Elizabeth Irene

Hello, my name is Alice. You can call me Ali for short. Lately I’ve been having dreams about an ancestor whose name, I dare to say, is Elizabeth Irene. I’m going to call her Eli for short. I do not know her last name. my mother’s name is Elizabeth and my sister’s name is Rosa. My father’s name is Henry. We are a happy family living in Connecticut. We, according to my mother, have been in Connecticut since the 1700’s! I cannot believe that! My mother’s people are from New York and came to Connecticut in the 1780’s; however, my father’s people came to Connecticut from Rhode Island in the 1800’s. so yes, my people are very old. My father’s people are Native American (allegedly) and my mother’s people are African-American. All of my life I have always known Connecticut. I currently live in New Haven with my big sister Rosa. This is where the story starts.

The story of my ancestor Eli is one that is a bit disturbing. She’s been haunting me since I was a child and I never understood why. She often appeared in my room floating above my bed. Or she’d be in class staring at me through the classroom window. On days like that, I would see an American Robin on the porch when I left for school to then see her ghost in the class window. She scared me! One day I told my parents about this and they looked scared. They actually believed me! My mom and dad sat me down and began to tell me the story about my ancestor (from my father’s side) Elizabeth Irene. My father said that she went by many names during her time and that she was feared by many Native American tribes. I didn’t understand why. She was Native American? It didn’t make sense because we are African American. We are Black American. I never felt like a Native child. We didn’t live on a reservation. My father joked about being native, but he never confirmed it to me nor my sister; however, until now. My 10-year-old self was stunned. We are Native American and Black? How?

“Well, according to my mother’s side, we are…” claimed my dad. “I swore that I’d never give you the burden of knowing this. For protection, Alice. Now, I see that it’s too late for that.”

“She’s simply too young Henry. We shouldn’t tell her-,”

“Liz, let’s not do that. The time is now. Are you ready, Alice?”

I was scared, confused, frightened. Did I mention I was terrified? Oh yes, I felt lost.

“I-I…don’t know?”

“It’s only best for you to know now…”

“She’s just a child Henry…”

Both my parents stared at me from across the kitchen table. They looked worried. Especially my mother. She looked like she saw a ghost. The way that, now, I wish that I could go back to this moment. The quiet before the storm.

“The story begins in 1820 or 1823. This is the time that she would’ve been born. Elizabeth Irene that is. She was born here in Connecticut surrounded by her family and elders. The day of her birth, her family home was surrounded by American Robins. In fact, before she was born, the American robin began to build nests in all of the trees on the land of her home. She was born with nearly blue skin. The midwives thought her to be dead. She must’ve suffocated. Stillborn. Yet her eyes moved with ease. She bore a smile. The American Robins chirped and sang morning, noon, and night months before she was born, some say. She was the first of her siblings. The blood sun and blood moon of Virgo graced the land the day before she was born. Her mother, Darlene, was restless the night of her birth. Her grandmother changed her name to Irene; therefore, naming her Elizabeth Irene. You remember I said that she goes by many names, well those of us that know, know that we do not dare say her ‘real’ name. For it is forbidden. Her people were similar to you, Alice. She was of the Negro race and of the Indigenous peoples of New England. She was made as American as they come. She had a darkness that made her feared amongst many Indigenous tribes throughout America and beyond. The story goes that in the year 1850 was the year the killing started. Some say 1851 and some say the day John Brown fell on the sword of salvation that the killings were noticed.

‘Do you know of John Brown?

Do you know of John Brown?

For he led us to our demise

He sent the devil to our doorstep

He sent him.

He sent her.

She gives us songs of death

Through the soul of the Haunting

Through the sound of the Robin

At midnight

At midnight

She dwells with the earthly shadows…

Do you know of John Brown?’

The killings were unexplainable. The land smelled of spilt blood and death. It is feared that she became a monster in the light. It is feared that she used malice to kill those who once owned innocent souls of the Negro race. She succumbed to the forbidden life of a ‘Skin-walker’. But how could she, some asked, considering that is not a tale of the Indigenous peoples in New England. How did the killings occur? How did she shape herself into a…bird? The most common bird in all of North America? What is the bird, you ask? The bird is the American Robin. The legend is that she traveled to the west to fulfill this prophecy of avenging those whom had been enslaved. To free them from chains. To be their savior. Some say she was the best conductor of the Underground rail road. Same say she spared no one. Except…a child was spared. An infant none but 7 days old. Spared from her murderous wrath. Left alone crying in a crib. Orphaned.