For the first time since
my little sister’s death,
her memory brings
no stabbing pain.
KIMI
At our island home,
men and women flock
to the roaring fire.
Wanchese weaves and bows,
the gourd rattle dancing with him.
Others spin like eagles soaring,
arms held wide,
heads to the heavens,
making merry.
Songs rise in thanksgiving,
a cry to appease destruction,
restore the fragile balance of the living,
a ceremony marking our return.
Alis
“Do you hear that?”
Father leans against the doorframe.
“How can I not?” Mother’s forehead wrinkles.
“Those awful sounds.”
The pounding
is close enough
to challenge my own heartbeat.
The chants
climb and fall in eerie wails.
Kimi’s tribe has returned.
“Manteo vows it’s a ritual
to celebrate their safety,” Father says.
“But it sounds as though
the Roanoke
prepare
for attack.”
“Manteo.”
Mother frowns.
“They say yesterday
he persuaded his tribe to turn back,
but I find it hard to trust him.”
KIMI
How good it is to be here,
in these fields I know best,
How right to be near Alis
once more.
Alis
There are even more men
guarding our borders now.
Will I ever
leave the settlement
again?
Alis
I awake at the first hint of morning,
slip my feet into my shoes,
am careful the door closes
softly behind me.
If there is a way
out of the village,
I will find it.
Already I have planned
what I’ll say if I’m found missing.
The sunrise beckoned.
I watched it from the armory.
How easily
the lie comes to me.
The wall runs unbroken
around the settlement.
There are two guards
at each post,
eyes everywhere.
I pass from station to station,
study the men within,
and finally there’s
Hooked-Nosed Mr. Cooper curled upon the floor,
his arm pillowing his head
and Old Lump-and-Bump’s bulging frame
balanced on a stool,
his lips quivering as he snores.
I scale the wall,
jump over downed branches,
leap beyond gnarled roots.
I do not turn back,
do not stop
until I am in the place
where Kimi meets me.
I’ve never seen her
in the early hours,
but here I sit,
imagine Kimi near.
In my mind,
there are no barriers.
My words and hers
make perfect sense between us.
I ask about
her family,
tell her
what a wonder
this island is to me.
I speak of Uncle,
young enough to be a brother,
the person dearest to me,
that trusting he loved this beauty
helps ease his absence;
believing her world
is one he embraced
keeps him close to me.
My heart is satisfied
with the conversation we’ve shared,
even if it’s only been pretend.
With my finger,
I write in the dirt—
a skill Mother and Father
never understood my wanting—
yet I am grateful
Uncle taught me this.
A-l-i-s
K-i-m-i
A steady rain begins,
washes my words away.
Something moves
behind the red-barked trees.
I leap to my feet.
An Indian,
his arrow!
He means to kill me!
So fast,
so fast
I run,
my breath
comes
raw
and
jagged.
Alis
All morning
I think of him,
his arm pulled back to let the arrow fly,
the feathers woven in his hair.
Indians are out there,
waiting to strike,
yet I only know of this
because I left the settlement.
I can say nothing
without condemning myself.
Since Mr. Florrie warned us
of the Croatoan on the shore,
I’ve kept Ambrose and Tommy inside for days.
A bit of sun would do them good.
I lead them to the empty square,
far from the walls.
Surely here we’re safe.
They gather shells,
laugh to watch
them thud or skip
across the ground.
George marches to us,
a musket at his shoulder,
a knife tucked in his breeches.
He sits back on his heels
so he is level with the boys.
“When you’re old enough
I’ll teach you
to aim those at the Indians,
shoot them with a musket,
bash in their brains.”
“Don’t say such things!”
I press the boys against my skirts,
covering their ears.
George smirks,
his broken tooth catching his lip.
“Do you think the Croatoan
truly have forgiven us,
that the Roanoke don’t know
we meant them harm?
Surely both hide in shadow
just outside the village boundaries.”
My heart turns over painfully.
The man I saw this morning.
It is just as George has said.
How long will we be safe?
Days ago,
this boy wept openly.
Now he seeks a chance to strike.
I hope my words will reach the empty part of him.
“You must miss your father terribly.”
For a flash he is unguarded,
then a steeliness comes over him.
“Don’t speak of him again,” he says.
KIMI
Tonight,
after our meal,
the drums begin,
the men approach,
gourd rattles in their hands.
“I saw a girl,”
Chogan says.
“Notched an arrow to frighten her.
She fled like a rabbit.”
Cold grips me.
The men hold their rattles high.
Drums pound in unison,
>
lead the dancing men.
We are here,
their movements say,
have been since the earth’s beginning.
It is you Englishmen
who don’t belong.
Alis
Mother and Mrs. Archard have finished their work early.
The afternoon is mine to do with as I please.
“Why you choose
the heat outside
is senseless,” Mother says.
She doesn’t long to see everything about us,
explore all that is unknown.
But she understands this need in me.
She lets me go.
I am grateful
for what I’ve been offered.
Mother says I’m free to wander
if I stay near.
I stroll about the village.
I lift my eyes to each station
as I walk beside the earthen wall,
running my hand along its sturdy side.
My fingers find
part of the structure has melted
in last night’s rain.
The Indian,
his arrow,
they make me hesitate.
But the pull to go to Kimi,
even stronger.
This will be my way out.
Behind me
is a guardhouse.
Before me,
a group of men pass
with boards over their shoulders,
saws in hand.
So as not to draw attention,
I walk farther on,
and once no one is about,
I hurry back,
pray the guards are focused elsewhere,
and plunge my hands
into the wall’s damp softness
until I’ve widened
the space.
I escape.
Alis
“Good day,” I say, when I see her.
Kimi clutches my hand,
touches my forehead,
my heart, with our fingers intertwined.
She slips my shoes upon her feet,
stumbles in them
like one new to walking.
I unwind my plait,
motion to her
to fashion my hair like hers.
Here
I can forget
all else,
I can pretend
this moment
is how things always are.
KIMI
Alis spins about,
arms spread wide,
so like Alawa.
All I shared with my sister,
what I’ve pushed away so long
stirs to life within me,
like an evening breeze,
a bee in search of nectar,
a gushing stream.
I join her dance,
the world a blur of colors,
like the leaves that float at harvest,
the memory of a dream.
Together,
we spin,
fall to the earth in laughter,
leaves clinging to our hair.
KIMI
Her question I do not follow,
but when she lifts her hand,
one finger raised,
I see the bird.
It flies from branch to branch,
as blue as the morning.
“Iacháwanes,” I say.
Her lips move.
“Ia-chá . . .”
She wants the word
to be her own.
“Iacháwanes.”
“Ia-chá-wa . . . ,” she tries again.
“. . . nes,” I finish for her.
“Ia-chá-wa-nes.”
The little bird bobs,
makes music in his throat.
I remember the two that flew above
the first time we met.
And then it comes to me.
Her wooden bird,
the roughness underneath his beak,
perhaps it is the copper feathers
iacháwanes wears.
I cup my hand,
stroke imaginary wings.
She doesn’t follow.
I hook my thumbs together,
make my fingers fly.
Slowly Alis smiles,
pulls the wooden bird from her coverings,
holds it high enough the creatures
seem as though they perch together.
“Iacháwanes.
Uncle Samuel’s bird,” she says.
Tears brighten her eyes,
but it’s as if she’s come alive.
Is this why her bird called me,
wouldn’t let me leave it hidden?
For her joy to be restored,
so I’d awake to happiness.
KIMI
There’s so much risk in our meeting.
I think of Chogan,
his arrow drawn.
“Be careful, Alis,” I say,
my hand upon her wrist.
She gazes at me curiously,
tucks the bird inside her coverings.
Is her montoac enough to keep her safe?
Alis
Uncle’s gift to me,
I have received it threefold,
the first in his giving,
the second time from Kimi’s hand,
now today in learning its true name.
I bid her farewell,
skip back toward the village,
reflecting on this perfect day.
I do not see the man
until he stands beside me.
In one sharp instant
yesterday
and the arrow
leap to memory.
Though his hair falls past his shoulders,
he wears a crimson doublet.
“Miss Harvie.”
Now I can breathe.
It is only Manteo.
I reach for the leaves
that surely stick to my hair,
realize it is bound like Kimi’s.
“It is dangerous for you to be here on your own.”
I tug my hair loose,
plait it hastily,
secure it with my ribbon.
He steps aside to let me pass,
but as he does he whispers:
“Iacháwanes.”
The skin tingles on my arms.
I do not hesitate in rushing home.
Alis
My pace has slowed,
but my heart still races.
Manteo knows I was with Kimi.
Will he tell what he has seen?
Near the shed,
Father stands with George,
whom he now trains.
“We must stay safe,” Father’s saying,
“leave before the spring.”
I cannot pass unnoticed.
“What are you doing?” Father asks.
“Fetching water,” I say,
hoping the words sound true.
“Where is your bucket?
And why are you so filthy?”
Digging at the wall
has left my hands
smeared with mud.
George studies me knowingly.
“Truly, Alis,
where is your sense?”
I have no answer,
just hasten my steps,
for I must wash,
refresh our pail
before Father arrives home.
Alis
> All morning,
all afternoon,
the women bustle about
to make Mrs. Dare comfortable.
I wait near the doorway so as not to be a nuisance.
They bump me,
step around
Tommy and Ambrose playing at my feet,
until Mrs. Archard tells me sharply
to take the children from the cottage.
I skip from the doorway,
the boys’ hands in mine.
Mrs. Dare’s child
means my duties with these little ones
will end after today.
A baby sleeps,
cries for milk,
retires to the cradle.
My work won’t be so taxing.
Perhaps, there will be time
to go to Kimi.
But I think
of George’s certainty
the Indians wait to strike,
how Father talks
of leaving before spring.
KIMI
Since our return
the men
have danced each
evening,
have crafted arrows
at the fireside,
told stories
of victories past.
In this way
they prepare
for attack.
Wanchese says
the English are cruel,
hasty, undisciplined,
slaughtering all before them,
while we
wait for the perfect moment.
We fight
with precision.
I fear for what
this means
for Alis.
We
were able to go
to our mainland village.
But there is nowhere
she
can run.
Alis
Mother’s scream rips me from my sleep.
“Fetch Mrs. Archard,” Father says,
before he even lights a candle.
I fly to the Archard home,
bang at the door.
A slit of light grows as it opens.
“The baby!” I shout.
So long I’ve waited,
it is impossible to believe
today I’ll truly be a sister.
Behind me,
Mrs. Archard marches,
pushes past me at our threshold,
snatches the candle from Father’s hand.
Mother leans against her pillows,
tells me to leave with Father.
Through the darkness,
birds trill their morning songs,
Blue Birds Page 8
