by Kim Murphy
Lee kissed her. “I promise—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Don’t make vows that you cannot keep.”
“But I do promise that I’ll return for you and Heather.”
The words had been uttered, and she feared they would only bring bad luck. So lost and alone, she clasped him tighter and listened to the steady rhythm of his heart, but the wind picked up, and they were thrown apart.
“Lee!” Phoebe struggled to reach his hand. She blinked and stared into the candle flame.
Meg sat across from her. “What happened?”
“He’s gone.”
* * *
11
Lee
I had given Phoebe my message with a heavy heart. Over the past six months, I had been instructed in the ways of the Appamattuck. Though I had a long way to go, I had learned much. I wasn’t proficient in any of my tasks. Far from it, but I was confident that in time I would learn the necessary skills, for I could approximate the time of day by the sun, follow tracks, estimate distances, fish and hunt, and I was beginning to make tools by hand.
The one thing I had bypassed was to go through the huskanaw as adolescent boys did to become men. Because I had returned to my roots as an adult, no one expected me to partake in the grueling ordeal that covered many months in the wilderness. Hell, just a few years shy of forty, I was nearly regarded as an elder in this society. Even though I had remained fit, the rigors of the huskanaw were not something I would choose to endure. But I wanted to participate in some sort of initiation and discover my adult name.
My wishes were well known among the people and met with their approval. Even though I would not undergo the huskanaw, my chosen path would not be an easy one. In preparation, Charging Bear told me to fast and pray. I had never been much of a praying man and wondered to whom I should pray. Ahone the Great Spirit? Or the Christian God as my adoptive parents had taught me? Caught between cultures my entire life, I found it easier in day-to-day life to ignore all religious teachings. But the Appamattuck had taught me that spirituality was an individual matter. Because of what I had witnessed since meeting Phoebe, I approached the ceremony with an open mind. Ultimately I sought the four winds as I had often seen Phoebe do.
I started by facing the east and held out my hands with my palms facing up. My people had often given thanks for the new day in such a way. I faced the south and promised myself that I would devote myself to the good of the tribe. I turned west. In the shadow of the setting sun, not only would I commit myself to the tribe but also give back in whatever way I could. Finally, I faced north. I would accept what had gone before and reconcile with the past, which would give me harmony and return me to the east.
For some reason I stood motionless, contemplating what I had just done. By facing the four winds, I had made a circle. Everything was a circle—the days, the seasons, life. Time? Unsure what had hit me, I comprehended the sacred circle. My chosen path was the correct one, and I would learn much in the coming days. Ready to meet what lay ahead, I stepped out of the circle.
Resembling a ghostly apparition, a kwiocos met me. The kwiocosuk were regarded by the English as priests. They were much, much more. Not only were they spiritual leaders, but they were medicine men and tribal councilors too. Charging Bear had informed me they were spirits in the form of a man. This man was painted black and stood a couple of inches shorter than me. His head was shaved on the sides. In the center his black hair stood upright. Instead of a simple loincloth, he wore a cloak that resembled a baggy shirt made from deer hide. Around his waist hung a leather bag, which no doubt held his herbs and tobacco.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“I am.”
“Then follow me.” He led me from town to the forest.
The kwiocosuk lived on the perimeters of town in the forest, but he wasn’t leading me to the quiocosin, or the temple. Instead, we traveled farther into the forest until arriving at a cleared section where we joined another kwiocos. A fire burned in the center.
“Your name?” the first kwiocos asked.
“Crow in the Woods,” I replied, even though he was fully aware of my name.
His dark eyes met mine, almost as if he could see through me and into my soul. “Your mother grieves; for Crow in the Woods is dead.” He turned to the fire, and the kwiocosuk sang.
While my knowledge of Algonquian had expanded exponentially since my arrival, I couldn’t make out their words. During the huskanaw boys died symbolically and returned to the town as men. I presumed the death of Crow in the Woods was something similar.
The song ended, and the second kwiocos stepped over to my side. He held a wooden bowl in his hands. “Are you prepared to cast out the past and relearn your life anew?”
Uncertainty crossed my mind.
Picking up on my change of heart, the kwiocos asked, “Do you doubt what is being asked of you?”
“I do,” I admitted.
“Because you were raised by the tassantassas, I will grant you leeway. Why do you question yourself?”
“I cannot imagine casting out my wife and daughter.”
“If they are meant to be in your new life, they shall be.”
Simple as that, and I no longer questioned. The circle would be complete.
The kwiocos handed me the wooden bowl. “Drink.”
The other kwiocos sang and gave an offering of tobacco to the fire. I raised the bowl to my lips and took a few sips. The tea tasted bitter. I lowered the bowl.
“All of it,” he said.
Was the potion really any worse than a person’s first beer? Pretending the drink was beer, I finished the rest but had difficulty to keep from gagging. Overhead, clouds billowed, and I heard the cry of the hawk.
Before long, the last rays of the sun descended in the sky, and I felt a little dizzy. Music, a recorder playing, sounded in the distance. I had heard the notes before but couldn’t recall where. The instrument changed to a piano. I thought it was Beethoven but couldn’t be certain.
Suddenly, a stream of people poured in. Everyone I had ever known seemed to be present—my mother and father, my adoptive parents, my cousins, Shae, Phoebe and Heather, Meg, Ed, even kids and teachers I had known in school and had not seen since. All talked at the same time, and I couldn’t make out what any of them were saying.
My mother, Snow Bird, stepped forward and wailed. “My son is dead.”
What I was seeing couldn’t be real. Hadn’t she been the one who died? I had promised Phoebe to try and reach my mother through the dreaming, but this experience was nothing like that. Could I reach her now? I extended my arm. “Mother.”
Blinking back her tears, she gazed in my direction but didn’t appear to see me. “The vengeful spirit Oke tricks me. I hear my son’s voice on the wind, but it’s not possible, for he is dead.”
My adoptive mother, Natalie Crowley, joined Snow Bird. She was no longer the frail, bone-thin form that I had buried, but a vibrant woman in her forties with dark brown hair. “He’s not dead. He was found wandering in the woods. I thought you had abandoned him, and I raised him as if he were my own flesh and blood.”
Snow Bird hugged her. “I would never have abandoned him.”
They stood before me chatting. How could this be? Neither knew the other’s language.
“Mom.”
Both women looked in my direction, but Phoebe stepped between them, wearing a cloak about her shoulders. Instead of her youthful appearance, she had deep wrinkles in her face, and her red hair had gone white.
“Phoebe?”
“ ’Tis the wind.”
“The wind?” Through the crow I had spoken with the wind during the dreaming. Is that what she meant?
The group of people embraced each other and sobbed in unison. “He’s dead.”
The kwiocos had said Crow in the Woods was dead. Was Lee dead as well? The voices vanished, and I felt myself falling. I struggled to remain upright, only to be pulled in another direction. I shifted
and again I was thrust another way. Finally I gave up. Instead of falling, I floated. Moonlight showered me in a cool warmth.
By morning, clouds gathered and pelted me with rain. Wet and shivering, I waited until the day nearly ended when a kwiocos gave me another tea. Once again, I drank the concoction. After downing the bitter drink, I set out and roamed the forest. My moccasins suddenly felt heavy, and I kicked them off.
The voices returned. Only this time, they belonged to the trees and animals. A large branch had broken away from a sycamore tree, and I heard it crying. “What happened?” I asked.
“A gust swooped through and snapped my branch away.”
I inspected the damage. A bird’s nest had fallen with the downed branch. Inside the nest were four down-covered, lifeless nestlings. A mother robin cried for her babies over my shoulder.
“Why do I keep seeing death?”
“Death is part of you,” said the tree, “and it is necessary for rebirth.”
As a detective, how many deaths had I investigated? Over the years, I had lost count of the bodies. I had viewed them in every state of decomposition and delivered the news to their grieving families. On one occasion I had killed a man myself. That time I recalled the deaths of my people, only to blink back the vision to see the suspect in front of me holding a gun. Both Ed and I had fired. Ballistics verified that my bullet had been the fatal one.
From a distance, a mountain lion approached me. Nimble-footed, she moved with a flowing grace. Her eyes and ears remained alert, yet she stalked as if performing a ballet. Spellbound, I watched her until I realized that she was merely a shadow. Dancing shadows surrounded me, and I joined them. First, we danced to recorder music, then the piano. Finally, came the rhythmic drums. The cycle continued. I was part of all of them, yet none of them.
On the third day, the kwiocos asked, “Do you now understand?”
Uncertain that I believed the significance of what I had been seeing, I contemplated his question. Like the shadows, one or both of the kwiocosuk were always with me. “Crow in the Woods died with the Paspahegh.”
For the first time, he smiled.
“Lee Crowley was born,” I said.
He handed me the wooden bowl. “Your wife grieves. Lee Crowley is dead.”
And for the third time, I drank the bitter potion. The skeleton unearthed might have been mine, but he had no longer been Lee, for I was dead. I returned to the forest and wandered along. Shortly, I came across a white greyhound. The dog’s long legs and sleek frame were made for coursing. Having seen him often during the dreaming with Phoebe, I followed. Perhaps he would take me to her. As I neared his side, he raced off.
Huffing and puffing, I chased after him but couldn’t keep up. I lost the greyhound and bent down to see if I could locate any tracks. Nothing. Disappointed, I stood.
Once more, I wandered through the forest. Branches scraped my arms. Because I had kicked off my moccasins the day before, brambles cut into my legs. Up ahead, I heard whining. I followed the sound and located the greyhound.
The dog gazed at a dead crow on the ground.
Death, again. I picked up the lifeless body and held it in my hands. Was the crow meant to be me? I was dead. I carefully placed the dead crow on the ground and covered the body with leaves.
The greyhound took off again with his feet barely touching the ground.
I followed, and he led me to a tunnel in the midst of the forest covered in a rainbow of light. The shadows performed their dance inside. I moved toward them, when one of the shadows waved for me to follow.
I stepped inside only to be met with a blast of wind. At first gales howled around me, then they were at my back, blowing me farther and farther inside. After several feet, the wind grew more intense. I reached a branch in the passageway. To my right, I spotted my birth parents.
My mother reached out. “Crow in the Woods.”
Before I could respond, she screamed and sank to the ground. My father bent down and stared at my mother’s body. “I couldn’t save her.” He raised his eyes and handed me an arrowhead. “Nor could I save you.”
The wind pushed at my back, and I clenched the arrowhead in my hand. On and on I went until I came to another passageway. My adoptive parents stood before me. I showed them the arrowhead.
“You carried it with you when you were found,” my mother said.
“I hadn’t realized how much a part of me it is. It’s who I am.”
My dad smiled. “Nonsense, Lee. You’re a detective.”
“A detective? Why would a detective need an arrowhead?”
“A detective doesn’t. I’m so proud of you.”
Another gust hit me, and my parents were gone. I struggled to keep from floating away. At another branch, I briefly saw Shae, but my momentum didn’t stop until after I blew past her. I groped around in the dark. Certainly, I would see Phoebe next.
The tunnel was more like a maze, and that feeling of being lost and abandoned crept through me. Passageway after passageway—I had no idea which way I was going. Nothing gave me a clue as to the way out. I fought to remain calm and kept moving forward. What seemed like hours passed, and I still had no clue how to find the way out.
“Lee.”
“Phoebe?” I called.
Finally, I spotted a light and knew what I must do. Once I reached the light, I would find her, so I raced toward it. I kept running and running, but the light stayed the same distance. Out of breath, I halted. The light taunted me. Why couldn’t I reach it?
In my hand, I still clenched the arrowhead. I traced a finger over it, feeling tiny ridges where pieces of antler had been chipped away to form it.
“Lee.”
“Phoebe, tell me how I can get out of here.”
No answer came. Had I really heard her voice or had I become delirious?
Again, I had that overwhelming sensation of being lost. Fight it. The feeling was nothing more than a childish fear. Then, it dawned on me. How was the endless tunnel that much different than the mist during the dreaming? When I was a two-year-old and captured in the mist, I had been alone and afraid. I moved forward.
Phoebe had been known as Red Dog, and I had left her side and wandered away. Had the crow guided me? A gentle breeze rippled through the tunnel. Could the wind help me? I summoned it to guide me.
A tailwind gusted, carrying me toward the light. Phoebe, we’ll be together again soon.
Closer and closer, the light brightened, nearly blinding me. I pressed my hands to my eyes. No use, the light failed to dim. I passed from the tunnel over a precipice into the glaring light. Downward, I sailed. I called for the wind, but my body was no longer my own.
The light faded, and the sensation of moving ended. Beneath a night sky, I counted the stars, realizing all had a name and purpose. The moss was cool under my feet. From a nearby tree, an owl hooted, and near a stream, frogs croaked. Everything around me was alive. In awe of my discovery, I stood still, watching the stars and moon until they faded to a rosy morning light. The day creatures awakened. A cardinal trilled, and a crow cawed.
A man, his body painted black and with a partially shaved head, approached me. “What is your name?”
“My name?” I asked. He repeated the question, and I searched my memory. I could recall nothing but standing under the starlit sky and waiting for dawn. “I don’t know my name.”
The man smiled. “Come. You will relearn that which you have lost.”
* * *
12
Phoebe
The water glass slipped from Phoebe’s hand and crashed to the floor.
“Phoebe?”
“He’s dead,” Phoebe cried.
Meg rushed over and held her. She shoved the stray hair from Phoebe’s eyes. “What was it you felt?”
Tears streaked her cheeks. “Lee’s gone. He’s dead.”
“How can you know?”
“I felt him die.” She barely noticed Meg taking her arm and guiding her to the living room and over
to the sofa.
Meg sat aside her. “I’m not certain I understand. What happened?”
“I don’t know—only that he’s gone.” Phoebe reached for the phone. “I need to tell Shae.”
Meg grasped the phone from her hand and replaced it in its cradle. “Shae can wait. You need to take care of yourself and Heather first.”
When would she wake up from the nightmare? After her loss of Lightning Storm, Lee had been the one to help her feel again. She choked back a sob. What would she do now?
* * *
Day and night blended. Phoebe had difficulty keeping track of which was which. Meg stayed with her when she wasn’t at her job. But her friend had already taken too much time from work that her boss was no longer sympathetic. Phoebe went through the motions of caring for Heather, but even her daughter, young as she was, could tell something was amiss.
She struggled through the hours. At Meg’s request, she continued to participate in the dreaming, but each time, the answer remained the same. Lee’s voice had vanished.
“Don’t give up hope,” Meg repeated after each session.
“I won’t,” Phoebe vowed, but she failed to believe. She would have known somehow if he were still alive. Then one eve, she entered in the dreaming on her own. The mist engulfed her, and she accompanied her spirit dog. As she walked, a long skirt brushed her legs. Up ahead, the mist thinned, and when she emerged she found herself standing on the bank of the James River.
She recognized the gentle roll of the land and headed downstream ’til coming to a familiar brick house. “Elenor?” she shouted.
Bess spotted her and shrieked with joy. With open arms, her friend ran toward her, and they hugged when they met.
“Bess, ’tis good to see you,” Phoebe said.
“What’s wrong?” Bess asked, stepping back.