The burial ground was one of the few known resting places for Vineyard Native Americans. But with eyes as pearl-gray as her dad’s, and skin tones nearly as fair as the spring day, Lucy hardly looked like she had Wampanoag heritage. And it didn’t help that she’d braided her hair into a long, single plait the way that Winnie did, because Lucy’s hair was caramel-colored.

“My great-grandparents are buried at the sacred ground on Chappy,” Lucy replied, though that was hardly proof, as several Caucasians also had been laid to rest there. “I used the money Annie paid me for helping her with her soaps for a DNA test. Turns out, I’m two-percent Native American. I’m hoping to find my people.”

“If they were Chappaquiddick Wampanoags, they won’t be up here in Christiantown. Those graves are only from the Aquinnah tribe.”

“I know. It’s crazy that there was more than one tribe here. But that’s how it was even before Mayhew coughed up forty measly pounds and a couple of beaver hats to buy the Vineyard.”

“And don’t forget that his princely sum included Nantucket and the Elizabeth Islands,” Winnie said with a wink.

Annie checked her watch again. Though daylight savings had begun, and the sun didn’t set until seven-o’clock-ish, she wanted to get home in time to see Kevin and John, who’d gone fishing somewhere up island and camped out overnight. John had said Kevin needed a break before the final crunch to get the Inn done, and that he needed one to help him brace for summer chaos.

“I read online that there aren’t any names on the stones at Christiantown,” Lucy was saying. “Except Mary Spencer’s. She’s been there since 1847, so who knows if she really was a Wampanoag.”

Winnie nodded. “So what’s your plan?”

“I’ll take pictures of the stones—I read that they’re just fieldstones—then I’ll look for similarities with the ones on Chappy.”

“That sounds great. But tread lightly. There’s probably a thick blanket of wet leaves keeping the earth warm. The space was designated for the Christian ‘Praying Indians,’ but if you ask me, Moshup is the one who protects them in winter.” A legendary god-like giant, Moshup had watched over the Wampanoags for centuries, but disappeared the day that the British stepped ashore. Then Winnie patted Lucy’s shoulder. “Good luck, dear. And remember that if we don’t know our past, we cannot guide our future.”

The three of them hugged good-bye and moved toward the door. Then Lucy raced ahead, her braid happily bouncing, her life too new for her to have any angst over deadlines, finances, or the impending onslaught of summer vacationers.

* * *