“Bloody 'ell!” Wilson swore next to me, his curse ringing out in the little sitting room that had turned into a house of mirrors.
“Ms. Hidalgo, you need to start talking,” Wilson insisted, his voice firm and his hand tight on mine. “I don't know what kind of game you think this is –”
“I'm not playing games, young man!” Stella cried. “I don't know what this means. All I know is that I met Jimmy Echohawk when I was twenty-one years old. It was 1975. I had just graduated from college, and I accompanied my father to several Indian reservations throughout Oklahoma.” Stella shook her head as she spoke, as if she couldn't believe what she was saying.
“My father was a member of a tribal council that was trying to get federal status restored to the Paiute people. The Paiute tribes had had their Federal status terminated in the 1950s. Which meant maintaining our lands and our water rights – what little we had – was almost impossible. The Southern Paiutes had dwindled to near extinction. We went to several different reservations in addition to the remaining bands of Paiutes trying to build support among other tribes for our cause.”
My head was swimming, and the plight of the Paiute people was, sadly, way down on my list of things-I-need-to-know-at-this-very-minute.
“Ms. Hidalgo, you're going to need to move this story along a little,” Wilson prompted.
Stella nodded, obviously at a loss as to where to start or what was even relevant.
“It was love at first sight. I was reserved, and so was he. Yet, we were instantly comfortable with each other. We weren't in Oklahoma long, and my father did not like Jimmy. He was worried that I would be distracted from the future I had planned.” She shrugged her shoulders. “He was right to be worried. I had dreamed of being the the next Sarah Winnemucca, and all at once the only thing I could think about was becoming Mrs. Jimmy Echohawk.”
Hearing Jimmy's name on Stella's lips in that context was another jolt. I didn't even ask who Sarah Winnemucca was. Another day, another story.
“We wrote letters back and forth for almost a year. By then I was working for Larry Shivwa, who later worked in the Carter Administration in Indian Relations,” Stella rushed on. “Jimmy wanted to be closer to me. He came out West . . . just to be near me. He was an extremely talented woodcarver. He had received some national recognition for his work, and had started selling his carvings. He had been saving to open a shop . . .” Her voice dwindled off, and she seemed reluctant to continue. But the time for silence was past, and I pushed her forward.
“Stella? I need you to tell me what happened,” I demanded, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes were filled with regret and her shoulders narrowed with defeat.
“Jimmy took his savings and bought a pickup truck and a camp trailer. And he came here. He knew my father wouldn't support a marriage at that point. My career was really taking off. And I had a responsibility to my community. I was the first in my family to graduate from college, and one of the first Paiute girls ever. I had been groomed for bigger things. So . . . we saw each other behind my parents' backs. I was angry with them. I was an adult, and Jimmy was a good Native man. I didn't understand why I couldn't have both. But I proved them right in the end. And, truthfully, I blamed them because it was easier than blaming myself. I used my parents as an excuse. The truth was, I was ambitious, and I feared losing my ambition. I feared becoming like my mother, stuck on a reservation, poor, unnoticed, unremarkable.”
“What happened?” Wilson urged her on.
“Jimmy Carter was elected President in 1976, and I was invited to go back and work in Washington, DC in the office of Indian affairs as an assistant to Secretary Shivwa. My father was sure I would be instrumental in getting the Paiute Tribal status reinstated. So I went. Jimmy never told me not to go. He told me he loved me . . . but he never begged me to stay.
“I found out about six weeks later that I was pregnant. I stayed in Washington DC until my boss, who was good friends with my parents, called them and ratted me out. By that time, I was seven months pregnant, and I wasn't able to hide my figure in high-waisted dresses and shawls. I was too far along to fly home, so I stayed on, even though I was embarrassed and my parents were ashamed. When Winnie was born, I left Washington DC and came home. But Jimmy was long gone. And I was too proud to find him.”
“Jimmy never knew?” I whispered, devastated for the man who raised me.
“I never told him.”
“But then . . . how did . . . how did he find me?” I had no other conclusion to draw. Somehow Jimmy had found me . . . and he had taken me from my mother.
“I don't know,” Stella whispered. “It doesn't make any sense.”