Summer of the Painted Horse

By Nancy Sanderson

When 16-year-old Amy Brooks travels to Glacier Park, Montana, to learn about her Blackfeet heritage, she meets a grandmother who has been missing her for ten years and an uncle who wishes she'd never come back.

She has wonderful daytime adventures on a paint horse named Twinkle and terrifying nighttime dreams that leave her shaken and crying. She meets Native Americans who play golf and others who cling tenaciously to the old ways. Like Montana, a land of many contrasts, Amy's life becomes a mixture of great joy and deep sadness.

Join Amy and her cousins, Paul and Shirley, as they ride free in flower-decked meadows, and follow them to parades and powwows.

Find out if this Southern California teenager can adapt to her new life in the north. Will she unlock the mystery of her mother's tragic death? Discover the answers in Summer of the Painted Horse by award-winning author, Nancy Sanderson.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 12, 2009
• ISBN: 9781449023133

Nancy Sanderson

Nancy Sanderson has written five books about girls and their horses: Summer of the Spanish Horse; Summer of the Spotted Horse; Summer of the Painted Horse; Summer of the Dancing Horse and Horse of the Four Winds. Summer of the Painted Horse won first prize for Children’s Literature in the 2010 Arizona Author’s Association Literary Competition, and Summer of the Spotted Horse took third prize in the 2005 contest. While each book is an independent story, there are many recurring people and places throughout the “Summer Horse” series. Currently working on book six, Sanderson lives in Yuma, Arizona, with her husband, Tom, her Aunt Kelly and a rescued black Miniature Poodle named Polly.

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

This book is a work of fiction. Events and situations in this story

are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or

dead, is coincidental except for cameos of well-known celebrities.

© 2010 Nancy Sanderson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in

a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means

without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 8/6/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4490-2313-3 (ebk)

ISBN: 978-1-4490-2312-6 (sc)

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

This story is dedicated to my granddaughter,

Airyn,

who rides like the wind

and loves horses as much as I do.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A special thank you to my husband, Tom, who makes blueberry pancakes when I’m too buried in work to cook. I also want to thank Jack Gladstone, Blackfeet singer/songwriter, for inspiration and assistance. (You can read about Jack’s career at www.jackgladstone.com). Thanks also to my Montana friends, Shirley Show, Sharon Curtis-Rivera and Ed DesRosier, for information on the Blackfeet and American Indians in general.

Chapter I

A WONDERFUL NEW FAMILY

The sunbright silver Amtrak, Empire Builder, coasted into the Montana train station, and a sixteen–year-old girl got the surprise of her life. A crowd of some thirty or forty people was lined up along the platform, anxiously watching the train exits. Two teenage boys, dressed in fringed and beaded buckskins, held a big sign decorated with feathers, and arrows. The sign read, Welcome Home, Amy!

Are those real Red Indians, Mummy? said a small boy with an English accent. He wiggled around the girl, who was standing in the exit, waiting for the train to come to a complete stop.

Native Americans, Reggie, his mother corrected. The book says they’re Blackfeet. We’re on their reservation, you know.

Reggie said, Wow! and Amy thought, you can say that again.

East Glacier Park! called the conductor making his way down the train aisle.

Amy pushed up the strap on her backpack and straightened her jacket. Well, here goes. She stepped off the train with a smile that was a whole lot braver than she felt.

Years of piano recitals had turned her into a pro where crowds were concerned, but this was different. The people on the platform were here to meet her personally, Amy Brooks from Redlands, California.

The really weird thing was that she thought she recognized a few of the greeters, but how could that be? She glanced quickly around at the quaint little train station and the rustic Glacier Park Lodge across the road. The scenery looked strangely familiar too – like bits and pieces of a dream you couldn’t quite remember when you awoke.

In fact, she’d started recognizing things just after the train had left Shelby, heading west toward the Rocky Mountains. All the scenery was postcard pretty—the rolling grassy plains, the herds of horses and cattle, the huge expanse of sky with the mountains way off in the distance. Nothing had been a surprise. She’d wondered why. It wasn’t just that she’d seen photos of Montana. Every school kid had seen pictures of Montana. They learned in Social Studies that the capitol was Helena and that a great part of the state’s land was reserved for American Indians.

Amy’s memories were more than facts from a book. The sights she saw were remembered sights. She hadn’t expected that. She’d been just a little kid when her father spirited her away to California. Now, somehow, here on the grassy plains that were the gateway to the Rocky Mountains, she had the eerie feeling that she was returning home.

Amy remembered feeling very apprehensive about this trip to get reacquainted with the part of her family she hadn’t seen in so many years. When Dad won a trip for two to Australia, Mom thought this summer would be a good time for her to travel north and get to know her other grandmother—her real mother’s mother. Not Mom’s mother. Mom’s mother was Nana Weston.

Of course, Nana Weston wasn’t her real grandmother, just like Mom wasn’t her real mother. But Laura Brooks was the only mother she could remember. Her biological mother had been killed in a car accident right here in Montana when she was five. Heartbroken and bitter, her father, Nathan Brooks, left the Air Force and the state. He remarried some two years later, settling in the town of Redlands in Southern California. Over the years, he made no effort to keep in touch with Amy’s Montana relatives. As far as he was concerned, they didn’t even have to know where he and Amy lived.

Mom was the one who told her that her real mother was a member of the Blackfeet Indian Tribe, and that her parents met while Nathan was stationed at Malmstrom Air Force Base in Great Falls, Montana. Amy even had their wedding picture stashed in a drawer in her bedroom. She was careful to keep it out of sight because she was afraid it might upset her father.

Her stepmother always said she looked a lot like her real mother, but Amy wasn’t sure she could see the resemblance. In the photo, her mother had straight black hair that hung almost to her waist. Her eyes were large and velvety brown, and she had a delightful, friendly smile. Amy’s thick, curly hair was dark brown, almost the color of her mother’s, but her eyes were green. Still, she did have her mother’s dimples—which she hated sometimes because they had a habit of popping out and making people smile when she was trying her hardest to be serious.

Momentarily lost in thought, she heard someone shout, There she is! Amy! Amy! She turned and saw a short, chubby woman hurrying toward her. The people on the platform were cheering and somebody yelled, Woo hoo!

Oh my gosh, Amy mumbled to herself. Heart beating wildly, jaws beginning to ache from smiling, she tried not to look as nervous as she felt. The chubby woman stretched out her arms when she reached Amy and folded the slender girl in a big bear hug, laughing and crying at the same time.

I can’t believe you’re really here after all these years! she exclaimed. With an arm still around Amy, she turned and faced the crowd. Everybody, this is my granddaughter, Amy Brooks, Janet’s little girl, come home to us at last.

The group cheered and clapped. Welcoming her with Hi and Hello, they crowded closer for a better look. The chubby woman was bubbling over with happiness and couldn’t stop talking. She looks just like my Janet, doesn’t she? Look at her. Isn’t she beautiful? With an extra squeeze she said, I’m your grandmother, Bonnie Goodeagle.

Amy could feel her face becoming hot with embarrassment. Just for a second, she had the urge to pull away - the Brooks family was not big on open displays of affection. Still, her grandmother’s warmth made her feel more at ease. She had been worrying all the way from California about whether or not they would like her. I guess my grandmother likes me.

And Amy liked her grandmother at once. How could she not? Bonnie was so friendly and happy, and her brown eyes brimmed with unashamed tears, full of love for her newly arrived granddaughter.

Amy was genuinely touched and felt her own eyes growing misty. I’m so glad to meet you. I mean, I’m glad to see you again, Grandmother.

A young man, who looked to be about twenty, stepped up and offered his hand. I’m your cousin, Denny. Amy shook hands with her cousin and noticed a patch on his shirt that said, Chief Mountain Hotshots.

You’re a real Smoke Jumper? she asked. I just saw you guys on the news.

Yep, he said with a grin. As a matter of fact, I just got back from the fire near Missoula this morning.

We call them ‘Warriors of the Woods, Bonnie added with a proud smile. I think I read somewhere that over 70% of wildland firefighters are Indian.

There’s a bunch of us, Denny agreed. If you like, I can take you down to our Visitor Center in Missoula one day while you’re here.

That’d be great, Amy replied.

Move over, Denny, said a young girl whom Amy guessed to be about her own age. Hi Amy. I’m Shirley. I’m your first cousin. Denny’s only a second. Amy took Shirley’s outstretched hand and knew instantly that they were going to be friends. Shirley was cute and bubbly like their grandmother, and she had the family dimples too. She smiled and said, Finally, a girl cousin my age. We’re going to have so much fun this summer.

Like her California cousin, Shirley was already taller than their grandmother. She had straight black hair, and her warm brown eyes were so dark, they almost looked black. She was dressed in Levis and a tank top that Amy thought was a little too skimpy for the weather, but most of the people around her weren’t wearing jackets. Many were wearing shorts. Guess I’ll have to get used to the cooler weather.

One by one, they introduced themselves, and Amy was delighted to hear the colorful Blackfeet last names: Spotted Bear, Heavy Runner, Still Smoking, No Runner, Many Guns. Translated from the Blackfeet language into English, the names sounded very exotic. She wondered if the names hinted at their origins and thought there must be some good stories here.

The last relative to introduce himself was a tall, good-looking boy she figured must be close to her age also. He was dressed in Indian regalia, and she realized that he had been one of the sign carriers. He had sun-browned skin and long black hair like many of her relatives. Unlike most of the others, though, he had eyes as green as Amy’s.

I’m Paul, he said with a wide grin. I’m a first cousin like Shirley, and I’m half Blackfeet like you. Welcome to Montana.

Thanks, Amy said, a little overwhelmed by all the new faces. She turned to her grandmother and said, I didn’t realize I had so many relatives up here. How will I ever remember all their names?

Oh, Bonnie replied with a dimpled grin. This isn’t even half. We’re going to have a big family reunion at the Powwow. There will be at least two hundred, counting the Blackfeet people who are coming down from Canada. You’ll see, but come on, Sweetie. No sense standing here at the railroad station when we could be home having lunch. You must be starved.

I’ve got the luggage, Gram, Paul said and tossed Amy’s bags into the back of a black Chevy Blazer parked nearby. He winked at Amy. "Just call everybody cousin. You won’t be far wrong." Amy relaxed a little. She and Paul were going to be friends too.

Would you like to walk? her grandmother asked. It’s not far.

Sure, Amy replied, glad to