Feather in the Wind Read Free

feathered war bonnets and beaded moccasins, spears, and knives of all sizes, the handles made with wood or bone or metal. Several booths sold audio cassettes of Indian music, as well as flutes and drums in assorted shapes and sizes.
    At the dance arena, Susannah sat down on a wooden bench next to a young Indian woman and three small children. The woman wore jeans, a t-shirt and boots. Her long black braids were tied with red ribbon. The kids wore shorts and tank tops.
    The youngest, a girl of about four with enormous black eyes, smiled shyly at Susannah, revealing a pair of dimples. “My daddy is going to dance,” she announced proudly.
    Susannah smiled back at the little girl, then turned her attention to the dance arena as the MC asked everyone to please rise and remove their hats. Then a single high falsetto rose on the air, to be followed by several others.
    Susannah glanced at the people nearby, wondering if they understood what was being said.
    “This is the grand entry song.”
    “What?” Susannah turned toward the Indian woman.
    “You looked confused,” the woman said, smiling. “Is this your first POW WOW?”
    “Yes.”
    “I thought so. After the grand entry song comes the flag song.”
    Susannah listened to the Lakota words, wishing she knew what the singer was saying.
    The Indian woman translated for her. “ Tun’kas’ilayapi, tawapaha kin’han’oihan’ke s’ni najin’kte lo. Iyohlateya, oyate kihan’wicicag’in’kte ca, lecamon’welo. It means the Grand Father’s banner will stand forever. Underneath it, the people will grow, so I do this.”
    “Do this?”
    “It means he will honor the flag.”
    “Oh thank you,” Susannah said. Following the others, she sat down. “I, that is…” Susannah paused, afraid she might be committing some terrible breach of etiquette if she asked the woman what tribe she belonged to.
    “My name is Cindy Two Crows,” the Indian woman said.
    “Susannah Kingston.”
    “What brings you here today?”
    “I’m a writer,” Susannah replied.
    “Oh?”
    “I write romance novels,” Susannah explained. “I’m here doing research for my next book.”
    “It’s about Indians?”
    “Well, sort of,” Susannah said, suddenly embarrassed. “My hero is going to be Sioux.”
    “Oh, one of those kinds of books,” Cindy said, grinning broadly. “I love them.”
    “Do you read romance novels?”
    “Of course. How many books have you written?”
    “Ten.”
    The woman lifted her eyebrows, clearly impressed. “What name do you write under?”
    “My own. Susannah Kingston.”
    “Kingston, sure, I’ve read some of your books.”
    “Really?”
    Cindy nodded. “I read the last one, Marriage on Her Mind . It was really good.”
    “Thank you.”
    Cindy nodded toward the dance circle. “This is called the Rabbit Dance. It’s sort of like an Indian waltz. The words are usually about unfulfilled love, or a loved one who is far away. There are also honoring songs and give-away songs.”
    Susannah nodded, her eyes drawn to the dance circle where several young women were dancing, their bodies moving in graceful rhythm to the beat of the drum. Bending slightly, their feet made subtle movements as they slowly turned from side to side. Their costumes were beautiful, buckskin dresses with heavily beaded yokes. Each girl carried a shawl over her arm, and carried a fan and a matching beaded purse.
    As the morning wore on, she saw that Indians of all ages danced, from children barely able to walk to elderly men and women. Susannah was mesmerized by the multicolored costumes, the willowy movements of the women in their long fringed shawls, the intricate steps of a handsome young man doing a hoop dance. He twirled and bent and twisted every which way, his body moving fluidly as he passed the hoops over his body—two hoops, four, six, then eight, each movement producing a different effect, each one more complex than the last.
    The sun beat down upon her head, the scent of