by Susan Slater
In 1859 the errant surveyor, Reuben E. Clements, set the pueblo’s eastern boundary along the Sandia foothills despite a translation of the Spanish grant that states it is at the main ridge of the mountains, and he gave the crest to the CdeBacas. It is thought that the very powerful CdeBaca family coerced the surveyor to limit the pueblo’s land and state once and for all that the boundary ended at the foothills. It took a hundred years for the pueblo to realize what had happened.”
Governor Paisano interrupted to point out the difficulties his people had with the language. A treaty written in English was simply not understood.
“That’s a valid point, thank you, Governor.” Senator Bingaman took a moment to look at his notes before continuing. “Not realizing the error, Clements’ survey was used as a basis for a patent issued by the U.S. Congress. In addition, the CdeBaca family had, by then, built a hunting lodge and various other buildings on the land. It was 1986 before the pueblo asked the Secretary of the Interior to correct the government’s land patent and to evict the CdeBacas. This request was denied in 1988. In 1994 the pueblo sued to have the solicitor’s opinion reviewed on the question of whether it was arbitrary and capricious.” The Senator paused to take a sip of water and reverse the order of two slides.
“In 1998, U.S. District Judge Harold Greene ruled that the U.S. Interior Department erred in denying Sandia Pueblo its claim. He ordered a resurvey of the boundaries. Later that year the federal government gave notice that it was reserving the right to appeal Greene’s ruling. The private landowner, New Mexico Senator Skip CdeBaca, also indicated plans to appeal. Poor health and his death left his widow, two sons and a daughter to protest. The multi-million dollar development with fifty exclusive homes hangs in the balance.
“After the Senator’s death, public interest seemed to lean toward the pueblo. The Bernalillo Town Council unanimously supported the pueblo’s claim and a public relations firm working for the pueblo launched a phone campaign to raise public interest and gain support. In the meantime, several compromise bills were introduced but none met with the pueblo’s approval—including the T’uf Shur Bien Preservation Trust Act, which would have removed ownership from the picture entirely and made the area a game preserve if passed by the U.S. Energy and Natural Resources Committee. It failed because of vigorous lobbying by pueblo representatives and solid representation by the CdeBacas.
“In the last two years the pueblo has been busy buying up any individual parcels of land—some remnants of land grants—that border the ten contested acres. Development of the mountain has been quickly curtailed.” The Senator took another sip of water. “I’ll entertain any questions anyone might have.”
Questions seemed to center around rights—the ‘what ifs’—and the Senator led a brief, but spirited discussion. Pueblo representatives and government spokesmen then stood and also opened discussion to the floor and fielded several questions concerning their rights. The meeting concluded after hearing objections to the CdeBaca building plans and listening to a number of compromises. Conspicuously absent was any comment by the CdeBaca family. Julie felt certain that hadn’t been planned. This was to have been their forum, and Connie had forfeited the opportunity.
As the crowd dispersed, Connie motioned for Julie to join her as she walked out.
“Let’s go visit the mountain,” Connie whispered. “I have the Range Rover parked in back.”
“I’d love to see it. It’s been years since I’ve been to the crest.”
+ + +
“So what did you think?” Connie had given Julie the keys and was leaning back against the soft leather passenger-side seat.
“There’s a lot of history.”
“Understatement.”
“I can certainly see both sides.” How could she say she felt the Indians had been shafted? Probably not a popular opinion to share with her boss. Safer, perhaps, to change the subject. “Why did you keep Wayne a secret?” There—probably best to just ask before she came up with too many wrong answers, Julie thought.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come. You know, your mother could have come with you. But she knew Wayne was with the company—I think they’ve kept in touch. Didn’t you know that?”
Julie shook her head
“Typical Bev to try to maneuver—”
“Mastermind.”
“Julie, Bev has good intentions.”
“She’s not your mother.”
Connie laughed. “I know that makes all the difference. Personally, I believe you’ve made the right choice. Ben is perfect for you. Bev will come around. I’ll be putting in a good word for him.”
Julie didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure a ‘good word’ would change things. But she let it drop and concentrated on driving, steering the bulky Rover into turn after turn as they wound higher up the mountain. The late afternoon shadows lengthened across the road and the parking lot was almost deserted by the time they reached the top.
“Park here and let’s walk for a bit. I always keep a couple warm jackets in the back. I want to see the sunset from on top.”
The temperature had dipped to the low 30s as the sun began to sink in the west. Julie grabbed two down jackets and slipped one on. The air was cool and the whispering of the pines hinted of a light breeze some thirty feet overhead. They took a path away from the ski lifts, curio shops and tram restaurant to walk along the edge and leave the area comprising the three private commercial holdings, the only businesses on the mountain. In warmer weather hang gliders would launch themselves from this height to soar above the trees and look down on the city nestled at the mountain’s base.
Lights twinkled far below and the blood-red sun slipped lower to light the underside of hovering clouds a marmalade orange. Sunsets in New Mexico. Julie had never seen any to best them. They both stood silently as the light changed to pastels and a layer of peach hues banked the horizon.
“I’m backing out.”
“Of?” Julie watched the soft afternoon light rob Connie’s face of any wrinkle or crease. Funny, but she knew she’d always remember this moment, remember Connie in this light. Beautiful, the black fox fur trim around the parka hood framing her face. Her dark luminous eyes seemed fathomless.
“I knew what Stewart was saying this afternoon. I felt it. I know what it’s like to be owned by something. This mountain is a part of him—a part of his people. All of the mountain is theirs. It was meant to be. I know that now.”
“But the project?”
“In comparison, it means nothing. My ego-driven need for a monument cannot be compared to a gift from God.”
“I totally agree with your decision, but I don’t think it will be popular.”
Connie smiled. “I’ve given up trying to please Skip’s children. They’re adults now. They have enough from their father to sustain them. But I’ve been given a chance to do something lasting—something that has meaning to so many.”
“But your home?”
“A museum. When I built it, I thought of it as that. It’s something the pueblo could use.”
“I think your intent is admirable. I just don’t envy you the wrath of your family.”
“Funny you should call them my family. I’ve never thought of them as other than barely disguised enemies—the more vicious since their father died. Wolves circling the prey, so to speak.”
“Your life always looked so perfect.” Julie thought Connie suddenly looked tired. She put her arm around her friend’s shoulder for a moment then let it drop. “What will you do now?”
Connie seemed to wait a long time before answering. “Go back to my people. It’s time I move on—leave what has been my life for so long.”
“But what will you do?”
“Begin the endings.”
Julie waited for an explanation but none seemed forthcoming.
Chapter Ten
Julie was right about Connie’s decision being unpopular. The hastily called meeting Saturday morning at the office was more a shouti
ng match than anything sane and productive. Wayne was reduced to something just this side of hand wringing and finally sat down and became a spectator. Jonathan was the first to bang out the front door, waving a fist in the air and threatening a lawsuit that would put them all in their graves. Not a happy thought. Julie watched Connie brush his comments aside and turn her attention to Wayne.
“We need to come up with a formal offer. An offer in that I have a few requests which, under the circumstances, I think the pueblo will honor. I don’t expect them to turn down my gift. If I’m not contesting the land grant survey, the government will not stand in the way of the pueblo having full authority over the ten thousand acres.”
“What stipulations are attached?” Wayne seemed defeated or maybe just bitterly disappointed. Julie couldn’t tell which. Connie’s decision certainly affected his livelihood.
“I want my residence to become a museum of Southwestern art. I will leave my collection of pueblo pottery—”
“You’ll hear from our lawyers.” Byron pushed back from the table. “Cherie, I don’t think there’s any reason for us to be here. This isn’t going to happen. You can’t screw us out of our inheritance.”
“Can she do this?” Cherie seemed to be the one in shock. The question was directed at Wayne.
“Your stepmother has controlling interest through your father’s will.”
“I’d like you to understand and have compassion for people wronged. Wronged for centuries.” Connie looked tired but resigned.
Julie guessed she’d been considering this move for a long time.
“Don’t give me this blood-is-thicker-than-water crap. The pueblos aren’t even your people or however you’d describe it. Or are all Indians the same? Some red man’s kindred spirit that transcends tribe?” Byron’s laugh was derisive.
“I’ll have Wayne share our rough draft with you.”
“That would be thoughtful.” Cherie seemed to have regained composure and a measure of sarcasm. She followed Byron out the door.
Connie waited until there were just the three of them.
“I’d like—” Connie began.
“I’d like to change your mind,” Wayne interrupted. “Don’t make a gift of the entire tract. Divide it. Give them half but not all. Don’t throw away all this.” His gesture included the office but, more exactly, the pictures lining the walls. Pictures of the mesa, the lodge, the homes under construction.
“I think it has to be all or nothing. Sometimes in life it’s important to simply do what is right—not what’s easy but what will be best for the greatest number of people. I’m tired of feeding the egos and lining the pockets of three people who don’t understand this land, don’t understand the ceremony, its link to the past, and how it can guarantee the future. Guarantee the herbs, the medicines that have healed these people for centuries will remain in their possession; guarantee their religion, the place of their beginnings, will not be commercialized and ruined. What price can you put on that?”
“I feel like there’s nothing I can say to dissuade you.”
Connie shook her head. “No, nothing. I’m just disappointed in myself that I didn’t do it sooner. I’ve always felt the land wasn’t meant to be ours—that the CdeBacas used their money to cheat the pueblo.”
“Strong wording.”
“You know this family. My words are not strong enough for some things that have happened.”
“I’ve heard rumors. But any family with money and power incurs the jealousy of others. I’ve never thought it was anything more. There’ll be paperwork—a change in your will.” Wayne was making notes on a legal pad.
“Nothing that can’t wait a day or two. Let’s plan on keeping this office open for six months. Does that sound reasonable to complete everything? Meet our obligations to those who had planned on building?”
“Six months should do it. Is that my severance?”
“Wayne, I think you’ve done an admirable job. I’ll encourage Byron to keep you on as counsel for the construction business.”
“I’ve been thinking of going back to school for a year. I’ve always wanted to specialize in contract law. Maybe now’s the time.”
Julie thought he didn’t sound very convincing.
“Now if the two of you could leave me alone … I hate to shoo you out, but I’d like to be alone for awhile. Go through some papers or maybe just sit here and think.” Connie smiled wanly, then pushed back from the table and stood.
“I understand. I’ll drag your almost-niece off for some brunch.” Wayne gave Connie a peck on the cheek.
Julie couldn’t help but feel forced into a situation she’d been dreading—alone with Wayne— but maybe better to just get it over with.
“Should I come back for you later?” She wasn’t meeting Ben until after lunch.
“No. I have some shopping to do. Let’s plan on dinner at seven. Wayne, if you’d like to join us?”
Julie turned back from the front door and almost shouted, “Ben will be there.” But, then why not include the company lawyer at dinner? Maybe it was time for the two to meet. There was certainly no reason Wayne should not come. Or was there? Was she ready for her past and present love lives to collide? She continued across the parking lot, opened the car door and got in.
She rolled down the car window and Wayne leaned in.
“Hungry?”
“A little. Is there something close that’s good?” Julie was suddenly ravenous.
“Flying Star, a local favorite but it might be crowded.”
“Sounds great.” A noisy, crowded restaurant would keep things from getting personal.
“Follow me. It’s less than a mile.”
Julie watched as Wayne got into a black Porsche Boxster. Nice car. He certainly appeared to be the picture of success.
+ + +
“So, tell me what you’ve been doing.” Wayne chose a table in the corner against the restaurant’s plate glass south wall. This was about as private as it got and Julie began to relax. There really wasn’t any reason they couldn’t be friends. They had said some things in the heat of anger, but they had been young then—five years younger than now.
“I’ve stayed in broadcasting. My most infamous stint to date was a six month contract with Good Morning America.”
“I caught the series on southwest fetishes. Good stuff. But I’m not interested in who you’re working for, I want you to tell me about Ben.”
Julie tried to smile, give some nonchalant look that said ‘Oh, that.’ Suddenly she was doubly thankful the restaurant was crowded.
“I’m not sure there’s much to tell. We met five years ago—you remember that. And even though we were in Chicago at the same time, we drifted apart. We met again last year when I was researching the fetish series.”
“And you’re convinced this is it? Until death do you part?”
Julie suddenly wished he hadn’t chosen those words. An involuntary shiver skittered between her shoulder blades.
“Yes.” She tried to smile confidently but felt the smile fade prematurely.
“I just can’t believe you. He’s an Indian, for God’s sake.”
“Are you trying to sound like my mother or is bigotry just a normal part of your makeup?” Stupid, she needed to watch it. The clenched jaw hinted of real anger.
“Julie.” He reached over and took her hand. Monumental fortitude kept her from jerking it away. “We were friends, lovers, engaged to be married—that’s a lot of history. I don’t want to throw it away. I believe we can be friends again. Start over.”
“Friends, not lovers.” She watched him look away, his jaw set.
He turned back. “Do me this favor. Don’t rule out our getting back together. Please? You have no idea how I’ve kicked myself for letting you go. You broke my heart, babe.”
“Wayne, you never tried to reach me. In five years I never heard from you. You’ll excuse me but I find this hard to believe. We were together two years. We grew up and out of our rel
ationship. I’ve moved on with my life.”
“I talked to Bev.”
“Good for you.” Now he had struck a nerve. Calling her mother was altogether dirty pool. “I hope you had a good conversation.”
“She agrees with me.”
“In what?”
“That you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re dazzled by this guy and you’re throwing your career away. You could have New York, Los Angeles—any station or news program you want. You won’t have those kinds of chances being a squaw woman.”
“Clean it up, Wayne. I’m not going to sit here listening to derogatory remarks about my life.”
“So what makes this guy so great? Is he good in bed?”
“Out of line, and I’m out of here.” Julie swung her bag over her shoulder and pushed back from the table.
“Wait. I’ll be nice. I just promised Bev I’d make you change your mind.”
“Fat chance. I know who I am and what I want out of life. That’s probably more than you can say.” Julie ignored the curious stares as she walked out the front door.
He was out of line. And she wouldn’t be pushed—manipulated by Wayne here and her mother in absentia. She paused just long enough to slip her jacket on and press the Beemer’s automatic door opener. Ben was getting into town in four hours. If she hurried, she’d have time to go up to Connie’s, change clothes, run a few errands and be ready for dinner that night.
Chapter Eleven
Connie had watched the two of them walk across the parking lot. Wayne obviously giving directions as he leaned in the window of the BMW before going to his car. She’d pushed them together. She was acting like Bev, but she didn’t have a choice.
He was coming. Here. Any minute. She’d left a note by the stack of wood behind the wall. It was gone the next day. Yes, someone else could have taken it, but she felt it was the Fire Dancer. She knew he came to the house—stayed a discreet distance away but watched over her. It never felt like spying or some type of voyeurism; there was too much empathy. And longing, at least on her part, to just hold him, touch him, try to bridge those twenty years. Say all the things she wanted to say and that needed to be said. That she’d spent a lifetime rehearsing.
