Free Blue Birds by Caroline Starr Rose Page B

Indians who’ve hated us
    long before we anchored here.”
    Manteo speaks.
    â€œI have gone to the Roanoke.
    I’ve talked with them,
    as I did my people.”
    â€œI do not trust this man!”
    The woman’s words are full of hate.
    I turn to see who speaks.
    It is Mother!
    â€œWhy would Manteo side with us?” she says.
    â€œHe could favor the Roanoke!”
    The gathering’s set ablaze.
    â€œ. . . this place is cursed . . .”
    â€œ. . . my son only talks of fighting Indians!”
    â€œ. . . hardly any flour left . . .”
    â€œ. . . Manteo, I cannot trust him . . .”
    â€œ. . . don’t know why we ever came.”
    â€œEnough!” Father roars.
    One word reaps silence.
    â€œWe 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.
    â€œThe Governor thinks it best
    to delay until spring,” Manteo says.
    Father’s mouth is firm.
    â€œJohn 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?

Alis
    Father insists
    we desert
    this prison,
    this place
    whose beauty
    sings within me.

Alis
    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.
    â€œMontoac,” 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.
    â€œThank 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.
    â€œMontoac,” she whispers,
    her eyes unblinking.
    I think she wants
    to hear me say it.
    â€œMontoac,” I answer.
    The word
    brings her
    relief.

KIMI
    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.

Alis
    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.
    â€œWho’s there?”
    Old Lump-and-Bump lumbers into view.
    â€œMiss Harvie?” he says,
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?”
    â€œCatching a breath of air?”
    The story is ridiculous even to my ears.
    Lump-and-Bump towers above me,
    his knobby nose on great display.
    â€œDo not tell me
    you’ve not been warned
    of the dangers outside.”
    I drop my chin to my chest.
    â€œMr. 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.
    â€œI saw Alis,”
    he’s out of breath,
    â€œwhile I was hunting.”
    When did he notice me—
    before or after I left Kimi?
    â€œLet’s see what your father thinks,”
    Old Lump-and-Bump says.

Alis
    He marches me to the ironmonger