Dangerous Dreams: A Novel

by Mike Rhynard

  “Fie on you, you scum!” He sliced a shallow, three-inch cut across the bottom of Tayler’s chin.

  “Aah! You bastard. I’ll see you die for that.”

  “Dead men see nothing, Tayler. Remember what I said.” He waved the dagger slowly, menacingly an inch in front of Tayler’s eyes, then slid it into its sheath, turned, walked out the door.

  Tayler picked up a kerchief with his quivering hand, held it against his throat, then removed it, looked at the line of blood across it. A wave of nausea, followed by an airy dizziness, suffused his body and mind. He sat down by the fire, again held the kerchief to his throat. Painful . . . but not like the shoulder where that damned Savage sunk his hatchet into the bone . . . low, filthy swine, all of them.

  He stared into the fire for a moment. But is that not the tale of my entire life: always someone causing me trouble, disrupting my plans? He thought of his sad youth, his sadder, more-troubled adulthood. Perchance I am insane . . . or partially so. But can an insane person know they’re insane? Perhaps, but . . . but still, I’m not the man I should be . . . something’s always been out of kilter . . . ever since I found Mother . . . hanging there, swaying gently, so still, so . . . so dead . . . abandoned me, she did. Aye, and that’s when all the trouble began, when everything went askew. He glanced at the bloody kerchief. Bleeding’s stopped. Prick! He tossed the kerchief into the fire, watched it burst into flame. Aye, ’twas Mother’s fault. He felt his eyes dampen, as they did whenever he thought of her. She’s the reason I’m this way . . . why I’ve done so much wrong in my life . . . never been able to right myself. Always needed someone like her . . . but then she lost her mind . . . or so it seemed . . . Stepfather’s fault. Yes, I’ve always needed someone like her . . . someone strong, like . . . like Emily Colman . . . to save me from myself. He rubbed tears from his eyes, imagined Emily smiling affectionately at him, embracing him, wildly kissing his lips.

  My Emily, how I’ve wronged you . . . but oh, how you’ve wronged me, as well . . . wronged me because you cannot understand how much I need you . . . how much I love you . . . how only you can save me. Still, I love you, will always love you . . . no matter what, no matter how you feel about me . . . can never give you up, must make you understand, make you mine, have you with me for all time. My Emily . . . my dear, dear Emily . . . must have you again, know your body, feel your warmth, your essence, your ecstasy. I must have you . . . at any cost.

  Emily nursed Virginia, watched Elyoner spin wool, Emme stare vacantly into the fire. She glanced down at Virginia. So good to hold you again, little one . . . missed you so. She looked at the fire. You could be my own child, my own baby, drawing life from my body. But that baby will never be . . . gone forever . . . buried . . . soon to be one with the ground, and . . . and . . . and no! Do not think such thoughts, Emily Colman. Think of naught but the future. But alas . . . that, too, brings pain . . . possibilities few and frightful . . . except for being with Isna . . . yet even that brings anguish; for though I would die to be with him, I see not how it can be. She imagined her mother and brother kneeling at her father’s grave, sobbing, pleading with God to help them find some trace of her. She saw her father staring at her with a mournful look, mouthing words she could not hear, then George smiling contentedly at her. She shook her head. Dear God, what should I do? Pray, help me do the right thing. Please, Lord. She abruptly shook her head. Stop thinking of yourself, Emily Colman!

  She looked at Emme. My poor friend. So sad for you . . . must feel like I did when George and Father died. Oh, George, so much has happened since you were here. Hope you’ve not witnessed it all. An unwilled smile spread across her face. Always wondered if people in heaven can see what happens on earth. I pray you’re there, George, but that you see naught but good . . . though there’s been precious little of that. She again looked at Emme. Got to get you through this, Emme. I miss Johnny, as well . . . so kind to me . . . helpful . . . told me the truth . . . tried to save me from Tayler . . . and then . . . to die like that . . . murdered. Her look soured. May his killers burn in hell, and thank you, God, for letting Isna send them there . . . all but one . . . who will receive his due in time. She took a deep breath, shook her head. Sorry, Lord, ’tis sinful to pleasure in another’s misfortune; but please help Emme . . . not been herself since Johnny died . . . but truly, what else could one expect? Must make her talk, pull her mind from it. She sighed, glanced at Elyoner, met her stare, then flicked her gaze briefly at Emme and back to Elyoner, who replied with a nod. Emily said, “ Emme, have you seen Lieutenant Waters since we treated his wounds?”

  Emme shook her head, held her gaze on the fire. “Nay, but I’m told he’s recovered well.”

  “Well, he’s you to thank for that. I was certainly no help.”

  “You’d your own troubles.”

  She visualized herself lying on her cottage floor bleeding to death, then felt a gust of fear as she saw the Panther glaring at her, her precious locket around his neck. “Well, if you’d not found me, I’d likely not be here with you now.”

  Elyoner said, “Em’s right, Emme. You were the one responsible for Waters’ recovery . . . and for discovering Em’s plight before it was too late. A born nurse you are.” She paused, watched Emme stare at the fire. “And when Father returns, we shall all watch Tayler hang from a tree . . . or be parted from his head with a broadaxe.”

  Emme said, “You still believe your father will return?”

  “Why . . . why, of course I do . . . I . . . I must believe so . . . ’tis our only hope, and without such hope—”

  “I don’t believe it. I don’t think he’ll ever return . . . at least not in time to save us.”

  Elyoner’s face flushed. “How can you think that, Emme?”

  Emme looked at her without expression. “Because ’tis true . . . I do not say it to upset you . . . how can you possibly believe otherwise?”

  Elyoner stared at her, began to tremble.

  “Something’s happened to change things, Ellie . . . something beyond your father’s control . . . for we all know he would be here by now if he could. Something prevents his return. You must know this in your heart . . . as Johnny and I did weeks ago . . . shortly after we made plans to return to England . . . to have our baby there . . . but then we . . .” Her eyes misted.

  Elyoner looked stunned, stood, rushed to Emme’s side, knelt beside her, hugged her as both began to cry. “Oh, Emme, you’re with child!”

  Emme blubbered, “Yes, but . . . but now there will be no one to . . . to help me raise it . . . no father . . . no . . .”

  Emily’s eyes filled with tears. “Emme! ’Tis not so. Ellie and I will help you.” She flung Virginia over her shoulder like a bag of salt, stepped quickly to Emme and Elyoner, and caressed Emme’s hair and neck with her free hand. “Please, Emme, have faith. I’m so happy for you.” She felt a pang of sadness in her heart, a brief twinge of jealousy. Shame upon you for such a thought, Emily Colman. “We’ll help you, Emme . . . Ellie and I, your baby’s two Virginia aunts. I promise you.”

  They hadn’t planned it that way, but Waters, Baylye, and Ananias stood in front of the other loyalists, faced Sampson and Stevens, who stood alone. Waters said, “I don’t give a damn if you were hungry. We’re all desperately hungry, but what you did was against Governor Baylye’s explicit orders to not take food from the Chesapeakes. My God, are you daft? Without their help, our situation is hopeless. How the hell could you think stealing food from them would help anything, beyond filling your own selfish guts for a while? Fie on you! You’ve now alienated the Chesapeakes to where they won’t share even a collop with us.”

  Sampson said meekly, “ ’Twasn’t us, Waters.”

  Baylye shook his head. “You lie, Sampson! Even Gramme and Dutton named you two as the instigators when they were under the lash. We’ve no time for such treachery and foolishness.”

  Stevens snapped, “Go to hell, Baylye. You can’t prove a thing.”

  Waters stepped to w
ithin a few inches of Stevens, snarled, “We don’t need to; and if you fail to grasp my meaning, ask your leader.”

  Stevens and Sampson eyed one another uneasily, looked back at Waters.

  Waters glared at them then abruptly walked to the door, opened it. “Bring them in, Sergeant.”

  Smith and fourteen other soldiers squeezed into the tiny room. Stale smoke and body heat fouled the air, bedecked each forehead with beads of sweat. Waters wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Leave that door open, so we don’t suffocate.” He took a deep breath, looked sternly at Gramme, Dutton, and two other soldiers, then scowled at Stevens and Sampson. “You four men in uniform . . . and you, Stevens and Sampson—and your cohorts who are not here—are known conspirators against this colony.” He paused for a ripple of underbreath murmurs. “And conspiracy against the colony is conspiracy against the Queen”—his eyes contracted to tiny, dark dots— “and conspiracy against the Queen, for soldiers, is mutiny. And both conspiracy and mutiny are treason. Treason, men! A high crime punishable by death. Did Tayler explain that to you?” He again paused to exploit the heavy, tense silence that enveloped the room. “Whether he did or not, I will now tell you Hugh Tayler is a dead man—either by the Powhatans’ hands, mine, or the executioner’s.” He placed his hand on his sword. “His actions from here on will determine which it will be. But no matter who delivers the blow, Tayler’s dead, and all of you conspirators must understand how this affects you. So listen well. You shall not have another chance at reprieve.”

  Sampson and Stevens glanced at each other more uneasily than before. Several soldiers did the same, shuffled their feet, wiped sweat from their brows.

  After glaring briefly at each man in turn, Waters said, “We’re slowly starving to death; and if the hunting and fishing do not improve with spring, we will all die a slow death together. But we will all die faster if the Powhatans attack us soon . . . as I believe they will. And that death will be faster still if you and the other conspirators persist in foolish noncooperation.” He paused, smiled with facetious concern. “Now you men are probably wondering about Walsingham’s rescue ship . . . where it is . . . why ’tis not here.” He surveyed their tight, strained faces, saw he’d touched a tender spot. “Quite overdue, is it not?” Another pause. “In truth, I myself harbor doubt that John White will return in time to save us from the Powhatans, but I am absolutely certain Walsingham’s imaginary ship will never arrive. He’s far too clever to risk his position and life by openly challenging the Queen when he can accomplish his goal by risking yours.” More silence. “So where does that leave us?”

  No one spoke; all stared anxiously at Waters.

  “It leaves us where we were a moment ago—awaiting an imminent Powhatan attack, by a vastly superior force, against our inferior force of insufficiently trained defenders, with serious gaps in their palisades, and scarcely enough firepower to survive a night. Now consider this for a moment: what will you be thinking when hordes of screaming, painted Savages swarm through the palisades bent on killing you and your women and children?” He again eyed the conspirators. “What will you do? Will you stand by and watch the slaughter . . . and then explain to the Powhatans you’re on their side . . . that the whole idea of a colony was a bad one . . . that you’ll leave as soon as your rescue ship arrives . . . and that no other Englishmen will come here? Is that what you’ll do? And do you think they’ll believe you? Or even understand you?” Silence. “I think not.” More silence. “But if we all fight together, then perchance—just perchance—we might hold out until John White actually does return.” He paused, shrugged his shoulders. “But if he does not return”—he smiled—“ then we shall all wing our way to heaven or hell in good military formation.”

  Nervous laughter rippled through the room.

  “So, to each soldier who has violated his oath and conspired to mutiny, I promise a pardon . . . if you fight with us . . . and if we survive . . . and if you remain loyal. I also promise immediate death to any who refuse to fight when the time comes.”

  Baylye stepped forward, cleared his throat. “I have been silent today. Lieutenant Waters has spoken well, but I now promise the same to any civilian conspirators.”

  Waters nodded. “What say you, men?”

  Sampson and Stevens glanced at one another, their comrades, then Waters, nodded grudgingly. Sampson said, “ ’Twould appear we are now with you, Lieutenant.”

  Waters nodded. “Good. And I now expect you to confer with your cohorts who are not here, and relay their decisions to me.”

  Both nodded.

  Waters then eyed each soldier in turn. “And you?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “And you?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  After every man had pledged to fight, Waters again nodded, took a deep breath, smiled. “So now you’re all probably wondering how in Dante’s hell we’re going to do this, eh?”

  Nervous laughter.

  Waters looked at Smith. “Sergeant Smith, your turn.”

  While the Dares slept, Emily probed the reassuring depths of the fire. She tensed as a spark crackled, rose toward the thatch roof. She started to stand, take a swipe at it with the damp rag the Dares used to swat rising sparks, but it died a foot above the fire. So she sat back on her stump, resumed her reflective stare into the coals. You always enchant me, she thought . . . conjure my deepest thoughts to the forefront of my mind. So now, my dear spirit of fire, help me weigh and deliberate the choices before me . . . heighten my feelings, my emotions, my senses . . . and yes, my reason . . . so all may battle to govern my mind. She then stared expectantly at the gracefully swaying flames, waited for them to obey her command, fill her mind with persuasions of decision.

  Minutes later, she smiled as if a bright candle had been suddenly lit within her. Since the moment I met him—though I did not know it—I’ve wanted nothing but to be forever with Isna. But if he stays here, he and his men will perish with me, and that I cannot allow. And even if the unlikely occurs, and John White returns in time to thwart the Powhatan attack, I cannot ask Isna to become a white man. ’Twould kill him, and he would still face the dilemma of leading his men home. So what would be accomplished? Nothing! Therefore, I cannot let him stay under any circumstance.

  On the other side, if I go with Isna and the Lakota, we might all reach Lakota land and survive. I love the Lakota way of life, its spirituality, its respect for all things; but . . . but ’twould be so different from my life, from English life. I’d become a . . . I hate the word . . . a Savage: no potpies, no Christmas pudding, no Christmas at all, no house, no bed, no pots and pans, no beer, no privy, no books, no church—all so different. But strangely . . . so very strangely . . . none of this concerns me compared to being with Isna. So I can go with him; I want to go with him; for above all, I love him to the depths of my soul and will do anything to be with him. His soul is one with mine.

  She broke a branch in two, threw it on the fire. But truly, how can I desert the colony in time of great danger and need . . . my friends, my mother and brother . . . Father? She again visualized her mother and brother crying over her father’s grave, begging God to help them find her, discover her fate.

  But what if Mother and Brother never come . . . or if no other Englishmen come? What then? And is not leaving with Isna much like escaping a sinking vessel, where the lucky ones find something to float on . . . and others do not; and some survive, and others do not? But what of George, who could have saved himself but instead did as Christ instructs . . . laid down his life for others . . . no greater love hath any man.

  She closed her eyes, thought of her visit to her father’s grave the day before. She’d explained everything that had happened since his death: John White’s failure to return, the colony’s imminent demise, her deep love for Isna, her conviction that going with him was the only way to preclude his sacrificing himself and his men in a futile fight, and her desire to someday return to find her mother and brother. She’d then asked
him for his guidance and blessing on whichever path she ultimately chose.

  She laid another log on the fire, again studied its pulsing blue heart, saw Isna’s face within. So afraid to be without you. But I cannot let you die here; yet, how can I abandon my people in time of need? Dear Lord, what must Emily Colman do? She thought of the Lakota circle of life, thought of Isna explaining Lakota virtues to her, then smiled. Emily Colman must forever be with Isna . . . but does forever end here, when the Powhatans attack . . . or does it last a lifetime . . . somewhere else?

  Emily and Isna wore strained, anxious looks as they walked toward Emily’s special place; neither spoke. As they crossed one of the clearings short of their destination, Emily glanced upward, immediately smiled at the sight above her. What a sky. . . beautiful, fluffy little clouds drifting in perfect formation across that little sea of blue . . . like cattail blooms, they are . . . floating on a lazy stream . . . like that first morning at Roanoke when George and I walked down the path to the sound to retrieve luggage from the ship. Her smile broadened. How excited I was to be in the New World . . . finally free of that miserable ship . . . such innocence . . . such ignorance of the trials to come. But in spite of all that’s happened since, that day was packed as tight as our ship’s hold with discovery and excitement. Her smile slowly dimmed like a spent candle that fades, flickers, and finally expires. But this day, this moment, my heart and soul burn with fear and anguish . . . fear of the unknown . . . anguish over what, in a few moments, I will say to Isna . . . for I’ve changed my mind twenty times since last night, and at this very moment I know not what I shall say.

  As they neared her special place, anxiety pummeled her senses like a huge ocean wave; nausea churned in her stomach, rose relentlessly toward the bottom of her throat. As they seated themselves on the stream bank, Emily collected herself, sighed, faced Isna with bloodshot eyes. “Emily must tell Isna her mind. She—”