Blue Birds (15 page)

She teaches me

which roots to eat,

how to weave a basket bowl,

where to find the sweetest berries,

that crabs keep a tidy home.

What marvelous things

Kimi has helped me see.

Knowing her

enriches every ordinary moment,

makes each sorrow easier to bear.

Yet how long

can friendship

truly remain hidden?

Must we

someday

bring this

to an end?

Someone knocks

as I wipe the table.

Mrs. Dare is at our threshold.

She wears something clean at last.

“I support you,” she says to Father.

“I'll do what is necessary.”

She clasps his hand,

pulls the door behind her.

I glance at Mother,

try to read in her expression

what this means.

But she will not meet my eye.

It has been one week

since Governor White's leaving.

Most have assembled,

but there are some

who have chosen to be absent

for the meeting the assistants have called.

George and his band of boys

roam the square unattended.

Father calls the group to order,

and though voices fall,

the shouts of George's boys

continue unchecked.

“While we anticipate the Governor's return,

our future is uncertain,” Father says.

“Our circumstance has worsened:

each day less food,

division amongst us,

unrest outside our borders.”

His voice drops.

“The death of Ananias Dare.”

Mrs. Dare's face is ashen.

Father moves to stand beside her.

“Governor White confessed

we live near Indians who've hated us

long before we anchored here.”

Manteo speaks.

“I have gone to the Roanoke.

I've talked with them,

as I did my people.”

“I do not trust this man!”

The woman's words are full of hate.

I turn to see who speaks.

It is Mother!

“Why would Manteo side with us?” she says.

“He could favor the Roanoke!”

The gathering's set ablaze.

“. . . this place is cursed . . .”

“. . .
my son only talks of fighting Indians!”

“. . . hardly any flour left . . .”

“. . . Manteo, I cannot trust him . . .”

“. . . don't know why we ever came.”

“Enough!” Father roars.

One word reaps silence.

“We must prepare to leave for Chesapeake.”

There are cries of gratitude.

Mother embraces Mrs. Dare,

the babies between.

I cannot help but edge away from their joy,

the ugly power of Mother speaking.

“The Governor thinks it best

to delay until spring,” Manteo says.

Father's mouth is firm.

“John White is gone.

All he offered us

was false security.

Who will leave with me?”

Men and women ease toward Father.

Several draw close to Manteo.

A few stay where they are.

I am pulled in all directions:

finding safety,

losing Kimi.

This division in our midst.

Where do I belong?

Father insists

we desert

this prison,

this place

whose beauty

sings within me.

Manteo and I,

we have a pattern now.

I check to see no one is near,

walk slowly to his guard post.

He signals when the way is clear

of Englishmen or Roanoke

that I might go to Kimi.

Today,

her eyes are troubled.

Something smooth

like weathered pebbles

is cupped in her palm.

Kimi touches my forehead,

brings our hands to my heart.

Her pearls are sea foam

spilling from her fingers.

“Montoac,” she says,

placing them over my head.

She gives this to me?

Montoac.

It is what she called

Uncle Samuel's bird.

What might it mean?

I try to piece ideas together:

Gift?

Token?

Treasure?

All feel right.

I run my finger around the strand.

“Thank you,” I tell her,

touched by her generosity.

I reach for Uncle's bird,

something I might give her.

I hold it out.

She pushes it away.

“Montoac,” she whispers,

her eyes unblinking.

I think she wants

to hear me say it.

“Montoac,” I answer.

The word

brings her

relief.

Alis tucks my rope of pearls

inside her coverings.

And though its beauty is hidden,

it is right for her to do.

Every day, the risks

we take are greater.

There, close to her heart,

my montoac will protect her

from what Wanchese

surely plans.

The sun has moved beyond the tallest trees.

It is later than I've intended.

Racing through the forest,

I hear footsteps behind me.

The Indian again?

The pearls thump against my skin,

warmed as if they are a part of me.

I squeeze between the palisade,

scramble over the earthen wall,

desperate to escape whoever is so near.

“Who's there?”

Old Lump-and-Bump lumbers into view.

“Miss Harvie?” he says,

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Catching a breath of air?”

The story is ridiculous even to my ears.

Lump-and-Bump towers above me,

his knobby nose on great display.

“Do not tell me

you've not been warned

of the dangers outside.”

I drop my chin to my chest.

“Mr. Bailie!”

Old Lump-and-Bump looks about.

Outside the village,

two hands cling to the embankment,

a sunburned face appears.

George.

He was the one

out there.

He jumps over the wall.

“I saw Alis,”

he's out of breath,

“while I was hunting.”

When did he notice me—

before or after I left Kimi?

“Let's see what your father thinks,”

Old Lump-and-Bump says.

He marches me to the ironmonger shed,

where Father's hammer bangs.

George follows behind.

Inside

there is darkness and fire,

Father's shape beside the flames.

“Roger, what is this?”

He wipes his hands

on a cloth tucked at his waist.

Only when he is near us

can I see his grim expression.

Old Lump-and-Bump shoves me forward.

“I caught your daughter scrambling over the wall.”

Everyone

so close,

the air bears the odor

of sweat-soured clothing.

Father's eyes hold mine,

daring me to glance away.

My teeth clamp down.

I will say naught.

“Alis betrayed us,” George says.

I lean against the wall,

Father frowns.

“What do you mean?”

will my heart to calm.

“Ask her what she was doing

in the forest just now.”

“Alis?”

All eyes are with me.

“What is this George says?”

“I do not know.”

“Speak of the girl,”

George's lips are hardly moving,

“or I will do it for you.”

“Girl? Alis is the only one

amongst us,” Father says.

George lunges toward me.

There's hatred in his eyes.

“Tell your father!”

I press my fingers

to my face.

I thought George was my friend.

“A Roanoke girl,” I say.

“An Indian?”

Father's expression says

I'm not his daughter,

but a stranger.

For an eternity

he looks from George to me.

“You've threatened our safety.”

“Father, no!”

He whips me around,

forces me to keep in step

as he pulls me from the shed.

“I've brought us no harm!

She's just a girl,

like me.”

George saw us together.

Did he hurt her after I'd gone?

Outside our doorway Father stops,

twists my arm until it pinches.

Anger's etched upon his ruddy face.

But it's the way Father's mouth turns down

that says fear's what truly plagues him.

“Alis?”

Miss Lawrence opens the door,

Samuel in her arms.

He wails,

waves his tiny fists.

“What story did she tell you?

Surely not the truth,

that she went to meet an Indian.”

Pricks of crimson flood

Miss Lawrence's cheeks.

She fumbles for the door.

Father slams it shut behind her,

and now Virginia's crying.

“How dare you,” he says,

each

word

ablaze.

“You said yourself how lonely

it must be as the only girl.

And Kimi—”

“Enough!”

I fight to catch my breath,

swallow the sob rising within me.

Kimi.

Father.

There's not one thing

I haven't damaged

today.

I do not know what I will say

to explain my missing pearls.

Without them, I should feel naked,

like a child who still plays

at her mother's feet.

Before the sickness,

Alawa and I

had dreamed of the tattooing,

copper dancing at our earlobes,

the blessings given to those

leaving childhood.

What pride we imagined

in passing through the ceremony.

I never called out

in pain when the ink

marked me

as separate from the little ones,

pointed to my life ahead.

Yet never have I felt

more brave than now.

Alawa,

though you never lived to see,

you must understand:

Today

I left my younger self

behind.

I have given my pearls away,

sacrificed my montoac,

removed my own protection

to cover my friend.