by Kim Murphy
“You remind me of those I once knew.”
The Paspahegh. Had he pretended to be white for so long that sometimes he actually believed it?
“I fear I’ve said something that ails you,” Phoebe said.
With a shrug, he took a sip of water. “It’s not important.”
She gave him a knowing smile, which unsettled him more than it should have. It was almost as if she could instantly read him. Even Shae had only the most basic ability. How could someone he had barely met understand where his head was at?
The waiter returned, and Lee, relieved, focused on their meal.
Over dinner, Phoebe filled in the details of her sessions with Shae. Nothing in her mannerisms indicated that she was lying. Still not totally convinced by her performance, he uncovered no clues to her true identity or who had whipped her. She might be protecting a jealous spouse or boyfriend. He’d certainly seen it often enough. In that case, the jilted significant other would likely rear his ugly head again. He needed to make Shae aware of the potential danger.
During the meal, Lee noted that Phoebe gripped a fork like a toddler, and when she asked for a taste of his lasagna, she chose to use a spoon. Although she was left handed, the webbing between her fingers didn’t appear to be the reason for her awkwardness. She managed her spoon with the usual dexterity. Whereas with the fork, she seemed to lack skill.
She reached for another bite of his lasagna. “Do you have more than one wife?”
“Excuse me?” he asked, wondering if he had heard correctly.
“Shae said you are a good cop. She informed me that your duties are similar to a sheriff. I presume that makes you a good provider. Such Paspahegh men oft have more than one wife.”
“How do the men keep the women from bickering?” he asked, without thinking.
“Separate houses.”
He laughed at Phoebe’s seriousness. She came across like a walking history book. Her story was outlandish enough that she might believe she was telling the truth. Instead of a costumed historical interpreter, she could be a history professor specializing in seventeenth-century Virginia.
She helped herself to more lasagna. “You aren’t married?”
He shoved the plate across the table. “Take as much as you like. No, I’m not married.”
Using the spoon, she scooped another portion to her mouth. “I have ne’er tasted anything like this afore. Then your wife died?”
The waiter returned, and they declined dessert. Phoebe was enjoying the leftover lasagna too much for anything sweet. When the waiter left the table, Lee responded, “I thought you knew. Shae and I are divorced—since about seven years ago.”
Her brow furrowed. “Divorce is allowed?”
Okay, play along for now. “Virginia is no longer part of England, and let’s just say the laws have become a little more relaxed since the seventeenth century.”
A growing smile appeared on her face. “English women are allowed freedom. I think I shall like your century.”
The waiter brought the check in a padded holder. Lee tucked several bills inside. Phoebe gave him another questioning look, and he explained, “I need to pay the bill. Certainly people of the seventeenth century used currency?”
She picked up a twenty-dollar bill and inspected it. “We paid our bills by barter or with tobacco.”
“Tobacco?”
“The kwiokosuk grew and used it for ceremonial purposes. The English sought it for profit. It became the currency in the colony.”
“Who are the kwiokosuk?”
“The priests.” Interesting. She seemed to know more about the Natives than he had read on the subject. Lee checked his watch. They had spent nearly three hours in the restaurant with Phoebe relaying her life in the seventeenth century. There wouldn’t be time for a movie after all. He got to his feet and held out his arm. “Ma’am.” She laced her arm through his, and by the time they reached the steps of Colwell House, Lee debated whether to give her a goodnight kiss. “I enjoyed the evening,” he said.
“As did I.”
Definitely intrigued by the woman who claimed to be from the seventeenth century, he said, “I have Sunday off. If you’d like, I can show you some of the sites.”
“Thank you, aye.”
Lee decided to forgo the kiss. Phoebe Wynne, if that was truly her name, had enough emotional baggage in her life right now without him adding extra stress. He bid her goodnight and left it at that. The first thing he intended on doing was checking the accuracy of her history.
* * *
10
Phoebe
In June, Momma married Silver Eagle. Well known throughout the Paspahegh as a brave warrior, he showed us that he was a worthy provider. Upon his return from hunting trips, I squealed with delight and greeted him like other daughters.
On one homecoming, he cradled a bloody beast in his arms. Afore reaching him, I halted. If I went no closer, I did not need to see what he held. “Nows,” I said. Father.
“Come quickly.”
With reluctance, I did as he asked. My hound had deep gashes upon his shoulders and a flap of skin hanging from his back.
“A bear,” Silver Eagle explained. “I shall relieve him from his misery.”
“Nay! You mustn’t. I can save him.”
“You will only prolong his suffering.” But Silver Eagle relinquished the dog to my arms.
The beast gave a pitiful howl from the jostling.
“Thank you, Nows.”
Silver Eagle said naught as I carried my beloved hound to our house. Outside, Momma waited beside a boiling pot, hoping to have fresh meat to add for our meals.
Near the fire inside, I laid the dog upon a woven mat. Due to my youth, my knowledge of physick was limited. “Momma, please show me how to heal my hound.”
With a frown, she bent beside the forlorn beast and washed the blood from his wounds. I followed her example. Taking deer sinew for thread and a bone needle, she showed me how to stitch the gashes, whilst she sewed the flap of skin into place. The hound moaned.
Day and night, I tended him. I cupped my hands for him to drink, and I fed him a little meat from my stew. Silver Eagle watched over my shoulder but ne’er said a word. I was too young to understand that I would learn a valuable lesson about life and death, regardless of the outcome.
To my delight, the hound refused to die. When I passed my hand over his coat, he feebly wagged his tail. As I did so, his vigor strengthened. Little by little, he mended, and afore long, he traveled by my side once more.
With a smile, Snow Bird nodded. “You have touched the animal’s spirit.”
The test, and I had passed. Together, she and Momma taught me in the ways of wisakon. The art of healing.
* * *
11
Shae
After five sessions, Shae was no closer to discovering who Phoebe was or where she had come from. Sitting across from Phoebe, she jotted down a few notes. “At this point in time, I can’t say where your ‘memories’ are coming from. When we get close to the answer, I think we’ll both know. Now, how have you been adapting to Colwell House?”
“They treat me well, and I am learning much about your century.”
Phoebe’s progress report had matched Valerie’s. The outlook was promising, and Shae was hopeful Phoebe would work through to the source of her problems. “Valerie told me that you had a visitor the other night.”
“Lee took me to the ordinary for a meal. I tasted something called laz...” Phoebe’s brow furrowed. “Lazan...”
“Lasagna?”
“Aye. He said the two of you used to be married.”
The last thing Shae wanted to do was dredge up the past with a patient. She had loved him. “That was a long time ago. We were high school sweethearts.”
“High school?”
“Secondary eduction.” The frown on Phoebe’s face warned Shae that she remained puzzled. “We were fifteen when we first dated but waited until after college to marry. We’
re better friends apart than we were together.”
“I think I understand.”
Shae believed that Phoebe did understand. “I’ll see you on Monday. Be sure and give me a call if you have any difficulties over the weekend.”
“I shall,” Phoebe replied with a growing smile. “Valerie says she will teach me how to use the phone soon. I’m fascinated that a person can talk to another over a distance from a little box.”
Pleased to see Phoebe’s enthusiasm, Shae escorted her to the outer office, where Valerie waited.
While Phoebe was a willing and compliant patient, it might take months or years before they finally uncovered what had happened to her.
* * *
12
Phoebe
During the spring, a new governor, Lord De La Warr, had arrived in James Towne. He threatened paramount chief Powhatan to return all English captives. Believed dead, Momma and I were not amongst those thought to be prisoners. In reality, few were held against their will. Like us, others left destitute in the colony had sought refuge with the Indians. The paramount chief ignored Lord De La Warr’s demands, which would set forth the governor to campaign against the Indians as he had previously done with the Irish.
Afore the harvest, Momma and I bade Silver Eagle, along with several other warriors, goodbye as they departed on a hunting trip. Two days later, the sound of a drum woke me at sunrise. The beat signaled hospitality. Momma was already at the door, peering out, when I joined her. Like us, curious neighbors sought to identify the drummer. Lulled into the gesture of good fellowship, some elder warriors and women moved towards the drummer and the men standing in a line next to him.
Upon the realization they were English, I felt my heart race. “Momma, have they come to take us back to the colony?”
Momma hushed me in a frightened whisper. “This has naught to do with us.”
I immediately gripped her deerskin skirt and watched the greeters come within a few yards.
“Ready! Aim!” Muskets raised. “Fire!”
All at once, they fired, and men, women, and children fell. Panicked screams surrounded us. Amongst piercing shrieks, Momma seized my hand.
The musketeers shot another volley afore the surviving aged warriors had recovered from the deception and sent off a flurry of arrows. Like Momma and me, other women and children took flight. Behind us came the sounds of clubs striking metal and screams of pain and rage.
Armored soldiers appeared from every direction with swords and torches. Longhouses were afire. The stench of smoke assaulted my nostrils ’til nearly smothering me. Momma half dragged me in her haste to escape. In front of us loomed a soldier, waving his sword. An elder with a tomahawk charged at him. In one quick motion, the steel cleanly sliced off the warrior’s hand.
Momma screamed and unintentionally released my hand. On my hands and knees, I scrambled for safety. I was alone now. Aside me, smoke billowed and flames licked. Houses everywhere were ablaze. Nearly succumbing to the heat, I crept along the ground. I cried for Momma and covered my ears in an effort to silence the dying wails. Tears streaked my cheek. With the wind fanning the flames, I coughed and sputtered. I could move no further. My head swirled from the smoke filling my lungs when a wet tongue licked my face. Grateful to see my hound, I wrapped my arms about his neck, and he led me through the blinding smoke.
The smoke drifted, and I spied a young lad. Having lost his Momma, he crawled along the ground, not knowing where to go for safety. I bundled him against me and held him ’til his cries quieted, hoping the soldiers would not find us again.
Far into the day, I watched the embers and smoke dance upwards into the sky. Whilst the screams and shooting muskets and pistols sounded less and less often, I heard throaty sobs and anguished moans. The lad stirred, and I wiped the grimy soot from his face. Only then, did I recognize that he was Crow in the Woods. The duty to keep him safe had fallen upon my shoulders.
He babbled about his hunger. I rocked him, trying to comfort him, all the time praying that Momma or Snow Bird would find us. Near sunset, the crying and painful groans continued to surround me. Upon nightfall, I huddled with Crow in the Woods in my arms next to the hound for warmth. I could no longer keep slumber at bay.
When I awoke, Crow in the Woods had wandered off. I heard his muffled cries in the darkness and attempted to follow him. “I’m coming, lad.” In the soft moonlight, branches and brambles scratched my arms and legs. Ignoring the pain of my cuts, I pressed onwards. “Where are you, Crow in the Woods?”
I stumbled through the darkness ’til totally engulfed by mist. Like a beacon, the long-legged white dog that I had spied moons ago stood on the path ahead. My hound made no sound of alert. He failed to even bristle from the other dog’s presence. Naught more than a blurry shape, the dog sauntered off. I followed him, but the mist got thicker. The lad’s cries came from within.
“Crow in the Woods!”
Staggering through the mist, I could not locate the lad. His whimpers came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I had no guidance. I stretched my arms afore me and fumbled my way around, making every attempt to find him. Suddenly, as if stepping through a door, the mist vanished, and along with it, Crow in the Woods’s cries. He was gone.
“Phoebe!”
“Momma?”
“Phoebe.” Upon reaching me, she swept me into her arms. “I thought I had lost you.”
“Crow in the Woods, Momma. He’s over here.” I tugged on her hand. We searched and searched for the lad in vain.
Amongst the deaths, the weroance’s wife had been brutally murdered, and her children, slain. The Paspahegh were shocked the English would seek bloodthirsty vengeance against innocent victims in such a cowardly manner whilst the majority of the warriors were off hunting. Momma and I feared the tribe would cast blame on us for having hailed from Dorset. We needn’t have worried. Our adoption had been complete. They accepted us as Paspahegh.
Upon the warriors’ return, they sought to avenge the deaths. In spite of their heroic measures, the Paspahegh tribe and town vanished to the circle of time. Silver Eagle had become much like us—an immigrant to another tribe.
* * *
At Colwell House, I numbly went about my daily chores and sat quietly through supper, whilst the other women chatted. My session with Shae had revealed the death of the Paspahegh. Ne’er afore had I a bed chamber to myself. Ne’er afore had I been more relieved as I shed my tears in solitude. Snow Bird and Crow in the Woods were dead.
“Phoebe?” came Valerie’s voice from behind the closed door. “Are you all right?”
I dried my tears afore opening the door.
“What’s wrong?”
“All of the Paspahegh are gone.”
“The tribe that you said adopted you?”
I barely could move my head, but I managed a nod.
“Phoebe, that was four hundred years ago. Come.” She took my arm and led me to the stairs.
Four hundred years? My mind still had difficulty grasping how much time had passed. Even more so when only a short time seemed to have passed since I had held Crow in the Woods in my arms. “’Twas my fault that he died. My momma found me, but I lost Crow in the Woods.”
Valerie repeated that everything had happened long ago. We entered the kitchen where Meg’s daughter, Tiffany, sat at the table coloring, whilst Meg prepared tea. I checked the knobs to see if the coil was “on,” as I had learnt by burning my finger. It needn’t be a brilliant orange to boil water.
“It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Meg said.
Tiffany was around the same age as Crow in the Woods. I swallowed uneasily at the realization.
Again, Valerie led me to the dining room. “I picked up some books at the library today.”
A former Colwell House resident, Mrs. Sedgwick, tutored me in reading, writing, and mathematics, but Valerie supplemented my education with what she called “day-to-day living.” And I could ne’er resist looking at books.
&n
bsp; She opened one and said, “I want you to tell me what the animals are.”
Her instructions sounded simple enough. She showed me a picture of a wolf.
“Wolf,” I responded.
“Good.” Then she pointed to a picture of a bear, deer, bobcat, cardinal, and heron. On and on... ’til a page contained a long-necked, spotted beast, and the next, a striped horse.
Grasping the book, I remarked that I had ne’er seen such incredible creatures. “Surely, they are imaginary.”
“The giraffe and zebra are from Africa.”
“Aye, and sailors oft spread tales to drive fear in many a child’s heart.”
“They’re real, Phoebe. We’ll take you to the zoo when it gets a little warmer to show you. Here, let’s look at these.”
Oak, poplar, bloodroot, and coneflowers—I knew them all. On a few, I could only recall the Algonquian names, but I convinced Valerie I was familiar with them when I explained their medicinal uses. Then, as with the beasts, she showed me plants I could ne’er have envisioned. One looked like a green tree with huge arms covered in sharp needles.
“This is a saguaro cactus.”
Another had sword-shaped leaves with a towering stalk of yellow flowers.
“This is a century plant.”
I could only imagine what their medicinal uses might be. “Where do such magnificent plants grow?”
“In the Southwest.” Valerie showed me a map. “Here’s Virginia. New Mexico and Arizona.”
I pored over the map.
Meg joined us with a platter of cups and a teapot. She poured some tea, setting a steaming mug in front of me. “I see that Phoebe has her nose in a book.”
Valerie had purposely distracted me, and I was thankful. With each passing day, my fondness for her and Meg grew. To my knowledge, I had seen but a few Africans. I was even more surprised that Meg had not traveled the ocean, but originally hailed from Virginia. She was studying to be a nurse, and I had instantly liked her.