Blue Birds (14 page)

It's been three days

since the Governor left us,

and things are different now.

People group together,

scattered in bands across the common,

huddles that form and break,

reform again.

They stoke fears,

nurture worries,

imagined threats the center

of every conversation.

Community chores that once happened

without direction

have begun to dwindle,

each family looks

to protect its own members,

each man focuses only on himself.

Father speaks

of a Roanoke attack

to any who will listen.

Already,

he's drawn many to his side.

“You wear your pearls so beautifully.”

Mother pauses in her weaving.

“Such a strong woman you've become.”

She straightens the strand about my neck.

“Why is it then you sometimes leave

the fields before the others?”

Mother thinks I've been idle,

but never have I worked so faithfully.

“I move quickly about my tasks

weeding and tending.”

So I might go to Alis.

Mother doesn't answer

but her eyes never leave me.

Our women are woven together

in ways that form a dance.

It is difficult to step

outside

without breaking the pattern,

upsetting the rhythm.

I must not draw

Mother's further notice.

Each day,

the English boys

march through the forest.

Their guns swing toward all sound,

as though danger lurks nearby.

It is the deer they're after.

I've seen enough

to know they sometimes make a kill,

but they also circle closer to our borders,

hint at an attack.

I have overheard my uncle

speaking with his men.

An opportunity will arise, he says,

the perfect time to show our might.

If these boys fear my people striking,

if they long to fight,

their wait is almost done.

The boys

roam each afternoon,

act as if they're hunting,

though it's Indians they want to find.

What can I give Alis

that will show her she's my friend?

What might teach her

she's helped ease my pain?

What will guard her

from what Wanchese has planned?

I touch the pearls at my neck,

remember the pride I felt

when Mother gave them to me,

her tears warming my skin

as I left childhood behind.

What more than these?

There is nothing dearer to me,

save the memories of my sister.

For her I could do nothing.

The wooden bird

brought the two of us together,

but will it protect Alis?

This montoac,

what good is it,

if I leave her helpless?

Mother shakes out an apron,

her golden hair swept back,

her blue eyes full of light.

She hums as her iron glides.

Her strength since Samuel's birth has returned.

“What is that noise?”

She peers out the window.

There is such commotion,

I open wide the door.

“Indians!”

George rushes through the village,

hollering so loudly,

Virginia startles in her cradle,

Samuel begins to cry.

“I was hunting,"

he says to those who've gathered.

“Ran back when I saw them.”

George stumbles to a nearby bench,

sweat rolling down his face.

“Two other boys are out there still.”

Long into the evening,

men swarm about with muskets,

trickle through the palisade,

searching for the others.

George is never far from Manteo,

as if the two patrol together.

But when George steps behind him,

though he does not fire,

he trains his musket

on the Indian's back.

Mr. Dare said

now that he's a father,

he couldn't rest until

those missing boys were found.

Mr. Dare was

with the first who checked

the woods outside our borders.

He has not

yet

returned.

I wake to shouts outside our window,

torches flickering past.

Father jumps from bed,

rushes outside.

“Mother?” I call.

“I'm here, darling.”

I climb into the warmth

Father has left behind.

Mother strokes my hair,

Samuel nestled between us.

I pull close to her,

try to block the ever-rising voices.

Father bursts through the door.

“The boys are safe,

said they lost their way,

but Dare,"

Father stops,

cleans his throat,

“he's been

shot through

with arrows.”

All are screaming,

rushing, running

to the square.

Two men drag his feet,

arrows buried in his chest.

“Ananias!”

Mrs. Dare falls to the ground

beside her husband's body,

her sleeves thicken with his blood.

It is daybreak

before Mother can persuade her

to hold her wailing child.

All day is spent

in feast and celebration.

My people deserve peace.

But I no longer believe

war is the only way

to find it.

Wanchese says

we teach our enemies their wrongdoings,

demonstrate the errors of their ways,

like the man he killed

after Wingina was beheaded,

and the fire he set

that frightened the others away.

Did the English understand?

For they came back again.

There was the man who hunted crabs.

How quickly he was slain.

Yet the English have remained.

Now our men celebrate

the man killed in the forest.

But this I wonder:

If the English

know nothing of our purpose,

these lessons are lost on them,

mean no more than

violence like their own.

I stroke my brother's cheek,

place my thumb in his palm.

His soft fingers wrap around mine,

his feet kick as he laughs.

Virginia is

without a father now.

Since his death,

even through his burial

near the bones and Mr. Howe,

Mrs. Dare has worn the dress

stained with her husband's blood.

Mother bustles into our cottage,

allows the door to slam behind her.

Both my hands fly to the cradles to keep the babies still.

Her face is hardened in a way I've never seen.

She bangs her bowl on the table,

kneads at dough so roughly

I am certain it is overworked,

will never start to rise.

My shoulders ache with rocking,

yet I dare not let the babies stir,

for I will not miss this chance to speak.

“What is it?” I whisper.

“Leave it be, Alis.”

Her response stings;

my gentle mother doesn't speak like this.

“I'm no longer a child.

If it's about our village,

it does concern me.”

Mother's eyes grow wide at my impudence,

narrow just as quickly.

“Very well,” she says slowly,

“if you must know,

there's talk of Manteo amongst the women.

Mrs. Archard and I believe he's against us.”

“What do you mean?”

Mother stops her kneading,

tucks a honeyed strand of hair beneath her kerchief,

pulls a chair from the table.

“You are too young to make sense of this.”

“Mother,” I say,

“you cannot keep the truth from me.”

Few things go unnoticed here,

a reminder I must take care

with the secrets I keep.

Mother strokes Samuel's wispy hair.

“Your father says Manteo

was the last to return

the night Mr. Dare was slain.

Manteo said he was searching for the boys,

but they'd already found their way home.”

She pinches her lips together,

her face as stern as Mrs. Archard's.

“It makes me wary.

Just how loyal can a savage be?”

But I know I trust him.

Manteo lets me go to Kimi,

has kept this to himself.

“For whatever reason,

he has cast his lot with us.”

Mother shakes her head.

Her silence speaks more disapproval

than words ever would.

Toward evening the sun relents.

I carry Virginia to her home,

tap the door with my shoe.

Mrs. Dare opens,

her face blank and empty.

Dark stains still reach beyond her elbows,

stiffening the fabric of her threadbare sleeves.

So distant she seems.

If I give Mrs. Dare the baby,

will she remember to care for her?

“Perhaps I should keep her longer,

let you get your rest?”

She shakes her head,

reaches for Virginia.

Reluctantly,

I give the baby to her mother.

For a moment,

I linger in the doorway,

watch the sun

fade from the sky.

Someone grasps my hand,

turns me around.

“You've been outside the palisade,” George says.

“After I've warned you.”

My mind races.

Has he seen more?

Why did I ever

speak to him of Kimi?

“Perhaps your father should know.”

“No,” I say,

“there is no need.”

He studies me closely.

I read a wisp of worry on his face.

“Be careful, Alis.”

I become skilled at deceiving my parents:

snatching moments

once Father departs to work metal in his shed,

once Mother has left with laundry

for the unmarried men.

As for the babies,

young Miss Lawrence

agrees to do her mending

in Mother's rocking chair;

Mr. Florrie is happy to rest

on the bench outside our doorway,

prop his hairy arm upon our windowsill,

his hairier chin cupped in his hand.

I pretend I must fetch water,

remove laundry from the line.

Instead I leave the village,

quickly steal away.