Wind Talker

by Kim Murphy

  “I don’t under... aye, and e’en if he was angry at me for some reason, he would ne’er leave Heather. He adores her.”

  “Thanks. I’m certain I would have heard something from Lee if there had been difficulties, but I had to ask. I’ll let you know when I have more information.”

  No closer to answers than she had been afore, Phoebe hung up the phone. How could she sleep? Lee was gone. For the first time since his disappearance, she truly realized that he might not return. Surrendering to her grief, she sank to the floor. She curled into a ball and sobbed.

  “Phoebe?” Meg knocked on the door. Her friend sat aside her and drew her into her arms.

  Phoebe cried on Meg’s shoulder. “What if I’m wrong? He could be dead.”

  Meg hushed her. “I don’t want to hear you talking like that. He’s not dead.”

  “But Meg, Lightning Storm died in battle. Two days passed afore we discovered what had happened. A runner brought the news.”

  Her friend dried Phoebe’s tears with a tissue. “Believe in yourself. You said you would know if he had died.”

  She squeezed Meg’s arm. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “Will you be all right now?”

  Phoebe nodded, and Meg stayed with her a few minutes longer, making certain that she was all right. Once more, Phoebe attempted to ready for bed. She changed into a thigh-length nightgown with thin shoulder straps and placed a hand to the bed where Lee normally slept. The spot was cold. She must do something—anything—to discover what had happened.

  Instead of climbing into the empty bed, Phoebe returned to the parlor and placed a candle on the coffee table. After lighting it, she sat cross-legged on the floor and concentrated on the flame. Soon the mist engulfed her.

  “Phoebe?”

  At the sound of Meg’s voice, she blinked.

  “What are you doing?”

  Phoebe focused on Meg’s concerned face. “I’m participating in the dreaming to reach Lee’s spirit.”

  “Then you think he’s...”

  Dead. Even though she hadn’t said the word, Phoebe heard it all the same. “Nay, you were right. I would know, but if I reach him, he can tell me what has happened. Meg, afore all this, he called to me.”

  Meg’s expression changed to puzzlement. “You know I want to believe you—”

  “Then share with me.”

  Phoebe held out her hand, and Meg grasped it. “The dreaming again?”

  “Aye.”

  Meg stared at the lizard tattoos upon Phoebe’s upper arms. Her gaze dropped to the snake tattoos upon her thighs.

  Though Phoebe wouldn’t have been embarrassed, she was glad the serpent tattoos coiling about her breasts were hidden from Meg’s view. “I got them when I became a woman,” she said.

  Meg sent her a nervous smile. “You’ll have to give me the name of your tattoo artist.”

  The faith she had placed in her friend had been well founded. As she reseated herself, Meg sat aside her. There was no time to waste. Lee counted on her to locate him.

  Phoebe stared into the flame, recalling the first time she had shared the dreaming with Lee. He had wanted proof that she hailed from the seventeenth century. She had memorized everything about his countenance, from his brown-skin tone to his prominent cheekbones. In the Algonquian tongue she was known as Walks Through Mist. Concentrating on the flame, she sought the other realm now. The white greyhound stood afore her, and she followed him through the mist. “Lee,” she called as she traveled.

  No response.

  She continued walking. The mist failed to clear. She walked ’til her feet ached, but Lee ne’er answered her hails. She blinked, and the room came into view. Suddenly chilled, she put on her robe.

  “What does it mean?” Meg asked.

  Discomfited by not connecting with Lee, Phoebe attempted to hide her true fear. Mayhap she had erred. “He has not found a way to speak to me.”

  Meg placed an arm over her shoulder. “Then we’ll try again later. He’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

  “Aye.” But her response was half-hearted. Lee, where are you?

  When the phone rang she rushed to answer, hoping Ed had something to report.

  “Phoebe?” came Shae’s voice. “I saw on the news that Lee is missing. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Shae had been instrumental in helping Phoebe cope when she had first arrived in the twenty-first century. “There’s naught we can do but wait. Meg is staying with me.” She went on to tell Shae as much as she knew. Afore she hung up, Shae reassured her to call if needed.

  Meg stifled a yawn.

  “Get some rest,” Phoebe said. “One of us needs to be awake when the lasses arise.”

  “I’m going to tell my boss that I need a couple of days off.”

  “Don’t be daft. I’ll manage.”

  Covering her mouth, Meg barely hid her gape. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Just promise me that you’ll wake me if you need or hear anything.”

  “I shall.” After Meg shuffled to the spare bedroom, Phoebe hesitated, not wishing to return to the room she had shared with Lee. Due to the long hours he had kept, she often went to bed alone. Finally, she moved forward. Tonight was like any other. He was simply late. As she entered the room, she looked around to see if anything was out of the ordinary. Had she missed any clues? She had heard his call. Had it been a cry for help?

  Exhausted, she went into the adjoining bathroom and readied herself for bed. As she did so, she envisioned Lee walking in circles. She returned to the bedroom and slipped betwixt the sheets. Other nights, Lee would have given her tender caresses, and they would have made love. Lee, how could you leave Heather and me like this?

  Burying her face in the pillow, she cried, pounding her fists against the mattress. When her energy was spent, she dried her tears. She must place faith in herself. For she would know if Lee were dead. He was alive, and she would find him.

  * * *

  Hours stretched to days. Ed reported the blood on Lee’s car had in fact belonged to the deer, and the animal had been mercifully dispatched by Lee’s gun. Beyond that, there were no leads or clues as to what had happened to him. Phoebe requested Ed to take her to the scene of the accident. He showed her the skid marks and the dried blood on the road. Then he went to the other side of the pavement to point where the search dogs had picked up Lee’s scent.

  “We’ve scoured the area,” he said. “There is no sign of him. The only thing I can guess is that he got into another vehicle. If it was voluntarily, we would have heard from him. Even if he had been injured and a good Samaritan had happened by, the hospitals would have reported his admission. No one fitting his description has turned up. I’m working on the angle that he had been forced into another car, but right now, I have no leads.”

  Aware that if a case wasn’t solved within the first twenty-four hours it often remained that way, Phoebe appreciated that Ed no longer pretended Lee would be found safe and sound. She scanned the forest. She had heard him call. But from where? “Tell me about the normal routine aft such an accident.”

  “Okay, as you know, deer can shoot out of nowhere in a second. For the sake of argument, let’s say Lee was uninjured. He still would have likely been shaken. When he recovered sufficiently, he would have gotten out and checked the damage, after which he would have seen the injured deer and put it out of its misery. Then he’d call in the accident. He did all of that, so we know he was coherent enough to follow procedure.”

  She listened to the rush of the James. Lee had been here. Why couldn’t she sense him? She followed a path through the trees ’til reaching the banks of the river. “Lee?”

  “Phoebe, the dogs scoured the area and never picked up his scent again.”

  “You’re right.” She retraced her steps along the path, and a crow settled in the tree and cawed. ’Twas the sign she had been looking for. The bird would lead her to Lee.

  * * *

  7

  Lee
>
  The mist cleared.

  As I emerged from the fog, the crow vanished. The sunshine was warm, but the air was a bit chilly. To my surprise, I found no one. I must have traveled some distance. How long had I been walking in circles? Even the road wasn’t in view. For some reason the cypress and poplar trees seemed taller and larger than usual.

  Lost in a forest. I fought the growing panic of my childhood fear and took out my cell phone. No signal.

  Keep calm. All I had to do was make my way back to the T-Bird and wait for help. But which way had I come? I was lost. I turned in every direction, wondering which way would lead me back to the car. Nothing looked familiar.

  Relieved that I had changed out of my suit before leaving Williamsburg, I would be able to navigate the distance to safety in relative comfort. I heard the sound of rushing water and moved toward it. As I passed through the trees, I felt Phoebe’s presence. “Phoebe?”

  The feeling vanished almost as quickly as it had come over me. I made my way to the bank. The expansive James River loomed before me. If I followed the river downstream, I’d eventually come to a house or road. The gentle roll of the land appeared familiar. I had seen the lay of it when I had participated in the dreaming with Phoebe.

  For some reason I shivered, but it wasn’t from the cool air. I continued walking until I came to a pitched-roof house made of red brick. A black woman in a long dress was bent over in the garden, weeding. She looked vaguely familiar. “Bess?”

  She straightened and turned toward me. Her skin was the color of ebony and her prominent cheekbones were decorated with tribal scars. “Mr. Lee?”

  I had hoped that I was wrong. She wasn’t just any black woman, but Phoebe’s servant, who had come from Africa. Not wanting to think about what Bess’s presence truly meant, I moved closer. “Bess, I don’t know how I got here.”

  She showed me the way inside to a hall with wooden floors. A table was on one side, with candles on top and a mirror above it. On the other side was a staircase with a wooden handrail leading to the second story. “Miss Elenor, we have a guest.”

  A woman appeared at the end of the hall. She stepped out of the shadows. She was brown-skinned and had black hair like her Arrohateck father. Only her blue eyes revealed her mixed heritage. She clutched a handkerchief, and her eyes were puffy. I now knew who had called to me in the night. Like her mother, Elenor was a cunning woman. Her summons had been meant for Phoebe, not me.

  “You called for help,” I finally said, breaking the silence.

  “I expected Momma.”

  Still not wanting to think about where I really was, I swallowed. “For some reason, I heard your call and was sent instead.”

  She placed the handkerchief to her face. Her sides heaved, but she uttered no sound.

  When someone was in need, I could count on my police experience to hold my own emotions in check. “Elenor, tell me what has happened.”

  She looked up. “Master Crowley.”

  “Please, call me Lee. After all, your mother is my wife.”

  She showed me the way into the parlor and motioned for me to have a seat in a wood chair with tasseled cushions. She sat across from me near a spinning wheel. “My husband, Christopher, and Poppa’s son, David, have not returned from England. I fear they have been lost at sea. Momma told me that if I e’er needed her, then I should contact her through the dreaming.”

  A simple cry in the night, and I had answered. But something else had happened. Normally the dreaming allowed those from different time periods to speak to each other in another realm. I didn’t quite understand it myself, but something was very different this time. Once before, as a two-year old, I had done more than participate in the dreaming. “What year is it?” I asked, fearing the answer.

  “1643.”

  1643? The date floated around in my head, and I clenched a fist. Hadn’t I been born somewhere around 1608? I was only a couple of years older than what I would have been had I never traveled to the twentieth century in the first place. This time was alien to me. I wondered how I would survive. The skeleton that had been unearthed a few months before popped into my mind. I hadn’t survived. I would die here.

  “Mr. Lee...” Bess handed me a leather mug.

  If I recalled correctly, Phoebe had called it a flagon. I took a sip. Spicy, yet sweet—an herbal tea mixture. The drink had a calming effect. “Thank you, Bess.”

  Bess sent me a comforting smile. “We’ll find a way to let Phoebe know that you’re here.”

  Phoebe. She had called me back, yet I had continued on. I blotted her image from my mind, or I would lose my semblance of composure. I turned my attention to Elenor. “I don’t know how I can help. I don’t know anything about sailing in the twenty-first century, let alone the seventeenth.”

  “You were sent here for a reason, Lee Crowley. Only time will reveal the answer to us.”

  She spoke as cryptically as her mother. Had I expected anything different? These people would help me. That much I knew. I took a deep breath. “For whatever reason, I’m here. I’ll do whatever I can to help you, but I do look a little out of place for 1643.”

  Both women eyed my short hair, T-shirt, and jeans. “Aye,” Elenor finally said. “And there will be no hiding the fact that you are Indian.”

  I had entered the dreaming often enough with Phoebe and studied sufficient history to realize that I had entered a more prejudiced time than the one I had left. Though Elenor was racially mixed, she lived a colonial life and had married an Englishman. While I suspected her life had been no more free from racism than mine, she seemed to blend in. Even with coaching, I doubted that I could ever pass as a convincing colonist. “What do I need to know?”

  For the first time since my arrival Elenor smiled. “I shall send a messenger for Charging Bear.”

  Phoebe’s brother. “Then what?”

  “Trust us. We shall show you how to fit into our time.”

  As a matter of fact, I did trust them—and I wasn’t the sort who trusted others easily. For better or worse, I was home.

  * * *

  Over the next few days, I stayed at the plantation and became acquainted with the rest of the family. Elenor had three children, two boys and a girl. They ranged in age from two to seven. Only the eldest, Christopher, showed any hint of his Native heritage. Nicolas was the youngest, and the girl, Elsa, reminded me of Phoebe with her blue-green eyes, reddish hair, and freckles. Seeing the kids, only made me think of Heather and how I was missing every precious moment in her life.

  Bess also had a teenage son, named James after her late husband. Although the women were unafraid of heavy, hard work, James performed the lion’s share. Then there was Henry, Phoebe’s second husband. He must have been in his early fifties, but with gray cast throughout his hair and wrinkles near his eyes and mouth, he looked closer to sixty.

  During the dreaming, I had witnessed sailing to Virginia through his eyes. In that long-ago lifetime, he had loved Phoebe and was instrumental in her escape after she had been tried as a witch. Without his aid, she would have never joined me in the twenty-first century. For his selfless act, I was forever indebted and doubted that I could ever repay him.

  In the evenings after the chores for the day had been completed, the family gathered in the parlor. Bess told tales from Africa, and Henry shared stories from his sailing days. Elenor refrained from saying anything about her husband and Henry’s son in a brave attempt to hide her fear from the children. When my turn came to speak, the kids were fascinated about my life in the twenty-first century.

  After the kids went to bed, Elenor guided me through the dreaming. Night after night I was unable to reach Phoebe. In silence, I cried my sorrow. To the others, I maintained an image of self-control—an appearance I had perfected over the years working as a cop. After all, was my predicament really any worse than Elenor’s?

  For some reason, I recalled my first dreaming experience when Phoebe sat across from me. While there were no noises to dis
tract me, I couldn’t concentrate any more than I had then.

  Absorb the flame.

  Unable to focus, I looked over at Elenor and shook my head.

  “Do not give up,” she said.

  “I won’t, but I’m not going to reach her tonight.”

  She smiled in a way that reminded me of Phoebe. Everything made me think of Phoebe. I longed to see her, touch her silky skin, and breathe in her sweet herbal scent.

  As if reading my mind, Elenor squeezed my hand. She reflected a similar anguish in her eyes.

  “How long has Christopher been gone?” I asked.

  “Nearly a year,” she replied. “Poppa tells me that I must be patient. He says on his last voyage, three years passed afore he returned.”

  My eyes widened. On that particular voyage Henry had contracted smallpox.

  “You know of the time I speak?”

  “I do,” I admitted. “I’ve seen much of your lives here through the dreaming. So why can’t I contact Phoebe now?”

  “ ’Tis oft easier to channel what was in a person’s life. Momma is a powerful cunning woman. She will find you.”

  “Just as you will find your husband.”

  I had taken an instant liking to Elenor and finally realized my mistake. Except for the couple of times that I had been successful entering the dreaming on my own, Phoebe had accompanied me. Some of those journeys were sexual in nature. My feelings for Elenor were like those for a daughter, and not being able to lower my inhibitions meant I could not experience the dreaming.

  I got to my feet. “Thank you, Elenor, but from now on, I must try to reach Phoebe on my own.”

  A knowing smile crossed her face. “I was wondering when you would seek the truth.”

  “The truth? You mean you knew all along?”

  “Aye. You are connected to my mother, not me.”

  “But I care...”

  “Aye.” She stood across from me and pressed her hand to my chest. “You are connected to her in here and in spirit. ’Tis not a chain that can easily be broken.”