Dangerous Dreams: A Novel

by Mike Rhynard

Colman said, “Sergeant Myllet’s idea is sound . . . certainly the best of a distasteful lot. I say we do it.”

  Cooper said, “I, as well, Roger. I like the idea of moving toward the destination better than waiting.”

  Gibbes said, “I’ll wait on the coast.”

  Baylye nodded at Gibbes. “So be it.” He then eyed Myllet, who was about to speak. “Sergeant Myllet, I know you’re about to volunteer to wait with Sergeant Gibbes, but we can’t afford to have both of you on the coast. One of you must remain with the main body and the other soldiers.”

  Myllet smiled. “You’ve caught me, Sir.”

  Baylye grinned. “Then we’re agreed. Pick two soldiers to accompany Sergeant Gibbes . . . actually, if a civilian wants to go, I’m agreeable with that, as well.”

  Cooper raised his hand. “I’ll go, Roger.”

  Baylye smiled, nodded, thumped Cooper on the shoulder. “Good, Christopher. Thank you.” He looked at Myllet. “Now pick another soldier, and we’ll be on our way at daybreak.” He drifted his gaze from man to man, nodded. “Oh! One last thing. We’ve no weapons other than two swords, and we cannot face malevolent Savages with bare hands. So every man must arm himself with a club of some sort. My friends, we’ve suffered greatly these last days. So pray this ordeal soon comes to an end. Now, let’s all find a leafy tree and try to get some rest in this damnable rain.”

  Myllet pulled Johnny Gibbes to him for a brief hug. “Godspeed on the morrow, my friend.”

  “Thee, as well, Michael.”

  Lieutenant Waters, the other Assistants, and Sergeant Smith stood in a small cottage in the dim light of three flickering candles, trying to dodge the raindrops that trickled through the grass-mat roof. Waters’ eyes were tight, his lips curled between clenched teeth. He flicked a water droplet from the tip of his nose. “Something’s happened to them . . . something terrible. I feel it.”

  Ananias Dare said, “Perchance the storm’s delayed their preparations and departure until tomorrow.”

  Waters looked at him, nodded. “A possibility, but I worry nonetheless. I suppose we could wait another day before searching . . . but what if they left on time and they’re shipwrecked and stranded somewhere without shelter or water or provisions or armament? Can we take that chance?”

  John Brooke said, “I think not.”

  After all had spoken in favor of an immediate search party, Waters said, “Very well. At first light, I shall take a small party of volunteers and four Chesapeake canoes and follow the coastline from the big bay, around the horn, and down the coast toward Roanoke. We’ll need water, food, tarps for shelter, and weapons. If they were simply delayed, we’ll meet them somewhere in between; and if they wrecked . . . if they wrecked, we’ll do whatever is necessary. So let us—”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Sir,” Sergeant Smith said, “but mightn’t it be wise to also send a search party southeast through the forest toward the north end of the sound and the coast . . . just in case they met trouble, landed on the banks, and proceeded overland hoping to reach us more directly? We could take a handful of Savages and a few troops, travel at the quick-time, and—”

  “A good plan, Sergeant Smith, but dividing our strength worries me. We don’t yet know our relations with other Savages in the vicinity, and we must be cautious until we do. True, it could take us two full days, or even longer, to search the coast and return . . . with or without them . . . and that will greatly delay the departure of a forest search party, but I fear we’ve no choice. Also, Master Baylye has seen the coast but not the forest, other than here at the village. So I think if the worst has happened . . . and if he’s alive . . . he’ll choose to follow the coastline. Your thoughts, gentlemen?”

  All nodded concurrence.

  Ananias said, “I’ll accompany you on the morrow.”

  “I, as well,” John Bright said.

  Smith asked, “What would you have me do, Sir?”

  “First, choose five men to accompany us. I know you want to go with the search party, but I need you here with the men to maintain a sharp vigilance and guide the construction.”

  “And if you don’t return as planned?”

  Waters took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “We will return as planned . . . but if ill should befall us, the troops will have a new leader named Lieutenant Thomas Smith.” He smiled, slapped Smith on the shoulder.

  Smith grinned. “Thank you, Sir, but I’d rather remain a sergeant, if you please. So good luck and good hunting.”

  “As you wish, Sergeant. I shall do my best.”

  Moments later, Ananias stepped into his new cottage. Elyoner, hands clasped in prayer, rushed toward him, her face distraught, strained with worry. “What will they do, Ananias? Tell me. I’m destroyed with fear for Emily . . . and the others, of course. Something awful’s happened. I know it! I just know it!” She looked at Virginia and young Henry Harvie, both asleep in crude cradles made of branches lashed together with vines and stuffed with grass; she then stared at Ananias, wrung her hands, struggled to hold back looming tears.

  He embraced her, leaned his head on hers as she began to whimper softly. “I share your fears, Ellie. I share your fears.”

  Emily had curled into a fetal tuck under a large tree, draped her shirt over her head to keep raindrops from her face. She’d slowly dissipated the knotted, pent-up tensions she’d accumulated over the last two days; and her last tether to consciousness had been cloudy thoughts of her lost locket and her Mother’s letter, which she’d prayed Elyoner had safeguarded. Now she dreamed of George, her last sight of him; she heard herself scream, saw the empty, churning water. She then saw another dream: herself lying in a place of thin darkness, in the arms of a man, both of them naked; hot, sweaty, bodies entwined; panting, wild with passion, anticipation; kissing, touching; but she couldn’t see who the man was. As he gently eased on top of her and she parted her legs to receive him, her subconscious felt a touch to her shoulder. She at once bolted from her sleep, pulled the apron from her head; she sat up, saw her father asleep on one side and Hugh Tayler staring into her eyes on the other. She rubbed her eyes, brushed raindrops from her forehead. “Hugh . . . what’s wrong? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  He whispered, “I’m sorry to wake you, Emily; I cannot sleep. As exhausted as I am, I cannot sleep knowing not why you so suddenly shun me.” Rain trickled down his cheeks, made him look like he’d been crying. “Can we go to that tree over there to get out of this rain and talk for a moment?” He pointed to a large tree about thirty feet behind him where no one slept.

  She nodded, glanced at her father, engaged in his usual snoring, then stood and followed Tayler to the tree as chilly rain ran down her hair and neck, beneath her smock, and onto her chest and back, which sent a sudden shiver through her body. She thought of Johnny’s warning. And here I am doing exactly what he told me not to do. Stupid girl!

  Tayler noticed her shivering, reached out his arms to hold her.

  She held her hands in front of her, shook her head. “No, thank you, Hugh.” She shivered again, rubbed the rain from her face, looked skyward, felt no drops. “Drier here . . . Hugh, I haven’t properly thanked you for saving my life. I don’t know what to say other than, were it not for you, I would not be here now . . . standing soaking wet in the rain.” She flashed a sudden, heartfelt smile. “You acted with unthinkable courage, and I thank you for it.”

  “No courage, Emily . . . only the desperate instinct to save the one I love above all things on this earth.” He felt his heart glow with warmth as he spoke the words, then a sting of disappointment that something beyond his control had chilled her toward him.

  Emily felt her eyes fill with tears, her hands tremble, her heart quicken.

  His look softened. “Emily, please tell me what’s happened between us. ’Tis horribly unfair of you to condemn me without a trial, without telling me what I’m accused of, without letting me answer whatever charges have been drawn against me. Please give me a chance to defend myself.�
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  I have been unfair, she thought. I have treated him poorly . . . coldly . . . with no explanation. Most cruel of me . . . whether or not what’s been told me is true. He says he loves me, and he’s proven it by risking his life to save mine. How can I treat him so? She rubbed tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands, took his hands in hers, whispered tenderly, almost affectionately, “Hugh, you’re right. And I shall tell you what troubles me, I promise you. But it cannot be here, and it cannot be now. ’Twill be a lengthy talk between us, and we’ve not the privacy or the time or the freedom of mind to do it here. Please understand . . . please be patient with me . . . and as I told you on the banks, I’m still grieving for George, my dear, dear friend, George, and ’twill be so for some days yet. But when it’s passed, and we’ve settled into a semblance of ordinary life, I shall think of you, Hugh Tayler . . . and we shall again share our minds with one another. ’Pon my faith, I swear it.”

  He stared at her in silence with sad eyes, lips drawn down like a disappointed child’s; his heart churned with passion, desire, love; the touch of her hands filled him with gentle warmth, the hopeless longing that she’d never let go. “As you wish, Milady. I shall love you always; and so, I shall wait at your pleasure until we again share our hearts.”

  As they started back to Emily’s tree, Tayler stopped, pulled her back under the shelter of the tree. “Em, I must ask you something else. I saw you talking to Johnny Gibbes back on the banks. Did he—”

  Emily bristled, yanked her hand from his. “Hugh, I’ll speak to whomever I wish. You cannot go ’round telling me who to talk to. ’Tis—”

  “I’m sorry, Emily . . . but I must speak to you about him, for there’s something of dire importance you must know.”

  Emily had started to relax, but her body again stiffened as waves of fearful anticipation and confusion surged into her mind. She stared at him without expression, waited for him to speak.

  “Did Johnny Gibbes tell you anything about me?”

  “Hugh, that’s not your affair!”

  He shook his head. “Emily, please hear me. ’Tis most important . . . important to you. Did he tell you anything about me?”

  She hesitated. “No! And why is it so important?”

  “Because Johnny Gibbes and his entire family are liars and thieves; and since the day we threw them off our estate for stealing us blind over ten years, they’ve held grudges against me and my family, told bold, hateful lies about us. We should have had them before the magistrate and put in prison, but we were merciful and only expelled them. Even the mother was an accomplice, and Johnny himself was in the thick of it all. We also believe that . . . that they murdered my mother because she uncovered the truth about them. We couldn’t prove it, so we didn’t pursue it. But I know the truth . . . and Johnny knows I know. So Emily, please, for your own sake, believe nothing Johnny Gibbes tells you; for he’ll do anything, stop at nothing, use any person, any opportunity, to destroy me; and you are now the best opportunity of his life to do so. Emily Colman, by my sacred honor and my undying love for you, I swear this to be the truth.”

  Even in the rain, the previous night’s rest had renewed their bodies and souls, instilled a visible urgency to complete their odyssey, reunite with their more-fortunate brethren at the new village. Throughout the late morning and early afternoon, occasional openings through the treetops had allowed thin lines of sunlight to strike the forest floor, reveal patches of deep blue sky above, further lift their risen spirits. At midafternoon the small band stepped slowly, cautiously, quietly through the thick undergrowth, whispering softly and tentatively to one another, scanning the forest for signs of danger, searching for a stream by which to pass the night. Emily walked with her father, held his hand as they meticulously picked their way through interminable thickets. Both had wrapped and tied large pieces of Emily’s skirt around their feet to shield them from the sharp thorns and twigs that carpeted the forest floor; and the makeshift shoes had functioned far more effectively in the forest than they had on the coast, where sand quickly worked its way beneath the wraps and between their toes, rubbed sores on their feet.

  Instead of scanning the forest for birds and matching their songs and images, Emily had all day dwelt on the unsettled churning in her stomach, anguished over what she’d heard from Johnny Gibbes and Hugh Tayler; she carefully recounted their every word, tried again and again to visualize their faces, gauge their verity. What should I do; who can I believe; who dare I believe? She mulled it all again for the hundredth time. How can I know the truth? Her heart and brain wrestled for control of her mind, her emotions, her convictions, her soul. Lord, I’m but a young lass . . . far too young for these desperate complications and decisions. Why can’t my life be simple, straightforward? Please tell me what to do . . . let me know happiness again.

  Thomas Colman coughed twice, jostling Emily’s hand and mind as he did so. “Emily, you’ve had a face of stone all day, and your pretty lips have scarcely uttered a word. What ails you, Daughter?”

  “Nothing, Father . . . just thinking about our life here in Virginia, all that’s happened.”

  “Well, you’ve given me a lonely day in the process, and—”

  A loud thumping sound like a sharp, treble drum ruptured the silence a few feet into the thicket beside them. All jumped sideways, tensed; men raised their clubs, held them ready with both hands.

  Myllet smiled, “A turkey, friends. Naught but a flapping turkey . . . would that we could have him on a spit tonight.”

  Nervous snickers and sighs of relief trickled through the group as they resumed their trek. Emme Merrimoth touched Emily’s shoulder. “Were you scared, Emily? Chased the wits right out of me.”

  “I, as well. I saw you jump, Emme . . . we were in the air at the same time.” Both chuckled.

  Roger Baylye said, “Friends, let us rest here awhile.” He glanced at the tiny patch of fading blue sky above them. “With the Lord’s help, mayhap we’ll be without rain this entire day.”

  Emily and Emme whispered, occasionally giggled to one another as they sat by a tree. Emily thought, I like Emme . . . could become good friends with her . . . it shall be so. She glanced at her father and Hugh Tayler as they spoke with Roger Baylye, wondered what they were discussing, concluded it wasn’t her since Baylye was there, but her heart suddenly quickened when Baylye nodded at Tayler and Colman then walked away. She strained to hear Tayler and her father, sighed with relief when Tayler said, “Well, at least we finally had a pleasant day, eh, Thomas?”

  “Aye, a pleasure ’twas, without rain.”

  The two regarded each other in silence for a moment before Tayler said, “Thomas, I’ve been wanting to speak to you about something . . . could we step over here?”

  Emily’s heart pounded like the drums that summon people to a hanging; a gust of panic swept into her mind like a fast-moving summer storm.

  “Certainly.”

  Tayler led Colman to a large tree beyond Emily’s hearing, resumed speaking in a hushed tone. “Thomas, the disasters and near disasters that have befallen us these last days have made me think deeply about many things, but most urgently about Emily.”

  Colman turned his head away, coughed twice, choked slightly when he started to speak. “Excuse me, Hugh. This damnable cough is getting the better of me . . . I’ve always time to talk about Emily.”

  “And rightly so.” He looked around to ensure no one could hear, leaned closer to Colman. “We all know our life here is overflowing with risk and danger, and . . . and . . . forgive me for intruding, but have you ever thought about what would happen to Emily if ill befell you?”

  “Aye, I have, Hugh . . . but not nearly enough.”

  “Well, Sir, I’ve made no secret of my affection for Emily and the future I envision for us. And you have granted your permission for Emily and me to court.”

  Colman nodded.

  “Thomas, I love your daughter more than anything on earth, more than life itself, and I�
�ll do anything for her. Truly, Sir, the happenings of these days have convinced me that life is too short and dangerous, particularly here, to delay decisions of the heart and soul. So I respectfully and humbly ask you for Emily’s hand in marriage.”

  Colman stared mullingly into Tayler’s eyes, wondered why the request hadn’t shocked him. Perchance he’d expected it, he thought. His heart suddenly thumped with guilt as he remembered his promise to Emily that he’d never arrange her marriage; but he quickly discarded the thought, decided the situation had changed, that all of their lives hung by a thin thread, that his own thread had nearly been severed a few nights before . . . not to mention the three times Emily had almost perished. Yes, the situation was different now, which meant that considerations that had been inconceivable a short time ago were now at the forefront of his responsibilities as a father, and foremost among such considerations was the assurance of Emily’s wellbeing if anything happened to him. And who better than Hugh Tayler to fill that role? Certainly, the Dares would take Emily in, but it would strain the privacy of their young family, especially now with the orphaned Harvie infant to care for. No, Hugh Tayler loved her to the depths of his soul, and he’d proven it; and she, in turn, seemed quite taken by him; so there could be no better choice. Yes, he thought, Emily shall marry Hugh Tayler . . . and she’ll do so as soon as we reach the village. He smiled at Tayler, extended his hand to seal the agreement with a handshake. “Hugh, I—”

  “Hieeeeeeeeee!” A solitary, piercing, chilling cry, like a man in desperate agony, arose from the forest; all sprang to their feet, faced the sound, reached for their knives and clubs. A dissonant chorus of horrible, unnerving wails and shrieks, like a host of banshees, filled the air all around them. Anxious, unsure feet shuffled toward the center of the small clearing; hollow, gaunt eyes searched the forest, dithered from face to face, tree to tree. Women moaned, some cried, a few screamed; some men whimpered, two knelt, hid their faces on the ground, covered their heads with their hands. The wails became louder. They squeezed closer together, women in the middle, the eight soldiers on the outside. The wailing grew louder, closer, louder still; a ring of twenty Savages, bows and war clubs at the ready, suddenly emerged from the forest, closed around them.