Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (109 page)

The soldier who’d alerted Taverner whispered, “Can’t hear us . . . stream’s too loud. Think they be Powhatans?”

“Nay. Can’t be . . . too close to the colony.” He looked at the man, smiled. “Who cares what they be? They be women and got cunts, and we ain’t had a woman since we left England.”

The other man returned the smile, slapped Taverner on the shoulder. “What do we do?”

“You be right. They won’t hear us ’til we’re close.” He motioned the others into a tight huddle, whispered, “Spread out, walk slow and quiet-like ’til we’re too close for ’em to get away. Then we’ll rush ’em, take ’em down, and have our pleasure. What say you?”

The others nodded.

“Good. Everyone have a kerchief in your hand to gag ’em with. Can’t have ’em makin’ no noise.” He smiled. “Look damn good, don’t they . . . even though they be Savages.” He motioned the men to spread out, move slowly, cautiously. When all were in place, he stepped from the trees, started quietly toward the girls, then signaled the others to do the same.

When they were ten yards away, a soldier stepped on a dead branch. It snapped loudly, brought the six to an immediate standstill, drew angry
glares from the other five. As they resumed their stealthy march, one of the girls raised her head, looked right and left, stood, looked again, then peered back over her shoulder. She spied the six men, screamed, jostled her friends; they ran for the trees on the far side of the stream.

The soldiers immediately rushed forward. Four tackled the two closest girls, held hands over their mouths while they gagged and bound them. The other two men raced after the third woman, who’d nearly reached the trees. She screamed once before they tackled her, bound and gagged her, dragged her back to the others. All three cried, trembled. Taverner pulled a short rope from his belt, surveyed the girls, walked to one, looked at the soldier who held her. “We’ll all have a turn with all three of them, Farre. But I be first.”

Taverner wrapped the rope around her wrists, pulled her toward a nearby tree, smiled as he approached to within a foot of her; unwrapped her apron, dropped it to the ground, studied the patch of hair between her legs; then pushed her to the ground, handed the rope to Farre. He quickly undid his belt, dropped his pants to his knees, showing the girl his rigid prick, which she gawked at with horrified eyes. As he waddled up to her, he glanced at the other men, smiled. “I wager they all be virgins, men. So let’s get started and enjoy our bounty. Don’t get a chance like this every day.” He knelt, crawled on top of the girl, forced his legs between hers, laid his prick in place, then thrust it forcefully inside her like a spear thrust. She moaned as her maidenhead broke, and he began a rhythmic in-and-out motion that quickly accelerated to rapid, frenzied thrusts which lasted but twenty seconds before Taverner sighed, collapsed on top of the girl for several seconds, then rolled to the ground beside her. He lay still on the ground moaning for a moment, rolled to his knees, stood, pulled his pants up to his waist.

Taverner looked down at the girl, watched her cry for a moment, then looked at Farre. “Your turn. Here, I’ll hold the rope.” He grasped the rope, traded places with Farre. As Farre dropped his pants, Taverner looked for the other men, found them twenty feet away and apart. One thrust wildly into his girl from behind, and the other from the front, while the third and fourth men held the terrified girls in place.

After each man had spent himself twice, Taverner said, “Come, men. We’d best not linger here in case these lasses be missed.”

As he tightened his belt, Butler said, “What do we do with them, Taverner?”

“Naught but one thing we
can
do, you fool.” Taverner walked over to the girl he’d raped first, stood over her as she cried quietly with her eyes closed. He pulled his dagger from his belt, knelt beside her, slit her throat, then cut off a breast as blood gurgled from her neck. He looked at the breast, thrust it into the bag at his waist. “A little remembrance, eh, boys?”

Butler puked. “Damn you, Taverner. How can you do that?” He looked down at the girl who lay whimpering beside him.

Taverner said, “To hell with you, man. We can’t just leave ’em be.” He walked over to Butler, knelt, quickly slit the girl’s throat. “Want her tits?”

Butler puked again, stood, walked away as Taverner cut off one of her breasts, held it up. “Anyone want one?” When no one claimed it, he tossed it over his shoulder, then stood, looked at the third girl, who was already dead, saw that the man who’d killed her had her bloody scalp cut halfway off. “Hurry it up, Tydway!”

Tydway said, “Calm yourself, Taverner. I ain’t goin’ nowhere ’til she’s got the same as what they done to the Chapman woman.”

When Tydway had cut the scalp free of the girl’s head and held it up for all to see, Taverner said, “Come. Let’s hide ’em in the trees.”

After they’d dragged the bodies into the trees and piled a foot of leaves on top of them, the soldiers regrouped in the clearing, retrieved their matchlocks, and trotted into the forest toward the colony.

My Dearest Emily
,

        
When you read this, you’ll probably be at sea, probably sick, and probably missing me and your brother as much as we already miss you. My dear, you are the joy of my life, and being parted from you is the most painful and difficult thing I’ve experienced, even more so than giving birth to you and your brothers. I love you, Emily, and I miss your willing, helpful hand, your
cheerfulness, your humor, your intelligence, your loyalty, your honesty, your kindness. I haven’t told you often enough how much I love you, but I tell you now that I count the moments until I’m with you and your father again. No separation can dim the love I feel for you, and I pray you thrive and continue to be the fine young woman you’ve become
.

        
I do not know what lies ahead for you in that new world, but I know you have the mind, the values, and the perseverance to conquer every challenge you face. I know you will survive, no matter what. Please remember everything I taught you about dealing with your father. You’ll need each other to survive and prosper. And in spite of how he sometimes affects you, remember that he loves you deeply. Second, I want you to remember that your chastity is your most wonderful possession. Nothing in your life is more important. It is the very essence of you, and should be given only to the one you love more than life itself: your husband, none other. I know you understand this. Now, dear Emily, I must go. I pray that God watches over you and protects you and that our family will soon be together again. Godspeed
.

I love you
,

Mother

Tears streamed down Emily’s cheeks as she folded the crinkled letter, laid it on the table beside her. She wiped her eyes then watched the last grain of sand fall through the neck of her hourglass. She glanced at the fire, focused for a moment on the yellow flames lapping at the nearly consumed log. So wrong that I should have to do this . . . so wrong to give myself to a man out of wedlock . . . a married man, an evil man, a man without conscience. So many times I’ve agonized over this . . . so many times I’ve accepted my fate . . . but in truth, I
cannot
accept it. And so I agonize again and again. She stood, walked to the table, flipped the hourglass upside down, watched the grains of sand begin to trickle through the neck. One hour . . . one short hour before my next great sin . . . before he again enters my body. She shivered for a second, crossed her arms around her chest. Need some wood. She walked slowly to the woodpile, picked up a pair of medium-sized logs, and laid them on the flames; she thought how quickly they ignited. Fast . . . like the changes in my life since England—one
minute, happiness and hope, and the next, neither. She shook her head. Nothing I can do about it. She glanced at her father’s empty bed then stared into the fire. Pray, Lord, don’t let it take long. I cannot bear it.

She felt her abdomen. Can’t feel much, but—“Oooh! A little pain there.” Perhaps I should tell Tayler . . . he’ll know soon anyway. She studied the crackling flames. Perchance I’ve been wrong; perhaps knowing will change him in some good way. She slapped herself gently on the cheek, snorted cynically. Don’t be foolish, Emily. Nothing will change Hugh Tayler. He’s evil to the core. She peeked at the hourglass again. Going fast. Wonder what it will feel like this time . . . scarcely remember the last. She shivered again, laid her face in her hands, wept softly, replayed the rape: her utter surprise, terror, despair, anger, involuntary pleasure, embarrassment. She composed herself. No good, Em. Won’t change anything. She glanced at the hourglass. Too fast. Never been naked with a man . . . never seen a man naked either . . . probably frighten me. She wiped a new tear from each eye. I suppose I should undress here to make it go quicker . . . just wear my smock with a cape over it. She started to unbuckle her belt, hesitated, laid her hands across her lap, shook her head. No . . . not yet. No hurry. I wonder if he’ll undress me . . . or expect me to undress myself . . . and what of him? Oh, God . . . Mother . . . Father, save me from this. How I’ve let you down. She touched her mother’s letter in her apron pocket; felt, as always, for her missing black locket. George, thank the Lord you cannot see me now . . . but what if you can? Lord, give me strength. My Isna, how I betray you. How can I do this to you . . . you, so loving and true? But how can we ever be together if Tayler is alive? She again covered her face with her hands but only for an instant. “No! Stop torturing yourself, Em. The die is cast; you must live with it; so harden yourself, do what you must.” Her hands began to quiver.

How can I sin so greatly and willfully? But do I not perform a higher good in protecting Virginia and Isna from harm? Yes . . . I do . . . but I betray my family and my love in so doing. My Lord, please show me a way to escape this evil. She spied a small stick on the floor, immediately thought of Tayler snapping the twig an inch from her eyes, shuddered. I can never escape him if he’s alive. No; nor can Isna be with me. He’ll kill, or try to
kill, Tayler, and then Tayler’s men will kill
him
. . . and that will be the end of it. And my baby and I will never live in peace. She stared into the blue flames at the heart of the fire, let her mind drift. Why do I not do as Emme and Ellie propose . . . end his miserable life now, risk the consequences, take the chance, find another way to support my child . . . Isna said he’d . . . she glanced at the hourglass. Nearly time . . . fifteen minutes. She looked back at the fire. Can I kill a man? The flames suddenly flickered back and forth like fingers waving sideways as if to say
no
. But what if I
do
kill him . . . and I’m condemned, hanged, or jailed . . . what becomes of my child? She shook her head. Dare not take such a risk. Killing him was never practical—too immoral, too difficult, especially for me alone—and Tayler’s men might still kill Virginia and Isna, even if he’s dead . . . so where am I? She stared thoughtlessly at the fire for half a minute. “You, Mistress Colman, have no satisfactory choices. You must either submit to Tayler, kill him, or . . . or kill yourself and your child. She shook her head. Would that I’d hung myself in the forest after the rape. She stared at the fire for a long while then glanced at the hourglass, saw that the last grains had fallen; she felt as if a noose had tightened firmly, harshly around her neck, felt a sudden wave of nausea sour her stomach. She shuddered, took a deep breath, stood, put three logs on the fire, picked up her cape. Fie! Meant to undress . . . no worry, he’ll do it quickly enough. She tossed the cape over her shoulders, opened the door, looked around to make sure no one was near, then stepped outside, her heart fluttering like one of the little birds whose wings seem to hum.

The Panther’s wife picked up a deerskin to lie on and a second to cover herself and the baby. She poked her head outside the lodge, saw no one nearby, waddled quickly out the door and into the forest. She’d selected her birthing spot months before—a well-hidden thicket of brush with a thick carpet of leaves. She’d hoped that when her time came, the snow would be gone and leaves budded on the bushes for better concealment. Her wish had been granted, but her anxiety had been heightened by the arrival of Nansemond
runners only hours before to tell her husband and Wahunsunacock that the white men had raped, murdered, and mutilated three Nansemond women, not far from the Nansemond village.