by Kim Murphy
“Mayhap a quill will work?”
“Will that be strong enough to puncture the vein?”
“Nay, I use a fleam for bloodletting,” Elenor replied.
Meg scrunched her face, and I wondered what I was getting myself in to. “Let me show you what you must do,” she said to Elenor. Meg glanced at me, and I nodded for her to continue. She stretched my arm and shoved up the sleeve. “Are you familiar with this vein?” she asked, pointing to the crook of my arm.
“Aye.”
“I hope you have help because you’re going to need to be quick. Use your fleam on both men in this spot. If you have them side by side, that will help your speed. Insert the quill in the vein to keep it open, then place the syringe into the quill. Withdraw about 20cc’s of blood—”
“How much is 20cc’s?”
Meg let go of my arm. “Follow me.” She led us to an empty operating room and went over to the open bins where the sterile syringes were kept. “Look carefully at the syringes, Elenor. Which size is closest to yours?”
Elenor studied the varying sizes. She picked up a package. “This size.”
“Okay, fill the syringe. After you do that, you must immediately put another clean empty syringe to Lee’s vein, and start again. At the same time, your helper will be injecting the filled syringe into Wildcat. You’ll need about six syringes.”
“I only have four.”
“That’ll make things tougher, but it still might be doable. After you use a syringe, you’ll need someone else to flush it with saline—”
“Saline?” Elenor asked.
“Salt water should do, but boil the water first. Flush the syringe with the water before you use it again. You’ve got to keep the rotation going quickly, or the blood will clot on you. If Wildcat gets any tingling pains, back or head pain, difficulty breathing, or a weak or flighty pulse, stop immediately. The transfusion won’t work, and there’s no sense in risking Lee’s life any further. The next thing you have to worry about is not to take too much blood from Lee. There’s no easy way to measure, but I’m guessing you don’t want to take anymore than, say—” She stopped a moment to calculate in her head. “—thirty-five syringe fills from him. That should be well below two pints, but I wouldn’t want you to take any chances without exact measurements. Stop at any time, if he gets weak or faints on you.”
“I can do that,” she assured Meg.
I glanced at Meg. “It will be all right, Meg.”
She nodded, but before either of us could say anything else, Elenor and I returned. Wildcat lay on the bed, and Elenor was already scurrying around the room, telling the household what tasks they would perform.
Wildcat’s eyes had become glazed, but he still breathed. “Hold on, brother,” I said. “We’re going to help you.”
A small smile appeared on his lips and his voice was barely a whisper when he spoke. “I don’t fear death.”
“I know you don’t, but there’s no reason to die if it’s unnecessary.” I went on to explain the procedure ahead.
“Lee,” Elenor said, returning to my side. “I want you to lie down.” She gestured to one of the children’s cots near the bed.
I did as she instructed. The cot was small—definitely intended for someone shorter than I was. My feet hung over the edge, but momentary discomfort was a small price to pay if it could save Wildcat’s life.
Before long, Elenor stood over me, and Bess was poised beside Wildcat. Both women held a small coiled-iron device with a pointed end that I recognized from pictures in books. They were tools used for bloodletting. The sight of it made me shiver.
“Are you ready to proceed?” she asked.
“I am.”
She waved at Bess to begin, and both women set to work. The sharp end of the fleam pierced the crook of my arm. Strangely enough, in Elenor’s expert hands, the puncture wound felt no worse than a needle prick. She placed a penetrating quill into my vein, then put a brass syringe inside the quill and drew some blood.
If I hadn’t seen the entire operation take place with seventeenth-century instruments, I would have thought I was in a twenty-first-century doctor’s office getting a blood test.
Elenor handed the syringe to Bess, and Henry gave her a clean one. Once again, she withdrew more blood. At first I kept track of the number of times she changed syringes, but after about five, I lost count. Another syringe went in and another. Every so often Elenor asked me how I was faring. Finally she stopped, placed a clean linen cloth on my arm, and bent it to staunch the blood flow. She handed me a flagon. “Drink.”
Thankful the drink wasn’t ale, I sipped some water. “I’ve always gotten a cookie when I’ve donated blood before.” She frowned in confusion, and my stomach rumbled. I needed a sugar fix but what was available during the winter? At home Phoebe had fixed mince pies at Christmas. “Mince pie.”
“Mince pie?”
Without being asked, Bess prepared a bowl and placed it in front of me with a spoon. I had never acquired the taste for the spicy, fruity mix, but I began to eat. “How’s Wildcat?” I asked.
“ ’Tis too early to tell,” Elenor replied.
After I finished the mince pie, I attempted to sit up, but everything around me suddenly swayed. “Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”
Elenor and Henry grasped my arms to help steady me. “You must rest,” she said.
Content to follow her orders, I laid back with their help. Except for being tired, I had previously never experienced any side effects from blood donation, but then Elenor had likely withdrawn more than I had ever given before. “Just let me know if there are any changes in Wildcat—good or bad.”
“I shall,” she promised.
More tired than I realized, I closed my eyes and envisioned the house in flames. Elenor had an arrow in her chest, and Henry had been scalped.
* * *
20
Phoebe
Nearly two weeks had passed since the accident. Phoebe visited every day, whilst Shae minded the lasses. In the beginning, Meg’s legs moved and her fists clenched. Occasionally, she muttered gibberish. After three days, her eyes were open more than afore. Phoebe spotted fear in them and spoke to her in a soothing voice. A week later, Meg ate solid food. She brought the spoon to her friend’s mouth. Meg chewed and swallowed like she had recently learned the task. “Do you know where you are?” Phoebe asked.
“In a hospital.”
’Twas a good sign ’til the next sentence was more gibberish. As the days progressed Meg seemed more and more aware, but on this day, for some peculiar reason, Phoebe sensed Lee’s presence. The feeling faded as quickly as she had detected it. She gazed across a row of ten beds. Only a couple were empty. A doctor whispered to a nurse. Lee was nowhere in sight.
“Phoebe...”
She glanced at Meg and smiled. “You recognized me.”
“He was here.”
“Who was here?”
“Lee. He’s been trying to contact you.”
Phoebe grasped Meg’s hands. “As I have him—and you.”
Meg’s countenance took on a look of despair. “And I you. Lee heard me.”
“Through the dreaming?”
Meg nodded. “I think so. Phoebe...” The pupils in her eyes grew fixed.
“Stay with me, Meg.” Her friend focused on her, and Phoebe continued, “What did he say?”
“I explained to Elenor how to do a blood transfusion.”
Phoebe’s breathing quickened. “Has he been injured?”
“No. He’s the donor.” Meg’s eyes closed.
“Meg? Meg?” But she was once again unresponsive.
* * *
Over the next few days, Meg remained awake for longer periods ’til she was almost normal again. Her memory had languished. She recalled naught of the accident nor her encounter with Lee. She endured daily physical therapy, learning how to walk again, and by the end of the month, she came home. Like she had tended Lee after his gunshot wound, Phoebe cared
for her friend. Betwixt seeing to the children and Meg’s needs, she had little time to herself. When Lee had been injured, she had infused bangue, or what they called pot in this century, into butter. He had warned her that, in this time, the herb was illegal. She had difficulty comprehending why. It had far fewer side effects than the drugs prescribed by the doctors for pain. She wished she had some for Meg.
When Meg had difficulty sleeping at night, Phoebe gently massaged her ’til she drifted off. During the day, Meg attempted to distract herself by playing on the laptop computer, and gradually with each passing day, she grew stronger. In the meantime, the dreaming could bring Meg relief for ’twas the one place she could move about as afore her accident.
Phoebe followed the hound and Meg walked aside her. A dragonfly flitted betwixt them. The air was much too cold for the insect, and she realized that like her hound, the dragonfly was a spirit. Unable to fathom the meaning, she continued on, but she ne’er reached Lee. In failure, she blew out the candle. “Why can I not reach him? You spoke with him.”
“I did?”
“When you were in a coma.”
Meg shook her head. “I don’t remember, but I don’t think we should give up. Besides, I’d like to see Charging Bear.”
“I know that you care for him,” Phoebe said.
“You warned me, and it’s stupid. Phoebe, I don’t want to just participate in the dreaming. I want to go with you when you return to the seventeenth century.”
She should have seen Meg’s request coming. “And Tiffany?”
“I won’t leave her behind, any more than you would Heather.”
“Meg, Africans are treated little better than Indians during that time. Why would you risk your daughter in such a way?”
“For the same reason you’re willing to risk Heather. She can’t pass for white any more than Tiffany or me. Tiffany’s never had a father. I know Charging Bear is a good one, and I don’t just care for him. I love him.”
Phoebe relighted the candle. “Then you must learn the dreaming on your own. Concentrate on the flame. My guardian spirit will help you, and in time you shall discover your own.”
Meg giggled. “I never thought I’d be buying into this mumbo jumbo, but I’ve already seen too many things not to believe.” She stared at the flame. After a few minutes, she blinked. “It’s not happening.”
“Try again. Absorb the flame. Let it become part of you. ’Twill happen, if you allow it.”
Phoebe watched as Meg attempted to concentrate. When she had shown Lee the dreaming the first time, he had nearly given up, but he persevered.
In frustration, Meg blinked.
“Seek my guardian spirit. He will help guide you.”
Meg glanced over at Phoebe. “I keep seeing a dragonfly.”
Phoebe smiled. ’Twas the same spirit that had accompanied them on their last venture. “Your guardian beckons you.”
“A bug?” Meg said with her voice laced in disappointment. “I was hoping for something cool, like a wolf.”
“We don’t choose the spirits. They choose us.”
“But a bug?”
“Dragonflies are not mere bugs. They are creatures of the wind and water, capable of moving in almost any direction. Did you not ask for a change in your life? Allow your guardian to show you how that may come about.”
“Well—”
“Meg, the dragonfly is a beautiful animal with wings that can be as colorful as a rainbow. Their speed is nearly unmatched by some of the swiftest birds.”
“But what does it all mean?”
“Only you can determine the answer. You have been sent a gift. Embrace it and see where it leads you.”
Meg cracked a grin. “I never quite thought of it like that. And they are pretty.” With renewed intensity, she stared into the flame.
Phoebe watched and waited ’til she felt herself being drawn in with Meg. Following the course of the dragonfly, they walked aside each other. On Phoebe’s other side was her spirit dog. On and on they walked. The mist faded, and when they emerged from the fog, Phoebe stood on the banks of the James.
“Where are we?” Meg asked.
Waves lapped against the shore, and the sun rose in the sky toward the east. “Near Henry and Elenor’s house. ’Tis near dawn.”
“Blossoms are on the trees, so I’m presuming it’s spring. Aren’t the birds usually singing by this time?”
“Aye.” The sense of solitude was overwhelming. In the distance, Phoebe spotted smoke drifting in the air. At first, she thought it was from a chimney, but then, it intensified. “Noooo!” She calmed herself. ’Twas the dreaming. They were here to learn. “Let’s proceed with caution.”
As they made their way along the forest trail, fresh spring green leaves blew in the gentle breeze. Smoke assaulted Phoebe’s nostrils. A fierce shout shattered the tranquility, followed by another. ’Twas the sound of warriors’ cries. A gunshot rang out.
Phoebe and Meg crept toward the sound when a brown-skinned man in a breechclout, his face painted black, stepped in front of them. His countenance remained hidden in the shadows, but he aimed his bow.
“Don’t shoot,” Phoebe said in Algonquian, hoping she had kept her voice from trembling. Meg gripped her arm and hunched against her. Certainly her friend felt her arm shaking. She continued, “A warrior is shamed if he turns to killing women and children.”
The bow lowered. “Your people have brought the shame to all of us.”
His voice sounded familiar. “You are my people.” Phoebe motioned in the direction of the house. “And they are my people. My daughter and her children live there. They have ne’er harmed any of our people.”
“Do they not live on Paspahegh land?”
“Aye, and I was adopted by the Paspahegh, which makes my daughter Paspahegh. She lives on the land of her ancestors.”
He stepped from the shadows to where his countenance came into full view. Phoebe gasped. “Lightning Storm.”
Meg glanced from the warrior to Phoebe. “Your first husband?”
“Aye.” Instead of elation, Phoebe felt fear. “Little Hummingbird goes by Elenor now. Our daughter will die unless we can find a way to save all of them.”
Palms up, he held out his hands. “The blood of my shame stains them.”
When he had participated in paramount chief Opechancanough’s organized attacks, Lightning Storm had resorted to killing women and children. Phoebe gripped his hands. “You hid your torment in silence, my love.”
He withdrew from her handhold. “Walks Through Mist, the tassantassas continue to take our land and force their ways upon us. The warriors here today face the same conditions as I did and will show the tassantassas their place. You are too late to save our daughter. She has forsaken our ways and will remain among her chosen people. Like before, those in the path of the coming storm will die. If she’s among them, there is little hope for her survival.”
His warning was clear. Elenor was in grave danger.
“What did he say?” Meg asked.
Almost forgetting that her friend stood aside them, Phoebe translated as best as she could.
“Walks Through Mist...” Lightning Storm placed his hand under her chin and raised it ’til their gazes met. “I’m aware you have taken another.”
“His name is Wind Talker. You knew him as Lee. You showed him your life and death during the dreaming so that we might understand what happened.”
He broke their contact and took a step back. “He was given an honorable name. I have no doubt he will prove worthy.”
“Lightning Storm...” For so long, she had wanted to see him one more time. Now the moment had arrived, there was so much she wanted to say, but she had no idea where to begin. She opened her mouth only for naught to come out.
“Tell Elenor that I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see her grow to womanhood,” he said.
“I have been absent from much of her life as well. She understands that you died bravely, defending our people.”<
br />
A small smile appeared on Lightning Storm’s lips. “Dark Moon has grown into a fine warrior in the afterlife.”
With this news, Phoebe was pleased. Their son had died from diphtheria—a white man’s disease—whilst still a small lad. She couldn’t bear losing another child. “What must I do to save Elenor?”
“Place your faith in your friend’s vision. She and Wind Talker have seen what lies ahead.” He turned and began following the forest path.
Phoebe took a step, then staggered. Lightning Storm vanished.
Meg clenched Phoebe’s arm. “What did he say?”
“He says that you and Lee have had a vision.”
Meg pointed to herself. “Me? A vision?”
“Aye, and we must discover what it was.”
* * *
21
Wind Talker
Without the blood transfusion, Wildcat would have died, but he was slowly recuperating from his gunshot wound and regaining his strength. Elenor and Bess were amazed at his improbable recovery and concluded that my blood had some sort of miraculous healing qualities. I explained the transfusion had worked because I knew my blood type. After a while the cunning women seemed to grasp the concept and warned me that should the need arise again, they wouldn’t hesitate to volunteer me as their blood donor.
Certain they were serious, I hoped no one else needed a transfusion in the near future, but the vision continued to plague me. The time had come. I had to warn Henry. Near dawn, I met him inside the barn as he and James tended to the livestock. He saw me as I approached and smiled. “How is Wildcat this morning?”
“With each day, he’s getting stronger. Henry, I need to speak with you—in private.”
He nodded and gave James instructions for the horses, then joined me outside. “You’re leaving.”
“It’s nothing like that, and I don’t know how to tell you this, except straight out. I’ve had a vision.”
