The Going Back Portal

by Connie Lacy

  “She told me you wouldn’t say how you hurt it.”

  “Eric, she’s misrepresenting our conversation, such as it was. She slapped my shoulder and I guess I yelped a little. But when she gave that accusing look, it pissed me off. I got up and left. I’d had a long day on Monday and an even longer day on Tuesday. And I was still ticked about her calling the cops on you before. For her to tell you I refused to say how I hurt my arm is preposterous!”

  “Okay, how’d it happen?”

  “I got up on the ladder at Nana’s cottage to clean out her back gutter. It was so full of pine straw and leaves that the water was pouring over the top and causing a waterfall right on the edge of her porch. I’d finished scooping out the crud when the ladder wobbled – probably because of the soggy ground – and I fell. When I landed, I held out my right arm to break my fall. Nothing mysterious. Nothing sinister.” I had cleaned out the gutters several times, so it wasn’t a complete fabrication.

  He took another bite of his egg roll.

  “I’m not gonna stand for her giving me the third degree every time I get a paper cut!” I added.

  Lying was hard. But I couldn’t afford for him to know Jonah had severely manhandled me. If I told him the truth, then he’d know I was up to something and he’d try to stop me. And that might mean another quarrel. Which I really wanted to avoid. Ranting about Mallory being an overbearing buttinsky seemed to be the safest tactic under the circumstances.

  “I think her intentions are good. Anyway, she and I are cool now.”

  Which made me groan.

  “So how’s your shoulder?” he asked.

  “Better. Going for a follow-up with my doctor next week. By the way, you’ve got rice on your cheek.”

  “Where?”

  “Right…” and I reached across the table and wiped the grain of wild rice from his face.

  He caught my hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing my palm.

  “Did I mention how much I missed you?” he said.

  “I missed you too.”

  “Looking into your eyes like this makes me oscillate at the sub-atomic level.”

  “You are the most romantic college professor I’ve ever shared Chinese take-out with.”

  We sat there in a trance, hands intertwined.

  “It’s gonna be tough living so far apart,” he said.

  “The drive is only a little over an hour.”

  “Much too far when I need to be with you every day.”

  The way he caressed my hand made me shiver.

  “But, unlike a rutting buffalo, I can exercise some self-restraint,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

  Which made me burst out laughing, triggering an amused grin from his side of the table.

  “Although I freely admit it’s a challenge,” he said as we resumed eating. “So, tell me the latest from 1840.”

  “Where to begin?” I whispered. “Maybe the latest journal entries.”

  Retrieving my laptop, I opened it on the table and scooted my chair to sit beside him. We read the translations Nancy had completed as we finished our supper.

  “That guy needs to be put behind bars,” he said when we finished.

  I shook my head, preferring not to mention the rather troubling outcome of locking Jonah away. Eric didn’t know about the family history, didn’t know Jonah was supposed to have three children with Amadahy and hundreds of descendants, including me.

  “While I don’t condone murder,” he said, “Degataga might solve the problem if he makes good on his threat.”

  I didn’t want to go there either.

  “And Amadahy thinks you and your grandma are good spirits,” he said, his voice filled with awe.

  “She might’ve thought that at first. But not anymore.”

  I began wiping the table.

  “I know this may be a touchy subject,” he said, “but it makes me nervous thinking about you visiting them again.”

  “Every time I’ve gone back, I’ve made things worse.”

  My aim was to sound like I was giving up while not actually making any promises. I had to return. There was the rather significant matter of taking Jonah his blackmail payment for not hurting Amadahy or Ginny. I was also hoping against hope that I’d figure out a strategy to protect them. Besides ongoing bribes, that is, which I couldn’t afford.

  “An abrupt change of subject,” he said. “My sister up and decided she’s getting married this weekend. Kind of a last-minute decision since she and her beau have been living together for several years. I’m driving to Savannah on Friday, returning Sunday evening. I sure would love for you to come with me.”

  Which caused two things to happen in my body. One, my heart suddenly felt all fuzzy and warm that he wanted to take me to such an important event so he could introduce me to his family. Which spoke worlds about the depth of his feelings. And two, my brain was extremely relieved that he’d be out of town while I was on my questionable mission to 1840, since I wouldn’t have to make excuses about why I couldn’t spend time with him.

  “Unfortunately, Nana is having a tough time right now. She got really upset Sunday when Jeannette took her to visit a former longtime neighbor with Alzheimer’s Disease who’s now in assisted living. She’s worried about possibly having to move into one of those facilities, herself. So I really need to spend time with her this weekend.”

  He tried for stoicism, but his disappointment was palpable.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “If Nana wasn’t so upset right now, I’d love to go. I’m touched you want me to meet your family.”

  I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  “Speaking of touching,” I said, hoping to smooth over his disappointment, “I don’t suppose you’d like to give me a demonstration of a rutting buffalo coming on to the cow of his dreams?”

  He liked that idea a lot.

  ~

  Eric decided not to come over Thursday night since he had to pack all his dressy duds and be ready to hit the road first thing in the morning. So it was me and Pixie again. Which was okay. I was too nervous to be good company.

  Spread out on the sofa, trying to relax while scarfing down a peanut butter sandwich, my phone dinged. It was an email from Nancy.

  “This is the final translation of the pages you sent me. I can’t say I enjoyed doing the work because it’s a depressing story. I sure hope things turned out all right for this poor woman. One of thousands of stories of American Indians abused by the white man. No offense.

  I don’t know what to make of those spirits coming through that portal she talks about. I know my Cherokee ancestors could be very mystical. Some of us still are.

  Let me know if you need my services in the future. My final bill is attached.”

  “Yeah, I’m with you,” I whispered.

  Pixie meowed.

  “He’s not coming tonight,” I said.

  She meowed again.

  “Come here,” I said, patting the cushion beside me.

  She leaped onto the couch, burrowing between my thigh and a throw pillow as I clicked on the attachment.

  Amadahy’s Journal – Part 11 (June 1840)

  After the young white woman and her husband brought him gold, Jonah began to watch me more closely. One day I found him inside the hut as though searching for my secrets. If he finds my written words, he cannot read them, but he would burn them to punish me and take away the box Isham gave me.

  When Bad Brother bought Ginny to be his slave, he acted as a rich man. When he gambled away the other pieces of gold, his cruelty grew stronger. He directs his anger at me. And now Ginny. Sometimes even my daughter.

  I cannot give up my land. It is the one part of my family still with me. Our burial ground must be preserved so our ancestors will be looked after. But I fear for our safety. I also fear Degataga will keep his word. If he kills Bad Brother, I will be driven away. The Principal People’s land was stolen. I must not let the white man rob me of my family’s land as well. It would be another c
oup for the trespassers.

  I try to protect us. But sometimes I am like a rabbit, heart pounding, wishing to run away when a hunter draws near. Degataga’s invitation lingers in my mind. Especially when I look into his loving eyes.

  I gave my writing to the young white woman. But I no longer think she has strong medicine. She says I should run away. She does not understand. I cannot run away.

  20

  No time like the present. That’s what hit me as I emerged from an anxious night’s sleep Friday morning, persuading me to move my onerous mission forward a day. My presence wasn’t crucial at work and Eric was on his way to Savannah. So I called in sick.

  Pixie watched as I took inventory of the items I was taking with me, arranged neatly on my bed. Gold nuggets – check. Another long skirt – check. Old-fashioned three-quarter sleeve white blouse – check. A pair of comfortable black shoes that wouldn’t fall apart in the rain or cause blisters on my feet – check. Amadahy’s calico dress I’d borrowed – check. A purse-sized can of Mace – check.

  “Meow,” she said.

  “Right. I’ll put an extra bowl of food out for you. But don’t worry, I won’t be gone long.”

  My stomach churned all the way from Atlanta to the country cottage.

  It was a hazy July morning, oppressively humid, with the mercury expected to climb into the mid nineties. Not only did I dread seeing Jonah again, the thought of wearing those hot clothes made me hanker for a tall cold one. And I wasn’t even a beer drinker. How did people survive covering their bodies in the heat of summer with no air conditioning?

  I changed in Nana’s bedroom. This time, I removed my shorts and tank top, leaving them in my backpack, along with my sandals and phone. I fixed my hair in the usual bun on the back of my head.

  Beads of perspiration bloomed as soon as I stepped off the back porch. The trees shaded me from the sun, but my blouse was damp by the time I reached the clearing.

  Bracing myself by the fig bush, I patted the hidden pockets of my skirt, making sure the pepper spray and gold nuggets were in place. Then I picked a fig from the bush and ate it as I stepped forward.

  Dizziness engulfed me as buzzing filled my ears. There was no one to greet me in the hut.

  I listened. No voices, but there was a rhythmic sound in the distance. I set the borrowed dress on the blanket, then pushed the rough door ajar and peeked out. No one in sight. Rather than risk walking into the yard, I slipped out the small back door, leaning against the outer wall. The noise was coming from the field on the forest side of the house, away from the river.

  Crouching low, I dashed for the tree line, hiding behind the trunk of a large pine. Slowly, I made my way along the edge of the woods, far enough into the trees so I couldn’t be seen. As I neared the field, I could tell the sound was coming from within the corn rows. Confident it wasn’t Jonah, since he never did any work around the farm, I hurried across a bare patch, hiding myself among the tall green stalks. Following the sound to the far end of the rows, I peered between the lush plants to see Amadahy digging with a spade.

  She looked up, sensing my presence, but didn’t make a sound. If I had to guess what she was feeling by the look on her face, I’d say it was forbearance. She had hoped I was a good spirit who traveled here using her grandmother’s going back tunnel. Instead, I was a fumbling twenty-first century woman whose visits only complicated her already challenging life.

  I hunched over, making my way along the row, then squatted in front of her.

  “I hope he hasn’t hurt you since last time I was here,” I whispered.

  She resumed hoeing.

  “Where are Ginny and Betsey?” I said, deciding Ginny was more likely to tell me what I wanted to know.

  She pointed toward the river, wiping her forehead on her sleeve.

  “You should go back to your home and never return.” Her voice was weary.

  “But I…”

  “You cannot help me.”

  “I have to try.”

  She dropped several seeds into the mound in front of her.

  “Is he here?” I asked.

  “Asleep in the hammock.”

  I took the long way around to the riverbank, then edged closer to where Ginny was doing laundry. The baby crawled on the ground nearby, babbling to herself. In the distance, in the shade of a large dogwood tree, Jonah was stretched out in the hammock.

  “Ginny!” I whispered.

  She spotted me in my hiding place behind a bush. I put my finger to my lips. She gave me a look like she thought I was crazy, then wrung out the shirt she was washing.

  “Since the last time I was here, has he hit you or Amadahy?” I whispered.

  She put her hand on her hip impatiently.

  “Has he?” I whispered.

  She raised her hands like the answers to my questions should be obvious even to a dimwit like me. So much for bribing him to be a good boy. If he ever had a grain of goodness in him, it had been ground to dust and left to rot in the rain.

  I fingered the gold pieces in my pocket. As much as I abhorred the idea of rewarding him for unforgivable behavior, I didn’t have much choice. He said if I didn’t bring the gold, he would hurt one of the women. I could only guess that he was threatening a more intense level of violence. I could see this happening again and again. What was I supposed to do?

  My head was in my hands when I heard movement close by. It was Ginny with Betsey on her hip. She came around to my side of the bush and sat on the ground, keeping her voice low.

  “You sick?”

  Answering would take too much energy.

  “You don’t have to trouble yourself about Mister Jonah,” she whispered. “Miss Amadahy got a cousin coming back real soon to make sure Mister Jonah don’t never lay a hand on nobody again.”

  “He can’t just murder him.”

  “Ain’t murder when the sheriff hangs a killer! And it ain’t murder when Satan’s seed draws his last breath after all the evil he done.”

  It was hard to argue with her logic. Except that he was supposed to produce a lot of offspring before he left this world for the flames of hell. I hauled myself off the ground, brushed off my skirt and forced myself to walk toward the hammock. I had to do something before Degataga showed up.

  Coming to a stop about eight feet from where he lay, I felt like I was about to poke a rabid dog with a stick.

  “Mister Barnes?”

  He swatted his face as though a mosquito had buzzed his head.

  “I brought you the gold I promised,” I said, speaking a little louder.

  He farted, grimacing like the light hurt his eyes.

  “Mister Barnes, it’s Kathryn Murray. I came to bring you the gold nuggets we talked about.”

  He opened his eyes, giving me a cold look. Which triggered a terrible sense of looming disaster.

  “You brung the gold?” He pulled himself slowly to a sitting position.

  “Have you kept your side of the bargain?” I tried my best to sound confident.

  “I let you go, didn’t I?” He hacked, spitting on the ground in front of me, wiping his mouth with his filthy sleeve.

  “I mean about not hitting anyone.”

  “I done told you, a man’s got a right to do what he wants with his wife. Now, where’s them five gold nuggets?”

  “We agreed on four.”

  He held out his hand, palm up, jutting his scruffy beard in my direction.

  “You have to promise to be gentle with Amadahy and Ginny,” I said.

  He cocked his head, stretching his hand out further.

  “Well?” I said, sounding like a mother interrogating her teen-age son. Then I slid my right hand into the pocket with the can of Mace, putting my finger on the trigger, ready to use it.

  “Hand ‘em over, goddammit!”

  He pulled himself up to his full height, which was considerable.

  Reluctantly, I reached into my other pocket with my left hand and withdrew four gold pieces. I slowly clos
ed the distance between us and dropped them into his greasy hand. He looked them over, gauging their heft, then deposited them in his pocket.

  “Ginny!” he hollered.

  “Yessir?” she cried from the riverbank.

  “Get over here!”

  She was beside me in a flash, Betsey in her arms.

  “Hand the baby to Miz Murray.”

  Which didn’t make sense, but she did as she was told. It was the first time I’d held the soft, sweet baby and she was none too sure about it.

  “Now, come here,” he instructed Ginny.

  Wariness crossed her face as she took two tentative steps toward him. Then he grabbed her, twisting her arm behind her back, holding her in front of him so she couldn’t stand up. I was stunned when he pulled his knife from the waist of his pants and held it to her neck.

  Ginny squealed in pain and Betsey tuned up to cry in my arms.

  “Mr. Barnes,” I pleaded. “Don’t hurt her!”

  “You see this knife? I keep it sharp for gutting fish and skinning animals. And I’m gonna use it on one of my women if you ain’t back here in two days with five more pieces of gold.”

  “But…”

  “You want me to cut her?” he said, touching the point of the blade to her skin, causing a drop of blood to trickle down her neck as she whimpered.

  “All right!” I said, hugging little Betsey to me.

  Then I caught sight of Amadahy limping in our direction from the field, going as fast as her legs would carry her.

  “You keep your nose out of this, squaw!” he barked. “I’m working on a business deal here.”

  “Mr. Barnes,” I said, “please let her go.”

  “You understand, Miz Murray?”

  “Yes. Yes, I understand! Now let her go!”

  He released his grip on Ginny’s arms, stepping back as though nothing had happened while Ginny clamped her hand over her bleeding neck. Betsey stretched her arms out toward her mother, who rushed forward, taking the crying baby from my shaking arms. Jonah wiped the blade of the knife on his pants and slipped it back into the sheath at his waist.