Blue Birds Read Online Free PDF Page A

we’d go to them at once,”
    Governor White says.
    â€œBut it would take weeks
    to move the cargo to the pinnace,
    take it north,
    trip by trip.
    By then,
    summer would be too far gone
    to plant and harvest.
    There’d be no time to build
    before cold weather settles in.”
    â€œBut is it safe here?” someone asks.
    â€œA man was murdered yesterday.”
    â€œI understand your worry,” the Governor says.
    â€œBut we are trying to set things right.
    I believe it’s best to stay.
    We’ll be reunited with the missing men next spring,
    once we pass the winter here.”
    His words cover all of us
    assembled in the twilight.
    It is the first mention of leaving
    since we arrived a week ago,
    and though Uncle’s whereabouts are unclear,
    I will not lose faith.
    â€œTo Virginia!” someone shouts,
    â€œto the City of Ralegh!”
    and all around
    we join
    in jubilee.
    â€œHow are you sure they’re still alive?”
    Father’s words cut through the celebration.
    â€œThere is no certainty,”
    the Governor admits,
    â€œbut we hold hope close.
    We have no other choice.”
    â€œFerdinando should take us north.”
    someone says.
    â€œFerdinando should take us home!”
    another answers.
    The Governor’s face grows red.
    â€œDo not speak of that man to me!”
    He spits the words.
    â€œDo you know why
    he agreed to bring us to Virginia?
    So that he might plunder
    Spanish ships along the way.
    Throughout our voyage
    he spoke of nothing else.
    It took weeks to persuade him
    to wait until he’d brought us here.
    Such raiding as he hoped for
    risked losing our cargo,
    perhaps even our lives.
    Once our goods are unloaded,
    Ferdinando will be gone.”
    â€œCome.”
    Father grabs my hand and Mother’s.
    His tone holds an edge.
    When talk turns to the missing men,
    how quickly his emotions
    bend and shift like heated iron.

Alis
    Father shuts the door.
    His face is drawn,
    his dark eyes heavy.
    â€œAlis.”
    He says my name
    so gently,
    it frightens me.
    Why does he sound as though
    he offers comfort?
    â€œSomething’s
    wrong,”
    my words come slowly,
    â€œsomething’s
    happened.”
    Father nods,
    his thick, dark hair,
    the squared shape of his chin,
    so much like Samuel’s.
    Mother puts her arm about me.
    I steel myself to say the words.
    â€œIt’s Uncle, isn’t it?”
    Those lurking thoughts,
    the ones I’ve tried
    and tried
    to push away
    come roaring back.
    â€œSweet Alis,” Father says,
    â€œit’s time for you to understand.
    Even if Samuel
    wasn’t killed by the Roanoke,
    with a hasty departure
    in foreign waters,
    what is the likelihood
    the soldiers reached Chesapeake,
    where none had ever been?”
    This can’t be.
    â€œSamuel’s strong!”
    I picture him,
    his head thrown back,
    laughter ringing forth.
    So close he feels,
    so vibrant.
    I cling to Father,
    bury my head in his chest.
    â€œHow I’ve wanted to keep faith,” he says.
    â€œBut each day has left
    more room for doubt.
    Samuel's gone.
    Now Howe is dead.
    How can I still believe
    my brother's safe?
    He’s lost
    and I
    could not
    protect him.”
    Mother strokes my hair.
    I cry until my tears are spent,
    Father’s jerkin damp beneath my cheek.

KIMI
    The Croatoan journey to our village.
    They touch their heads and chests,
    clasp hands with our men.
    Mother and I bring pumpkins,
    bowls of fish and berries
    as the weroansqua,
    Manteo’s mother,
    speaks with Wanchese.
    They say the English came to them yesterday,
    have asked for peace.
    A fish slips from the bowl I hold.
    Wanchese scowls,
    but I know he thinks as I do.
    Do they not realize
    that time passed long ago?

Alis
    I chew a mouthful of bread,
    but it is
    nothing,
    feel the shock of heat
    from the open door,
    but it is
    nothing,
    hear the chatter of birds
    racing above,
    all nothing,
    for Uncle
    is gone.

August