Death Along the Spirit Road Read Online Free Page B

around. Lakota call their children inipi , sacred, and Unc lived that as well. He’d never hit Manny, never demeaned him, never made comments that would harm him in any way. If Manny had to choose his parents, he could have done no better than his uncle Marion. Not to say that Unc’s hand didn’t occasionally find Manny’s backside, but Unc never had a smile on his face when he did it.
    Unc had been a contradiction in cultures. He had converted to Catholicism when the Jesuits determined the Lakota needed something deeper than their traditional beliefs. Unc and Manny attended every Sunday mass and every Saturday confession. He had enrolled Manny in catechism and lorded over him to ensure his lessons were to the Brothers’ satisfaction. But despite all Unc’s efforts, Manny had rebelled against traditional teachings. Like his brother, Reuben, who’d rebelled against authority all his life. If Reuben had been raised by a man such as Uncle Marion, perhaps he would have taken a different path. Reuben’s Red Road wouldn’t have landed him that long stretch in prison.
    Yet, Unc’s teachings remained with him always, and it was those lessons that caused him to choose this fork in his own Red Road. “There but for the grace of that loving man,” he whispered to himself, “I could have gone Reuben’s way and been on the opposite of the law …”
    “I was lucky.”
    “I didn’t catch that,” Manny told Willie.
    “I was lucky that Margaret knew Aunt Elizabeth so well and agreed to tutor me.”
    “And who is your aunt Elizabeth?”
    Willie smiled. “Most people call her ‘Lizzy.’”
    Manny turned sideways in the seat. “Reuben’s ex-wife Elizabeth?”
    Willie nodded.
    Manny whistled. “I didn’t realize she was your aunt. How is my sister-in-law?”
    “Just fine. Doing a great job as finance officer for the tribe the past eight years.”
    “Finance officer. Now that’s impressive.”
    “She went to night school, and worked her tail off. She won’t admit it, but she was floundering after she and Reuben got divorced. She needed something in her life, so she got her degree and began working for the tribe. When her boss died in a car wreck, Aunt Lizzy was the only one qualified for the position.”
    Before Manny could learn more about Elizabeth, they approached the crime scene. Willie drove toward the hill where Jason was murdered.
    “Stop here for a minute.” Manny left Willie in the cruiser and stepped close to the mass grave that overlooked the Wounded Knee massacre site.
    Unc taught him that this site overlooking the shallow valley below was sacred, and Manny had rebelled against even that. Yet as he stood looking at the grave site, he knew it was sacred. Hairs rose on his arms, numbness weakened his legs, and his ancestors tugged at Manny’s soul. Something else haunted him, taunted him. Something else he couldn’t identify.
    Below Cemetery Hill, a tall slender marker jutted skyward like the finger of a dying warrior proclaiming the mass grave. Manny walked up the hill to that hallowed ground. When he reached the top, he stood with his head bowed, praying to the Wakan Tanka of the Lakota, and to the Christian God of the Jesuits. He prayed for purity in doing his job and for wisdom not to violate this place where so many unarmed Lakota were slaughtered that frigid December morning in 1890.
    Wakan Tanka unsimalaye. Wakan Tanka pity me. Tears distorted his visualization of the ancient crime scene, for this had been the scene of a crime. A crime that the Lakota had never resolved, a crime that Unc had never resolved.
    He closed his eyes. Unarmed Sioux reached out to him for help, but there was no help as Seventh Cavalry troopers cut them down in volley after volley of gunfire. A young mother ran terrified past him as blood spurted from the infant she cradled in her arms, moments before she was shot in the back and fell to the ground.
    Screaming mothers and stumbling elders sought refuge in dried creek