Blue Birds (12 page)

My pace has slowed,

but my heart still races.

Manteo knows I was with Kimi.

Will he tell what he has seen?

Near the shed,

Father stands with George,

whom he now trains.

“We must stay safe,” Father's saying,

“leave before the spring.”

I cannot pass unnoticed.

“What are you doing?” Father asks.

“Fetching water,” I say,

hoping the words sound true.

“Where is your bucket?

And why are you so filthy?”

Digging at the wall

has left my hands

smeared with mud.

George studies me knowingly.

“Truly, Alis,

where is your sense?”

I have no answer,

just hasten my steps,

for I must wash,

refresh our pail

before Father arrives home.

All morning,

all afternoon,

the women bustle about

to make Mrs. Dare comfortable.

I wait near the doorway so as not to be a nuisance.

They bump me,

step around

Tommy and Ambrose playing at my feet,

until Mrs. Archard tells me sharply

to take the children from the cottage.

I skip from the doorway,

the boys' hands in mine.

Mrs. Dare's child

means my duties with these little ones

will end after today.

A baby sleeps,

cries for milk,

retires to the cradle.

My work won't be so taxing.

Perhaps, there will be time

to go to Kimi.

But I think

of George's certainty

the Indians wait to strike,

how Father talks

of leaving before spring.

Since our return

the men

have danced each

evening,

have crafted arrows

at the fireside,

told stories

of victories past.

In this way

they prepare

for attack.

Wanchese says

the English are cruel,

hasty, undisciplined,

slaughtering all before them,

while we

wait for the perfect moment.

We fight

with precision.

I fear for what

this means

for Alis.

We

were able to go

to our mainland village.

But there is nowhere

she

can run.

Mother's scream rips me from my sleep.

“Fetch Mrs. Archard,” Father says,

before he even lights a candle.

I fly to the Archard home,

bang at the door.

A slit of light grows as it opens.

“The baby!” I shout.

So long I've waited,

it is impossible to believe

today I'll truly be a sister.

Behind me,

Mrs. Archard marches,

pushes past me at our threshold,

snatches the candle from Father's hand.

Mother leans against her pillows,

tells me to leave with Father.

Through the darkness,

birds trill their morning songs,

and Father ushers me to his work shed,

where we sit by the fire,

enjoy the luxury of a bit of tea.

“I was almost a man

when my brother was born.

But when you came,

your uncle Samuel was a boy,

and he stayed forever by your side.”

It warms me to think

I might be to our baby

as Uncle was to me.

Hours later,

Mrs. Archard finds us

beside the glowing coals,

her face as stern as always.

“You have a son,” she says.

He is pure sweetness,

soft as dough left to rise

by the fire,

swaddled in a blanket

and in his cradle laid.

He is all sighing,

squeaking,

blinking,

a marvelous creation,

my precious brother, Samuel,

tiny babe.

Mother,

I feel

the emptiness you carry

every time you pull me close,

the ache that speaks of your missing one,

Alawa,

the longing to touch her again.

I should attend to you

as two daughters would,

yet so swiftly I deceive you

to meet my friend.

As Mrs. Dare and baby Virginia have done,

Mother and Samuel must both rest,

and since I've had a bit of bread

and Father works at the forge,

I kiss the baby's head,

encourage Mother to sleep.

I watch until their eyes flutter closed,

escape outside into the sun

to breathe deep the salty breeze.

From post to post I wander,

hoping to find a guard who's missing,

distracted from his work.

At the station near the garden,

I see Manteo within.

Our eyes meet.

He inclines his head toward the wall,

turns his back to me.

He gives me permission

to cross over?

He said it was dangerous

for me to be alone.

Out there

where a man could wait,

his arrow aimed to strike,

out there

where Kimi waits for me.

Does he signal

because he knows the way is clear?

In haste I go,

before I can change my mind,

before anyone might see.

How she talks,

her blue eyes dancing,

holds her arms as though

cradling something dear.

A baby?

My memory revives.

Her mother was with child

when they first came.

What a gift this little one will be.

It's always here we meet.

So much Alis hasn't seen.

“Come.”

I grab her hand,

pull her with me.

We run

past thick-limbed oaks,

the beech and ash and maple trees.

I show her maquowoc

hanging from his tail,

the earth below, his sky above,

the sweet goodness of the strawberry,

at the shore,

digging down,

how cool the sand can be.

Eyes closed,

Alis smiles,

her toes burrowed deep.

The breeze turns menacing,

treetops bend,

creak like our ship tossed on the waves

those months at sea.

That evening,

Mother serves a watery pottage

while I hold sweet Samuel to my shoulder,

kiss him when the cottage shudders

with the lashing wind and rain.

Father does not eat.

“What is it, Dyonis?” Mother says.

She takes his hand in hers.

“The Governor's assistants have talked.

We've asked him to leave with Ferdinando

once all our goods are onshore.”

I cannot believe what Father is saying.

Governor White must go

With our mutinous pilot?

The man who's anchored here

for these five weeks,

who's been no help

removing our possessions?

Who's offered us no shelter

in the midst of our enemies?

The words spill from me.

“You want the Governor to desert us.”

Samuel's face reddens.

He opens his mouth to howl.

Mother takes him from me,

gathers him in her arms.

“If he doesn't go to England,

how will Sir Ralegh learn

what's happened?” Father says.

No good has happened here,

but to have our leader go,

to believe he must—

My insides knot;

I can't imagine eating

this scant meal.

Outside the wind screams,

echoing the eerie songs

of the Roanoke.

“The Governor said no.

He's worried it will seem

he's abandoned us.”

Father pounds his fist on the table.

The bread plate clatters.

“What does it matter how things appear?

Would he have us die

to keep his reputation?

Ferdinando wouldn't bother telling

we're at Roanoke

and not Chesapeake.

The Governor must be the one

to ensure the supply ships find us.

We'll have to bribe the pilot

to take Governor White at all.”

“Dyonis,” Mother says,

her voice high,

light like a melody,

“Remember Alis.”

“Mother, I've seen everything you have!”

I think of Kimi.

I've seen more

than Mother knows.

“And what of that savage man?” Mother asks.

“Does he stay or go?”

“He stays as Lord of Roanoke Island,

as our connection to the Indians

and the Queen's representative.”

Mother stands

abruptly,

snatches away

the bread plate.

“I do not trust him,” she says.

All night,

our home is cuffed by violent winds

and waves of rain,

a hurricane.

This settlement will fly apart,

will be ripped like weeds,

until each board is stripped away.

This village is as fragile as an egg

unprotected in its nest.

I pray

for peace

and silence,

for just an hour of rest.

The lashing winds

strip the bark from our longhouses.

The second-planting corn bends its head,

weeping for the harvest

that will never come.

But we are safe

here in our village.

This is enough.

Wanchese says the English

know nothing of the hurricane's might,

and his men pound their heels on the earth,

raise their gourd rattles,

sing for their destruction.