Dream Weaver

by Shirley Martin

  "I can manage, believe me." But could she? A hundred questions churned in her mind, a ceaseless, nagging worry that she was stuck in this wilderness for the rest of her life.

  "Very well, then," Christian said with a doubtful frown. "Shall we say we lack agreement as to your origins?" He held his hand out to her. "A truce, Miss Emrys?"

  She took his hand, his calloused fingers warm and strong around hers. "Call me Gwen, remember?"

  "Ah, yes. Gwen, a pretty name."

  As Christian turned to whistle for his horse, she massaged her bottom and dreaded mounting the animal again. Apprehension stirred inside her, worries of what the Chamberlains would think when they saw her strange dress, or how she could explain her origins.

  They continued on their way in shaky amiability while Gwen stared around her, entranced by the forest’s stunning beauty. She took a deep breath to catch the sweet scent of the trailing arbutis, then exhaled in a long, slow sigh. The path widened, and the woods became more open, where beams of sunlight brightened new leaves of maples and oaks.

  The horse topped a steep hill, a place where Gwen could view the countryside for miles. Here and there lonely cabins were scattered about, lost in an ocean of trees.

  "How much farther do we have to go?" Gwen asked after Christian had mounted the horse again. "Just asking."

  "Not much farther, mayhap a mile or so. Let me tell you about the Chamberlains, and that should help pass the time. A few years ago, the British granted Daniel a large tract of land as payment for his army service. It was deep in winter when he first visited his land, so he named it Winiaken."

  "Named it what?"

  "Winiaken. It means 'snowy country' in the Lenape language. Daniel Chamberlain was a fur trader for several years, spent much time with the Indians. Traded with them, knows their language."

  "I'm looking forward to meeting them." What a lie! Her mind worked furiously to come up with an explanation for her presence in the wilderness. And what would they think when they heard her speak? she wondered, too well aware how much her speech differed from Christian's. What story could she concoct?

  Cresting another hill, Gwen looked at the view spread out before her, a vast panorama of hills, bushy trees, and a rich, green valley.

  "Here we are," Christian said with a sweeping motion.

  Nestled in the valley stood a large two-story house, its sandstone a mellow variegated gray in the late afternoon sunshine. Smoke drifted lazily from two brick chimneys topping its slate, gabled roof. Two multipaned windows that reflected the sunlight presided over the front of the house, the second floor following the same pattern.

  As the horse made his way gingerly down the rock-strewn hill, Gwen got a better look at the house and the enveloping fields where new corn sprouted in the rich, brown soil and grew to within a few yards of the house.

  Weeping willows, a vegetable patch, and a flower garden happily shared the space closest to the house. The sweet, pungent fragrance of lilacs enchanted her, wafting on the springtime breeze. White fencing that seemed to stretch for miles enclosed this pleasant wilderness oasis. Despite her anxiety and fear of becoming more firmly entrenched in the past, Gwen thought the scene so lovely, it took her breath away.

  Her worries returned to taunt her. What would the Chamberlains think when they saw her? More important, how could she explain her origins?

  * * *

  "We don't see many strangers in these parts," Rebecca Chamberlain said after Christian made the introductions. Gwen saw the shocked looks Rebecca and Daniel threw her way and how their gazes assessed her apparel, but of course, they were too polite to make any comments. What kind of explanation could she give? Well, you see, I was at a restored village because I was having strange dreams about a cabin.

  A collie padded into the large room, its sharp claws clicking on the wooden floor. After surveying all the company, the dog sniffed and licked Christian's hand. Gwen knelt to pet him while he beamed in ecstasy, gazing at her with its dark, soulful eyes.

  "What's his name?" she asked as she smoothed her hand across his warm back and twisted her fingers in his glossy fur.

  "Lumi," Rebecca answered. "Daniel gave him to me for Christmas several years ago." Suddenly, the dog jumped up against Gwen, pawing her bodice.

  "Down!" Rebecca ordered. "Go lie down." Lumi promptly curled up by the fireplace, resting his head on his paws, then closed his eyes.

  Wiping her hands on her dress, Gwen appraised her hosts while Rebecca and Daniel exchanged news with Christian. She figured Rebecca to be in her mid-twenties--not much older than she. Gwen admired the woman's clear, ivory skin and golden hair peeking out from under a white lace cap. Caught staring as Rebecca turned back to her, Gwen tried to focus on the woman's words.

  "Are you from the east, Miss Emrys? Philadelphia, perhaps?" Rebecca asked.

  "Call me Gwen," she replied, her mind running in a dozen different directions. How could she explain her circumstance?

  "Uncle Christian!" A little girl of about five pounded down the stairs to the right of the entrance and wrapped her arms around Christian's legs. Another girl of two or three gripped the bannister and toddled down behind her, sucking her thumb.

  "Well, hello there, Bryony. How's my favorite little girl?" Christian picked the child up and ruffled her hair. "And the best little boy in the world!" he said while he set Bryony down and knelt beside the youngest Chamberlain.

  Did Christian say "boy"? The kid was wearing a dress! But of course, that's how they dressed little boys long ago.

  "Both of them as lively as ever," Daniel said with a warm look at the children. "Or Bryony, at least. Robert's a little quieter."

  Thankful for the interruption, Gwen glanced around the first floor. She viewed the long hallway that led to another room at the back of the house--the kitchen, she supposed--and the spacious room to her left, just beyond the stairs. Two large rooms to her right spun off from the hall, but she could give them only a glance. How strange everything appeared, how quaint. No TV, no electric lights, no glossy magazines on a coffee table. No coffee table.

  Everyone spoke much differently than she, Gwen noted with alarm, and "quaint" was the only word she could think of to describe their speech. What must they think of the way she talked?

  Unable to believe her eyes, she stared around the rooms again. Conscious of appearing nosy, she returned her attention to the others.

  Daniel stood as tall as Christian and was quite handsome, with his chestnut-colored hair and deep tan. His white linen shirt and dark blue breeches gave him a dignified air, making him seem more like a merchant than a farmer. She wouldn't be surprised if he held an important position around here.

  Daniel turned to her. "Now, Miss Emrys, where did you say you hail from?"

  "I didn't say," she declared, too well aware she could no longer postpone an explanation for her presence. Either tell the truth or tell a lie. Maybe she could compromise. "Well, you see, my parents are dead, and I lost all of my possessions in an . . . uh, accident. I don’t have any near relatives--"

  "Oh, you poor dear!" Rebecca hugged her waist, leading her into the large room to their left where a wooden bench sat close to the fireplace. "Where are my manners! Pray sit down. You must be fatigued after your tedious journey from Christian's place." She looked around at the others. "I don't know why we're all standing. Let us sit and talk for a while until Molly has dinner ready. And that should be very soon," Rebecca added as a young girl appeared from the back room to set pewter plates on a long oaken table.

  Trying to find a comfortable position on the hard-backed wooden bench, Gwen gave Rebecca an apologetic smile. "Here I am, interrupting someone's meal again."

  "We're always happy to have guests. You must be hungry, if you've come from any great distance," Rebecca said, "so pray eat as much as you desire. And by the way, if you have no family or relatives in these parts, would you like to stay with us?--for as long as you like, of course."

  "Thanks." Gwen let o
ut a slow sigh of relief. "I think I'll accept your offer, and I do appreciate it."

  Despite Rebecca's warm friendliness, Gwen realized her presence perplexed Rebecca, and yes, Daniel, too. Sooner or later--probably sooner--she'd have to give them an explanation for her appearance in this area. Just the same, she felt grateful for a place to stay.

  Still, she dreaded the approaching meal with all these strange people, when there were bound to be questions about her background. Questions she couldn't answer.

  * * *

  She needn't have worried, Gwen found later as everyone sat at a long oaken table, engaging in a spirited discussion of British indifference to the settlers' plight in the western part of the colony.

  Bryony perched at the table, next to Rebecca. Robert sat in a wooden high chair--one Daniel had made, Rebecca proudly informed her--both of them eating small portions, adding an occasional giggle or comment. Robert banged his spoon on his tray, his mouth and cheeks plastered with food.

  Rebecca wagged her finger at the children. "You are both much too noisy. Pray finish your meal so the grownups can talk amongst themselves. After you've cleaned your plates, you can go outside to play."

  "Yes, mama," they said in unison.

  Sipping her drink--a blend of whiskey, milk, and maple sugar--Gwen wondered what it was called. She studied Christian across the table, observing the grim set to his mouth, his sober countenance while he and Daniel talked of possible trouble with the Indians.

  "'Struth, the British policy is short-sighted." Daniel set his fork down. "You'd think the British forces in North America would understand the importance of maintaining good relations with the Indians." He reached for a biscuit from a plate and broke it in half, then began to butter it. "I see trouble ahead."

  "You have the right of it," Christian said. "I've heard the French are inciting the Indians, employing all their tricks to have the tribes overthrow the English so les francais can regain their forts. Let us hope we can keep the Lenapes and all the other tribes on our side, but we're not receiving much help from the provincial government."

  Rebecca turned to Gwen. "Mayhap I should explain my own situation to our guest, and why we are concerned about the Indians, aside from safety, that is." She paused. "You see, Gwen, I was captured by the Indians--"

  "No!"

  Rebecca nodded. "'Tis true, captured when I was nine, my parents and younger brother killed." She drew a deep breath, her eyes clouding. "Captured again by another tribe several years later, who treated me like one of their own. That's how I met my husband," she said, tossing an affectionate smile his way. "He bought me from the Indians and later we married."

  Gwen looked from Rebecca to Daniel. "Just like a romance novel!"

  "A romance novel?" The young mother frowned. "But you must understand why we are so worried about the tribes, especially the Lenape. I have many friends amongst the Lenapes. We pray there will be no more trouble between the Indians and the white people, as there has been in the past."

  Well-versed in this period of American history, Gwen couldn't think about colonial politics now, not with all her other worries. Or maybe she didn't want to think about it, her only consideration to get back to her own time. While the men talked, her gaze swept the room. The walls were painted a deep red, a hue that gave the room a homey appearance. Her gaze shifted to a gleaming rifle--what a long barrel!--that hung from pegs above the stone fireplace.

  "This must be a dull discussion for the ladies," Daniel said with a quick smile her way. "I heard of a new family that just built a house a few miles from here...Byerly, I believe is the name. By chance, do you know 'em, Miss Emrys?"

  "No, sir, I don't." Gwen took the last bite of her mashed turnips, stifling a grimace at its bitter taste. They must all think I live near here, she reflected. Well, I suppose I do, but in another dimension. Or at least, I didn't live in their time, but I do now. She gave a mental shake of her head, so confused about all that had happened to her yesterday and today. Maybe when I wake up tomorrow, I'll be back in my own time, she thought with more false optimism than hope of realization. On the edge of her consciousness, she heard the buzz of conversation around the table and the scrape of cutlery on pewter.

  The room dimmed with the setting sun, and taper in hand, Molly slipped into the room and stood on a stepladder to light the candles of the brass candelabrum. After she completed her task, the candlelight cast a pale glow on the room, softening the harsh lines of oaken tables and chests and relieving the wooden floor’s drab simplicity

  . After lifting Robert from the high chair, Rebecca wiped his face off and gestured to Molly. "Please take the children outside to play. Be sure to bring them in before it becomes dark."

  "Aye, ma'am."

  Gwen closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead. God, she prayed, please help me get through this night.

  "You must be tired." Her brow wrinkled, Rebecca studied Gwen. "As soon as I put the children to bed later, I'll show you to your room and help you get settled."

  Caught off guard, Gwen glanced up to see Rebecca's sympathetic look while she dimly heard the men talking, this time something about the market price for whiskey.

  Gwen waved her hand. "Don't worry about me. I've found the discussion quite interesting." Even if she couldn't always follow the conversation.

  "Oh, you know how men like to talk," Rebecca said with a fond look Daniel's way. He returned her expression with a warm smile, prompting Gwen to reflect that marriage now must be quite different from connubial bliss in her own time. And here she was, still a virgin at twenty-three and so disillusioned about men--were any good ones left?--she'd probably remain as pure as snow until she died.

  Well, you can never tell what might hap--Gwen reached for her earthen mug as a sudden, eerie feeling drove every other thought from her mind. Shivers raced across her arms and legs. Gripping her cup handle, she stared around the table as the conversation went on about her, everyone else seemingly oblivious to her plight.

  The French had an apt phrase for this sensation. Deja vu. Somehow, she knew she had sat at this same table and talked with these same people sometime in the past. Her gaze took in each person as she noted facial expressions, dress, and every gesture of her companions. Yes, she'd known all these people before. But why was she here now? Why? Why?

  This couldn't be. There went her overactive imagination again. If she gave the feeling any thought she'd go crazy. God knew she had enough to deal with now. She would get back to her own people, Gwen vowed, determined to retrace her steps tomorrow and return to Christian's place, way before he even got up.

  Why did she have these recollections from another time? She assumed a casual expression, not wanting anyone to catch her disorientation. She pushed her remaining food around on her plate, trying hard to act as if everything was normal.

  Daniel drained his mug and set it on the table. "You'll stay here tonight, will you not?" he asked Christian. "You know you're always welcome."

  Christian rested his fork on his plate and leaned back in his chair. "Thank you. I believe 'twould be best."

  And I'll get up before anyone else, Gwen resolved. And find my way back home.

  Chapter Three

  After a restless night of troubling dreams, Gwen sluggishly awoke to silence and the smell of frying bacon. Staring around the room, she tried to get her bearings. She'd overslept--the very thing she'd resolved not to do--and she wanted to get an early start to look for her own house. With renewed determination, she slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. Better get a move on.

  She slipped her borrowed nightgown off, then scrambled into a linsey dress--also borrowed--all the while struggling with her dilemma. How much longer would she have to stay in this wilderness? That question unanswered, she left the room and quietly closed the door behind her, so everyone would think she still slept.

  She felt her way in the dark as she tiptoed down the stairs, running her hand along the smooth finish of the
oaken handrail, then reached the first floor where the flickering candles in iron wall sconces provided a dim light down the hallway. Cautiously, she looked around, intending to leave the house unnoticed and head back to Christian's place, back to the oak tree where all her troubles had started. Never mind that Christian's house was miles away. She was in excellent physical shape, a long distance runner, had even climbed the Appalachian Trail.

  Voices reached her from the room closest to the outside door. A glance into this room yesterday revealed it was Daniel's study, with a wide desk and book shelves. The sound of Christian's deep voice drew her closer, and she stopped short of the slightly open door.

  "I don't know!" Christian boomed. "She came from out of nowhere. This strange lady appeared at my door...no horse, no cart, no belongings. I tell you, Daniel, it's as if she dropped from the sky."

  "Maybe she did," Daniel said with a laugh. "Your guardian angel."

  "I need her for a guardian angel like I need a rattlesnake bite."

  Well! Gwen curled her fingers into tight fists. How she wished she could tell Dr. Norgard she didn't need him, either. She leaned closer to the door, afraid she might miss something.

  "She had no documents with her?" Daniel asked.

  "Documents? She had naught with her. Anyway, how many people carry documents with 'em wherever they go?"

  "Aye, that is so, but possibly she's an escaped indentured servant. If she were recently freed, she'd have proof of having served her indenture."

  "Daniel! Does she look or sound like a servant?"

  "Can't always tell," Daniel said. "You've met Edward Horton, haven't you? He was an aristocrat who came to America as an indentured servant to escape his gaming debts in England."

  "Still..." Christian paused. "Have you considered she might be a French spy?"

  "A spy for the frogs? I'll admit her speech is peculiar, but she has no French accent. What makes you think she's a spy?"