A Thousand Voices

by Lisa Wingate

  “I guess not,” the woman answered. “Is there more going on around here tonight? We’re just so impressed with all of this. We never knew all of these Indian things were down here. We have just really enjoyed the day, and touring the museum, and seeing the people working in the traditional Indian huts across the street, and watching the Indian games over on the ball field, and all of the wonderful arts and crafts. It is a wonderful event. Just…” Holding her hands in the air to encompass all she’d seen, she finished with, “Wonderful.”

  Shasta handed her a box with the flute carefully packed inside, then flashed a huge smile that was anything but genuine. “Thank you. We’re glad you’ve enjoyed Choctaw Labor Day. Tonight, there will be traditional Native American dances at the parade grounds. Anyone is welcome to bring a lawn chair and watch.” She sounded like a flight attendant methodically repeating the litany of safety procedures. “Spectators are asked not to enter the circle without being invited, and not to take pictures of the dancers without asking.”

  Eyes widening, the woman popped her fingers over her lips, as in, Oops. Already did that. Sorry. “We didn’t know. Jerry already took a few pictures of people in their Indian costumes today.”

  “The dancers prefer that you ask first.” Shasta’s tone held a forced pleasantness.

  “The clothes are called regalia,” Autumn chimed in, standing beside her aunt. “Costumes are what you wear at Halloween. All the stuff we wear at powwow has meanings. My mama made mine.”

  Jace shifted, as if he wanted to snatch his daughter out of the conversation before it could turn painful.

  “That’s sweet,” the woman said, smiling down at Autumn. “I’ll bet you look just lovely in it, too.” She glanced from Autumn to Shasta and back, her eyes growing skeptical. “Is this your mother?”

  Autumn giggled. “Huh-uh. This is my aunt Shasta. My mama died last year.”

  Jace caught his breath, frozen in place as the woman bent over the cash box, laying a hand on Autumn’s shoulder and looking into her eyes. “My mama died when I was little, too. I sure missed her. I missed having her help me take a bath and comb my hair. Just silly little things, that’s what I missed about her.”

  Autumn nodded earnestly. “Me too.”

  “But you know what I found out?” The woman tapped Autumn’s folded hands with her fingertip, and Autumn pulled her shoulders upward. “I found out that my aunts and my grandma, and my best friend’s mama knew how to comb hair, too, and they all loved to do that for me. Sometimes we’d even talk about my mama while they did it. Then later on I got a new stepmom, and you know what else?” Autumn shrugged again. “She loved to comb little girls’ hair, too. Just about everybody in the world loves to comb a little girl’s hair, I think, and I never knew that until after I lost my mama. After that, I started making sure to share my hair-combing time with lots of other ladies.”

  She smiled at Autumn, who smiled shyly back, and said, “You got pretty hair.”

  “So do you,” the woman replied. “I’ll look for you tonight in your lovely regalia. Maybe I can ask if it would be all right to take your picture.” Tucking the flute box under her arm, she slipped her hand into her husband’s, and the two of them walked away.

  “Did Neenee bring my Choctaw clothes?” Autumn asked, hurrying to the back of the booth to search the area crowded with folded lawn chairs, coolers, jackets, quilts, duffel bags, and various Reid family personal items. “Where’s my stuff Neenee brought?”

  Shasta glanced at Jace and walked to the back of the booth. “We’ll find it. If not, we’ll run over to Neenee’s house and get it.”

  “Here it is,” Autumn said, pulling out a pink Gone to Grandma’s suitcase. “Here’s my stuff.” She popped open the latches, and moved aside a pair of pajamas and a stuffed animal. “There’s my Choctaw clothes. Neenee packed my Choctaw clothes, just like every year.” She grabbed her things from the suitcase, then ran behind a quilt hanging in the corner. In a few minutes, she emerged, having traded her T-shirt and shorts for a traditional Choctaw dress made of red cotton, the tiers and apron adorned with intricate white trim and strip-quilted patchwork of yellow and turquoise. In her hand she carried ponytail holders with small leather discs beaded in a delicate pattern that matched her dress. She somberly crossed the tent and stood next to Shasta.

  “Aunt Shasta, could you fix my hair?” Her voice was barely a whisper, and on their blanket, even Willie and Benjamin fell silent.

  “Sure, honey. I’d love to help fix your hair.” Shasta’s hands trembled as she fished a hairbrush from her purse.

  Autumn held the ponytail holders out to me in silent invitation. As I took them, she smiled and closed her eyes.

  Resting a hand atop Autumn’s head, Shasta bit her lip. Tears drew silky trails down her cheeks and left small, round circles of grief on her dress. After slipping the single pink hair band from Autumn’s hair, she spread it out, then squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head and handing me the brush. I took it and made a long, slow stroke through Autumn’s hair, thinking of all the times I’d watched mother-daughter scenes on TV, around town, at Aunt Kate’s house, and mourned the fact that I never had moments like this with my mother.

  Swaying on her feet, Autumn leaned into the brush, lost in the moment, in memories. Her hair was thick and soft beneath my fingers as I slowly worked away the tangles until it fell loose and silky to her waist.

  Shasta wiped her eyes, drawing a fortifying breath as I parted Autumn’s hair, braided one side, and slipped in one of the beaded ponytail holders, glancing up at Shasta for approval. Nodding, she gathered the rest of Autumn’s hair and began the second braid. I turned to look for Jace, but he was disappearing around the end of the building. His hands clenched behind his neck, he turned his face skyward like a marathon runner desperate for air.

  I slipped away from Shasta and Autumn and followed him into the alley between the buildings. He was standing there, eyes closed, lips pulled back in a grimace of pain and withheld emotion.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  He smoothed a hand over his face, then let his arm hang limp at his side. “I don’t want her to hurt so much.”

  “I know,” I said. “But little girls are more resilient than you think.”

  “I hope so.” His voice cracked, then he exhaled sharply. “It’s hard to see her suffer. I want to protect her. I’m supposed to be able to protect her.”

  “I know,” I whispered again, then stepped closer and slipped my fingers over his. Covering them with his other hand, he pulled me near, his body curling over mine. I felt his grief, his exhaustion from trying to keep everything on an even keel.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, and we stood there, leaning on each other. His heart beat slowly against my cheek, his breath touching my hair, his fingers clutching mine against his chest like he’d never let go.

  Autumn called from inside the booth, and Jace broke away from the embrace, glancing around the alleyway like he’d suddenly realized where he was and what he was doing.

  Willie bounded around the corner. “C’mon, Dad. Everybody’s ready to go to the powwow.”

  Jace scooped him up. “All right, buddy,” he said, clearly relieved to have the distraction. He didn’t look at me as we returned to the booth, grabbed some lawn chairs, and started across the festival grounds with Shasta and the kids.

  Ahead of us, Benjamin whined and pulled on Shasta’s dress, wanting to be picked up. “Oh, baby boy,” Shasta sighed. “Mom’s already got about as much of a load as she can handle with little brother here.” She patted her stomach, and Benjamin latched onto her arm, unconvinced.

  “Here, I’ve got him.” I jogged the few steps to catch up, then swung Benjamin up to my hip and fell into step beside Shasta. Benji snuggled under my chin, and I hugged him.

  Shasta arched a brow, leaning close to me. “So…everything…go all right today?” Her tone said, Come on, spill, girlfriend. I want the dish. What’s going on between you and my
brother?

  “Sure.” The word sounded more innocent than it felt. “Why?”

  Shasta tilted her chin like a bird of prey locking on to a mouse. “I saw the way you and Jace looked at each other. I saw you follow him out of the building.”

  I knew I was blushing, so I pretended to study a booth selling oil paintings by a Choctaw artist. “I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Obviously, Shasta didn’t believe me. “So, did you two have any luck today…with the family search, I mean?”

  “Not much. We basically hit a dead end—for now, anyway. Jace has another idea, but it’s going to take a lot of research, and…” My parents are expecting me home at the first of the week. “I doubt I’ll have time, not this trip anyway.”

  Shasta pursed her lips. “I could help you with it. Maybe do some research while you’re gone or something.”

  “Thanks.” I glanced at her, and I was filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. “But I think you’re going to be a little busy the next few months.”

  She butted me in the shoulder, knocking me sideways a few steps. “Then you’ll just have to come back and do your own research, huh? You can stay at our place next time. Cody and I have a teeny house, but his folks keep their travel trailer parked out back. It’s all hooked up and everything. You can stay out there.”

  “That’s really nice. Thanks.” I struggled to solidify the idea in my mind—me coming down from time to time to visit Shasta, seeing Jace again. As much I wanted it to, the picture wouldn’t gel, and I knew why. I couldn’t keep lying to James and Karen, and I couldn’t tell them the truth. How could I possibly subject them to watching me return here, over and over, searching for a family other than the one they’d given me?

  By the time we reached the parade grounds where the powwow dances were to take place, a huge circle of lawn chairs had already been formed, and near the east side, the only opening in the circle, a group of men in traditional Choctaw dress were positioning three huge ceremonial drums. Nana Jo and Shasta’s mother had already reserved a Reid section near the announcer’s tent, and they waved us over.

  Benjamin slipped out of my arms and ran to his grandmother, who was helping Nana Jo sort through a box of quilts and smaller squares of fabric that looked like tablecloths with long fringes. Nana Jo hugged Benjamin, then let him help with spreading out the quilts. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at Shasta and me, and lifted her walking stick, motioning for Willie and Autumn to join her.

  “Make yourself at home,” Jace said, adding our lawn chairs to the Reid grouping. “I’ll be right back.” He strode off to catch someone passing by.

  Shasta shifted our chairs to the front of the group, then sat down. “There. Now we’ll be able to see.” She motioned me to the spot next to her, and I slid in, self-conscious about having moved someone else’s seats to the back.

  Shasta gave the empty chairs a casual dismissal. “The rest of them will be up and down all night, dancing and helping with things. They won’t mind.” As she stretched her feet into the air, she curled and uncurled her toes inside her sandals. “Good thing I wasn’t planning on dancing this year. My feet are killing me. I might make it through the grand entry, but that’s about all.” She paused to wave at Uncle Rube, who was seated with a group of drummers in the center of the circle. He’d balanced his oversized frame on a three-legged camp stool, so that he looked like a watermelon on an egg cup. He teetered precariously as he stretched to grab a long drumstick, the striking end of which was covered with a ball of tanned leather. Rearranging himself on the stool, he turned to explain something to Dillon, who stood next to him, apparently getting drum lessons.

  Around the circle, spectators of all types were setting up lawn chairs and laying out quilts for children to sit on. Nearby, a contingent of basket-wielding Kiamichi Garden Club ladies were handing out free carnations with notes attached. In the field beyond the powwow circle, kids in brightly colored regalia ran with soccer balls, and a group of bare-chested teenaged boys played football, their traditional Choctaw shirts lying in a colorful pile on the grass. The laughter, the mix of voices, the drummers warming up, and strains of country music drifting from the amphitheater across the festival grounds made the event feel like a celebration.

  From across the circle, the book-writing Harley riders waved, the husband holding up a new notepad with a handmade fringed leather cover. Waving back, I found myself thinking that James and Karen would enjoy this event, that I should bring them next year. On the heels of that thought, I realized how strange it would be, sitting here between them. They would seem as out of place as the stockbrokers on the other side of the circle.

  Shasta waved something in front of my face. “He-ey. Hel-looo? Anyone in there?” She set a fringed square of cloth in my lap as I snapped back to the present. “We all have to have shawls to be in the grand entry. Here. You can wear the nice one.”

  “The…huh?” I muttered, unfolding the piece of cloth so that its long fringe fell over my legs. Embroidered with a floral design, it was a beautiful piece of work. “I’m not…”

  Shasta leaned close. “Don’t even try that with Nana Jo. Everyone dances the grand entry. Reid family rule. No exceptions. She even made me do it when I was thirteen and all my cheerleading friends from school showed up to watch the powwow. We were out behind the restrooms hanging out. Nana Jo tracked me down and dragged me off to the grand entry. I was so embarrassed, I could have died. No one else had to go do the grand entry, but that’s just Nana Jo. She’s superstitious about traditions.”

  “Oh,” I muttered, fingering the cloth and thinking about finding some excuse to go to my car until the grand entry was over. I need to go get my camera, I accidentally left my cell phone in the car—something like that. I couldn’t imagine getting out in that circle in front of all these people and trying to do some dance everyone thought I should know but didn’t.

  “Hey, Baby.” Shasta’s husband leaned over from behind and kissed her, and she drew back, surprised. He squatted next to her chair, then laid his head on her stomach. “How’s my little muchacho?”

  “Turning handsprings.” Shasta rubbed her stomach, twisting away from me to face her husband. “Geez, Cody, put on your shirt.” She slapped him away, and he stood up casually, pulling a brightly colored ribbon shirt from one shoulder and slipping it over his stocky frame. I realized he was one of the bare-chested football players I’d mistaken for a teenager, playing ball outside the circle. On the blanket next to Nana Jo, Benjamin heard his father’s voice and popped to his feet, then rushed over and attached himself to Cody’s leg.

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to find BB from the garden club standing beside me with a basket of flowers. “Here you go, sugar.” She smiled as she handed me a red carnation with a note attached. “How’d your day go? Any luck?” At my surprised expression, she added, “We ran into Jamie after lunch. She told us you had a little trouble with Lana at the courthouse. Did’ja find anything after you left?”

  “Not really,” I answered, checking self-consciously over my shoulder. Shasta and Cody were occupied with each other and Benjamin, and Nana Jo had Gwendolyn and the kids busy with quilts and shawls. Near the opening at the east end of the circle, dancers were lining up. “I couldn’t find anyone with my father’s or my grandparents’ names listed in the phone book, or mentioned in the old high school annuals.”

  “Don’t lose hope.” She shifted her basket from one arm to the other and tapped the red carnation in my hand, then lifted a finger into the air. “You know, you should ask Cecil. She knows just about everyone in the county, I think—taught first grade for over thirty years, ran the Four-H summer camp program, and drove a school bus. If the family’s ever had kids in school, or camp, or church, or Four-H around here, she’ll know ’em.” She tried to catch someone’s attention across the circle, but around us the crowd was getting quiet, preparing for the dance, as an announcer mounted the platform on th
e other side of the circle. “Come by the garden club booth when you get a chance. We’re right across the way selling meat pies and baked goods,” BB added quickly. “We’ll be there all evening and all day tomorrow, except for a little while in the morning, when we usually go over and see the art show before they start taking it down.” She slipped her basket back onto her elbow, then quickly backed away and disappeared into the crowd of onlookers. I fingered the paper attached to the carnation, then turned it over and read:

  COURTESY OF THE KIAMICHI GARDEN CLUB..

  VOTE ELDON FLOWERS FOR CHIEF, CHOCTAW NATION

  I sat looking at the paper, thinking of how incredibly far I was from everything I knew and understood. There was an entire world hidden in these Kiamichi hills, yet I was tied to it in untold ways.

  Beside me, Cody was helping Shasta out of the lawn chair, and the Reids were gathering to proceed to the head of the circle. Autumn ran over and grabbed my hand. “Hurry,” she said, her eyes wide with excitement. “It’s time.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I should…”

  Shasta snatched up my other hand, and together she and Autumn tried to pull me from my chair. “Come on.” Shasta laughed as she stumbled, slightly off balance, then caught herself. “I’m not supposed to lift anything heavy.”

  “I don’t know the…I mean I’ve never done…” I motioned toward the dance area, a lump forming in my throat. To the east, the Choctaw Nation Colorguard was preparing to move into the arena, carrying the United States flag, the Oklahoma flag, and the flags of the Choctaw and Chickasaw nations. The master of ceremonies began making announcements over the loudspeaker, introducing the arena director, the Head Man Dancer, the Head Woman Dancer, the Host Gourd Dancers, the men of the Southern Drum and the Center Drum, which included Uncle Rube, otherwise known as Bartholomew Tall Horse.