Blue Birds (11 page)

There are even more men

guarding our borders now.

Will I ever

leave the settlement

again?

I awake at the first hint of morning,

slip my feet into my shoes,

am careful the door closes

softly behind me.

If there is a way

out of the village,

I will find it.

Already I have planned

what I'll say if I'm found missing.

The sunrise beckoned.

I watched it from the armory.

How easily

the lie comes to me.

The wall runs unbroken

around the settlement.

There are two guards

at each post,

eyes everywhere.

I pass from station to station,

study the men within,

and finally there's

Hooked-Nosed Mr. Cooper curled upon the floor,

his arm pillowing his head

and Old Lump-and-Bump's bulging frame

balanced on a stool,

his lips quivering as he snores.

I scale the wall,

jump over downed branches,

leap beyond gnarled roots.

I do not turn back,

do not stop

until I am in the place

where Kimi meets me.

I've never seen her

in the early hours,

but here I sit,

imagine Kimi near.

In my mind,

there are no barriers.

My words and hers

make perfect sense between us.

I ask about

her family,

tell her

what a wonder

this island is to me.

I speak of Uncle,

young enough to be a brother,

the person dearest to me,

that trusting he loved this beauty

helps ease his absence;

believing her world

is one he embraced

keeps him close to me.

My heart is satisfied

with the conversation we've shared,

even if it's only been pretend.

With my finger,

I write in the dirt—

a skill Mother and Father

never understood my wanting—

yet I am grateful

Uncle taught me this.

A-l-i-s

K-i-m-i

A steady rain begins,

washes my words away.

Something moves

behind the red-barked trees.

I leap to my feet.

An Indian,

his arrow!

He means to kill me!

So fast,

so fast

I run,

my breath

comes

raw

and

jagged.

All morning

I think of him,

his arm pulled back to let the arrow fly,

the feathers woven in his hair.

Indians are out there,

waiting to strike,

yet I only know of this

because I left the settlement.

I can say nothing

without condemning myself.

Since Mr. Florrie warned us

of the Croatoan on the shore,

I've kept Ambrose and Tommy inside for days.

A bit of sun would do them good.

I lead them to the empty square,

far from the walls.

Surely here we're safe.

They gather shells,

laugh to watch

them thud or skip

across the ground.

George marches to us,

a musket at his shoulder,

a knife tucked in his breeches.

He sits back on his heels

so he is level with the boys.

“When you're old enough

I'll teach you

to aim those at the Indians,

shoot them with a musket,

bash in their brains.”

“Don't say such things!”

I press the boys against my skirts,

covering their ears.

George smirks,

his broken tooth catching his lip.

“Do you think the Croatoan

truly have forgiven us,

that the Roanoke don't know

we meant them harm?

Surely both hide in shadow

just outside the village boundaries.”

My heart turns over painfully.

The man I saw this morning.

It is just as George has said.

How long will we be safe?

Days ago,

this boy wept openly.

Now he seeks a chance to strike.

I hope my words will reach the empty part of him.

“You must miss your father terribly.”

For a flash he is unguarded,

then a steeliness comes over him.

“Don't speak of him again,” he says.

Tonight,

after our meal,

the drums begin,

the men approach,

gourd rattles in their hands.

“I saw a girl,”

Chogan says.

“Notched an arrow to frighten her.

She fled like a rabbit.”

Cold grips me.

The men hold their rattles high.

Drums pound in unison,

lead the dancing men.

We are here,

their movements say,

have been since the earth's beginning.

It is you Englishmen

who don't belong.

Mother and Mrs. Archard have finished their work early.

The afternoon is mine to do with as I please.

“Why you choose

the heat outside

is senseless,” Mother says.

She doesn't long to see everything about us,

explore all that is unknown.

But she understands this need in me.

She lets me go.

I am grateful

for what I've been offered.

Mother says I'm free to wander

if I stay near.

I stroll about the village.

I lift my eyes to each station

as I walk beside the earthen wall,

running my hand along its sturdy side.

My fingers find

part of the structure has melted

in last night's rain.

The Indian,

his arrow,

they make me hesitate.

But the pull to go to Kimi,

even stronger.

This will be my way out.

Behind me

is a guardhouse.

Before me,

a group of men pass

with boards over their shoulders,

saws in hand.

So as not to draw attention,

I walk farther on,

and once no one is about,

I hurry back,

pray the guards are focused elsewhere,

and plunge my hands

into the wall's damp softness

until I've widened

the space.

I escape.

“Good day,” I say, when I see her.

Kimi clutches my hand,

touches my forehead,

my heart, with our fingers intertwined.

She slips my shoes upon her feet,

stumbles in them

like one new to walking.

I unwind my plait,

motion to her

to fashion my hair like hers.

Here

I can forget

all else,

I can pretend

this moment

is how things always are.

Alis spins about,

arms spread wide,

so like Alawa.

All I shared with my sister,

what I've pushed away so long

stirs to life within me,

like an evening breeze,

a bee in search of nectar,

a gushing stream.

I join her dance,

the world a blur of colors,

like the leaves that float at harvest,

the memory of a dream.

Together,

we spin,

fall to the earth in laughter,

leaves clinging to our hair.

Her question I do not follow,

but when she lifts her hand,

one finger raised,

I see the bird.

It flies from branch to branch,

as blue as the morning.

“Iacháwanes,” I say.

Her lips move.

“Ia-chá . . .”

She wants the word

to be her own.

“Iacháwanes.”

“Ia-chá-wa . . . ,” she tries again.

“. . . nes,” I finish for her.

“Ia-chá-wa-nes.”

The little bird bobs,

makes music in his throat.

I remember the two that flew above

the first time we met.

And then it comes to me.

Her wooden bird,

the roughness underneath his beak,

perhaps it is the copper feathers

iacháwanes wears.

I cup my hand,

stroke imaginary wings.

She doesn't follow.

I hook my thumbs together,

make my fingers fly.

Slowly Alis smiles,

pulls the wooden bird from her coverings,

holds it high enough the creatures

seem as though they perch together.

“Iacháwanes.

Uncle Samuel's bird,” she says.

Tears brighten her eyes,

but it's as if she's come alive.

Is this why her bird called me,

wouldn't let me leave it hidden?

For her joy to be restored,

so I'd awake to happiness.

There's so much risk in our meeting.

I think of Chogan,

his arrow drawn.

“Be careful, Alis,” I say,

my hand upon her wrist.

She gazes at me curiously,

tucks the bird inside her coverings.

Is her montoac enough to keep her safe?

Uncle's gift to me,

I have received it threefold,

the first in his giving,

the second time from Kimi's hand,

now today in learning its true name.

I bid her farewell,

skip back toward the village,

reflecting on this perfect day.

I do not see the man

until he stands beside me.

In one sharp instant

yesterday

and the arrow

leap to memory.

Though his hair falls past his shoulders,

he wears a crimson doublet.

“Miss Harvie.”

Now I can breathe.

It is only Manteo.

I reach for the leaves

that surely stick to my hair,

realize it is bound like Kimi's.

“It is dangerous for you to be here on your own.”

I tug my hair loose,

plait it hastily,

secure it with my ribbon.

He steps aside to let me pass,

but as he does he whispers:

“Iacháwanes.”

The skin tingles on my arms.

I do not hesitate in rushing home.