Blue Birds
Page 7
returned to her mending.
Father told me to dry my tears.
It was Uncle
who sat nearby,
held my hand,
whispered of strange and glorious creatures
until dreams found me.
Now
it is only in my dreams
Uncle holds me close.
Alis
Before day breaks
the men stumble back,
eyes like embers,
knees muddied.
George is the last to enter,
a too-big musket
strapped across
his narrow back.
Governor White
holds his head
in his hands.
“How could I know?” he says
over,
and over,
until Ananias Dare
leads him away.
“What has happened?” Miss Lawrence asks.
No one answers.
The men
disappear in the darkness.
If there had been victory,
they would have stood solid,
told of their valor.
If there had been defeat,
some would be missing.
What could be wrong?
A few women follow their husbands,
but most stay,
a sturdy semicircle
wanting more.
Manteo is the only one to remain,
his words louder than I’ve ever heard before:
“We ambushed the camp.”
He stops,
shuts his eyes for a moment.
“But the Roanoke were gone.
My people
were there
instead.”
I cannot help but gasp.
Mrs. Archard glares,
young Miss Lawrence puts a finger to her lips.
I pay no notice.
Kimi’s people were gone!
She is somewhere safe.
But why were the Croatoan
at the Roanoke village?
I fade into the crowd,
search for George.
Surely he knows more.
I find him near the empty animal pens,
alone,
his shoulders hunched,
the musket still across his back.
My footsteps slow.
Things were strange
last time we spoke.
His father’s death,
the lie I told,
how carelessly I spoke of Kimi.
But I must know
what happened.
“George?”
He lifts his head.
“Tell me,” I say.
Alis
“We crept to the village,
started firing.”
George’s face is vacant,
empty as a broken promise.
“The Indians scattered,
seeking cover in the reeds.
The darkness filled with voices
shouting Manteo’s name.
Even I understood their pleading.
“When he recognized his tribe,
Manteo fell to his knees.
But it was too late.
Several already lay dead.”
I try to imagine
what it was like for Manteo:
Attacking our foes,
finding family instead.
“The Roanoke
had abandoned their camp.
The Croatoan told us they’d come as promised,
left their island early, so as not to miss
the opportunity to talk peace.
When they discovered the empty village,
they stayed to gather the corn
the Roanoke had left in their haste.”
George’s head falls back
against a fencepost.
“And so,
we attacked
our friends.”
Alis
“Alis!”
Father calls to me.
“I must go,” I say.
George doesn’t answer,
just stays as he is,
staring into nothingness.
“Alis!”
Father’s voice is a fire,
his white shirt soiled and untucked.
“Where have you been?
I could not find you.”
He pulls me with him.
I try to match my stride with his,
but I cannot keep pace.
“The Governor holds out hope
the Croatoan will forgive us,
but I cannot believe it.
We have two enemies now.”
Father doesn’t release my arm until our door,
where Mother busies herself with sweeping.
“Stay with your mother when you are outside.”
Cold rushes over me.
Outside, he says.
Surely Father doesn’t know
I leave the settlement.
“What do you mean?”
“Stay near to her!
What more must I say?”
“Alis.”
Mother sings my name,
a warning to take care.
Eager to make peace,
she reaches for Father’s hand,
places it in mine.
“Alis cannot always be with me.
She cares for the little ones
while I cook and launder,
goes home when she is done.”
Guilt stabs me.
Many days
I roam
outside
the village walls.
“We’ve made quick enemies,” Father says.
No one is safe.”
“Dyonis, our daughter will not be unwise.”
Mother turns to me,
her eyebrows raised,
looking for my confirmation.
I nod,
but I cannot hold her gaze.
My mother’s trust
is nothing I deserve.
Her mouth’s turned down,
her forehead creased.
“If you are careful,
if you promise
to hurry home each day,
I must believe
you will be safe.”
Father slumps into a chair,
covers his face with his hands.
“Samuel.”
“There is nothing
you could have done
to save him,” Mother whispers.
Grief floods me again.
Will this heartache ever lessen?
The dangers
Father speaks of,
how far we are from safety,
the hurt with Uncle gone.
All this, yet I am certain:
Even threats of peril
will not keep me from my friend.
Alis
All day the men cut slender trees,
form wooden poles
sunk in the ground inches apart.
Outside the earthen wall and ditch,
they are a third ring of protection
to secure the village border.
The poles are partly fence,
partly cage.
Father calls it a palisade,
made in the manner of the Indians.
One more barrier
to hold back danger
and keep us apart.
KIMI
Word come
s of what happened
in our village yesterday,
how the English
attacked their friends,
ones they’d earlier begged for peace.
How Manteo himself,
so hungry for their montoac,
so changed by their customs,
didn’t recognize his own
until it was too late.
If,
like Wanchese,
he’d returned to live with his people
and rejected the English,
disgrace wouldn’t mark him
as it does now.
KIMI
What haste.
What cruelty.
The English
attack without first knowing
whose children they destroy.
Alongside my cousins
who always live in our mainland village,
I work the fields,
yanking at weeds so roughly,
a bean plant loses its fragile hold.
I remember Alis,
her bravery
in warning me.
More gently now,
I pat the soil around the bean,
trace its growth from roots
to spindly stalk interwoven with the corn.
These two plants thrive together,
make my people strong.
There is no reason to let my anger
uproot something good.
Alis
For days,
we rush through open spaces,
mark the distance
from door to door.
Surely the Croatoan steal about the edge of camp;
the Roanoke prowl in the woods.
Alis
Though it’s not Sunday,
all work is left undone.
In the open square we congregate
for Manteo’s baptism.
Today he’ll officially become
a servant of the Queen.
Once we’ve left to begin our city,
he’ll be the one who
will stand for England,
will represent our nation here.
Voices whisper all around me,
wondering at the Governor’s hurry.
Some think he hopes
two leaders will ease fears.
Others say he wants to prove
Manteo’s on our side.
Governor White stands,
holds the Book of Common Prayer.
O LORD God of hosts, most loving and merciful Father,
Do I imagine hesitation
as Manteo kneels
and the Governor rests a palm
on his dark hair?
We most humbly beseech thee to save and defend Manteo, Lord of the Island Roanoke, and thy servant Elizabeth, our Queen.
Together,
we bow our heads.
Though it is only morning,
the sun already blazes
across my shoulders.
O heavenly Father, the practices of our enemies are known unto thee. Turn them, O Lord, if it be thy blessed will, or overthrow and confound them for thy name’s sake.
I think
of Kimi,
my new friend,
Suffer them not to prevail.
Mr. Howe,
his body battered,
Permit not the ungodly to triumph over us.
We have not obeyed thy word: We have had it in mouth, but not in heart; in outward appearance, but not in deed.
We have lived carelessly.
the ambush on the Croatoan,
We have deserved utter destruction.
the way we’ve been abandoned to this place.
But thou, Lord, art merciful, and ready to forgive. Therefore we come to thy throne of grace, confessing thee to be our only refuge in all times of peril.
How strange to know an Indian
is the Queen’s own man.
Governor White says
this has always been the plan,
to bestow him with this title
for his faithful service.
Yet
I cannot forget
the awful mistake
made four days past.
Does Governor White
also give this honor
to atone for the attack?
Manteo,
what causes you to stay?
What truly holds you to us?
KIMI
The sun is a burning fire,
makes my work
unbearable
in its unforgiving heat.
I sit,
thankful for the water gourd,
and wipe the sweat and dirt
from my face.
“Kimi.”
The young ones who play
among the corn and beans
go still,
silent.
Wanchese has come to the fields
where men only enter
to help the women
break up ground
before the planting time.
Uncle has come for me.
KIMI
We rest together
in the shade of cedars.
I can almost pretend
things are
as they were
when I was younger,
that Wanchese
is only here to speak
of the teeming fish
he’s trapped in the weir,
the new canoe
he hollows.
But things
are different
now.
“You must tell me
how you learned
that word,” Wanchese says.
Four days
I’ve dreaded this,
have had no way
to answer him
that would not lead to lies.
I grasp a stick,
swirl patterns
on the ground.
“What is it, Kimi?”
I have no one, Uncle.
An English girl
has shown me
how lonely I have been.
But I cannot tell him.
The silence grows uncomfortable,
but I will not fill it.
I continue with my drawings,
loops and lines and circles.
Uncle brought me here.
He should be the one to speak.
He stills my hand.
Finally I look to him.
“It’s not yet time to harvest.
The mainland stores are almost gone.
We’ve become a burden
with so many here to feed.
We leave tomorrow.”
He stands.
“Stay away from the English village.
Go nowhere near them.
Do not let your curiosity
risk our safety.”
Uncle,
I want to say,
I’ve brought no harm,
but our security.
Alis
News comes hours later
from those at the beach.
Mr. Florrie rushes from door to door,
his wild hair on end,
telling all to stay inside.
Indians came ashore,
surrounded those unloading cargo,
grotesque paint covering their bodies.
His escape is a miracle!
Is Mother safe with the other women?
Has Father left to help the men
?
The boys fret to go outside.
I distract them with songs,
by counting fingers, knees, and noses.
They cry for their mothers.
How I want mine also,
but I must be the one to comfort.
An hour passes, more,
before the men return
and it is safe to leave the cottage.
It was the Croatoan,
Manteo’s people.
They were poised to attack,
but Manteo persuaded them
to put down their weapons,
promised our friendship once again.
How I hope
our fragile bond
has been renewed.
Mother rushes to me,
cups my cheek in her hand.
“My Alis.”
Like the little ones,
I cling to her, so grateful we are safe.
Alis
We are all of us
still shaken,
though the present danger’s passed.
“Hurry home,” Mother tells me.
“Stay close to the buildings.”
Around me,
shadows reach like snakes,
deepen into darkness.
I clutch my cloak,
though the evening stifles without a breath of air.
It is then I see George,
striding like a soldier toward a cluster of boys,
which grows tighter as he enters.
George swings a musket over his shoulder,
marches in place with his chest out,
the picture of a fighting man.
He boasts about the ambush
and his bravery that night,
brags he would have shot a Croatoan
at the shore today.
The others cheer him on.
To see him act like this,
to hear him speak as though
he enjoyed the fight,
it is like the shock of cold metal
held against my skin.
KIMI
We pole our boats
until the land falls away
and all around is endless ocean,
the early morning sun.
Paddles pull
as the dugouts
cut the waters,
where one thrashing wave
could overcome us,
wash us to the dark world
swirling below.
Beside me, Mother stops,
stays focused on the shore.
“Remember how Alawa danced?”
My sister’s name stirs images
of her twirling with the ribbon,
running through the lapping currents,
so alive to wonder.