by Kim Murphy
She blinked. “Lee?” She hugged him and gave him a kiss on the lips. “I was worried when you didn’t call.”
“I meant to, but the situation prevented it. This case should be wrapped up in another week or two.” He handed her Heather and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.
“It looks like you got e’en less sleep than I.”
“Zero, and my last dose of caffeine is wearing off.”
Glad that he was safely home, she hugged him once more. “I’ll nurse Heather, then fix you breakfast.”
A lass’s shout came from Heather’s room.
“I think I woke up the entire house,” Lee said, pointing in that direction. “I’ll get Tiffany.”
Phoebe made herself comfortable on the sofa and began nursing Heather. When Lee carried Tiffany from Heather’s room, Phoebe forced a smile. Tiffany was being raised without her father, and Phoebe viewed Lee as a good influence for the lass. She only hoped that after the previous eve, such times would continue.
When Meg plodded out from the guest room, Phoebe held her breath. Her friend came face-to-face with Lee and stared at him. “I need to speak with you.”
“Okay.” He put Tiffany down. “If it’s about me being gone so much lately—”
“It’s not.” Meg glanced over her shoulder at Phoebe, then back again.
“She knows,” Phoebe said.
Confusion spread across his countenance. “Knows what?”
“That you went through the mist afore me.”
Lee looked in Meg’s direction again. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”
“I don’t believe any of this! First Phoebe, now you. How can you possibly stand there and tell me that you’re Paspa...?” She stumbled over the word.
“Pa-spa-hay,” he finished for her. “My tribe was annihilated in the seventeenth century.” He grasped Meg’s arm and led her over to the sofa. Meg sank into the nearby chair and drew Tiffany into her arms. Rubbing his eyes, Lee sat aside Phoebe. “I didn’t want to believe either, but I have the memories. I’ll spare you the gory details for Tiffany’s sake, but I never knew my biological parents because of the English. I recall the day my mother died.”
“Meg,” Phoebe interjected. “Allow me to show you the dreaming. I can prove to you that we speak the truth.”
Meg’s lower lip quivered. “The dreaming? I remember you mentioning it at Colwell House, but I thought that was only part of the fantasy.”
“I didn’t believe either,” Lee said, “until Phoebe showed me the dreaming. And there’s the fact that she speaks fluent Virginia Algonquian, a language that has been dead for nearly two hundred years.”
“I’ve heard you speak it,” Meg said with a quick glance at Phoebe, “but I didn’t realize...”
“I have an old professor who can verify she speaks Virginia Algonquian.”
“All right, I’ll let you show me the dreaming—after breakfast.” With a trembling hand, Meg grasped Tiffany’s arm and guided her to the kitchen.
Lee gave Phoebe a kiss. “I don’t know whether it was wise, but maybe it’s for the best that she learns the truth,” he said.
“ ’Tis good to have another ally. You shall see.”
He smiled, touching Heather’s cheek while she nursed. “I missed the two of you.”
“And I you.”
He stood. “Heather was crying when I walked in the door. I need to lock my Glock away.” After another kiss, he vanished into the bedroom.
When Phoebe finished nursing she went into the kitchen. Tiffany and Meg sat at the table, eating Raisin Bran. “Has Lee not returned?” she asked.
“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him,” Meg answered, without looking at her.
Puzzled, Phoebe went into the bedroom where Lee sprawled on top of the bed—fast asleep. He had removed his suit jacket and shirt but left on his trousers. Deciding not to wake him for breakfast, she pulled a blanket over him.
Upon her return to the kitchen, Phoebe convinced Meg to stay ’til later in the day whilst the lasses napped. Throughout the morn they had some tense and awkward moments, and in the afternoon when the lasses were asleep and the house was finally quiet, Phoebe collected the candle to show Meg the dreaming.
“Listen, Phoebe, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
“ ’Tis normal to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid. It’s just... just—”
“If you would feel better, I can call Lee to join us.”
Meg swallowed noticeably. “No, don’t wake him. He’s had a late night and needs his sleep.”
“Good. Then let us proceed.” As a cunning woman, Phoebe wondered if Heather would eventually play a similar role. For the present, she knew she must concentrate on Meg. There were no hidden secrets during the dreaming. If they continued, Meg would come to know the seventeenth century like she had lived during that time. Some people found the experience too intimate. She drew the drapes and darkened the room, afore setting the candle on the table and lighting the wick. She motioned for Meg to sit across from her.
Her friend sat. “Now what?”
Phoebe grasped Meg’s hands and felt them tremble. “We seek my guardian spirit. He’s a sleek white hound—a greyhound. He will guide us to the spirit world. Once there, you will find the proof you need to know that I speak the truth. Absorb the flame.”
“How do I do that?”
“Look into it. Think of its heat. Let it become part of you.” Phoebe had led others on similar journeys. ’Twas best to let them experience the first journey at their own pace.
Though her hands continued to tremble, Meg stared into the flame.
“Absorb the flame. Do you feel its heat?”
Meg gave a weak nod.
“Soon you will be engulfed by mist.”
“I see it. Phoebe! I’m lost.”
“Don’t be frightened. I’m here.” Phoebe tightened her grip on Meg’s hand. “The hound will be nearby to guide the way.” Walking through the mist with the hound leading the way, Phoebe kept a grip on Meg’s hand. Her friend’s shaking gradually subsided, and when they came out on the other side, Phoebe’s mother stood afore her. “Momma?”
“Phoebe...” Momma opened her arms wide to embrace Phoebe.
“Momma...” Tears filled Phoebe’s eyes. The last time she had seen her mother was afore the smallpox had taken her, along with many others. Her gray hair was blonde again and hung in a single braid down her back. She wore a deerskin skirt and shell-bead necklace. Dogwood-blossom tattoos encircled her upper arms. She looked like she had when they lived with the Paspahegh.
“How have you been, Phoebe? And your friend?”
“This is Meg, Momma. She was born in Virginia, not Africa. Like Lee, she hails from the twenty-first century.”
Meg held out a hand. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, Mrs....”
Momma stared at Meg’s hand with uncertainty. “I do not follow English customs. My husband is Silver Eagle.”
Meg lowered her hand to her side. “Didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No offense taken. Any friend of my daughter’s is a friend of mine. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you.” Momma glanced in Phoebe’s direction. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Lee and I have married. We have a daughter. We call her Heather.”
Momma smiled with pride. “I should like to meet my granddaughter. Did you honor her with an Algonquian name?”
“Snow Bird.” Sadness crossed Momma’s countenance, for Snow Bird had been her best friend. Together she and Momma had taught Phoebe the ways of wisakon. “Momma, Lee is Crow in the Woods.”
Momma mouthed the name as if remembering that long-ago time, but she showed no surprise that Lee had gone through the mist afore her. “Does he recall what happened?”
“Aye. He saw his momma murdered.”
“A child so young.” Fog suddenly surrounded them. “We do not have much time. Lee must seek the past, and you must seek your kinsmen. Your friend
here shall become a part of it.”
Afore Phoebe could question further, the mist engulfed her mother. “Momma?” She blinked and Momma vanished. Once again, she was in the living room, and a wide-eyed Meg sat across from her, blinking, trying to make sense of what she had witnessed.
“Phoebe,” came a man’s voice from behind her.
She turned to Lee. His eyes were once again clear and he appeared refreshed. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said.
“You’re not intruding. I saw Momma.” As she told him what had happened, Meg joined them.
Meg shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
“It takes a while,” Lee admitted. “Even now I sometimes question, but I think I’m beginning to understand.”
“Understand what? It was like some weird trip.”
Phoebe smiled and gripped Lee’s hand. In time Meg would comprehend. Momma’s words had assured her of it. To include her friend had been the right course. “We shall find the answers together—all of us.”
* * *
5
Lee
Exhausted after a sixty-hour week, I joined Phoebe outside Shae and Russ’s split-level house. A decade before, it had been Shae’s and my home. I was surprised that she hadn’t moved when she had married Russ, but it had been her suburban dream house. I doubted she was plagued by memories that I had ever lived there. After all, my work schedule hadn’t changed. I had seen as little of her then as I saw of Phoebe and Heather now.
So why had I allowed Phoebe to talk me into going out for a party when I would have preferred to spend the time with her and my daughter? Distraction was the only reason I could come up with. When I was home, I would hear the voices.
Phoebe rang the doorbell and Shae answered with a broad smile. “Phoebe, Lee. I’m so glad you could come.” She waved the way inside.
As we stepped in, I handed Shae the bottle of wine I had brought. She thanked me but shot me a concerned look that I knew all too well. We couldn’t kid ourselves. Even though we hadn’t been together as a couple in years, we shared a long history.
Shae looked at Phoebe and asked, “How’s Heather?”
“She’s fine. Meg is watching her this eve.”
“Good. Let me get you some drinks.”
Classical music played in the background. Shae had avoided the seventeenth-century music she usually played when Phoebe was a guest to make her feel more at home. Relieved, I glanced around the room and recognized a few of my former neighbors. One woman waved with a smile.
But there was something missing. Anytime I attended a party where I was the only cop present, someone always pulled another person aside and shouted, “They’ve come to get you!” Or raised their hands, screaming, “I didn’t do it!”
“What’s the matter, Lee?” Shae handed Phoebe a glass of water and me, a beer.
“Where are the cop jokes?”
“I warned everyone ahead of time. I don’t think you’ll hear any.”
“Thanks, Shae. I owe you one.”
“What’s new? But who’s counting?” She gave us a warm smile before running off to tend to other guests.
“Well, should we make our way over to the food table?” I asked. “I’m sure Russ has cooked up some delicacies.”
Like Shae, Russ was a psychologist, but he was a gourmet cook too. Phoebe helped herself to a slice of strawberry cheesecake and began to mingle with the other guests. Even though she came from a different time period, she always found something in common to talk about. These days the conversations generally centered on kids.
I, on the other hand, found such gatherings uncomfortable. Not many sane individuals wanted to discuss dismembered bodies or what it was really like to face the wrong end of a gun barrel. Such topics made most people downright nervous. But if I decided to talk about CSI or Law & Order as if they were reality, everyone would be all ears. Instead, I kept close to Phoebe and quietly sipped my beer.
“You say you’re from England?” a dark-haired woman with thick glasses asked Phoebe.
“Aye. I hail from Dorset.”
The woman seemed intrigued. “I would have guessed Scotland from your accent. My ancestors were from the London area. They arrived here during the seventeenth century.”
Phoebe exchanged an amused glance with me. I shook my head, letting her know that I didn’t think discussing the seventeenth century from personal experience would be a wise move.
“And your husband?” the woman continued. “Where is he from?”
I pointed to myself. “What do you mean? I’m from Virginia, and my family was here long before yours.”
A look of genuine disbelief spread across her face. “I’m quite certain Hispanics didn’t arrive in Virginia until after the seventeenth century.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Phoebe poked me in the ribs with her elbow, reminding me that it was my turn to be polite. “I’m not Hispanic,” I replied with as much grace as I could muster.
“You’re not?”
Actually, it was a common mistake, but her haughty tone rubbed me the wrong way. “I’m Indian.”
She raised an eyebrow. “A real one?”
“No, a fake one.” Phoebe poked me once more, but I continued, “For the record, I don’t live in a tepee, nor do I scalp people for a living. I do have a few feathers around the house and some buckskin moccasins. That last word is Algonquian. One of the native languages in this portion of Virginia, or Tsenacommacah as my family called it in the seventeenth century.”
The woman’s mouth formed an O. “It seems I was in error. I thought all of the Indians in Virginia were gone.”
My mother’s death scream echoed in my head. “Gone? They didn’t simply vanish. They were forced from their homes or killed. Thankfully, a few survived to tell the story.”
“You don’t need to get huffy. I wasn’t there.” She did an about-face and moved to another group of people.
Even minus the cop jokes, I was an outcast. I glanced over at Phoebe. She understood my feeling all too well.
“Lee!” Russ strode over and shook my hand. He said hello to Phoebe, then continued, “I should have warned you that Margery’s very proud of her family history, but I didn’t think it would come up.”
I shrugged. “I get that sort of thing frequently. At least you didn’t have a costume party, or I might have been surrounded by fake Indians, who for some peculiar reason seem to think they’re honoring my heritage.”
“Shae’s told me about some of the misconceptions. I have no doubt most of it is due to ignorance.”
Russ had never been the sort to make small talk with me in the past, and I wondered what he was leading up to. “Agreed, which is why I’ll continue to reeducate them when their stereotypical ideas are directed at me.”
“As you should.” Russ smiled slightly, then drew me aside. “Phoebe, do you mind if I borrow your husband for a few minutes?”
She arched a brow. “Borrow him?”
“Never mind,” Russ said. “I’d like to speak with Lee in private, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
Phoebe headed off to converse with some of the women while Russ led me to the den. He closed the door behind us.
“It’s more serious than I thought,” I said.
He ran his hand through his beard. “Lee, I’m fully aware that you can read people. I’m sure that’s an excellent quality in your line of work, and I appreciate the fact that you’re more patient with me than with my neighbor.”
“I only tend to react when people piss me off. Besides, I’m sure the ability to ‘read people’ is useful to psychologists, too.”
“Agreed,” Russ replied. “I’ll get right to the point. Shae’s worried.”
I was uncertain whether to feel betrayed, but I should have guessed that Shae would eventually confide in Russ. “How much do you know?”
“I believe—everything.”
Preparing for the worst, I sipped my beer. “Everything?”
“She was having difficulty separating her personal and professional life. I’ve known about Phoebe for quite some time. When the two of you got married, I thought it was a little odd. You seemed so very different, but now it makes perfect sense.”
“Not many couples can say they’ve known each other for four hundred years.”
“Although some say it feels like it’s been that long.”
We shared a laugh. “You said you’d get right to the point,” I reminded him.
“Shae thinks that between the stress of your job, a family, and the memories of your past, you’ll do something foolish.”
Either Russ didn’t know quite as much about me as he thought or he was trying to psychoanalyze me. I gulped my beer. “Like what? It’s a well-known fact that cops and Indians drink too much. I must be doubly damned.”
“And I must have just pissed you off. I’m only trying to help.”
I gave him credit. He could read me as much as I could him. I mumbled an apology and asked, “What does Shae think I’ll do?”
“She’s worried that you’ll get distracted at the wrong moment and be injured—or worse.”
“I appreciate her concern. Let her know that I’ll do my utmost to be careful. And Russ—I’m glad she has someone like you that she can confide in.”
He gave me a long look and finally said, “Thank you, Lee.”
Before I could respond, the sound of glass shattering came from the other room. Russ and I exchanged glances before we followed the commotion. The woman with the thick glasses had dropped a plate. She sat in a chair insisting that she was all right, but her speech was slurred.
A twenty-something blonde giggled. “Someone must have spiked the punch.”
My gut warned me that Margery’s problem wasn’t alcohol related. Something was very wrong. I moved closer.
Shae brought a glass of water. “Here, Margery. Drink this.”
