The following is an excerpt from the anthology, Returning the Gift.
by Richard G. Green
Silly Rubyann. She pressed her nose against the jewelry store's window glass for a better view of the object inside. This made it look like a pig's. Done by a 27-year-old reservation bred Mohawk woman, this city-child antic was unlikely. Rubyann pitched back, shaded her brown eyes from sunlight reflection and squinted. A turtle shell rattle bore the heat of her stare.
Anthony, her live-with man, didn't notice her attention until she tugged at his hand and fetched him. In the window's display, the rattle lay partially hidden under strings of sweet grass amongst flawless pottery with Mimbres designs and Chemehuevi baskets. Anthony guessed at what her favored Indian thing would be; perhaps it was the silver Zuni squash blossom necklace, turquoise watchbands or rings. These are what he saw.
"I'm going inside," Rubyann said.
She released Anthony's hand, pulled at an oversized brass door handle and made an entry bell jingle. Anthony, realizing the shop was actually a jewelry store, joyfully followed. He applied authority to shut the stuck door behind him which triggered its etched window to rattle...
Excerpt from: Returning the Gift. Poetry and Prose from the First North American Native Writers' Festival, Joseph Bruchac, Editor, The University of Arizona Press, Tucson & London.
© Richard G. Green, 1995