Ama brushed a hand over the fine beading work of the elaborate collar. It was echoed at the wrists, waist, and hem. A yellow shawl with multi-colored fringes that seemed to rain from the lower edge was mounted behind the dress like brilliant angel’s wings.
“I would bet that you were breathtaking in it.”
Ama laughed softly. “The first time Mac ever saw me, I was performing the Dance of the Day at the Cheyenne Frontier Days festival. I am quite sure he completely forgot to breathe even after I was done. I still go and dance every year, though no longer this dance. It is a young woman’s privilege. I have a niece who now carries on the tradition of that dance.”
At Ama’s indication, she turned to look at the other dress. It begged to be touched; Ama nodded that it was okay. The natural ivory
