“So you’ve spent a lot of time there?”
“Not a lot of time. But don’t forget that my sister used to live on the Rez.”
“The Rez?”
“Yeah, I used to go out there to visit my sister sometimes. I even stayed with Lenora and Cody one summer, back before Echo was born, and when my parents were driving me nuts.”
“Right.” Sunny nodded. She was still having a hard time linking the glitzy cowgirl photos of Lenora with the slightly serious Cody. For some reason they seemed so very different. Of course, Sunny knew that opposites attract. “I’m curious—how did Lenora and Cody meet?”
“Meet?” Aubrey frowned as if trying to remember. “It seems like they always knew each other. They’d been sweethearts, off and on, since junior high. And Cody used to be really into rodeo. When Lenora was in the court, they started dating again, and then got engaged in college. Not that my parents were too pleased.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Oh, you know, the whole reservation thing. My parents aren’t bigots or anything, but they didn’t warm up to the idea.”
“You mean they didn’t like the fact that Cody lived on the reservation?”
“I don’t think that bothered them as much as that he was Indian. Not that they admitted it to anyone, but I could tell it bugged them… at first anyway.”
Sunny was shocked. “Cody, your brother-in-law, is Native American?”
“Yeah. But just on his dad’s side.”
Sunny was turning down their driveway now, still trying to take this in. “Cody is half Native American?”
“No. His dad is half. Cody is just a fourth. And, believe me, my parents totally accept him now. But, well, it was a bit of an issue at first. In fact, I used to think that was one of the things that attracted Lenora to Cody. Like it was her own personal rebellion—just to show our parents that they couldn’t control everything she did.”
“You don’t think she married Cody because she loved him?” “Oh, sure, she loved him. But I always secretly suspected that Lenora liked rocking my parents’ boat…just a little. Probably because they were always telling her what to do, how to walk, talk, act—you know—grooming her for the Round-Up court and the rest of her life.”
Sunny remembered Echo’s secret confession last night and her resistance to being Round-Up royalty. It sounded like, while an honor, it might be a somewhat heavy load for a girl to grow up with.
“Thanks for the ride,” Aubrey told Sunny. “And good luck on the Rez. You’ve got your cell phone, right?”
Sunny winced. “Actually, it’s dead. And I forgot to pack the charger.”
Aubrey frowned. “I don’t want to scare you, but the Rez can be a scary place sometimes. Even though there are a lot of good people, there are a lot of not-so-good ones too. You don’t want to get a flat tire somewhere and have a truck full of drunk and crazy guys offer to help you out. Seriously, I can tell you some stories, Sunny.”
Sunny didn’t want to hear Aubrey’s stories about “Indians.” Besides, for all anyone knew, Sunny was one of them. Why would one of her own people want to hurt her? “Don’t worry,” she assured Aubrey. “I’ll be fine.”
“I can run in the house to see if there’s a spare cell phone or a charger cord you can borrow.”
“No, that’s okay. After all, my ancestors didn’t have cell phones, and I’m sure they managed to find their relatives just fine.”
Aubrey rolled her eyes. “Well, you could always send up a smoke signal.”
Sunny laughed at that, but as she drove down the driveway, she hoped she wouldn’t be sorry. Yet, the idea of being disconnected from some of the “comforts” of modern electronic culture was rather appealing. Almost like turning back the clock.
As she turned down one of the roads that was supposed to lead toward the reservation, she was still trying to absorb what Aubrey had just told her—that Cody was part Native American. She replayed some of his comments from last night now, reviewing them from her new perspective. Suddenly it seemed clear that she had overreacted to him. Oh, she could blame it on feeling the need to defend herself, but the truth was, she’d been offensive in doing so. Cody probably thought she was either crazy or plain rude. Hopefully she’d get the chance to apologize to him before she left Pendleton next week.
Sunny knew she was on reservation land now. It was clear that something was different. As she surveyed the landscape and houses, her emotions vacillated between a real sense of disappointment and an unexpected sense of exhilaration. The disappointment was in regard to some of the properties she saw: decrepit cracker-box houses and rundown old trailers, many with broken windows or screen doors hanging off their hinges. Old vehicles and miscellaneous junk strewn about the yards in a way that suggested nobody really cared…or they had given up. Sunny found this deeply troubling. Was it symptomatic of how these people, perhaps even her own relatives, regarded their lives?
On the other hand, she felt an irrational elation at being right there on the same land that her ancestors might’ve walked upon. This positive emotion, less tangible and harder to comprehend than the disappointment, resonated with the wide open spaces, rolling grass, and wheat fields. She wanted to drink in the big blue sky and white clouds. To think she was actually driving through an independent nation—one governed by the Cayuse, Umatilla, and Walla Walla tribes—was slightly overwhelming.
She drove for some time, not paying much attention to where she was going. Perhaps feeling so much at home that she assumed it was impossible to get lost. But after about an hour, she wished she’d brought a map because, suddenly, she realized it was easy to get turned around on one of these back roads.
Eventually she decided it was time to get some directions. She’d seen the signs along the freeway, as well as the flashing lights up at the crossroads—all for the purpose of directing, or perhaps enticing, travelers to stop at the Wild Horse casino. Feeling a bit like a lemming, she trailed behind an old beater car that seemed to know where it was going. Soon she was on a busier road, and then, like the old car, she turned at the crossroads and followed a couple of other cars to several very large buildings. She was pretty sure she was coming into the casino development.
She wasn’t surprised when the cars ahead of her turned into the parking area by the largest of the buildings, which the sign confirmed was the actual casino—Wild Horse. She was slightly relieved to be back in “civilization” but at the same time saddened that the casino and other buildings created such an imposing presence on the otherwise peaceful grasslands. Yet she had to admit that architecture of these structures seemed well planned. She parked her car and slowly walked toward the casino. As she got closer, she could see it was constructed of a combination of natural elements, like stone and wood. Unlike its flamboyant advertisements and flashing lighted signs, the general look of the exterior was pleasant enough. Still, it was a casino.
Although Sunny was well aware that a number of tribes in Oregon had casinos, she also knew there was an untold story about which parties actually lined their pockets with the bulk of casino dollars. While many assumed that the tribes were the only ones to benefit from gamblers’ losses, Sunny had read that in some instances the out-of-state casino developers, not the Native American population, most profited from the numerous gambling establishments popping up all over the Northwest. Sure, the casinos provided jobs and some small kickbacks to tribal members, but for the most part, Sunny suspected that, unless the Umatilla Reservation was different from all the others, they too might be the victims of a legalized sort of fraud.
Not that she wanted to dwell on all that as she entered the building. Mostly she wanted to find a map. She was immediately assaulted by electronic clanging, ringing and dinging, loud music playing, lights flashing, and stale cigarette smoke—all of it distasteful to her senses. She’d only been in a casino once before—during an anthropological conference at the coast—and only because Reuben had talked her into it. But she’d only lasted a fe
w minutes, telling him that the lights and noise were going to result in a serious migraine headache. Today felt no different. Except this time, she was slightly more curious.
Bolstering herself against the onslaught, she strolled through the casino, studying the various people sitting in front of the obnoxious machines. She noted their glazed-over stares as they pushed buttons and gazed blankly at screens where colors and noises and lights blasted at them…almost to the point where Sunny feared someone might actually suffer a stroke or a seizure as a result of the cacophony of elements.
As she walked and observed, Sunny’s scientific mind began to categorize the gamblers. One group, predominantly Caucasian, although some Native Americans fit the profile, seemed to be older— most likely retired and fairly well off. Perhaps they were bored and enjoyed the excitement of tossing their money at the greedy machines. They probably could afford the losses that seemed inevitable.
The next group had a different kind of intensity. These were the ones Sunny suspected to be serious gamblers, perhaps even gambling addicts. They seemed to be primarily Native Americans and, unless Sunny was wrong, appeared to be the ones who couldn’t afford to be here. That reminded her of the discrepancy she’d noticed in the parking lot. More than half of the vehicles were expensive-looking, late-model cars. The rest seemed to be clunkers. Some appeared so dilapidated that it looked like they’d barely made it to the casino in the first place and might actually break down before making it back home.
Sunny was seriously worried as she watched a shabbily dressed Native American woman pulling cash from an envelope in her purse. She seemed to be about Sunny’s age. For some reason, Sunny suspected this woman was a mother. Was she gambling with her family’s grocery money? Squandering funds meant to purchase her children’s winter coats? Sunny frowned down at the woman’s feet, shod only in rubber flip-flops. Then she looked up in time to see this woman stuffing bills into the slot machine—enough money to buy a good pair of shoes. Sunny stood there, mesmerized, as she witnessed first twenty, then thirty, and finally forty dollars all being consumed by the machine. Just like that, it was gone. And the woman merely sat there, staring at the machine.
By now Sunny’s head had begun to throb. Not only was the scene disturbing, she felt physically ill. Turning away, she hurried over to a nearby counter where two employees were standing. A Native American woman and a white man.
“Is there someplace I might find a map?” she said politely.
“You want a map of the casino?” the woman asked.
“No, a map of the reservation.”
“The reservation?” The man looked curiously at her. “You mean, like how to get to the hotel and golf course and restaurant and all that?”
“No, I mean a map of the Umatilla Reservation,” Sunny said plainly. “With names of the streets and roads so I can drive around without getting lost.”
The man and woman stared blankly at her, then turned to each other and shrugged as if they were clueless.
“Maybe you should try the hotel,” the woman suggested. “I think they have things like that.” Then she explained where the hotel was located, which seemed fairly obvious since it was next to the casino.
“Enjoy your visit to Wild Horse,” the guy said with a bright smile. “And be sure to sign up for some of our giveaways,” the woman added.
Sunny thanked them and headed straight for the exit.
Although she suspected it was a waste of time, she decided to swing by the hotel. Parking her car in front, she went directly into the lobby and asked about a map.
“All the maps and brochures are over there.” The woman pointed to a neat wooden rack of tourist information about local sites and activities. But when Sunny browsed through the materials, there was no actual map of the reservation. And, really, why would there be? Why had she even bothered to look here?
She left the hotel with a real sense of disappointment. These things—the casino, hotel, golf course—felt all wrong to her. They were bizarre and incongruous, ironically misplaced. Kind of like a bad joke.
She got into her car and sat there, trying to wrap her head around this strange world. The Umatilla Reservation, a self-governing nation within a nation: this should be a people filled with pride and purpose. Yet, from what she’d observed today—the derelict properties, a glitzy casino—these people seemed slightly lost.
As she drove away from the casino, she wondered if everyone related to the casino and its amenities was oblivious to the fact that they were located on a sovereign land—a place of natural beauty, grace, history, and value. Or perhaps these people were simply in some form of dark denial. Sunny thought about her grandmother. She had lived in her own form of denial, as if she’d never been a part of this reservation and had no real ties to the Native American community or culture. As unsettling as it was to realize, in some ways, her grandmother wasn’t a whole lot different than this casino.
Chapter Eleven
“Hey, you made it,” Echo called out happily to Sunny. She waved as she turned Sylvester, trotting him across the arena. “Aunt Aubrey said you were looking for relatives over on the reservation. Find any?”
Sunny shook her head. “No. I think your dad was right.”
“Right about what?” Echo dismounted her horse.
“He thought it would be helpful for him to introduce me to some of his friends—to make some connections within the tribe.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” Echo tipped her head toward the horse barn. “So do you want me to help you saddle up Brownie Anne?”
“I’d love to ride. If you have time.”
Echo looked at her watch. “It’s only four. Dad doesn’t usually get here until after five.”
“And this time, I want to try to do as much as I can for myself,” Sunny said as they met by the tack room. “That way I’ll really learn.”
“You got it. I’ll just coach from the sidelines.”
With a few helpful tips and reminders, Sunny soon had Brownie Anne all saddled and cinched and trotting around the arena. Echo continued to coach Sunny as she rode, but mostly only with words of encouragement. After fifteen minutes, they took the horses back out into the field, riding over to the creek again.
“How did you like the movie last night?” Echo asked as they dismounted to give their horses a drink.
“It was really good.”
“But it’s kind of sad too.”
Sunny was surprised at the young girl’s sensitivity. “Yes. Did you think that?”
Echo nodded. “It’s hard to hear about how hard things used to be for Indians—I mean, Native Americans.”
“I know your dad uses the term Native American,” Sunny began, “but you and your grandparents and your aunt say Indian. I’m curious how you feel about those words. Do they even matter?”
“I grew up hearing the word Indian all the time, so it seems normal to me. And lots of Indians—or Native Americans—call themselves and each other Indians too. It’s not like it’s offensive to anyone. Not really. Maybe some people don’t like that word. I know Dad has to say Native American because of his job, but when he lets his guard down, he says Indian.”
“I get that.” Sunny nodded. “But in college, we were taught that it’s more culturally correct to say Native American. In real life…well, I’m starting to question it myself. I feel a little odd saying Native American when everyone else just says Indian.”
“Yeah, it sounds a little weird to me. Kind of formal—or like you’re from someplace else.”
Sunny smiled. “I am from someplace else.”
“I know. But around here, you can just say Indian if you want to.” “I’ll try to remember that.”
“You know, the name I really don’t like is half-breed.”
“I don’t like that one, either.”
“I know I’m only part Native American, but some of my full-blooded Indian friends call me half-breed sometimes. I act like I don’t care, but it hurts my feelings. I don�
��t think they’re trying to be mean, but it makes me feel like an outsider. Like I’m not as good as them because I’m not all Indian. It’s like they want to remind me that I’m different sometimes…like I don’t fit in.”
“I know what you mean. Not that I’ve been called half-breed, but the part about not fitting in—I’ve felt that way most of my life. However, I don’t think it has much to do with my…uh, my Indian roots. I think I was just a misfit.” Sunny half smiled.
“Me too!” Echo nodded vigorously. “It’s weird, though, because my other friends—you know, my white friends—don’t really seem to care about it one way or another. None of them have ever put me down for being part Indian. Not really. But maybe it’s because I don’t really look like it.”
“So, are you saying your Indian friends put you down?”
Echo’s brow creased thoughtfully. “No, it’s not like that. It’s more like they set me apart…like they don’t totally relate to me. And they’re not always like that. I have some great Indian friends too. I’m probably making it sound like a bigger deal than it is. Maybe it’s because I feel jealous sometimes.”
“Jealous?”
“That I’m not full-blooded Indian like them.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, Dad’s probably here by now. We better get moving.”
And, just like that, they were back on their horses, with the solidity of Brownie Anne beneath her, galloping after Echo and Sylvester, gracefully moving along the fence line of the wheat field. Once again, Sunny felt that sensation—complete freedom, almost like flying.
Cody was waiting for Echo in the stables. But instead of pointing out that she was running late, he simply helped both her and Sunny remove the saddles and feed the horses, casually chatting with them in a friendly way that put Sunny at ease.
“I’m sorry for keeping Echo out late again,” Sunny apologized as they stood outside the house while Echo ran in to get her backpack and tell her grandmother good-bye.
Love Finds You in Pendleton, Oregon Page 9