by Kim Murphy
Although Charging Bear had always maintained a brisk pace when traveling in the woods, I had only accompanied him for short distances in comparison. These warriors kept a similarly steady rate, and I struggled to meet their strides. In an effort to keep up, I shifted my pack to Wildcat’s back. The switch only slowed him slightly, and my lungs burned in agony.
The first time we met another traveler, I didn’t realize that the proper etiquette was to stop and chat. Thankful for the rest break, I relished a few minutes to catch my breath. I quickly learned that a chat meant smoking a pipe, learning the latest news, and sharing any available foodstuff. Several hours passed before we resumed our journey. After two days and making our third encounter, I envisioned several weeks passing before we arrived at our destination.
By nightfall, when we rested for the evening, I fell into an exhausted sleep and had no energy to contact Phoebe through the dreaming. I worried she would think I had abandoned her yet again. On the third night, I struggled to stay awake to make contact but drifted off before I could enter the misty realm, only to wake in the early dawn to Wildcat standing over me with an ear-to-ear grin.
“My brother has the vigor of an Englishman,” he said.
What I wouldn’t give for a hefty dose of caffeine. “Surprise,” I replied and struggled to my feet. “Since I was raised by them.”
“Sad—they don’t improve their stamina over the next four hundred winters.”
With a stretch, I groaned. “If anything, it gets worse. I’m fitter than most.”
Shaking his head, Wildcat laughed in amusement. “Then we have little to worry about. A true enemy is a physical match.”
If only that were true. My knowledge of history was better left unsaid. I sought an inconspicuous spot and relieved myself. By the time I finished, the others were already giving thanks and saying prayers, welcoming the new day. Over the months, I had grown closer to my heritage, but for some reason I held back in joining them. What was worse, I couldn’t even think of a reason as to why. Then I spotted a crow in a nearby branch, and I felt comforted.
Black Owl’s gaze met mine. So many questions. In time, I knew they would be answered, but one topic gnawed at my gut. “I don’t even know when I was born.”
“You were born during the first moon of cohonks.”
The Algonquian word for winter sounded like a Canada goose honk. The woodland tribes marked the season with the return of the migrating geese. My adoptive family had celebrated my birthday in August because that was when I had been found wandering alone in the forest. They had been off by a few months, and I had never observed the date they had chosen for me. Even though my family had tried, I had been the only kid in school who never had a real birthday. Now that I knew the approximate date, I didn’t know what to think. “Thank you,” I finally said.
Black Owl nodded, and as we started off on our journey, he told me about my mother. “Snow Bird was a gifted woman in the ways of wisakon. After she met Walks Through Mist’s mother, they traded each other’s knowledge. Together, they became more learned than the kwiocosuk. Only the two women knew how to heal gunshot wounds.”
He went on to tell me about when I was born and how blessed my mother had felt upon my arrival. The snow had been deep that winter, but she always kept a warm hearth. As we walked along, he continued. There was no doubt in my mind, he had loved Snow Bird very much. When he reached the fateful day that the warriors had set off on a hunting trip before the massacre, he fell silent.
Too easily, I recalled the death and destruction. “She saved my life.”
Black Owl halted and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, tears had entered them. “As I would have expected. She was a brave woman and a good mother.”
The rest of the morning, we traveled in silence. About midday, another traveler appeared on the trail ahead. Everyone reached for their weapons.
“Pray don’t shoot,” the colonist shouted, raising his hands.
I translated what he had said, and they lowered their weapons gradually.
“You speak English?” he asked, directing his question to me.
“I do. I’m Wind Talker.”
He held out a hand. “William Carter.”
I shook it, while my brothers watched him closely. His brown hair was shoulder length and wildly astray. He wore a tattered linen shirt with an equally torn wool overcoat and breeches. His face was smudged with dirt, and he smelled like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. I guessed him to be in his late teens to early twenties, and his hand trembled beneath my grip. Returning my hand to my side, I made a round of introductions.
“I’m lost,” William admitted. “I’m thankful to happen across friendly Indians.”
At least, he hadn’t resorted to the use of the word “savages,” but I detected something he had left unsaid. In any case, Wildcat brought out the pipe and welcomed William like any traveler. The encounter was my first time serving as a translator without the help of Charging Bear. I was fairly comfortable with Algonquian, but even after having been around Phoebe for nearly four years, colonial English could sometimes be difficult to comprehend, especially since William’s accent was slightly different from hers and her family’s.
Black Owl shared the last of Elenor’s rations with William, and he gulped down the dried beef like he hadn’t eaten in days, all the while muttering his thanks. Afterward, the pipe was passed around with Wildcat and Swift Deer doing most of the talking. Totally distracted from the conversation, William kept peering around as if he was expecting someone.
I exchanged a glance with Black Owl, and it was almost as if I was working with my partner Ed again. Both of us had spotted William’s distraction. “Why are you really here?” I finally asked.
William swallowed and looked me straight in the eye. “I’ve run off.”
“From where?”
“From York County. I’m indentured to Joseph Pierce. He paid my way to Virginia.”
Slavery by any other name. Although I had witnessed people being held against their will, I had never experienced legal slavery, even if only for a specified length of time. I translated what William had said to my father and brothers. Finally, Black Owl said, “You’re welcome to join us.”
Again, I translated.
“I’m indebted to you, but...”
His eyes were wide with horror, and I recalled a tale that Phoebe had told me when she and her mother had first encountered the Paspahegh. “We don’t cook and eat Englishmen.”
“But I’ve seen the atrocities.”
“Brought on by your own people. My father—” I motioned to Black Owl. “—and I are the last of the Paspahegh. I was only two years old at the time, and the men were away hunting, leaving elderly men and the women to defend the town. I only recently discovered that my father is still alive.”
William closed his eyes. “Forgive me.”
Without waiting for a translation, Black Owl placed his hand on William’s shoulder. “You weren’t there on that day.”
Their gestures and sympathetic smiles were enough for each to comprehend the other. William got to his feet. “I’d be honored to join you.”
As we returned to our journey, I learned that my initial hunch was correct. William was eighteen. He had sailed the Atlantic at sixteen and had been living as an indentured servant to an abusive master since then. Without any idea where he was heading, he had run off after he had been whipped for a minor infraction.
“My wife was whipped,” I said.
“Is she—”
“She’s English.” I relayed the story of how Phoebe had come to Virginia.
Over the next three days, we learned more about our young companion, and he came to relax in our company. At first he was a little dubious about bathing daily like the rest of us, but our assaulted noses were relieved to be rid of his stench. Whether due to modesty or some other reason, he refused to strip his linen shirt or the lining to his breeches while bathing. For the time being, we accepted his behavi
or as a quirk.
As we got closer to the Sekakawon, crows greeted me along the way, and another day passed before we finally reached their town. Like the Appamattuck, arched houses were covered by woven mats. Lines of people greeted us. This time when we entered, I understood most of the chief’s speech. He welcomed me as Black Owl’s long-lost son, along with our guest William. Because William was a visitor and not joining the tribe, he didn’t endure the dunking I had faced in the river.
We were escorted to a longhouse, where another group of people lined the walls. Wide-eyed with fear, William kept glancing over his shoulder as if he expected the worst.
“Relax,” I said. “As long as you treat everyone fairly, they won’t hurt you.”
The chief introduced us to each person. New Moon was among them, and I was thrilled to finally meet my sister. When we reached the end wall, the chief sat on a wood frame. His wife sat beside him. William and I were shown to a mat on his right, and the rest were seated on mats in rows in front of the chief. Each person stood to welcome us, and I translated for William as best as I could, given the circumstances.
After everyone had taken their turn, some with lengthy speeches, we feasted on oysters, fish, and corn. Only when I had been greeted by the Appamattuck had I ever seen such a lavish spread of food, but over the months I had learned all guests were treated in such a manner, even if the townspeople had little else. Following dinner, a pipe was passed around, and stories were told.
When my turn came, I told how I had come to live with the Appamattuck and meeting Black Owl. Then, all eyes turned to William, and he suddenly went pale.
“Just tell them a story,” I said, attempting to reassure him. “Any story will do—how you met us, or crossing the Atlantic.”
“Thank you,” he whispered. He went on to tell us about his voyage to Virginia.
His tale sounded so much like Phoebe’s when she had crossed the ocean. Even with my fairly cast-iron stomach, I got a bit queasy thinking of crossing on rough seas. He had landed in Jamestown and met a number of the colonists. I detected one must have been a girl on whom he had developed a crush before being sent to the Pierce plantation as a servant. After another round of stories, drums beat outside the longhouse. William had a familiar worried look.
“There will be an evening of dancing,” I explained. “Afterward, you’ll be escorted to a guest house for the night and will be given female companionship should you desire it.”
His expression went from anxious to completely panic-stricken. “But I have ne’er lain with a woman.”
Recalling my own first time with Shae, I couldn’t help but laugh at his youthful innocence. “Then you have a momentous occasion to look forward to. Shall we join the others?”
We went outside, where many of the townspeople had already gathered and danced to the rhythmic drums. Swift Deer showed William the steps. The young man easily caught on. For some reason, I sensed he wouldn’t easily leave the town. Like Phoebe and her mother, he was already being accepted as part of the community. I wondered curiously whether, if I hadn’t traveled through time, I would have been taken to the Arrohateck tribe with Phoebe or somehow ended up here with Black Owl. Contemplating the possibilities, I decided I didn’t like either scenario. In that realm Phoebe was eight years older than me, and we would have most likely followed separate paths forever. By traveling through time we were closer in age and, almost from the beginning, I could not help but love her.
Throughout the rest of the evening, I could think of nothing else but to contact Phoebe. After a couple of hours, most of the dancers finally dispersed. Some lingered. A couple of men escorted William to the guest house, and Black Owl approached me. “You are welcome in the guest house.”
His underlying meaning was understood. Unlike at the Appamattuck town, this time I was aware that sexual partners were presented to all guests. “You may not understand my reasons, but I have no need for anyone but Walks Through Mist.”
He placed his hand on my arm. “Many years passed before I could care for anyone the way I did your mother.” He lowered his arm. “You are welcome at my hearth.”
“You honor me. I will join you later.”
He gave me a nod, and as I had when I had first arrived in the Appamattuck town, I wandered toward the river and sat along the bank. I had no idea what the river was called in the twenty-first century, but I knew that it emptied a short distance away into a larger river, which I guessed was the Potomac. Seasons had changed and a cold wind blew. For a moment I longed for central heating. Still sensitive to the nippy air, I rubbed my hands together. Although I craved a hot pot of coffee, I had come a long way. I no longer desired beer. In my mind’s eye, I concentrated on a flame from a campfire, and its heat began to fill me. No longer numb, I stretched my fingers closer to the fire.
Darkness faded, and Crow landed on a nearby branch.
“Except through you,” I said, “I have yet to learn how to talk to the wind.”
In time you will. Were you not honored with the name Wind Talker? Patience is the key.
Patience eluded me. I thought back to a previous conversation with Crow. “You said the wind can carry me anywhere.”
I did.
I had been approaching the puzzle all wrong, and a new thought came to me. “Through time?”
The bird cackled. One step at a time. First, you must learn to talk to the wind.
Crow’s response suggested that time travel might be possible again, and my heart pounded. “Where do I begin?”
At the beginning.
I should have known better. There would be no jumping ahead, and for now, the crow would continue to guide me. “I wish to speak to Walks Through Mist.”
The bird gave a series of clicks and rattles, then took flight. I attempted to follow and stretched my arms. I felt like I was a bird. Together, we rode the swift air currents, flying high into the sky. The warmth of the sun permeated me and warmed my body as the cool air lifted me toward the clouds. Higher and higher I flew. A light mist enveloped my being, and I soared higher. The past was gone, and the future struck me with clarity, piercing straight through my soul.
I envisioned Phoebe in my mind and called her name.
* * *
18
Phoebe
“Lee?” Two weeks had passed since saying goodbye to Henry and parting with Lee. During that time, Phoebe and Meg had tried unsuccessfully to contact him through the dreaming. Phoebe sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. He stood aside the bed. His black hair was now long enough for him to tie back. He wore a woolen shirt and a buckskin breechclout. She corrected herself. “Wind Talker.”
He sat on the bed and kissed her full on the mouth. “It doesn’t matter which name you use. You were right. Both are part of me.” He kissed her again while tracing a hand down her side. “I missed you.”
Returning his caresses, she touched and fondled him. Afore long her nightdress and his clothes were on the floor, and they lay on the bed together—naked. She spread her legs. His breath was hot on her neck, and his heart beat rapidly against her breast. The warmth of his pocohaac pressed against her skin, and he plunged inside her. In a steady rhythm, her body joined with his in perfect unison.
Phoebe floated amongst the layers of sensations until they fell to the bed, exhausted. He rested aside her, and she nestled in his arm. He told her about traveling to the Sekakawon and that his true birthday was during the first moon of cohonks.
“I should have recalled the time of year that you were born,” she said.
“Nonsense. You were only ten winters yourself.”
Each time she saw him, more and more of the detective faded. Although their separation was painful, she was elated that he had learned about his true heritage—their heritage.
“I’d like to see Heather,” he finally said.
Phoebe got up and dressed. “She’ll be walking soon.”
A pained expression crossed his countenance as he adjusted his bre
echclout. “I’m already missing her milestones. How much longer? I’m not any closer to discovering how we have traveled through time than I was six months ago.”
Six months? Only three-fourths of that time had passed for her. Even so, sometimes it seemed like an eternity. She moved closer and kissed him on the lips. “We must believe.” She grasped his hand. “Let’s go see Heather.”
They went into their daughter’s room. Lee halted aside the crib and stared at Heather. Careful not to wake her, he picked her up. “Snow Bird,” he whispered in Algonquian.
Heather gave a soft cry. He rocked her in his arms, and she quieted. He glanced round the room. “Where’s Tiffany?”
“She and Meg did not stay last eve.”
“It’s probably a good thing. I might have terrified her.”
Phoebe smiled, taking in the sight of him snuggling Heather in his arms. “You might have surprised her, but I doubt she would have been terrified.”
“I have changed my looks,” he reminded her.
“Aye, and each time I see you I think you’re more handsome than afore.”
“And you, my love...” He kissed her on the mouth, and Heather stretched with a shrieking cry.
Both laughed at the interruption. The scene could have almost been a normal day after he had been working late, and she had arisen early to care for Heather. Almost normal—if they weren’t separated by nearly four hundred years. Phoebe took their daughter into her arms. “She’s hungry.” She moved into the living room and got comfortable on the divan.
