Another Way to View a River

He thought it was kinda cute how hypnotized she was when the Niagara Falls came into view.  “All that water,” she said riding up Robert Moses Parkway.  “Where’s it all come from?  And don’t it ever empty those Great Lakes?”

“Maybe that’s the mystery of life,” he replied, slowing to let her take in the cataract.  He pulled the Pontiac into Big Mal’s driveway and turned to look at her.  “Niagara’s something more powerful’n you or me or all the stuff we got put together.”

“Just don’t give me any God crap,” she snorted.  “Haven’t got time when there’s places to go and stuff to do.”

Big Mal, Henry’s father, shook her hand from where he lay in the lounge chair.  In less than five minutes, he also informed her he was a tribal chief, a noble descendant of the Métis.

“What’s that?” she asked with her mouth open.

“I’m descended from the French coureurs de bois and Indian women in Manitoba,” he answered, sitting up straighter.  Henry had heard his father invite respect like this many times, but Angie thought it was hilarious and began calling him “chief.”





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