Dangerous Dreams: A Novel

by Mike Rhynard

  His heart raced as he embraced her, pulled her close, waited silently for her moment to pass.

  After a few seconds, Emily released her hold, eased back, sniffled, rubbed her eyes, looked into his. Their eyes lingered on one another’s, danced from eyes to lips to eyes; their lips drew relentlessly closer, touched, pressed together, sent a deep, flowing warmth through their bodies.

  Emily pulled back, gasped to catch her breath. “I’m sorry, Hugh. I . . . I should not have done that.” Her hands trembled; embarrassment inundated her mind. She realized she’d kissed him to punish George for hurting her; she felt stupid, regretted her rash behavior but admitted her action had also been fueled by a compelling curiosity toward Tayler. No, Em, too soon . . . must not encourage him until you’re sure. Foolish lass.

  He held a tight gaze on her eyes. “Emily, that was a wonderful moment . . . but I respect your feelings. I’m sorry if I—”

  “Truly, Hugh, we must go.” She stood, picked up the basket and beer. He reached out to help her. “No, don’t bother. They’re not heavy.”

  She looked at him with sad eyes as they started back inside the palisades, an uncomfortable, rigid silence between them. As they approached Emily’s cottage, she stopped, faced him. “Hugh, I should not have let that happen. Please do not read anything into it.” She looked away then into his eyes. “I still want very much to see you and know you. Can you come to our cottage tomorrow evening for dinner, such as it is? You can get to know Father better and, if you still wish, ask his permission to take a walk with me, perchance even out of his sight.” Her lips slowly curved into an impish smile. “But he probably thinks we’re still in England and will want to chaperon us. Tommy Colman does not break tradition without a fight . . . but I shall help you. What say you?”

  Hugh Tayler felt resurrected, a wondrous new life before him. “Emily, I’d be honored.”

  All day, a thick haze had magnified the sun’s intensity and thickened the humidity like a heavy, smothering fog that lingered well after darkness had fallen. John White sat with Elyoner and Emily in Elyoner’s cottage and cradled the baby in his arms, looking tentative, as if he expected her to shatter into pieces if he made a sudden move. How long, he thought, since I’ve held a baby. What will happen to this one? He felt immediately pummeled by guilt, fear for his family’s survival.

  He abruptly stood, handed the baby to Emily, then looked at his daughter. “Ellie, I must ask you something. My dear, we all well know the perils we face here. And after much anguished deliberation, I’ve concluded that I erred and acted selfishly in encouraging you and Ananias to join me on this expedition.” He glanced at Emily as if he had just noticed her, questioned his wisdom in discussing their situation in her presence, then realized that she of all people well understood its fragility.

  Elyoner pursed her lips, shook her head slowly back and forth.

  “Hear me out, Ellie. It occurs to me that since I cannot go back to England to beseech Raleigh, the next best course would be for you and Ananias to do so.” Elyoner’s head-shaking accelerated. “Elyoner, stop shaking your head. Think about what I’m saying. Even with the hazards of sea travel, you’ll have far better chances than if you remain here. I can’t command you to go, but I ask you to consider it . . . for the colony’s sake, as well as your child’s. The Harvie family should go, as well. This is simply not a situation for newborns, and I should have realized that in the beginning but failed to. So . . . what say you, Daughter?”

  He glanced at Emily to gauge her reaction, saw none, then looked back at Elyoner as Emily said, “Governor, I shall leave so you and Ellie may speak freely. I’ll wait out—”

  “Stay here, Emily,” Elyoner said. “I’ve nothing to say that you can’t hear. Father, thank you for your thoughts for us. I . . . I understand the logic of your proposal, but Ananias and I are as committed to this colony as you are. I’ll discuss your proposal with him, but I steadfastly wish to remain here with—”

  Ananias suddenly walked through the doorway, followed by Roger Baylye, Thomas Colman, and the other Assistants. They crowded around White and the women, with Baylye directly in front of White.

  When all were positioned, White said, “Well, this is an unexpected and ominous gathering. You all have rather urgent looks about you. What is it, Roger?”

  “John, Fernandez sails at first light. When we heard the news an hour ago, we immediately gathered to decide how to present our plight to Raleigh and the Queen . . . without relying on Fernandez.”

  White’s face reddened as he leaned toward Baylye. “Roger, please tell me why I, the damn Governor, was not called to this meeting? In the name of Jesus our Lord, why was I not called?”

  Baylye blanched. “John . . . there was no time for argument. We knew the debate would be bitter and lengthy, knew you’d resist our proposal. I’m sorry, but there just wasn’t time, and there’s little now, as well. So I beg you, please hear me.”

  White’s bulging eyes looked ready to pop from his head; his breath was quick and shallow.

  “John, no Assistant will leave, but even if they did, none would have your influence with Raleigh.” For the first time in their many tense discussions, Roger Baylye’s eyes overflowed with uncertainty; he shuffled his feet, rubbed his fingers anxiously against the outsides of his pant legs, swallowed repeatedly. “John, we have but one course of action, and—”

  “ ’Tis not so, Roger. I’ve one you haven’t thought of.” He looked at Elyoner then back at Baylye. “The perfect solution is for my daughter and her family to return to England and plead our case to—”

  “No, Father, I refuse!” Elyoner yelled at him. “I will not go . . . no matter what Ananias says.”

  White quivered, glared at his daughter, looked at Ananias, his eyes pleading for support.

  Looking completely helpless, Ananias shook his head then glanced at Elyoner and nodded twice.

  Baylye said, “John, John, please listen to reason. You are the only one who can accomplish this task. Raleigh will listen to you, and engage the Queen. You are our only hope, and—”

  “And what the hell do you think the people in England, especially in that political circus called London, will say when the colony’s governor returns alone? I’ll tell you what they’ll say. They’ll say John White lured all those innocent souls to an untenable place so he could win a reward from Raleigh, then deserted them there to die. No thank you, Roger. I’m not your man.”

  Elyoner said, “All the more reason for Ananias and me to stay, Father. Truly! Who could possibly think ill of you with us here awaiting your return? Don’t you see? No one else can do this. ’Tis your responsibility.”

  Baylye nodded along with Elyoner’s words as a glimmer of hope progressively grew in his eyes.

  White thought how remarkably similar Elyoner and his late wife were to one another, how grandly Elyoner embodied her decisiveness and clarity of thought. He glanced at Baylye and a few others, gauged the determination in their faces, knew they were right, but resolved to fight on. He looked back at Baylye. “Roger, this is absurd. Even if I did go, what of my belongings? Would they be intact when I returned? Hell no they wouldn’t! When I left the previous colony for only a few weeks, people helped themselves to my goods. No. I sha’n’t do it!” A bead of sweat dripped off the tip of his cherry-red nose; he swiped at the next one with his hand.

  Baylye said, “John, we understand your misgivings. So please read this.” He handed White a piece of paper.

  White snatched the paper from his hand, started reading.

  “We agree with your concerns. So we drafted this document, all signed it—every man in the colony. It shall accompany you to England, to Raleigh, perhaps to the Queen. It says our situation is dire, that you argued to remain with the colony, that you departed only under the greatest duress and for the greater good of the colony, and that there was no other choice.” White started to protest, but Baylye raised his hand to silence him. “Last, it says that all of your belongi
ngs will be cared for and preserved, even if we depart the island, and that anything missing upon your return shall be replaced or refunded by the colony.”

  White glared at him, gnawed on his lower lip.

  “John, there’s one more thing. We intend to permanently depart this wretched Roanoke Island, whether to the Chesapeake or to the main, as soon as we’re able. Most favor the main for reasons you well know, but the Chesapeake also has certain advantages. We should decide this question now, before you leave, so you know where to find us upon your return . . . assuming, of course, we’ve convinced you to go.”

  The defiance melted from White’s eyes. He knew he was beaten, had known all along the logic was irrefutable. Lord, what will become of my friends, my daughter, my grandchild, Ananias? How will I live with myself if ill befalls them? “Ananias and Elyoner Dare, my dear, dear family, I shall miss you and my beautiful grandchild . . . my precious Virginia Dare.” He looked at Baylye. “Isn’t it a lovely name?”

  “ ’Tis indeed, John.”

  White had regained his color, looked suddenly proud, relieved, stood erect. “I promise you all, I shall return. And when I do, I know I’ll find a prosperous colony, wherever you go.” He kissed Elyoner and Virginia, shook hands with Ananias, hugged Emily, touched her cheek.

  Emily whispered, “Governor White, please bring my mother and brother when you return.”

  He nodded then eyed Baylye. “Roger, I appoint you governor in my stead. Appoint or elect a new Assistant to take your place. Act as I would to preserve and advance the colony. See it safely to the destination you choose. We’ve no time to discuss that now, for I must be away with haste. And Roger, thank you for your immeasurable support. You, not I, are the leader that has carried the colony of Roanoke this far. Carry it forward, my friend.”

  Baylye nodded, slapped White on the shoulder.

  White’s expression softened, grew somber; he looked around the room. “This is all happening too fast, and I haven’t had time to think it through; but if you leave, carve the name of the place to which you go on a tree or post in the village, and perhaps in another spot, as well. If you leave in distress, carve a cross beside the name. Do you understand? This is very important. I must know if you leave in danger.”

  “We shall, John. We’ll leave a second message on a large tree along the pathway from the shore.”

  White acknowledged with a single dip of his forehead. “I’ll do my utmost to return by midwinter, for I know the need is great, but ’tis never easy to find seamen to brave the Atlantic in winter. Thus it may be spring. So you must hold out, no matter what it takes.” He looked at each person in the room. “God be with you, friends.” He shook Baylye’s hand vigorously with both of his. “Good luck, Roger.”

  “Godspeed, John.”

  After a brief hesitation, he walked slowly to Elyoner, stared into her eyes, kissed her cheek then Virginia’s forehead, turned toward Ananias and embraced him. He again faced Elyoner and Virginia, cast them a sad, lingering gaze, then turned and stepped out the door into the dark.

  Allie’s eyes opened slowly; she blinked twice, lay motionless and wide eyed in the dark as she tried to wrap her groggy mind around the breadth and content of the night’s dreams. Her thoughts no longer dwelled on the bizarre nature of her dreams or why she was dreaming, but rather on her recollection and documentation of what she’d dreamed. Lots of dreams, she thought, lots of REMs . . . but if I had more REMs, I wouldn’t miss so much. Think about that.

  What did I dream? What happened? She closed her eyes, saw Emily and Elyoner talking, the baby nursing, them talking of Emily nursing. Wow! She put her hands on her breasts. Didn’t know you could do that, cool thing to do for her friend. What’s the friend’s name? Heard it a million times. That baby’s gonna bond with Emily as much as with her mother, but I guess that’s the whole idea. Listen to me, talking like I just had a conversation with them. Emily’s in almost everything I dream . . . feel real close to her for some reason . . . but why? She rubbed her butterfly birthmark with one hand and her eyes with the other.

  The young guy . . . George. Still out of it but woke up, went crazy, turned on her . . . hurt her . . . hurt her bad, after she took care of him; I felt her pain like it was my own. She chuckled out loud. Can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m nuts! Then Emily and the older guy—Hugh, Hugh Tayler— they were alone. Getting hot, kissing, she really likes him but not sure yet, felt guilty about the kiss—too soon—got a good head on her. Funny how people thought about things back then, even a kiss. How can I feel this stuff? Shut up, Allie, keep thinking.

  The Indian, the badass one, actually a good man, just pissed because they murdered his wife and kids—I’d be pissed too—gonna start killing colonists a few at a time. So how can I understand their language? Good Lord. Nothing about this makes sense. Butterflies in my stomach, like before a game. God, let this end. Oh yeah, and then in that last one, the governor . . . what’s his name? Heard it a lot, should know . . . John something, common name. Wh . . . Whi . . . White. John White. He’s gonna leave . . . things are really bad . . . said his daughter’s name, Emily’s friend. Ellie, but that’s short for something . . . El . . . El . . . Eleanor. That was easy. What’s her last name? White said it just before I woke up. Damn. Said the name of the island, too. Come on, Allie. What was it? Did it start with an F? No, maybe an R.

  Allie rolled out of bed, walked to the bathroom. When she came back to the bedroom, she turned on the desk lamp and sat down at her computer. Better write all this in the log before I forget it. Chesapeake was still open on her computer monitor. She minimized it, made a mental note to return later; then opened her log, typed in everything she could remember from the night’s dreams; was again astounded at how the events fit together like scenes in a story, a book, a movie. She hit print. Can’t wait to talk to Dressler. Hope he’s not some ether-breathing geek. Seemed pretty cool when I heard him speak last year.

  She looked at the computer clock. Ouch. Three thirty. Gotta get more sleep, or I’ll be a goofy idiot tomorrow, but first—she brought up the passage on Chesapeake. Let’s see, before I went to bed, I decided 1585 was too early for the Chesapeake colony . . . so maybe colonists went there in the 1600s from somewhere else. She typed in Chesapeake colony, saw Jamestown, clicked on it, saw a picture of people dressed like those in her dreams. “Wow! Looks like them.” She skimmed the words for names. Captain John Smith. Wrong John. Pocahontas. Nope. John Rolfe. Nope. I remember this from school. Liked the name John, didn’t they? Virginia. Nope. Wait a minute! Virginia . . . Virginia. Heard Virginia. Person or place? Damn! Can’t remember. Chesapeake’s in Virginia, dummy. Yeah, but I heard it in a dream, tonight, and Jamestown doesn’t fit. So now what?

  I know they’re after 1585, know they’re on an island, and it maybe starts with R. So try this. She typed in 1585 English Island colony. A list of websites with the name Roanoke Colony came up. Holy shit! Roanoke. That’s it! She double-clicked on a site and saw another picture of people dressed like those in the dreams. But these people stood around a big tree, pointed at the letters CRO carved in its side. CRO. What’s that? Hmm. At the end of the last dream they talked about carving a message on a tree. Another picture caught her eye; this one depicted a group of men pointing at the word CROATOAN carved into a log that looked like a post in a fort. I wonder if . . . the leader . . . John White . . . said to carve something on a tree or post. Yeah, if they left the island for somewhere else, they were supposed to carve the name of where they were going on one of the posts in the fort . . . called it something besides a fort though . . . Wow! Look at that. A third picture showed a drawing of Roanoke Island with a fort depicted on it and Indian villages across the water on the mainland. Hot damn! This is it . . . read it all.

  Allie’s eyes followed the cursor as she dragged it down the screen, looked for words from the dreams. Virginia. Damn! There it is again . . . place name again. Walter Raleigh. Heard that one. He’s the guy in England who sponsored the co
lony, knows the queen. What else? “Son . . . of . . . a . . . bitch!”

  The Lost Colony.

  No!

  The Lost Colony is the name given to an early settlement on Roanoke Island in what is now North Carolina.

  Can’t be right.

  The colony is called “lost” because no one has ever discovered what happened to it. Roanoke Island and North Carolina were then part of a vast territory called Virginia that extended from the present state of Pennsylvania to what is now South Carolina. The first group settled there in 1585, but because survival was so difficult, they returned to England the next year. Immediately after they left, a second group arrived, but with the exception of fifteen soldiers who remained behind, they quickly returned to England, as well.

  I remember the 1585 group . . . and the guy who brutalized the Indians. They talked about it. White and the Indian remembered it, both were there when they raped that Indian’s wife and killed her . . . and her kids. Oh my God. This is surreal.

  In 1587, Sir Walter Raleigh sent a group of 117 settlers to reestablish the colony. John White—there it is . . . oh my God—who led the group, was instructed to settle on the shores of Chesapeake Bay about fifty miles north of Roanoke Island. However, the pilot of the ship, for some reason that remains unknown, refused to transport the settlers farther than Roanoke Island, where they had stopped to pick up the fifteen men who were left there the year before. Not one of the fifteen was ever found alive.

  Allie looked at the wall, her mind spinning like a tight tornado. I know what happened to them. Heard the Indians tell it; they killed two on Roanoke Island and the rest up north, tortured some of them. She shivered as she recalled the horrific details. How the hell could I dream this? I’ve never heard of it before. And now I know more about it than any historian. Or do I? Scary. She looked back at the computer.

  Relations with the Indians near the island had been destroyed by the 1585 expedition, and several days after the colonists’ arrival, George Howe, a member of the expedition, was brutally murdered by them. Nevertheless, the settlers remained on Roanoke Island, where in August a baby girl was born—the first English child born on American soil. She was John White’s granddaughter and was christened Virginia Dare.