by Kim Murphy
“That’s not an answer and you know it.”
“It’s the best I can do for now. I’d rather not repeat what I went through with Shae.”
She patted his arm again. “You won’t.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I’ve already given up hope of living to see grandchildren.”
“Give it a rest,” Lee said, struggling to keep his voice even. How he managed to calmly deal with murders and rapists, yet allow an eighty-two-year-old woman get under his skin, he would never know. “I’ll make certain you’re the first to know when we’ve set a wedding date.”
Without hearing Phoebe return, he looked up at her, standing beside him. As she applied the poultice to his mother’s bruised cheek, she smirked.
“If it would make you happy,” Lee said, “I can propose to her now.”
“Lee Crowley,” his mother responded in a firm tone. “I may be old and forgetful, but there’s no need to be condescending.”
When he mumbled an apology, Phoebe laughed but quickly caught herself. “I can see to Nat if you would like to return to bed.”
“I can sit with her for a while. You get some rest.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. Now get some sleep.”
“Be sure the poultice stays on her cheek. ’Twill absorb the bruising.”
He promised that he would follow her instructions. Before Phoebe left the room, she sent him a radiant smile. Wishing he could return to the bedroom with her, he thought of her unclad body pressed next to him.
His mother’s voice intruded on his reverie. “I may be half blind, but I can see how much you care for her.”
Hoping to keep her quiet on the subject once and for all, he said, “If you must know, my thoughts were more animalistic than altruistic.”
“Lee!”
Once again, he apologized. “If you’re not going to get back to sleep anytime soon, can we change the subject?”
“Then please just tell me about Phoebe.”
He detected annoyance. Rightly so. In her own roundabout way, she had merely been asking about the woman who had cared enough to see her with dignity through her final days. Without going into too much detail, he told her that Phoebe came from Dorset and had been married twice before. Conveniently leaving out anything about the seventeenth century, he made her sound like a New Age healer and mentioned how her knowledge of herbs had mended his leg much faster than it would have healed otherwise.
In turn, she told him tales of the “good ole days” of when he was small. He had always felt like an outcast at the family reunions that she recalled so fondly.
“My cousins used to give war whoops and scream that I’d scalp them,” Lee admitted absentmindedly.
She raised her head slightly from the pillow, and the poultice slipped from her cheek. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Motioning for her to lie back, he adjusted the poultice. “You and Dad were color-blind. You know how kids’ minds work. I guess I was afraid that if I pointed it out, the two of you would think you were harboring a savage. Back then, even the historical markers called the Indians savages, so I half expected a Mr. Hyde to leap out at any given moment.”
“We only wanted the best for you.”
He regretted bringing the topic up. If his mother was truly dying, the last thing he wanted was to give her any sense of guilt. “I know, but I still have no idea who I am.”
“Your cousins, Bruce and Charlene were along with the hikers on the day they found you.”
His cousins had been with the hikers? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought I had. Oh dear, I’ve gotten so forgetful. It was a small group of school kids. Charlene was the reason we initially found out about you, and since we were a qualified foster home, we managed to keep you out of the institutions. After all you had been through, you didn’t need that too.”
While Bruce was likely to have been too young at the time to recall much of anything, Charlene must have been around ten or so. But a thirty-three-year-old trail? Hell, many of his cases didn’t get solved if they went past a few days. Would he bring grief to his mother by following the lead? “I don’t want to hurt you. If I contact them about it...”
She smiled. “I want you to uncover what you need to know so you can marry Phoebe.”
He didn’t chide her this time. While the trail was certainly a cold one, he might uncover some sort of clue that could help him discover what tribe he belonged to, or if his biological parents had truly abandoned him.
* * *
64
Phoebe
When Lee wasn’t tending to his own recuperation, he helped me care for his infirm mother, and in doing so, I spotted something wondrous. As I had hoped, their bond renewed in Nat’s final days. She glowed with pride at Lee’s accomplishments, not just as a mother but as a friend too, and he came to fully comprehend how she had tried to teach him about his heritage but had no counsel herself.
On the morn of her death, I felt something amiss. Dawn had yet to arise, but Lee was already gone from our bed. I found him in Nat’s room, combing her thin, gray hair. On her face was a blissful smile. The odor lingering in the room had changed from sweet to the stagnant scent of death.
When I entered, I thought of Silver Eagle and Momma. How I wish I could have been with them in their last moments of life, but ’twas not meant to be. Momma had ne’er returned to Dorset to see her kinsmen, and she had been buried in her adopted home, where her bones had long ago turned to dust. She had followed the path to the afterlife with Silver Eagle.
I went over to Lee and held him. He buried his face in the depths of my robe. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“She has rejoined your father.”
He nodded and looked up. His eyes glistened. Like so many warriors, he refused to shed a tear. “You gave her what you had hoped—death with dignity.”
“Not just I. You, too, gave her much in these final days. She got to know you and you, her—in ways that wouldn’t have been possible if you hadn’t taken the time.”
He seemed to take comfort in my words, and I knew in time that he would be fine.
* * *
65
Lee
During the funeral, Lee had spoken with his cousin, Charlene. Her sandy-colored hair and blue eyes reminded him how different he was from the rest of the family. She provided him with little new information. A couple weeks after his mother’s death, he drove Phoebe to the place where he had been found as a toddler. Instead of woods with hiking trails there was a strip mall.
After he had turned twelve, his parents had brought him to this place. That was before the trees had been cut, and they had walked through the forest talking about inconsequential day-to-day activities. Never knowing exactly how he was supposed to feel, he had learned early to bottle his thoughts. His parents occasionally prodded him to open up, but he had eluded their questions, never letting on that he had been terrified they might leave him there like in the stories of his birth parents.
The August sun on the pavement made the day seem all the hotter. Thirty-three years to the date since he had been found. As Lee stared at the gas station and supermarket, he wondered what he had expected to find. His birth mother wouldn’t be lingering around, and after all this time, no clues that she might have left would exist. Did she hug him before leaving? Had his biological father been nearby? He only wished he could remember her face when she had said goodbye forever.
“Lee?”
Phoebe’s voice pulled him back to the present.
“I became a cop because my dad was one,” he said. “I wanted to be like him. He would have been proud if he had lived to see me make detective, but there was always something missing.”
“When I was a lass, I oft thought of my kinsmen in Dorset. ’Twas not because I wanted to return, but I wondered what had happened to those left behind. E’en now, I seek the answers of my past for the sake of discovering what’s gone afore, but
I do not wish to be anywhere else.” She squeezed his hand.
“I’ve talked to everyone who might know something about how I got here.”
“Have you held counsel with the tribes?”
“The tribes?”
“Mayhap someone amongst them may recall the events.”
Why had he avoided talking to the tribes? If he thought in his usual manner, it would have been his first step. Plain and simple—he had lived almost totally in the white world and feared rejection. He would set aside his fear and speak to them with confidence.
* * *
66
Phoebe
Henry returned to the plantation, whilst I stayed on to lend aid to the Arrohateck. I gave Bess’s treatment to as many as I could. Those who received it lived. Many were already in the final stages of the pestilence. I could only comfort them as best as I could afore their inevitable fate.
Amongst those I tended was Little Falcon. I had difficulty believing the warrior covered in blood-filled pustules could be the same man I had loved. I did not tell him of the ruse Poppa had used to gain my obedience. None of that mattered now. I gave offerings of tobacco to Oke in order to appease his wrath.
My mind went numb from the grief. I had few supplies and even fewer medicines. My gentle touch calmed many a panic-stricken person. I dared not look into their eyes, or I’d see their hope in my abilities. These were my people, my tribe. I had grown to womanhood, married, and birthed my children amongst them. And now, there was naught more I could do to save them.
As more died, my numbness spread. Grief must wait, or I would be of little use to the living. Bending aside Little Falcon, I placed a water-filled gourd to his lips and helped him drink. We ne’er spoke of our love. In the years of our separation, he had married, and his wife, with their young daughter, remained by his side. I prayed that I had treated his family in time.
Poppa had spared Little Falcon, only for him to suffer a languishing death. “Your spirit will soon be set free, Little Falcon,” I whispered for his ears alone.
His gaze met mine in understanding and acceptance. He was at peace.
When I stood, his wife came nearer, looking hopeful.
“There is naught I can do. He will be dead afore day’s end.”
How many times had I delivered the words of late? I had lost count. As I left the longhouse, Little Falcon’s wife wept. I felt helpless, only to be reminded that I had saved some. So few would survive that my heart was heavy, but I continued on, doing what I could.
Another moon passed afore Charging Bear took me downriver in a dugout. I worried about my brother’s welfare. I also grieved for Momma and Silver Eagle, but he had lost two children as well. He and his wife were young, but most of the Arrohateck were gone. Like the Paspahegh, they had been killed or displaced by the colonists, or died from their pestilence.
He brought the canoe up on the river bank a few miles from Henry’s plantation.
“Are you sure you won’t join me, Nemat? Henry has always welcomed my family.”
“I cannot. My people need me.”
I studied his countenance, for I feared I would ne’er cast my eyes upon his face again. I could no longer refrain myself and embraced him. “I shall miss you, Charging Bear,” I whispered in his ear.
“And I, you, Walks Through Mist.”
When I stepped back, I forced a smile. He shoved the dugout from the bank and jumped in. I waved. “Goodbye, Charging Bear.”
He returned my wave and began to paddle. I stayed on the bank and watched him ’til the forest appeared to swallow him. Elenor needed me. I set out on my venture. Whilst away, I had taken to dressing as Arrohateck again. I regretted that I must soon return to skirts and stays. At least I had my moccasins for my journey to the plantation.
Alongside the river, I made my way through the forest trail and spied thunderclouds ahead. In times past, I would have sought refuge afore the storm reached me, but I thought of Elenor and walked towards the tempest. Soon, the river churned to a rapids and thunder rumbled. As angry clouds unleashed their fury, I feared I had vexed Oke with my decision to willingly return to Henry.
Wind gusts nearly blew me from the trail, and rain pelted the ground. I no longer had a choice and sought refuge in a hollow, covering myself with leaves.
When the storm passed, I brushed the leaves from my doeskin and returned to the trail. Though wet, I was prepared to finish my journey. Only a few more miles and Elenor would be in my arms once more. I picked up my pace.
Afore long, I stood outside the palisade. Smoke drifted from the chimney. I was home. I approached the gate, and a crow cawed overhead. Suddenly wary from the sign, I hesitated. The guards were nowhere to be seen. Cautiously, I peered through the gate. Soldiers—drinking ale. Retracing my steps afore they saw me, I sought cover of the forest. When I reached its safety, I breathed in relief. How would I get Elenor? What of Henry?
Keeping watch over the palisade ’til darkness fell, I waited. My heart pounded as I crept forward with only moonlight to guide me. I reached the gate, opened it, and slipped inside the palisade. Candles burned in the house, and I heard drunken laughter. I edged alongside the wall, wondering how I would ever find Elenor.
I fought the urge to rush ahead and carefully negotiated my way over to the house. I crouched neath a window. The laughter from inside grew more raucous. Was Henry amongst the soldiers? And what had happened to the servants? I huddled against the wall, thinking over what I should do next. Panic nearly overcame me. My only weapon was a knife I used for cleaning game. Think.
I caught hold of my growing fright. Taking a deep breath, I peeked inside. Four soldiers, but no sign of Henry or Elenor. Thinking they could be in the loft, I hugged the ground. I would wait ’til the soldiers had fallen into a inebriated slumber. Determined to free Elenor, I held my position. My muscles ached from remaining bent for so long, but finally, I heard loud snoring.
As I sneaked inside, the door creaked. I waited ’til I was certain I’d roused none of the soldiers. I edged towards the loft. I reached the ladder and nearly tripped over a man sprawled on the floor. He snorted but didn’t waken. Carefully stepping over him, I climbed the ladder.
I held my knife ready. From the pallet, a lass muttered. Elenor! I lowered the knife but soon realized someone was with her. “Henry?” I said in a low whisper.
“Phoebe?” came a sleepy voice. Awakened fully, he continued, “Phoebe, you mustn’t be here. They’re waiting for you. Run. They already have Bess.”
“Why?”
“To be tried as a witch. Now go. I’ll see that Elenor remains safe.”
“But Henry—”
He kissed me upon the lips. “Do as I say. Go.”
More than anything, I wanted to hug Elenor and say goodbye. I turned. Where am I to go? Most of the Arrohateck had already disbursed. Mayhap, the Chickahominy would take me in. Many of the Paspahegh had sought refuge there.
With new resolve, I scrambled down the ladder to the first floor. On my tiptoes, I made my way through the snoring soldiers. Near the door, I halted. So many years ago, my family had fled Dorset, only for Momma and I to run from James Towne. Afterwards, we barely escaped with our lives when the Paspahegh town was burned. Tired of running, I held up my hands and spread my fingers to show that I bore the witch’s mark. “I’m here,” I announced. “Take me!”
Snorts and muffled mutterings surrounded me.
“I’m here!”
Footsteps clambered and stumbled. Soldiers tripped over the other, shouting blasphemies. A lantern was lit, and muskets aimed in my direction.
“Phoebe, no!” Henry called from the ladder.
“You have imprisoned the wrong woman,” I said in Bess’s defense. “’Tis me. I am guilty.”
The nearest soldier seized my arm, whilst the next brought iron shackles. They pressed against me, and I smelt the ale on their breath. I did not fight them as the massive shackles were clamped about my wrists and ankles.
�
��Phoebe...” With his arms outstretched, Henry rushed towards me, but the soldiers blocked him afore he could reach me.
“’Tis the way it must be, Henry. I cannot let Bess suffer for my sins.”
The soldiers led me away, and Elenor cried from the loft. “Momma!”
My heart broke, for I could not tell my sweet daughter goodbye.
* * *
67
Shae and Lee
Witch trials—in Virginia? Shae withheld her skepticism. Because the patient believed something, that didn’t make it true. But she felt they were getting to the source of Phoebe’s problem. “We’re making good progress. How is everything else in your life?”
“I’m still studying my reading and writing. Liz says my history lessons have almost reached current affairs.”
“And you’ve kept in contact with your friends at Colwell House?”
“Aye. Meg’s graduation is a fortnight away. She drove me today. Valerie says she’ll be sad to see her leave. Carol remains melancholy, but she’s looking forward to Meg’s graduation party. There’s also a new woman, who took my room. I don’t know her very well.”
That left one topic. Although Shae had seen Lee on the day of Nat’s funeral, she noted that he hadn’t driven Phoebe. In recent times, he often had. “What about Lee?”
Phoebe frowned. “He no longer participates in the dreaming.”
In that respect, Shae was relieved. “I’m sure it has something to do with the difficult time he’s been through lately.”
“Aye,” Phoebe replied.
Shae gave Phoebe the usual instructions of calling her before her next appointment, if necessary. In that sense, they had definitely made progress. Phoebe never called anymore. Escorting her patient to the outer office, she found Meg leafing through a magazine.