Then they turned onto an obscure, even more narrow, sandy road. Partway down, Joe stopped.
“Here’s the first parcel.”
There was no driveway, no colorful wood slats with the name of an owner nailed to a tree. There were just trees. And patches of undergrowth here and there.
“There’s a small pine grove in the back, a nice little spot,” he said. “There’s also a pond and bushes of wild berries nearby. It’s a nice piece of property. And within walking distance to Lobsterville Beach.” He sounded like a real estate agent, though not as intense as CiCi.
“Nothing’s ever been built on it?”
“Nope. It used to belong to the tribe—both of Nancy’s parcels over here did. We were slowly ‘dispossessed’—that’s an interesting word—of our land, which I won’t get into now. By the mid-nineteenth century, when we had about two and a half thousand acres, a small amount went to members of the tribe and the rest was for communal use. It wasn’t until 1987 that the federal government recognized us as a viable Native American tribe. Of those two and a half thousand acres, they put less than five hundred into a trust for us. It’s complicated. Nancy’s lots aren’t part of those five hundred acres, though.”
“But if Wampanoags are now a federally recognized tribe, isn’t there a reservation?”
Joe shook his head. “What we have is called a ‘formal landin-trust reservation.’ Like I said, it’s complicated.”
She looked at him in disbelief. Even Maddie knew that Wampanoags were the first Native Americans to welcome the Pilgrims in 1620, and had taught them how to live off the land and survive.
“But, Joe . . . ,” she began, then he raised a finger to his lips and shushed her.
“We live our lives. We try to be kind. And we are still here.”
She sat back on the seat, understanding the message. It would take a while, she knew, to fully grasp this way of thinking.
They continued on Lobsterville Road toward the water, where he went right then left onto West Basin Road. The road west of Basin Road in Menemsha. Owen would have groused at her big deduction. Like the way he’d googled her grandmother, he’d say it hardly was rocket science. Then Joe told her that the second parcel was actually tucked between tribal acres.
“We have some rights of way to the water,” he said. “And some acreage has been given back to us here and there. Donated by generous folks. They’re not official tribal lands, but . . .” His words trailed off.
They reached the property off Clay Pit Road—most of it was obscured by the dunes. In the distance, a few houses stood atop a hill; they had walls of windows that faced the sea.
Maddie remembered the area well; the ambulance had carried her out of there on a stretcher.
“Thank you so much for this, Joe. But, thanks to the medication for my foot, I’m tired now. I need to go back to the cottage and rest. It sure has been an incredible morning, though.”
“My pleasure. As I told you earlier, I’ll do anything to help my niece learn how much or how little she wants to know about our people.”
She smiled; she had no idea how much or how little that would be.
But after he dropped her off and she loped up the path toward the cottage, Maddie suddenly wondered if Joe’s real reason for taking her out—and for his history lesson—had been to try to convince her to give her grandmother’s land back to the tribe. Three to four million dollars’ worth, give or take.
Then she wondered if she’d misplaced her trust in Grandma Nancy’s half brother.
* * *
After her good, yet confusing, morning, Maddie not only needed a nap but also a pain pill. She took the pill first, then, because her grandmother’s squeaky-springed bed was covered with papers and boxes, she lay down in her mother’s old room and slept until after five o’clock. Which gave her an hour to wrap her leg in plastic again, take a shower, and dress in one of the new tops and the white skirt Evelyn bought her. Then she’d be ready for the cookout at Lisa’s.
Just before six, while she poked through the refrigerator looking for something to contribute to the supper but coming up empty, she heard a light tap on the front door. With her skills at using the crutches greatly improved, it took only seconds for her to get there. A young, towheaded boy was standing on the front steps. He had blue eyes and summer freckles, and he was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt with a dinosaur printed on the front.
“I’m Charlie. My mom said you broke your leg and I should help you down to our house.”
Maddie smiled. “That’s very nice of you, Charlie. Lucky for me, I only broke my foot, not my whole leg. But I do have a pretty cool cast. See?” She held out her leg for him to inspect.
“Yeah. Cool,” he said. “I broke my arm once. I slipped on the jetty.”
“Ouch. That must have hurt.”
He nodded. “I wasn’t supposed to be out there by myself.”
“And I wasn’t supposed to be doing what I was doing, either.” She grabbed her phone and her keys and double-checked the lock on the front door in case Owen hadn’t found his way off the island. “Okay, Charlie, lead the way! Knowing you’re with me will be a huge help.”
