The Gilded Prospect by Philip Thurman

Author:Philip Thurman [Thurman, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure, Christian, General, Family Life
ISBN: 9781616388492
Google: enAKngEACAAJ
Publisher: Charisma House
Published: 2011-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

___________________

17

Engine roars rattled trailer windows.

Sunlight filtered through speckled almond blinds as clad floorboard plywood vibrated beneath Charlie. He rose from a fur shield and blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, calves cramping his balance while leaning forward on the supporting window sill. Crowds milled around the courtyard between trailers.

People of every shape and size wore multicolored parkas, jeans, and leather. They gathered in groups of three or four while even more children than the previous evening played tag and chased after one another. Frisco and Moo remained inseparable, yapping and skipping in between the random bodies.

“Sleepy heads, sleepy heads, the hour to rise and shine,” Margie’s voice called down the hallway. Charlie blinked back remaining eye film. After she turned the corner, Margie appeared in full-length buckskin. The hide concealed her wide figure with hair bound up in a bun and bleached white bones supporting her tresses. Intricate beadwork adorned a wide collar and pendant covering the top half of her chest. Her shining moccasins reflected with identical red, blue, green, white, and black beads forming an eagle head. She danced a step with one foot extended and the other to her side until shimmying back into the main room. A rising tune humming in her throat deepened, and her lips allowed the tones to emerge with subtle tremors.

“You look beautiful, Ma,” Uncle Tyler’s head rose from beneath his blanket’s fringed edge. Even through morning noise and disturbance, George’s snores continued without any wakened sensation, remaining in distant unconsciousness. Charlie kicked his leg beneath the blanket, and he snorted back to reality, mirroring Charlie’s earlier expression.

“Hey, stop,” George slurred.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Got back kinda late,” George said and fell back to his pillow. Charlie raised both eyebrows. Margie’s eyes flashed and she stroked the beads around her neck. After collective stretching, yawning, and struggling into their coats, Charlie reached his great-uncle out among the congested throng. Snow was stomped to ground level from people milling in every direction.

Snowmobiles lined the length of the Quonset hut, some still remaining strapped to trailers. Men and women hauled armloads of baskets, trunks, and carved wooden vessels down a trail beside the courtyard and disappeared into dense cedars. Several snowmobiles continued roaring across the side field, crisscrossing one another’s tracks and racing with snow-flying arcs cutting behind their paths. Pink-cheeked children’s faces bubbled while they rubbed their exposed hands over burning barrels.

“Guess this party is about to get started,” Uncle Tyler elbowed George who joined them. Across the sea of fur-lined heads, Creektoe’s towering stature rose, and he raised an arm to motion them in his direction. He too was dressed in beaded buckskin leggings and a similar shirt to others in the council circle. A vest bearing the same eagle design as Margie covered the garment but reflected more significant detail attention. A bone band with three feathers hung from the back of his head keeping hair from his eyes.

None of the men spoke, nodding in their direction. Charlie fought the impulse to extend a hand and returned their gestures.

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