Walks Through Mist

by Kim Murphy

  Upon seeing them, Meg stood.

  They exchanged goodbyes before Shae returned to her office. Thank goodness Phoebe was her last patient of the day. Instead of gathering her files together, she checked her computer for witch trials in Virginia. To her surprise, there had been a few, and she wondered why so much attention had been given to Salem. As it turned out, Virginia claimed the dubious honor of holding the first witch trial on the North American continent.

  Website after website mentioned the “Witch of Pungo,” better known as Grace Sherwood. She had been a healer and midwife. Was that who Phoebe had modeled herself after? Shae clicked onto another website. She scanned through the names: Joan Wright, another midwife and fortune teller; Katherine Grady, the only woman to have been executed; and William Harding, bewitched a cow. Her eyes widened. The name Phoebe Wynne stared back at her.

  * * *

  Over a beer in the living room, Lee listened to Phoebe’s story that she had recalled while under hypnosis with Shae. He should have shared with her in the dreaming like he used to, but of late, he had been unable. Why? Then, when she reached the part where she had left her daughter behind... he nearly broke down in tears. Had his mother been faced with no choice as well? “Do you still think of her?”

  “Elenor? Aye, but what choice was I given? I may ne’er know whether she grew to womanhood, married, had children of her own or...” Her voice wavered. “...died.”

  Lee wondered if his mother could have been in a similar situation. Had he passed her on the street without ever knowing? Or was she long dead? He frequently saw the missing persons reports. Many people vanished due to foul play. Yet he couldn’t shake the police reports that no such evidence had ever been uncovered at the site where he had been found.

  The phone rang. Lee checked the caller ID and answered, “What’s up, Shae?”

  “Hi, to you too, Lee.” He detected her usual annoyance. “I’d like to speak to you, but not over the phone.”

  “When and where?”

  She suggested a bar and grill not too far from his apartment. “And please, come alone.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in about thirty minutes.” He hung up the phone. “For some reason, Shae wants to meet with me.”

  “’Tis about me, isn’t it?”

  “I honestly don’t know. She didn’t say, but sometimes she helps me with some of my cases.”

  “You’re not at work now.”

  “No, but she might have found something that I can pass on to Ed.” Even he didn’t believe the words, and when she wrinkled her brow, he knew that she hadn’t either. “If she says anything about you, I’ll let you know when I return.”

  This seemed to satisfy her. With regret that he had to leave her after such an important revelation, Lee made his way to the car. He arrived at the bar and grill ten minutes late. He spotted Shae’s silver Acura in the lot. Bypassing the handicapped section, he parked the T-Bird next to the Acura.

  Once inside, he looked around the room.

  Shae waved at him from a booth.

  When he reached the booth, he was glad to get off his feet. “Sorry I’m late, but I’m not moving as fast as I used to.”

  “And I bet you were too stubborn to use the handicapped parking.”

  “I doubt that you invited me here to prove how well you know me.”

  She gave him a smug grin. A waitress in black pants and a blouse stopped at the booth and asked them if they needed a few minutes yet to order. Lee told Shae to go ahead, and she ordered chicken fingers and fries. When he only ordered a non-caffeinated soft drink, Shae sent him a look of mock horror. “I’ve already eaten, and I don’t depend on caffeine these days,” he explained.

  “I guess I don’t know you as well as I thought. I remember when you wished caffeine came in an IV drip.”

  “That was when I was on patrol. Right now, any kind of caffeine keeps me awake at night. You can bet I’ll be indulging again when I return to duty.”

  She chuckled. “Glad to hear that some things never change.”

  “Shall we get down to business? What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until the morning?”

  The waitress returned with their drinks, and Shae took a sip of Chablis. “Has Phoebe told you about her latest experience while under hypnosis?”

  “She has.”

  “I presumed she would, but I needed to ask.”

  He nodded that he understood.

  “I became curious after hearing her story about witch trials in Virginia. I did a computer search and discovered something interesting.” She passed a folder to his side of the table.

  He looked inside at the papers she had printed out. There were only a few scattered, incomplete records, but the pages concurred. A woman by the name of Phoebe Wynne had been tried as a witch in 1630. Oh God, he knew what was going to happen next in Phoebe’s story.

  “Well?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Phoebe obviously has read these.”

  “How is that possible, doctor, when she just recently learned to read?”

  Flustered, Shae rested her elbows on the table. “You may recall that she was perfectly capable of reading. It’s writing that she supposedly learned a mere few months ago.”

  Her tone signaled that she was pissed, but both of them remained silent when the waitress returned with Shae’s meal. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  Shae pasted on a smile. “No, thank you. We’re fine.” She pounded the ketchup bottle. Ketchup splattered over the fries.

  “I’m surprised you chose to meet me in a dump like this when you could be home savoring one of Russ’s meals.”

  She narrowed her eyes in annoyance. “Leave Russ out of this, and quit changing the subject. I think you know the truth about Phoebe, but for some reason, you’ve decided to keep me in the dark. Is she in the Witness Protection Program or something?”

  Suddenly enjoying Shae’s bewilderment, Lee leaned back in the seat and crossed his arms. “If she were, I doubt the Feds would inform me. I’m merely a detective—on medical leave, no less.”

  “Lee, stop it. Is Phoebe in some sort of trouble?”

  Her captors were long dead, and in that sense, he could relax his guard. No one would be coming after her. “Not anymore.”

  She indulged in a French fry. “Why all of the mysteriousness?”

  “Because you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Munching on a chicken finger, she said, “Try me.”

  “She told you long ago who she is and where she’s from.”

  She rolled her eyes and took another bite of her meal. “A cunning woman from the seventeenth century. I’m trying to help a patient, so please stop toying with me. She has dissociative—”

  “Forget all of the psycho-babble,” he said, growing annoyed, “and ask yourself, has she ever recalled anything about this century before we visited her in the hospital?”

  “Besides amnesia, what does that prove? You used to be a stickler for the evidence. Where is it?” She picked up a fry, but replaced it in the basket. “The hypnosis that she calls the dreaming? For Christ’s sakes, Lee, that’s not real. I’ve already explained to you how dangerous hypnosis can be if it’s used improperly. See what it’s done to you. It’s opened a wound that had healed, but now it’s got you searching for biological parents that you were unconcerned about before.”

  He reached across the table and gripped her hand. “That’s where you’re wrong, Shae. Haven’t you ever wondered why I don’t trust very easily?”

  She yanked her hand from his grip. “You’re a cop. It goes with the goddamned job.”

  He laughed slightly. “Denial? I would have thought a trained psychologist could do better. You’re afraid to admit that what went wrong between us goes much deeper than my job.”

  She took a few breaths and calmed herself. “Lack of trust isn’t uncommon in adoptions of older children, international, cross-cultural, or cross-racial. I guess I
never thought of you—”

  “And therein lies the problem. I’ve been denied my heritage.”

  “Phoebe saw it. That makes her perceptive, not a time traveler.”

  “I warned you that you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Evidence,” she repeated with a sigh.

  “She can speak Virginia Algonquian. There hasn’t been a native speaker in at least two hundred years.”

  She appeared to mull over his words as she nibbled a chicken finger. “That’s not a lot to go on, but you have a point. Okay, for the sake of argument, if she’s not fantasizing about the seventeenth century, how did she get here?”

  He shrugged that he didn’t know. “We haven’t reached that part of her story yet. She’ll tell us. Just give her the chance.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Damn you. Here I am listening to a cock-and-bull story like it’s fact. Sorry I called. I really thought you could help me with the breakthrough I need in Phoebe’s case.”

  “We’re done here.” He placed a couple of bills on the table to cover his drink and his portion of the tip. Phoebe had been tried as a witch. He had been so absorbed about the hows and whys of his adoption that he had avoided the dreaming. Now, he sought it.

  * * *

  68

  Phoebe

  When Lee returned from his counsel with Shae, we made love with a fever that had been missing since the shooting. We kissed, fondled, and frolicked ’til tumbling to the bed in exhaustion. His playfulness reminded me of Lightning Storm’s, and I rebuked myself for making the comparison. But Lee had probably thought of Shae, and I wondered if his meeting with her had provoked his vigor.

  On this night, the past was unimportant, only our love and its expression. To the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, I fell peacefully asleep in his arms. Though he had yet to inform me what he and Shae had discussed, ’twas the first time I had ever truly felt safe. I prayed it wasn’t an illusion.

  In the early light of dawn, I woke to Lee’s smiling face. He gave me an intimate good-morning kiss, whilst his fingertips brushed my cheek. “Good morning, Phoebe.”

  I gently stroked the expanse of his chest. “’Tis a beautiful morn.”

  He took the arrowhead I wore round my neck betwixt his fingers. “I’d like to take you shopping for a proper necklace.”

  “This one is special. You gave it to me.” He muttered that he understood, and I said, “I shall fix you breakfast.”

  We parted with another kiss, and he delighted in watching me as I dressed. Though I preferred the simple attire of the Arrohateck, I had grown accustomed to modern garments. In this culture, ’twas perfectly acceptable that I wear trousers. Lee’s eyes gleamed as I wiggled into the tight-fitting material. I had yet to adapt to the breast binder, but again, Meg had said ’twas a woman’s choice. Relishing the freedom, I chose to go without.

  Finished dressing, I blew Lee a kiss as I had seen Meg do with her daughter. I went into the kitchen and began by scrambling eggs. By the time Lee hobbled into the room, the eggs were ready, and I scooped them onto plates afore setting them on the table. He winced when he sat.

  “Mayhap we should have restrained our passion last eve,” I said.

  He waved at me that he was fine. “It’s worse in the morning.”

  I sat across from him. His brow wrinkled ever so slightly. Anyone less familiar with him would likely have missed it. “Something troubles you.”

  “Thank you for not asking about what Shae and I discussed last night.”

  “’Twas not my place.”

  “But it was.” He picked up his fork and scooped the eggs onto a piece of toast. “Shae showed me some printouts of historical records—seventeenth century. I’d rather participate in the dreaming with you again than explain the details.”

  “You have discovered something about me?”

  “I think so.”

  Confused, I asked, “Why do you not wish to share your findings with me?”

  “If I stick to police procedure and make no disclosure, then Shae will eventually become a believer too. In the long run, her total support and understanding will benefit you. Because you can speak Virginia Algonquian, she already has doubts. I saw it on her face.”

  Though uncertain why my ability to speak Algonquian made a difference, I trusted Lee, and I enjoyed the thought of exploring the dreaming with him once again.

  * * *

  As I walked through the mist, I breathed easier, knowing that Lee would accompany me on the journey. The hound guided me to my fate. The windowless gaol was dark and damp. With my arms and legs shackled, I sat in a bed of moldy straw with a rat squeaking near my feet.

  My hair was unkempt and greasy, and my skin was layered by filth. Used to daily cleansing, I scratched from the lice. The cell reeked from my own wastes, and my stomach rumbled with fits of hunger. ’Twasn’t the first time. During the intervening years, James Towne had grown from a few hundred colonists to a couple of thousand. The Paspahegh were now gone and would not rescue me from starvation.

  At peace with myself, I was ready to join my family—Lightning Storm, Dark Moon, Momma, and Silver Eagle. Poppa, in spite of all of his sins, would be admitted to heaven. I, on the other hand, was considered to be in league with the devil. I laughed aloud at the irony. Unable to face the four winds, I said a silent prayer to Ahone and Henry’s God, hoping that one of them would hear my plea.

  At least, I had succeeded in my mission. Bess had been absolved of all charges for being a witch. She would help Henry care for Elenor. Oh, Elenor. I closed my eyes, thinking of my darling daughter. I hoped that she could someday find it within her heart to understand. “Forgive me.”

  “If you have a contract with the devil, there shall be no forgiveness.”

  Through crusty eyelashes, I raised my head to the voice. A matron alongside a gaoler stood outside the door. The bearded man unlocked the cell, and the heavy door creaked upon its hinges. The gaoler came towards me and unlocked the shackles about my wrists. As he attended to the restraints about my ankles, he fondled my leg and whispered in my ear, “I’ve already told ye I can make things more pleasant for ye.”

  His hand reached my thigh, and I swatted it like a fly.

  “Suit yerself.” He seized my arm and forced me to my feet.

  My legs were wobbly from being left in the same spot for nearly a week, and I toppled. The gaoler caught me, making certain that he touched my breast as he did so. I elbowed him in the ribs. The resulting strike to my cheek knocked me to the bed of straw. This time, he grabbed both of my arms behind my back and jerked me to my feet.

  All the while, the matron sent me a disapproving look. We neared her, and she said, “Harlot. If I had my way, we’d burn the likes of you.”

  In horror, I thought of Master Collins, the smell of roasting flesh, and his screams. Did they burn witches? “I have done you no harm.”

  “Bring her,” she said in disgust. “We can expect little from her. She was raised by Indians.”

  The gaoler fixed shackles about my wrists and ankles that allowed me to walk. They led me from the cell to the outdoors. Light pierced my eyes. I had been in the dank cell long enough that the brightness was painful. I faltered, only for the gaoler to wrench on the chains to keep me moving.

  When my vision adjusted to the light, I grew conscious of eyes following me from passersby. Were they taking me to my trial? I knew not what to expect. They led me to a wood frame house similar to the one I had shared with Henry. Once inside, I counted eleven women greeting me with their glares. Determined not to give into my fear, I followed Momma’s example upon meeting the Paspahegh warriors and held my head high.

  The gaoler removed my chains and retreated outside.

  “We are here to examine you,” the matron said.

  “Examine me?” I asked, looking from one to the other.

  “To see if you bear the devil’s mark. Now, disrobe.”

  Whilst I had always been comfortable bathing in the river or wearing
but few items of clothing when others were round me, to undress in front of these women intimidated me. Hoping that I might be spared the indignity, I held out my left hand and spread my fingers to reveal my conjoined digits.

  One woman near the front of the group gasped. Another moved forward. Gray hair peeked from under her white cap. She pressed the webbing betwixt my fingers ’til it pinched. I refused to yield to pain and did not cry out.

  “’Tis not very sensitive,” she announced to the group.

  “I said disrobe,” the lead matron repeated, “or I shall recall the gaoler to assist us. I will not be responsible for what actions he might take upon your nakedness.”

  Fully realizing her threat, I began to unlace my bodice. Aft I removed the garment, I let my skirt fall on top. Soon, I was down to my shift and stockings. The matron motioned for me to remove those as well. I obeyed. They brought me to a chair that looked more like a birthing stool and told me to sit.

  Self-conscious, I again followed their instructions. As fingertips sifted through my hair, I closed my eyes and thought of the men who I had brought joy by my natural state. Their images faded as fingers poked and prodded my ears and nostrils. I was told to open my mouth. One woman lifted my arm. Two more examined the webbing betwixt my fingers, squeezing harder than the first woman had. I held my tongue.

  Hands reached my breasts, inspecting them for extra teats. Another woman bent afore me and spread my legs. Her hand probed my secrets, and then two fingers thrust into the neck of my womb. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. Their faces blended, and I struggled to keep the tears away.

  One woman found the webbing betwixt my toes. Again, my flesh was pressed ’til I nearly screamed.

  “Stand,” the matron demanded.

  As I did so, she motioned for me to turn around. I obeyed. Hands inspected my back.

  “Grab you ankles.”

  I hesitated.

  The matron went to the door. “I shall call the gaoler if you do not obey.”

  Reluctantly, I clutched my ankles, and the women probed my inner depths.