by Kim Murphy
I had almost forgotten about the skeleton, but that wasn’t my primary concern now. “I need to find Phoebe.”
As we said goodbye, Ed gave me a parting handshake. Another true friend I would never see again.
* * *
26
Phoebe
The three bearded men carried muskets. In her T-shirt and jeans, Phoebe realized she must have looked out of place. “I’ve lost my way,” she said. “Could you guide me to the Wynne plantation?”
A grimy man with unwashed hair and a missing front tooth snorted a laugh. “What would Captain Wynne want with the likes of ye?” He eyed her garb. “Is that what the savages are wearing now?” He turned his attention to Heather. “Aye, looks to be a savage.”
She had reached the seventeenth century. She clutched Heather to her breast. “My daughter is not a savage.”
All of their gazes focused on Phoebe, and the man with the missing tooth said, “Rumor has it that the first Mistress Wynne ran off to the Indians years ago aft she was discovered to be a witch.” His firm hand latched onto her arm. “You wouldn’t happen to be the first mistress, now would ye?”
She sized up the man, who stood half a foot taller. With all of her strength, she could break his grip, but carrying Heather, she would ne’er be capable of outdistancing him.
“Don’t e’en think about it. Wouldn’t want the babe getting hurt, now would ye?”
“Come along peaceably,” a blond-haired man, standing behind the lead man, said, “and we’ll let ye keep the babe. E’en if ye’re not the one in question, a woman hasn’t got any business out here alone.”
“We could tie ye, if ye don’t want to accompany us peaceably,” the man who gripped her threatened.
“I shall come peaceably,” she replied in defeat.
They walked through the forest for a short distance ’til arriving at the banks of the James River where a small boat was tied. The man with the missing tooth motioned for her to get in. She waded through the water and climbed into the boat. With Heather seated on her lap, the men shoved the boat from the bank and joined her.
Back and forth, the boat swayed as they sailed downriver. The constant motion made Phoebe ill to her stomach. Thankfully, Heather showed no signs of sickness. Her daughter gripped her, whilst contentedly sucking her thumb. Phoebe focused on the scenery, hoping the diversion would relieve her ailment. Betwixt the oak and hickory forests were houses and plantations lined with tobacco fields. The trees were in full leaf. ’Twas spring, of that she was certain.
Her stomach settled. Mayhap she could jump from the boat and swim from the men’s clutches. Nay, she couldn’t risk such a maneuver with Heather in her arms.
Unlike the previous time that paramount chief Opechancanough had led a mass attack against the colonists, plantations had not been abandoned, and she spotted farmers in their fields planting and weeding crops. She longed for the sight of dugouts, where she could seek safety, but there were none. Lee and his father were the only Paspahegh that remained. Why could he not hear her now? Wind Talker.
Like afore, no response returned.
By late afternoon, the boat set into port at James Towne. Large sailing ships and pinnaces were moored to the docks. Workers rolled barrels unloading goods from one of the larger ships. The men showed her to the thoroughfare that was lined with houses. In the distance, she spotted a few houses made of brick. James Towne had grown since her leaving.
The men escorted her to a building on the main street. “We caught us a witch,” the blond-haired man said upon entering.
Behind the desk sat none other than the bearded, greasy-haired gaoler who had made advances upon her person when she had been tried as a witch. He stood. “Indeed. I have ne’er seen anyone dressed quite like ye.” His gaze wandered the length of her body and took on a predatory look. A grin slowly spread across his countenance. “Phoebe Wynne, I thought ye had vanished for good. Allow me to reintroduce myself. Richard Waters. Aft we get ye settled, I’ll fetch the sheriff to charge ye formally.”
The thought of his unwanted touches drove terror in her heart. Like her momma when facing the Paspahegh for the first time, she had to remain strong for Heather’s sake.
He moved closer. “How long has it been? No one here forgets the witch trial. ’Twas 1630. That makes it—” He counted on his fingers. “—nearly fourteen years, yet ye don’t look a day older. How do ye explain such an anomaly, Mistress Wynne?”
To answer him would only fuel his presumptions. Instead she remained silent.
He took another step toward her. “What have we here?”
As he inspected Heather, Phoebe held her closer.
“ ’Tis not Captain Wynne’s daughter, but another savage child,” he said. He motioned to the other men. “Take her. Mistress Hopkins will see to the babe. She’s been wantin’ one for some years now, without much luck. I reckon she won’t mind given the babe is part savage, and if the magistrates see fit, they may e’en allow her to keep her.”
When the men reached for Heather, Phoebe pulled away. “Nay, you mustn’t. She’s my daughter.”
“Rest assured, Mistress Wynne. The babe will be appropriately cared for.”
“You’re not taking my daughter!”
The man with the missing front tooth gripped Heather’s hand. Phoebe struggled to maintain her hold, whilst Heather screamed. She lost her grip. He had Heather. Her fist flew, striking him square in the face. Another man caught her arm and yanked it behind her back. The third man joined him. She fought them with all of her fury and stamped the man’s foot.
Free at last, she rushed toward Heather’s wails. The men caught her by the waist and dragged her down, shoving her face to the dirt. A knee pressed into her back, and her arms were twisted behind her.
Heather’s cries faded, and Phoebe lost her will to fight.
The men jerked her to her feet but retained a firm grip on her arms. Waters grinned at her.
She strained to break free, but the men maintained their hold.
“Let’s take her to the back,” said Waters.
They brought her to a windowless room and shackled her arms and legs. Like years afore, she was chained to the walls. A rat scurried across the floor. The men left, slamming the heavy wooden door behind them.
Phoebe lowered her head and cried.
* * *
The bed of straw neath Phoebe had grown moldy from her own waste. In the darkness she had no idea whether hours or days had passed. Her stomach rumbled in fits of hunger, and her breasts were swollen and tender, needing to nurse. Even when Waters brought in food, she refused to eat, and the rats feasted.
She thought of the time afore. In the end, she had been found innocent of witchcraft, but she had been publicly flogged for fornication and consorting with the Indians. The judges would likely be less forgiving on witchcraft charges in a second trial. Condemned and alone, she sent a silent prayer to Ahone. Naught remained for her, but to die.
Would Heather and Lee ever forgive her? Take action. But how? She had tried to contact Lee, but the mist ne’er captured her. Henry had assured her that he would attempt to reach him, but his voice had also gone silent. ’Twas like she had been abandoned. Determined not to yield to fear, she concentrated on the hound who would guide her through the mist. In her mind’s eye she saw a candle.
Absorb the flame.
“Aye, that’s her.”
Phoebe hadn’t heard anyone enter the cell and lifted her head to the matron who had overseen her body search those many years ago. Her hair had gone gray, and age spots and wrinkles riddled her countenance. “Pray let me see my daughter,” Phoebe pleaded.
“Nay, the only thing you’ll see aside the inside of this cell is death. You haven’t aged. Only a pact with the devil could accomplish that.” She motioned to Waters. “The sooner we get it o’er with, the sooner we can hang her.”
He unlocked the shackles about her wrists. Phoebe rubbed them to restore some feeling, and he bent over to
remove the chains from her legs, touching her thigh in doing so. She punched him in the ribs, and he seized her arms, yanking her to her feet. “Strike me again, and you’ll receive in kind. E’eryone knows yer a whore who fornicates with savages. Yer babe is proof enough, and no one would question a few bruises on yer body. Now, get moving.”
Phoebe wobbled from being cramped in the same position for days on end, but she managed to stand under her own power.
Waters fixed shackles about her wrists and ankles that allowed her to walk, and they led her from the cell to the outdoors. Suddenly blinded, she squinted against the light, but recalling her previous treatment by the gaoler, when she stumbled she kept moving. The matron’s presence suggested that she was to be stripped and examined for devil markings. Like the time afore, they led her to a wood-frame house. Seven women awaited her with glares. One gasped. “She doesn’t look a day older than the time afore.”
“Aye,” the lead matron responded. “That alone proves she’s a witch.” She turned to Phoebe. “As you may recall, we have been assembled to examine you.”
Waters removed Phoebe’s chains and stepped outside.
When the door closed behind him, the matron continued, “Now disrobe.”
Aware of the threats the elder woman would resort to if she refused, Phoebe removed her T-shirt. Having ne’er taken up the twenty-first-century practice of wearing a bra, she was naked to the waist. When she unzipped her jeans, one woman stared at her aghast, whilst another narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
“What is that device?” the lead matron asked.
“ ’Tis a zipper,” Phoebe responded. She lowered her jeans and handed them to the matron.
The matron struggled with the zipper.
“Like this.” Phoebe grasped the jeans and showed her how to the work the zipper.
The matron raised her hands as if she were suddenly scalded. “ ’Tis a devil’s device.” She snatched the jeans away from Phoebe and searched the pockets. She withdrew a wallet. A credit card, some change, and a driver’s license tumbled out. The matron picked up the driver’s license and glanced at Phoebe. “Looks like a painting of you, but ’tis not.” She bent the plastic ’til it cracked. “More devil devices.”
Another matron studied a quarter. “United States of America.” She flipped the quarter over. “In God we trust. 1983.” She handed the quarter to the lead matron for examination.
“Devil’s currency with God’s name used in blasphemy.” She motioned to Phoebe. “Finish disrobing.”
Obeying the matron’s command, Phoebe lowered her lacy red panties.
The matron picked up the garments as if they were tainted and inspected them. “What sort of devil’s garments are these? Underdrawers of a harlot. And why would a woman wear trousers, ’less she has privates like a man? ’Tis apparent you don’t.” She passed the clothing around for the other women to inspect and motioned for Phoebe to take the chair that looked like a birthing stool.
Again, Phoebe complied. As hands sifted through her hair, she thought of Lee. Why could she not reach him? Fingers poked and prodded her ears and nostrils. One woman lifted her arm, looking for extra teats, then the other. Another examined the webbing betwixt her fingers, squeezing ’til it pinched. She refused to cry out.
When the probing hands reached her breasts and privates, Phoebe closed her eyes. Though she had known what to expect, she struggled to remain brave as the women spread her legs. Hands probed her to make certain she possessed no male organs. On and on, they explored and poked ’til her entire body had been thoroughly searched.
The numerous hands withdrew from her body, and the matron said, “You may stand.”
Refusing to submit to their insult, Phoebe got to her feet and stood straight with her shoulders back.
“The time afore, you admitted to being left-handed. Is that true?” the matron asked.
“Aye.”
“And the devil markings upon your bosom and arms were designed by the Indians?”
Like the Arrohateck, who had designed her tattoos, Phoebe had always regarded them as artistically beautiful. “They are not devil markings.”
“Let it be noted, Phoebe Wynne denies naught. You may dress.”
Numb and beaten from everything she had endured, Phoebe reached for her clothes. Like the previous time, Waters returned whilst she was still naked. With a distinct bulge under his breeches, he leered at her.
Phoebe quickly dressed, and he shackled her wrists and ankles.
Once outside, Waters tugged so hard on the chains that she barely remained on her feet. She faltered, and he yanked harder. “I told ye afore that I’ll have ye, witch.”
“Ne’er.”
Inside the gaol, Waters shackled her to the wall. “When ye were here afore, I meant it when I said I can help ye.”
“I shall die first.”
He smiled a wicked grin. “Naught has changed, has it now? Mistress Wynne, the judges will sentence ye to death this time. I can take ye to a place of safety and say that ye escaped.”
“I shall take my chances afore the judges.”
“Have it yer way.” He left the cell, banging the door behind him.
Once again, she sat alone in the dark. She mustn’t give in to her fear and attempted to concentrate on contacting Lee.
“Phoebe...”
“Henry?” She didn’t see him, but it had definitely been his voice. “Henry you helped me the time afore.”
“I shall do all that I can so Wind Talker hears your voice.”
* * *
27
Wind Talker
Unable to locate Phoebe, I entered the dreaming at every opportunity. She was nearby. That much I was certain. But where? I went to the mass grave, where I felt a stronger connection to my being—my soul—if you will. “Phoebe, I heard you before. Why can’t I now?”
The mist captured me, and I grew hopeful. Crow flew ahead of me, and the wind was present. The signs were right for my success. I entered the house that had once been mine and became confused. Why was I here if Phoebe was in the seventeenth century?
Unlike the time before, the fog lifted. Hoping against all hope that Phoebe hadn’t become lost in the past, I wandered the rooms and called for her. A dreamcatcher with white, red, yellow, and black beads hung over the fireplace in the living room. When I had lived in my apartment, Phoebe had found the same dreamcatcher hanging on a sliding door. She had informed me that the colored beads represented the four winds—the sacred circle. Time was definitely a part of the circle.
“Lee?”
At first, I thought it had been Phoebe, but I turned to Shae. Her brows were creased, and she had a worried frown. She had been looking for Phoebe too.
“Have you found Phoebe?” she asked.
“No. I’ve been looking, but I can’t seem to find her.”
“Has she traveled to the seventeenth century?”
“I think so, but I can’t verify it.”
“Let me know when you find her.”
I assured her that I would, and the mist vanished. Once again, I stood beside the mass grave. A blue-green dragonfly hovered like a helicopter. The insect darted in my direction but halted before reaching me. Wings vibrated against the air, and its compound eyes wrapped around the top of its head, giving it a wide field of vision. Undoubtedly, it could see almost everywhere at once. The view must have been incredible.
“Wind Talker.” I turned to my sister’s husband, Swift Deer. He was out of breath as if he had been traveling at an incredible pace for some distance. “A woman and her child—the woman seems to have suffered a shock. Your father has remained with her.”
A woman and child—I hoped against hope that they had located Phoebe and Heather. Without taking time for proper greetings for my brother’s return, I accompanied him through the forest. Shock could have been caused by time travel. Swift Deer lived up to his name and moved like a fleet-footed quadruped. I, on the other hand, couldn’t keep up. Adrenaline alone
pushed me forward. After a couple of miles, I had to catch my breath. “How much farther?” I gasped.
“Not very.”
Sheer willpower got me running again. Swift Deer’s not very far turned out to be at least another two miles. I nearly collapsed, but I finally spotted Black Owl, whispering words of comfort in Algonquian. At first, I couldn’t see any woman or child. I moved closer. A woman huddled in the brush, clutching a squalling child to her breast.
My heart sank. It wasn’t Phoebe or Heather, but— “Meg?”
“Don’t come any closer,” she cried.
I inched closer and knelt. “Meg, it’s me, Lee.”
“I told you to not come any closer!” She closed her eyes, shutting off her tears.
“No one is going to hurt you, Meg. Or Tiffany. We’re here to help.”
She reopened her eyes and stared, not really seeing me.
“It’s me,” I repeated. “Lee.”
Tiffany leaped at me, nearly bowling me over, and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Lee!”
Still uncertain, Meg glanced at Black Owl and Swift Deer, then reached out a trembling hand. “Lee?”
I nodded. “This is my father, Black Owl, and my sister’s husband, Swift Deer.”
“Oh God, Lee. They took Phoebe and Heather.” She clutched my woolen shirt as if suddenly afraid to let go. The words poured out of her mouth, and I had difficulty making out exactly what had happened. “I saw hippies and carriages. It’s like we were caught in some sort of wave. I kept calling to Phoebe, but I couldn’t reach her. Then, when the mist cleared, she was surrounded by three guys.” She cried into my shirt. “They looked horrid. I didn’t know what to do. They didn’t see me, and I couldn’t move.”
I patted her back, reassuring her. The men had taken Phoebe and Heather to somewhere unknown. Imagining every gruesome scenario from all of the cases I had ever worked on, I resisted the temptation of leaving Meg and Tiffany with my family to search for Phoebe. Meg was my main lead. I had to see to her and her daughter first. Her condition would only improve back at the homestead.
