Ellie opened it, revealing a tiny, beautifully crafted rabbit, perfect down to its little white cottontail.
“These are incredible,” said Lucy. “How do you do it?”
“I start with wire frames,” said Ellie, showing Lucy several forms she was experimenting with. “Then I model the bodies using a special resin—the hands and the faces are the hardest. It’s important to get them just right.
“Then I paint the features and make the wigs and clothes and accessories. . . .”
“You make everything? Even the baskets?”
Ellie’s cheeks flushed. “I make it all. I don’t use any findings. Of course, sometimes it takes a bit of thinking. Take the blueberries, for example. What do you think I used?”
“I can’t imagine,” said Lucy, bending closer to study the baskets.
“If you shake them, they roll around. They’re not molded together or anything.”
“I give up,” said Lucy.
“Tapioca. I painted grains of tapioca with acrylic paint, and it was quite a trick, getting just the right color. In the end, I used several colors, even a few pinks and greens. Makes them look more realistic.”
“That’s amazing. It’s no wonder you win prizes. Let’s see,” said Lucy, flipping open her notebook. “You won ‘Best in Show’ and ‘Most Authentic Ethnic Doll’ at last month’s meeting of the American Dollmakers’ Association.”
“It’s kind of like the Oscar of the doll world,” said Ellie, a touch of pride in her voice.
“Was the competition stiff?”
“I’ll say. Thousands of people enter every year.”
“And which doll won?”
“You can’t see it. I mean, I don’t have the winners here. They’re on display at the Smithsonian.”
“Wow. That’s a real honor,” said Lucy, scribbling the information down in her notebook. “Do you ever sell them?”
“You bet. That’s what got me started. I needed to make money and I didn’t want to leave my girls. Angie’s in law school now and Katie’s at Dartmouth. So l started making dolls and selling them at craft shows. That’s how I got started. I sold the first ones for five dollars each. Can you imagine?”
Something in her tone made Lucy suspect the price had gone up. She had to ask. Maybe she could get one for Zoe. “How much?”
“It depends on the doll. The mother there—she’d go for about twelve hundred.”
Lucy gulped and decided Zoe would have to go without an Indian doll.
“That little boy—he’s special. He’d probably go for eighteen. I know it sounds like a lot, but people buy them as investments. I’ve heard of dolls I sold years ago for a few hundred dollars going for thousands at auctions.”
“And you make only Indian dolls? How come?”
“Well, I’m part Metinnicut. I guess it’s really been a way to affirm my heritage.”
Lucy was surprised. She hadn’t had the slightest inkling that Ellie was a Native American. Now that she knew that Ellie was Metinnicut, it helped explain her behavior at the dog hearing.
“Is that why you were so reluctant to testify against Curt?” she asked.
“In a way, I guess. I’ve known him all my life.”
Lucy didn’t want to blow the interview, but she had to ask. “And you’re just friends?”
“Just friends,” said Ellie firmly, changing the subject.
“The dolls are all authentic, you know, in a generic way. I couldn’t learn much about the Metinnicuts in particular, so I took patterns from other tribes in the Northeast. I call them ‘Eastern Woodland Indian.’ That way I can use designs from other tribes that appeal to me. Take the fringed dress, for example. I saw one in the museum in Cooperstown—that’s in New York and modified it. Working on such a small scale I had to simplify it, anyway, but the spirit’s there, if you know what I mean.”
Lucy studied the expression on the doll’s face, which seemed to capture not only maternal love but also the mix of anxiety of hopefulness that all mothers feel for their children. Then she nodded.
“Why couldn’t you learn about the Metinnicuts? There’s Metinnicut Pond and Metinnicut Road. There’s even Metinnicut Island out in the bay. And isn’t there a war club in the Winchester College museum?”
“There is, but it’s actually the only remaining Metinnicut artifact. Except for the names, I haven’t been able to find anything else. It’s all disappeared: the language, the culture, everything. The tribe died out in the eighteenth centuty. A lot of people around here have some Indian blood, but it’s mixed in with a lot of other stuff. Frankly”—Ellie gave a little laugh—“I’ve probably got more Italian genes than anything else.”
“But if there’s no Metinnicut culture left, why are folks like Curt Nolan making such a big deal about it? They even want recognition as a tribe from the federal government—the selectmen are voting on their petition next week.”
The question hung between them before Ellie finally spoke.
“Because of the casino.”
“Casino?” Lucy wondered if those occasional lapses of attention during selectmen’s meetings were getting out of control. This was the first she’d heard about a casino.
“That’s why they need federal recognition,” continued Ellie. “If they get it, they can build a casino. I’ve heard they even have the plans. They want to put it on Andy Brown’s farm.”
Lucy remembered the disagreement she had witnessed between Andy Brown and Curt Nolan the day before.
“And how does Andy Brown feel about this?”
“He’s all for it. He’ll make a lot of money. That’s what it’s all about: money.” Ellie’s voice was full of sadness. “It isn’t really about Metinnicut heritage at all.”
“How come I haven’t heard about this before?”
“Because nobody’s talking about it. They’ve kept it pretty quiet. I only know because Bear Sykes—he’s the tribal leader—is my uncle. They’re going to present the whole plan at the selectmen’s meeting next week.” Ellie smiled slyly. “I thought inquiring minds would want to know—off the record, of
