Blue Birds (17 page)

This truth is inescapable:

living here brings danger.

I imagine meeting Kimi

in a place we mustn't hide.

It never was expected

we'd remain on Roanoke.

If we had never journeyed here,

how much my life would lack.

We are impoverished,

desperate.

I'm most myself

when with her.

How might I find peace

when two worlds war inside?

How many days

since George saw

the two of us together?

Perhaps a week or more.

It is hard to remember,

too painful to think upon.

Even inside the cottage

The heat has relented a mite,

the morning air does not press down

like such a heavy weight.

Summer's end draws near.

Outside,

The men drag trunks,

roll barrels through the village

to the pinnace at the shore.

It happens so suddenly,

the shouts that pound like thunder,

pulling all to the square.

From the window

I see Father,

unsteady on his feet,

lunging

at

Manteo.

I forget my vow to stay inside,

race to see what happens.

Mr. Pratt

and Old Lump-and-Bump

try to restrain Father,

but they're no match for his fury.

“Speak!” he yells to Manteo,

“of the attack you've planned

with the Roanoke!”

“I can tell you.”

George smiles.

Never have I seen him more satisfied.

“Manteo meets in the forest

with them.”

Father's neck is mottled red.

“There is no reason for this boy to lie!”

“I've planned no attack,” Manteo says.

But others badger from the crowd,

call for Manteo's arrest.

“You refuse to help us load the pinnace,

insist we stay though Howe and Dare are dead.

You want to fight with the Roanoke against us,

rid Virginia of all Englishmen.”

“Am I not an Englishman?” Manteo says.

“Your hair.

These beads about your neck.”

Father yanks the strand.

Shells spill to the ground.

“No Englishman dresses this way.”

Manteo's teeth are clenched

though his words are clear.

“Do you not realize

how much I've lost in joining you?

Some here do not trust me.

My own people

do not understand.

But they have not seen what I have,

our queen,

Elizabeth,

the great weroansqua,

whose power reaches across the seas.

I can be Croatoan,

and speak for my people.

I can be an Englishman,

and serve my queen.”

“Liar!”

Mrs. Dare shouts,

“Spy!”

It is George who yells the loudest,

his features a grotesque mask of hate.

The tumult grows,

explodes into a frenzied chorus.

I set my feet wide

to keep from being shoved about.

Mother finds me,

Samuel's cries reaching hysteria.

She pleads with me to follow,

but I pretend I can't hear her.

Mr. Pratt and Lump-and-Bump

have tied Manteo's hands behind him.

His head dips forward

like a broken reed.

I try to piece together

what George might have seen,

if what he said is true.

George would gain satisfaction

in finding reason to attack.

At Father's command,

the men lead Manteo to the jail.

How quickly Father's found his place again.

“Alis!” Mother calls,

but still I will not go to her

nor Father,

who has sparked unrest,

encouraged an angry boy

to speak against Manteo,

the one our Governor

appointed as our leader,

the one our Governor

called friend.

I return to our cottage,

close all the shutters

to escape the chaos outside.

“I called for you,” Mother says.

I do not answer.

“Father's looking for the Howe boy.

Have you seen him?”

George is not my worry.

I care for nothing that happens

in this village anymore.

Mother finds a piece of bread,

serves me a modest portion.

My hunger awakens.

I've had nothing since breakfast.

I do not ask of Father,

simply reach for Samuel,

let his steady breathing

draw me to sleep.

It is Mother who awakens me

in the mid-afternoon.

“Please take this to your father.

He's had no food since morning.”

Within me,

anger's fire has diminished,

leaving sorrow's blackened ash.

I hold the bread she offers,

kiss the top of Samuel's head.

The sun escapes the clouds

that have held it fast.

There is change in the English camp,

the way they move about

like the sparrows that flock

just to flee

the harvest season.

The sun journeys farther

across the great expanse.

The English boy

whose hair curls at his forehead,

like strips of peeled river birch bark,

from behind a tree

I see him approach,

put down his weapon.

In watching Alis

I've come to understand

the English coverings

are for more than warmth and protection.

Maybe the boy has never seen

a woman dressed as I am.

I cross my arms before me

for his comfort.

“I've come to speak of Alis.”

Hope soars

when I hear her name.

“We know of your secret meetings.”

He hesitates for a moment.

“Don't expect her again.”

What has happened

that she hasn't come?

“She is in trouble.”

His eyes meet mine.

In a flash he lowers his gaze.

“I have caused her trouble.”

I hold my fist to my chest.

“Alis.”

Before this English boy

I claim her.

“There is something else,” he whispers,

his features sharp with pain.

“I am sorry.”

He covers his face.

“I am sorry!”

He rushes away.

There is one whose needs

might have been forgotten

in the chaos of the day.

I cross the threshold,

hold the bread in my outstretched hand.

“For Manteo.”

My voice echoes off the walls.

Mr. Pratt wipes his bald head with a rag,

follows me with wary eyes.

“My mother sent me with this,” I say,

for what is one more lie?

Mr. Pratt takes the bread,

pushes it through the iron bars.

Manteo lifts his head.

“Thank you, Alis.”

This man

saw no wrong

in my befriending Kimi,

this one

who lives

in the in-between—

not of one world

or the other.

“You and your friend.

I made sure you

were always safe."

“Thank you,” I whisper,

trust he feels the gratitude

these simple words convey.

Mr. Pratt crosses his arms.

“You've done what you came to do.”

It's clear he wants me gone.

But there's one thing I must know.

I lean in close,

rest my forehead on cool metal.

“Why did you let me go to her?"

His long black hair,

pearls in his ears,

all is familiar now.

Manteo smiles faintly.

“Never would I alter

what is right."

The boy looked

for me.

I linger until all have eaten.

The fire pops,

sends up sparks

that are swallowed

before they reach the sky.

The boy came

to speak of Alis.

“Uncle.”

The name binds us.

He cannot turn

his brother's child away.

“Kimi,” Mother scolds.

“Leave our weroance alone.”

I will not listen.

The boy took

great risk in coming.

“Uncle.”

I lift my chin,

launch the word like an arrow.

“Go.”

He cannot

refuse me

now.

Wanchese's jaw tightens as he studies me.

I reach for my pearls,

now gone.

“They were our friends once,” I say.

“The English?

Why do you

speak of them again?”

His words warn

not to push further,

but I do not heed them.

“I want to know

why things changed.”

“You come to me

as though you have permission.

You forget I am weroance.”

“You are Uncle.”

This has never changed.

Wanchese sighs,

he thinks I haven't learned my place.

But I know exactly where I belong.

Here. Near him.

and with my dear friend, Alis.

“They only give false friendship,”

Wanchese says.

“If Wingina had listened

he would still be with us.

It was too late

when he saw as I did.

The path to his death

had already begun.”

He leans closer.

His necklace flashes

in the firelight.

“Never forget

the English

killed your father.”

I cannot help but say it.

“Not all of them

must be our enemies.”

He gazes at the fire, silent.

It is only when I'm sure he's finished

that he speaks again.

“Have you gone to the English?”

“Uncle?”

“Have you spoken with them?”

How I want to tell of Alis,

that she's the friend I need.

That even if she's abandoned me,

I will never leave her.

But this truth is forbidden.

“Wanchese.”

Nuna's father calls him.

“Chogan is missing.”

My uncle stands to go,

but first turns back to me.

“Have you betrayed my trust?”

I cannot answer.

Behind us, I hear whispers.

It is Mother, her sisters.

Wanchese's eyes are cold, unfeeling.

“Do not be reckless.

This is not a game.”