The Going Back Portal

by Connie Lacy

  Besides being hot, it was also humid. I was dripping with sweat by the time I reached the riverbank.

  Standing by the magical fig bush, I took a long pull from my water bottle before tucking the shoes under my arm. I plucked a fig from the bush and deposited it in my mouth. I thought of the beads, bones, feathers and river rocks, steeling myself as I stepped through the portal.

  If I thought the hut had been sweltering before, it was positively stifling now. I felt like bread dough sliding into a room-sized oven. That, despite wearing shorts and a camisole top with my hair in a pony tail.

  The hut was empty but there was a rhythmic sound in the distance. My plan was to stay put and wait for Amadahy. I wanted to give her the shoes, but I also needed to talk with her. One thing I didn’t want was to risk being seen by Jonah. Nothing good could come of that.

  Careful not to touch anything in the cramped space, I sat on the blanket, pulling my knees up in front of me. I hoped she would come soon. At least I had water, deciding at the last minute that if I were discovered, my water bottle would be the least of my worries.

  I waited for over an hour, taking small sips so I wouldn’t get dehydrated. How many times had I watched pro basketball players, amazed at the sweat pouring from their bodies. That’s what I felt like sitting in that sauna, a headache building.

  Finally, I heard a voice near the shack. The door opened and Ginny stared, wide-eyed, as though she’d stumbled upon an alien from another planet.

  14

  Putting my finger to my lips, I silently begged her not to reveal my presence.

  It was my first time meeting her in person. Although I felt like I already knew her from reading the journal. Amadahy’s description didn’t do her justice, though. She was pretty, with almond-shaped eyes, her hair pulled back into a small bun. The spunk in her eyes made me like her right away.

  “Who’re you and what you doing indecent like that?” she whispered as though my appearance was an affront to her dignity.

  “Please, Ginny, I need to speak with Amadahy.”

  “How you know my name?”

  “Please? I’m her friend.”

  “Look like you escaped from a bawdy house.”

  “Please?”

  She took in my bare arms and legs, retrieving a basket from the corner and taking it with her as she backed out the door. I hoped she would deliver my request.

  After several moments I heard footsteps and the door swung open. This time, it was Amadahy, Ginny behind her carrying the baby.

  “You must come outside,” Amadahy said. “It is too warm now in the hut.”

  “But what about…”

  “He is not here. He will return in one or two days.”

  She gestured for me to follow and we made our way to the riverbank. Amadahy had Ginny stop by the house to get a dress for me to wear.

  “You must cover yourself,” she said when Ginny handed it to me.

  I set the shoes down, slipping the dress on before taking a seat on a rock, facing them.

  “Who is she?” Ginny asked Amadahy.

  “I’m a friend,” I answered.

  Ginny squinted one eye at me.

  “She speaks the truth,” Amadahy said, then turned to me. “Jonah does not know I helped you and Mr. Murray escape. I put sleeping medicine in his whisky. If he sees you…”

  “I know. But I wanted to return your boots.”

  I presented them to her and sat down again. She inspected the elevated shoe with intense interest.

  “I borrowed them last time I was here and, in our rush to leave, I forgot to take them off,” I explained. “It turned out to be a good thing because I found a man who adds these thick soles so people who have one leg shorter than the other can walk more easily.”

  She held the special boot, examining it from all angles. “Where you live, people are misshapen like me?”

  “Sometimes. There are different causes for leg length discrepancy. Sometimes corrective surgery can be done.”

  It appeared both of them were struggling to translate my strange words.

  “And where you come from, people wear such shoes?”

  “Yes, if they need them.”

  “Try ‘em on!” Ginny cried.

  Amadahy replaced her moccasins with the high-top boots, taking time to lace them carefully. When she tried to stand, she reached for Ginny’s arm. She took one tentative step, holding onto Ginny for balance. Then, another. She looked at me, amazement in her eyes.

  “You’ll probably have to practice to get the hang of it,” I said.

  Although the built-up sole appeared to be a bit shorter than what she needed, it was close enough to allow her a more natural gait. She continued taking baby steps, holding tight to Ginny’s arm.

  Then a hint of a smile appeared on Amadahy’s face, the first I’d ever seen there. Suddenly, she looked much younger, more like her actual age. I had to remind myself that this determined young woman before me was only eighteen years old. But then, as quickly as it materialized, it was gone, as though a dark cloud had cast a deep shadow over her.

  She sat roughly on the ground and unlaced the boots, sliding them off her feet, replacing them with her moccasins.

  “Why you take ‘em off?” Ginny said, picking Betsey up and parking the chubby baby on her hip.

  “I cannot wear them in front of…” and she looked from Ginny to me.

  “I didn’t think of that,” I admitted, imagining Jonah’s reaction. He would, no doubt, be suspicious. And he would most likely not want her to be able to walk better. “I’m sorry.”

  “I will hide them in a secret place. When he is not here, I will teach myself.”

  “And then one day you’ll be able to walk away from that stinking turd,” I blurted.

  Ginny snickered.

  Amadahy replied by giving her a silent gesture. It was apparently a polite request for privacy because Ginny took Betsey’s hands, helping her to toddle along the riverbank, her roly-poly legs unsteady beneath her.

  “You and Betsey deserve much better,” I said.

  Although it was a perfect summer day, the mood had turned somber.

  “Tell me of your place,” she said.

  Interesting, it never occurred to me she might be as fascinated with me as I was with her.

  I checked to see that Ginny and the baby had moved a short distance downstream.

  “It’s the same place,” I said. “But a different time.”

  Her eyes became unfocused and I could almost see her brain processing my words. Then she blinked.

  “Many, many moons from now,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  Betsey’s little voice babbled in the distance as the river rushed past us, drawn inexorably to the ocean.

  “I don’t understand how it works,” I said. “I came here by accident. But now that I’ve met you and read some of your…”

  She suddenly raised her hand, signaling me to be silent. She listened intently.

  “Come quickly,” she said.

  She carried the black boots, hurrying across the yard, calling out to Ginny not to speak of my visit as I followed behind her, watching her painful lopsided walk.

  Once inside the hut, she quickly lifted the blanket from the floor, swept aside the pine straw and retrieved the leather pouch from the heavy box, thrusting it into my hands. “Now go!”

  “But…”

  “Go!”

  The front door creaked open an inch, causing us both to jump. It was Ginny, with Betsey on her hip.

  “He’s here!” she whispered, then closed the door again.

  Amadahy placed the shoes inside the box where the pouch had been. Then she looked up at me, alarm in her eyes that I was still there, pointing at the back door.

  “Woman?” Jonah shouted, his voice much too close.

  I tucked the pouch under my arm, grabbed a fig from the bush outside the door, stepped inside long enough to pop it in my mouth and escape through the time gate.
r />   Steadying myself until the dizziness subsided, I realized I was still wearing Amadahy’s dress. It was a faded brown and red calico. I would have to return it.

  As I hiked up the path, I opened the pouch she’d given me. Inside were my ruined black flats wrapped in a piece of cloth and a stack of loose diary pages. They were the empty pages she’d torn from the back of the book when she first shoved it into my hands, now filled with her words.

  Once inside the cottage, I powered up my phone, finding two missed calls – one from Nana and one from my mother. There was one text from Eric and emails from Nana, Mom and Nancy, my new translator. Hers had an attachment, which made me want to sit right down and dive into the latest translation. But first, I read Eric’s text.

  “Kathryn, I miss you. We need to get together so I can apologize. What say?”

  “What say?” I cried. “I say you can’t retract your words once they’re spoken, Doctor Murray of the very brown nose!” I deleted the text. “That’s what I say!”

  I opened my mother’s email next.

  “Wanted to let you know I’ll be there tomorrow. Can you pick me up at the airport at 11:30 and drive me to Athens? I need to spend a little time with Mother.”

  Did I miss something? Was there another message from her saying she was coming? I’d asked her to come. Several times, in fact. And she’d promised she would when she had time. But I didn’t remember her saying she was actually coming. A little notice might’ve been nice.

  Then I moved on to Nana’s email. She didn’t send messages very often and my curiosity was piqued.

  “I tried to call you but you didn’t answer. I got the genealogist’s report back. She dropped it off right after you left. So give me a call when you get a minute!”

  After mulling it over, I decided to head straight there to let her show me the report. That way I could also find out more about Mom’s visit. The new translated pages would have to wait.

  I jumped in the shower, put on a pair of capris and a top and called Nana as I climbed into my car, suggesting we all go out to my favorite Athens vegetarian restaurant for supper. She thought that was a grand idea.

  ~

  “Isn’t this fascinating?” Nana gushed. “She was able to get all this information from Census reports and tax records.”

  We sat side by side on her teal sofa, the genealogy report spread across our laps.

  “I told you I was descended from Cherokee Indians!” she said. “But you! Little Miss Skeptical Journalist!”

  My stomach was doing somersaults.

  “It says here,” she went on, “that a woman named Amadahy – what a lovely name – and her husband Jonah Barnes had four children – three girls and one boy. The oldest child’s name was Betsey.”

  Thank goodness Nana only knew the names Forest Water and Butterfly and didn’t realize who the genealogist was talking about. I did my best to sound enthusiastic, but it grieved me imagining Amadahy forced to stay with Jonah all those years, bearing children for him to use as farm workers. Although, as it turned out, they only had one son. There was no mention of Isham being Betsey’s father.

  “And look!” she continued. “One of their daughters was named Edith! I must be descended from her.”

  Nana placed her hand over her heart, truly moved by the revelation.

  Amadahy was Nana’s great-great-great-grandmother, and, thus, my fifth great-grandmother. And since she was full Cherokee, it would be pure speculation trying to figure the percentage of Native American blood we had. It would depend on all those other names on that big family tree.

  Nana was as chatty as a talking baby doll on the drive to the restaurant, going on and on about her Cherokee heritage and about how she always knew her grandmother wasn’t exaggerating.

  “Just out of curiosity,” I said, “how did you end up with the land?”

  “My grandma left it to all six of us grandchildren,” she said from the back seat. “But the others didn’t want anything to do with it. They were only too happy when Bob and I bought them out years ago.”

  The Grit was an Athens landmark, known for its good vegetarian cuisine. Nothing fancy. Just good food and a college town vibe. We sat at a table near the front.

  “Mom sent me an email saying she’s flying in tomorrow morning for a visit,” I said.

  “It’s all your fault.” Nana gave me a mock evil eye.

  “She sent me an email too,” Jeannette said.

  “You mean you didn’t know either?”

  Jeannette shook her head.

  “She’s a very busy woman,” Nana said. “Always focused on the future.”

  Which was an accurate assessment. Mom had never been interested in the past. She’d never cared one whit who she was descended from. Maybe I’d absorbed her attitude, a possible explanation for why I’d been so dismissive of Nana’s claims over the years.

  As our waitress was taking our order, I sensed someone watching me. Glancing toward the front door, I spotted Eric, a sheepish look on his face like he’d been caught parking in a handicapped parking space. Standing next to him was an athletic young woman with short brown hair, leaning into him.

  I took a sip of water and tried to focus on Nana. But my maneuver didn’t achieve the desired result. Eric and his lady friend came straight to our table.

  “Kathryn,” he said as they approached.

  I stifled a groan.

  “Is this your grandmother?”

  “Yes,” I replied, reluctantly doing my duty. “Nana, this is Eric Murray. Eric, this is Edie Crawford. And this is our good friend Jeannette Hightower.”

  “Wonderful to meet you both,” he said. “And this is Kelsey Beck. She’s visiting our department, considering doing her PhD here. Decided to bring her to my favorite Athens vegetarian restaurant.”

  “Nice to meet you. Enjoy your lunch.” She touched Eric’s arm, obviously in a hurry to follow the hostess.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Nana was the first to speak.

  “Why did that feel awkward?”

  Jeannette patted her mouth with her napkin, hiding a surreptitious smile.

  ~

  The first thing I did when I got home, besides feeding my hungry cat, was to scan the new pages Amadahy had given me and email them to Nancy. Only then did I sit down and read the latest translation she’d sent me.

  Amadahy’s Journal – Part 6 Planting Month (May) 1840

  When the blackberries began to ripen, I picked a small basketful. As I rose to return to the house carrying Little Butterfly on my back, I felt eyes watching me. Without moving my head, I searched the forest, but saw no one. Then came the song of a wood thrush that I knew well. It was not a bird.

  Moving slowly toward the trees, I continued plucking berries, placing them in my basket.

  His voice spoke to me from behind a tangle of blackberry bushes. It was the same voice I knew from my childhood.

  “I have news,” said Old Noon Day, speaking in the language of the Aniyunwiya. “It is sorrowful news of your family.”

  I closed my eyes.

  “My brother’s son returned from beyond the Great River,” he continued. “He says your mother, your sisters and your brother died before they reached the territory of the Darkening Land. Your Aunt Rising Fawn told him they were buried beside the trail. She and your Aunt Wild Rose survived.”

  The sting of tears blinded me.

  “Degataga shared your story with me. You should marry him and join us. Your mother would approve.”

  “Mother said marrying Isham Barnes meant our Ancestral Land was returned to me as his wife. She said I should not part with it.”

  “Your mother is gone. You are the mother now.”

  “I will consider your words.”

  “Degataga will come in three days’ time.”

  Betsey wiggled and squealed for attention. Then, as quietly as he arrived, Old Noon Day stole away.

  Waiting until Bad Brother went into town the next day, I performed th
e mourning rituals. I cried in lamentation the names of my dead family as I stood in the shallows of the river, submerging myself seven times, facing east, then west. I could not bury their bones, so I buried smooth river stones and bird feathers behind the menstrual hut. I did not share my sad news with Jonah upon his return.

  When Standing Together arrived, he spoke only Tsalagi, as before. I translated. He offered to build a fence around the garden and repair the chicken coop. Jonah said he would pay him two bits. I knew Degataga did these things for me, not for the money. He knew Jonah would never lighten my burden.

  Degataga bided his time until the second day. Betsey was wrapped snug on my back while I picked squash and beans.

  “My heart is sad upon the loss of your family,” he said, speaking in our tongue as he prepared to pound another post into the ground. “So many have died. Our people have suffered much at the hands of the white man.”

  My voice caught in my throat. We worked in silence for a time before he spoke again.

  “Old Noon Day says your mind is firm, that you wish to remain here.”

  “That is my wish.”

  “The savage white man who calls himself your husband does not know I understand his words. But I have heard him spew venom to you and your small daughter. I know he violates you. He has no respect for the ways of the Principal People.” He looked deeply into my eyes with the intense look I remembered from before. “I want you to share my bed, Forest Water, and build a family with me.” His eyes softened, revealing his emotion.

  Approaching footsteps silenced our conversation. Degataga pounded the fence post as I set two more squash in my basket.

  “Miss Amadahy,” Ginny called out as she rounded the corner of the house. “Oh, you got company.”

  “This is my cousin, Degataga – Standing Together,” I said, gesturing at the man trying to convince me to marry him. “This is Ginny.”