Holding center stage was Sandy Dunlap, dressed in a red power suit and sporting a chic new hairdo, backed by Mulligan Construction executives and town officials sympathetic to the project. Rumor was she was considering a run for the state legislature, and Lucy had no doubt she’d win. As Ted had pointed out so often, Sandy was a terrific campaigner, but she didn’t have a clue what to do once she got in office.
The Brown family was also there in force, all dressed in their Sunday best. Lucy wondered if they would stay on in the farm house, next to the casino, or if they’d take the money and settle somewhere else, someplace where there wasn’t a tacky casino spoiling the landscape.
Also standing with Sandy and beaming approval were a group from the Business and Professional Women’s Association of Tinker’s Cove led by Franny Small. This newly formed group was having a definite impact on town politics, well out of proportion to its small size.
Last, but not least among the group gathered around the town officials, were Bear Sykes and the Metinnicut people, dressed in traditional Native American clothing decorated with fringe, beads, and feathers.
Another group was also waiting for the ceremony to begin, but these people had grim expressions on their faces and had arranged themselves in front of a Mulligan Construction bulldozer. Jonathan Franke was there, holding a placard that read, Bet on the environment, and so was Fred Rumford, holding a traditional deerskin drum. Ellie was absent, Lucy noticed, speculating that she would have found herself in an awkward position, having to choose between her loyalty to the tribe and her relationship with Jonathan.
There was a squeal from the microphone as Sandy began speaking and thanked everyone for coming.
“This project has not been without controversy,” she continued, getting a few chuckles from the crowd, “but change is always controversial. Today we are embarking on a new adventure, which we hope will bring unprecedented prosperity to our community—to our whole community.”
Everyone, except the protesters, applauded. They remained stubbornly in place, in front of the bulldozer.
Sandy raised her hand and the machine roared into life, she lowered her hand and it began rumbling forward, making the first cut in the field. The protesters stood their ground until the last minute. Then they scattered for safety to the sidelines, where they stood in a ragged row. Fred Rumford began beating his drum slowly, as if for a dirge.
Lucy had snapped some pictures and was moving among the crowd, collecting quotes, when it suddenly became much quieter. The slow drumbeats continued but the bulldozer had stopped and was idling in the middle of the field. The operator had jumped down and could be seen on his knees, pawing at the dirt.
Rumford passed his drum over to Franke, who continued the slow beat, and ran out to join the bulldozer operator. He, too, knelt and began gently brushing away at the soil. When he stood up his solemn expression had been replaced with a huge smile.
“We have archaeological remains,” he exclaimed, and the protesters erupted into joyful cheers.
“What does that mean?” asked Sandy, looking puzzled.
“That means everything stops. Right now. We have to call the state archaeologist, who will determine if the site is historically valuable and should be preserved.”
A little worried furrow appeared between Sandy’s brows.
“You can’t do that!” exclaimed Andy Brown. “This is my land and I say we’re going ahead.” He tapped the bulldozer operator on his shoulder. “You, get back up on the machine. Let’s go.”
The fellow shook his head. “Sorry. No can do.” He tilted his head toward Rumford. “He’s right. It’s a state law. We have to wait for the archaeologist.”
“How long will that take?” demanded Andy impatiently.
The fellow shrugged. “A couple of weeks maybe.”
“And then we can go ahead with the casino, right?”
“Wrong.” It was Rumford, looking as if he’d stumbled on the Holy Grail. “These are human remains, very old remains. And Metinnicut pot shards. If I’m right, and I’m sure I am, this is a gravesite dating from 1400 or earlier.”
“So what? There’s stuff like that all over the farm. Arrowheads, bits of this and that—I don’t know what all.”
“There are?” Rumford could hardly contain his delight. “All over, you say?”
“Yeah. What of it?”
“This is a priceless archaeological resource!” Rumford was bouncing on his toes. “It can’t be touched! It’s one of a kind! It will have to be excavated and researched! Do you know how rare this is? It’s fantastic! It’s what I’ve been waiting for my entire life.”
“What about the casino?” insisted Brown.
“There’s no question about that. You’ll have to find another site for the casino.”
Brown glared at him angrily, then stomped off to confer with the Mulligan executives.
Bear Sykes approached Rumford. “You say these are the remains of my ancestors?”
“I’d bet my life on it,” said Rumford. “Heck, I’m going to stake my career on it. This land holds a wealth of information about the Metinnicut people.”
Sykes nodded. “It is good,” he said and began clapping his hands and singing a traditional chant. He was soon joined by other members of the tribe, and Franke picked up the beat on his drum. Someone produced a tightly knotted bundle of sage leaves and lighted it; fragrant smoke rose heavenward.
Lucy took a deep breath and savored the sharp scent of the burning herbs. She surveyed the field filled with friends and neighbors and looked beyond to the budding trees that rimmed the field. She looked up at the blue sky, where a single dark cloud had formed directly overhead blocking the sun. Then she thought of Curt Nolan.
She remembered the day he died, how his sightless eyes had looked up at the sky. Today, if he was up there, perched on that cloud and looking down on the human comedy in Andy Brown’s pumpkin field, he must surely be smiling. As she
