Dangerous Dreams: A Novel

by Mike Rhynard

  “Oh my God! I saw her born.” She shuddered. I did read about these people, about Virginia Dare, in ninth grade history, or somewhere. “But I saw Virginia Dare being born.” Chills raced down her back like a millipede stampede. “How . . . how can this be?”

  The colonists expected to live on their supplies from England, but these soon ran out. And as the ships that brought the settlers to Roanoke prepared to leave, the colonists’ situation grew desperate. They insisted that John White return to England on the ship to obtain supplies and more settlers. White reluctantly agreed, leaving his daughter, Elyoner Dare, and her baby, Virginia Dare, behind on Roanoke Island.

  Where I woke up. Oh my God!

  Immediately after White reached England, open war broke out between England and Spain (See “Spanish Armada”), and Queen Elizabeth closed all English harbors. Thus, because of the war, John White did not return to Roanoke until 1590, three years after he had left.

  “Nooo . . .”

  And when he landed on Roanoke Island, he found no trace of the colonists—only the letters CRO carved on a tree and the word CROATOAN, the slightly misspelled name of a nearby island (Croatan Island) inhabited by friendly Indians, carved on a palisade (log fort) post in the village. But neither carving was accompanied by a cross to signify distress, such as White had ordered if the colonists departed in danger.

  Last thing he said before he left.

  White returned to his ship and attempted to sail the short distance south to Croatan Island in search of the settlers and his family, but a severe storm forced the ship to sail out to sea for safety. The captain then refused to return to Virginia, and John White never again set foot on American soil.

  “He never came back? How could he do that . . . his daughter . . . the baby.”

  Nothing certain has ever been learned about the fate of little Virginia Dare and the other colonists. Thus, unless some chance discovery or excavation yields evidence to solve the puzzle, we shall never know what happened to this first English settlement in America.

  Allie stared at the page. She tapped a monotonous rhythm with her fingers on the desk. We shall never know . . . never know. “Damn! Can’t be! ” She glared viciously at the computer as if anger could change the words, change history. “Damn it! Why is this happening to me? Emily, George Howe, Hugh Tayler, Elyoner . . . they can’t just disappear. They can’t.”

  Stunned, numb, overcome by sudden depression, Allie turned out the light and walked to the bed. She sat on the side, stared at the wall. It’s like reading that your hometown and your family have been wiped out by a tornado or an earthquake. I know these people. But how can I? It’s just a dumb dream. But somehow I’m dreaming real history—don’t know why or how, but it’s real history, and these people are real. Emily, I feel you, know you, care for you, feel like you’re part of me. With tearing eyes, she flopped onto her back, pulled the comforter over her. Damn it! They’re all gonna die.

  But they’re already dead . . . lived over four hundred years ago.

  “No. They’re alive, I see them, know them.”

  Not so. They’re already dead! Get it through your head, dummy. One way or another, they’re already dead.

  “No. They’re alive in my mind. They’re gonna make it. They can’t die.”

  A sudden jolt of excitement raced through Allie’s body. Wait a minute! There was no cross by the name in the picture. So they weren’t in danger when they left. Said they went to Croatan Island. Maybe history’s wrong. Maybe they did make it. Just because they weren’t found doesn’t mean they didn’t live out happy lives somewhere. They’re gonna make it. I know they are.

  Allie dried her tears with the end of the comforter then rolled over; buried her face in her pillow and exhorted her mind to ponder the imponderable, explain the inexplicable; whispered, “Emily . . . Emily . . . you have to make it . . . have to make it . . . have to . . .”

  The four full-haired Indians from the far, far north were nearing the territory of the Chesapeake tribe, which was at the south end of a large, long, north-south water that most people called by the tribe’s name. The Chesapeake village was on a square-cornered spit of land, the north side of which formed the south end of the large water, and the east side of which faced the Great-Water-That-Cannot-Be-Drunk. The men had spent several days with the mountain tribes, nearly all of whom spoke slight variations of their own language—variations that were close enough to allow voice communication in lieu of hand signs. But their dialect was unrecognizable to the tribes between the mountains and the large water, most of whom were members of a strong alliance led by the Powhatan tribe and their powerful leader, Wahunsunacock. The Powhatans and the mountain tribes were bitter enemies and had done much injury to one another over the years. So in their journey to the Chesapeakes, the four north men stayed well south of the large, west-to-east river that flowed into the large water by the Chesapeake village, hoping to avoid contact with both the Powhatans and their allies, most of whom resided north of the river. The Powhatans had pressured the Chesapeakes to join their alliance, even threatened them on occasion; but the Chesapeakes enjoyed their independence, preferred a less formal relationship with the Powhatans, and refused to officially join the alliance but paid significant tribute to the Powhatans to preclude being treated as an enemy.

  Because of their location, the Chesapeakes were rich in a large variety of seashells which the north men and their people treasured. Though they had huge waters of their own, some too wide to see across, their water was drinkable; and for some reason, the variety and color of shells yielded by their waters were far less suitable for jewelry than those of the Great-Water-That-Cannot-Be-Drunk. So the north men planned to trade their furry robes for vast amounts of shells, as well as the red stones the coastal peoples procured through trade with certain inland tribes, including the Powhatans. The shells would be used for jewelry, while the red stones would be used either for jewelry or to craft the red medicine pipe bowls cherished by their people. Similar red stones could be found in their home territory, but their craftsmen were not as skilled as those of the coastal and inland tribes. In addition to trading, the four would spend the winter with the Chesapeakes to gather even more shells; but these undrilled shells would be less valuable than the drilled ones they procured from the Chesapeakes, for the latter were either ready to be strung on necklaces and bracelets or were already strung and ready to be draped around a warrior’s or pretty girl’s neck or wrist.

  While most of their robes would be traded to the Chesapeakes, a number equal to the fingers on both hands would be traded with another people, the Croatans, one day’s canoe trip to the south on the Great-Water-That-Cannot-Be-Drunk. For a reason understood by no one, the waters around the Croatan’s island yielded uniquely colored shells that brought an even higher price in the north country. While some were the color of the red stones, others were a mix of the stone color and the color of the sand, and still others had dimples in them that made them even more attractive, further increasing their value.

  The leader, who wore the five eagle feathers, and one other north man would visit the Croatans while the two who remained with the Chesapeakes began trading and building the lodge that would shelter them over the winter. The leader planned to remain only two days with the Croatans before returning to help with the lodge and the hunting and fishing required to prepare for the winter.

  All four regretted leaving the refreshing coolness of the mountains for the hot, heavy-water air of the lowlands, but their vigilance for enemies was such that their minds had scant time to dwell on the weather or the punishing task of dragging their heavy travois. As they scanned their surroundings for signs of danger, the leader recalled their encounter with the Powhatans on their last visit to the area at a place not far from where they now walked. He remembered putting an arrow into one of them as he charged with a stone hatchet—a gutshot that probably killed the man in time. He’d gone down immediately, and his tribesmen had stopped, thought better o
f their attack, and retreated with their fallen comrade in hand. The north men had raised their weapons in the air, taunted the Powhatans as cowards and women for backing off. But the leader knew they’d been lucky that day, and though always ready for a fight, he was, this day, more interested in reaping the rewards of their long journey, which he couldn’t do if he were dead. So he’d quietly reminded the others of last year’s encounter and cautioned them to be vigilant. The days of constant alertness for battle had taken a toll on the men, left them with a mental tiredness that, together with their physical exhaustion, had created an eager longing for their journey’s end. Now as they crossed a small river that flowed north into the large river, the leader knew they were in Chesapeake territory, signaled the others. He knew they could gradually relax their vigilance over the day and a half it would take them to reach the Chesapeake village; and his companions’ more frequent smiles signaled their excited anticipation of an overdue rest, good food, and perhaps a pleasant evening with a beautiful young Chesapeake girl.

  Shortly after sunrise the morning of White’s departure for England, Emily lay in bed and imagined herself standing on the outer banks watching the two ships sail east toward the rising sun, held her breath as their sails grew ever smaller before melding into the horizon. She felt a lump in her heart, a vast, lonely, penetrating emptiness in her stomach. Then later, going about her chores in the village, she sensed an infectious pall hanging over the entire colony, a pall that could only have come from visions and feelings like her own. And after half a day of witnessing despair on every face, a skittish glaze in every pair of eyes, chores performed with apathy, she realized they all suffered the same two painful afflictions: the belated acknowledgement that since their arrival, the ships at anchor a short distance beyond the outer banks had been a reassuring comfort to them, a lifeline for escape if the worst occurred; and second, the soulful realization that they were now completely isolated from England, totally alone, with no help, no connection to home. So with no escape and no refuge, all that remained was an empty, lonely sense of abandonment aggravated by the stark comprehension of the awful peril that surrounded them. It had all drilled its way into their minds and souls and now sat like a cannon ball in the pit of every stomach until finally, just before noon, their sensibilities and the gravity of their plight were poignantly validated by the slaughter of their first pig and goat—a major, premature milestone in their consumption of the supplies they had brought from England, the supplies they had expected to see them through the winter.

  After a noon meal with her father, Emily sat alone in the cottage for ten minutes, held her locket, reread her mother’s letter, told her about John White leaving, the letters he carried from her and her father. She shed her usual tears of longing then told her mother of the debilitating feelings of aloneness and abandonment that had overcome the colony that morning, how she’d felt it, as well, but had now pushed it away. Finally, after putting her mother’s letter under her pillow, she kissed her locket, placed it in her apron pocket. She gathered up the dirty laundry, stuffed it into a canvas bag along with some soapwort and a washing bat, then checked that her eating knife was secure at her waist and walked outside. Her first stop was Elyoner’s cottage to see if she and Ananias had any laundry that needed washing.

  Elyoner said, “Em, you are the most wonderful, thoughtful friend a person could have. I feel horrible letting you do this . . . but I know I cannot yet make the walk.”

  “I don’t mind, Ellie, you’d do the same for me.”

  “Perhaps I’ll be ready in a week or even less. You might even be nursing by then, and we’ll bring Virginia with us. I’m so excited for you to begin.”

  “I, as well, Ellie. I’m ready now . . . but I doubt my milk is.” She smiled as she took the bag from Elyoner, slung it over her other shoulder. “Better be on my way. The others are waiting. We’ll talk when I return, before I fix dinner for Father and Hugh, though there really isn’t much to prepare.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Master Tayler’s joining you tonight.” Elyoner felt her heart bump as she spoke the words; she donned a false smile then worried that she was being preemptively unfair to Tayler. But she had long since learned to trust her intuitions, and deferred to them now but kept her misgivings to herself.

  Emily saw Elyoner’s hesitation, read her concern; she wanted desperately to know the root of it. “Aye, we’re looking forward to it. Should be interesting to see how Tommy Colman manages entertaining his daughter’s suitor. He’s never had to do so before.” She smiled, waved goodbye, and said, “See you in a few hours, Ellie. Kiss my baby.” She then turned and started toward the far side of the village.

  “I shall indeed, Em. Enjoy the cool water. I’m envious.”

  Halfway to the far palisades, Emily met Agnes Wood, Joyce Archard, and Audrey Tappan. One year older than Emily, Tappan had come with the colonists to meet her fiancé, and Wood to meet her husband, both of whom were among the thirteen missing soldiers. Archard was the wife of Arnold Archard, the man Waters had chastised for his greed. Three soldiers accompanied the women as they started toward the washing stream. Though the flow in the stream by the village had progressively slowed over the past few weeks, it still supplied adequate volume for drinking water; however, it lacked the swifter current and deep pools favored for washing clothes. But even the better-flowing stream could only support four simultaneous washings; so forays were limited to that number, with successive groups scheduled to depart the village every two hours. The limitation was that the stream had but one deep hole with rocks; and because the rocks served as a table for beating the clothes with a washing bat, all the washers had to use sections of that same pool. So no more than four washings could be simultaneously supported without having to wash clothes in someone else’s dirty water.

  Because they had only recently begun using the new stream, there was not yet a well-worn pathway to it; and the party had to work its way single file through the dense forest, with soldiers in front, behind, and in the middle of the group. Emily and Audrey Tappan walked thirty feet behind the front soldier, worked their way around briars and small trees, speaking softly so the guard wouldn’t hear them. Emily had talked to Audrey several times and liked her but had not developed the closeness she had with Elyoner. Audrey was rather homely and quite shy, but as sweet and caring as a human being could be. Emily knew she looked up to her, admired her self-confidence and quickness of mind, had said as much, but such things never influenced the way Emily treated someone. She also knew the disappearance of Audrey’s fiancé weighed heavily on her mind and heart, lurked just beneath the surface of fragile emotions. However, Emily doubted that any of the thirteen would ever be seen again, and she sensed that Audrey had accepted the same truth, for she had several times seen her talking to another young soldier.

  Audrey said, “I think he’s the best looking of the lot. He’s also very nice and was just promoted to sergeant by Lieutenant Waters.”

  “So what’s his name?”

  “John Gibbes, it is. But he’s not guarding us today. He’s organizing equipment for the move, even though we don’t yet know where we’re going. I suppose you know all about that, don’t you, Em?”

  “Only that the Assistants are trying to decide whether to go into the main to our west or to Chesapeake Bay to the north. They voted this morning to go to Chesapeake but only if the Savages there, the Chesapeakes, agree to let us settle beside them. They were quite friendly to the earlier expedition, so hopes are high, even though it will require a long day’s sail on the open sea, albeit only a short distance offshore. Roger Baylye’s sending two assistants, some soldiers, and Manteo to visit the Chesapeakes tomorrow morning to see if they’ll help us. Manteo knows them well, so let’s pray for a successful mission.”

  “John told me they’d been ordered to stop work on the palisades, so we’re obviously going somewhere. Do you care where?”

  “No, Audrey, I don’t care at all, don’t know anything about eit
her place. I just hope ’tis somewhere without Savages trying to kill us every time we step out of the village.” She wondered if Audrey’s lad and the other missing men had gone to the Chesapeake, how their discovery, alive or dead, might change the plan.

  “Aye to that, Em.”

  “Oh, we’re here.” Emily sighed, removed her hat, wiped her brow with her sleeve. “Time to work.”

  The three soldiers quickly spread out around the small clearing that surrounded the washing pool, moved slightly into the timber about fifty feet from the stream to get a better view of the forest around them without sacrificing a good view of the ladies.

  The four women went quickly to work, each picking a deep spot in the pool close to a good-sized rock on the bank or in the water. A few men had previously dammed the stream below the pool to enlarge it to about thirty feet by twenty feet with a depth of about two feet. The women dumped their dirty clothes on the grassy bank, removed their shoes, pulled their skirt hems up to their waists, and tied pieces of rope around them to hold them up above the knees. Their smocks, which were too short to be doubled up, hung freely to their knees.

  Each then picked up a small armload of clothes and waded into the water with a few branches of soapwort in hand. The roots of the soapwort, which grew in abundance in England, as well as on Roanoke Island, produced a sudsy substance when cut or smashed, which the washers then massaged into the dirty, wet clothes. After considerable manipulation, they laid the clothes on a nearby rock, beat them with a washing bat—a paddle about twelve inches long and five inches wide with a foot-long handle slightly smaller than a sword grip. The beating permeated the soapwort through the fabric and cleaned it; thus the four women attempted to maintain an equal pace so they could beat their clothes at the same time, which allowed the residual soapwort in the pool to flow downstream and clear the water for rinsing. So after the beating, they rinsed the soapwort from the clothes and hung them on trees and bushes to drain and dry while the next bundle was washed.