Dangerous Dreams: A Novel

by Mike Rhynard

  When the meeting adjourned, all of the Assistants lauded Baylye on his thorough planning, expressed their joy at leaving Roanoke, their eagerness to get underway. After they departed his cottage, Baylye congratulated himself for conducting his first non-contentious meeting then cynically concluded that their situation was so severe, their choices so few, there really wasn’t much to contest; nonetheless, he felt a sustained uplift in spirits as he rethought the transportation plan, again acknowledged its soundness. As he chewed on a small piece of overcooked venison and swigged water instead of beer, he agreed with himself that the plan was as close to perfect as it could be, given their circumstances. Then with a slight shiver, he regretted the thought—bad luck to be prideful, for perfect plans seldom go perfectly. And as he stared at a small sketch of his wife, who was back in England, he wondered what would go wrong with this plan.

  Emily, her father, and Hugh Tayler had just finished dipping their eating knives in a bucket of warm water and wiping them dry on their sleeves. Though it was still warm in the cottage, a clean, fresh smell in the outside air hinted at a shift in the weather toward fall. Emily, who now wore only small bandages on her head and left arm, listened quietly as her father divulged his feelings about Queen Elizabeth.

  “She’s been quite a good queen, I believe. Wouldn’t you agree, Hugh? Certainly, there have been the usual sendings of people to the Tower, and the headsman seems as busy as with her father, Henry, but she appears to be more of a people’s monarch than he was. What do you think?”

  “Well, I would agree. But I also think the success of a monarch has much to do with who they choose as their close advisers; and perhaps more importantly, how well they filter the truth from all they’re told. Most advisers, it seems, work for their own good rather than the good of all. King Henry is a fine example, from what I’ve heard—well advised during the first part of his reign but later drifted off course due to the bad advice of certain advisers— but there’s no way we non-courtiers will ever know the truth of such matters. If anything, the Queen seems to be less easily misled than her father, which is good, though I’m told she does have her enemies; and as we all know, the bloody Catholics would have her gone in a breath if they could.”

  “Yes, that’s true; and I find it interesting that there’s now such a sharp divide between us of the Church of England and the Catholics, given that most of us—our parents at least—were Catholic to begin with. I believe those who say that nothing divides like religion are quite correct, and—”

  “Well, Father,” Emily interjected, “I think the entire idea of popes or kings telling people how to live is foolish. Jesus Christ Himself told us how to live, and I think we can follow his teachings on our own.”

  Colman said, “Emily, you shouldn’t say such things. People have been burned at the stake for less. You’re lucky you’re here instead of in England.”

  Tayler had never found religion but was nonetheless amazed at Emily’s candor—amazed and awed that a woman could be so forthright. But then again, he thought, maybe he wasn’t surprised after all. He’d seen enough of Emily to know she had her own mind—a deep, decisive mind, capable of surprises and sound judgments—admitted that her quickness of thought was one of the attractions that had plunged him ever deeper into the whirlwind of passion and love that possessed him.

  “I don’t care, Father. I do agree there’s value to attending church to remind us of our responsibilities to the Lord and each other, and to receive Him in communion; but in the end, ’tis our individual relationships with God that are important and should guide our way.”

  Tayler said, “Well, Thomas, speaking of individual relationships, I think it’s no secret that I have a deep interest in Emily and would like to ask your permission to court her, such as our circumstances allow.”

  Emily tensed, felt a rush of caution rise to her head. Tayler’s request had caught her completely off guard, and her instincts screamed at her to move more slowly. But then, was he really asking for anything more than what the two of them had already discussed? Probably not, she decided, though she hadn’t expected him to pose the question this soon, or in her presence. Relaxing, she turned her attention to her father, watched him with an impish, expectant grin; awaited his reaction, knew he was completely unprepared to respond.

  Colman glanced at Emily then looked at Tayler. “Um . . . this is rather sudden, Hugh, especially with Emily present; but uh . . . even though I have no objection, I’d like to discuss it with Emily before I respond, if that—”

  “No need, Father. Hugh and I have already discussed it; I’m quite agreeable.” She chastised herself for speaking rashly, again cautioned herself to move more slowly, make no commitments until she was sure of her feelings.

  Colman looked at Emily, shook his head with a helpless, resigned look. “I should have known . . . but very well, I grant my permission . . . but only in the village . . . in plain sight of others.” He looked at Tayler.

  “Aye, sir. I’d have it no other way.”

  Though mindful of lingering caution floating in her mind, Emily smiled at Tayler, delighted in the thought of spending more time with him, perhaps some of it hidden from observers. He stirred her heart and body more than any man in many a day, and she wanted to see where their relationship would lead. Still, she warned herself, I must protect my virtue.

  Colman glanced quickly at Tayler then back at Emily. “So, uh . . . Emily, Hugh and I have something we must discuss, man-to-man. Would you mind waiting here for a moment while we step outside?” As soon as the words left his tongue, he knew they were awkward, knew Emily would resent them and respond in her usual acerbic way, braced himself for the inevitable storm.

  Emily met his expectations with the force of a cannonball. “And what if I do not, Father? What then? Since it’s something I’m not to hear, it must involve me. So by what leave do you treat a grown woman this way?”

  Her fire excited Tayler but intimidated Colman, who said, “I’m sorry, Emily. I didn’t say that well.” He looked at Tayler. “Sometimes there are things men must discuss alone, and this is one of those things. I promise you it has nothing to do with—”

  “Fine, Father. Do as you wish. Good evening, Hugh. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turned away, began tidying the cottage.

  Tayler had hoped to prolong the evening with a walk around the village but read unmistakable finality in her tone. “Until then, Emily. Thank you very much for the supper. It was a most pleasant evening.”

  As the two men stepped outside and closed the door, Emily wondered what they’d talk about. She knew she’d been abrupt with her father, regretted it as always; but even as she struggled to soften her ire, her alarm heightened as she imagined the two crafting a betrothal agreement for her marriage. He’s no right to do this, no right at all, she steamed. And I sha’n’t abide it no matter how I end up feeling about Hugh Tayler. She sat down on a stool, crossed her arms, fumed, pouted, waited for her father to return.

  A minute later, Colman walked into the cottage, looking like a man about to be burned at the stake. While Emily glared at him, he spoke haltingly. “ Em . . . please allow me to . . .”

  Emily stood, walked to within a nose of him, her eyes like flying daggers on their way to a target. “How dare you insult me like that, Father! How dare you bargain with my life! How much did he agree to pay you for my hand? How could you do this to me? I don’t even know if I love him.”

  Colman’s sad, mournful eyes, downturned lips, and pink nose made him look as if mortally wounded. “Em, my dear loving daughter, I could never do as you suggest. In twenty lifetimes, I could never bring myself to barter your future. Your future is yours and yours alone, and decisions regarding it are also yours alone.”

  Emily’s outrage evaporated like a drop of water on a hot, windy day. She embraced her father, pulled him as close as she could. “Father, forgive me. I thought the worst . . . an impetuous fool, I am.”

  “Nay, Daughter, my delivery was at fa
ult. As so often happens when I speak to you, the well-intentioned words that depart my lips are poorly chosen and therefore poorly perceived. ’Tis my fault alone.”

  Emily held him close, whimpered softly. “No, Father, I was rash and presumptive . . . but at least we can be honest about our shortcomings, and we both know we love each other deeply.” She pulled away to arms’ length, looked into his eyes with a smile. “Perhaps we’ll never learn the art of communication with one another, but our love is all that matters in the end, and we’re both secure in that. I love you, Father.”

  He put his arms around her, pulled her to him. “And I, you, dear Emily. May God be with us in the days ahead.” After a few moments of silence, he said, “I should tell you what I discussed with Hugh as I’m sure it will come up when you walk with him. When we voted for the new Assistant, we elected Lieutenant Waters; and even though I nominated Hugh, I voted for Waters. ’Twas actually unanimous because everyone, even the usual malcontents, agreed that it was an oversight that he was not an Assistant from the beginning. He’s a most capable young man of good judgment and character . . . well worthy of the position. So, I told Hugh what I’ve just told you . . . thought he should hear it from me rather than someone else.”

  “That was good of you, Father. How did he take the news? He was rather keen on the idea . . . but how could anyone quarrel with the choice.”

  “He took it quite well, actually. A bit upset at first, but as you say, the logic is irrefutable to any sane man, and I believe Hugh to be such. I think he understood and felt better by the time we parted. I do like him, Em.”

  Emily wondered if it were true, if Hugh had really accepted the decision, wondered where their relationship would go in the coming months. Would they fall hopelessly in love, or would their circumstances and the dramatic events ahead forge a different outcome?

  As Hugh Tayler walked back to his cottage, he thanked the God he didn’t believe in but was afraid to ignore, for allowing him to know and love Emily Colman. Yes, he admitted, for the first time in his life, he was deeply, passionately, headlong in love, and that love was growing ever deeper. This vivacious, vibrant young woman has changed my life, he thought, given me new breath, a chance to rise above my past—all of the many things I’ve done of which I’m not proud, have run away from, closed my eyes and conscience to. She’s provided me the opportunity—nay inspired me—to become the noble human being I’ve always wished to be . . . but lacked the courage and character to actually be. Her mere presence has made me a different man, and I shall not let her down. I love her.

  He then thought about his unanimous defeat in the Assistants’ election, saw the logic of their choice, resented it nonetheless; vowed to yet become an Assistant, knew it wouldn’t be long before another vacancy occurred.

  Lieutenant Waters and his three sergeants huddled just outside the palisades. Waters looked at Smith. “About a third of our force will sail on each voyage, and you, Sergeant Smith, will command the men who go on the first, the day after tomorrow; I will command those on the second; and”—he looked at Myllet and Gibbes—“ you two will command those on the last voyage, with you, Sergeant Gibbes, acting as deputy to Sergeant Myllet.” Turning back to Smith, he said, “There will be but twenty-eight souls with you at Chesapeake, civilians and soldiers combined; and though the Savages there seem friendly enough, take nothing for granted. With that few people, you will be vulnerable. So you must plan and act from a defensive perspective. Be alert, ready for anything. The five who are already there should have the village laid out and perhaps a start on cottages, but you should expect to live in tents initially, and I want you to first place piles of logs around the site for defensive cover. Whether we build grass mat cottages like here or bark cottages like the Savages prefer will depend on the availability of materials, which translates into time; and the time before winter being scant, we shall have to adopt the approach that yields the quickest winter-worthy shelter. The five there now have likely already made that decision. Also, Sergeant Smith, there will be three Assistants on your voyage, and they are Governor Baylye’s representatives, the decision-making authority, and are to be obeyed in all but pure military matters.” He glanced at Myllet and Gibbes. “Same for you two with regard to the Assistants who remain here for the last voyage.”

  All three nodded assent.

  “Now, men, we’re unfortunately exactly where I feared we’d be: hungry, under the constant threat of attack, and winter soon upon us. We will therefore need all hands to do whatever is necessary to ensure we have shelter and food for the winter.” The three sergeants looked at one another. “Time is against us, and nothing short of full cooperation and obedience will be tolerated from the men. Further, our already inadequate rations will grow more so in the days ahead—at least until we begin hunting and fishing at Chesapeake. So I anticipate that discipline and order, with both the troops and civilians, will be severely taxed in the days ahead, which means we soldiers must continue to lead by example, however difficult that may be. And on that note, how is morale, and what’s the level of discontent?” He drifted his gaze expectantly to all three in turn.

  After a long silence, Myllet said, “Not good, Sir. The issues are the same as I mentioned before: lack of food and manual labor; but the intensity of the grumbling has become more severe, more open. So perchance our new start in Chesapeake will somewhat divert their minds.”

  “And is the discontent universal or limited to a few?”

  “As before, they all grumble . . . but a few are beyond grumbling and approaching that line that cannot be crossed. Again, I’m hopeful that new surroundings and more food will help the situation, but at the moment ’tis not good.”

  “Well, I appreciate your candor, Sergeant. You all know where duty compels me to stand on this matter, and you must stand with me.” He looked into each man’s eyes, paused to let him grasp his intensity and resolve. “Nothing’s changed in our response to insubordination or mutiny— death by hanging or the axe—and public flogging by one of their mates for lesser offenses; and I expect you three to ensure the men understand this, and that you’ll promptly inform me of any who are about to cross the line. None of us want to carry out punishments against our own, so better that we preclude violations than deal with them after they occur.”

  The three nodded agreement, but Waters read their faces, saw unspoken thoughts and words behind them, then concluded that a few men had already crossed the line. He realized the day would soon arrive when he’d have to demonstrate his resolve, make an example of some poor bastard who didn’t have the brains or maturity to understand the bigger picture: that all of their lives were inextricably entwined, that weakness of resolve by any jeopardized all. He thought back to his training, to how his instructors had repeatedly pounded the importance of unbreakable discipline into their heads, insisted that breaches could never be tolerated in Her Majesty’s army, demanded they be met with firm, swift punishment when they occurred. Yes, he dreaded that inevitable, inescapable day, but knew he had no choice, that anything less than immediate, harsh punishment would permanently undermine discipline and destroy the colony.

  The first voyage had been gone for two days. They had sailed the short distance to the gap in the outer banks a little south of Roanoke Island, then out to the sea and north up the coast toward Chesapeake. The salt crew at work on the outer banks had watched them until they blended into the horizon. And though only thirty had sailed, it might well have been three times that number, for those who remained at Roanoke were wrapped in the same blanket of isolation, despair, and fear they had felt when John White and Fernandez departed for England. Though all were eager to see the last of Roanoke Island, they felt a persistent flutter of apprehension in their bellies, the ever-present fear of the unknown; so they’d busied themselves by carefully packing cups and saucers, candlesticks, dishes, pots, pans, bedding, clothes, linens, and more; collecting furniture, trunks, lead shot, weapons, tools, and small amounts of food in the asse
mbly area.

  The Assistants had assigned personal belongings to specific voyages; and many second-voyage people had sent their belongings on the first voyage, while many third-voyage people, including George and the Colmans, would send theirs on the second voyage three days hence. Since the cottage George shared with several other bachelors was rather crowded, the Colmans had retained most of his and his father’s belongings in their cottage. The three had just finished a meager noon meal and were about to resume packing when Thomas Colman was summoned to an Assistants’ meeting. Perhaps because George was younger than Emily and Colman knew Emily was not romantically inclined toward him, he had never had misgivings about the two being alone together and so, said a casual goodbye then stepped outside.

  George and Emily had not been alone together since before the massacre, and there was a nervous, awkward tension in the room as they resumed packing. Emily’s head bandage had been removed, and her facial bruises were nearly gone, but because it was still tender, her left arm remained covered in a thick wrap of protective bandages. She had tried fewer bandages, but had frequently bumped the arm painfully on various objects and therefore decided it needed heavy padding to protect it until it was better healed.

  After five minutes of silence, George faced Emily, took her hands in his, stared into her eyes. “Emily, I want to tell you how very sorry I am for the way I treated you that day. I . . . I was not myself. My head was spinning, aching, screaming at me to run from everything associated with Father’s death . . . and sadly, you bore the brunt of my insanity. I can’t imagine how horrible you must have felt. I know I said awful things . . . I cannot even remember what they were; but I do remember they were terrible, hurtful, unjust things.” He hesitated as his voice cracked and tears found their way into his eyes and down his cheeks. “Em, I’m so sorry.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her to him, felt her warmth flow through his body.