Borrowing Death
Page 25
“Do you anticipate any problems?” she asked.
“There’s always some sort of difficulty or another on a film,” Meade said.
“I’m not quite sure I understand what you’re getting at, Mr. Meade. Do you mean the man who shouted about fixing the story?”
Meade and Welsh exchanged looks that Charlotte could only interpret as a brief, silent argument. Carmen quirked a slender eyebrow at her husband, and Cicely seemed as confused as Charlotte. Finally, Welsh appeared to give up, shaking his head and glancing out the window.
Meade focused on Charlotte over the seat. “A month or so ago, just after we announced our intent to come up here and revealed the basic plot of North to Fortune, I received a letter.”
Charlotte’s curiosity stirred. “What sort of letter?”
“Someone had revealed the details of the film and it found the ear of some lawyer in Juneau. There seem to be concerns that the portrayal of Natives may be undignified,” Meade said.
Cicely’s mouth dropped open. “Mr. Meade, you never mentioned that to me. As the scenarist, I want to make sure—”
“We took care of it, Cicely,” Stanley Welsh said, his voice hard. “I told Wallace not to bother you with it.”
“Not to bother me?” Cicely turned around as best she could without impeding the driver. Her face was red with anger. “If my story isn’t accurate or someone finds it insulting, I need to know.”
“It was just some blowhard.” Welsh gave a dismissive shake of his head. “Everyone gets these sorts of letters. If we abided by every fool who got their feelings hurt, we’d never get a film made. Don’t put that in your article, if you please, Miss Brody.”
Charlotte had stopped taking notes, but she certainly took note of Welsh’s attitude. “Who wrote the letter?”
Everyone but the driver looked to Wallace Meade. Did they not realize the man behind the wheel had ears and a mouth? Or was he being paid enough to keep mum?
“It was signed by the president of the Alaska Eyak Council, Jonas Smith, and a lawyer out of Juneau, Caleb Burrows,” Meade said. “I know the men by reputation only, and they’re no fools, Welsh, I told you that. Wrote back to assure them the film would be truthful.”
Charlotte recognized Smith’s name and the AEC, a small but growing group of Natives who were pushing for fair treatment and rights on their own lands. Though the majority of white Cordovans seemed get along with their Native neighbors, there were still tensions, especially in regard to land-ownership policies that had been handed down from the territorial or federal governments. The Eyak had been in the area for generations, but the overwhelming arrival of Caucasians had caused more than a few problems over the years.
Charlotte had overheard the occasional, all-too-casual remarks. She’d learned about a few past incidents, through conversations with Andrew Toliver and her brother Michael’s new assistant, Mary, that had been physical, if not fatal.
“Considering how Native Americans in the States are treated in film,” Charlotte said, “you really can’t blame the AEC for their concern.”
Stanley Welsh frowned at her. “We know the Alaskan Indians are nothing like that. North to Fortune will depict them as the simple, peaceful people they are. And everyone will admire how they survive in such hostile conditions with such primitive tools and ways. Why, in the scene where the Native saves Peter’s character, the noble savage becomes the hero. For a short time, at least. And Peter teaches him to be civilized in return.”
Charlotte wasn’t intimately familiar with the Native culture, but she cringed inwardly at the idea of a white man “rewarding” a Native Alaskan by teaching him to be civilized. “Mr. Welsh—”
“The Alaska people are far from primitive, Papa,” Cicely cut in. The frown lines between her eyes deepened. “I read up on a noted anthropologist’s works and put it in the scenario. What scene are you talking about? I never wrote anything like that.”
Again, Welsh offered a dismissive wave. “I thought the story needed a little more action. We’ll talk about it later. I believe we’re at the hotel. More fans—oh.”
Charlotte peered out the window as the car rolled to a stop in front of the Windsor, Cordova’s most prestigious hotel. A group of a dozen or so people bundled against the cold stood on the wooden walk. Several held signs that read, “Unfair to Natives,” and “We Are a People, Not a Plot.”
Meade glared out the driver’s window. “Damnation.”
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Copyright © 2016 by Cathy Pegau
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eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0057-5
eISBN-10: 1-4967-0057-0
First Kensington Electronic Edition: July 2016
ISBN: 978-1-4967-0056-8