Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (4 page)

Emily and her father laid several larger pieces of wood on the fire. Colman said, “That should hold us until the soldiers return.”

Emily sat down beside the fire, pulled a few chunks of hardtack from her tote bag. “Here, Father. We haven’t much left, but with fortune, we’ll soon have fresh fish and meat to eat. So why not celebrate our first night in the New World with a feast of foul-smelling hardtack? Come, Master Howe . . . both of you join us.” She smiled as she handed a piece to each man. “Father, did you bring any beer?”

“Here.” Young George sat down beside Emily, handed her a goatskin of warm beer, which she promptly took a swig of and passed back.

“Quite satisfying. Thank you, George.”

George took a long pull, passed it to his father, who, with Thomas Colman, had seated himself beside them. The elder George Howe took the beer, passed a canteen of water to Colman. “Thomas, you’d best have some of this, too. And pass it around, if you will. We’d do well to acquire a strong taste for it, for the beer will soon be gone.”

Emily pushed herself back another five feet from the fire, wiped a wide bead of sweat from her brow with her sleeve. She slid her hand into her apron pocket, removed a black locket and held it to her cheek, then stared at the flickering tongues of fire, let her senses pull her mind inward to thoughts of her mother. Yes, Mother, we’re finally here, after three long months. We’re here . . . but
here
isn’t where it’s supposed to be. ’Tis where two
previous
expeditions were, where murder was done, where the Savages hate us more than death itself, where we can’t survive. How do I know? Because Manteo, the Savage who befriended me on the ship told me. He’s from an island near here and was taken to England by an earlier
expedition and educated. Yes, I
am
afraid . . . but I won’t show it. I shall be brave, face what comes . . . as you would. I miss you so . . . young brother John, as well. I long for the day you join us, pray we’re alive when you do. She squeezed her locket, saw her mother’s gentle, smiling face in the blue and yellow flames. Oh, forgot to tell you: my good friend Elyoner, the governor’s daughter, will have her baby soon; and, though it’s against custom for an unwed woman to be present, I’m to be there and help. She’s four years older than I, but we’ve grown quite close . . . and she’s told me—

“Emily, did you hear me?” Young George, who’d also pushed back from the fire, waved his hand up and down in front of her face.

Emily blinked. “George . . . no . . . I’m sorry, I did not . . . was thinking of my mother and brother . . . how far away.”

George lowered his gaze to the ground. “
My
mother’s been gone nearly three years . . . but I still miss her as if she’d died yesterday.” He snorted. “You know, Emily, I’ve never mentioned that to anyone . . . until now . . . to you.”

She touched his cheek. “Forgive me, George, I’ve worsened your pain.”

“No, Em. ’Tis
always
with me.” He closed his eyes, smiled as if savoring the soft warmth of her touch.

“Well, I’m still sorry, for I know how you feel.” Her eyes saddened. “We lost my first brother to the Bloody Flux two years ago . . . twelve, he was.”

He looked up at her, his slight smile still on his face. “Truly, we’re having difficulty finding something un-painful to—”

“Good evening, Mistress Colman.” Hugh Tayler sat his lean but solid frame down on the other side of Emily. He had curly, dark, shoulder-length hair that framed a clean-shaven face with hawkish features, and the firelight lent a sparkle to his dark brown eyes as he smiled a deep smile at Emily.

“Good evening, Master Tayler. Do you know my friend, George Howe?”

“Why, yes. We met on the ship.” He nodded at George, who gave a slight nod in reply, then promptly returned his gaze to the ground, started drawing in the dirt with his finger.

Emily said, “Master Tayler, do you always make such a sudden entrance?”

Her directness unbalanced him. “Actually, no . . . I . . . I don’t. My apologies, Mistress.” She goes to the point, he thought, forthright and confident for her years.

“ ’Tis George who warrants the apology.” She smiled, nodded at George, then back at Tayler, waited for him to speak.

Tayler was astounded that at eight years her senior, he felt like a gawky school boy when she spoke to him, felt her eyes melt his self-assurance like butter in a hot summer sun. “Indeed! My apologies, Master Howe.”

George nodded once but held his silence, continued doodling on the ground.

“Are you hungry, Master Tayler?” Emily held out the bag of hardtack.

“Why, no. But thank you. I merely wanted to see how you fared this day. A long day it was.” He shifted his gaze to Emily’s father and the elder Howe, who had just looked his way. He stood, said, “Good evening, good sirs. How fare you this night?”

George Howe said, “Very well, given the conditions.” Howe was on the portly side of fit and, when standing, had to lean slightly forward to see his toes. His head was bald, and he looked like a plump monk as he rose and extended his hand to Tayler. “And you, Master Tayler?”

Colman, who at six-one was the tallest man in the colony, did likewise. “Good evening, Master—”

Governor White and Manteo approached the group. “Gentlemen, I’ll have a word with you, if you please.”

Tayler nodded, said, “Governor, as you know, I heard your announcements a short while ago; so, with your leave . . . ?” He again nodded at White, then at Howe and Colman, looked at Emily. My God, she’s stunning. “Adieu, Mistress. Until tomorrow.” As Emily started to stand up, he stepped closer, extended his hand to assist her. He’d never touched her before, and when she accepted his invitation, the pleasing warmth of her hand spread through his mind and body like a drink of good brandy on a chilly day.

“Adieu, Master Tayler.” She curtsied, watched him turn slowly, walk away, then glance back as he stepped into the darkness.

White said, “The men have returned. We’ve a good supply of firewood and enough water to get us through the night. Still, I ask you to exercise restraint
with both so all may share. Others will join us in the morning, and we’ll have to determine a proper assignment of dwellings and gather more supplies.”

Colman said, “But what of the Chesapeake?”

White paused. “I shall return to the ship on the pinnace in the morning when it delivers the next group, and I shall confront Fernandez about our plight here, inform him that since I’m the designated captain of the ship, and he’s but the pilot, his action is tantamount to mutiny. Trust me, friends. I
will
convince him to take us to Chesapeake. But meanwhile—”

“And the Savages?” asked Howe.

“We’ve guards posted around the perimeter. We’ll be safe enough for this night.” An uncomfortable twinge nibbled its way through his insides, made him wish he was in England, sitting by a warm fire, painting watercolors of his memories of earlier expeditions; not here, lying to people, trying to salvage an impossibly dangerous situation.

Emily said, “Sir, what of the dead man the soldiers found this afternoon? Do you think the Savages killed him in retribution for Lane’s atrocities?”

The firelight flickered on White’s suddenly blanched face. “How do you know of that, Mistress Colman? Who told you such things?” Anger then confusion flared on his face like a cup of whale oil tossed on a fire.

Emily started to glance at Manteo, but a jab of caution held her eyes on White. Why did you ask that, stupid girl?

White’s complexion grew redder; his look hardened; his nostrils, barely visible above his mustache, flared and collapsed with each breath. He glared at Emily, waited for her reply.

Emily held her silence, cringed, knew she’d hear of her blunder from her father. She met White’s glare with a defensively bland, respectful look.

The three men watched in disbelief as White leaned his head close to hers, whispered in a hissing tone, audible only to Emily, “Mistress, tell no one of this!”

Across the narrow strip of water that separated the colonists from the main, a fifty-foot by thirty-foot, bark-covered lodge housed a small fire that cast
dancing light on the faces of the twenty Savages who surrounded it in council. Most had clean-shaven heads, but for a narrow strip of two-inch-high, straight, vertical hair down the center; feathers and other objects adorned some of the heads. All were bare-chested, bare-legged and wore loincloths.

One Savage looked different. The right side of his head was clean-shaven while the left was full-haired and long, pulled together and tied just above the left shoulder. Three narrow, striped feathers hung from the tie and down his back. He had an angry, fierce look and stared into the fire as the spokesman said, “. . . and our scouts have told us that another group of white men from across the big water has come. They carry the big sticks that make thunder, and Sees-the-Enemy felt the stone from one of these sticks fly by his ear like a bee. More of these people are on the big canoe floating beyond the narrow banks, on the big water.” He paused, momentarily looked at the ground then back at the warriors. “They have brought women this time, so I think they plan to stay. We must decide what to do about them.”

The fierce-looking Savage with three feathers wasn’t listening. He was thinking about his wife and two sons. He’d mourned their loss for over a year before remarrying, had chosen another woman of his tribe, one whose husband, a close friend of his, had died in battle against the mountain tribes.

The spokesman said, “We all remember what happened the last time they came: the killing, the sickness, the destruction.” He paused, looked at each man in turn. “It
must
not happen again. We cannot
allow it
to happen again. These are a crude, ruthless people without honor, and I have heard your wisdom on how we should deal with them. I have heard some say we must avoid them and perhaps move our village. Others counsel that we should attack them a few at a time until they become afraid and go away. And still others say we should rub them all out now before more come and they grow too strong.” His gaze again drifted from man to man; he nodded, studied each pair of eyes. When he had completed the circle, he said, “This is a grave matter, and I will think on it. But before I do,”—he nodded at the fierce-looking man—“I wish to hear the mind of Kills-Like-the-Panther, great warrior and principal counselor to Wahunsunacock, leader of our powerful allies to the north.

The Panther severed his thoughts of the past, stood, took a deep breath then looked at the spokesman. In the same language but with a slight accent, he said, “I was with my wife and sons, trading with the Chowanoc, on the day the white men attacked and killed many of their people. My wife and both sons died that day after I was shot down by one of the big sticks that make thunder. I watched helplessly as three of them used my wife before killing her. I also saw many people in nearby villages die from the sickness the white men brought upon us. Great leader, I cannot tell you and your people what to do, for hate clouds my mind and does not allow me to see clearly what is best for
your
people. But for myself, I will fight and kill these intruders until they . . . or I . . . lie dead.”

Chapter 2

A
llie awoke with a long, wide-mouthed yawn, followed by a deep sigh.

She then stared at the ceiling fan with a tight-lipped, meditative look. When she sat up, she dangled her legs over the side of the bed, scratched the back of her neck, then looked at the window across the room while leaning her head to the right like a dog trying to understand something. Strange dream. She stood, walked to the bathroom, and drank a cup of water. Wonder what it was about . . . who the people were . . . where they were . . . why I wasn’t in it . . . and . . . and why the hell I dreamed it in the first place. As a doctoral candidate in psychology, Allie questioned things of the mind, challenged their reality, and probed their origins to explore the murky world of the brain, the conscious, the subconscious, the unconscious; and, she concluded, her dream had been richly packed with substance for such investigations.