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July 1587
Alis
Almost three months we’ve journeyed,
each wave pushing us farther
from London,
every day moving us closer
to Virginia.
But now we’re anchored on sandy banks
in a place we’re not to be.
The enormity of our circumstance
comes crashing down around us.
Though this is Virginia,
it’s not our new home.
We will be forced ashore
miles from where
our pilot, Ferdinando,
promised to take us.
Yet our Governor
does nothing to stop him.
Alis
How ready I am to leave this ship,
stretch my legs, be free!
But not like this,
tossed out
like yesterday’s rubbish.
Father stands in the pinnace,
holds his hand to me.
“Come, Alis.”
I step into the smaller boat,
less steady,
less sturdy.
Mother eases in,
cradling her belly,
perspiration at her temples,
her once-starched collar
dingy and askew.
“What will we do?” Mother whispers.
Her cheek rests on Father’s shoulder.
“How will we reach the land
that’s been promised us?”
“We’ll find my brother and his men.”
Uncle.
I grasp the wooden bird
in my pocket.
I did not dream
of seeing him so soon.
Surely he and the other soldiers
will set things right,
speak sense to Ferdinando.
Maybe he has already
caught sight of the boats,
will welcome us onshore.
Alis
Before me is a place
few Englishmen have ever seen.
I lean over the bow,
try to will the pinnace faster
to trees pointing heavenward,
a flock of cranes rippling the sky.
Mother grasps my plait,
gives my hair a tug.
“Careful,” she says.
The boat cuts through the water
as wind snaps our sails,
rocks us with each wave
toward land heavy with trees,
thick with darkness.
The mysterious island,
Roanoke.
Alis
The pinnace drops anchor,
and that savage, Manteo,
offers me his hand,
the Indian who came to England
with the Governor
after his first voyage here.
I shake my head,
for even though he’s lived in London
and dresses as we do,
I’ve seen the hair as long as a woman’s
he hides underneath his hat.
I will not let him touch me.
My steps are uncertain
after our ocean crossing,
and when I stumble in the sand,
I ignore Manteo’s amused smile,
choose not to stand but sit and watch
the scramble of people,
the rising tide,
the pinnace already making its way
back to the ships
for the last of us.
I scan the banks for Uncle Samuel,
but he is nowhere.
Alis
The Governor bids us to follow him
across the sandy beach.
Marsh grass swishes against my skirts.
London’s crowded streets
smelled of rot and filth.
I’d hold my breath,
race my friend
down Fish Street to London Bridge.
Neither Joan nor I ever made it
without pulling in deep gulps of air
as putrid as death.
Here,
damp wood mingles
with the warm sea breeze.
The forest rises up,
takes us in,
and in the woods,
scattered all around,
pink flowers,
starred yellow in their centers,
tremble with each footstep.
I pluck a jaunty bloom,
tuck it behind my ear.
Even on summer days
the London light was weak,
fighting soot and drizzling clouds.
Here,
sunlit patches
cut through highest branches,
a brilliant red bird wings above.
Her sharp notes climb up,
spiral down.
In London stray dogs roam in mangy coats
scrounging for a scrap of meat.
Here,
waves lap the shore,
crabs dance across the sand,
berry bushes reach as high
as entryways at Bishop’s Gate.
What a strange and wondrous place!
KIMI
They crash through the forest.
I crouch behind trees,
watching
as they
stumble
through underbrush.
Never did I think
these strange ones would return.
Yet here they are again.
Some think
they are spirits back from the dead.
Some say
they have invisible weapons
that strike with sickness after they’ve gone.
Father
said they were people
like us, only
with different ways.
But how can I believe him?
Father
is dead.
Alis
Ahead,
people gather in a clearing.
We must be near the settlement
where a few soldiers
lay claim for England.
Last year,
when Uncle left us,
he promised we wouldn’t long be parted.
After his time in the Queen’s service,
he’d be home again.
How surprised he’ll be
to learn we’ve come!
I want to run ahead,
clutch him in a hug,
show him how faithfully
I’ve kept his wooden bird.
But my legs are unsteady.
Surely Mother needs me near.
The baby we await
fatigues her so easily.
Her face is worn.
Her golden hair
tumbles loose about her shoulders,
and I lace my arm through hers,
maybe hurry her more than she would wish,
but gently,
so as not to tire her more.
Governor White and his assistants draw together.
All about us
words clash and climb
until the Governor calls for silence.
Two men break away from the Governor’s side.
He says they’ll go ahead,
enter the settlement through the gate.
Even though I shouldn’t,
I release Mother’s arm,
drop my bundle at her feet.
“Alis!” she calls,
but I pretend I cannot hear her,
for I must find Uncle.
I skirt the crowd.
A fluttering blue bird draws me—
one with plumes as lavish as a gown.
I pray it leads me to him,
my uncle,
who knows so much of wild things,
but the bird escapes me.
Somehow
I’ve run
far beyond the others.
Somehow
I’ve reached a ditch
encircling an earthen barrier—
one ring inside another,
like the moat surrounding London Wall.
It isn’t hard to slip down the ditch’s side,
scale the embankment within,
and I’m in the settlement—
if this place could be called that—
with homes empty,
deer wandering through open doors,
vines twisting about windows.
Two of our men walk about,
one towering over the other,
whose nose is a mountain
of lumps and bumps.
I step back from view,
stumble,
fall into a heap of ash,
the charred remains of a building.
A scream
claws at my throat.
Bleached bones
litter the ground.
Alis
My
stomach
rebels.
I clutch my skirts,
run back
to the others.
Alis
I slip into the crowd,
careful to keep near its edge,
where I won’t be so easily seen.
But no one has noticed my absence,
for all are focused on Governor White.
Twice he’s come to Virginia
to map the land,
paint the creatures who live here,
determine where our city would someday be.
Our Governor knows this island
better than any Englishman,
and remembering this brings relief.
We are secure
with him near.
“George Howe Sr. and Roger Bailie
have surveyed the settlement,” he says.
“It has been
empty
for some
time.”
“Empty?”
someone shouts.
“What of the soldiers?”
another says.
A woman wails.
“Who will help us now?”
Those bones were nothing more
than seashells, I tell myself,
the remnants of a deer.
The Governor’s beard is grayer
than when we first left England.
He worries his cap in his hands.
“We are unsure what has happened,” he says.
The enormous man
I saw within the settlement
whispers to the Governor.
I see him stiffen.
“Mr. Howe says
there is a building
burned
to its foundation,”
Governor White says slowly,
“the
bones
of a
man.”
Uncle is safe,
I think the same words over and over,
trying to unsee, unhear
this horror.
But dread surges through me.
The Governor knows nothing
more than the rest of us.
The Governor studies his daughter,
Mrs. Dare, heavy with child.
“Ferdinando’s promised
to leave us the pinnace.
For now we will rebuild,
stay through the fall and winter,
and when spring comes,
we’ll sail to Chesapeake
and establish the City of Ralegh.”
Father’s eyes are troubled.
“Someone is dead.
Does this not concern you?
And what of the other soldiers?
Surely we should search for them.”
The Indian speaks.
“Perhaps my people know something.
They live on Croatoan,
not far from here.”
The Governor nods his head
too vigorously.
Father presses his lips together.
I know how he thinks:
The Governor’s too hasty
to claim the pinnace.
He should force Ferdinando to take us farther.
He’s too quick
to trust the soldiers are elsewhere, safe.
“Mr. Howe will lead us in,” Governor White says.
The other assistants step aside.
Mr. Howe,
with fingers big as sausages, points ahead.
He strides toward the village,
where Uncle
is meant to be.
The deer scatter.
The abandoned buildings
hold fast their secrets.
Alis
My thoughts fly to Mother.
I scold myself for leaving her
with two sets of things to carry
and push back through the throng
until I’m outside the village again.
The sun has brightened her cheeks;
she tries to pin her hair.
“Mother!” I shout,
and she looks to me.
“Where have you been?
And what’s this on your skirt?”
She dusts my dress,
shaking her head,
ushers me to the settlement.
I touch my ear,
discover my flower is missing.
Over my shoulder,
I study the ground behind me.
In the midst of the forest,
something shifts
like a branch might in a breeze.
A shadow flits between the trees.
This is no bird.
No wind stirs the leaves.
Something
lurks
in the woods.
KIMI
Never
have there been
women or children.
The first men, they came
with tools and gifts, left
with Wanchese and Manteo
journeying to their distant world.
The second ones came
with friendship that turned bitter,
with illness,
with drought,
eating our seed corn,
beheading Father,
Wingina,
our weroance,
leader of the Roanoke.
The third ones,
so few in number,
weren’t here long
before Wanchese did away with them.
I’ve always thought
they were a people
of only men.
KIMI
The woman
embraces one
who must be
her daughter.
How plain they are!
No copper at their ears.
I touch the pearls about my neck,
their beauty still new to me.
The girl turns her head,
her eyes,
light as the rain-rinsed sky,
search the wood.
I step back
into
darkness.
KIMI
A woman.
Her daughter.
Holding each other.
Alawa,
my sister,
what would you think
to see the English
act so tenderly?
Alis
The settlement is not remarkable—
a tiny village flanked with four earthen walls,
one with the gate,
the other three with stations,
like turrets on a castle.
Inside we find
last year’s forgotten garden
and empty animal pens,
a small collection of cottages
set about an open square,
a large building used as barracks
by the soldiers sent to claim this land,
England’s presence in the New World.
Beyond these buildings are
a jail,
a chapel,
the armory,
farther still the forge.
Though most structures are intact,
neglect has left its mark.
More homes must be erected
for the families here.
After a hasty service,
the bones are covered in a grave.
Men cart the scorched remains
of the burned building,
where the soldiers stored provisions.
Some of the boys hack at the vines
encircling the abandoned cottages.
In the square,
the women cluster in a knot.
“For months, the Governor
never spoke against that Ferdinando,”
pinched-lipped Mrs. Archard says.
“And we’re the ones who have to pay.
The Governor should have forced him
to stop at those nearby islands
for the livestock and fruit he promised.
The Governor should have refused
to leave the ship,
insisted we sail to Chesapeake.”
“But we cannot change that now,” Mrs. Dare says,
and I study her rounded frame.
When will her baby join us:
before or after Mother’s child comes?
“I wonder if our spiteful pilot
will let us gather all our things,” Mrs. Archard says.
“Weeks it took to pack those ships.
Weeks again we’ll need.
I wouldn’t be a mite surprised
if he sailed away come nightfall.”
Mother touches Mrs. Archard’s arm.
“The Governor will make things right,” Mother says,
but the woman’s face loses none of its harsh angles.
She tries to comfort Mrs. Archard,
but I’m the one
who needs her reassurance.
Uncle Samuel,
Father’s only brother,
has lived with us forever.
This year apart is the only one
I’ve ever known without him.
Where has he gone?
Only bones
were here
to greet us.
Two boys scuffle over an axe,
another carries vines that spill from his arms.
The vine boy’s eyes find mine;
swift as a pickpocket,
he moves away.
I linger, observing him,
his head a mess of curls.
Everywhere I look
it’s men,
women,
boys.
There is
no one
here
like me.
And Uncle,
the one
so dear to me,
has disappeared.
“Alis?” Mother calls.
She’s gone ahead,
bustling toward the buildings.
No word of tenderness,
no glance that says she shares my worries.
“Please gather our things.”
I reach for our bundles,
hug them to my chest so tightly,
no one can hear me cry.
Alis
We find Father bent over a fire
in the ironmonger’s shed,
already working metal
salvaged from the ruins.
His hammer sings,
high and piercing,
and I run to him,
fold into him.
He drops his hammer,
pulls Mother close,
and the three of us huddle
as a flurry of activity
continues outside.
“We are here.
We are safe.
We will find Samuel,” he says.
Alis
I clutch my wooden bird,
one of the three Uncle whittled
just before he left,
the second safe with Joan,
the last one his own.
Alis
“It’s a bird of Virginia,” Uncle said.
His hands pressed the carving into mine.
Though its wooden body is brown as a sparrow’s,
I imagine sapphire wings,
a patch of rust spread above its curved white middle,
just like the painting Uncle has described.
The graceful bird,
its wings rest so daintily.
This Uncle Samuel promised me:
Birds return home
no matter how far they fly.
One set free might wander
but will eventually rejoin his flock.
At first,
I believed this was Uncle’s pledge
to return to me,
but when Father said we too
would go to Virginia,
I thought of this:
What if a flight of birds
followed the wandering one,
joining him on a journey
entirely new?
Since setting sail
my secret wish has been
that Uncle’s joy
would be so great,
he’d forget England
when his service was done.
Instead he’d make his home Virginia,
fly
to the City of Ralegh,
to us,
his family.
KIMI
The whispers among my people began
the first time the English came.
They grew to angered shouts:
The English have great power,
mightier than we have seen
in the agile deer,
the arrows of our enemies,
the angry hurricane.
Able to blot out the sun.
KIMI
I run the well-worn path
beyond the stalks of beans and corn,
through the slender poles of the palisade,
past the longhouses
to Wanchese.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Blue Birds"
by .
Copyright © 2016 Caroline Starr Rose.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Young Readers Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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