by Kim Murphy
“Where’s Carol?” Meg asked.
Valerie’s brow furrowed. “Out, where else?”
“I believe she’s ill at ease by my presence,” I said.
Meg giggled. “She’s with Kevin.”
“Meg,” Valerie said in a firm tone. “We only speak kindly about the other women.”
Meg quickly apologized, but I was already aware of Valerie’s consternation. Carol used all of her overnight privileges to accompany her sweetheart.
“Phoebe,” Valerie said, changing the subject, “I promised to teach you how to use the phone. Who would you like to call?”
“Lee. I would like to thank him for taking me to the ordinary.”
“Lee it is.” Valerie went into the entrance hall, where the phone sat atop a round table. “All calls are limited to fifteen minutes. No long distance calls, and no incoming calls before 7 a.m. or after 9:30 p.m. You can make outgoing calls until ten.”
Precise hours by the clock confused me. “I shall only make calls with guidance ’til I learn how to tell time better.”
Valerie chuckled. “You’ll be fine, but I have to inform everyone of the rules.” She opened the phone book. “You search for a person’s number by looking up their last name first.” She flipped the pages. “It’s alphabetical. A, B, C....”
I followed her finger as she went down the page.
“C, r... Crowley. Now, first name. Can you find Lee? Again, they’re alphabetical.”
I traced a finger through the lines, sounding out the names as I went. “Carl, Dale, David, James, Lester, M.L. There is no Lee.”
“I should have guessed that he’d have an unlisted number. It was a good exercise for you anyway.”
“What is an unlisted number?” I inquired.
“His phone number isn’t in the book.”
“I cannot call him?”
“Normally if a person has an unlisted number that would be correct, but I have his cell number.” She added a number on the cover at the back of the book and handed me the phone. “Okay, call him.”
Uncertain what I must do, I put the phone to my ear as I had seen others. “Hello?”
“No, Phoebe. First, you need to dial the number. See the numbers on the keypad? Touch each one in the order I’ve written them down.”
Carefully, I checked each number and did as Valerie directed. She put the phone to my ear. “’Tis making an odd sound.”
“That means it’s ringing.”
“Ringing?”
“Crowley.”
Lee’s voice took me by surprise, and I nearly dropped the phone. ’Twas almost like he was in the same room aside me. “Lee?”
“Phoebe?”
“Valerie has shown me how to use the phone. I wanted to thank you for taking me to the ordinary.”
“You’re welcome. I’m looking forward to seeing you on Sunday.”
“As am I.” As we talked, I sensed a connection. I had from the beginning. I knew not the source, nor whether he experienced it too. I only knew my spirit would not be complete ’til I understood why.
* * *
Aft the attack on the Paspahegh town, Momma and I sought refuge near the falls with the Arrohateck tribe. The following winter, the weroance Wowinchapuncke was slain. Silver Eagle remained with the warriors in an assault on James Towne. From the cover of the forest, the warriors taunted the lieutenant in the blockhouse. Accepting the challenge, the lieutenant charged with his full force. The warriors released their arrows afore the soldiers were able to fire their muskets. The slain English lay upon the ground, taking on the appearance of pincushions.
Warriors frequently told of their battle tales around the fire in the eves. Whilst Momma listened with interest, her pinched face showed discomfort upon hearing the deaths of kinsmen. But what could we, a mere woman and her daughter, do to change the ways of men? ’Twas in their nature to wage war or make peace, leaving the women to grieve their deaths or suffer at the hands of the enemy.
In spite of constant warring betwixt the Indians and English, we rejoiced during the season of the earing of the corn. Momma gave birth to my brother, Sly Fox. The Arrohateck provided no wet-nurses, ’less a woman’s milk failed or a child’s mother had died. As with so many customs of our birth country, Momma threw her preconceptions aside and nursed my brother herself.
Life with the Arrohateck was akin to living with the Paspahegh. Here, I met Sparrow Hawk. His hair was as yellow as Momma’s and his skin nearly as pale as mine. Unlike Momma and me, he did not hail from James Towne, and he knew not a word of English. His mother was Arrohateck, and only whispers were spoken of his father. At the time, I was too young to understand that his mother had been raped by a European on a voyage previous to settlement. I knew not whether the perpetrator be English or Spanish, as the Arrohateck described him as tassantassas. Stranger.
From the beginning, Sparrow Hawk took a fancy to me. I presumed the reason being that my pale skin looked akin to his. With the way he stared at me, I realized that ’til Momma’s and my arrival, he hadn’t seen any other Europeans up close. With a childish infatuation, I returned his attention by attempting to be near him whenever possible and dreaming of the day we would marry. Soon, he would undergo the huskanaw, the rigorous rite of passage to becoming a warrior, and I feared my dream would shatter. A warrior would no longer show interest in a mere lass, and his eyes and thoughts would turn to women instead.
Like most lasses who had not reached their moon times, I had cast my garments aside and ran about naked. Though more sensitive to the extremities of cold and heat than the Arrohateck, I adapted quickly and turned cartwheels alongside the other children.
Early in the fall of the leaf, sailing ships appeared on the Powhatan River. Many eyes exchanged nervous glances at the latest development, and the warriors secretively watched the English erect a fortification on a precipitous peninsula. One morn, I gathered herbs for Momma with another lass of my age, Bright Path, when several of the lads, including Sparrow Hawk, passed us with their bows in hand. Curious, we followed them into the forest, trailing a safe distance behind.
The path went past marshlands, where I spied herons fishing and waterfowl diving. Bright Path remarked that the lads had not noticed us tracking aft them. “Hush,” I said to her. “We do not wish for them to see us.”
She covered her mouth to muffle her words. “Why do you wish to follow them? Because of Sparrow Hawk?”
Everyone was aware of my fancy for Sparrow Hawk. Once again, I told her to hush, but it was too late. The lads rushed towards us with their bows ready. “’Tis only us,” I said, waving a signal there was no danger.
The eldest of the five lads, Towering Oak, glared at us in a attempt to give the fierce impersonation of a warrior. He failed miserably, and I nearly doubled over in laughter. Now, Bright Path warned me to hush. Even Sparrow Hawk did not indulge me and sent me a penetrating stare. I sobered from my laughing fit but had to bite my lip to keep myself contained.
“You will return to town,” Towering Oak ordered, “unless you wish to return to the English.”
Bright Path bolted in the direction we had come, but I was not afraid of idle taunts, for I had suffered far worse. About to protest, I caught Sparrow Hawk’s gaze.
“You are acting like a small child, Red Dog,” he said.
His words pierced me like an arrow striking through my heart. “You are correct. I apologize for my behavior. I have shamed myself.” I turned in the direction of town.
When the lads were satisfied that I no longer had any temptation to pursue them, they returned to their goal of glimpsing the English fort. Saddened by my actions, I perched on a knoll above the cattails and watched the herons fish. I had no recollection of how long I had sat there, when one of the birds raised and exchanged my gaze. I had seen many a heron afore, but it was almost as if this one communicated with me.
Water beaded on blue-grey feathers. A pair of black plumes extended from just atop its eyes of a mostly white fa
ce, and I studied the perfection of Ahone, the Creator, and fully understood Silver Eagle’s teachings. On stilt-like legs the large bird waded through marshes, searching for fish. Once prey was discovered, the sharp yellow beak speared them.
Aft a while, the heron and its mate took flight with massive wingspans. With their departure, I was filled with a great sense of dread. Closing my eyes, I shivered. In the distance, I heard Indian war cries and gunfire from the English fort. I raced towards town as fast as my feet would carry me.
Soon, shouts sounded behind me, and three of the lads caught up with me. “Towering Oak,” one said, gesturing to the other lads.
I stopped and looked around. Sparrow Hawk had Towering Oak’s arm over his shoulder. “We must get him to the kwiocosuk,” I said.
Sparrow Hawk caught up with us and gently lowered Towering Oak to the ground to rest. “Your mother has trained you in wisakon.”
My heart thumped. “I cannot. I’m only a lass.”
“You must. He may not reach the kwiocosuk in time.”
“Was it caused by a musket?”
Towering Oak swallowed but managed a weak shake of his head.
As I bent to check Towering Oak’s wound, I breathed a sigh of relief. Because of their limited knowledge with muskets, even the kwiocosuk had difficulty treating matchlock wounds. And I did not have the experience of Momma.
Towering Oak’s arm was swollen to his shoulder. His breath was shallow and his eyes half-closed. Like a true warrior, he did not cry out. I examined his arm and could find naught wrong with his shoulder. I followed the line of bruising and found two red puncture holes upon his hand. ’Twas a snakebite. “What type of snake?”
“Red adder.”
Once again, I was relieved. Though the bite of the adder could indeed be dangerous, ’twas less risky than the vipers. “Please,” I said to the two nearest lads, “run and fetch my mother and the kwiokosuk.” The two lads charged off. I looked to Sparrow Hawk. “I require your knife.”
Without question, he handed me a bone knife. I tested its sharpness on my finger. Blood dripped. I should have known better than to question, for he and Towering Oak would soon become warriors.
I met Towering Oak’s gaze. He nodded that he was ready, and I made two small incisions over the fang marks. I lowered my head and sucked the poison from the wound. I thanked Ahone for Towering Oak’s good fortune.
When I finished sucking out the poison, I quickly gathered some moss to pack the wound and slow the bleeding. “I shall collect some snakeroot.”
“Thank you,” Towering Oak responded in a weak voice.
Grateful for the opportunity to redeem myself, I was pleased that Towering Oak no longer saw me as a wayward lass. “The bite will bring you much pain,” I warned him.
At this, he showed no fear. I turned in search for snakeroot and passed the marsh. The heron had returned. With its appearance, I realized I had gained full acceptance in my new home.
* * *
13
Lee
On Sunday afternoon, Lee pulled his T-Bird alongside the curb at Colwell House. This time, Valerie answered the door. “Lee,” she said, as she showed him to the parlor.
“No more hearth fires?”
“None. In fact, Phoebe’s taken a great interest in how we cook. She wants to learn how to make lasagna.”
He must have hit on something that Phoebe had enjoyed in the past, but how useful was the fact that she liked lasagna?
Valerie frowned.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“The women here are helping, and Phoebe’s tutor has already made tremendous strides. She can read some of the letters, but she has significant difficulty. We had her eyes checked just to be certain that wasn’t the problem. They’re fine, but she had to read the kindergarten eye chart. Even then, she didn’t recognize all of the symbols. I tested her here. When it comes to Virginia plants and animals, there’s no fooling her. She recognizes everything. She even knew the Carolina parakeet. But foreign animals like elephants and tigers, it’s like she’s never seen them before.”
“I thought Shae explained to you that Phoebe truly believes she’s from the seventeenth century. Even I’m beginning to think she may not be lying.”
Valerie chuckled. “Shae warned me that you’re a cynic.”
He shrugged. “It goes with the job.”
“How do you explain she doesn’t slip on anything? No one can be that precise.”
“Right now, I can’t give you an answer. As soon as I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “There is one thing...”
“And that is?”
“She has no problem shaving legs and underarms. She also likes to bathe, daily. A shower won’t do. Weren’t people a bit reluctant practicing hygiene in the seventeenth century?”
He smiled slightly. Phoebe’s actions were in perfect character with her story. “I presume you mean white folks? Many Native people bathed frequently and shaved, even back then.”
A slight blush filled her cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“None taken.”
“Good, and thank you for your help. I know Phoebe enjoyed talking to you on the phone. I’ll get her.”
Lee mumbled his thanks, and Valerie left the room. If his idea of taking Phoebe to a historical park with costumed interpreters didn’t bring answers to the light, he doubted that anything would. Her historical facts seemed to check out. But if he could locate them with a couple of hours on the Internet, what could someone do who had studied the era intently? If she were a fraud, he wouldn’t be so puzzled. Alarm bells clanged in his head when he was near fraudsters. Maybe Shae was right. Something so traumatic had happened to Phoebe that she had retreated into a safer world—one that she was obviously very familiar with.
Phoebe, wearing a light green dress, entered the parlor. “Lee, I’ve been looking forward to our afternoon together.”
“Me too,” he responded. “The March wind makes it a bit chilly out. You might want to grab a jacket.”
“I shall be fine. I’ve fared much worse.”
“I’m sure you have. I only meant—”
“That you were being polite. When I lived with the Indians, we bathed every day in a pond or the river, regardless of season.”
Lee was a little embarrassed that she had overheard his conversation with Valerie, but he couldn’t help but think of ice cold water on his—
No, he wouldn’t go there. “I see. Very well.”
The corners of her mouth tipped into a grin.
Touché. He held out his arm and escorted her to the T-Bird. This time, she managed the seatbelt by herself. Once behind the wheel, he pulled away from the curb and headed out of the city.
As high rises faded behind them, Phoebe spoke of her sessions with Shae.
While he had read about the annihilation of the Paspahegh, her story made the words come to life. He fought the building anger that he carefully kept in check. How was the Paspahegh’s plight any different than the Trail of Tears or Wounded Knee?
Then, she told him about being taken in by the Arrohateck. Convenient, Lee thought. Neither tribe had survived to modern day, so no one could dispute her story. He listened patiently.
After several miles, he exited the freeway, traveling past the usual section of gas stations, strip malls, and restaurants. He turned off the main road, where four lanes became two.
Uncertain what to make of her continuing story, he asked, “Is it because I look like I’m Arrohateck that you trust me?”
“You remind me of Towering Oak.”
The curious teenager who had checked out the English fort with his friends and wound up getting bitten by a snake. Years before, he’d had his own close encounter with a copperhead and was tempted to inquire what had become of the boy. Instead, he remained silent. Shae had warned him to let Phoebe tell her story in her own time. The road passed a swampy area.
“A
heron.” Phoebe pointed at the stilt-legged gray bird fishing in the water.
Lee parked the car and showed her to the wooden viewing area. The trees surrounding the swamp had buds of spring on them. A couple of red-eyed brown ducks paddled by. The one which Lee presumed to be the male had brighter plumage. “I’m not familiar with the species.”
“Wood ducks.”
A flock of Canada geese honked while landing in the water.
“What are the geese doing here this time of year?” Phoebe asked.
“I’m not certain I know what you mean. They’re always here.”
“They should have flown north by now.”
Now he understood, but how did he explain? “Times change. Some fly north, but most are residents now.”
She frowned. “That’s sad.”
Had he really lost all touch with nature working and living near the city? In his mind, he heard Shae’s voice suggest that his actions were avoidance behavior. He could count on Shae to be his conscience. The suburbs kept him from thinking too much about the circumstances of his adoption. “We should be continuing on.”
When they reached the car, Phoebe asked, “As the sheriff, do you send people to jail?”
He got inside and started the T-Bird. “I’m not the sheriff. Shae merely used that example to help you understand. I work for the county police department as a detective—the violent crimes unit. I was originally called in on your case because of the beatings you had suffered.” When she added nothing to his statement, Lee decided not to press the issue. “I’m no longer working on your case. There were no leads.”
“I don’t recall what happened.”
“That’s why Shae is helping you.”
After Lee drove a couple of miles, they arrived at a wooden fort. He paid for their tickets and checked the map for the walking tour, while Phoebe browsed the colonial and Indian trinkets in the gift shop. He joined her as she picked up a pewter mug, stared at it, then abruptly returned it to the shelf. “Remind you of something?” he asked.