The GI Bride by Iris Jones Simantel Read Free Book Online Page A

as different as
chalk and cheese, just like my mother and her sister, Iris. Mum was blonde and chubby,
still had a Cockney accent and was a messy housekeeper, while her sister was dark-haired
and slender, her speech was refined and she kept an immaculate home. Here on the farm,
the family worked side by side, seemingly enjoying each other’s company, but best
of all, laughter echoed throughout that old farmhouse. Why couldn’t Freda and her
husband have beenmy parents-in-law? I thought. They were much more
like my own family. I was sad when we left, but soon cheered up when I discovered the
next of Bob’s surprises.
    We left the flat farmlands and soon the
terrain became a little more rugged and hilly.
    ‘Where are we going?’ I
asked.
    ‘Wait and see,’ replied a
grinning Bob. ‘It’s a special surprise and I think you’ll really like
it.’
    We drove into a town called Wisconsin Dells
and I loved it as soon as I saw all the old, mostly white clapboard houses, many
surrounded by white picket fences. This is more like it, I thought. None of the
buildings was new, like the California houses in movies. They were old and had real
character.
    The main street through the town displayed
numerous advertising signs for local attractions. Among those I remember was the Tommy
Bartlett Water Show, Duck Rides on the Wisconsin River, and the Authentic Indian
Ceremonial. The latter caught my attention and made my heart somersault.
    ‘Can we really see Indians here? Are
they real Indians? Can we go to the Ceremonial?’ The questions tumbled out, one
after another. I was as excited as a child at Christmas.
    ‘Of course we can go. We’re
going to see everything, if you want to, and yes, they are real American Indians,’
he assured me.
    We pulled into the driveway of a large old
house. The sign in front said ‘The White House’. It was a guesthouse and
there were vacancies.
    ‘Good,’ said Bob. ‘I was
hoping we could stay here.This is where my parents and my sister
spent their honeymoons. It’s cheap but comfortable.’
    Oh dear, I thought. Something else that
everyone in the family has to do the same. Honeymoons. I didn’t really mind,
though, because it was nice, and cost only three dollars a night.
    I don’t remember much about the other
attractions we saw but the Indian Pow-Wow was amazing. That evening, we boarded a boat
that took us down the Wisconsin River. It ran between high craggy cliffs, and on the
way, a guide pointed out various unusual rock formations. There was the high,
chimney-shaped Stand Rock, separated from the cliff behind it by just a couple of yards
or so. We learned that you could pay to see a dog jump from one to the other. It sounded
dangerous, and one woman asked the guide if there was a safety net in case the dog
didn’t make it. I don’t recall the guide’s answer, except that he
ended up laughing and saying, ‘Well, they can always get another dog,’ which
I thought was disgusting.
    The boat tied up at a wooden landing, and we
all filed off. It was now dusk and a guide led us down a dimly lit pathway between rocks
and scrubby trees. Soon we entered a clearing and a new scene opened before us. We were
in, I believe, a naturally formed, vaguely circular arena. In the centre, on a slightly
raised area, the tepees were arranged in a semi-circle, with a blazing bonfire in the
middle. Rows of benches for the audience circled the space. We crowded onto the seats
and soon the show began. I’d always been a dreamer and was immediately drawn into
this exhibition of America’s true history, its living history; it was not only
colourful, but also beautiful and moving. Tears pricked myeyes as I
listened to Indian folklore and learned what their dances and songs meant. I felt
privileged to have come halfway around the world to witness this re-enactment of an old
way of life. At that time, I was unaware of the other part of their history in which
they had been slaughtered in their hundreds of