Friday, June 22, 2012
My Brother's Keeper by Billlie A. Williams
Cover art by Richard Stroud
Purchasing link to My Brother's Keeper
Elle didn't like what she was hearing in Tallulah Hatch's voice. Fear, has its own sound and it assaulted Elle's mind. "Slow down Lu, the traffic noise is confusing your message." Making her voice calming, warmth Elle tried to modulate her voice to sooth an icy sea of hysteria. Elle hoped to help her friend over whatever crisis had her derailed now. Indeed, she sounded like a run-away-freight train on a collision course with disaster.
"It's your father….Well, it's way more than your father, but you have to come home. All sorts of bad stuff… It's awful Elle, I…."
Four virtues: generosity, fortitude, bravery, wisdom, weren't those things everyone strived for? Yes, greed turned some into hungry beasts; no civilized person would use his ability to manipulate or con another-taking their money and their self-esteem, but if Tallulah were right, someone is doing just that to the Ojibwa Nation. The things she saw at the pawn shop, more than just Great Elk's possessions, told her sacred ground had been disturbed. Who could she talk to about it besides the tribal elders, but not without her father?
A decision made, she would need to visit her father soon. The tribe had to know the graves were being compromised, didn't they? What were the tribal police doing about it? Sure the land was not near the reservation proper, but it was tribal; it was within their jurisdiction to protect it. At least, in her mind that would be, or should be, their duty. Then another thought assaulted her. What was the incident at the motel last night? She scoured the newspaper for more information. The motel owner seemed to have no clue, nor did his wife, about what happened or why. The police theory couldn't be expounded upon. Theories without facts are just trouble, the police spokesperson said.
They had the woman in custody. What was her story? Elle wished she could reach out and shake somebody. Small towns-they moved at the speed of snails looking for their next meal in a garden full of their favorite food. Actually, Elle surmised they, the snails that is, might move faster.
Denver would never put up with this pace. She thought Denver, Colorado was laid back compared to, say, New York, but no one was as slow as Echo. No one. She flipped on the television. It was nearly news time. They must know something, shouldn't they by now?