Pale Phoenix

by Kathryn Reiss

"Godspeed," Thomas said to Henry-Mather, seeing him out. Then he closed the door gently and turned to his wife. "Oh, Sarah."

  "It's starting again," she whispered and tightened her fists in her skirts.

  "As if we didn't already have enough to bear."

  "I grieve for thee, dear Thomas." She reached out her hands to him. "I know how precious thy family was to thee, how precious Abigail was especially. But remember, she no longer suffers. She has gone on to a new life. They all have. It's what we must believe."

  Miranda's heart pounded hard. A better life? Had she? Was it? She. remembered her promise to Abby. She must try to comfort Thomas.

  "Thomas!" Miranda called, floating across the room to him. She tried to grasp his arm. "Listen to me. Abby didn't die! Please don't look so awful. She's all right, she's living with us now. Willow gave her a little statue, and that's what saved her from the fire."

  "Get back here," hissed Dan. "What are you doing?"

  Thomas shook his head at Sarah. He didn't notice Miranda at all, though she hovered at his side. "If 'tis true what our neighbor says, and the fire was no accident but brought on by an evil witch's spell, then justice must be done."

  "No, Thomas, don't," implored Sarah. "Thou knowst it must have been an accident. There has been no rain in so long, the fields and woods are dry as bone. The roof of the house might easily have caught by a spark from the chimney. Do not follow those who would chase out and accuse a poor woman of"—her voice dropped—"witchcraft."

  Miranda tried again, drifting this way and that around Thomas and Sarah. "Willow wasn't evil! She helped Abby. Oh, Thomas, don't!" she implored.

  Thomas passed his hand across his face. Then he looked down and seemed to meet Miranda's eyes. "I—I almost feel..." His voice dwindled, and he gazed toward the window.

  "What is it, Thomas?" asked Sarah.

  "Abigail?" he whispered. "There is a—presence here. I sense it."

  Miranda clutched Dan. "Abigail is safe," she repeated urgently, willing him to understand. Then she remembered the phoenix and fished it from her pocket. She raised it to her lips and blew. The long note hung in the air, an unseen messenger.

  Thomas gasped and grabbed his wife's shoulder. "Did you hear the unearthly cry? It is the Devil's music. Oh, dear Lord, it isn't Abigail at all," he moaned, looking around the room with great fear in his eyes. "Lord, protect us from the evil that surrounds us."

  "But it's not evil!" cried Miranda. "Oh, Dan, what can we do to make him understand?"

  "Nothing," he whispered back. "Let's get out of here."

  "I heard the sound before," confessed Sarah in a hoarse whisper. "When I was alone with Charity. I thought it came from the road."

  "No, it was in this room." Thomas thumped his fist hard on the table. "It is a sign, Sarah! We must discover whether the Indian has spirited Abigail away. I assure thee, I shall not be the one to judge her. The law shall do that. But we must find her in the woods and lock her up so she can do no more damage to our family and our land."

  He moved resolutely to the door. Miranda could hear voices outside now, calling for him. "Dost thou hear them, Sarah?" he asked. "Listen."

  "Oh, Thomas, no. Grieve at home with us, but do not wreak vengeance on an innocent woman."

  "We do not know she is innocent," he snapped.

  Sarah bit her lip as he reached for the musket that hung on nails above the door. Then she called the children and they came running around the side of the house. She gathered them against her skirts and stood watching.

  Down the road came ten or fifteen men and boys, all calling for Thomas to join them in routing the Devil from Garnet. Dan floated over to the door. "These people are crazy," he muttered in disgust. "Let's go, Mandy."

  Miranda felt sick at the thought of what the men meant to do. "I don't think they're crazy. I think they're scared to death." She held the phoenix tightly. Its cool, hard weight in her hand made her feel calmer. "Maybe we can warn Willow."

  "How?" demanded Dan. "We can't help anyone—not Abby, not Thomas, and not Willow." But he floated behind Miranda as she edged around Sarah and the children, out into the dusty lane.

  With flutters of panic in her stomach, Miranda watched the men stamping off toward the common. She looked back and saw Sarah's face at the small front window, fearful and sad.

  Miranda and Dan flew along as fast and as high as they could, skimming just beneath the lower branches of the trees. Too bad we can't soar above everything—like birds, Miranda thought. But they could not move much faster than the men themselves, though now they were drawing abreast of the angry mob assembled near the stocks in the common.

  The men stopped to discuss how best to organize themselves to trap and capture the witch. Miranda and Dan flew right on toward the Prindle House and the burned ruin. Beyond the house and the ruin lay the woods. They drifted silently among the old trees, following the path of moss until they came to a clearing. The sharp scent of pine surrounded them.

  Miranda rubbed her fists into her eyes. What she saw before her looked at first sight like an illustration from a legend: a small shack built of wood and animal skins stood amidst the birch and pine trees. At one side of the shack flowed a stream, dotted with rocks. On the other side of the shack a garden had been planted. Tall stalks of corn stood at the back along the natural fence of blueberry bushes. Rows of vegetables grew in leafy green abundance. Directly outside the door of the shack was a circle of stones and a spit, from which hung a black pot. "For the witch's brew," Dan murmured. Smells of pungent herbs hung in the air.

  Miranda snorted. She moved forward first. "Hello?" she called. "Is anyone home?"

  "She won't be able to hear you," said Dan.

  Miranda walked around the clearing, taking in all the details. It was a peaceful place, with dappled sunlight falling through the trees and water rushing along in the stream. Birds chirped and unseen animals chattered from the forest.

  Then the skin-covered door of the shack was swept aside and the woman emerged, holding a basket. She was tall and dark and younger than Miranda had expected. She was wearing a long black dress like the other women Miranda had seen in town. But her feet were bare and her black hair, streaked with threads of gray, hung in two long braids down her back. Dan lingered by the shelter of pine trees, but Miranda floated straight over to her.

  "We've come to warn you," she began. "You're in trouble."

  The woman walked to her garden and squatted among the herbs and flowers. She began picking and gathering them into bunches, tying the ends of the stems with string and snipping the string at the knot with a sharp knife.

  Miranda moved forward. "You must go away from here—and fast. Men are coming, and they think you're a witch! Oh, can't you hear us, either?"

  "Why should she?" asked Dan. "No one else can."

  Miranda shrugged. Despite her insistence that she didn't believe in witches, she found herself hoping this woman would have the special power to sense their presence. Miranda drifted into the garden and crouched near the woman. "Please hear us!" She waved her hands around, trying to stir up the air to create a breeze. But the woman, her head bowed, continued snipping and tying the herbs into small bundles and placing them in her basket.

  "Abby said Willow uses herbs and flowers as medicine," Miranda told Dan. "She heals people."

  "Then how dare they come up here now and try to hurt her?" Behind them, back through the trees, they could hear the sounds of the men approaching. Miranda's heart beat faster as Willow lifted her head to listen. Willow's calm expression sharpened. "Go away," Dan cried. "They're coming to lock you up!"

  Willow cocked her head, then resumed her work with the herbs and flowers. She didn't seem afraid, didn't seem to have any idea that the group of men meant her harm.

  "She probably thinks it's a hunting party," Dan said grimly. "Let's go—I can't bear to stay and watch." He turned to drift through the clearing, back along the path the way they'd come. "Come on, Mandy. You don't want to watch them
capture her."

  She put her hands on her hips. "How can you just leave her?"

  Dan shook his head. "I don't see what we can do, Mandy. Remember, all this happened three hundred years ago. It's over and done with—it's history. We can't change anything. I just want to get out of here and go back home."

  Miranda watched Willow lay the bundles in her basket. Rose and thyme and other plants Miranda could not identify scented the warm air in a smell that was real, was here and now, no matter when now was. She pressed her lips together stubbornly. She had to try to make Willow know the danger she was in. It wouldn't be long before the men burst into the clearing and seized her. She would be carried roughly away from her peaceful clearing, then locked in a cell somewhere in town. A judge would find her guilty of burning down Abby's house and killing her family and William. She would be branded a witch and killed right out in the common. Miranda couldn't bear to stay and watch, but she couldn't bear to leave, knowing the men would come.

  She hovered near Willow like a guardian angel without any real power. If only I could make you see me, she thought desperately. If only I could make you hear....

  The phoenix! She took it hurriedly from her pocket and raised it to her lips. She blew, and the long note soared out into the hot summer air. Willow lifted her head again and listened. The men's arrival was imminent, but still she must think it would be a party of hunters, out for stag or rabbit or grouse. No danger to her.

  Then Miranda blew the whistle again, and Willow's face darkened. She stood up hurriedly, leaving the basket in the garden, and ran to her shack. "Don't go in there!" cried Miranda, floating toward her. "It's not safe." Over and over she blew the whistle.

  Willow stood in the doorway, staring out at the clearing. Her eyes were wide and black. "I know this music," Willow said uncertainly. She glanced left and right. "Can it be spirits? Why do you come to me?" She turned and ducked into the shack.

  Miranda floated inside after her. The interior of the shack was dim. There didn't seem to be any furniture at all, just mats of woven cloth and piles of animal furs. Several earthenware bowls lay on the packed ground by the entrance. Miranda blew the phoenix again urgently. "Get out of here," she cried, and then blew again.

  Willow looked around in desperation, grabbed up some furs and a pouch with long leather ties, stowed her knife iri the pouch, and slung it around her neck. Then she slipped out the door, Miranda at her side blowing again and again the warning note. Run, run, run, the phoenix seemed to sing.

  And at last, Willow ran. She left the clearing faster than Miranda could have run, along the stream, then across the stream to another path. Then she disappeared amidst the foliage just as the mass of angry Garnet citizens stormed into the clearing. Miranda gasped when she saw their guns and swords. Then she remembered they could not see her.

  Across the clearing Dan waited for her in the shadows.

  The men, led by stout Mr. Prindle, swept through the garden, trampling the flowers and herbs. Mr. Mather was there, too, and Thomas. They surged toward the shack. Miranda shrank behind the tree, shocked that men she had seen in the town less than an hour ago could have become such marauders.

  William's father hoisted Willow's basket on his sword. "The witch is here!" he cried. "Find her!"

  "Was here, you mean," said Henry Mather, peering into the hut. "But she will likely return." He settled himself on a log outside the door. "I can wait. Aye, I can wait."

  "I think we should search in the woods," said a young, eager boy about Miranda's age. His red hair stood on end and his eyes gleamed with excitement. "She may be trying to run away—probably heard us coming. If we hurry, we may still catch her."

  He started off with a few other boys exactly in the direction Willow had gone. Miranda's heart pounded harder. She raised the phoenix again to her lips and blew it as hard as she could. The long note soared out, suspended for a moment in the clearing. The men froze.

  Thomas sagged. "Again! We heard it back at our house, my wife and I."

  "It is the sign of the Devil!" Mr. Prindle shouted.

  "It is the witch!"

  "She means to harm us!"

  "She has turned herself into a bird—look there on the bush!"

  "She is hiding here, watching us, I can sense it!"

  The men drew together, fearful and dangerous. Mr. Prindle raised his musket and shot into the air. Thomas did the same. Miranda cringed and floated across the clearing to Dan.

  "Good thinking!" Dan hugged her. It was so good to feel his arms, real and strong around her. "Brave Mandy."

  "It won't stop them," she sighed, as the men seemed to recover their wits and fanned out to search the woods.

  "No, but you slowed them up. You got Willow to leave, and now she's had some time to hide. She probably knows all sorts of places these guys don't."

  Miranda blew the phoenix whistle several more times, just to watch the men stop, their faces blanch, their stocky bodies tremble. Finally she stowed the phoenix back in her pocket. Dan led the way down the path back to the ruin.

  "Do you think we saved her?" asked Miranda when they stood again among the rubble of Abby's home. "I can't bear not knowing."

  She was shivering in the late afternoon sun. A cool breeze began, then whipped itself into a wind. Dark clouds gathered and it looked like rain.

  "We gave her a chance, at least," said Dan. "That is, you did."

  Miranda walked around the charred ruins of the house, marveling at how firmly her boots touched the earth now that she was back inside the barrier of wind. It was a relief not to be floating anymore. The bundle of their old-time clothes lay by the rock where she had left it. She picked it up and looked across the rubble to where the Prindle House stood, new and sturdy and strong. She wanted only to be back home, to see her parents again, to see the Prindle House as it was in her own time, old and rickety and ready for repair. But first they had to tell Abby what had happened with Willow. They had to tell Abby they had not been able to let Thomas know that his little sister was safe.

  Abby listened with her head bowed. Miranda ached to comfort her, but there were no words.

  Finally she reached for Abby's hand. "We've been here for hours, it seems. And now it's going to pour. Let's go."

  But Abby was shaking her head. "I'm not going back," she said, raising her head at last. Her eyes were dazed.

  "But Abby," said Miranda. "We have to."

  "There's nothing for me in your time. I can't spend the rest of eternity moving on and on and on." She sank onto a charred beam and put her head in her hands. "And there's nothing for me in my own time, as you and Dan have proven today. I've always known the way out, but for centuries I've been too much a coward to take it."

  "Take it? Take what?" asked Miranda. "What are you talking about?"

  "Take the only escape route out of a life that's really no life at all." Abby looked directly into their eyes. Her own were full of tears, but resolute. "I want most of all to be with my family and William."

  "But they're dead." Dan's voice was brutal. "Burned to death. Dead, Abby!"

  "That's right." She nodded. "And so must I be, if I want to be with them again."

  Miranda gasped. "Then you're talking about suicide? Abby, you can't mean you're going to try to kill yourself."

  "Why not?"

  "Don't be stupid," said Dan. "You're going to wish us home. Now!"

  But Abby walked toward a clump of toadstools growing beneath a tree. "Look, it may not even work. I mean, can a ghost die again? But these are very poisonous. I have to try. It's the best way. Thomas might find my body. He can bury me with my mother and father and sisters. I'll be with William again."

  "Stop her!" cried Miranda, running over. "Don't let her try to eat them."

  A small procession of men was coming toward them from the woods. The trees behind them swayed back and forth in the wind. Miranda recognized the figure in front as Thomas. The men were empty-handed. This small band had not tracked Willow down to c
apture her, and Miranda sighed inwardly with relief even as she struggled with Abby. She hoped that the other search parties had also found no one.

  "Thomas!" screamed Abby. "Wait! Here I am!" She tried to run to him, heedless of the wind barrier, but was swept into the gale again and hurled back onto the ground.

  Dan and Miranda helped her to her feet. "You'd think after three hundred years of trying," he said, "you'd learn."

  "Wish us home," Miranda implored her. "Do it now."

  "But I want my family!" cried Abby, her hair whipping across her face in the wind.

  Miranda yelled back at her. "Abigail Chandler, your family is dead, dead, dead! But mine is alive, and I want to see them again. You may not value your life, but Dan and I value ours." Her words were harsh; she meant them to be. "Damn it, Abby, you've lived longer already than Dan and I ever will, and you don't appreciate it at all. I wish you'd grow up."

  "I want to grow up, too," hissed Abby. "But I can't. That's the problem."

  Abby's face was set with a determination Miranda had not seen before, and she felt a new stab of fear. What could they do if Abby really did refuse to wish them home again? The three of them stood in the charred rubble, ash eddying around them, stirred by the wind.

  Abby stubbornly folded her arms across her chest. But at least she wasn't trying to get the toadstools now. Miranda glanced at Dan. What were they going to do if they couldn't convince Abby? There had to be a way.

  Miranda's hand crept into her pocket to stroke the cold stone of the phoenix. As before, the feel of it calmed her. And with the new calm came inspiration. Slowly, she drew the phoenix out and held it up. "Look, Abby," she said. "It's you. I mean, you're sort of a phoenix, too. Did you ever think of it that way?"

  At Abby's uncomprehending stare, Miranda nodded. "Well, it's true. You are. In the legend, the bird dies in the fire, right? And then it's reborn out of the flames and lives on. But it doesn't live on as its old self—it becomes a new phoenix, with a new life."

  "That's right," said Dan. He took the phoenix from Miranda and pressed it into Abby's hand. "You did that, too! You died in the fire, but Willow's statue gave you a chance to start again. You're dead in this time. Just a ghost. But that's okay, because you can come home with us now, and start again."