“Pendleton? You mean the company?”
“I mean the town. Pendleton, Oregon. I think the shoot’s in connection to Round-Up.”
“Round-Up?”
“That’s the rodeo—a really huge event that happens every September.” Aubrey sounded astonished at Sunny’s lack of knowledge. “Are you saying you’ve never heard of Pendleton the town or the Round-Up?”
“Of course I’ve heard of Pendleton the town. In fact, my grandmother came from around there.”
“Really?” Aubrey sounded skeptical now.
“My grandmother didn’t like to talk about her past, but I know it was near Pendleton. I think maybe my parents mentioned it to me before they died.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I happen to be from Pendleton too.”
“Really?” Sunny glanced at Aubrey as she stopped for a light. “Oh, yeah.” Aubrey nodded with what seemed an almost smug smile. “My family goes way back there. If I get the chance to be part of the Pendleton photoshoot, I’m absolutely going. How about you?”
Sunny considered this as she pulled into the intersection. “Oh, I don’t know, Aubrey. Probably not.”
“Why not?” Now Aubrey sounded slightly defensive. “What’s wrong with Pendleton?”
Sunny smiled weakly. “Well, hopefully I’ll secure a teaching job before then.”
“Oh.” Aubrey nodded. “Okay, I get that. But if you were dissing Pendleton, I’d have to take you on. Sure, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but it’s an interesting place—especially during Round-Up.”
But as Sunny continued to drive, she knew her resistance to Pendleton was more than her unrealistic hopes of finding a teaching job this late in the game. It was almost like a foreboding instinct, buried deep beneath her skin or maybe even tucked inside her DNA. Perhaps it was something her grandmother had said or that she’d overheard as a child. Or maybe it was an innate sense that she wouldn’t belong in Pendleton, wouldn’t be welcome there—that she would be much smarter, much safer, to stay put. Besides, wasn’t that how she lived her life? Always staying put or taking the path of least resistance? Why stop now?
Chapter Two
After a long, cool shower and a bite to eat, Sunny went upstairs to open the windows and let some of the heat out of the house. This second-floor bedroom had been Grandmother’s for as long as Sunny could remember. Even now, in its unchanged state, it still felt like it belonged to her grandmother. Sunny had never known her grandfather, but she was aware that he’d purchased this small Craftsman bungalow with his veteran’s loan after serving in World War II. He had lived the rest of his days here, as had her grandmother. And Sunny had lived here for nearly twenty-five years too.
With the windows open, a bit of air in the stuffy room, Sunny paused to scrutinize the space. For years, she’d been promising herself that she’d redecorate up here. At one point she’d even considered some furnishings from Pottery Barn. But the busyness of work and life, as well as a focus on redoing the first floor, had distracted her from it. Now she finally had the time but was no longer bringing in the income. Still, there might be some inexpensive ways to improve it. She’d managed to do a lot of things downstairs on a shoestring. Frugality was a learned behavior in Sunny’s life. Despite the allure of stores like Pottery Barn, shopping thrift stores and garage sales for furnishings came quite naturally to her.
Sunny sat down in the old padded rocker and looked at the blond bedroom furniture. Suddenly she found it rather charming, not to mention more collectible now that mid-century modern was in vogue. Perhaps it was worth keeping after all. The pale pink bedspread would definitely need to go, since most of its chenille was nearly worn off, and the dust-coated pink ruffled lampshades were beyond saving too. But the faded rag rug was sweet and the blond bedside tables a nice touch.
This room, with a good cleaning, some new curtains and bedding, and a cheerful coat of paint, maybe apple green, could provide a realistic source of additional income. With fall coming, and the convenient location to campus, this room might help ease her burden if a teaching position failed to surface. Getting this room ready to rent couldn’t be any more work than what she’d done in the park today.
Sunny went over to the low bureau that matched the other furnishings. She wondered if her grandmother had picked these pieces herself…or perhaps she and her husband chose them together. They seemed fairly solid and probably had not come cheaply. Yet Sunny knew that money had always been tight with her grandparents—even more so after her grandmother was widowed. Also, her grandmother had always disliked credit and was frugal almost to a fault. The furnishings in the rest of the house, before Sunny had refurbished it, had been a mishmash of things, like worn vinyl recliners, metal TV trays, and old rickety pole lamps, which made her wonder how they’d afforded a full set of bedroom furniture back in the fifties. Perhaps they’d won it on a game show. Or, more likely, they’d used layaway or purchased one piece at a time.
Sunny opened the top drawer and was taken aback by the aroma, as if her grandmother had just walked through the room. It was musty, somewhat spicy, and laced with old lavender. For as long as Sunny could remember, her grandmother had always grown lavender and other herbs in the small backyard, and now Sunny continued this tradition. This drawer was full of old lady kinds of things: boxy cotton underwear, frayed knit undershirts, and worn flannel nightgowns. Sunny pulled out the drawer, deciding that as long as she was up here, she might as well get started. So she dumped the contents of the drawer onto the bed, continuing with the other drawers, until she had sorted through them all, removing the few items she wanted to save and bagging up the rest for the homeless shelter.
But when she dumped the bottom drawer onto the bed, she discovered a wooden box wrapped in an old gray sweater, almost as if it were meant to be hidden. It had a rustic look, as if handmade, and was about the size of a cigar box. It was tied tightly closed and securely knotted with blue ribbon. Sunny felt fairly sure it wasn’t a jewelry box because her grandmother, worried that something precious might be lost, had shown Sunny where she hid her “valuables” several years before her death.
Sunny gave the box a cautious shake, but it seemed solid inside. Then, unable to untie the knotted ribbon, she finally gave it a hard tug, and the old fibers fell apart. Removing the ribbon, she saw a word crudely carved on the lid and peered closely at the letters. They seemed to spell Polly.
“Who is Polly?” Sunny said to herself as she sat down in the rocker, lifting the fitted lid from the box to reveal what seemed to be a packet of papers, photos, postcards…memorabilia from a long time ago. Knowing enough about archaeology and museum archives, Sunny knew these items needed to be handled with care. So she took the box downstairs and, after washing her hands and spreading a dishtowel on the dining room table, she very carefully removed the first item in the box. It was a yellowed newspaper clipping with a grainy old photo of what appeared to be a Native American. The man was wearing an impressive cowboy outfit and a rather noble expression. The headline read: Jackson Sundown Wins Bucking Contest. Sunny peered closely to read the faded print and was surprised to discover that this event occurred at the Pendleton Round-Up in 1916.
One by one, Sunny gingerly removed more newspaper clippings and photos. This memorabilia seemed related to the same man— Jackson Sundown. As she arranged the fragile pieces on her dish-towel, she noted that they all seemed to fall within a short period of time: the earliest date was 1911 and the latest date 1923, an obituary for Jackson Sundown, who died at the age of sixty. But what did it mean?
She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. The man’s name rang a faint bell in the back of her mind. And then she remembered a conversation that took place in this very room not long before her parents had left on their Andes expedition. Her dad had been picking her up at Grandmother’s, where Sunny spent most of her after-school time while her parents taught at the nearby college. Dad had burst into the house, talking very excitedly about his old college buddy
who was in town and working on a book of great significance.
“And you’re going to love this, Mary,” he eagerly told Grandmother. “The book is about your father!”
Grandmother’s dark eyes had widened with what seemed to be genuine surprise, but then, just as quickly, her expression turned solemn. Without saying a word, she simply shook her head—her clue that she was not interested in participating in this conversation.
“Come on, Mary, hear me out,” her son-in-law had pleaded. “I told my friend you might be willing to talk to him, share some of your memories, and he can share some of his findings with you.”
Grandmother had folded her arms across her chest, holding her head high, so high that even Sunny, who was only ten, knew this was not a good sign.
“It’s an amazing story,” Dad persisted. “A story that needs to be told.”
Sunny wanted to beg her dad to tell it right then and there but knew that Grandmother’s wrath could be fierce. So she simply stood back, waiting.
“Jackson Sundown was an amazing man,” Dad proclaimed. “A man I would be proud to have as my father or grandfather.” He grinned at Sunny then. “Or, as in your case, your great-grandfather.”
“He was not my father,” Grandmother had sternly told him. “Do not speak to me of this again. It is a pack of lies.”
And, until now, that was the last time Sunny had heard anything about this Jackson Sundown character. Well, other than a few bits and pieces she’d eavesdropped when her parents spoke of it— always in hushed tones because it seemed that Grandmother had forbidden them to mention any of this to her. Even the time Sunny brought it up many years later, Grandmother’s response had been to ignore Sunny for the remainder of the day. It was clear that anything connected to: (1) Jackson Sundown, (2) Native American history, or (3) Grandmother’s side of the family was clearly off limits.
Sunny picked up the lid of the wooden box and studied it carefully. The wood looked like pine, and the pieces were rustically fit together. It was obviously fairly old, maybe even older than the name carved on it. She still didn’t know who Polly was, but she suspected it might be her grandmother’s mother. Why else would her grandmother still have this box? Or keep it hidden?
The next item Sunny picked up was a sepia print of a Native American in full native garb. Something about this attractive young woman felt strangely familiar. Wearing a white, fringed dress, a beaded head-band, and a cheerful smile, she was captivating. The penciled caption on the back of the photo was difficult to decipher. But Sunny held it close to the light, squinting to read: POLLY WIKIAPI, PENDLETON ROUND-UP, 1911.
Next she found a small newspaper clipping from the vital statistics section. Sunny knew by the name and birthday that it was her grandmother’s birth announcement: MARY SUNRISE WIKIAPI, BORN MAY 17th, 1912, UMATILLA INDIAN RESERVATION. It seemed obvious that Polly Wikiapi was Grandmother’s mother, and this box contained her things. Probably given to Sunny’s grandmother before she’d left the reservation.
Sunny set the photo of Jackson Sundown next to the photo of Polly Wikiapi and stared at the two very attractive Native Americans. Was it possible that there really was a connection between those two people? A connection that had produced a child? She remembered now that Aubrey had mentioned that Round-Up was always in September. Counting the months on her fingers, she realized that her grandmother’s birthday was about nine months after the Round-Up date. Still, if any of this were true, why would her grandmother so adamantly deny it? Like Sunny’s dad had said, Jackson Sundown was someone to be proud of. And, based on the articles Sunny had just read, she had to agree.
That’s when it hit her: Sunny’s grandmother (also Sunny’s namesake) had been named Mary Sunrise. Was it a coincidence, or did the words Sundown and Sunrise have more in common than merely separating the darkness? Just then the phone rang. Still feeling stunned by the possibilities of this information, she answered with a quiet, throaty “hello.”
“Sunny?” It was Aubrey.
“Yes.” Sunny cleared her throat.
“Are you okay? You sound funny.”
Sunny turned away from the photo montage she’d created on the dishtowel. “Uh, yes, I’m fine. Sorry.”
“Nothing’s wrong? There’s not an ax murderer holding you hostage?”
Sunny laughed, weakly. “No, nothing like that. I guess I’m kind of in shock.”
“What happened?”
So Sunny, in a way that was out of character, poured out this crazy little story, finally ending it with, “But I’m sure it’s not even possible.”
“You’re kidding!” Aubrey let out a little shriek. “You are Jackson Sundown’s great-granddaughter?”
“No, no, probably not. It’s just that this box of memorabilia took me by surprise. I vaguely remember my father talking about this when I was a kid, and I was trying to put the pieces together.”
“This is so exciting, Sunny. Do you know how exciting this is?” “Not exactly.” Sunny turned back to the photo.
“Jackson Sundown is a legendary cowboy, Sunny. And not just in Pendleton either. He made rodeo history across the country and—”
“But I have no evidence it’s even true, Aubrey. Really, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please, forget I ever mentioned it. Okay?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. You get to keep something this cool—this big— to yourself. That’s real nice, Sunny. I thought we were friends.”
Sunny almost reminded Aubrey that they’d only been friends a few months but decided not to go there. “We are friends,” she told her. “But this connection to Jackson Sundown is unverified. All speculation on my part. There’s no real evidence.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re a scientific girl. But can’t you simply enjoy the possibility? Hey, if I thought for a minute that Jackson Sundown was my great-grandpa, I’d be doing the happy dance. I’d go out and tell the whole wide world about it.” She chuckled. “Although my parents might have a fit.”
“A fit?”
“Well, to suggest that my great-grandma had had an affair with Jackson Sundown when she was supposedly married to my great-grandpa might ruffle a few family feathers.”
“Oh.” Sunny wondered if that was why her grandmother had wanted this kept hush-hush. But what family feathers would’ve been ruffled by this? As far as Sunny knew, her family on Grandmother’s side was all dead or unknown. And the next generation, Sunny’s parents, had been proud to imagine they were connected to Jackson Sundown, although Sunny had never understood why that was so special.
“Anyway”—Aubrey interrupted Sunny’s thoughts—“did you get Marsha’s e-mail?”
“No, I haven’t checked.”
“Well, the shoot’s all set, and I wondered if I could hitch a ride with you tomorrow.”
“I don’t even know if I’ve been invited.”
Aubrey laughed. “You are a real piece of work, Sunny. If they were giving out awards in false humility, I think you’d clean up and then still act surprised.”
“Thanks a lot.” Sunny felt fairly sure that was not a compliment. “I’ll wager the cost of your gas tomorrow that you are invited. The shoot’s going to be at Cannon Beach, and we’re supposed to be there by nine, which means we need to hit the road by around seven. Are you going or not?”
“Sure, I need the money. That is, if Marsha actually e-mailed me.” “Just to show how positive I am, I’ll be at your house by seven. Okay?”
“Okay.”
After she hung up, Sunny looked back down at the photos and memorabilia. Seeing it all spread out there on the white linen dish-cloth was like looking into a foreign country. What did it all mean? She picked up the beaded band, comparing it to the photo of her great-grandmother. It appeared to be the same headdress she had been wearing that day, nearly a hundred years ago. Sunny studied the cheerful smile, the hopeful glint in her big dark eyes. What was true? What was not? Early in life, Sunny had been influenced by her scientific parents and later on by her own academia—and sh
e knew that most questions had answers. But some answers could only be uncovered by thorough research.
She opened her laptop, determined to begin her research journey tonight. But first she checked her e-mail to discover that Aubrey was right. Marsha did want her for the photoshoot tomorrow. She also found out that yet another university, not even an impressive one, had rejected her application for a last-minute opening on their staff. With only one school left to hear from, Sunny was more than a bit concerned. To distract herself, she got lost in the story of Jackson Sundown. By the time she fell into bed, a bit concerned that six hours’ beauty sleep might not be enough for tomorrow’s shoot, all she could think about was the surviving Nez Percé tribe members making their way through the Rockies, cold and wounded and starving, heading north to the Canadian border—and Jackson Sundown among them.
Chapter Three
Posing for photos in the foggy pine forest not far from the beach was a great improvement over yesterday’s fiasco, which was now being referred to as the Shake and Bake Shoot. With coastal temperatures barely reaching sixty, the warm outer clothing, coats, and jackets were welcome.
“This is a beautiful setting,” Sunny told Marsha during a short lunch break. “Besides being more comfortable, I’m sure it’s very photogenic.”
“And you’re doing much better today,” Marsha said quietly. She had come over to where Sunny was standing off by herself, hoping to regroup her thoughts and get herself into a model-mindset for the rest of the afternoon.
“Thank you.” Sunny smiled. “I have to admit that modeling isn’t as easy as I thought.”
Marsha laughed. “Yes, it’s funny how people see those photos and assume it’s no big deal to get them. Just point and shoot, right?”
Sunny shook her head. “Yeah, right.”
“So, Sunny, I’m taking a few models to Pendleton in a couple of weeks. Any chance you’d be interested?”
Love Finds You in Pendleton, Oregon Page 2
