madeline had accepted, and after a few months, Frank had asked her if she wanted to move into the master bedroom. Being a woman who expected a wedding ring to go with the upgraded position, she had told him to take his job and shove it. A week later, they were married, and Chy had a real live daddy.Frank had seen to it that his adopted daughter got a damn good education, and he had taught her so many things that schools couldn't teach. He had taught her to love his Lakota heritage as much as he did. He had taught her how to read weather—how to read signs—how to read people. He had shown her his native plants and had taught her how to use them for healing.

 

He had sat with her night after night telling her the stories of his ancestors, and from Frank she had learned of the intricately beautiful beliefs he had grown to manhood with. It had been Frank's great love of nature, and his deep respect for all life that had impressed her most, and she had desperately wanted to be his real daughter. And since Nature hadn’t made her an Indian, she tried to make herself into one.At thirteen, she had dyed her hair black and had worn it in braids. Her mother had let her, knowing that she would outgrow it after awhile. Especially when folks jokingly commented on the little squaw with the blue eyes and freckles. And then she had run off and scared the hell out of everyone by vanishing for a week on a dream walk that only boys were supposed to have, and Frank had frowned at her and called her his little wasicu miscreant.

 

Then, for a couple of years, she'd refused to wear anything but hand made leather clothes and mocs that she’d learned how to make from an old woman who made Indian stuff for tourists. She had tossed all her “white clothes” into a bag and had almost succeeded in tricking Frank into donating them to the goodwill. But he’d caught her.

 

She shook her head.Azrael Thunder Horse's comment on wanting a “real” Indian had hurt far more than he could ever have imagined. But it was impossible for a zebra to be a horse, and it was not possible for a tabby cat to be a leopard. You were what you were born to be. And despite her youthful illusions that she could make herself an Indian by simply dying her hair and wearing hand-made buckskin clothing, she still had red hair and blue eyes. And freckles. And no amount of black hair dye or brown contact lenses would change that fact.