Wind Talker

by Kim Murphy

  She should have known better than to think pretending enthusiasm could hide anything from Bess. “I have been unable to contact Lee. I believe he’s dead.”

  Bess escorted her inside. “We haven’t seen him in months, not since he went with your brother to the Appamattuck town.”

  “Aye. I’ve spoken with him through the dreaming, but his voice has gone silent.”

  Once inside, Elenor squealed, but she quickly picked up on Phoebe’s sadness. “Momma?”

  Bess explained what had happened.

  “I can try and contact Charging Bear,” Elenor suggested.

  “Pray do. Thank you, Elenor.” Phoebe grasped her daughter’s hands. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you.”

  “I know, Momma, and I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

  “And your husband?”

  Elenor shook her head. “No word.”

  She had hoped her daughter would be spared the anguish of losing a husband. Before she could hug Elenor, she found herself in her own home facing a candle. ’Twas the way of the dreaming sometimes. Over the next few days, she attempted to contact Elenor and Lee with no luck. As Ed had said, there was no body, therefore no proof. From the beginning, the skeleton had been a warning. It haunted her. What if it was Lee? At least someone had cared enough to give him a proper Paspahegh burial.

  For the first time, she truly thought of Lee as being dead. Why couldn’t she cry? His suits hung in the closet. But he hadn’t reported for police duty in several months now. Should she give the suits away?

  Afore now, the dreaming had kept her hopes alive and the ability for her to face each day. Now what? She had cried her tears when Lee had gone missing, and like when she had lost Lightning Storm, she had to remain brave for her daughter’s sake. But when Lightning Storm was killed, she had been surrounded by others to help her in her grief. Now, with the exception of Meg, she was alone.

  * * *

  13

  No Name

  With the help of the kwiocosuk, I recalled my experience with the jimsonweed tea, which was spiritually enlightening. My memory slowly returned. I contemplated Lee Crowley’s life as if viewing it from the outside, rather than from within. My symbolic death had been necessary in order for me to move forward and understand what it meant to be Paspahegh. Although the Appamattuck had graciously taken me in and accepted me as one of their own, in this century, I was not the only member of my tribe. The few remaining alive had been forced from their land, and my ultimate mission would be to seek them out.

  Before I embarked on such a mission, I pondered Lee’s life in greater detail. Caught between worlds, he had never quite fit in either. His adoptive parents had tried to show him his culture with gifts of Indian trinkets and artifacts, but they could never have guessed the tribe he originated from. As a result, they had groped blindly in their teachings.

  In college, he had married his high school sweetheart. Shae...

  I caught myself. My reflection was meant to be his life. He had been heartbroken when she had divorced him. Neither would understand the real reason for their separation until many years later. After I had completed the next step in my life, we would be friends again.

  With fondness, I remembered Phoebe. No matter how hard I attempted to think of her as part of Lee’s past, I couldn’t imagine a future without her. She had been my light and love, and we had a daughter. In time, I hoped the passion we shared would be ours yet again. “I have failed,” I admitted to the kwiocos.

  “In what way?” he asked.

  “I can view all of Lee’s life as being separate from me, except for my wife and daughter.”

  He gave me a thoughtful look without staring. “Have you not considered the possibility that you are bringing them into this life as well?”

  For a moment I had feared he would say that I needed to repeat my jimsonweed experience, as boys who remembered their past life too soon had to repeat the huskanaw experience. Instead, I simply needed to complete my transition before contacting her. “I hoped that might be the case,” I said.

  “You have been given a special gift.”

  “I’ve known from the beginning that I have traveled through time for a reason. But it can also be a curse.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  How could I tell him that the way of life for the Appamattuck that I had freely joined would be gone in less than a century? “Because I know of tragedies that will come to pass.”

  “Perhaps that knowledge will be useful in a way to help your people.”

  “How?”

  “Like your brother Charging Bear, you speak both languages. Unlike Charging Bear, you have lived their way of life. You might be able to bridge the gap to help avoid misunderstandings.”

  “That way of life was very different from the colonials.”

  “Did you not say that your wife had traveled through time too?”

  “She did.” But I already knew better than to point out that the two of us were separated by four hundred years. I had the means to contact her and would avail of it when the time was right.

  Meanwhile, the kwiocosuk continued to guide and instruct me in the ways of my people. As the days passed, I recalled Crow in the Woods’s life in the same fashion as Lee’s. He had been a toddler when his mother and most of his people had been murdered. Anger boiled within me. No matter how I viewed the slaughter, I could not pretend I held no rage.

  Once again, I felt I had failed.

  “You will eventually close the circle on your previous lives,” the kwiocos said. “When that time comes, you will know it.”

  If I found Phoebe’s cryptic manner baffling, the kwiocosuk totally bewildered me. While I remained a novice Algonquian speaker, I doubted my confusion stemmed from that fact alone. But for now and for the first time in my life, I truly felt as if I belonged somewhere. My former lives would remain a part of me, but they would no longer hinder me.

  “Come, my friend,” he said. “It is time to prepare for the naming.”

  Three days later, I stood in the forest where I had drunk the kwiocosuk’s potions. Four warriors were positioned in the cardinal directions. These men would guide me in the days—and most likely, years—to come. Charging Bear had taken his place in the south and wore red feathers. A kwiocos spread herbs and tobacco in a circle around us, and the chief smudged us with tobacco and blessed us with an eagle feather. Overhead, a hawk flew, making the moment seem all the more special.

  The chief faced me and gave a speech. Occasionally, I had difficulty understanding every word, but I grasped enough for the meaning. He talked about my experiences with the kwiocosuk, and how I had arrived to this world on the wind. The wind was often the carrying force of life. Birds, insects, bats, and seeds traveled upon it, like I had. He went on to tell a story about how great winds could do much damage without someone to talk to them.

  Finally, he announced, “Kesutanowas Wesin.” Wind Talker.

  I bowed in appreciation. “I am honored.”

  From a nearby branch, a crow cawed as if cheering in celebration. I was pleased to see the crow would continue to guide me in my life ahead.

  * * *

  After receiving a summons from Elenor, Charging Bear and I traveled down the James River. Paddling downstream took less than half the time than our trip to the Appamattuck town. A couple of times we brought the dugout ashore to dodge colonial ships. I had so little contact with the colonists that they almost seemed mysterious to me, yet I never doubted the seriousness of an encounter if our paths crossed. In addition to my Glock that I kept tucked in its holster, I carried the weapons of the Appamattuck. Although awkward with them, I knew should the occasion arise I was capable of using deadly force, if necessary.

  We passed a forest. In my former life, I had never learned the different types of trees beyond the more common types. Now, I knew them all in Algonquian. As we approached a tobacco field, I shivered. Without having been told, we had passed onto Paspahegh land. Here
, was where my mother had died, but I was able to avoid the negative thoughts. After all, it was also where I had met Walks Through Mist. Soon, I would contact her.

  Near sunset, the dugout rounded a bend. Enough daylight penetrated the sky for us to see the familiar pitched-roof house. Charging Bear and I brought the dugout ashore and carefully covered it with branches and leaves. We carried furs toward the house to trade for English goods.

  A musket raised in our direction but was quickly lowered. “Charging Bear and...” Henry smiled. “Lee? I almost didn’t recognize you. You look like an—”

  “Indian,” I finished for him. “Or were you thinking in coarser language?”

  He thumped me on the back in friendship. “You should know me better than that. After all, you saw the world through my eyes.”

  “I did,” I agreed. “I go by Kesutanowas Wesin or Wind Talker, now.”

  “Wind Talker it is.”

  I finally smiled and shook his hand. “Good to see you, Henry. Is Elenor here?”

  “She is.” He greeted Charging Bear, and we went up to the house.

  Before we reached the door, Elenor stood in the frame. She squinted her eyes as if not recognizing me. “Lee?”

  “He goes by Wind Talker now,” Henry said.

  She smiled in understanding and welcomed Charging Bear and me. We set the furs down, and Henry began to inspect them. “We shall talk business later, Poppa,” Elenor said, then waved at us. “Come inside and have a meal. Tell me about your time away.”

  “Elenor, has your husband returned?” I asked.

  Sadness spread across her face. “Nay.”

  “I’m confident you will hear from him again.”

  My words were meant to inspire hope, but Elenor’s expression revealed her uncertainty. I had my own, but I seriously doubted I had traveled to the seventeenth century to find out what had happened to the two missing men. How could I when there was an ocean between us and no plane travel? And if locating them was merely a matter of contacting them through the dreaming, Elenor would have been successful without my help.

  Elenor showed us to the table and dished out pottage stew into metal bowls with bread. The meal was a welcome relief from our journey. The family gathered around, including Bess and her son, and we brought each other up to date since my leaving. Henry worried about his son who had yet to return from England with Elenor’s husband. The kids roared with laughter at Charging Bear’s stories about teaching me to hunt.

  “What can I say?” I said with a shrug. “In the twenty-first century I had no need to hunt. I went to the local grocery store for food.”

  “What’s a grocery store?” Elsa asked.

  When I tried to explain the rows and rows of food to the five-year-old girl, her blue-green eyes widened.

  After the meal, Charging Bear went outside to barter the furs for goods with Henry, and the children followed them. I started in the same direction when Elenor said, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but Momma fears you have died.”

  Phoebe. What needless worry had I put her through? “I couldn’t contact her before now, but I’ll do so soon.”

  “Good. I hope that you and Charging Bear will stay the night.”

  “I can’t speak for Charging Bear, but I’d like that.”

  In the company of what seemed like family, I realized the time had arrived to contact Phoebe. While Charging Bear traded, I wandered the land to locate the right place to enter the dreaming. Instead of the solitude I sought, seven-year-old Christopher ran after me and joined me. I accepted the interruption as a sign that the dreaming should wait, and he told me how he often roamed the woods on his own when he wasn’t tending to chores. Amazed at the liberties youths of this time were allowed, I let him show me the area.

  In spite of Christopher’s young age, he knew every trail like the back of his hand. He warned me of the dangers like bears and copperheads. On a more peaceful note, he showed me where a pair of pileated woodpeckers had carved a nest hole in a tree during the spring. A screech owl had taken up refuge after the original inhabitants had moved out.

  “Do you ever find evidence that the Indians lived here?” I asked.

  From his pocket, he produced an arrowhead. “I’ve found pots too, but I like the arrowheads best.”

  “Not surprising.”

  “And bones.”

  “Bones?”

  He shuffled his foot in the sandy soil as if he was embarrassed by the admission. “Grandpa says we should let them rest in peace, otherwise their ghosts might haunt us.”

  “Why would they haunt you? You’re not responsible for what happened here.”

  “Grandpa says their spirits are unsettled.”

  “They most likely are, but I can’t imagine why they would scare innocent boys. Can you take me to them?”

  Christopher hesitated, but he led me on a trail through the forest. We traveled a couple of miles, and he showed me to a section that had smaller growth than the surrounding trees. As we neared it, I had the same chills running up and down my spine as to when I had viewed the skeleton. I didn’t need to be told. I stood in the spot where a massacre had taken place.

  Guns fired and smoke billowed. The death screams came from every direction. Forcing away the cries, I thanked Christopher for bringing me there. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a little while.”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  Always the innocent, but I had been that innocent boy once too. “No...” My voice cracked, and I tousled his hair. “You did nothing wrong. This place is something I need to face on my own.”

  “The bones are over yonder.” He pointed in the direction of a fallen cypress tree and ran in the direction of the house.

  Ignoring the cuts from the brambles on my arms, I made my way through the overgrowth to where Christopher had indicated. More panic-stricken screams and shouts pierced my mind. I spotted part of a femur and a bony hand. Ribs, jaw bones, arms—most were partially buried in the loose soil. Whether the bodies had been hastily buried by the surviving Paspahegh in their flight or interred in a mass grave by the English, I didn’t know.

  The bones were what was left of my people, and I wondered if my mother was among them. More than thirty years had passed since they had been mass murdered. More gunshots echoed in my head, and soldiers had set houses on fire. Most of the warriors had been away, and the town had been left all but defenseless. Elderly men, women, and children had died and been buried in one stinking mass grave.

  I sank to my knees. Only because of a freak accident had I not been buried with them. No wonder the tortured screams haunted my sleep as well as my waking moments. Why had all of these lives ended senselessly and I lived?

  Phoebe. She had saved me, and then the mist had captured me.

  But my mother had died. I called for her.

  No response.

  Had I really been expecting one? My gaze came to rest on a skull. The dome had a bullet hole. I didn’t need a forensic anthropologist to tell me the cause of death. Unable to withhold my grief any longer, I lowered my head and wept.

  * * *

  By the time I returned to the house, nighttime had arrived. Under the moonlight, Charging Bear and Henry sat outside on a couple of logs smoking a pipe. “We were growing worried,” Henry said. “Christopher said he had taken you to the graveyard.”

  “He did.”

  Henry stood. “I told him to stay away from there.”

  “I asked him to take me. If you’re angry with anyone, blame me.”

  Both men moved closer. “There’s no reason to be angry at anyone,” Henry said. “I suspect you had your reasons for going there.”

  Suddenly pissed, I clenched my hands. “You live on Paspahegh land, or have you forgotten?”

  Charging Bear tensed his muscles, ready to restrain me in case I made any foolish moves. “Nay, lad,” Henry said. “I’ve not forgotten. Whilst I was ne’er a soldier, I brought some of those respo
nsible to this land. For my services I was deeded a piece of it. I can’t change the past, but I thought ’twas appropriate that Elenor and her babes are a part of the land.”

  I unclenched my hands and headed in the direction of the river. “You’re right.”

  “Wind Talker.” Charging Bear came with me. “Except for Strong Bow and you, I too have lost my family and tribe.”

  I faced him. “Me?”

  “You are my brother, and one day, I hope, my sister will rejoin us.”

  He truly was my brother. “Thanks, Charging Bear.”

  We walked out to the river and sat along the bank. The moon reflected a glow off the water. Charging Bear told me about the English goods he had received from Henry—cast iron pots, English cloth, metal tools, and some copper. Protocol would prevent him from asking me about my experience, unless I brought up the topic myself. Still numb, I was uncertain what to say and was actually comforted by the custom of not forcing small talk just for the sake of something to say.

  Finally he bid me goodnight, and I was alone. For a while I listened to the night sounds, then pictured the candle in my mind. I focused on it. Flapping wings approached me in the gentle breeze. Both the wind and crow were present. Good.

  * * *

  14

  Phoebe

  “Lee?” a man’s figure formed near the mist. For nearly a month Phoebe had tried to reach him through the dreaming, and she blinked in disbelief. Was his appearance wishful thinking? He moved toward her. His hair was longer than she remembered, but it was definitely him. “Lee!” She ran to greet him.

  Their mouths met in an intimate kiss. He brushed her hair away from her face and smiled. “I missed you.”

  She hugged him again, making certain he was real. “I feared you were dead. Lee—”

  “I’m Wind Talker now.”

  “Wind Talker,” she repeated, taking a step back. At long last she comprehended why he had been absent. Men rarely shared such transitions with women, and she grew vexed by the meaning. “Are we still married? Or have you taken another?”