by Kim Murphy
Embers danced and swirled. I sang Henry’s death song. Charging Bear, Wildcat, and the ashen-painted warrior joined me.
* * *
How many times had I personally delivered the news to families that a loved one had died? I couldn’t begin to count the number. Each time I somehow had managed to maintain a stoic face, while inside I cried my tears. Upon hearing the news, some people would cry hysterically, others would go on a screaming rampage, and some simply fainted.
On a few occasions, I had been pummeled for being the evil messenger. I overlooked the attacks. The individuals were grief-stricken, and I didn’t need to add to their misery by charging them with an assault. Sometimes, I had to stay with a family for hours, repeating what had happened until the news sank in or making certain they were all right.
During my years as a cop, I had been trained to shoot guns, pursue suspects, and arrest and interrogate bad guys, but the toughest part of the job was delivering that god-awful news. The toll of the task on my soul was more than most people could ever imagine. When my duty was complete, I shed my tears over a six-pack in order to fall into a drunken stupor.
Except for a few ales I had shared with Henry, alcohol was generally no longer accessible. More importantly, I no longer needed to resort to its use and worried that I might fall short, for I had never faced bearing such news to my own family.
I entered the dreaming and, thankfully, the wind carried me where I was meant to be. I stood over Phoebe asleep in the bed that we had once shared. Enough light filtered from the hall that I could see her hair curled against the pillow. She looked so peaceful that I resisted touching her.
She had a right to know, and no matter how much it pained me, I had to inform her about the events that had transpired. Events? Henry was dead. The news had to come from me for it would be wrong if she heard it from anyone else. I bent down and whispered her name.
With a smile, she stretched but did not waken.
“Phoebe,” I said a little louder.
She woke with a start, but upon seeing that it was me, she relaxed and hugged me. She switched on a light and returned to my arms. “You’re safe,” she said.
I momentarily closed my eyes, calling on my inner strength, then withdrew from her embrace. “Elenor, Bess, and the children are fine. They sought refuge in Jamestown before the attack.” A smile of relief crossed her face, and I gripped her hands. “Phoebe, the shallop couldn’t carry everyone.”
She swallowed. “What are you saying?”
Again my training had taught me that the details surrounding Henry’s death were unnecessary—for the time being. “Henry didn’t make it.”
She shed no tears, nor did she scream or hit me. She simply stared at me as if she were suddenly stricken numb.
In similar circumstances, I had followed a loved one’s death announcement with something lame like “I’m very sorry for your loss.” For some reason, no words of comfort were forthcoming. Instead, I was pissed. Henry, you bastard! Why did you risk your life for a fucking cow? The cow survived, you fool. Not wishing to intensify Phoebe’s sorrow, I refrained from speaking my mind and silently cursed Henry one more time.
’Twas my time, Wind Talker. There was naught...
I struggled to keep from covering my ears to drown out Henry’s last words.
“E’ery time he sailed for England,” came Phoebe’s soft voice, blocking out the sound of Henry’s in my head, “I wondered if I would see him again. On his last voyage, I waited three long years, but he survived the smallpox in order to return to me. He ne’er asked anything from me. He gave me all that he had.”
As she poured out her heart, I listened and wondered how I might feel if Shae had died. She leaned her head on my shoulder and sobbed. I brushed back her tears, mixing my own with hers in my grief for Henry.
* * *
24
Phoebe
Phoebe hadn’t visited the area where Lee had struck the deer since Ed had driven her to the spot after his disappearance. She gripped Heather’s hand. Had half a year passed? She had lost count of the months. First, Lee, now Henry. The ache would likely ne’er fade. A long time had passed since she had prayed to Henry’s god, but she knelt and bowed her head, asking Him to accept Henry in heaven.
When Phoebe looked up, Heather pointed to the James River and squealed. A heron fished along an inlet.
“Rest in peace, Henry.”
No sign existed that Henry or Lee had ever been to this place. Four hundred years. And now that Lee had saved the rest of her family, his mission was complete, yet they remained separated. Visiting the site hadn’t relieved her melancholy. She gathered Heather in her arms and returned to the car, where Meg and Tiffany waited. “Find any answers?” Meg asked.
“Nay, only more questions.” Phoebe got in the car and nursed Heather. Tiffany romped under Meg’s watchful eye whilst she finished nursing. Afterward, she and Meg buckled the lasses into their seats. Meg got in on the passenger side, and Phoebe drove along the winding route that Lee had taken on that fateful night. She neared a gas station and supermarket. A voice inside her head shouted for her to stop. She parked the car.
“What’s wrong?” Meg asked.
Years afore, Lee had brought her here. “ ’Tis the place where Lee had been found wandering as a toddler after the attack on the Paspahegh town.” Her breath quickened. Could the portal betwixt centuries remain?
She placed Heather in her backpack and got out of the car. Meg gathered up her cane. She and Tiffany joined them.
“He said that when he was a lad, trees and hiking trails existed instead of this.” She gestured to the strip mall and wandered past the stores. Aside the grocery store was a restaurant, a card shop, and a book store. ’Twas naught here. She sighed.
“I know you had been hoping for some sort of sign,” Meg sympathized. “It’ll be dark soon.”
Phoebe looked to the sky. The sun was on the horizon. Less than an hour of daylight remained. Most of the day had passed without her realizing. “Let’s pick up something for the lasses to eat from the store, then we shall venture home.”
After feeding the lasses, Phoebe’s cell phone rang. She answered, and Shae’s voice came across the line. “Phoebe, are you all right?”
“Aye, I’m with Meg and the lasses. Is something wrong?”
“For some reason, I had a strange feeling.”
“What sort of feeling?”
“I don’t know. Never mind. As long as you’re all right.”
“Meg and I were visiting the places where I had felt Lee’s presence, but we’re heading home now.” After a round of goodbyes, she started the trip home. Along the way, she stopped at a grassy knoll to watch the sunset. A mist formed over the water, and thunder and lightning raged. Instead of seeking shelter, she watched as the storm got closer to the bank.
“We really should be getting back,” Meg said.
In awe, Phoebe remained in place. The wind kicked up. Branches with rustling leaves creaked. Heather clung to her and cried.
Whispering words of comfort, Phoebe turned toward the car. Only she discovered she was lost. “Nay, it can’t be.” Her heart pounded. ’Twas like the night she had arrived in the twenty-first century, except that she hadn’t heard Lee’s voice. “Wind Talker, where are you, my love? I can’t find my way.”
The wind grew stronger. She almost expected to hear shouts from a mob and the flames of their torches behind her. A thick mist surrounded her. “Wind Talker, where are you?”
“Phoebe! Phoebe! Where are you?”
She attempted to locate Meg, calling for her from somewhere nearby. But the wind—nearly a torrent—pushed her deeper and deeper into the mist. She kept a tight grip on Heather, but could barely remain standing. She stumbled over a tree root and crashed to the ground.
Heather cried harder and faster.
To calm her daughter, Phoebe began singing a lullaby in Algonquian. Long ago, she had sung it to Elenor, but Henry had forbade it becau
se she hadn’t known the English words. The song had vanished from her memory ’til now.
The white hound appeared afore her, and she regained her feet. The hound and the wind would lead her to him.
“Phoebe! Noooo!”
“ ’Tis time, Meg.” Phoebe slung Heather over her hip and latched on the dog’s collar with her left hand. The crow floated on the air currents afore her. No longer afraid, she moved with the hound as he traced a familiar circle.
From far above, she peered at the ground below. Cars looked to be the size of ants, and high-rise buildings seemed more like a mushroom patch. ’Twas her first sight of London, and her return to the land of her kinsmen. How they would have marveled at the changes from the rocking and swaying of wooden ships to the flight of an airplane.
The scene shifted. Bright lights filled the night sky, and cars raced to and fro. The sidewalks were crowded with people. ’Twas when she had arrived in the twenty-first century. But the scene shifted yet again. People wore bell-bottom jeans. Some wore headbands. Women had their hair parted down the middle, and men had long hair and unkempt beards. Their shirts were made in tie-dye patterns, and they carried signs of protest. They shouted in unison, “Peace now!”
As she passed the psychedelic-clad demonstration, Phoebe’s heart quickened. She was traveling through time, but where was Lee? “Wind Talker, pray hear my voice.”
A black carriage trimmed in red and drawn by two white horses trotted past her. A heavily corseted woman sat next to a man attired in a black frock coat. Up front sat a coachman in a box, guiding the horses.
Phoebe continued on. Buildings on the waterfront burned, and men in redcoats ran betwixt them. The centuries floated by faster than her mind could comprehend, but the hound kept walking forward. She spied a light and at last, she heard a voice. ’Twasn’t Wind Talker, but... “Henry.”
He stood afore her. “Phoebe, I’m at peace. I have rejoined my Mary and only wish to say goodbye.”
“But Henry—”
“ ’Tis the way it’s meant to be. But Phoebe, danger lies ahead.”
“Danger?”
“Aye, you will once again face what was. I fear I cannot aid you this time. I shall add my voice to yours to reach Wind Talker. Goodbye.” With his farewell, he vanished.
The hound guided her forward, and the wind was at her back. On and on ’til her legs grew weary. Her body ached from carrying Heather. The mist grew thinner. She emerged from the fog, and the dog vanished, but a dragonfly hovered nearby.
The bearded faces of colonial men stared at her.
Wind Talker.
* * *
25
Wind Talker
A sharp wind moaned through the trees. In the gust, someone called my name. I raised my bowed head and glanced around. “Phoebe?” Her voice sounded like it had come from nearby. I moved away from the empty hole in the ground.
William gripped my arm. “You mustn’t leave yet. We require your aid to lower Henry.”
I blinked. A mound of dirt and the wooden casket lay beside the six-foot hole. From accidents to murders, I had viewed enough burned corpses to know what to expect. Inside the barn rubble, Henry’s charred body had been found in the typical posture of flexed elbows and knees with clenched fists. Someone new to crime investigation often mistook the pose to mean the victim had been attempting to fight off an attacker. In reality, the heat from the fire contracted the muscles. But this time was different. I had known Henry and called him a friend.
I had no idea what was customary for the seventeenth century, but I needed to keep active to bury my sorrow. With Charging Bear, Wildcat, and William’s help, we had constructed a pine casket. Thankfully, Henry’s body was safely hidden away before Elenor returned from Jamestown. Aware that she regarded Henry as her father, I recommended she not view the blackened mass. Fortunately, she accepted my advice, and I along with the rest of the men set about to digging a grave.
Using hemp ropes, we lowered Henry into the sandy earth. Until a pastor could travel the distance to the plantation and offer his blessings, we made do with Elenor saying a prayer. Tears streaked her cheeks, and after a round of amens, we began to shovel dirt to cover the casket. When the job was complete, we returned to the house where Elenor served dry cornbread and wine. I gathered she was mimicking some sort of tradition from England and improvising with what was available in Virginia.
When the gathering came to an end, I turned to leave. Elenor called after me. “You’re welcome to stay. Poppa would have wanted it that way.”
“Thanks, I’ll stay until Black Owl arrives, but afterward, I’ll either be traveling with Charging Bear to the Appamattuck or returning to the Sekakawon with Black Owl and Wildcat.”
“I understand.” She placed her hands to her face and sobbed into them.
Like so many other times when comforting grief-stricken individuals, I drew her into my arms. But she wasn’t just any grief-stricken individual. She was Phoebe’s daughter—my stepdaughter. I should have gone after Henry. But I recalled the hands holding me back. They had saved me from making a foolish mistake and causing my own death. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”
With a tear-streaked face, Elenor looked up. Her face was etched in sorrow, but she stepped back and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “ ’Tis not your fault.”
I wished I could forgive myself so easily. I guess it was the nature of having been a cop. Any scene resulting in a death, the “should haves” and “what ifs” plagued my mind. After thanking her once more for her hospitality, I traveled to the mass grave. When I reached the site, a crow flew to a nearby branch. At first I thought the black bird was real, but when he began to speak, I knew he was a spirit.
She calls for you on the wind. Why do you not listen?
“Who calls for me?”
Walks Through Mist.
I had heard Phoebe’s voice earlier. “What does she want?”
I do not know. Listen to the wind, and she will tell you. Crow flew away.
I concentrated. As time went on, I needed less immersion to enter the misty world of the dreaming, but it didn’t always take me where I wanted to go. I stumbled blindly, calling Phoebe’s name. Time and time again, but no response returned. I stepped into the house we once shared, but the murkiness refused to lift. The house was empty.
The fog engulfed me, and the scene vanished from my view. When I emerged from the haze, I entered an office—the office where I had once worked as a detective. I had been sent to my old haunt for a reason.
Ed sat behind a desk. When he looked up, his jaw nearly dropped. “Lee, I almost didn’t recognize you. You look... you look like an...”
“I think the word you’re looking for is Indian.”
A wide grin spread across his face. “I didn’t want to cause offense.”
“None taken.”
He jumped up and gave me a brotherly punch on the arm. “Lee! I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“Ed,” I said, returning a thump to his back, “I need your help.”
His shaggy brows creased together in confusion. “What can I do for you?”
“I can’t find Phoebe.”
“Phoebe? I haven’t talked to her in months.”
“Can you check the reports to see if anything has happened? I couldn’t find her at home.”
“She may be out.”
“The house was empty. I’m worried that something has happened to Phoebe and Heather.”
“All right, but I’m going to call her first.” He picked up the phone and dialed. “Her cell phone goes to voicemail.” He dialed again. “No answer at home.”
“Try Meg and Shae.” I gave him Meg’s number.
He shook his head and said, “Voicemail.” Once more, he dialed a number. “Shae, this is Ed—”
I grasped the phone from Ed’s hand. “Shae, have you talked to Phoebe recently?”
Shae’s voice came across the line. “Lee?”
“I didn’t m
ean to be abrupt, but I’m worried about Phoebe. Have you talked to her recently?”
“As a matter of fact, I have—a couple of hours ago.”
“Do you know where she was?”
“She said she was visiting the places where she had felt your presence.”
My concern for what might have happened heightened. “Did she say anything else that would give any clues as to where she was?”
“No.”
Promising that I would find a way to let Shae know what had happened, I thanked her and hung up. “Shae talked to her a couple of hours ago,” I said to Ed. “She said Phoebe was visiting the places where she had felt my presence.”
“I’ll look into it for you, partner. Let me make a few calls and check the reports.”
I glanced around the office while Ed made his calls. With a bit of nostalgia, I leafed through some of the files. Nothing had changed—murder, rape, and arson. I no longer cared to return to the daily grind.
“Lee?”
I gave Ed my full attention.
“A Ford Fiesta registered in yours and Phoebe’s names, was found about an hour ago on Route 5 about fifteen miles west of Jamestown. There was no sign of an accident, no sign of a struggle, and no hospital reports that anyone was admitted fitting her description. Like you, she just seems to have vanished.”
A moment passed before I absorbed all that he had said. Like me—she had vanished. Her voice had come from nearby. And Heather? I hoped she was with Phoebe.
“Lee?”
“I think I know what’s happened.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
“Like me, she’s traveled to our real home. I’m sure you’ve already guessed that we’re not from this time.”
Not from this time. He mouthed the words but nodded. “I didn’t want to believe, but it was the only thing that made sense. You wouldn’t have left the way you did otherwise. And the skeleton—was that really you?”
