by Kim Murphy
“Now you know why I longed to escape,” he said.
“I never doubted your reason,” I replied. “Why would you risk being caught again to help me?”
“You...” He looked from me to the other men. “All of you have shown me acceptance and the true meaning of loyalty.”
All of us nodded that we understood, and Black Owl signaled that he was ready. After stripping, I ducked my head and followed Charging Bear into the dark interior of the sweat house. With the structure too low to the ground to walk in, I crawled in on my hands and knees. I moved in a clockwise direction. Once inside, I sat cross-legged, hunching my shoulders forward to keep from hitting my head. The six of us formed a circle.
One by one, Black Owl scooped up four glowing red rocks with forked green sticks and brought them to the pit in the center. He placed beaten oak bark over the stones to keep them burning, then draped a mat over the door, effectively sealing us in complete darkness from the outside world.
Already time had slowed. Black Owl tossed sweet-smelling herbs on the rocks. Flames sparked and swirled. I had no idea of the meaning, but I was caught in the starlike glow. He offered a prayer to Ahone before pouring water onto the hot stones. The stones hissed and steam burst into the air, filling the hut. With the heat encompassing me, I breathed deeply.
On a couple of occasions I had gone to a sauna, but the sweat house was different. The sauna was a relaxing experience—a great way to break the tension after a particularly hectic day—but here, it was almost as if the steam unified those of us inside. Under the dome, the warmth nourished me, and it seemed divine. The only comparison I could envision was what it must be like in utero. And now, I awaited rebirth.
As the heat intensified, every pore in my skin opened and sweat dripped from my body. Now and then, Black Owl sprinkled my face with water. He then turned to Charging Bear on my left and did the same. Soon after, Black Owl began singing. Charging Bear, Wildcat, and Swift Deer joined him. From some unknown depth, I knew the words, the melody, and rhythm. The meaning became crystal clear, and I sang what was in my heart. More to my surprise, a rich tenor voice rose above my own to my right. William sang along with the rest of us. Together, we were one being, sharing a single heartbeat.
Time after time, Black Owl splashed more cold water onto the rocks, pouring more steam around us. The heat grew unbearable, and I began to have difficulty breathing. Christopher was the first to break, gasping for air. Those of us new to the experience had reached our limits.
Recognizing the signs, Black Owl removed the mat from the door, and a cooling breeze swept in. Once again, the wind had rescued me, and I thought I finally understood its message. I could barely crawl my way toward the door, but Black Owl urged us on. Once outside, I struggled to my feet. Along with the others, I rushed in a staggering gait toward the stream and plunged in.
My skin tingled, and my short, shallow breaths changed to gasps, taking in lungfuls of air. Invigorated by the sensations, I was now ready to face my task ahead of me—to rescue Phoebe and Heather.
* * *
Fortunately for me, most seventeenth century clothing was baggy, and I borrowed some of Henry’s old things. I put on a linen shirt but had to pass on the doublet. The fit was tighter and trimmer than the shirt and Henry had been a few sizes smaller than me. After I had covered the shirt with a brown woolen coat, I struggled into a pair of gray button breeches. If they hadn’t been loose-fitting on the original wearer, I would have never fit. Even then, their snugness reminded me of the commercials I had seen of young women squirming into a tight pair of jeans. Then came “the hose,” as William called them. Socks, in other words, made of scratchy wool. Henry’s shoes were too small, but Christopher loaned me a pair. For some reason, they looked unusual. I held them up to the light. The left and right shoe were cut exactly the same. Even so, I managed to wiggle my feet into them. The unforgiving leather pinched, and I realized how accustomed I had grown to moccasins.
To look the part of a colonist, I topped the getup off with gloves and a broad-brimmed felt hat, hoping that I could conceal the fact that I was an Indian. Think undercover. I looked into Elenor’s mirror. Undercover, indeed. I reminded myself of one of the three musketeers and doubted that if anyone got a close look at me, I’d be able to fool them. Unlike most of the colonists I had very little facial hair, and I certainly wasn’t young enough to pass for a pubescent teenager.
Christopher stared at me as if he had read my thoughts. “William and I can go alone,” he suggested. “Both of us know some of the townspeople who can aid us if necessary.”
“It’ll be dark most of the time we’re there, and you know I can’t stay behind.”
He nodded, and we hugged Elenor, Bess, and Meg goodbye. Black Owl and my brothers met us outside. “Take care, my son.”
“I will.” No more words were necessary. We intertwined our index fingers. I turned to my brothers and did the same.
Along with William, I climbed aboard a workboat that resembled a twenty-first-century rowboat. Christopher shoved the boat away from the dock and guided it downriver toward Jamestown. Growing accustomed to the river as the fastest mode of transportation, I rowed and looked out to the river banks. Plantations passed. White and black workers hoed side by side in the tobacco, hemp, and cornfields. I sighed. All of the land had once belonged to the Paspahegh.
A man looked up from his weeding in the field and waved. “It seems strange,” I said, returning the wave. “They’re not trying to shoot me.”
“Your disguise,” William replied with a noticeable swallow, “effectively hides who you really are.”
“You mean a former police detective from the twenty-first century?”
His tension eased and he snorted a laugh. “Aye.” Once more, he glanced at the workers in the fields and a haunted fear registered in his eyes. “ ’Tis the labor I used to perform.”
“You shouldn’t have come—either of you.”
“You wouldn’t succeed without our aid,” Christopher said.
True, Christopher knew Jamestown, but William.... Fear wasn’t the only thing I saw in his eyes, but something more. I had witnessed it often enough in suspects—ready to flee. Confused by what might lie behind his motives, I rowed harder.
“We are within schedule,” Christopher reminded me.
William didn’t matter, I repeated to myself. I calmed down and matched my rowing rhythm to Christopher’s. If William fled, so be it. If he truly took flight along our journey and made a life for himself elsewhere, then I’d be the first to wish him well. I only hoped he would have the guts to be honest with us if he had made such a decision.
I concentrated on rowing and my task ahead. After several hours, Jamestown Island neared. No Colonial Parkway or bridge led to it like in the twenty-first century. Other boats were on the river, and up ahead near the port, sizable sailing ships that Henry had called pinnaces were anchored. The ships reminded me of the replicas moored at one of the living history parks. But these ships weren’t replicas. They had actually sailed on the ocean from England to Virginia.
Instead of heading directly to the port along the river where the ships were docked, Christopher turned into the bay. The current was less swift, which made our rowing much easier, then he pointed to his left. “ ’Tis shallow with mud flats o’er there.”
Even with my inexperience, I was aware that such an area must be avoided. I counted my blessings that such a knowledgeable seaman had accompanied me. We bypassed more sandy shoals. The bay narrowed, and we turned onto the Back River. Behind Jamestown we traveled less than a mile before Christopher slowed and rowed toward shore. Along with the others, I got out and sloshed through the water to help bring the boat onto the bank. With Christopher’s help, I gathered ferns and branches to conceal the boat, while William stood and watched.
As the sun began slipping beyond the horizon, we traveled through the cypress and pine forest. Instead of trees, I envisioned an asphalt parking lot and cement sidewa
lks leading to a visitors’ center. Even as a kid I had been haunted by my trips to Jamestown. My adoptive parents had always pointed to the Indian exhibits in hope of giving me a sense of heritage, but the connection was far stronger than anyone could have imagined at the time. After Phoebe’s arrival in the twenty-first century, I had shown her the mostly underwater remains of the fort she had escaped from to join the Paspahegh. At least on that visit, I comprehended why the island plagued me. Black Owl had likely hunted and fished on the island before the colonists had arrived.
Beyond the site of the visitors’ center was the footbridge crossing the marsh. Only now, no footbridge existed, and we slogged through the reeds. Fortunately, the water levels were low, but the ooze sucked at my feet. A beaver gnawed on a tree, and a doe watched us as we trudged through the swamp.
We finally reached dry land, and a double-pitched wood house came into view. Christopher gave the building a wide berth. “ ’Tis the governor’s house.”
Neither William nor I needed any prodding to make haste around the structure. A rutted lane passed by a brick house with lattice windows.
“Back Street,” Christopher informed us. “ ’Tis not much farther.”
After we passed a plain wattle and daub house with shutters instead of glass windows, a church tower loomed in the fading light. Darkness was my friend, but unlike the twenty-first century, that also meant absolutely no light after twilight unless the moon happened to be out. People wandered along the riverfront, and a pair of oxen drew a cart. Loose pigs rooted in the soil while goats grazed. Christopher headed for another wattle and daub building on the main lane and led the way inside.
Behind the desk sat a bearded man with disheveled hair and the musky odor of an unwashed body. Recognizing the bastard jailer from the dreaming as the one who had sexually harassed Phoebe, I clenched my fists and took a deep breath to keep from beating his face to a bloody pulp.
“What can I do for ye?” he asked.
“We’ve come for Mistress Wynne,” Christopher replied.
He stood. “Have ye now?”
Any semblance of restraint faded. I drew my Glock. Three rounds remained in the magazine, and I would make them count. “You will take us to her. Now. Make any noise and you’re dead. Understood?”
He glanced from the Glock to Christopher, who had drawn his pistol, and nodded. When he opened the heavy wooden door leading to the next room, the hinges creaked. The stench nearly assaulted my nostrils. Phoebe had been forced to live in her own waste, and I gagged.
William raised a lantern, and I cried in anguish. Phoebe huddled in the corner with her wrists and ankles shackled. “Give me the key,” I demanded. The jailer’s hand shook but he obeyed. With the keys in my hand, I let Christopher guard the jailer and unlocked the cell door. As I stepped inside, rats scuttled from a bowl of food on the floor that looked more like hog slop. I bent down. “Phoebe?”
Sunken eyes looked in my direction. She stared at me as if not really seeing me, then blinked. “Lee?”
I unshackled her wrists. She rubbed them to regain circulation as I unlocked the irons around her ankles. Chains clanked to the dirt floor, and she gripped my shirt, trembling with fear. Without thinking, I took her into my arms and held her. “Where’s Heather?”
She clung to me and sobbed on my shoulder. “They took her.”
I glared at the jailer. “Where is she?” When he answered me with a defiant smirk, I hurled toward him and clenched his grimy collar in my hands. “I asked you a question. Where’s my daughter?”
His fist connected with my face, knocking my hat to the floor. “So yer the savage.”
I tightened my grip on his collar. “If that’s what you think of me, then I had better live up to my name.”
“Lee!” Christopher grasped my arm. “You don’t want to be like him.”
I tossed the jailer into the cell that had once housed Phoebe and locked the chains on his wrists with his hands behind his back. “I’ll ask you once more: where’s my daughter?” Met with silence, I raised a fist, ready to beat the answer from him.
“Mistress Hopkins,” Phoebe whispered. “They sent her to Mistress Hopkins.”
I stuffed a clump of straw into his mouth to keep him from crying for help. “They’ll find him in the morning.” After locking the cell door behind me, I helped Phoebe toward the door. Her legs were stiff from having been chained in the cell, but she managed to keep a respectable pace. Once outside, I asked, “Where does Mistress Hopkins live?”
“We haven’t the time tonight,” Christopher replied.
Impatient to rescue my daughter, I continued, “Then when?”
“Elenor and I shall collect her, but when the time is right. By birth Heather is Elenor’s sister. We will make a claim to return her to her rightful family.”
Unable to believe his suggestion, I clenched my hands, then Phoebe’s gentle hand touched my arm. “He speaks the truth.”
Almost as if Black Owl stood over me, reminding me of my pact, I relaxed my stance. “You’re sure?”
“Aye, Elenor will help.”
“As long as you’re certain.”
“If you were to react in a rash manner, I might lose both of you.”
Her words reminded me of my duty. As much as I hated the idea of leaving our daughter temporarily behind, I needed to focus my immediate concern on getting Phoebe to safety.
Christopher waved at us to be moving. Helping Phoebe, I retraced my steps. Away from the main buildings, only faint light penetrated the darkness. We reached Back Street and something didn’t feel quite right. I halted.
“What’s wrong?” Christopher asked.
Human shadows moved along the main street, but I couldn’t make out any of the individuals. “William’s missing.”
“William?” He glanced around.
To call out for William would have drawn too much attention. “I saw it in his eyes when we traveled here. I thought he might run.”
“Would he turn us in to the authorities?”
While I didn’t know everything about William, I never had a gut feeling of corruption or anything sinister. “No, I believe he’s just run off.”
“Then we shall make haste. Mayhap he’ll catch up with us later.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed. But I had the distinct feeling we might not see him again.
* * *
30
Phoebe
Comforted by Lee’s solid grip on her hand, Phoebe stepped forward. Under cover of darkness they passed the remaining houses and went into the swamp. They traveled silently with the water barely making a ripple. A dog barked in the distance, and she feared the hounds would be sent after them. Mud seeped round her feet, slowing her down. She slipped, fanned her free arm to remain upright, but lost her balance and fell into the mire.
Lee lifted her from the muck. For so long, she had wanted to see and touch him again. He hesitated a moment as if sensing her thoughts, then hurried her to get moving again. Wet all over, she shivered. His arm went round her, lending her some warmth, ’til they arrived at the river.
Nestled in amongst the trees rested a boat. Christopher and Lee removed the ferns and branches that would have concealed it from roving eyes during daylight. Lee helped her in. After the men climbed in, they cast off. Phoebe rowed alongside them. Soon, they left the Back River and turned into the bay.
Christopher was familiar with the way as much as any of the Paspahegh she had known as a lass. Once on the James River, the current intensified. Not only was the river stronger, but they rowed against the flow. Thankful there was a half-moon to lend some light to see by, she continued to row. Christopher hugged the bank as closely as possible without running aground.
Years had passed since she had last rowed a boat. She gasped slightly. ’Twas when Henry had saved her from gaol after being tried as a witch the first time. Henry. Now was not the time to grieve. So much history kept repeating. Still, if Heather wasn’t missing, she would rejoice at having bee
n reunited with Lee. She silenced her worries by concentrating on the task at hand. Soon, her arms ached. By early morn, they arrived at the homestead.
Elenor and Bess greeted her with hugs and tears. They made their way to the house, and Meg stood in the doorframe. She blinked in disbelief. “Meg?”
“Phoebe. Thank God you’re safe.” They embraced.
Phoebe stepped back. “How did you come to be here?”
“Apparently Tiffany and I got caught in your wave.” Meg glanced around. “Where’s Heather?”
Afore she could respond, Lee interrupted, “I hate to spoil the reunion, but we can’t stay here. Not until the danger has passed. This is the first place they’ll look for you.”
Phoebe stepped back from Meg and gave a weak nod. He was right, but when did the running end? With a flurry of activity, the men started preparations whilst Elenor pulled her inside. “Momma, I’ll make certain you have supplies for your journey. We’ll send a messenger when they’ve stopped looking for you.”
Yet again she was faced with leaving her family behind—not one but two daughters. “I can’t go through with it.”
Elenor grasped Phoebe’s hands into her own. “You must. Lee and Charging Bear will keep you safe.”
“The last time I left, I failed to return ’til my daughter was grown. I missed most of your childhood, Elenor.”
“Had you refused to leave the time afore, you would have ne’er returned to me alive. I want the chance to know my momma and sister.”
Meg stepped closer. “Phoebe, please—we’ve come too far to give up now. And I’d like to come with you.”
Their arguments swayed her. “I shall heed your warnings, but nay, Meg. ’Tis too dangerous now. When we’ve reached safety, Charging Bear will collect you.”
