“He lived to be a man. He was a famous runner and good fighter, and the men all listened to him respectfully in council. He fathered seven children by two wives, and died in a fight against the Cat People on an island in the Niagara River when he was over fifty. He’s satisfied with his life. My sisters and the other women of the clan did a good job raising him without me.”
“There must be a reason why you’re the one who’s here.”
“I told you why. You chose me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Maybe your mind chose me because I’m from the time when things were in chaos, before the great peace. My times are the reason why the Senecas and the other longhouse nations hate discord and anarchy. We lived it. We died of it. You live a violent life. You’ve killed people, and that’s not an easy thing for a woman. Killing strains against our nature. Maybe it’s making you sick. You know sken:nen means peace, but the same word means health.”
“I’ve only tried to keep people from being killed,” said Jane. “I taught them to evade, to run, to start new lives. How could anyone—man or woman—not do that much?”
“If that’s not what’s wrong, then maybe something is missing from your life.”
Jane sighed. “I wanted a baby.”
“You still do.”
“I suppose I do, but Carey and I have tried for years and it hasn’t happened, so I’m training myself not to keep longing for what I can’t have.”
“Now you’re setting a snare, trying to trip me up so I’ll accidentally tell you whether you’ll have a baby or not. I’m sorry, but I come from you. I know exactly what you know, and no more. Maybe I know a few things that you saw or heard but have forgotten. But you haven’t seen the future, so I haven’t either.”
“Admit that you were sent to me.”
“I was sent to you,” said the woman.
“By the good brother or the evil one?”
“You know better than to ask that. Which is God—birth and growth, or death and decay? They seem to fight, but they don’t.”
“Are either of them real?”
“If there’s a creator, he created your parents and grandparents, your mind, your memory, this dream, and sent me to guide you. If there is no creator, and your subconscious mind put me together out of memories and imagination because your mind needs me, then your brain sent me to guide you. Tell me which it is.”
“I can’t.”
“Then neither can I,” said the woman. “And my time will be up soon. This is your last REM cycle for the night, and it should be thirty minutes, or forty. The best thing you have in your life is Carey. It’s not always in your power to make him happy, but it is in your power to make him know that you love him.”
“Am I making him jealous by worrying about Jimmy?”
“He’s not jealous,” said the woman. “Maybe you think he should be.”
“I’m not interested in Jimmy that way. But being around him makes me—I don’t know—miss something.”
“Jimmy looks like a Seneca and speaks Seneca with you as your father did, so it’s natural to feel the connection. You think that you were supposed to marry a man like Jimmy but didn’t, so you feel guilty, and now you feel guilty for feeling guilty because that’s not fair to Carey. I can tell you that you were right to pick the man who didn’t just give you a faint friendly feeling. Instead you took the one who gave you a trembling in your stomach and weak knees.”
“If I stay home with my husband, what will happen to Jimmy?”
“You won’t do that. Being Jimmy’s guide is something the clan mothers require of you—that life demands of you. But you’ve got to do whatever you’re going to do soon. Time isn’t helping you.”
“That’s your advice? Hurry up?” said Jane.
“Jimmy’s enemies are getting more powerful, so you have to be quick. Follow the poisoned stream to where the spring seeps out of the ground. Find out everything you can and then do what you have to. But you have to act soon. Jimmy won’t see the man in the forest before he swings the club. You might.”
Jane woke while the sky was just lightening from black to blue gray. The stars outside the window were still bright and glowing, but she could see the leaves of the old walnut tree on the far side of the carriage house. She sat up, still naked, slid out from under the sheet, and looked down at Carey sprawled beside her. He always slept with an innocent, peaceful look on his face, especially after a night like last night. He undoubtedly had disturbing dreams sometimes, but white people didn’t study their dreams, or make much of them.
She got up and walked quietly out of the room, passed the master bathroom, and continued down the hall to one of the bathrooms attached to guest rooms and turned on the shower. The warm water felt good.
A few minutes later she saw through the glass door of the shower that he had appeared. “Dr. M.,” she said. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
He opened the shower door and stepped in with her. “I woke up alone and came looking for you. You’re home now, but you won’t be soon.” He sidestepped past her, ducked under the shower and got wet, then scrubbed himself with soap.
She was very still. “You know that?”
“Since I saw you in the kitchen last night I’ve been listening for you to say this was over—that Jimmy Sanders was safe and you were home for good. You haven’t said it, so it isn’t over.”
She hugged him, feeling the water spraying her back. “I’m sorry, Carey. I don’t have a choice right now.”
“I know you think that,” he said. “I was here for the beginning, the day they asked you to take this on. I didn’t like it, and I still don’t like it. Last night wasn’t the time for the argument. Is this the time?”
“I don’t think so.” She turned off the shower, took his hand, and stepped out of the stall with him. She tossed him a bath towel, took one herself, and led him into the guest room. They made love gently and then passionately, and lay lazily on the bed. After a time she could tell he was looking at her.
He leaned over her and kissed her. “You’re leaving right away, aren’t you?”
“As soon as I check the refrigerator to see what you ought to have but didn’t buy for yourself, and go to the grocery store. But when I get back, we’ll spend about three days just going from room to room doing this.”