Dangerous Dreams: A Novel

by Mike Rhynard

  “I am. Father told me . . . and strangely, you probably know far more than I about those earlier times, for he’s kept me blind to such ugly events.”

  Emily smiled. “I’m sure the governor wasn’t very happy with me that first night. Did he tell you of my impudence in asking him a rather embarrassing question in front of my father and Master Howe? His face turned so red I thought it was going to burst into flames. Rather stupid of me, it was.” She chuckled philosophically, more to herself than to Elyoner.

  “Well, in spite of your question, Father admires your spunk and calmed himself rather quickly. He has much on his mind these days.”

  Emily nodded. “I’m certain of that . . . Elyoner, I have George on my mind. Please tell me how to help him. I want so to bring him back, but . . .”

  “I’ve no ideas, Emily. You’re giving him a friend’s love, and right now, I don’t think there’s anything else that can be done. You seemed to have a rather close relationship before this happened . . . at least I saw you together often.”

  “I fear he’s quite infatuated, perhaps in love with me.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m not sure. Actually, that’s not altogether true. I care strongly for him, but as a dear friend, not romantically . . . yet I often wonder if . . . if in spite of our age difference, it might someday be otherwise. But I’ve no idea how things will be between us when he revives. Father thinks he’ll need me more than before, and I guess, if that’s true, his love will become deeper still. I honestly can’t say how I’ll feel . . . or how I’ll react. But what I can say is that I’d give my life to save his.”

  Elyoner touched Emily’s cheek, gave her an understanding smile. “That says much, Emily Colman.” After a brief silence, she said, “And Master Tayler . . . he too appears quite drawn to you. Do you care for him?” Elyoner immediately shook her head. “Forget I asked that, Em. ’Tis not my business.”

  Emily smiled. “No. I don’t mind talking about it, Ellie. You’re my close friend—my close, older, wiser friend—and I value your opinion on any subject. So to answer your question, yes, I do care for him, though, as you know, he’s considerably older than I. He’s amusing and witty but can also be very serious. He’s suffered difficult times, and I think there’s yet much to learn about him. However, I like what I’ve seen so far and want to see more. Do you know him?”

  “Only that he comes from a wealthy family and . . . well, I’ve heard some idle rumors, but I pay no attention to such. I prefer to be my own judge.”

  “What have you heard?” Emily raised an expectant eyebrow.

  “I’m sorry, Em, I shouldn’t have said anything. I really don’t believe any of us should go around talking rumors. The colony’s too small, and it will inevitably foster bad feelings we can ill afford.”

  “Very well.” The two then sat in silence, watching George, until Emily spoke in a measured tone. “ Elyoner, are you afraid?”

  Elyoner looked flatly into Emily’s eyes. “Emily, I’m terrified . . . terrified for myself, for Father, for Ananias, and especially for this little one here inside me.” She patted her belly. “What happened to Master Howe changed everything. Before, we knew we were in the wrong place and that it might turn out to be unfriendly, but now we know death may strike at any moment. That makes a big difference: it means we can never relax and must be ever watchful. That’s not how I want to live my life.”

  “Nor I.”

  “I assume you heard about the Assistants’ meeting this afternoon? I’m told quite a few men besides the Assistants were there and voiced opinions.”

  “I was here with George, but I heard the shouting.”

  “Well, there were many cries for retaliation against the Savages, and quite a number of men were ready to man the shallops and row to the mainland to attack them that very moment. Father said he, Ananias, and Roger Baylye spoke against such action. Actually, your friend, Master Tayler, to his credit, was another calming voice.”

  Emily nodded twice. “Good to hear.”

  “As Father points out, retaliation is a rather foolish notion for several reasons. First, the Savages reside on the main; second, we’ve far fewer soldiers than Lane had; and third, the Savages surely watch us day and night, which makes surprise rather difficult. Another problem is that we don’t know for certain where their village is. Father knows where it was, a year ago, after they left the island, but that knowledge isn’t worth much now. So about the only opportunity for surprise would be a night attack, where the rowers could see the Savages’ fires and row toward them. But if the village is inland and not visible from the water, that won’t work either.”

  “So what are we going to do? We can’t just sit here and wait for the next attack.”

  “No, we can’t. So tomorrow, Father’s taking a few Assistants and soldiers, and Manteo, to Manteo’s village, down the Sound, to give them gifts and to parley. He wants to assure them of our friendship and persuade them to show us how they hunt and fish and preserve meat and fish. He also wants them to help us befriend the other nearby tribes. That was a mouthful! I need a breath.”

  Emily held a pewter cup of water to George’s lips. “Well, as much as I miss Master Howe and detest the brutality of his murder, I think we must find peace with these people or perish. So your father’s plan seems a good beginning, even though ’tis with a different tribe than killed Master Howe.”

  “You sense much for your years, Emily Colman. I—” Elyoner tensed, clutched her stomach. “Huuh . . . huuh . . . huuh!” She took a deep breath.

  “Elyoner, are you well?”

  She moaned as the air seeped slowly from her lungs. “I . . . I think so.” Her face suddenly paled; sweat beaded her forehead.

  Emily quickly stood while tying the top of her smock, then slipped into her shirt and pulled on her skirt. She put her arms around Elyoner to steady her. “You don’t look good. Come, we’re going to find Agnes.”

  Elyoner took another deep breath, let it ease out slowly to relax the tautness in her cheeks. “I think this little rascal . . . huuh . . . wants to see the world soon.” She stood with Emily’s help, and the two shuffled toward the door.

  John White stood with his Assistants and Manteo at the meeting place on the shore. He had not wanted to risk another debacle instigated and enflamed by eavesdroppers, such as had occurred the previous day when they had met in the village. So they had returned to the earlier, more private meeting place; and as he had instructed, each man held a musket or a stout English longbow at his side, and most carried a sword and dagger at the waist. As before, four soldiers formed a wide semi-circle around the group, while the water provided security to the rear.

  White fidgeted with his mustache as he anguished over what information to relay first. Several of them already knew the results of the meeting with Manteo’s people, and he surmised they had already told the others; so he hardened himself for an uproar, decided to proceed in the order things had transpired.

  “Gentlemen, as some of you know, we had a most fruitful meeting with Manteo’s people this morning. After they recognized Manteo, they greeted us warmly and provided us a most pleasing feast. We then offered them gifts and set about convincing them that we want nothing but their friendship and help in teaching us their methods of living here. They agreed to help us but asked that we provide them a badge of recognition so we won’t mistake them for some other, perhaps unfriendly people. I must tell you that their request is well founded, for precisely the situation they fear occurred with Lane, and several of Manteo’s people were wounded. Most recovered, but one remains crippled and unable to walk, which greatly burdens my mind and heart. So I agreed to provide them such means of recognition when they arrive here tomorrow. But more on that in a moment.” The rare absence of protest encouraged him, emboldened him to broach the unpleasant news.

  “We also learned that the Savages who reside on the main directly across from the island are the ones who killed George Howe and murdered our two soldie
rs last year. They further informed us that the thirteen men who survived last year’s attack frantically rowed their boat to some unknown place. So, they may yet be alive and waiting for us to find them.”

  Several Assistants commenced an undercurrent of whispers that quickly spread through the assembly.

  “These Savages are the very ones Lane attacked here on this island and whose headman he killed, and I must point out that this occurred before the murders of our two soldiers and George Howe. I say this so you may understand that the Savages’ actions against us have not been without provocation.”

  The whispers diminished to a fragile silence as Thomas Stevens stepped forward. “John, I understand that Lane probably angered these Savages, but that was long ago and certainly no justification for George Howe’s murder. We’ve done nothing to provoke them. So what action do you propose to deter further attacks against us? Truly, man, we cannot live like this indefinitely: carrying weapons and taking soldiers everywhere we go. ’Tis simply not practical on an extended basis. By and by, a man needs a good, quiet moment of reflection alone in the forest, while he does his business, if you know what I mean.”

  A burst of laughter erupted from the group. White grinned.

  “I do know what you mean, Tom, and I share your view . . . most definitely I share your view. To that purpose, I asked Manteo’s mother, the leader of their people, to contact the other tribes in our vicinity and summon them to a meeting with us here tomorrow when the sun is overhead. We’ll bestow gifts on all who attend, as well as assurances of friendship, and we shall then ask them for their friendship and assistance in return.” He assumed a somber but determined look. “We shall also use this opportunity to impress them with our progress on the palisades, and our strength. So I want every man to be present in the gathering place and in possession of every weapon he owns: swords, daggers, muskets, longbows, even hammers and axes. If we had more ammunition, I’d also demonstrate our muskets to remind them of our firepower. But with George Howe gone and his son in a stupor, we’re without a foundry to cast ammunition for a time. We might, instead, demonstrate the power of an English longbow and perhaps show them a little swordsmanship. We want them to know that any attack against us will be met with force and cost them dearly.”

  “And what,” William Willes asked, “will we do if George Howe’s murderers do not come to your meeting. What do you intend to do to punish them for what they did and deter them from doing it again?”

  That was the question White had dreaded all day, hoped no one would ask; for he knew there was but one viable answer, and that answer was the one he most loathed giving—the promise of an action he had sworn never to allow. “If that happens, William”—he took a deep breath—“we shall have no choice but to attack and punish them.”

  Most nodded agreement. Roger Baylye and a few others did not, instead looked gravely at one another then back at White, whose eyes blinked with uncertainty as he spoke. “But though I’ve said that, I do not wish it, and indeed, gravely fear the consequences such an action will most assuredly provoke. We are not strong; our existence is fragile and our soldiers untested. And even though I am not a soldier, I can see that such an action could unleash a chain of unintended events that culminates in our annihilation.” He shook his head. “And we must, therefore, exhaust every possibility for peace before we allow that chain of misfortunes to begin.”

  Baylye slowly, methodically clapped his hands together. Three others joined him. “John, you speak wisely.” He looked from man to man. “Gentlemen, if we take such an action, we will surely endanger our own existence. I do not know these people we speak of, and I do not know their intentions toward us. But I think we must conceive another course of action toward them—one that can produce the end we seek without threatening our lives and those of our families.”

  After a long silence, Stevens, who had a red, angry face, shouted, “God’s teeth, John, we must teach the Savages a lesson!”

  Willes said, “Aye, a strong, ruthless attack would eliminate them as a threat to the colony and send a clear message to any others contemplating trouble. To hell with your meeting, John.”

  White’s insides churned. He knew Baylye was right but also knew the wheels of regrettable fortune had begun to turn. “Gentlemen, I implore you to aid me in finding a way to obtain peace without more bloodshed. But I reluctantly concede such a course will be difficult to conceive and more difficult to implement. So, let us pray these Savages join the others here tomorrow and that we convince them to end the bloodshed and conclude a viable, lasting peace with us.”

  “But John,” Stevens said, “even if they come and agree with your proposal, how will we punish them for George Howe’s murder, and how will we ensure they keep their word?”

  “Thomas, in all candor, after my experiences here with Lane, I’m far more worried about us keeping our word than I am about the Savages keeping theirs.”

  Emily rubbed her sleeve across her sweaty brow, bent and scooped a ladle of water from the bucket at her feet, gulped it down. She picked up two pieces of firewood and laid them on the fire that burned ten feet in front of her cottage. The fire had combined with the intense heat and humidity of the day to soak her clothes with perspiration, smear sweaty soot all over her face, and make her appreciate how much more pleasant candle-making was on a cool day in England.

  A large, black metal pot about two feet in diameter sat on the fire, supported by a circle of rocks, open on one side, that held the pot about ten inches off the ground and left room for new logs to be added when needed. The pot held over twelve inches of melted animal fat, while a barrel of solid fat, for replenishing the melting pot, sat several feet away. The fat barrel had been brought from England to sustain their candle-making needs until an adequate supply of local fat could be accumulated.

  Emily picked up a sixteen-inch-long stick that had eight, evenly spaced, twelve-inch-long strings tied to it; and each string, from the tie point on the stick to its low, dangling end, was a partially completed candle. Holding the stick horizontally, one end in each hand, so the eight partial candles hung vertically toward the ground, she walked to the pot, checked to see that her skirt was clear of the flames, then slowly dunked the candles in and out of the fat four or five times to allow more to adhere to them. She then carried the stick to the drying rack five feet away, set the ends on two parallel, five-foot-long branches that were twelve inches apart and supported at each end by the four log stump stools from inside the cottage. Six sticks, each holding eight candles, already sat on the drying rack; she lifted the driest of them, took it to the pot for another dunking. She’d been at it for nearly three hours, and her fifty-six candles were nearly complete—one more round for each stick and the job would be done.

  What a pity they smelled so bad when you burned them, she thought, though a person got used to it after a while. Fortunately, Governor White had shown Emily and a few others the plentiful bayberry bushes that thrived all over the island. He had told them how the berries, which ripened in the fall, could be boiled in water to separate their wax, which then floated to the surface where it could be skimmed off, congealed, and added to the previous skimmings until enough was collected to make several melting pots of wax that could be re-melted for candle dipping. He had also mentioned that bayberry candles had a pleasing aroma; so Emily now had another reason to be eager for fall, the first being relief from the stifling, relentless heat and humidity.

  As she placed the stick of candles on the drying rack and lifted the next, Hugh Tayler and John Bridger slid a log into the palisades trench about seventy-five feet from Emily’s cottage, butted it up against the adjoining log, and held it in place while two other men deposited and set the next log. After Tayler and Bridger released their log and started back to the forest for another, Tayler veered toward Emily, waved at her, and called out. “Emily, Emily Colman.”

  She looked up from the drying rack, wiped her sweaty brow with her sleeve, then replied with a broad smi
le and a wave of her hand. “How fares Hugh Tayler this day?”

  “At the top of his form and eager for more work. And what of the colony’s foremost candle maker?”

  “She’s hot, sweating in an unladylike manner, and ready for a rest. When will you have a break?”

  “One more log. May I visit you then?”

  “You must ask my father first.” She tried to look serious, but a slight smirk formed on her lips, then bloomed into a full smile.

  “Where is he?”

  “On the other side of the island.”

  Tayler assumed a pitifully sad look. “Mistress Emily, you wound me.”

  “Very well, then come and see me, Master Hugh! But put another log or two in the ground first, for I’ve more candles to finish before I can dally.”

  “Very well. I shall return; and I hope your candle making will be complete, for I will not sit by that fire on this hot day.”

  “Fear not, Sir.”

  Emily smiled to herself as she watched Tayler quicken his pace to catch up with Bridger, then dipped another stick of candles into the pot.

  Twenty minutes later, Tayler approached Emily’s cottage as she lifted the heavy melting pot from the fire.

  “Emily, let me do that.” He took the pot from her. “Where do you want it?”

  “Over there.” She pointed at the barrel of congealed fat. “Many thanks. I’m weary of bending.”

  “At your service. And where’s Master Colman today?”

  “He’s with the others transporting the last of the equipment and baggage from the ship. ’Twill be most pleasant to have all the things we brought, especially the cooking wares; but”—her look suddenly saddened—“ but the arrival of the last of our belongings brings with it an ominous sense of finality and aloneness . . . a bit like the Queen’s headsman raising his axe over someone’s head after ’tis properly positioned on the block. It means we will, indeed, be abandoned here.”

  “Aye, ’tis a sobering thought, and your simile is distressingly accurate. When those ships sail away, we’ll be completely cut off from civilization for who knows how long.” He marveled at how, in spite of sweaty clothes, disarranged hair, and a soot-covered face, Emily looked ravishingly sensuous. She overwhelmed him with the urge to take her into the cottage and make wild, passionate love to her. How could she do that to him? But it wasn’t just his passion she excited. No, it had become far more than that; for ever since their first conversation, each moment he was near her, heard her voice, held her hand, he felt intense flames of affection engulf his heart—flames he’d never before felt and could not control. “So how is young Master Howe? I heard he’s having a difficult time—not surprisingly, of course—and . . . oh, by the bye, I must tell you, I feel like an utter fool for speaking down about the young lad the other day. I owe you an apology for that. ’Twas quite small of me, and I hope you’ll forgive me.”