Dangerous Dreams: A Novel

by Mike Rhynard

  “Elyoner, I had no idea. I can’t wait.”

  “ ’Tis I who am happy, Em . . . and honored to have such a friend. ’Tis a big commitment, one that will definitely tie you down a bit.” She stood, embraced Emily and the baby, then kissed Emily on the cheek. “Thank you, my friend.”

  While Elyoner sat down, Emily imagined herself nursing the baby, eyed her with a motherly smile. “When may I begin?”

  “Today, for it could take as long as a month for your milk to come in. But it could also be much quicker. Everyone’s different.”

  Emily looked disappointed. “Well, I wish it could happen sooner . . . I feel so close to . . .” She scowled, sternly waving her index finger up and down at Elyoner. “Elyoner, are you ever going to name this child, or do we have to call her the baby forever?”

  Elyoner laughed. “Yes, Em. We’ve chosen a name but told only Father. We’re saving the announcement for the christening four days hence, but I’ll certainly tell you now if you truly want to know?”

  “No, you should wait if that’s what you’ve decided to do . . . and I’ll keep guessing.” Emily held the baby tight against her breast, kissed the side of her head. “I love you, little one . . . here, Elyoner.” She handed her to Elyoner. “If I hold her any longer, I’ll steal her and make her mine.”

  The baby sputtered as Elyoner took her. “She wouldn’t mind that at all. See, she already loves her Aunt Emily.”

  “I shall count every second until the moment arrives.” Emily rose, took a cup of water to George and held it to his lips. To her surprise he drank a couple sips. “Here, George, have some more.” He took another sip. “ Elyoner, did you see that? He heard me.” But her quickened heartbeat slowed as George resumed his arcane stare. She shook her head as she walked back to her stool and sat. When she noticed Elyoner was deep in thought, she focused her eyes and mind on the baby, imagined herself holding her, offering her breast; felt a warm glow spread through her body as she wondered how it would feel, if it would hurt. She looked back at Elyoner, who remained within her own mind. “Elyoner, what troubles you? You’ve vanished into your thoughts.”

  Elyoner held her stare for a few seconds then looked at Emily. “ ’Tis Father. He’s different since the birth: upset, depressed, seems ashamed or embarrassed about something. I’m worried that he’s having misgivings about our future, perhaps chastising himself for bringing us here. He gets reflective like that sometimes.”

  Emily had hoped someone else would tell Elyoner about the raid; so caught by surprise, her mind scrambled for appropriate words.

  “I know Father’s looks, and I know when he’s upset; and he’s upset now, but I know not why. Em, is there something I don’t know?”

  Emily stared thoughtfully at the ground then at Elyoner. “There is, Ellie, and ’tis nothing to do with you being here.”

  “What then, pray tell?”

  “Your Father and Ananias told me not to tell you until you’re recovered.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Well . . . you seem quite yourself now, so I shall tell you.” Emily took a deep breath. “Just before dawn the morning you were giving birth, they attacked the Savages on the main—men, women, and children sitting around a fire talking. They charged in shouting and shooting. ’Twas like a chaotic nightmare, I’m told, and one of the soldiers gutshot a man, who then died a slow, agonizing death.”

  Elyoner cupped her hand over her mouth, her incredulous eyes locked on Emily’s.

  “As they pursued the Savages, one of them recognized your father and ran toward him, called his name. Manteo recognized the man as one of his people, not the ones who killed Master Howe, and he shouted desperately at the men to stop the attack.”

  “They attacked Manteo’s people?

  Emily nodded. “Aye, Ellie, they did.”

  “Devil’s plague! But why were they—”

  “The Savages who killed Master Howe abandoned their camp after the murder—so quickly, in fact, that they left many supplies there. So Manteo’s people were camping there overnight to collect the abandoned supplies and take them back to their island early in the morning . . . bad luck and bad timing for them. Manteo was furious with our men but much more so with his own people. Told them it was their fault for not coming to your father’s meeting the previous day. Well, the soldiers collected all the supplies— berries, corn, peas, tobacco—and brought them here to supplement our rations. Of course, Manteo’s people want nothing to do with us now, so we’ve no one to teach us what we must know to survive—all the more reason to leave this island as soon as we can.”

  “Poor Father. He was already tormented by—”

  “Greetings, ladies.” Ananias and Thomas Colman entered the cottage. Ananias beamed a broad smile, proceeded directly to Elyoner, and kissed her and the baby.

  Emily had not liked Ananias at first. No woman’s image of virility, he was tall and lanky like a weasel standing on its hind legs; had a long, pointy nose like a woodpecker, a stress-induced blink, and occasional attacks of naïveté that worsened his periodic lapses in common sense. But in the course of befriending Elyoner, Emily had discovered and come to admire the treasure concealed beneath the mousey image: a gentle, soft-spoken man of kindness, loyal to family and friend, intelligent, dedicated, and resilient. She had then understood with great clarity why Elyoner had married the man and loved him so fervently. She also saw that though he sometimes disagreed with John White, Ananias admired him, which she thought had probably facilitated his persuading Elyoner and Ananias to accompany him to the colony. He had suggested that the colony would soon need a tiler and builder to construct sturdy permanent structures, had planted the thought that Ananias could be the man to guide and accomplish such construction and make a prosperous living for himself and his family in the process. And being one who always saw good intentions in people, Ananias had resonated with the proposal and sold his business in England to embark upon the adventure.

  Stepping over to the water bucket, Ananias ladled a dipper of water and offered it to Colman.

  “Thanks, my friend. Long, dry meeting, eh?” Thomas Colman had been elected an Assistant to replace George Howe, but having just completed his first meeting, he was not certain he’d made a wise choice in accepting. “Is there always so much squabbling? My God, how do they—how do we—ever accomplish anything?”

  “ ’Tis difficult. Many opinions and too many people who like to hear themselves talk, listen to their own views, and impress themselves.”

  Elyoner said, “What was today’s talk?”

  Ananias wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Well, it seems our supplies are dwindling faster than expected, so we’re cutting back on everyone’s daily rations and supplementing more with wild game, berries, and fish. The problem, however, is that there isn’t much game left on the island, we’ve eaten most of the berries, and our fishermen seem to be somewhat inept at fishing these waters. Oh yes, and the water in our stream is depleting at an unexpectedly rapid rate due to the heat and drought, and we’re to slaughter the first of our swine tomorrow. And last, we desperately needed the help of Manteo and his people, but since the disastrous attack on . . . oh . . . forgot . . .” He cupped his hand over his mouth.

  Elyoner rolled her eyes, emitted a long sigh. “Go on, Ananias. I know about the attack. Secrets don’t live long here.”

  Ananias and Colman gazed suspiciously at Emily, who turned her palms up and gave them a helpless, quizzical look. “Truly, Ananias, she asked, and I deemed her up to it. So . . .”

  Ananias hesitated for a moment then nodded twice, proceeded as if there had been no interruption. “We then discussed abandoning the island and proceeding into the main, or perhaps sailing up to Chesapeake as we discussed when we first arrived. ’Twould be about a fifty-mile journey either way—completely by sea to Chesapeake; or on the sound, thence up a river, and finally overland to the main.”

  Colman said, “More argument than discussion, with no consensus, I’m afra
id. Many Savages along the route into the main versus a tricky sail to Chesapeake for a company of shore folk.”

  Ananias nodded. “Quite true. And then”—he flicked an uneasy glance at Elyoner—“weee, uh . . . pox, you tell them, Thomas.”

  Colman looked equally uncomfortable, hesitated as if waiting for encouragement. Finally, he eyed Ananias then Emily and Elyoner, shook his head and sighed. “Well, Roger Baylye had forespoken to not only the Assistants but also each man in the colony about our desperate situation.” He shuffled his feet and continuously rotated his hat brim between his thumb and index finger, glancing briefly and tenuously at Elyoner, then sighed. “Roger proposed that several Assistants return to England for supplies on the flyboat or on the large ship with Fernandez, who, by the way, is departing imminently, but . . . but all refused. So he . . . he suggested your father do so.”

  Elyoner’s mouth and eyes opened wide.

  “Roger then opened the cottage door to show your father that every man in the colony stood outside to demonstrate support for his proposal.”

  Elyoner’s cheeks were vivid pink, her eyes tight, hands clenched.

  Colman quickened his speech. “He cited your father’s close relationship with Raleigh and how it could be used to obtain more planters and the supplies we so urgently need . . . all true, of course. Unfortunately, as you might expect, the governor would not hear him out, became enraged, actually cursed Roger, and stormed out of the meeting.” He took a deep breath. “We’re to try again in a day or so.” He shook his head then displayed a limp, hopeless smile. “A rather unpleasant first Assistants’ meeting for me.”

  Elyoner looked ill, disbelieving, confused, then suddenly angry again. She looked at her daughter then back and forth between Colman and her husband, shouted at them, “How can Father leave? He’s the governor. He can’t leave the colony.” Tears filled her eyes. “How could Roger even suggest it? How could you, Anan—”

  “Because,” said young George Howe, “he’s the only one who can accomplish what must be done. He alone can influence Raleigh and the Queen to save us.”

  No one spoke. They looked at one another as if wondering who had spoken, where the strange voice had come from. Silence persisted until Emily shouted, “George!” Tears rushed down her cheeks as she stepped to his side, wrapped her arms around him. “George! At last!”

  The others gathered around. George wept with Emily, embraced her, and leaned his head on her shoulder, shuddering the pent up pain from his soul.

  Arnold Archard shoved the soldier dispensing rations, yanked the food basket from his hands. “Damn it! We need more than this.”

  Corporal Gibbes, a young lad of about twenty, said, “Sir, you can’t do that. I’ve my orders.” He beckoned two nearby soldiers for help; they quickly seized Archard’s shoulders while Gibbes wrenched the basket from his grip.

  “Damn you. Take your hands off me. You can’t treat me this way.”

  Lieutenant Waters heard the commotion, jogged to the scene. “What’s happening here, men?”

  “This gentleman tried to take the food basket, Sir. Demanded more than his share.”

  “ ’Tis my right to have an adequate ration,” Archard said.

  “I’m sorry, Sir, there’s no such right. The governor’s imposed equal rations for all of us. He and his Assistants have defined what’s adequate, and we must all live by that until we’ve more food. I and my men are to enforce his regulations. If you disagree with the ration, you should discuss it with Governor White.”

  “I shall. Now order your men to release me immediately. I also intend to report their rude treatment.”

  “Report what you wish, Sir. For my part, if you cause more trouble, the constable and judge shall know of it. Now be off with you, and mind your behavior. Let him go, men.”

  Archard sneered at Waters, made an indecent gesture as he walked toward White’s cottage cursing and muttering to himself.

  Waters was certain he had made a staunch enemy, but what else could he have done? If one person got away with something, others would do the same, and the result would soon be anarchy. “Go on with your business, men. Expect more of this behavior as people grow hungrier and more cross tempered. Equal rations for all . . . maintain your good discipline and demeanor.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Gibbes said. “If I may, Sir, I don’t think the man’s himself. Just hungry like everyone else. Hopefully, the governor will calm him.” He saluted Waters, and he and the other two soldiers turned to walk toward a group of civilians awaiting their rations.

  “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Gibbes, Sir. Corporal John Gibbes.”

  “You’re young for a corporal. You must have seen combat.”

  Gibbes stood halfway between five and six feet, had a solid stature, a boyish, rosy-cheeked complexion, and large, determined green eyes. “Aye, Sir, I have.”

  Waters stared at him, nodded repeatedly. “You handled that situation well, maintained your poise and bearing. Well done.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Waters beckoned to Myllet and Smith, who stood nearby, led the two sergeants to a secluded section of the palisades. “That man—I think his name is Archard—is selfish and arrogant, a fine example of what we’ll soon see more of. I sympathize with these people and their plight—ours, as well—but as you can imagine, things are going to get worse, perhaps even ugly. ’Tis the situation I feared when I spoke to the men shortly after we arrived. They’re going to be tempted to take matters into their own hands with these undisciplined fools, but we cannot allow it. We must stay on top of them, know their thoughts, ensure they control their tempers, maintain discipline. We’re the backbone of order here, and we will do our duty. I’m depending on you two to keep the men calm, controlled, and busy. Idleness breeds complaining and contempt . . . we can’t have either. We’re but a short step from catastrophe and cannot permit that step to be taken. Do you understand?”

  Both nodded, answered affirmatively. Then Smith said, “Beggin’ your pardon, Sir, I thought I should tell you that the men are discontented about doing manual labor. They’ve asked me to speak to you. They—”

  “Sergeant Smith, what in the hell do they, or you, think I can do about this situation. Did you not just hear me say we must keep the men busy? You know better than I that the less soldiers have to do, the more they complain. We’re all stuck here together with no meaningful defenses, flimsy shelter, diminishing food, angry Savages, winter soon upon us, and weak civilian leadership. Do you . . . do they think we should sit on our arses and watch the civilians work while we just stand guard?” He looked sternly at both sergeants. “Christ, men, if the Savages attack in force before we complete the palisades, we’ll be just as dead as the civilians. The Savages care not who they kill as long as they’re English. So use your bloody heads and pound some sense into your men. We’re all doing work we would not normally do . . . so how can they complain when you and I are there working beside them?”

  The sergeants looked embarrassed, stared at the ground like guilty schoolboys caught in an errant act. Myllet collected himself first and looked at Waters. “Sir, I understand what you’re saying, but I’m worried about how long these men will endure before they . . . before they . . .”

  “Before they what, Myllet? Before they mutiny? For God’s sake, man, we’ve only been here a short while; things aren’t even terribly difficult yet. But they act as if we’ve made them fill latrines all day or make hopeless charges up a steep hill against fusillades of arrows.”

  “No, not mutiny, Sir . . . not yet . . . just grumbling, perhaps a little more.”

  Waters calmed himself. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to maul you. I appreciate your informing me.” He looked at both men, in turn. “What do you think we should do?”

  Smith said, “Well, I think most of them are good lads trying to do their duty whatever you tell them to do. But there are some malcontents— rebellious sorts—who seem intent on disrupting the order of things
, stirring the other men up. I—”

  “Do you know who they are?” He knew he was putting Smith on the spot, asking a question he couldn’t expect an answer to, decided to do it anyway.

  “Yes, Sir, I do, but . . . but by your leave . . .”

  “I understand. Forget I asked that. Keep your eyes on them, and for God’s sake, tell me if it gets worse. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough, Sir.”

  “Very well. You’re both good men, and I . . . we, the colony . . . need your help if any of us are to survive here.” He expelled a lengthy, philosophical sigh, wished he was somewhere else—anywhere, fighting Spaniards— instead of swatting mosquitoes, sweating, and dealing with civilians in this miserable hole. “Young Gibbes seems a good sort. Would he make a good beginning sergeant? I know he’s young, but I think we’re going to need more supervision and eyes on the men, if you know what I mean.”

  The two sergeants looked at one another for a second, nodded, then looked at Waters. Myllet said, “Yes, Sir. I believe he would. He’s a good lad.”

  Smith said, “I agree, Sir.”

  “Very well. Let’s promote him. Please inform him of his new rank and responsibilities and also of the gist of our conversation. If you have any doubts after you speak to him, let me know . . . and thank you, men. I appreciate your support.”

  Both said, “Yes, Sir,” saluted, walked off to find Gibbes.

  As he walked toward the palisades, Waters’ mind churned, searched for a pathway to the future that included a surviving colony. He failed, invariably arriving at the same end. If any of us survive this debacle, it will be a miracle. If we don’t starve to death, the Savages will get us: wait until we’re starving, weak, pick us off a few at a time until we’re so decimated they can attack en masse. Must complete the palisades quickly: assign more people to the job, work longer hours, perhaps nights—he snorted cynically—all on less food . . . and we must keep people in large groups, so they’re not vulnerable to piecemeal attack. But we can’t hunt and fish in large groups; the women can’t get water or wash clothes in large groups; people can’t use a privy or latrine in large groups. He looked at the palisades—too many problems, too many slowdowns; Wyles’ accident, wound festering, be lucky to live; everyone overcautious now, slow; three large, vulnerable palisade gaps to complete; need at least ten days . . . do we have that long?