"I feel sorry for her, too, but when you promote a bizarre idea you've got to count on a certain amount of flak. And she set this up herself. It's not as if she walked into it as innocently as a lost lamb. Speaking of lost lambs, where are all of ours?"
Shelley looked at her strangely for a moment, then gestured to the pool. "Those two water rats are our sons, and the glamour girls showing off across the way are our daughters. Did you think I chose to sit around the pool because I like what humid, chlorine-stinking air does to my hair?"
Jane laughed. "I hadn't even noticed them. Shelley! Don't you see what this means? It's the first hint I've ever had that motherhood is a curable condition!"
Chapter 7
"Oh, I asked Paul about the deed thing," Shelley said.
"Deed thing?"
"Remember? Tenny said something about HawkHunter wanting Mr. Smith to give the resort to the tribe."
"Oh, right."
"Well, it's actually sort of interesting historical stuff. The tribe did own this land originally. This land and another hundred or so square miles. The government gave it to them, which is bizarre when you consider they were here first and the U.S. government granted them their own land. Anyway, back then, there was a rule that if Indians wanted to sell their land to somebody, they could, but they had to have a Presidential order approving the sale."
"Why?"
"I presume because they didn't have the same concept of land ownership and a lot of people were out to rip them off. Anyway, there was a missionary here at the time, and the tribe wanted to sell him this big chunk where the resort sits now. Of course, it wasn't anything then but uninhabited land. So they all worked it out to everybody's satisfaction and got the President's approval to the sale."
"So what's the problem?"
"The problem was that by the time the document was filed, the missionary was dead. HawkHunter's argument is that the tribe sold the land to the missionary, not to his wife and children. The deed doesn't mention heirs."
"Ah… I see how that could be tricky. Isn't Paul concerned?"
"No. You see, the President's signature was dated before the minister's death. It just wasn't filed until a week later. That's the most important point Another is that the tribe accepted payment from the minister's widow, which indicates that they did recognize and approve that the land was going to the heirs. Apparently there have been a number of cases in the last ten years or so with tribes trying to reclaim land, and although some of them have won their suits, the court is obligated to consider intent. Also, the land has had title-insurance all that time, so if by some extraordinarily unlikely chance it came to court and the court ruled in favor of the tribe, the title insurance company would be stuck with the bill."
"So the investors aren't concerned that the tribe has any real legal claim on the land?"
"No, they're not the least concerned about the legalities of the thing. But I think some of them might be very worried about the public relations aspect of it. That demonstration in front this morning was sort of colorful and interesting and lasted only a half hour or so, but if the tribe becomes really militant about all this, it could be bad for the resort's business. It doesn't look good to have stolen land from the Indians and then desecrated their burial ground. Even if neither accusation is really true."
"So Paul and the investors are wavering?"
"Oh, I have no idea how they feel about it. I was just airing my own idea of how they might feel. All they seem interested in is their balance sheets and financial projections."
As she'd been explaining all this, Shelley had glanced around from time to time to make certain they weren't being overheard. Now she gave Jane a subtle end-of-discussion signal as an older couple came into the pool area.
The man went to speak (rather fiercely, it appeared) to the young person who worked at the concession stand where snacks as well as swimming paraphernalia were sold; the woman approached Shelley.
"There you are, Mrs. Nowack. And this must be your friend Mrs. Jeffry!"
"Mrs. Smith, I haven't seen you since just after we arrived. Yes, this is my friend Jane. And you must call me Shelley."
"Oh, good. And I'm Joanna. And my husband's Bill, as you know. Well, well. How are you enjoying your stay? May I join you?"
"Please do," Shelley said.
It would be impossible not to warm to this woman. She was the quintessential grandmother type. Plump, with faintly purple, beauty-shop hair, Joanna Smith even had a big soft bag with her from which she pulled a garish, half-done granny square and proceeded to crochet while they talked. "I hope Tenny's taking good care of you," she said, peering over half glasses that were looped around her neck on a cheap, gilt-painted plastic necklace.
"Wonderful. Yes."
"I knew she would. Tenny is a dear, dear girl. I don't know what we'd do without her. She's my sister's girl, you know. Her father came out here from Tennessee and missed his home. That's why they named her Tennessee, you see. I thought it was an awful thing to do to a child when she was born, but it suits her."
"It is a pretty name," Jane said. "I think it used to be very common to name people for places. My grandmother's best friend was named Philadelphia."
"Is your sister involved with the resort, too?" Shelley asked.
"Oh, no. My poor sister, bless her soul, died when Tenny was just four. She and her husband both. My parents took Tenny in as their own. She was more like a little sister to me. I was only seventeen at the time. Then when I married, I brought Tenny along with me. My folks were in failing health by then, and bringing up a little girl was too much for them. Bill and I never had children — I try to believe that was God's will — and so we raised Tenny."
Jane was doing some mental arithmetic. Tenny looked only about forty, but she could be as much as fifty years old. Which would make Joanna Smith in her early sixties. The same age as Jane's mother. But the difference was amazing. Cecily Grant was trim, fit, and stylish. This woman looked much older. Or perhaps only from a different era. That was it. She wasn't so much old as old-fashioned.
"Is that part of an afghan you're working on?" Jane asked.
"Yes. I'll have to keep it in our own apartments, though. Back in the early days, when it was just hunters who came here, I made things like this for the cabins. But when we rebuilt it as a resort and Tenny took over all the decorating, she told me I had no taste."
"No! I can't imagine Tenny saying a thing like that!" Shelley exclaimed.
Joanna waved her hand deprecatingly. "Oh, but she's quite right, my dear. Tenny has lovely taste. I wouldn't dream of interfering in her decorating. Bill and I are just old frumps. Back when these were just hunters' cabins, we were fine. Bill could talk hunting all day with the guests, and I'd cook plain-cooking dinners for them. Big old roasts and buckets of stew and fried chicken. But when we expanded and made it a resort — well, we were out of our element. Bill was a wonder with the finances, but me and him don't know a thing about skiing or any of that kind of thing. As far as I'm concerned, all this snow is just something you have to put up with. Can't imagine grown people wanting to play in it. And my sort of cooking isn't what appeals to the kind of people who come here." She laughed. "It doesn't even appeal to me anymore. I've gotten used to Tenny's chefs and eating in the dining room. Not sure I even know how to cook anymore. When we retire, I'll have to learn all over again."
"Are you looking forward to retiring?" Jane asked, just to keep the conversation going. "My father keeps talking about retiring, but I think he's scared to death somebody will take him seriously."