The two children joined her and looked at me as if they’d never seen a grown man who had pissed himself.
I tipped my hat. “No, ma’am.”
“Because if you are, they’re not ready.”
“Well, we’re not really here about boots.”
She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “He always sends a postcard when the boots are ready; did you get a postcard?”
“No, ma’am. We haven’t ordered any boots.”
She glanced at Henry and then back to me; it wasn’t like we’d arrived in a reputable vehicle, so I could understand her concern. “Then what do you want?”
I gestured toward the Bear. “We’d like to speak to your husband, if we could. Are you Mrs. Stoltzfus?”
She pulled a bandana from her black hair and wiped her throat. “Yes, God help me.”
“Is Levi around?”
She gave some quick instructions to the children, who looked disappointed but returned to work as their mother hiked up her skirt, climbed onto a wooden cross-step, and swung a leg over the fence. “Do we owe you money?”
“No.”
She picked her way down the hillside, topped the porch risers, and walked over to where we were, her lace- up packers clapping the rough-cut wood like a xylophone. She’d been a beauty at one time, but age and hard work had worn her down; as Lucian would have said, you can’t have ’em plow on Friday and dance on Saturday. “Doesn’t make any difference, he’s still not here.” She glanced at the Cheyenne Nation. “I know you?”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “I do not know, do you?”
“You’re Henry Standing Bear.” She planted a provocative leg forward with a Mother Earth quality, and I immediately liked her. “I’m Erma Spotted Elk; you dated my sister.”
The Bear nodded his head. “Erma, how is Dottie?”
“She’s living in Seattle; she married some doctor and we never hear from her.”
He folded his arms and leaned against one of the porch poles. “That is too bad.” He looked past her to where the two children were working but continuing to sneak glances at us. “Yours?”
“Yah. They don’t like to garden, but they like to eat.” She turned to look at me, our heads about the same height with her standing on the porch. “You a cop?”
I smiled, but she didn’t smile back. “Does it show?”
“Yah, especially with that hog-leg at the small of your back.”
Henry’s voice played around her. “Erma here has a varied past.”
She laughed. “Varied. I like that.” She dabbed at the sweat that was dripping into her eyes. “I lived down in Denver for a while, danced; got into some trouble. I developed a talent for a lot of things, including spotting cops.”
I glanced up the hill. “And now you’re Amish?”
Her head inclined a little, belaying the next statement. “Yah, I’ve seen the world out there, and you can have it. Everything is going to hell.”
“Maybe.”
She smiled and studied me. “You gonna fix it?”
I shrugged. “Doing my part.”
“Which part involves my husband?”
Henry’s voice was low, but it carried. “Clarence Last Bull.”
She froze for just that brief instant, and if you hadn’t been looking for it you might’ve missed it, but I had a couple of talents myself. She converted the freeze into a slow turn toward the Bear and then looked back to me. “You wanna buy a pair of boots?”
I looked at mine-they were a little worse for wear. “Not especially, but I’d really like to talk about Clarence Last Bull.”
“That’s too bad, ’cause I really want to sell a pair of boots.” She turned, and the wide cotton skirt twirled as she clacked through the open doorway into the shop.
“Seems like the day for the barter system.” I glanced at the Cheyenne Nation, and he nodded for me to pursue.
She was sitting in a wooden armchair and had propped her feet on another facing it. She studied me. I walked over, and she put her feet on the floor so I could sit, settling my hat over the embarrassing stain near my crotch. She motioned toward the floor, so I pulled off 50 percent of my footwear and handed it to her. Erma took my boot and examined it like a surgeon would a tumor.
“I’d like to know about Clarence Last Bull.”
She examined the boot some more. “He used to work for my husband, but that was a while back.” She ran her hand over the nap. “You like rough-outs? Because we only do regular leather.”
Surprising me, she took my foot and propped it on the edge of her chair between her legs. “Clarence was really good; an artisan. He had an ability and flair, but what he didn’t have was stick-to-itiveness; he’d show up and work a few days and then disappear. Levi finally got tired of it and told him to hit the road. I understand he joined the army and became a cook or something.” She wrapped her strong hands around my foot. “Big feet.”
I nodded. “When was the last time you saw him?”
There was that momentary pause and the flicker of eye movement that meant the truth had just flown in the doorway, inspected the place, and flown out. “Year ago.” She looked down at my captured foot and leaned forward, her breasts on either side. “Fourteen.”
“Thirteen.”
I watched as she eased back and pulled a piece of paper from a sheaf on the rolltop desk. She placed the paper on the floor. “Stand on that.”
I did as she instructed, placing my stocking foot on the sheet as she pulled a carpenter’s pencil from the tomato can on the desk and traced around my foot, first at an angle underneath and then vertically. “I understand you have a cabin down by the river where he used to stay?”
“Yah, when he worked for us he used to bunk down there.” She tapped my leg, and I stepped off the paper. “I need your other foot.”
I pulled off the left boot and stood on another sheet. “Do you mind if we take a look in the cabin?”
She continued to regard me. “Yes, I do.” She studied my foot again. “If you want to wait you can ask for my husband’s opinion, but you might be here for a while.”
I examined the tools and the dust on them. “Where is he?”
“Buying leather in Rapid.”
I glanced up at the calendar and noticed it hadn’t been changed over from June. “How well did you know Clarence?”
“Well enough.”
“Did you know he was involved with Audrey Plain Feather?”
She paused and then continued around my heel. “I’d heard that.”
“Did you hear that there had been an accident?”
She traced around my foot twice, just as she’d done before, and finally looked up at me. “What kind of accident?”
“His wife was pushed off a cliff; Painted Warrior, a couple of miles up the road.”
She tapped my leg again, and I stepped off the paper and sat, bringing our faces a lot closer. She placed the two sheets together and tossed the pencil onto the overcrowded desk. “Pushed doesn’t sound like much of an accident.”
“No, it doesn’t.” I pulled my boots back on. “The added tragedy is that their little boy, Adrian, was in her arms when she fell.”
Erma couldn’t hide the fact that she was stricken with this bit of news. She wouldn’t look at me anymore, instead choosing to look out one of the tiny panes in the casement window above the rolltop. The glow of the afternoon light was prismed by the windowpane and played off her features. I could see a young girl who had jumped the Rez and headed out for the big town to a place she wouldn’t know anyone, least of all herself.
