LC 02 - Questionable Remains (9 page)

Lindsay and the others sat facing each other under the oak
tree. A breeze gently lifted their hair around their faces.
Lindsay smoothed hers down with both hands as she spoke
first. "We have a policy of quickly repatriating aboriginal
remains after we examine them," she said.

"It would be easier if you didn't dig them up in the first
place," said George West.

"Then we would learn nothing from them. They tell us so
much."

John West stood up. "Why are we here? This is the same
old talk. You're just using us for your pet theories. You care
nothing about our people." His father motioned for him to
sit down. He did, but grudgingly.

"What have you learned?" asked Emily.

"We have hardly had time to examine . . ." began Gerri,
but Lindsay's voice rose over hers and she stopped.

"We have learned that something terrible happened to
these people. Conquistadores came on horses, looking for
gold and silver. They came to this village and understood
immediately that it was important because at one end was a
large flat-topped mound with a long series of steps leading
up to a large house of clay-covered timber. The conquistadores had heard that the towns with mounds had wealth.
This was a peaceful village, for it lacked a palisade around
the clusters of thatched houses that circled the great plaza.
No palisade meant they were friendly, and the conquistadores knew that.

"They rode in, looking for wealth similar to that of the
Incas, whom they had robbed and utterly destroyed. When
they did not find the riches they sought, they became angry
and lashed out at the villagers. There was a woman.
Perhaps she simply stood watching them, perhaps she was
a hostage. She saw the sword that was coming down on her
and instinctively held her arms over her face to shield it.
The sword cut into her all the way to the bone. The woman
had a child with her. She leaned over, protecting the child
with her body, and the conquistador struck her so hard with
his sword it cut into her shoulder and backbone, knocking
her to the ground. She and her child were killed. Other
women tried to flee and had their legs cut out from under
them as they ran, holding their children. The men tried to protect them, but they were no match for the conquistadores on their battle-trained horses. This slaughter may
have taken place somewhere else and the victims brought
back for burial. The bones will tell.

"Conquistadores usually burned the villages they massacred, but so far there have been no signs that this village
was burned. Once, this was a prosperous village. It was
struck by disease, then this. The people who once lived here
didn't stay long after this happened."

"That's an impressive story," said George West after a
moment. "But we know what the conquistadores did."

"Not in detail," said Lindsay. "And you don't know the
individual stories. You didn't know about this particular
woman. We can tell you how old she was, how healthy she
was, if she had other children. Sometimes we can tell if she
was related to anyone else buried here. Your son was wrong
when he said that I don't care about these people. I do. So
does Brian. And Gerri," she added, rather reluctantly. "The
people who lived here talk to me. I know what they looked
like when they were alive. I would recognize them if they
walked up to me."

No one said anything for a moment. They all looked at
the open pits where the excavators were working. Finally,
Emily spoke. "These people expected to stay buried, or at
least their loved ones expected them to stay in their final
resting places. But if you allow one of us to observe how
you treat the burials, I could ... ," she trailed off as they
heard another truck drive up.

Lindsay watched as a man jumped out and charged over
to them. The newcomer was a young man in his early thirties, brown hair becoming bleached by the sun. He had a
slender build and possibly a pleasant face, when it wasn't
twisted in anger.

"What are they doing here? I want them off my property."

"Mr. Royce!" Brian said, jumping up.

"Now," he said, "or you're all gone." He looked at the three Native Americans in turn. "You took my father's
property. By God, you'll not set foot on mine." He turned
and stomped toward his truck.

"Damn," said Brian, running after him.

Lindsay watched as Brian caught up with him, but couldn't hear what was being said. George West looked genuinely sad; John looked angry. Emily stared at the ground, then
rose and started over toward Royce and Brian. Her brother
grabbed her arm, but she threw it off. When she reached
them, she sent Brian away and talked to the landowner
alone. At first his manner was belligerent. Lindsay saw
Emily gesturing at him with her hands; it was obviously an
emotional conversation. In the end Royce got in his truck
and drove off. Emily came back to the tree.

"I can stay and observe. The two of you have to leave."

"Damn him," said John. "He can't-"

"He can," said George. "It's his land, and there's been
enough hard feelings. This is a compromise. We will take it."

"What about our ancestors?" said John.

"This is a compromise," the elder repeated. "We'll work
with the law. It's slow, but it's starting to work for us."

"Tell me this," asked Gerri. "Why the heck did you wait
until now, when we had half the burials up, to make an
appearance and protest?"

"We've been busy with other pressing matters," said
George, gazing down the road at Walter Royce's retreating
truck. "Come," he said to John, then turned to Brian. "See
that Emily gets home safely."

"Sure," said Brian. "I will. And thanks."

While Brian showed Emily West around the site, Lindsay
turned to Gerri. Dropping any pretense at respecting turf,
she spoke plainly.

"Look, Gerri, I know you disagree with these people, but
these are their ancestors."

"You don't really know that," said Gerri.

"They are more closely related to them than we are. They feel very strongly about this. You know their worldview is
very different about archaeological research from ours, and
we have to respect that, even if we disagree with it."

"Exactly why are you telling me all this?" Gerri asked
defiantly.

"Because I can see you are angry about their protest over
the excavation of the burials. But if you let your anger manifest itself in some way that insults them, you'll hurt yourself as well as Brian and the others."

"I do know how to act."

"Good."

"Tell me this," said Gerri. "Who the heck are you to be
laying all this on me? You are, after all, only a visitor here."
Despite her words, there was really no malice in Gerri's
voice. Only curiosity.

"According to some, I'm simply arrogant and manipulative."

"Well, if you can be arrogant and manipulative, I can be
sugar and spice," said Gerri. "You'll see. Emily will be my
best friend by the end of the week."

Emily was at the site the next morning at the same time
the crew was removing the protective black plastic from the
ongoing excavations, getting ready for the day's work.

"That was a good story you told," Emily told Lindsay.

Lindsay looked up from her work, excavating another
refuse pit. Emily squatted down to her level.

"It fits so far with what we've found," replied Lindsay.

"I wasn't insulting you."

"I know. But I wanted you to understand that I was being
as truthful as the data allow."

"You're very straightforward. My father likes you," said
Emily.

"He's a good man. Not many people see the value in
compromise," Lindsay said.

"There are many people in the world with divergent viewpoints, he always says. We must get along. My brother,
however, doesn't like you. I think perhaps for the same reasons. My brother and my father are very different." She hesitated a moment, then asked, "Why do you do this?"

Lindsay stopped what she was doing and looked into
Emily's dark eyes. "I want to know about these people. The
history of this land is my history, too. My ancestry is Welsh,
Irish, French, English and, I've been told, some northern
Italian. If you ask me to go back where I came from, it would
be to the foothills of the Appalachians. That's where I was
born and raised. There's no place else for me to go. By my
thinking, I am as much native to this land as you are. That
doesn't mean, however, that I believe that the government
shouldn't honor past treaties or that we should completely
disregard your feelings about your ancestors. It simply
means that all that happened here is part of my history, too."

"I understand that. I even respect it. But what if we were
digging up your ancestors?"

"I am absolutely the wrong person to ask that. If I knew
nothing about them, I'd be the first in with a shovel and
trowel."

Emily smiled. "We see things very differently."

"On most things, I suppose," said Lindsay. "Your differences with Royce. Was that about tribal land?"

"Yes. We've had a suit in for years. We finally settled with
the government last week, and Royce's father lost his land
to us in the settlement. He was paid, of course, but ..."

"His family had a history with that land, too," finished
Lindsay.

"Yes. Back several generations. We weren't happy to take
land away from him, but it was our land before it was his.
And, oddly enough, as Walter's father likes to say, a contract is a contract."

"You knew Walter Royce before this?" asked Lindsay.

Emily gazed off for a moment before she answered. "We
used to go out."

"I see. For you, then, the price of the settlement was very
high," said Lindsay.

"Yes. It was. But the good of the tribe is more important
than my happiness."

"Your and Walter's history together-is that why he
relented about you being on his land?"

"Yes."

"It looks like he might be willing to forgive one day,"
commented Lindsay as she went back to work on the bones
of a squirrel comingled with those of a rabbit. Emily
watched her work. Lindsay gently dug around the bones
with a wooden Popsicle stick, brushing the loose dirt away
with the kind of paintbrush used for edge work and windows. With each stroke of the brush, the bones stood out in
greater relief.

"He might," said Emily after a moment, "but his father
would forbid it, and he would honor his father."

"The good of his family is more important than his happiness. Perhaps our worldview is not so different from
yours after all."

"In some things, I suppose not."

Emily rose from her haunches. "It was good talking with
you, Lindsay Chamberlain. Perhaps we can talk more at
lunch. Now I have to go observe Gerri, who seems to want
to be my best friend."

Lindsay grinned to herself as Emily walked across the
site.

Lunch came too soon for Lindsay. She was not finished
with her animal pit. Nevertheless, she rose and went to eat
the sandwich she had prepared that morning from the camp
supplies. Emily and Sally sat beside her. Brian and Gerri
were still on the site talking about something, and Sally kept
looking over at them.

"The people on the news say that you are hiding out,"
said Emily.

Lindsay stopped mid-bite. "What?"

"They can't find you. They said your credentials are
being looked into, that they are suspect-something about
flunking a course and never making it up." Both Sally and
Lindsay looked at Emily with gaping mouths. "You didn't
know this?" Emily asked.

Lindsay shook her head. "I'm on vacation. Damn, this is
getting ridiculous. I've never flunked a course in my life."

"I'll say," said Sally. "Lindsay's credentials are the best."

"This has gone beyond just being a sore loser, this is-this
is something I'm going to take care of right now." Lindsay
rose and went to her vehicle.

She first called home and caught Susan at the cabin eating lunch. "Lindsay, I'm glad you called," she said. "The
reporters' questions are getting more serious. They are asking something about where you went to school and something about not really graduating and failing a course."

Lindsay was shocked. She realized that she was tapping
her foot on the brake pedal and stopped. "What are you
telling them?" she asked Susan.

"Not what I'd like. I simply told them that they have
wrong information and you'll straighten it out when you
get back from your vacation. Of course, with their small
minds, they translate that to mean you're hiding out from
reporters. I hate that kind of people."

"I don't understand. My academic history is an open
book. Look, I'm sorry you have to go through all this.
Thanks for fielding the calls for me."

"No problem. Listen, if they start coming out here to your
home, I may move Mandrake to my place. I don't want to
risk them letting him out or upsetting him."

That was Susan, thought Lindsay, far more concerned
about the horse than herself. "Do whatever you think best.
I trust your judgment," Lindsay told her, and rang off.

Next she called her department, trying to remember if the
acting head, Kenneth Kerwin, was on campus this summer.
Frank Carter, the head of the archaeology department, was on sabbatical in Europe. Kenneth had been a poor choice to
replace Frank, even temporarily, but the choice had been the
dean's and not Frank's. She dialed the number of the main
office and asked the secretary to connect her to Kenneth.

"Lindsay," said the secretary, "you can't imagine the
ruckus you've caused around here. Dr. Kerwin is in a tizzy."

"May I speak with him?" Lindsay bit her tongue. Edwina
would have to be working today. She wondered where
Kate, the senior secretary, was.

Lindsay was put through to Kerwin. "Dr. Chamberlain,"
he said too loudly in her ear. "Where are you? Why aren't
you here?"

"I gave you my detailed vacation plans, Dr. Kerwin.
What has been going on there?"