Winter Counts(89)

Guv Yellowhawk had confessed and was serving fifteen years for various charges. Ben’s widow, Ann, had left the reservation in shame and anger, denying that Ben had ever sold drugs despite the overwhelming evidence otherwise. The feds arrested the remaining members of the Denver gang and were working to capture the leaders of the cartel. For now, there were no pain pills or heroin being sold on the rez, but I knew it would be impossible to keep that stuff away forever.

Delia Kills in Water was arrested for embezzlement after an investigation showed that she’d been working with Ben, not Lack, to defraud the government by diverting funds from the bison grant. Chef Lack had cooperated fully with the authorities and was cleared of any wrongdoing. Delia had been able to post a hefty bond to get out of jail while she awaited trial, and had retained Charley Leader Charge to represent her. Word on the street was that she planned to blame everything on Ben Short Bear at her trial. Nearly everyone thought that Delia would be convicted, but I wasn’t so sure. She’d never paid for her crimes in the past, and I wondered if she’d escape justice again.

As for me, I’d spent a few weeks in the IHS hospital recovering from my injuries, and don’t remember much from that time. Nathan had been there as well, receiving treatment for the burns to his arms and chest. They told me I’d nearly died on the floor of the slaughterhouse, but they’d been able to bring me back. I guess it wasn’t my time. They had to leave pieces of the bullet in my shoulder bone, and I’d never be able to raise my arm above my head again without pain, but I had no complaints. I just wished I’d been a better shot.

I gathered the two star quilts out of the back of my truck, along with the baskets for the giveaway. The small arena was already crowded, and the grand entry for the dancers would take place in two hours. An elderly man held the door open for me, smiling, as I walked inside with my items. As I set the baskets and star quilts at the front of the stage, I spotted the drum group off to the side. I went over to greet them and gave them a carton of cigarettes.

“You ready?” said Jerome, who’d walked up behind me. He’d recovered from his collapse at the yuwipi and wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened to him at the ceremony. He’d only said that he saw some “bad stuff.” I think he’d had the same vision as me, but had somehow taken the full brunt of the pain into his own being, so that I could go out and save my nephew.

“Yeah,” I said. “Nathan and I took a sweat last night. Felt good.”

“All right. We’ll get started in about twenty minutes.”

I went over to my baskets, checking to see if we had enough gifts for the crowd. Nathan and I had gone to the dollar store in Rapid City and bought hundreds of little soaps, washcloths, kitchen utensils, kids’ toys, and a big bag of rubber bands, then spent the night wrapping up the individual bundles, along with Nathan’s friend Jimmy, who helped out for a few hours.

“Yo homes!”

I looked up and saw Tommy, still in his kitchen uniform. We hugged. I could smell the wild onions he’d apparently been chopping before he came to the powwow. He was working as a line cook at the new casino restaurant, Rations. Lack was starting a chain of these restaurants at Indian casinos across the country, and ours was the first. By all accounts, Tommy had been a model employee, and was talking about becoming a chef himself.

“Where’s Nathan?” he said. “Don’t tell me he ran off with that little girlfriend of his!”

“No, he’s around. They’re both here. He’s excited. Is Velma coming?”

To everyone’s surprise, Tommy and Velma were spending most of their time together, having drinks at the Depot, dinners at the restaurant, and arguing about music nearly constantly.

“Yeah, she’s here! Having a smoke out back. Still need me to help with the gifts?”

“Yep. Should get started soon. I’ll go find Nathan.”

I scouted the arena and found Nathan with Shawna in a corner, engrossed in a deep discussion. “Nathan, it’s time. Shawna, you want to help hand out the stuff?”

“Sure!” she said with a bright smile.

We walked back to the front of the stage, where Jerome was adjusting the microphone. I’d given him tobacco, as well as some to his grandson Rocky, who was helping out. There were five large baskets of gifts and two star quilts by the front of the stage. There was only one thing missing.

“Hope I’m not late.” Marie kissed me, and I smelled her perfume as well as the aroma of the dishes she’d been preparing at the restaurant. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and left to help her assistants bring in large pots of bison stew and baskets of corn cakes for the crowd to eat after the ceremony was over.

Not long after the death of her father, she’d gone off—alone—to the Black Hills for a week to grieve for him and come to grips with what she’d done. When she got back, I tried to talk with her about it, but she said she wasn’t ready. She did say she’d realized medical school wasn’t for her, that she’d always known it, and that she’d honor her family by following her true path, which was working as a chef and changing the eating habits on the reservation. She loved cooking and creating new recipes, all based on the principles of indigenous cuisine, and Lack had put her in charge of the restaurant. It would be a long haul to replace frybread culture, but she and Lack were making a start. Lack had even flown in this week to help Marie with the preparations for the feast.