Authors: Sandra Leesmith
Frank wasn’t her real concern, though. She could manage him. It was her uncle, Arlo Ross, who worried her the most. Hasteen Nez wouldn’t mention his son—not with the obvious hostility Arlo felt toward Autumn. She didn’t want the Navajo rebel along on this project, but Dr. Davidson had hired him to provide the pack train that brought the expedition in to the canyon.
Why Arlo wanted to work for the professor was a puzzle to Autumn. He lived the old ways and he hated the white man. In fact, he had actively protested the dig. Perhaps he’d hired on to make sure the ancient ruins weren’t destroyed. Or he could plan to sabotage the professor’s efforts.
Resolving to keep an eye on Arlo, Autumn spoke. “No one will try to make any trouble. You don’t need to worry. I’ve organized everything for Dr. Davidson and I’ve made sure the scientists will do nothing to disturb the ruins. They only want to see the tablets.”
Real Tall Man didn’t reply, but he didn’t have to. His knowing expression told her what they were both well aware of. Coyote Springs was isolated, hundreds of miles from civilization where there was really no one to enforce their rules.
“You have been warned and I have given you the turquoise. I must return home now.”
“Walk in beauty,” she said—the traditional farewell of The People. She longed to embrace him like she did Grandpa O’Neill. Her adoptive parents’ family was large and demonstrative. She was used to shows of emotion, a lot of kisses, big hugs. But if she acted like that with this grandfather, she’d lose the months of progress she’d made to win his reserved affection.
Have patience,
she reminded herself for at least the thousandth time.
Real Tall Man mounted his horse and descended the sloping side of the butte, soon disappearing between the canyon walls. Autumn walked the few yards to the steep edge and looked down at Coyote Springs.
Dr. Davidson stood in the center of a large group of archaeologists, students, historians, and reporters. Wayne Carson, his undergraduate assistant, was at his side. Autumn glanced around, uneasy and oddly excited.
In the months she’d been working as Dr. Davidson’s assistant, there’d never been a crowd like this in the canyon. In fact, she’d wager there hadn’t been a gathering this size since the Anasazi had lived here seven hundred years ago. This group would announce to the world the new discovery that would alter history. She grasped the turquoise nugget and worked it between her fingers.
What had it been like in that ancient time? She let her gaze travel across the broken walls of the ruins. Farther up the side of the cliff and nestled in the moqui cave were more dwellings. Protected by the large overhang of sandstone rock, these walls were still intact. Small windows made dark spots in the expanse of red block. They looked like eyes studying the scene below.
They’d witnessed the village life of the Anasazi. Today, they would see the unveiling of the professor’s great discovery. Autumn glanced back at the crowd, sensing the anticipation they all shared.
Dr. Davidson gestured as he talked and Autumn smiled at the lanky, disheveled man. Never before had she seen him filled with animation. Pride radiated from him as he brushed back the long strands of his thinning hair. This discovery meant a lot to him.
As a young archaeologist, Davidson had been involved in several significant finds in Central America and Mexico. Unfortunately, his move to the Southwest had proven unfruitful—until now. She knew his dwindling prestige had grated on his sense of pride. Even though she couldn’t hear the professor, Autumn knew he was rambling. Dr. Davidson wanted to draw out his moment of glory. And why not? She knew how long and hard the search had been.
Over the past months, she’d gone with him to dig in the old Indian ruins scattered across the Barron property. The professor had been exploring the area for five years—since the ranch had been opened to public research. He figured there had to be uncharted ruins, and he’d been right. He was now preparing to reap the reward of the years of hard work.
Autumn shifted her attention to Frank Riker, who was directing a group who were organizing the gear. Farther down the canyon, Arlo Ross and two other guides were unloading the mules tethered in the shade of the saltbush. She tugged on her nugget as another wave of uneasiness washed through her.
A shrill cry overhead brought Autumn’s gaze skyward. The eagle fanned his tail and soared higher, circling again and again. She could imagine what he must see—desert for hundreds of miles, dotted with cactus, juniper, and sage. Like hundreds of church steeples, rock spires lined the canyons where water eroded its way to the Colorado River. The sheer cliffs were a giant sand painting of browns, ocher, yellow, and red.
The eagle glided over his territory, his sharp eyes missing nothing. What did he think of the sudden mass of people invading his domain? As if in answer to her unspoken question, he shrieked and flew toward the distant mountains.
Autumn sighed, almost with envy. She’d been alone in this isolated wilderness long enough, and while it would be stimulating to converse with others who held the same interest in the Anasazi as she did, the sudden invasion of people, noise, and confusion had disoriented her peaceful existence. For a brief moment, she longed to fly away as the eagle had done. Instead, she turned and stepped away from the edge of the cliff and headed down the trail.
It didn’t take long to hike down the trail to Coyote Springs. Autumn approached the crowd still gathered around Dr. Davidson. She found a good viewpoint on a small rise at the edge of the ring of scientists. A quick scan revealed that Jess Barron wasn’t around. Good. Now she could focus on Dr. Davidson.
Autumn didn’t care much for publicity, but she could tell the professor was enjoying every minute of it. She wondered if it brought back nostalgic feelings of his youth and previous fame. The public acclaim would certainly boost his standing in the political world of higher learning.
He must have sensed her attention because the professor suddenly stopped addressing the crowd and called to her. “Come here, girl. Let me introduce my assistant.”
Autumn wove her way through the crowd, smiling at those she knew, nodding at those she didn’t.
Dr. Davidson grasped her hand between his slender fingers and pulled her beside him to the top of the flat rock he was using as a makeshift stage. Her hair tossed about in the breeze, and for a fleeting second, she wished she’d tied it back up.
“This here is the best graduate assistant I’ve ever worked with.” His eyes danced with merriment as he told the crowd of her work.
Seeing the professor so excited and pleased with himself touched off a flood of fondness. After Jess had broken off their relationship, the older man had been her only source of human warmth this past year.
“When Autumn applied almost two years ago, I questioned the wisdom of hiring her. After all, she looks more like she belongs on the stage than digging around in the desert.”
Chuckles echoed in the crowd. Cameras clicked. Autumn maintained her poise in spite of the irritation threatening to erupt inside her. Dr. Davidson could be so condescending.
“Why did you apply?” a reporter asked. “Don’t you get lonely working out here in the desert?”
She hesitated in answering, so Dr. Davidson did it for her. “She’s part Navajo, you know. She’s searching for her roots.”
Murmuring buzzed throughout the crowd. Although she was proud of her heritage, she didn’t want her personal life bandied around by the press. “My thesis is on the ancient culture of the Anasazi.” She tried to sidetrack their attention. “There is much yet to learn about the pre-Columbian history of the Southwest.”
“Is your choice of thesis because of your Navajo roots?” another reporter asked.
Autumn inwardly groaned. This wasn’t the time or place to discuss her affinity for Native American culture—it was the professor’s show. “Dr. Davidson’s discovery is going to change our perception of southwestern history. The implications are…”
“Yes, yes. Let me explain.” Dr. Davidson sent her a grateful smile as he took over.
For decades, archaeologists had been trying to solve the puzzle of the Anasazi. Most supported the theory that severe drought during a fifty-year period between A.D. 1250 and 1300 had forced the inhabitants of the highly developed pueblos to move, leaving behind evidence of a complex civilization. Yet no one knew where they’d gone. Some had moved southeast to the valley of the Rio Grande, but there were still many unanswered questions about the disappearance of such a major civilization.
The confusion would soon be resolved. Tomorrow the professor would unveil evidence that proved the Mexican Connection, an obscure theory that claimed the Anasazi were, in fact, traders from Mexico.
Dr. Davidson’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Until now, we didn’t know why the Anasazi abandoned their cliff dwellings and road system. Archaeologists never found any records.”
“And you claim to have found written documents?” someone asked. The question rang with doubt.
“Yes, and they state that the Anasazi were an outlying branch of traders and settlers from the Toltec culture in Mexico. They established posts and communities that were centers for trade. From Chaco Canyon and other large ruins you can see the ruts of ancient roads. I’d compare it to a larger scale of what the Hudson Bay Company established from England.”
“But that doesn’t prove the Anasazi were called back to Mexico. Relics have been found among several present-day tribes. The pieces could easily have come here through trade.”
If Autumn remembered correctly, the man who had spoken was from the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City. It was the curator’s job to question Dr. Davidson’s discovery. Because of the impact of new evidence to history, the facts had to be checked out.
Dr. Davidson was too experienced to be daunted by attack. “Yes, there is proof that trade routes existed between the Southwest and Tula, the Toltec capital. The Anasazi brought feathers, live macaw birds, and copper bells from Mexico and exchanged them for turquoise. This headdress we found in the kiva is part of the proof. The macaw feathers are from Central America.”
He held up the delicate article for the group to see. Bright orange feathers trailed from his fingers and down his sunburned arm. “We’ve never had proof before that the Anasazi came from the south or returned there. With the tablets, we now have evidence.”
“You’re saying the reason the Anasazi abandoned their homes was to return to their mother country?” asked the cartographer sent to map the ruins.
“It’s written on the stone tablets.” Dr. Davidson patted the tablet nearest to him. “It seems they were called back for political reasons. A few remained to intermingle with native Indian tribes, a few settled along the Rio Grande, but most of the population returned to Mexico.”
As the scientists digested this news a young woman stepped forward to catch Dr. Davidson’s eye. The Phoenix television reporter stood out among the crowd with her yellow shirt and fashionable slacks. She looked out of place in the rugged terrain, but Connie Turner was ready to broadcast live.
“Why must we wait until tomorrow to see the tablets, Dr. Davidson? Most of us are already here.”
The blonde reporter obviously wanted to return to the ranch, where the plush motorhome belonging to KSTR, channel four television, waited with all the modern comforts. It would be tough going at the Coyote Springs site, but Connie Turner would stay if she had to. Autumn had sensed her drive. It would be interesting to see how she held up.
In a way, Autumn envied her. She hadn’t realized she missed the feminine silks and bright colors she used to wear until she saw them on the reporter. She’d been in the desert so long she’d grown accustomed to wearing cotton camp shirts and shorts. The large pockets came in handy while hiking around to carry equipment or a snack. At least Autumn still wore lacy silk underwear to remind herself she was a woman.
Smiling at her turn of thought, Autumn scanned the area for Wayne Carson. There was work to be done. She caught sight of Wayne threading his way through the crowd. She stepped off the table rock and moved behind the professor.
“Does he want us to repack those relics when he’s done talking?” she asked when Wayne finally made it to her side.
“Yeah.” He brushed back his sandy-blonde hair.
“It’s in place, Romeo,” Autumn teased.
Wayne was vain about his appearance. He and Connie Turner would make a great pair.
He sent her a mock frown and Autumn forced a serious expression. The kid was okay. He had oversized pipe dreams to be a famous archaeologist, probably because he was used to being in the limelight with his father, Senator Dirk Carson. Wayne worked hard, though. That’s what mattered to Autumn.
Wayne relayed Dr. Davidson’s instructions. “He wants to leave the pieces out for a while and let the experts have a closer look.”
“Does he think it’ll appease their impatience?”
He grinned. “I think he hopes it will.”
“Fat chance. The reporters aren’t the only ones who want to see the proof. Those scientists are practically chomping at the bit.”
“How come he’s so worried about security, anyway?” Wayne asked. “Seems odd to be so paranoid when we’re this far away from other people. Who’d dare take anything?”
The same question had puzzled Autumn. She’d even asked the professor, who’d said only that his find was too monumental to take risks. “You don’t know how much jealousy there is among my colleagues. They’d give anything to make a discovery such as this.” He’d waved his hands and shouted.
Autumn shrugged. “The professor has had lots of experience with important digs. He evidently has his reasons. Besides, ours in not to question why…”
“…ours is but to do or die,” Wayne finished.
Autumn smiled. “You’ve been working hard all morning. I’ll take over now if you want.”
“No.” Wayne shook his head. “I’m okay. I like meeting all these honchos.”
“Ahhh, and here I was beginning to think it was pure dedication.”
A crooked smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. “Right. And don’t tell me you mind the publicity. You like your name associated with the famous professor as much as I do.”
Autumn shook her head. “Not everybody thinks like you, Wayne.”
Her association with Dr. Davidson and the discovery would certainly benefit her career as a historian, but Autumn hadn’t given the future much thought. There were too many unknowns to deal with in the present to waste time worrying about tomorrow.
Wayne, on the other hand, was obviously bent on milking the situation for every bit of publicity he could get. Autumn didn’t blame him. The field of archaeology was extremely limited. Many studied the subject, but there were few career opportunities that existed in the field. It often came down to what contacts you had.
He smiled, a combination of cockiness and sincerity that Autumn got a kick out of. “I know what you’re going to say.” She lifted her hand to ward off his well-worn line. “Your daddy always tells you it’s not
what
you know…”
“…but
who
you know,” Wayne finished for her.
“Get on with you.” Autumn gestured him back to the group. “I’ll be around if you change your mind.”
Wayne disappeared in the crowd. Shaking her head, Autumn headed toward the corral. It wouldn’t hurt to see about the supplies that had been delivered that morning.
She’d barely cleared the edge of the crowd when Connie Turner called, “Wait up a minute. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Autumn halted. “I’ll help all I can.”
Connie positioned her pen on her tablet and didn’t waste time with chit chat. “All the reporters are going to have the doc’s story. Yours sounds like it might be a bonus.”
Amused, Autumn smiled. “I doubt there’d be anything your readers would care about.”
“Are you Navajo?”
Autumn nodded.
“Weren’t you adopted?”
Again she nodded.
“My understanding is that
the
O’Neills of Registry Imports are your adoptive parents.”
“That’s right.” No way was she going to elaborate for the reporter. Growing up in foreign countries and being involved in the import-export business afforded the family the status of the privileged. They’d learned early that one’s private life must be kept private.
“Do they know you’re of Indian descent?” Connie asked.
It wasn’t what she asked but the way she’d said it that annoyed Autumn. She tilted her head and forced a smile.
“Of course they’re aware of who I am.” Autumn’s tone dared Connie to think otherwise. In fact, the O’Neills hadn’t known and had been as surprised as she was when she’d discovered the records of Dora Ross.
“Registry Imports is a posh establishment. What does your family think of you living alone in the desert in such primitive conditions?”
“My family’s always been supportive of what I do. I’m sure the professor’s story will be of more interest to your readers.”
Connie remained undaunted by Autumn’s dismissal. “I hear the Navajo don’t believe you’re related. Someone told me that they think you’re a witch.”
If the reporter knew that much, it would be best to explain. They didn’t need the dig tainted with stories of witchcraft. Autumn straightened her shoulders and shook back her hair. “They think anyone who comes from the outside world could be exposed to evil. It is simply a protection for them.”
“Really?” The reporter edged closer to Autumn, ignoring her defensive stance and gearing up for further questions. “Surely they won’t continue to reject you on that basis.”
“First off, they haven’t rejected me.” It was much more complicated than that. Autumn held her ground. “When people leave the reservation to go into the outside world, they must have a ceremony to cleanse them when they return. It’s called the
Nda
or Enemy Way. For example, young men who go off to serve in the army must have this ceremony when they return.”
“Have they offered to do this for you?”
Autumn shook her head. “It’s very expensive, as it goes on for three or more days and involves hundreds of people.”
She didn’t tell Connie that Hasteen Nez, who was a
hataali
, could perform the ceremony. Nor did she mention that she was very hurt that he hadn’t offered.
Connie scribbled some notes on her pad before asking the next question. “Does your interest in their history help you earn acceptance?”