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Back The Hiawatha Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Notice
  4. Dedication
  5. PART ONE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. PART TWO
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. PART THREE
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. PART FOUR
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. Also by DAVID TREUER
  46. Copyright

She moved down from the north, minus a husband and a bed, plus four children. She’d arrived in a neighborhood that jumped. At the same moment the disease that struck the cities was given a name, urban blight, Eisenhower hatched a plan to bring Indians there. His idea for relocation, with color brochures and an official name in capital letters, had sounded so worthwhile. Relocation. A new place. A new location. They’d left in the summer and the six-hour car ride brought them to the city, where for the first time Betty had noticed and loved the color green. Maybe it was just the season. But the trees exploded and the grass looked sweet enough to drink. Against the brown and gray brick and cement, the buds on the branches of elm and dogwood seemed greener than up north. And the neighborhood was jumping. She tucked one girl under each arm and made the boys hang onto her skirt as she stepped out of the car on Lake Street. She thought she’d never seen so many Indians in one place before. They were all poor and struggling, but they were making it.

She found the house and the schools, and with family looking after the girls, she found a job. A real job. She was paid regularly. Every two weeks. No more collecting stray dollar bills—some for rice, more for pine cones, a little for syrup or berries. It was regular, she thought with amazement, when she received her first check. Her name was typed on the top. Her name spelled out with a dollar amount below it. For the first time her name was there, official, for something she’d worked for, instead of on the rolls or allotment list, which meant she was being done to. She wasn’t the only one. The Indians worked as bus drivers, as janitors, as clerks and waitresses. They brought home the bacon instead of killing it at the yards or out behind the shed. They worked as carpenters and mechanics, plumber’s assistants and high steel workers who made the city, who urged it from the ground.

When Betty landed the job at the hospital she made the food. She put the ingredients together and people ate her food in order to get better, to heal. So, with a new house, a small but regular check, and the ability to create, she could forget about her abandoned bed and its sweet shipwright for a while and start fresh. It was hard but it was hers, she thinks, as she puts the cookies in the oven. I made all of that.

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