SelfSame

by Conway, Melissa

  In the warm bus, she sat very close to him, leaning against his shoulder. He held her hand between both of his in his lap.

  “Will you get in trouble for telling me?”

  His mouth twisted in a rueful grimace. “Maybe it’s supposed to happen this way.”

  “A paradox wrapped in a conundrum.”

  “With a bow on top.”

  She laughed a little, but mostly for his benefit.

  The bus dropped them on the sidewalk directly across from their destination, Green Plains Community College. He chained his bike to a rack and led her to a wing that looked newer than the main building. The plaque over the glass doors read, “WPS Native American Studies.”

  Sorcha stopped and squinted at the words. “Oh, I get it now. Webster Protection Society.”

  Ben said, “Mystery solved.”

  “Luanne mentioned your uncle Harry donated all the items from the old Indian Artifacts Museum to her school, but…an entire wing? If he could afford that, why is he homeless now?”

  Ben opened the door for her and she entered the warm lobby. “Because he didn’t pay for the wing, the Society did. Uncle Harry ran the museum for all those years looking for you.”

  He took her hand and led her down a wide hallway hung with Native American-themed paintings. At the end was a large room lit with skylights and filled with display cases. There were no other people present, just a mannequin of an Indian brave sitting on a large stuffed horse. The horse was decked out in a woven blanket and braided tack and stood on a raised dais at the very center of the room.

  Despite her mood, she laughed. “Look! There’s the horse that tried to kill me.”

  Ben gave her a funny look and she said, “I’ll tell you all about it someday.”

  He held her gaze. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  She smiled and glanced around at the artifacts on display. “So how did Uncle Harry expect to find me?”

  “He looked at every little girl that came through on field trips. We didn’t know you and Enid were nothing alike. He was looking for her.” He pointed.

  On the wall, in a glass-fronted frame, hung a small portrait of Enid. Sorcha walked over and stood looking up at it in wonder. It was a charcoal sketch done on paper, and appeared to be very fragile.

  “Joseph did this, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah.”

  She studied the confident strokes and subtle shading for a moment before saying, “It looks like her. He was talented. I had no idea.”

  “Um…there’s one more thing I wanted you to see, but it’s locked up. I was thinking, maybe if we called Loony and told her we were here, she could get out of class and come show it to you.”

  “She’s going to be pissed, though, right? Except, it was John who made me realize…”

  Ben took out his cell phone and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, definitely, she’s gonna rip me a new one, but I don’t care about that anymore.”

  After he called his sister, it took her about three minutes to storm into the room.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” Luanne’s voice was just short of a shout.

  “It’s not his fault,” Sorcha said. “Blame John.”

  Luanne looked very much as if her head was about to explode. “I. Will. Kill. Him.”

  “And I’ll load the gun for you,” Ben said. “But first, can Sorcha see Joseph’s will?”

  “What?” Luanne’s voice was in the range that only dogs could hear.

  “Chill, okay?” Ben snapped. “She knows. Just about everything. We owe it to her to be honest now.”

  Luanne’s head went back and she blinked a few times. She took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “Fine. I guess it’s too late now.”

  She spun on her heel and stalked back down the hallway. A few minutes later, she reappeared with a leather binder. She set it on one of the display cases and opened it. “Be careful.”

  Sorcha looked down at the first page, which was encased in protective clear plastic. It was hand-written in ink in formal eighteenth century style.

  “I, Joseph M. Webster, do make and declare this instrument, written in my own Hand, to be my sole Will and Testament.

  “To my Wife, Spotted Fawn…”

  Sorcha closed her eyes against the burn of sudden tears. So Joseph married Enid’s half-sister. Sorcha glanced over at Ben. Technically, he was distantly related to Enid.

  “Keep reading,” Ben urged.

  Sorcha began again.

  “To my Wife, Spotted Fawn, I bequeath the use and benefit of my estate in its entirety, all household furniture and linens, for the term of her natural life. Upon her decease, the estate shall pass to my remaining child, my heir and Beloved Son, Benjamin.

  “To Benjamin, I leave written testament of that which must be Documented for Posterity.

  “In my youth, I was victimized most grievously by a band of Mohawk warriors, wherein I suffered the loss of my tongue. This injury was inflicted with the intention of Silencing me forever in regards to what follows. My good Wife had a sister whose name was Enid, and I was acquainted with this sister before my Wife was full grown. Enid was known by the Haudenosaunee people to be a Witch with two souls, and I cannot argue the fact for my own Uncle, Bear Talker, a Respected Medicine Man, attended her birth and Proclaimed it. One half of her soul resided in Enid; another in a future Self. Her knowledge of the Future was passed on to me in no small part on the date of her death, and in order to fulfill the prophecies Enid laid before me, it is henceforth my Destiny to ensure her words pass to my Progeny. With no desire to cause hurt to my Wife after her many years of devoted Marriage, I must declare I held Enid in Highest Regard and Respect, for she was my first Love. If not for the ultimate sacrifice of her Life, I would have been killed at the behest of the elders of Haudenosaunee village which later adopted me. Although she bade me accept this sacrifice because it was Preordained, I bear great Shame for her Death, which she gave to me in ignorance of whether her future soul would Live on. Therefore all who follow me should Heed, in perpetuity and most dedicatedly, my assertions herefore.

  “These are the Words of Enid, to the best of my recollection, on that Fateful day. It was Enid’s Declaration that her future Self would fall in love with a Benjamin Webster…”

  Again, Sorcha looked up at Ben, who had moved to stand very close by her side.

  “I haven’t quite decided how I feel about you, you know,” she said.

  “Well, apparently you figured it out before you told Joseph.”

  “Or maybe Enid lied to get him to accept what was coming.”

  Ben looked down and frowned. “Maybe.”

  Sorcha began reading again.

  “…and so I decree that all males descending from me must henceforth bear that name.

  “Enid spoke of Bear Talker and Pronounced that his Name and the location of his longhouse shall reveal her to this Benjamin, although the structure in question has long since been demolished.

  “Enid gave Warning that someone will attempt to Interfere with my Descendants, who have vowed to protect her. Let it Be Known that if her future self does not pass this very information on to me, I will die in her stead and all my future get will never exist. This is the Crux of my declaration and the Reason all should Heed it.

  “In proof of such Otherworldly claims, in her Own hand Enid counseled me on the outcome of events that have yet to happen. Not long after Enid left this world, her words led to my current success in a time when these United States have yet to recognize the Advantages and Validity of my Citizenship. This shall not always be the state of things, as Enid’s future self lives in a Society where all are considered Equal and have Equal opportunities.”

  Sorcha turned the page and there before her was a sheet of paper with hand-written instructions. She recognized Enid’s lettering immediately. The words were quite smudged, barely legible even, since the document had been composed on paper with charcoal. She looked up at the portrait on the wall. It was the sam
e kind of paper.

  She closed the book and said, “I don’t think I should read that.”

  “I agree,” Luanne said. “The paradox is getting a little too convoluted as it is.”

  Sorcha turned to Ben, who slipped his arms around her.

  “Take me home,” she said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Enid

  Bluebird’s irritated face came into focus when Enid opened her eyes.

  “I thought you would never wake,” she said. “The clan will think you lazy.”

  Enid rolled her head on her sleeping fur and stared past her mother into the gloom of the longhouse. As the revelations laid before Sorcha flooded her memory, tears of sorrow and fright formed and fell.

  “Why do you weep?” Bluebird scolded. “You have been given a great honor. Dry your eyes and make haste. James Butler will not tolerate being kept waiting.”

  With little inflection in her voice, Enid asked, “Do you love me, Mother?”

  “What? Why do you ask such things? Are my sacrifices for you not proof enough of my love?”

  Enid sniffed and tried to stuff her feelings down where they would not interfere with the things she must accomplish today. “Yes, if you say so.”

  “I do say so. Now get up.”

  As Enid dressed, she thought about Paula and Ben, her parents and Grammy Fay. Her heart ached.

  Ben had brought her home and by unspoken agreement, he came inside the house and stayed with her. They spent the afternoon on the Internet, again researching the Haudenosaunee people. Sorcha introduced him to her parents, who invited him to dinner. It was a nice evening. Sorcha cherished every little thing her mom and dad said, fighting with all her might to keep her uncertainty from showing. Grammy Fay picked up on it, but Sorcha managed to deflect her questions.

  Ben left after dinner, but as soon as Sorcha went into her bedroom for the night, he climbed up the trellis and tapped on her window. She let him in, grateful for his presence. He took off his shoes and jacket and climbed under the covers with her, announcing his plan to hold her all night.

  “What if I die when Enid dies?” she asked him. “You can’t be here. They’ll think you had something to do with it.”

  “And it’d be true – but you won’t die.” His arms tightened around her. “Whatever this is, it isn’t a big cosmic joke. It can’t be. Your existence taught me to believe that things happen for a reason. I think love is a pretty good reason, don’t you?”

  She tilted her head back and looked at him. “Joseph loves Enid, but that won’t save her.”

  The last thing Sorcha remembered was Ben gently stroking her hair.

  Enid followed her mother out into the chill of the morning, wishing she had time to savor the beauty of the sky and the river, but Bluebird hurried her along. When they went past the bathing spot, Enid thought she saw someone’s face among the reeds on the far side of the water. Had Joseph found another place to hide? She hoped not. She hoped that wasn’t why he was about to get caught.

  At the medicine man’s wigwam, Bluebird surprised her by declaring her intention to chaperone. “It is unseemly for a young woman to be left alone with a man.”

  James Butler seemed unfazed by the pronouncement. “As you wish,” was all he said.

  Enid knew James Butler was defying convention to bring a female on as an apprentice, but he had already demonstrated that he had an open, ‘Europeanized’ mind. Enid had no idea what to expect the apprenticeship itself to entail. Sorcha’s research the afternoon before had delved into the spirituality and superstitions of the tribe. There was plenty of general information out there, but the specifics of what went on behind the walls of the medicine man’s dwelling were considered sacrosanct and she’d been unable to find anything on the net. Even in the twenty-first century, Native American people on the whole were reluctant to let outsiders in on their secrets. Sorcha understood, but it frustrated her nonetheless.

  As it turned out, James Butler had no plans to reveal anything of importance to Enid – nor did he attempt to grill her for information on the future. Instead, he took advantage of Bluebird’s presence and set her to the task of teaching Enid how to weave hemp into rope. They sat cross-legged by the central fire while James Butler read a book by the light of his oil lamp.

  The task was mind-numbingly boring, and left Enid longing for a chore that would distract her from her constant thoughts of what was to come.

  James Butler was soon called away to attend to an elder who had been struck down by illness. Once they were alone in the wigwam, Bluebird chatted about this and that, finally working her way around to a subject that was clearly important to her. “I know he is not handsome, but you would do well to consider him.”

  Enid twisted the rough hemp between her fingers and replied matter-of-factly, “I will not live long enough for marriage.”

  Bluebird’s brows came together in a frown. “Why do you speak of such things?”

  “Because I know it to be true.”

  Her mother stared at her. “Can your fate be changed?”

  “I wouldn’t want it to.”

  “Why not?” Bluebird was becoming agitated. “If you have the knowledge, use it to your advantage!”

  “What if my death were to secure Spotted Fawn’s happiness? What then? What if my death is for the greater good? Who is to say the world would be better if I did not bow to my fate?”

  Bluebird scrambled to her feet. “I will not listen to more of this.”

  She stomped out of the wigwam. The moment the door flapped closed, Enid got up and went to James Butler’s English desk. She took two sheets of the paper there, folded and tucked them inside her tunic sleeve. She had a stick of charcoal in her hand when the medicine man’s voice rang out from the door.

  “What do you there?”

  Enid turned. Now was not the time to fumble for a plausible lie. Instead, she gestured to the lamp and said, “One day nearly every home in the world will be lit and warmed with electricity, which is lightning from the sky, harnessed.”

  James Butler was suitably distracted. He drew his thumb and forefinger down the sides of his chin and said, “Tell me, Witch, is the blue spark from rubbing a fur into my hair the same as lightning from the sky?”

  Enid nodded and almost laughed when James Butler said, “I knew it!”

  “Are you familiar with Benjamin Franklin and his work on the subject?”

  James Butler’s bulging fish eyes glowed with enthusiasm. “I am not.”

  “I believe he published his findings, which may be of interest to you. And now, sir, if you would be so kind as to excuse me? I need to…” she trailed off and gave him an apologetic look.

  “Yes, yes. Go.” He stepped aside and she gratefully went outside, holding the charcoal concealed in her hand. Bluebird was nowhere to be seen, and Enid wondered if her chaperonage had come to an end already.

  She hurried across the compound and out the palisade. A group of adolescent boys were horsing around at the latrine, shoving each other and laughing. Enid hurriedly ducked into the trees before they saw her. She tried to appear as if she were meandering along in case she was spotted, but she was desperate to see Joseph this one last time.

  When she reached his hideout, he grabbed her and pulled her under the hemlock branches, holding a finger to his lips. She froze and sat silently with him. If the raised voices of the boys were any indication, their play had escalated into some kind of confrontation. Despite the danger of being overheard, Enid felt the urgency of her mission and whispered, “I must tell you something very important.”

  The noises beyond the thicket were retreating. Joseph leaned forward and pulled a branch aside just enough to peer out. He watched for several heartbeats and then turned to her with a question in his eyes.

  She pulled the papers from her sleeve, gave him one of them and then snapped the piece of charcoal in half. “I will write a list for you to keep. You must‒” her voice broke as she thought of the portrait han
ging in the WPS wing of Luanne’s college. It was not an image created by a man who felt under pressure to produce it. She changed her approach. “Can you draw?”

  He smiled, and it changed his rough features into a face that was almost handsome. She caught her breath and fought the urge to throw herself into his arms. Whatever happened afterward, the list and portrait must come first.

  She began to write. Sorcha’s knowledge of history had gaps in it a mile wide, but she already knew it was enough to convince Joseph’s descendants that she was for real. She warned them about the world wars and the great depression. She jotted down the names of inventions that would change the course of history. Before she knew it, the page was full.

  Joseph had been applying charcoal to paper the whole time, occasionally reaching out and grasping her chin to turn her face for his inspection. He was fully immersed in his efforts when she began to talk.

  “Don’t stop drawing. Let me tell you about my future self.”

  And she did. The words burst forth like a geyser, all the things he needed to know – all except Sorcha’s name and the critical fact that Enid would die before the end of the day. That, she would not tell him. When she got to the part about Ben, he stopped drawing and looked at her with slightly narrowed eyes.

  “Are you jealous? That my future self loves another?” It was harder than she expected to see the hurt in his eyes, but he must believe.

  “Before you judge me, please know this: Benjamin is a Webster. He is the son of your son, and his son, and so on.”

  Joseph reached out and put his hand on her knee. He took her list and turned the page over. He wrote, “Are you the mother of my son?”

  If a heart were capable of breaking in two, Enid’s would have done so after reading those words. The tears she’d somehow managed to suppress broke through and spilled over. He took her face and shook his head, eyes conveying his dismay. He snatched the paper and wrote, “I am sorry.”