Betty sat and turned to make sure the looks and stares of the other shoppers didn’t turn hard, to check that the Christmas spirit was not being overshadowed by the color of her children’s skin and the mischief they were making. Whites were prepared to tolerate and even gaze fondly at a little winter fun so long as the kids were cute, were not a threat. Maybe it was the season, the good-naturedness of it, but they didn’t unmask any lingering disdain, disapproval or hatred. She remembers the glow in Irma’s eyes as Simon caught up to her and gloved snow in her face. Pure delight. How Lester bellowed “You leave my sister alone!” as he tackled Simon from behind. When the fight changed to man-on-man, which is very different, there was an ease, a playfulness between them, which disarmed the shoppers on the sidewalk. Thinking back on it, their rumbles seemed so harmless, so easy, the ensuing violence unreal, out of place in what she knew to be true of her sons. Simon couldn’t have done what he did. Not to Lester, not to his sweet face, the face Simon had washed and wiped and soothed as much as she had. As hard as life was back then, they were always good children, good to one another. Everyone was like that. If there was trouble on the reservation or in the Indian community in the Cities, it was the kind that people brought on themselves. Destruction was always of the self, not the other. No one took out their sadness or pain or hurt on their family.

And Vera. Betty can’t figure that one out. Even if life gets bad and you don’t think you can do it, you manage anyway, you make it work. You don’t give up your child, not that easy. I didn’t do that when Jacob died, and I had four of them. Vera only had one and parents to help. Betty and the girls would have lent aid, too. She searches her mind for clues, for something about that shy white girl that seemed off, suspicious, anything that would have explained her behavior; dropping Lincoln off the way rabid fox abandon their young.

To Betty, Vera had seemed like a nice girl. If she was there when Betty came home from work, listening to the radio on the couch with Lester, she always asked How are you? right off and even got up to help her with grocery bags or leftover food from the hospital. She was quiet, polite, if reserved, well-dressed and clean. She blushed easily and hid her laugh behind her slim hand. Delicate maybe, but not off.