by Kim Murphy
“Or he can return to you.”
Phoebe hadn’t thought about that possibility afore.
“What about Heather?” Meg asked.
“If I return to the seventeenth century, she shall accompany me. I will not leave another daughter behind. Will you join me in the dreaming?”
Over the weeks, Meg’s fear had faded. She freely joined Phoebe in the dreaming.
The mist became an impenetrable fog, engulfing them. With the spirit dog guiding the way, Phoebe latched onto his collar. Meg walked aside her.
Phoebe found herself in bed, unable to rise. An iridescent dragonfly hovered round her.
Meg tugged on her arm, pulling her to a sitting position. “Get up.”
“Nay.” She fell back to the bed.
“I’ve already told Lee not to call here anymore.”
Phoebe sat up under her own power. ’Twas the time when she had recalled Dark Moon’s death, and she had nearly forsaken Lee. Meg hadn’t truly said those words to him. She had said them to get Phoebe’s attention. “We must travel much farther, Meg. This is a recent happening.”
Meg swallowed. “They kept my people as slaves during the seventeenth century.”
“I vow that no harm shall come to you. And many were indentured servants, who were later freed, like my beloved Bess.” Phoebe held out her hand, and Meg grasped it.
Together, they continued forward. As they walked, Phoebe felt a long skirt against her legs. Up ahead, the mist thinned. When they emerged, she found herself standing on the bank of a river. ’Twas the James.
Dressed similar to Phoebe, Meg spread her skirt in disbelief. “Where are we?” she asked.
“Near Henry’s house.” Phoebe followed the river downstream.
Meg’s eyes widened with fear. “Are you certain we’re still in the living room and haven’t traveled through time?”
“Aye. The lasses are asleep in their beds.”
“But it seems so real.”
“ ’Tis the way of the dreaming. Come with me.”
Alongside the river, they walked until arriving at a brick house. When Phoebe had lived there, the house had been wood, surrounded by a palisade to keep the Indians out, the very people she most identified with.
Upon seeing them approach, Bess squealed and rushed toward Phoebe with open arms. “Phoebe...”
They hugged and cried in each others’ arms. Finally, Phoebe stepped back and made introductions.
“Did Mr. Lee bring you here?” Bess asked.
Her heart pounded. “Then you’ve seen him?”
“Aye. He came here ’bout a month ago, not knowin’ how he got here.”
“Momma?” Elenor stood inside the door frame of the house. She ran toward Phoebe.
After more hugs and cries, and another round of introductions, they went inside. Phoebe greeted the children. Henry and Bess’s son James were on a hunting trip. The group sat in chairs round the parlor.
“I tried to contact you, Momma,” Elenor said, “but Lee came instead. Both of us tried to reach you through the dreaming, but he said he wouldn’t be successful ’til he was strong enough on his own. Charging Bear took him upriver to the Appamattuck.”
Her daughter went on to tell the story of how Lee had arrived and spent several days with them. The times that Phoebe had heard his voice, he had called to her, and where she had felt his presence, he had traveled through time. Now, she knew where to find him. More determined than afore, Phoebe went outside, accompanied by Elenor and Meg. But the hound stood near the bank of the river, where a fog spread. She gripped Elenor’s hand. “I’ll see you again.”
“I know, Momma.”
Phoebe embraced her daughter once more. “I love you, Elenor.” But the fog engulfed her and Meg. Phoebe blinked. She was back in her own parlor.
Wide-eyed, Meg sat across from Phoebe. “It continues to amaze me.”
“I must contact Lee.”
“Tonight?”
“Aye.”
Meg gave her a warm smile. “I think I’ll say goodnight. Say hi to Lee for me.”
“I shall.”
Again Phoebe entered the dreaming, and this time, she found herself in a moonlit forest. She came to a stream and cast off her shoes, dipping her toes into the cool water. Even the white hound had not accompanied her—and the crow was a day spirit.
Phoebe.
She gazed in the direction of the sound but only spied shadows cast by the moon. Deeper and deeper into the forest she traveled until blackness surrounded her. A breeze kissed her face.
Phoebe.
The gentle wind grew stronger, and she fought against the airflow. Up ahead, she spotted a light and moved toward it.
A man stood at the center of the light. His hair was slightly longer than the last time she had seen him, and he wore a wool shirt and breechclout. Round his neck was his father’s arrowhead and a feathered necklace. Black feathers hung from his ears, and he carried a bow.
“Lee?”
He smiled. “Phoebe, I’ve been trying to reach you.”
For some reason, the wind wouldn’t let her reach his side. “And I you. I knew not where to find you.”
He reached for her, but the wind buffeted her from side to side. She was like a bird caught in a wind tunnel. He caught her hand and pulled her toward him. The wind was stronger and pulled them apart.
“Lee!”
But she was back in the parlor, and Meg was soon aside her.
“I saw him, Meg.”
“Was he all right?”
“Aye, he was fine. He has reclaimed his birthright.”
* * *
9
Lee
Phoebe had reached me through the dreaming. Although I took comfort in seeing her again, I yearned to hold her. The following morning, I told Charging Bear of my experience and how the wind had kept us apart.
“Have you talked to the wind and asked why it keeps you separate?” he asked.
Talk to the wind? Why did my own culture seem alien to me? Recently, my days were filled with learning how to be Appamattuck. I no longer roomed in the guest house, but had moved in with Charging Bear and his seven-year-old son Strong Bow. Charging Bear had lost two other children during a smallpox outbreak, and his wife had died giving birth to Strong Bow.
Normally, the women taught young sons how to use a bow until they were big and strong enough to accompany the men on a hunt, but Charging Bear had decided not to marry again, and with the help of a few adopted aunts, to instead raise the child himself. He was much too proud a warrior to admit that he still grieved for his wife. In this way we could commiserate together, without acknowledging the true source of our sorrows. As it turned out, his arrangement worked ideally for me because I could learn my lessons alongside Strong Bow.
My awkwardness gave me an inkling of what Phoebe had endured when she first traveled to the twenty-first century. She had lamented over the fact that a six-year-old could read and write better than she could, and I felt inept when a seven-year-old could outshoot me with a bow and arrow. How much easier it would have been if I could draw my Glock, but I kept the gun safely tucked away on my waist. My woolen shirt nicely covered my gun belt.
In the beginning, I kept slapping my bow arm with the string, creating nasty bruises, but I persevered and got the hang of it. Nearly a month had passed before I successfully hunted my first turkey. Now the time had come to prove my worth. Charging Bear insisted that I attempt to bag a deer.
In order to hunt deer, I wore a stuffed deer head with a skin draped over me. In this way, I approached a grazing doe. My prey immediately looked up, flicking her white tail. I attempted to move my fake deer in a natural manner, but the skin billowed with my movements.
The doe bolted, and Charging Bear doubled over laughing.
More determined than before, I tracked down another doe. I sweltered from wearing the fake deer garb. In my hurry to be rid of it, I shot off an arrow, cleanly missing my target.
As the d
eer bounded off, Charging Bear snorted another belly laugh at my expense. “You are in too much of a hurry, Crow in the Woods. On the morrow, we shall bring Strong Bow. He will assist you.”
Once again, I had been upstaged by a kid.
“Do not be discouraged,” Charging Bear said.
“It’s difficult relearning everything.”
“Aye, but Ahone has given you the task for a reason.”
A reason—I only wished Ahone or whoever would reveal what that reason was to me. We started the long walk back to town. I had no real grasp of the distances involved, but we must have traveled several miles. Charging Bear had me lead in order for me to learn the routes. Sometimes, I wondered why. I had traveled through time twice. Who was to say that I was in this time period permanently? Then, I remembered the skeleton, reminding me that I would die in this time period. The thought of not seeing Phoebe or Heather again depressed me further. If I could have blended in with the local colonists, I would have sought out the closest tavern for an ale or two.
After about a mile, Charging Bear tapped my arm in warning. He pointed.
Up ahead, three colonists, carrying flintlock muskets, wandered in our direction. We sought cover in the tall brush and waited until they were well past our hiding spot before returning to the path.
“What would they have done if they had seen us?” I asked.
“Unknown. Some are friendly. Others are not. ’Tis best to be wary.”
No doubt Charging Bear expressed wisdom, and the chance sighting made me truly aware of the world I had traveled to. While I had encountered overt racism in the twenty-first century, few wanted me dead simply because I was Indian.
Once back at town, Charging Bear greeted his son, and we had a potpourri meal of corn, beans, and some sort of chewy meat that I was afraid to ask what it might be. Young boys hunted small game, and just about anything that crawled, flew, or slunk ended up in the cook pot. Fortunately, a couple women, including Falling Rain, were tolerant of my lack of hunting and fishing skills and shared their food with me. At the same time, I suspected I was the butt of numerous jokes and expected to be dubbed Rabbit Chaser or Trips Over Own Feet any day now.
At dusk, drums beat rhythmically, and the evening dancing began. Only since my arrival had I learned that each dance told a story. For a short while, I participated, but on this night, my heart wasn’t in socializing. Although I wasn’t a total outcast here like I had been everywhere except among cops, I longed to see my family. One woman nursed a baby, reminding me of Heather, and even though there were no red-headed women, I kept seeing Phoebe.
I returned to the mat house I shared with Charging Bear and stoked the hearth fire. Since I was alone, I decided to try and reach Phoebe through the dreaming. I stared into the flame and concentrated. I managed to enter the mist easily for a change.
A crow flew overhead. The bird settled on a branch and communicated in clicks and rattles. You have traveled and now you are seeking where you came from. Why?
“I wish to speak to Walks Through Mist.”
What prevents you?
“I’m not certain, but the last time the wind interfered. Charging Bear says I should speak to it, but how does one talk to the wind?”
Like me. Crow in the Woods, you are capable. The wind can carry you anywhere, like it does me.
“Anywhere?”
I thought I heard the bird laugh. In time you will understand. Follow me.
The crow took flight, and I attempted to follow as best as I could. I walked along a path through the forest, when the wind started blowing. The bird buffeted in the turbulence. Talk to the wind.
“I must speak with Phoebe—Walks Through Mist.”
The wind roared like a raging voice, and the black bird nearly slammed to the ground.
“Why are you angry with me?” I asked the wind.
Another gust nearly swept me off my feet, then the wind died down. The crow settled on a branch and preened his disheveled feathers.
“Crow, I don’t understand. What did the wind say?”
You may now see Walks Through Mist.
“Lee?”
Unable to locate Phoebe, I hurried toward where I thought I had heard her voice. Brambles cut my arms, but I ignored the pain.
“Lee.” Up ahead stood a white greyhound. Beside the dog was Phoebe dressed in her familiar long green skirt, laced top with metal eyelets, and linen cap. She ran toward me, throwing her arms around my neck. “I missed you.”
My mouth pressed against hers. Tears formed in her eyes, and I gently brushed them away. “Phoebe, I have never loved anyone as I do you.”
More tears. “I thought you had died.”
No longer able to resist her lips, I kissed her in a burning hunger. The separation had been almost more than I could bear. Quickly undressing, we touched and explored each other’s bodies before sinking to the ground. Mad with blind lust, I nearly rushed ahead but caught myself. I wanted to savor her. Breathing in her herbal scent, I stroked the length of her body.
Her panting breaths and soft moans were more than I could stand. I clutched her hips and plunged inside her. She opened herself wider. She was all around me, driving me further. With each of my thrusts she arched up to meet me. Our rhythm grew faster and more intense until our energies were spent. Still inside her, I gazed upon her contented face. We kissed and hugged. She possessed me—body and soul. After one more kiss, I rolled to her side.
“Come see Heather. She misses her poppa.”
I nodded and reached for my clothes. Instead of a loincloth and woolen shirt, my jeans and T-shirt were piled by my side. Could it be? I had come home. Hurriedly, I dressed and watched Phoebe as she did the same. Hand in hand, we walked along the path until we reached the house.
In the living room, Meg waited with Heather in her arms. “Lee!” She placed my daughter in my arms.
Heather squealed with delight, and I hugged her to my chest.
“Are you home for good?” Meg asked.
Outside, a crow cawed, and the wind picked up, sending a shiver down my spine. Not wanting the moment to end, I glanced around the room at the familiar chairs, coffee table, and sofa. Everything was part of the dreaming. Reluctantly, I handed Heather to Phoebe.
A tear formed in Phoebe’s eye. “Lee, please stay.”
A gust howled through an open window, and I fought to maintain my own composure. “I wish I knew how. Apparently my work isn’t complete, but we’ll see each other again. I know that now.”
Phoebe held out her hand.
Before I could grasp her slender fingers, I blinked and stared into the flame. I wore a loincloth and woolen shirt, but I believed my words to Phoebe. I had to, or I would not be able to face what was being asked of me.
* * *
The following morning, with the help of Charging Bear and Strong Bow, I was once again on the trail of a deer. I was a little more adept at fishing and almost wished we could have worked on that food-gathering technique instead. But Charging Bear insisted that I learn to hunt big game. Unlike most of the men, I felt no need to impress the women with my hunting prowess, but I did understand the need for everyone to contribute their share, if physically capable.
Draped in my fake deer costume, I watched Strong Bow, similarly attired. Already the boy could mimic the movements of a deer, and I tried to copy him when he approached a stag. Even though I had never hunted in my previous life, I wondered if trying to take on a nine-point buck was a sensible idea for two inexperienced hunters.
Charging Bear said nothing, and I hoped that was a good sign.
Before I could think of my next move, the buck charged Strong Bow. The deer trampled the boy and stabbed him with his antlers.
Instead of shooting an arrow, I reached for my Glock and fired. The buck toppled. I replaced my gun in its holster, and we checked Strong Bow. The boy’s feet were bruised. He moved them freely, and at a quick glance, I didn’t think anything was broken. His left arm had taken the brunt of
the buck’s antlers. A neat hole pierced cleanly through his arm.
Charging Bear pressed some moss to Strong Bow’s arm to control the bleeding, while I wrapped vegetation around the wound. Even though the wound must have hurt like hell, Strong Bow didn’t dissolve into tears. No doubt existed in my mind. He was one strong kid.
After the wound was packed, and the bleeding halted, Charging Bear said, “You did well, Crow in the Woods.”
“I cheated, but it’s the weapon I know. Hopefully I’ll learn how to use a bow before I’m out of ammunition.” And twice in as many months, I had unintentionally killed a deer. At least this one would feed and clothe people instead of being dumped in some landfill.
Several women greeted us when we returned to town with the injured Strong Bow and deer carcass. One older woman saw to Strong Bow’s injury. Pleased with my hunting progress, the other women immediately started processing the deer. The fact that I had shot the deer with my Glock didn’t seem to alter their perceptions of my contribution. Several warriors had flintlocks, and they viewed my gun as a variation on the colonial weapon.
That evening, I sought Phoebe through the dreaming. As before, Crow interpreted what the wind said, but I found the entire process a little easier. As I traveled, I felt a tightness around my neck. I wore a suit and tie, like I had so many times working as a detective. The suit felt heavy and uncomfortable, and I loosened the tie. Already I had become accustomed to wearing deer hide and moccasins.
But Crow led me to an office. Ed sat behind a desk. When he looked up, shock spread across his face. “Lee?” He stood and thumped me on the back. “Lee, where have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I’m sorry, Ed.”
“Sorry, what do you mean you’re sorry? You go missing for six weeks, suddenly reappear, and that’s all you have to say.”
“I don’t think I’m coming back.”
“Not... I don’t understand.” His eyes flared in anger. “What about Phoebe and Heather? You stupid fool, you can’t just give up on everything that you’ve worked so hard for. Who’s paying you? You’re the last one I would have expected to sell out.”
