by Kim Murphy
An arrowhead? “Do you know what happened to it?”
“Initially, I believe it was held as evidence, but I suspect it was eventually turned over to your foster family.”
Could the arrowhead have been one of those in his collection? “Is there anything else you remember?”
Frank shook his head. “We followed standard procedure of the time to see if anyone knew who you or your parents were. No one ever showed up. My gut as an officer of over twenty years told me that some sort of foul play was involved, but I had nothing to prove it.”
At least his own hunch had been substantiated, and he had a couple of slim leads. Lee grasped his cane. “Thanks, I appreciate you taking the time.”
“For whatever it’s worth, I’m glad you stopped by. I had always wondered what happened to you. I also hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
Lee repeated his appreciation, and they shook hands. No wonder the local tribes didn’t recall him. His mother had likely come from elsewhere.
* * *
72
Phoebe
On the morn following my trial, I was led from my cell to the town square. My hands were bound to a post. For the second time in my life, I was to be flogged for fornication. Only this time, Elenor would also bear my supposed shame. I held no regret, for Elenor had been begotten in love by my husband.
A crowd gathered, hissing and shouting “harlot.” Some threw dirt, stones, and rotting vegetables. A rock struck my face, barely missing my eye. I refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.
A knife slit my bodice down the back, ripping through to my shift. Fabric tore, and I felt the cool air upon my back. In preparation, I gritted my teeth. Then, I spotted Henry. I focused on his face, and his eyes misted. Be strong, Henry. The whip cracked against my bare skin. And again. Thrice. Soon, I lost count. I writhed from the pain, but the bindings held me fast. Finally, I could take no more and wailed.
The crowd cheered and began chanting, “Die, witch!”
Another lash, and I cried. More chanting.
“Phoebe...”
’Twas his voice, and I smiled. The mist formed, but the whip struck me again. Dizzy from the pain, I fainted.
When I awoke, I remained tied to the post. The fog that had so oft saved me had vanished. Passersby laughed and spat. The wounds upon my back festered, and the sun grew warm. My legs were weak, and I slumped.
I thought of Lightning Storm. So many years had passed, I could barely recall what his voice had sounded like. Hadn’t he been the one calling to me from the depths of the mist? Nay, ’twas... “Lee?” I had entered the dreaming but couldn’t find my way out. Delirious with pain, I laughed.
By nightfall, the gaoler untied my bindings. Only when I was returned to my cell and shackled to the wall did I receive food and water.
“Phoebe...”
I looked up at Henry, standing on the other side of the bars.
“Forgive me, Phoebe, for being weak. I could not watch you suffer.”
“You needn’t beg my forgiveness, Henry. For you have done naught wrong. My only regret...”
“Pray tell me.”
“That I could ne’er be the wife you wished of me. You’re a kind man and deserve better.”
He gripped the bars. “You mustn’t berate yourself. I have always known there was another afore me in your heart. E’en now, I see it in your eyes. I saw them as savages. You have educated me otherwise. Your father should have ne’er returned you to civilization. You were meant to remain Walks Through Mist. Afore your ship sails, I’ll find a way for you to rejoin your tribe.”
At his words, I bowed my head and wept.
* * *
73
Shae and Lee
After Shae’s last patient, she gathered her files together and shoved them into her briefcase. A knock came to the door.
“Shae?” came a male voice.
“Come in, Lee.”
The door opened, and Lee entered. Even though he moved slowly, she could see that he was getting stronger with each passing day. “Is something wrong with Phoebe?”
“She’s fine.” He sat in the chair across from her, resting his cane against the desk. “It’s nothing like that. I’ve come to ask a favor.”
Relieved that Phoebe was fine, she laced her fingers together. “Okay.”
He let out an uneasy breath before continuing, “I want to recall what happened.”
“Recall?” A moment passed before she grasped what he was asking. “Lee, first, you’re a lousy subject for hypnosis. Second, childhood memories are often unreliable.”
“If Phoebe has been hypnotizing me all this time, then I must not be as difficult of a subject as you claim.”
“We’ve already been over this.”
“Shae, I have nowhere else to turn.”
She studied him a moment. “I’ll give you the bottom line. A highly hypnotizable subject is more likely to get results if a skilled hypnotist asks the correct questions. But those subjects are also the ones who often produce false memories. I’ve had enough experience with forensic hypnosis to know to stay away from leading questions, but what you’re asking is to recover a memory from when you were two years old. Although some people have recovered memories as early as the age of one, full recall is rare before three. Early memories are usually poorly organized. On top of that, you’ve heard stories from family members about the day you were found. Stories like that create fictitious memories that come out while a subject is under hypnosis.”
He was silent a minute, obviously thinking over what she had said. “What I’m seeking happened before any of the family stories.”
“Fair enough. Let’s suppose I do what you’re asking, and we’re successful in recovering the memory. A childhood trauma might be involved. There’s a reason why our memories often forget trauma. It protects us. I can’t risk unleashing something that could scar you permanently.”
“Does that mean you’re saying ‘no’?”
Thankfully, he seemed to understand the situation. “It does.”
He grabbed his cane and stood. “I guess I’ll have to find someone else. Thanks, Shae.”
So much for understanding. “Wait, Lee. You’re serious?” His determined expression warned her that he was. “You’re more likely to be screwed up if you go to some fly-by-night hypnotist.”
“That’s why I came to you.”
“I’ll do it—on one condition. If we uncover anything traumatic, you’ll agree to psychological treatment. I’ve got several colleagues that I can recommend, depending on what we find.”
He nodded that he would do as she asked.
What had she agreed to? If it had been anyone else with the request, she would have never reconsidered. “Just let me call Russ to tell him that I’ll be a little late.” Her hand shook as she reached for the phone. Not a good sign. Was she more worried that her subject was Lee or about what they might uncover? She glanced over at him and forced a smile. “I hope you realize you’re making me a nervous wreck. Hypnotizing an ex is highly unethical. Just think of all the mean-spirited subconscious suggestions I could give you.”
“I have confidence in your abilities. Besides, you’re not a mean-spirited person.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Make yourself comfortable on the sofa, and I’ll be right...” Russ came onto the line. What should she tell Russ? The details could wait until she got home.
* * *
As Shae made her phone call, Lee sat on the sofa.
After she hung up the phone, she joined him. “You’re certain about this?”
“I need to know what happened.”
“If we don’t learn it here?”
“I’m no worse off than I was before.”
Shae furrowed her brow. Usually, she wasn’t the nervous sort.
He reached across and grasped her hand. “I’m not expecting miracles.”
“I think I’m more worried about what might surfac
e. I don’t think using the induction method like I used with Phoebe when you first brought her to me would be best for you. Settle back and get comfortable.”
He leaned back. “I already am.”
She waved at him to keep quiet. “Close your eyes.”
He obeyed.
“Good. Now relax. Breathe in. Now out. Breathe in once more and hold it for a count of three. One. Two. Three.”
In the distance, Lee heard Shae’s voice as they went through several breathing exercises. “Become aware of the sounds around you... the sounds in the building... out on the street.”
Like his first experience of the dreaming, he heard people’s voices and cars honking.
Shae led him through several relaxation exercises. “As you relax deeper, listening to all of the sounds, you become aware of your body. Your legs are getting heavier...”
He opened his eyes. “It’s not working.”
“Lee...,” she said in annoyance.
“Sorry.”
“Contrary to what I may have said, your susceptibility hasn’t gotten any better. You said a few months ago that Phoebe uses a candle to induce hypnosis. Can you give me the specifics?”
“I stare into the flame and concentrate. When I see a mist, I walk through it, and I’m part of the story.”
“That’s the oldest induction technique. The movies like to use the clichéd dangling watch or the crystal ball. I don’t have a candle handy, but we can get you to focus on one in your mind. Okay, let’s try again, and for your information, when childhood memories are achieved, clients don’t curl up, pretending to get smaller, like on TV. Are you ready?”
Once more, he got comfortable.
“Think of the candle in your mind. Do you see it?”
In the new environment, he had difficulty imagining a candle. He struggled, but finally saw a candle and flame. “Yes.”
“Good. Focus on the flame.”
Absorb it. He heard Phoebe’s voice.
“Soon you will take a journey...”
Shae’s voice faded as he concentrated on the flame. Nothing happened until he heard the sound of wings flapping. “I hear a bird flying.”
“Go with it. Concentrate on the sound. The bird is getting closer.”
The flapping wings approached him. He heard a caw, and a familiar black bird settled on a nearby branch. “It’s a crow.”
The crow preened its feathers before taking flight again.
Follow it. Again, he had heard Phoebe.
With the bird overhead but slightly ahead of him, he walked along a path through a forest. First, the trail went to the left, then the right. He found himself alongside the James River. In the gentle breeze, waves lapped against the bank. He breathed in the air. The motion of the waves made him feel like he was drifting.
The crow circled overhead before heading downstream. He followed the path beside the river. As he traveled further, he spotted Shae standing beside the path. Her blonde hair draped over her shoulders, looking much the way she had when they first met. He reached out to her, but the crow continued on.
“You feel yourself getting smaller and lighter,” came Shae’s voice. “Your arms and legs are getting smaller. You’re getting younger and younger...”
Shae vanished from the path. Further downriver, the crow landed in a nearby tree.
“You are eleven or twelve, and you see a happy scene.”
A tent was pitched, and he smelled fish roasting over the campfire.
“What’s going on, Lee?”
“My dad took me camping.”
“How old are you?”
“Eleven.”
“Clear your mind.”
The crow spread its wings and was airborne. Farther and farther, he followed the river. Near a bend, he saw a playground with green grass. Children swayed back and forth on the swings.
“How old are you?” Shae asked.
“Five.” But the crow continued onward. He had difficulty keeping up. No longer near the river, he stumbled and fell to the ground. Frightened and alone, he called for his mother. Struggling to his feet, he made his way through the hemlock and cypress trees. Why did he hurt? His arms and legs were covered in cuts and scratches from the brambles.
Suddenly, the bird gave a panic-stricken caw, and he was plunged into billowing smoke. His eyes burned, and he couldn’t see where he was going. Screams surrounded him. A woman clutched him to her body. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make out the features of her face.
“Lee, what are you seeing?”
“Fire—all around me. Screams. People running.”
“Try and focus on the details.”
The people were like shadows, fleeing through the smoke. The woman holding him screamed, and he felt himself falling. He hit the ground, and his shoulder hurt. She barely missed landing on top of him. He clung to her skirt. His mother. She lay still and unmoving.
“Lee...?”
“I think she’s dead.”
Scared and alone, he crawled along the ground. The smoke nearly choked him, and he coughed. Still on his hands and knees, he crept blindly, not knowing where to look for safety. The smoke drifted, and he saw a kind face. Another woman—no, a girl. She pulled him to her. His body began to shape itself to her, and he clung to her. His grip tightened, and he cried on her shoulder.
Shae counted backwards, slowly returning him to the present. The memory faded, and Lee blinked. “I couldn’t see things clearly. It’s almost like I was an adult and a child at the same time.”
Shae stared at him in concern. “Everything you describe is common for hypnotic memories from such an early age.”
“How much was real?”
“There’s no way of telling for sure. That’s why a lot of hypnotists don’t like using age regression.”
“You warned me. I accept the results.” Had there really been a fire? And the people—were they his family?
“Lee, we might be able to get a clearer focus of what you saw, but not today. You need time to recover first.”
Surprised she would suggest continuing on, he thanked her. “It’s weird.”
“In what way?”
He grasped his cane. “For so long, I’ve dreamed about what my birth mother was like. Now, I don’t know whether that was really her or something I’ve made up.”
Shae smiled. “You’ll figure it out—in time.”
Thirty-three years ago, his life had changed drastically at such a young age. He had no idea how much was real of what he had seen, but he had a feeling that his birth mother had died in a fire.
* * *
A historian had helped Shae locate documents on Virginia witch trials. The only transcript available was of Grace Sherwood. But they had located a few references to Phoebe Wynne’s trial and made copies for her use. Seventeenth-century English wasn’t the easiest thing to read. The documents verified that Phoebe Wynne had received twenty stripes as punishment.
Lashes? Looking up stripes in the dictionary didn’t help. Shae cross-referenced to the Oxford English Dictionary. She had been correct. Stripes in the 1600s equated to whipping. Phoebe had been found with healing wounds on her back. Not real. The evidence, though circumstantial, was adding up.
She continued reviewing the documentation. There was a handwritten letter at the bottom of the pile of papers. She had difficulty making out the words. Requiring help to decipher the letter, she nearly gave up in frustration, but the signature caught her eye. Henry Wynne.
She made her way back to the reference desk. A woman with shoulder-length hair smiled. “I thought you might be back after I helped you find the documents.”
“I was wondering if you could help me make out what this letter says.”
The archivist took her copy and began to read. “Henry Wynne was Phoebe’s husband. He claims he hadn’t known about her witchcraft. He also says that he is innocent in helping her escape. She vanished in a mist.”
“A mist?”
She showed Shae
the letter and pointed to the word. “M-Y-S-T. A common spelling during the era. Isn’t it amazing what they used for testimony then? But they truly believed in witchcraft. Usually it was along the lines of bewitching a neighbor’s livestock, but I bet Henry Wynne did help his wife escape. For what reason, I don’t know. Virginia didn’t hang witches like New England, so why go to all the effort?”
Because she was going to be returned to England? “Is there anything else?”
“More about the mist, but I really can’t make out the details.” She returned the copy to Shae.
“Thank you for your help.” She was definitely looking forward to her next session with Phoebe.
* * *
74
Phoebe
In the gaol cell, I could tell little difference betwixt night and day. I prayed for Henry’s swift return, but he failed to show as he had vowed. On the morrow, I sailed for England. Aft all these years away, how could I possibly adapt?
The gaoler brought me a bowl of a thin pottage. As he set the bowl on the floor next to me, I heard the cry of a crow. I raised my head. Could it be? Like the time I had escaped from Henry, Lightning Storm had given the sign of the crow.
He smiled a toothless grin. “I told ye I’d have ye, witch.”
Again, the crow cawed, and I returned the gaolers smile. “You said you would help me.”
His grin widened. “Ye must make it worth my while.”
I lifted my left arm. “Unshackle me.”
He helped me to my feet. “Only aft lending me a sample of what I may expect.”
Up close, I smelt the rum on his breath, and his greasy, unwashed body. He kissed me. Fighting every urge to pull away, I held fast, feigning to savor his sloppy, full-of-spittle kisses. His hand ran across my bosom. As I touched his hard form through his breeches, I bit my lip to keep from retching.
He stepped back and unshackled my ankles. The crow called once more, and he unlocked the irons around my wrists. He pulled me to him but crumpled in a heap from a blow to his head.