nothing to do with you.”
I could hear the strains of an accordion playing “White Christmas” as soon as I reached the landing at the top of the stairs. I tapped at the door and Stan greeted me. He was wearing a cardigan and slippers, master of his household. He motioned me inside. The living room was furnished with the essentials: a La-Z-Boy, a coffee table, a VCR, and a TV set on which Lawrence Welk was presenting his Christmas special. Stan turned the sound down but not off, walked into the next room, and returned with a chrome kitchen chair.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, pointing to the La-Z-Boy.
I sank in, and Stan perched.
“So you read the articles?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “It was a terrible thing – for everyone.”
“For her especially,” Stan said.
“Lily?”
“I was thinking of the mother.”
“What happened to her? The paper didn’t say.”
“She died of grief and guilt,” Stan said tightly.
Stan was a man who meted out his words sparingly, but I knew he had more to offer. I fixed my gaze on Lawrence Welk. He was thanking his band. A quartet of young women in Victorian Christmas dress appeared on screen. They were fresh-faced and unmistakably related. I grappled for their name and, amazingly, came up with it: the Lennon Sisters. In voices that were sweet and true, they began to sing “Silent Night.”
“She blamed herself,” Stan said. “To this day I don’t know why, but it was a terrible thing to witness. Are you familiar with the Catholic church down there at Lebret?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then you’ve seen those crosses on the hill behind the church.”
“The Stations of the Cross.”
“So you’re Catholic.”
“Anglican.”
“But you know what those crosses are for.”
“They represent things that happened during Christ’s passion and crucifixion. Some people use the Stations of the Cross to help them pray and meditate on their sins.”
“That’s what Gloria did,” Stan said. “You’ve seen how steep that hill is. Even in good weather it’s a tough climb, and the tragedy happened in January. It was a bitter winter and that hill was sheer ice. Gloria went up that hill every day on her hands and knees. She stopped at every one of those crosses to pray. She blamed herself.”
The image of suffering was as vivid as an illustration in a saint’s tale.
“How long did she live afterwards?” I asked.
“A year to the day. She died on that hill. Of exposure, they said – and I guess you could take that in a lot of ways. When she died, some people said that she’d finally gotten God’s attention and that He gave her what she prayed for.” His gaze was piercing. “Do you believe in that kind of God?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
“Neither do I,” he said. “Of course, I’m United Church.”
I arrived home to the news that Lily still hadn’t shown up, so the trip to Standing Buffalo was on. Gracie was uncharacteristically quiet on the way to the reserve. Her mood didn’t alter until we came to Betty’s house and saw Betty herself sitting on her porch, snapping beans. At that moment, Gracie became Gracie again, heedless of everything except her goal as she leaped out of the car and ran to Betty. At Rose’s direction, we loaded up the Tupperware containers of food she’d brought for lunch and headed for the house and a living room as fussily pretty as a midway doll. Under Rose’s watchful eye, the girls began to set the table with the good dishes, but when I offered to help, she waved me off.
“Why don’t you keep Betty company?” Rose said. “She’s a talker, which means she can always use a listener.”
It was an easy chore. I liked Betty. The family resemblance to Rose was marked but, in every way, they were very different women. Rose was wiry. She kept her grey hair in a tight, no-nonsense, wash-and-wear perm and limited her skin care to sunscreen. Betty was curvaceous. She was pushing seventy, but her long hair was still black and lustrous and her makeup was cover-girl perfect.
I pulled up a rocker and sat beside her. “So how are you doing?” I said.
“Fine. Except I’m mad at myself.”
“Rose said you fell down your porch steps.”
“And it was my own fault. Last time I was in the city, I went to Payless and bought myself a pair of backless shoes with stiletto heels. I knew it was foolish, but the shoes were on sale and they made my ankles look slim as a girl’s. You know how it is – I just had to have them. Whoever said ‘Pride goeth before a fall’ knew what he was talking about. I was proud, and boy, did I fall.”
“When do you get your cast off?”
“Not for five more weeks. Mind you, I’m not complaining. I’m still on the green side of the grass, and I’ve got Rose and I’ve got Gracie. Do you know that girl offered to come over here and stay with me for the summer if I needed her? She would have done it too.”
“That’s a selfless thing for a girl her age to offer.”
“That’s the kind of girl she is. She’s never lost sight of who she is or where she belongs. Do you know that from the time she could walk Gracie has danced powwow? She still does. Red hair, freckles and she’s a jingle dancer – a good one, too. She doesn’t just do the steps, she understands their meaning and stays in time with the drumbeat. People on the reserve used to wonder why she bothered to learn. They don’t any more. They respect her. I respect her too.” Betty snapped the last bean and handed me the bowl. “Would you mind taking those inside? Beans shouldn’t be in the heat.”
I took the beans to Rose; she dumped them into a colander and ran cold water on them. “Ten minutes to lunch,” she said.
I went back outside. “Ten minutes till we eat,” I said.
“And I’m going to make the most of them,” Betty said. “Come closer. I want to know what’s going on over at Lawyers’ Bay. Is Lily there or did she take off again?”
“Lily’s been away,” I said carefully. “She’s supposed to be coming back today.”
Betty’s lips became a line. “I knew it,” she said. “My sister didn’t tell me because she thought I’d worry, and she was right. I worry about Gracie. I worry about Lily, too, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get frustrated with her.”
“She’s had a hard life,” I said.
“So you heard about the tragedy,” Betty said. “Well, lots of people have hard lives. They get over it. What happened to Lily happened a long time ago, and it’s not as if she had to deal with it alone. Rose and I were there. So were a lot of other people on this reserve.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” I said. “All I have to go on are the newspaper articles, and of course they focused on the deaths. But in the photographs of Lily in the schoolyard, there was always a boy. It was Alex Kequahtooway, wasn’t it?”
Betty picked up a knitting needle, slipped it inside her cast, and rubbed. “I’ve never been able to leave an itch unscratched,” she said contentedly. “To answer your question, I don’t remember any photo, but it would have to have been Alex. He was just a kid himself, eleven or twelve. But he defended Lily against all comers, adults and kids alike. He walked her to school, and he walked her home. He was like a shield between Lily and the world.”
“Not much of a surprise that he grew up to join the police force,” I said.
“Not to me,” Betty said. “Once a person gets that badge, people have to pay attention, no matter who’s wearing it.”
“Alex went through a lot, didn’t he?” I said.
“Lunch!” Rose’s announcement from inside the kitchen ended the discussion.
Betty’s crutches were on the floor beside her chair. She stared at them with distaste.
“I’ll get those for you,” I said. I helped her to her feet and handed her the crutches. She positioned them under her armpits and heaved her body into place. She looked awkward, as if she didn’t remember the next move in the sequence. “Is there anything else I can do?” I asked.
