by Kim Murphy
“So?”
“Do I really need to spell it out? Someone that she once knew.”
The wrinkles of confusion faded from his forehead. “I was only doing as you asked,” he reminded her.
Even though he was well trained at keeping his anger in check, she detected his annoyance. “I merely meant that because of your resemblance to someone that she loved, she has transferred the feeling to you. She’s in a very delicate state. I don’t think she can handle any major disappointments.”
His brown eyes pierced right through her.
Now she was annoyed. She hated his habit of stonewalling when he was pissed. “Come on, Lee. We’ve known each other too long for this kind of game.”
He stood. His voice remained firm but calm when he spoke. “That’s precisely why I didn’t answer. You wouldn’t have summoned anyone else that you had asked for help to your office. I’m not officially on Phoebe’s case, nor is anyone else in the department because there is no case. Her story intrigues me. Even though I agree with you that it will lead to answers about what happened, I’m not constrained by your psycho-babble. I’m all too aware of her delicate mental state, but thank you for pointing out the obvious, doctor. I think you know me well enough to tread carefully, but should my relationship with Phoebe develop beyond the casual, quite frankly that’s between us.”
“You’re right,” Shae agreed, hating to make the admission. “I wouldn’t have called anyone else to my office. I would have warned my patient of potential hazards. I took advantage of our past, and I’ll keep groveling until you tell me to stop—”
He waved for her to continue.
“All right. I’m sorry. Are you happy now?”
Finally satisfied, he smiled. “You have obviously learned more about the teenage boys that tried to reach the fort in your session today, or you wouldn’t have called me. Since I don’t look anything like the white guy, it must be the other one who got bit by a snake.”
Because of doctor/patient confidentiality, she couldn’t acknowledge him, but she could make amends. “Russ and I are having a little get-together. If you happen to be off duty a week from Saturday, you’re welcome to join us. Phoebe will be there.”
“Are you certain you want me to attend? I just might sweep her off her feet, and she might miss Colwell House’s curfew. Then, she’d be forced to spend the night with me.”
She met his gaze. “If any of the women from Colwell House miss curfew, they can stay with me. Valerie will be attending though, so I’m sure she’ll see they get home on time.”
“Damn, you know how to spoil everything. I had visions of rescuing several damsels in distress.”
“I think I’m sorry I invited you.”
He laughed. “You can always change your mind.”
“I won’t stoop to rudeness just because we used to be married.”
“Then I trust I won’t be receiving anymore calls reminding me of Phoebe’s delicate nature.”
“You won’t.” Shae rose from her chair. “I hope you’ll continue to tell me what you find out about Phoebe. Confabulations from a patient’s mind usually show some traces of normal life without the fantasy. Until she works through the seventeenth-century events, I’m mystified what to do to help her.”
“I’ll do anything I can.”
“Thanks, Lee. I may have overreacted, but I do appreciate your help.”
He nodded. “Is everything okay otherwise?”
“It is. That’s why Russ and I are throwing a party.”
“You haven’t finally decided to tie the knot?”
“No, not yet. Trust me, I’ll let you know if and when it happens.”
He took out his cell phone. “I need to get back to work.”
“Talk to you later.”
He gave her a hasty goodbye before leaving the office. Shae stuffed her files into her briefcase, along with her laptop. Much calmer after talking with Lee, she realized the answers would come in time.
* * *
16
Phoebe
Afore the wedding feast, Lightning Storm and I joined hands. A chain of shell beads was broken over our heads, and both families partook in ample helpings of venison and fish. During the rite, Momma had tears of joy in her eyes. Upon my birth, I’m certain she had ne’er dreamt such a life for me. And with each passing day, I grew to love Lightning Storm all the more.
Like my adopted father, Silver Eagle, Lightning Storm provided me and his widowed mother with plentiful game. He stood much taller than I—my head barely reached the top of his broad chest. Like all warriors, his black hair was shorn so that it stood upright on the crown of his head and shaved on the right side. He knotted his long hair on his left side, adorning it with beads and copper. Serpent’s teeth hung from his ears. He was passionate about everything in life.
With my red hair, pale skin, and freckles, I feared that Lightning Storm would find me unattractive. I needn’t have worried. He was enchanted by my differences from the other women and, like the other Arrohateck, he believed my left handedness and conjoined fingers were a sign from Ahone. When I coupled with him for the first time, I comprehended the words the women spoke afore my huskanasquaw. He could be delightfully frolicsome, and he prided himself in showing me how many ways he could give me pleasure.
My friend, Bright Path, had taken the name Singing Woman, and now that we both had gone through the huskanasquaw, our friendship renewed. I aided her in scraping a stretched deer hide, and she asked me what it was like to live amongst the English.
“’Tis like a dream, Singing Woman. We crossed the Great Waters when I was nine seasons.”
Singing Woman stopped scraping the hide and picked up her toddling daughter, hugging her to her breast. “I sometimes fear that Two Wolves will hear the call.”
“He knows naught of that life. He is Arrohateck and has you and a beautiful daughter to care for.”
My response seemed to satisfy Singing Woman. She placed the child on the ground and returned to her scraping. “Do you ever regret that Two Wolves married me?”
“Nay. I’m very much in love with Lightning Storm.”
“Good,” she said with a smile.
As we continued to speak and scrape the hide, my hound approached us with a milky foam covering his muzzle. “He must have a caught a toad,” I insisted.
Singing Woman knelt to pet the dog. He snapped, biting her hand. She yelped.
“Let me see.” I inspected her bleeding hand. The hound had ne’er been a vicious sort, and I was startled by the depth of my friend’s injury. The bite had gone to the bone.
“I shall collect some moss to stop the bleeding,” I said.
“Walks Through Mist, he has the madness.”
“He caught a toad,” I demanded.
“During the full of day when conditions are dry? Try to give him a drink of water.”
Terrified, I poured some water into a bowl from a gourd. Bending down, I presented the bowl to the hound. With difficulty, he lapped at the water, then choked. The English had another word for the madness—hydrophobia.
* * *
17
Lee
On Saturday afternoon, Lee got a break in his caseload and headed away from Richmond on I-95 south. He puzzled over Phoebe’s case. After making a few calls to the local university, he had located an old professor of his, who might be able to verify whether the language she spoke was indeed Algonquian. Unfortunately, with spring break coming up, she was out of town.
Before reaching Petersburg, he turned off the freeway and parked in the lot of a nursing home. Neatly manicured trees and flower gardens spread over several acres. The brick building with colonial columns was leaps and bounds better than the rundown facility he remembered when visiting his grandmother, but the care center remained a warehouse for the elderly.
He clenched his hand. After his mother had nearly burned her house down from leaving the tea kettle on too long once too often, he had been left with no choice but t
o move her here. Even now, he recalled her sobs at being told the news.
Lee went inside. The hall had hospital-like polished floors. Such a sterile environment. The hardworking staff did their best, but to grow old alone and forgotten was an undignified way to end life.
He turned the corner. Before reaching his mother’s room, a staff woman called after him to wait. “Excuse me, who are you here to see?” The pouty-faced woman stared at him.
“My mother,” he replied dryly.
Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Your mother?”
Each time there was a new staff member, he repeated the same scenario. “Just tell Natalie Crowley there’s a crazed Indian dude lurking outside her door ready to scalp her.” He handed her his police identification.
Her face turned beet red. Without an apology, she returned his ID and about faced down the hall.
Lee knocked.
A weak voice answered.
He poked his head into the room. “It’s me, Mom.”
His mother’s frail, bone-thin form sat in a wheelchair beside the window. Cloudy eyes looked in his direction. “Lee?”
“Would you like to go outside?”
A faint smile appeared on her wrinkled face.
“I’ll get something warm for you to wear.” He went to the dresser and grabbed a drab navy-blue sweater.
After helping his mother with the sweater, she insisted they bring along a photo album. He hated going through family pictures, but it was the one thing that seemed to give her pleasure. Lee rolled the wheelchair into the afternoon sun. Robins trilled and mockingbirds scolded. Daffodils bloomed. He parked the wheelchair in the warm sunshine and sat on a bench beside her.
A gnarled, knobby hand reached over to him. “How have you been, Lee?”
Relieved that he had hit a day when she was lucid, he answered, “I’ve been busy, like usual.”
“I saw Shae the other day.”
Aware that Shae was the daughter his mother never had, he was pleased she visited regularly. “That’s good.”
She leafed through the photo album, skipping over the family reunions and opening the pages to a wedding photo. “Shae was a beautiful bride.”
Since shacking up with Russ, Shae had put on a few pounds, but he kept that thought to himself. “Give it a rest, Mom. We’ve been divorced for a long time.”
She drew an exasperated breath. “Lee, I was only hoping that someday you might remarry.”
“Not likely.”
“Then you’re not seeing anyone?”
How did he explain Phoebe? He had plans for taking her out to dinner later. “I didn’t say that.”
“Can’t a mother hope?”
“You can hope all you like, but it won’t help it come to pass. It took me two years to regain my head after Shae left. I don’t care to repeat the experience.”
“Your father and I were married for over forty years.”
“I’m glad you and Dad made it ‘until death do us part.’ Can we change the subject now?”
With a slight laugh, she patted his hand. “You’re just like your dad—stubborn as a mule.”
Right. Beyond being a cop like his dad, he had very little in common with him. Fortunately, the rest of their visit went smoother, and he brought her up to date on his hectic schedule since seeing her the previous week. She had the usual worry that he was working too hard, but at least she didn’t digress about Shae or him getting married again.
When he wheeled his mother back to her room, they met the staff member who had stopped him on his way in. “As you can see,” he said to the woman, “my mother still has her hair.”
She scowled, but huffed off.
“Lee, I thought I had taught you better manners than that.”
Even after raising an Indian child in white society, she saw the world as being color-blind. At eighty-two, she wouldn’t change. While he couldn’t think of a way to get her out of the accursed nursing home and care for her himself, he could grant her some respect. “You did, Mom. I shouldn’t have said that.”
* * *
Over a Mexican meal of beef fajitas and refried beans, Lee contemplated the latest development in Phoebe’s story. At least now he had confirmed the significance of his resemblance to someone she cared for. Phoebe hadn’t sent any cues that her trust was anything beyond platonic, but knowing that she believed she had been married to a warrior by the name of Lightning Storm warned him that he needed to maintain his distance. Had he really missed discovering his own heritage so much that he was beginning to buy into her story? Silently chastising himself, Lee was uncertain what to say.
“Singing Woman was my best friend,” Phoebe said, dipping a tortilla chip in salsa.
The expression of delight on her face told him that she loved sampling new cuisines while confiding her story. What had Shae called it? Confab— Fantasy. What part of Phoebe’s story was reality? Maybe she was married to a Native American, and they had frequented ethnic restaurants. A lot of people did that sort of thing. Or was Shae’s concern a valid one? Phoebe intrigued him, and maybe he was a stupid prick falling for a pretty face. “Phoebe, in my job I must collect evidence in order to prove my case.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion.
“For instance, if someone is murdered, the body is examined to determine how and why he was killed. I try to find the murder weapon, hoping that once we put all of the clues together, I can discover who the murderer was. I often have to think like him so I can figure out where he might have fled to after the murder. But in every instance, I must have physical evidence, or my case will be thrown out of court when it goes to trial. Do you understand? I want to believe your story, but there is no evidence.”
She reached across the table and gripped his hand. “Sometimes the answers are not what we seek, but they enrich us all the same.”
“What in the hell does that mean?”
“Would you like to learn the dreaming?”
Too much like his own tactics. He hated it when people answered questions with a question. “The dreaming?”
“My spirit guide can help show the way.”
The conversation was getting weird. Lee checked his watch. It was nearly nine. “I might not get you back by curfew. Another time.”
She smiled, as if seeing through him. “You’re afraid?”
“I’m not,” he insisted. “You weren’t listening. Yes, I often follow my gut, but it’s while looking for leads to uncover the evidence. What you’re asking is to take a leap in faith for something that makes no sense.”
Phoebe got to her feet and tugged on his hand. “Then what harm is there in trying? I shall call Valerie. I have had exemplary conduct, and my chores are covered at Colwell House. She will understand my desire to spend a night away.”
So much for a respectable distance. Confused by her actions, he stood. Although she had never struck him as naive, her face seemed oblivious to the insinuation. Maybe it was her disordered thinking. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said.
“I would like to teach you. Please, allow me the honor.”
“Okay, you win.” He placed a few bills in the check holder to cover the meal and tip. He grasped her hand and led her to the darkened parking lot. Stopping beside the T-Bird, he handed her his cell phone. “You can call Valerie while I drive.”
“Does this work like the house phone?”
“Mostly.” Once inside the car, he flipped open the phone and showed her how to dial. After a twenty-minute drive, they arrived at his apartment. Normally, when escorting a beautiful woman to his home, he was eager with anticipation. With Phoebe, he had no idea what to expect.
He opened the door to the living room with a wide-screen TV filling the far wall. Off to the side were glass doors leading to the balcony. Clothes were strewn across the sofa, and a clutter of beer cans overflowed in the recycling bin. “I’m rarely home,” Lee explained, loosening his tie. “I have a cleaning woman come in once a month, but as you can tell we�
�re nearing the end of the month.”
Phoebe smiled politely but was drawn to a dreamcatcher hanging on the sliding door. “What is it?”
He handed it to her so she could inspect it further. “It’s a dreamcatcher.”
She held the sinew-webbed hoop, while running her other hand down the trail of beads and feathers.
“It’s Ojibwe, but many of the tribes have adopted them now. A dreamcatcher is supposed to protect children from nightmares.”
“I’m not familiar with the Ojibwe, but you do not believe in its magic.”
Had her statement been a question? “I’ve got arrowheads, a Navajo blanket, a Lakota medicine staff, a medicine pouch from who knows where. Someday when we have more time, I’ll show you the collection. My parents thought they’d give me a sense of heritage.”
Phoebe pointed to the beads, grouped in fours. “White, red, yellow, and black represent the four winds amongst the Arrohateck. The Ojibwe must be similar.”
Lee looked at the dreamcatcher as if never having seen it before. “The four winds?”
“Each morn I face the sun and give thanks to Ahone. I hope that he is nearby, but he has other tribes to attend to. I must face in each direction so that he hears my prayers.”
Ahone was the Great Spirit. That much he knew, but the rest.... They were getting sidetracked. Lee replaced the dreamcatcher on its hook on the door. “You said that you can show me evidence your story is real. If you like, I can get you something to drink first.”
“Nay. We should begin. It may take awhile to reach the spirits.”
“Just let me get into something more comfortable.” He took off his suit jacket, and Phoebe gasped.
Her eyes were wide with terror. She stared at the gun on his hip.
“What did those bastards do to you?” he asked. “It’s part of my profession, Phoebe. No one will hurt you. I’m locking the gun away.”
Lee cursed at himself for not thinking. He went into the bedroom and locked the Glock in a metal box. Phoebe shouldn’t be left alone for too long. He quickly changed into a T-shirt and jeans. By the time he returned to the living room, she sat on the sofa.