by Mike Rhynard
With a docile look that morphed into a hopeless one, she said, “Not really. I guess it’s what I said before . . . the whole thing’s getting me down. I mean, I was really excited that Emily’s my direct ancestor, ’cuz that meant she had to live . . . at least until she had a kid, but then Mom told me that Ian said some of her dreams were about siblings of the direct ancestor; so now I really don’t know, and it’s pissing me off. Then there’s the last thing Mom told me . . . about Ian having emotional crashes over her dreams . . . trying to kill herself a couple times. So maybe I’m just depressed about having nothing but suicide to look forward to in my life.”
She’s slipping into depression real fast. Got to handle this now. “Allie O’Shay, don’t even think that way for a second. You have a remarkable, one-of-a-kind power—an incredibly unique gift—that lets you see things perhaps no one else on the planet can see.”
“It’s getting to be more like a curse.”
“But you know what? There’s a damn good chance you’re seeing real history through the eyes and feelings of a person who lived it, and that’s . . . that’s absolutely extraordinary. And, Allie”—he stood, walked to her, took her hands in his, stared into her eyes—“ we will figure it out, and we will do whatever it takes to get you safely through. I promise. Do you understand?” What a sad little girl she is. Got to help her before it’s too late.
She smiled, nodded. “Yes . . . and thanks. You know, Doc . . . Steve . . . I really trust you . . . and believe in you . . . and I know you’ll do everything you can to help me, and that alone makes me feel better.”
“Good.” He looked at his watch. “So I think it’s about time to get you wired up and do a test run on the instrumentation. Are you ready?”
She fidgeted, exhibited the nervous apprehension of someone on their way into the operating room. “I think so.”
“Good. Excuse me a minute while I see if they’re ready for you.”
When he had left the room, Allie walked to his desk, peeled three pre-stamped prescription sheets from his pad, stuffed them into her cutoff jeans pocket, then returned to her seat. Well, Allie, you just stepped over the line, started down the pathway of crime, and you’re now a genuine criminal. Dumbshit!
As the tech attached another electrode cup to her head, Allie said, “I feel like a voodoo doll stuck full of pins. What do all these things do?”
Ginger, the technician, who looked to be in her late twenties, said, “Well, all these electrodes on your head measure brain activity by picking up electrical signals from your brain’s neurons and transmitting them to the polygraph computer and the digital printouts. And these two by your eyes measure the electrical potential, or difference, between the front and back of your eyes, the front being the cornea, which is positive, and the back being the retina, which is negative; so when your eyes move, like during REM sleep, the voltage changes get picked up by the electrodes and sent to the computer, so we can track your eye movements. It’s kind of the same principal for the heart electrodes on your chest . . . and also these I’m putting on your legs. Good that you wore shorts.”
“Question. Since I’ve never been able to sleep on my back, how do I get from side to side without pulling everything off?”
“Verrrrry carefully. The less you move the better, but I realize you can’t control it when you’re asleep. So if you happen to be aware that you’re rolling over, just be real careful.”
“Ginger, I don’t think this is gonna work. I can’t deal with all this stuff on me. I’ll be too self-conscious to fall asleep; and even if I do, I roll over twenty times a night and will probably pull some of these obnoxious little widgets off when I do.”
“Well, most folks don’t have any trouble with it, so let’s give it a try. Punch that little button over there if you want me to come in. Otherwise, I’ll be monitoring things at the main terminal, and Doctor Dressler will be at the remote in his office. Now, are you ready for a test run to see if it all works?”
Allie smiled. “I guess so, but you better not take any pictures of me like this.”
Ginger chuckled. “No problem. Okay, I’m going to go out and turn everything on; you just lie still and think pleasant thoughts, and I’ll be back in ten minutes or so.”
“Okay, but hurry. I really need to sleep.” Emily, I’m coming soon.
At 9:30 p.m., Allie punched the call button, and Ginger walked into the lab. “I can’t fall asleep. How long do I have to do this before we give up and do the pill? I really need to get to sleep.”
“Well, that’s up to Dr. Dressler. Let me go ask him.”
When she returned several minutes later, Ginger said, “He wants you to try a little longer. He’d much prefer to get pure data . . . pure being without any sleep inducement. Can you give it another shot?”
“I guess . . . if I have to. God knows what I’m missing by screwing around all night like this.” She rolled to her left side, stared at the wall for a moment, then closed her eyes; saw Emily being raped by the Panther, then pounded by his stone hatchet until she lay bloodied and still. She rolled carefully to her right side, again closed her eyes, replayed the same scenes.
At 10:52, Allie rolled onto her back, stared at the ceiling. Damn it! I knew this was gonna happen. Who knows what’s been going on with Emily all this time. This sucks. I’ve had it. She held the call button down until Ginger entered the lab. “Ginger, I don’t want to kill the messenger, but I need to get the hell to sleep. So would you please go tell the doc that if he doesn’t give me a damn sleeping pill or two right now, I’m walking out of here and going home.”
“I’ll tell him. But you know, you’re probably trying too hard, and your frustration is exacerbating the problem. Your data readings show a lot of anxiety.” She looked at her watch. “But at this point, you definitely need a pill if we’re going to get any data tonight. I’ll be right back.”
Ginger returned with a glass of water in her hand. “He says uncle . . . take a pill.”
“Thank God. They’re right there on the table.”
Ginger handed Allie a pill then the glass of water. “No more than a sip or you’ll need to pee, and then we’ll have to start all over again.”
“Can I take two pills?”
Ginger snickered. “Nooo. These beauties are high test. You’d be out until tomorrow night if you took two.”
Perfect. “Okay, thanks.” She handed the glass to Ginger, laid back, stared at the ceiling for ten minutes; visualized everything that had happened to Emily, from her arrival at Roanoke to their encirclement by Savages in the forest; wondered if she was alive, if any of them were alive; then rolled to her left side, closed her eyes. At first she saw nothing, but then the Viking ship, with Bjarni at the tiller, came into view. She opened her eyes. Wow . . . why’d I see that? She closed her eyes again, willed a protective field around her mind to deflect incoming thoughts, commanded her unconscious to let Emily live, let her find happiness, let her . . . let . . .
Chapter 14
Tryggvi stood at the aft right of the dragon ship, manning the tiller, which consisted of a vertical rudder attached to the outboard side of the ship, ten feet fore of the stern, and a handle that extended about five feet inboard at a square angle from the rudder. Bjarni sat on the side of the ship, in front of him, his feet on the floor, his right hand gripping the top edge while his huge left hand made a spread-fingered cup shape. “And that’s how big her tits were, but she squirmed so hard I could barely keep my hands on them. And I tell you, by Freya’s beauty, instead of enjoying my company as she should have, she screamed like a demon the whole time. No! English wenches are no match for our Viking girls, who know a good man when he mounts them.”
Tryggvi studied him with a serious, contemplative look, a mild smirk behind his thick beard and mustache. “Well, Bjarni, perhaps it was the suddenness of your approach that upset her. Perhaps instead of just ripping her clothes off and jumping on her, you should have told her how beautiful she was . . . then rip
ped her clothes off and mounted her.”
Bjarni raised his bushy eyebrows, curved the ends of his lips downward. “Do you really think so?”
Tryggvi punched him in the shoulder. “Of course, you big oaf. Every woman likes to hear how beautiful she is, even if it’s not true . . . but especially if it’s from a stranger who’s about to take her. But it’s also true that my opinion of English women is not unlike your own . . . except for one.” He looked out at the gray sea to his right; sensed his heart pulsing with sudden warmth, longing, regret; visualized her stunning dark hair and brilliant, penetrating blue eyes, her small, lithe body; he reflected on the depth of their love, their mutual despair at parting. Yes, she could have come with him to the northland, been his wife, let him help raise the child he knew she carried. But her religion, that mental distraction that possessed the English like a curse, had precluded her following him, even though he himself was no great believer in the Norse gods. True, he thought, he could have taken her against her will, but he’d loved her too strongly to do so. And now her memory tormented him every day; made him long for her touch, her smile, the warmth of her body, a glimpse of his child; made him lament his kindness. He smiled as he recalled teasing her about her strange dreams and—
Allie’s heart fluttered; her body twitched; her eyes flashed open then immediately closed.
Tryggvi nodded to himself. I must return and find her one day . . . perhaps when this voyage is done . . . take her and the child with me . . . no matter what.
“and,” Bjarni continued, “I’ve often wondered how many children I have in England.” He thought for a moment, counted on his fingers. “Could be as many as twelve. But far more important than the number is the way in which I’ve improved the handsomeness and intelligence of the English people.”
Tryggvi smirked at him. “ Bjarni, I doubt there’s enough space in England for so many handsome, intelligent people as you might father, so—”
Emily lay on a pile of dry grass covered by a blanket. She opened her eyes, looked briefly at the ceiling of the grass-mat cottage, then answered young Henry Harvie’s sputtering by climbing to her feet, walking to his makeshift stick crib, lifting him into her arms, and rocking him back and forth. She glanced at Elyoner, asleep on a grass bed beside Virginia’s crib on the other side of the room. Thank God she’s getting some rest. “Shhh, little one . . . shhh now. You’ll be fine.” Henry rooted for her nipple, which he had located beneath her smock. His face grew ever redder as he tried unsuccessfully to suckle through the cloth, until he finally closed his tiny eyes, took a deep breath, and emitted a loud, demanding cry, followed by another breath and an unrestrained, red-faced tantrum. Emily rocked him faster, kissed his forehead. “Shhh, little Henry. You’ll wake Ellie, and she’s very tired from feeding the two of you all night. Come now, be a good little lad.” Lord, what am I to do? Perchance I shall start nursing today.
Elyoner rolled over, opened her eyes. “Emily”—she yawned—“let me wake up for a moment, and I’ll take him.”
“Ellie, I’m so sorry. I tried to quiet him, but I don’t have a mother’s touch yet.”
“Oh yes, you do, my dear. He’s just ready to eat, and only one thing can calm him.” She stood, walked to Emily, took Henry and carried him to a log stool, where she sat and untied her smock, lowered it over her left shoulder and breast, then began nursing.
“Ellie, you must be exhausted. Is it like this every night?”
“Aye, I fear so. Mayhap you—”
“Ellie, I’ll start this moment if you’ll let me. I think I have milk, and I’m eager to try. Tell me what to do.”
“You’re my savior, lass. Bring your stool over here, then go over to the food trunk and get the crock of honey I brought from England. The berries are too ripe and have lost their sweetness, so we’ll try honey. I’ve seen it used, and I think we’ll fare well enough . . . oh, put that other stool in front of the door, so no one intrudes on us.”
Emily smiled broadly as she placed one stool in front of the door and the other beside Elyoner, retrieved the honey; she sat down, lowered her smock over her left shoulder and breast. “Now what? Do I rub the honey on my nipple?”
“Aye. And you may as well do both sides because you won’t have much, if any, milk today, and you’ll have to go back and forth several times on each side, so your body senses the demand and produces more. You can do Virginia, as well, when she wakes. And if you do the two of them as often as possible for the next week, I should think your milk will be flowing quite well.”
Emily dropped her smock to her waist to bare her other breast, rubbed a healthy dab of honey on each nipple. “I’m ready.”
“By the saints, I can see from your breasts that you’re making milk. Here, take him and hold his face to a nipple. He knows what to do.” Henry’s lips made a popping sound as Elyoner pulled him off her nipple and handed him to Emily.
As he started to crank, Emily situated him, placed her nipple at his lips, smiled as he began suckling. “Whoa! The little rogue’s got strong jaws; glad he’s got no teeth.” Her eyes sparkled, lips parted in a broad grin. “Tickles . . . a strange feeling, but it warms my whole body . . . rather excites me.”
Elyoner smiled. “You’ll make a fine mother, Em.”
After a minute, Henry started cranking, and Emily switched him to her right breast while she re-honeyed the left. After three more quick rotations, Emily’s milk was exhausted, and the honey no longer pleased Henry; he again began to sputter, which woke Virginia. But she was of a more pleasant disposition than Henry had been, so Emily handed Henry to Elyoner to finish nursing while she untied Virginia’s diaper, replaced it with a clean one. She pulled the folded, narrower front of the doubled-over cloth between Virginia’s legs and up over her belly, tied a double knot at each side with the front and back corners. She then honeyed both breasts, picked Virginia up, and let her suckle. After three short cycles, Virginia performed her own hunger tantrum; and Emily passed her off to Elyoner, took Henry, laid him over her shoulder, and tapped his back to belch the air from his stomach. She honeyed her nipples and again let the now-contented Henry suckle their sweetness.
“Ellie, look at him. He’s smiling at me . . . must like me, eh?” She savored his warmth and clean, fresh baby smell, cuddled him closely as he watched her eyes. Feels like my brother . . . so many times I held him like this, wished I could nurse him though it rather embarrassed me to think such thoughts . . . wasn’t sure if ’twas proper or not, but I craved doing it nonetheless. Feels so warm and close.
“I think you’re right, Em. ’Pon my honor, if the two of them keep up like this, your lovely breasts will grow even more tonight, and you’ll have full milk by morning.”
“Ellie, I’m so happy and honored you’ve let me do this. It feels quite wonderful . . . and you certainly need the help.”
“You are my savior, and . . . and, Emily Colman, know that you are the only one in the world I would let do this. You are my dearest friend for life, and you shall be Virginia’s second mother . . . and her only mother if anything happens to me.”
The two smiled misty eyed at one another with a silence that wanted no words, then spread a blanket over a pile of grass on the floor and laid the two infants upon it, began preparing the morning meal. Elyoner said, “I suppose Thomas and Ananias will be here any moment, expecting us to be cheerfully ready with breakfast. ’Twas indeed good of them to stay with the bachelors and allow us privacy for nursing. I’m told your house will be finished in a few days, so we’ll have to figure out a good pattern for the feeding after you’ve moved in . . . and, Emily”—she walked to Emily, put her arms around her, pulled her close—“I’m unthinkably happy you’re here . . . that you survived all that’s befallen you . . . poor George. What a fine young man he was. I know you miss him terribly, and it pains you to think and talk about it, but . . .”
Emily felt warm tears on her cheeks. “I miss him, Ellie, and . . .”
“I know. You feel g
uilty that he died without knowing your love. I know how you must feel; but, Em, you can’t force your feelings. They are what they are. I’m just so thrilled you’ve come back to me. I feared the worst . . . we all did . . . you’ve certainly had to face far too much for a young lass your age.” She held Emily at arms’ length, looked into her eyes. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” She reached into her pocket, held out Emily’s letter from her mother. “You’ll be wanting this right away, I’m sure.”
Emily took the letter, stared at it for a moment, kissed it, slowly laid it against her heart, then closed her eyes. “Thank you, Ellie. I prayed with all my heart you’d still have it.” She opened her damp eyes, leaned toward Elyoner, and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, my dear, dear friend.” She smiled a contented smile. Thank you, Lord. Mother, I’m here. I’ve survived. I await you. Please come to me . . . I so miss my locket, the remembrance of you inside it. “And, Ellie, you’re right. I am too young for what’s befallen me. Would that life could be normal and simple and happy, free of unyielding pressure from suitors and the risk of imminent death that seems to hang over me like a low, dark cloud. But truly, Ellie, nursing the babies will surely help. I’m so happy you’ve allowed me.”