Dangerous Dreams: A Novel

by Mike Rhynard

  “Fie, Waters, you lying churl.” He clenched his fists, took a step toward Waters.

  Waters gripped the pistol at his waist, dared Tayler with his eyes, hoped he’d advance so he could end it there, but Tayler stopped. Waters glared at him, again challenged with his eyes. “Before leaving England, Master Tayler abandoned his wife and two children and escaped to the colony only by evading the high sheriff who sought him with a warrant for non-support.”

  Soft murmurs floated around the room like parishioners’ whispers before Mass.

  “Damn you, Waters, this is a sham.” He looked at the others, shook his head repeatedly. “Do not believe him.”

  Waters’ hand remained on his pistol. “Enough, Tayler. You’re out of order. Any more and we shall have to remove you.”

  Tayler’s right cheek twitched, and he nervously shuffled his feet as he stared angrily at his followers.

  “And last, as we set sail from England, another high sheriff arrived at the pier with a warrant for Master Tayler’s arrest, this time for rape and murder.”

  Most Assistants shook their heads in disgust, while Willes, Sampson, and Stevens glanced skittishly at one another.

  “And he’s here today because of the treachery of our ship’s pilot, Fernandez, who disregarded Governor White’s order to stay the ship’s departure and hand him over.” Waters marveled at how quickly he’d come to despise this man. Would that I could disclose the conspiracy now; but too soon, need real proof rather than suspicion and conjecture to hang him. Now that the men know, mayhap we’ll catch him at his game. But it must be soon. He nodded at Baylye. “Governor.”

  Tayler watched Baylye, shuffled his feet, frequently glanced at his supporters.

  Baylye eyed Waters, communicated something with his eyes, then looked at the other Assistants, spoke with a slight flicker in his voice. “So, now that you’ve all heard the truth about Hugh Tayler, you understand our misgivings the night of Tayler’s election; and because that election occurred under false pretenses, or at best, misconceptions of his character, I now declare that election void and John Stilman the new Assistant.”

  Tayler laughed out loud. “You can’t do this, Baylye.”

  Willes, Stevens, and Sampson booed. Willes said, “You can’t overturn our vote, Governor. ’Twas done in good faith, and you’re not a king.”

  Baylye lifted a paper from the table, held it up so all could see. “No, I’m not a king; but this document, our charter from Sir Walter Raleigh, expressly bestows upon the governor of this colony the power to remove Assistants he considers unfit to represent the best interests of the colony. And based on what you’ve just heard, Hugh Tayler is plainly unfit; I therefore declare him no longer a member of this body.” He looked squarely at Tayler. “Master Tayler, you must now leave.”

  Tayler shouted over the din of cheers and protests, “I refuse, Baylye! Now what?”

  Waters walked slowly to the door, admitted Sergeant Smith and two other soldiers. They walked to Tayler, seized him by the arms, and pulled him toward the door.

  Tayler shook loose; his cronies surrounded him, held the soldiers away from him.

  Waters pulled his pistol, cocked the hammer, aimed at Tayler’s head. “Now, Tayler! Now!”

  Stevens grabbed Tayler’s arm, looked him in the eyes, shook his head.

  Tayler thought for a moment then nodded at his men before looking at Waters and Baylye and flipping his middle finger at them as he walked out the door.

  Sampson said. “Governor Baylye, we’ll not be party to this treachery.” He turned toward the door, beckoned Willes and Stevens to follow.

  Almost to the door, Willes stopped, turned, glared threateningly at those who had voted for Tayler in the election. All had ashy, milksop faces, shuffled their feet, but held fast. Willes nodded three times, turned, started out the door.

  As he exited, Baylye said, “You men depart of your own free will, and I remind you that any measures passed by those who remain will be binding. I further remind you that if you willfully miss another meeting of this council, you will be permanently removed.”

  When they had left, Baylye turned to those who remained. “Men, I am obliged to tell you there is more at play here than meets the eye—things that must, for now, remain undisclosed. But I beseech you to resist any approach or threat from those who just departed, or their surrogates. Please be vigilant for seditious behavior and be prepared to protect yourselves. I fear perilous times lie ahead.”

  Ananias Dare beseeched Baylye and Waters with a pleading expression. “Verily, Roger, can you not disclose what begets your fears?”

  “I cannot, Ananias, not yet, but I believe the time will soon arrive. And I promise you—all of you—that when it does, I shall do so immediately.”

  All but Baylye and Waters then slowly and silently filed out the door, each carrying with him a look of baleful apprehension. Waters closed the door, faced Baylye. “Governor, I fear things deteriorate faster than expected. We must be clever and thorough in determining the loyalty of every person in this colony. Tayler and his men mean to destroy it, and they’ll buy or intimidate the weak and malleable among us to do so.”

  Baylye nodded, pondered for a moment. “I wonder if Walsingham’s promised to rescue them.” He shook his head, pounded his fist on the tabletop. “My God, does it not anger you what men do for power?”

  “Aye, it does, Sir, and I have the same question about Walsingham. I also fear we’re dealing with something far bigger than we thought.” The two stared quietly at one another, absorbed their words, contemplated their implications. “Perhaps we should build a jail—a sound jail—several stocks, as well. ’Tis true there is nowhere to escape to here, but I sense the time has come to remove conspirators and other criminals from contact with the populace—isolate them, limit their influence, and reduce the damage they can do. What say you, Sir?”

  “I say that’s a splendid idea—one whose necessity saddens me, but a necessity nonetheless. Have you—”

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Baylye said, “Who is it?”

  “Ananias.”

  “Come in.”

  Ananias wore an anxious look as he entered the cottage; he glanced behind to see if anyone watched, then looked at Baylye. “Roger, I must inform you of something Elyoner told me. It may be pertinent to your concerns.”

  Waters and Baylye eyed each other quickly. “What is it?”

  After Ananias related what Elyoner had told him of her father’s suspicions about Walsingham and Tayler, Baylye said, “William, I think we have a new confidant.”

  “Indeed, we do. Ananias, have a seat while we tell you what’s amiss.”

  Emme Merrimoth and Emily held their capes and hoods tightly around them, panting as they trudged through six-inch-deep snow toward the Chesapeake village. Each step produced a squeaky crunch in the dry snow, like a creaky old rocking chair in motion; while each breath blew a white cloud, like a fire-eater’s flame, in front of them. Emily squinted, shielded her eyes with rag-wrapped hands as the sun suddenly slipped from behind a cloud, elegantly decorated the snow with dazzling sparkles of red, green, yellow, and blue. Beautiful, she thought, as if God crushed a handful of gemstones into thousands of grains of sparkling sand and sprinkled them over the snow. Oh, look at that . . . ’tis like a crystal . . . colors change when you move your head. She shifted her head sideways then back again, giggled with delight.

  Emme laughed. “Emily Colman, pray tell, what are you doing?”

  Emily giggled again. “Being a little girl. That’s what. Look at that, Emme. Move your head back and forth . . . see how the sparkles change colors?”

  Emme copied her movements. “Oh, I see what you mean—so many colors. Aw! Come back, sun! Pity . . . brief but beautiful, eh?”

  “Indeed, like so many things in life.” Like George . . . and Isna . . . and Father. But at least it put a smile on my face for a moment, and . . . fie, today is the fifth day, the day I must go to him.
Don’t think about it. But, Em, you must think about it, must think of Virginia and decide what to do. She shivered as she imagined his hands on her naked body, touching, probing. No! Not now. Lord, let me have a moment of peace.

  “and Johnny says Tayler’s an unsavory sort, and he worries about you whenever he sees you with him. He’s quite convinced you don’t see him by choice, but—”

  “What does he say, Emme?”

  “Says he can’t tell me . . . but he’s certain Tayler somehow compels you, and he’s quite concerned.”

  “I like Johnny very much—a good, honest man, he is—and I’ve noticed you like him, as well.” Her smile invited a response.

  Emme grinned coyly. “I do indeed, Em. We’ve grown quite close . . . don’t have much time together because of his duties, but we savor what we have . . . even talked about—”

  “About what?”

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course.” Her own dreadful secrets flashed through her mind.

  “I’m not supposed to say anything, but . . . we’ve talked about marriage . . . he doesn’t want anyone to know, says he has enemies who would hurt me to hurt him. So please don’t tell anyone, Em, especially—” She looked suddenly frightened.

  “Especially Tayler?”

  “Yes.”

  Emily nodded. “Be certain. I won’t.”

  Emme stopped, held Emily’s hands. “Emily, Johnny’s desperately afraid for you. He thinks Tayler has . . . has used you in an improper way . . . by force . . . like he did Johnny’s sister, but—”

  “You know about Johnny’s sister?”

  “Aye, I do. He’s told me about her many times—still grieves, mind you—and seems frightened when he talks about Tayler. Says he’s a coward and extortionist who will do anything or hurt anyone to gain what he wants, as long as he can do so without risking himself.” Emme’s misty green eyes saddened but then sparkled in a sudden burst of sunlight. “Emily, I fear for Johnny . . . and for you . . . but I pray every day those fears are unfounded.”

  Emily shook her head. “I fear they are not, Emme.”

  After a few silent steps, Emme said, “Emily, you’ve . . . you’ve seemed to be carrying a weighty burden these last weeks. I know you would tell me of it if you could; so know that when you’re able, I . . . I will share it with you and help you in any way I can.”

  Emily smiled, hugged her. “Thank you, Emme. You’re a good friend . . . and a patient one.”

  Emme kissed her on the cheek. “We’d better move along before we freeze, eh?”

  “Aye. My toes are already numb . . . fingers, too. Would that the ungracious sun would share its warmth with us and—ahhhh! Snow keeps packing into my shoes, and . . . and my legs are frozen. Why are we out here in skirts?”

  “Because we’re women, I suppose. I’ve never worn a pair of breeches, have you?”

  “Certainly not, though at this moment, I wish I could.”

  As they proceeded toward the village, Emily heard Emme speaking but didn’t hear her words. Her mind dwelt instead on the chilling implications of Tayler’s kerchief in Virginia’s crib, her dearth of choices, and the inevitability of the most repugnant among them. Yet ’tis true. It must come to pass . . . ’twill come to pass . . . though I dread it more than death itself. But how can I give myself to a rapist and murderer, a man who deserted his wife and children? Adultery is a grave sin, and ’twill condemn me to hell for eternity. God help me, what shall I do? No choice before me is without grave sin. Mayhap I can delay him again, make him believe I will take my own life if his demands are too great. Perhaps I should do more than threaten . . . perhaps I should end this horrible dream now . . . hang myself . . . or cut my own throat. Yet if I take my life, I shall also take my child’s life, and I cannot do that. So I must now live for my child and no other—not me, not even Isna . . . nothing else matters. But what will God think of me, and Father, and Mother, and George . . . and Isna when he sees me with child . . . Tayler’s whore? Perchance he’ll return to his people before then. A cloud of sorrow drifted through her mind like a downy feather floating on a soft breeze. I shall never see him again . . . my Isna. What if I should see him today in the village? What will I do? Oh, my soul. She reached into her apron pocket, touched her mother’s letter. Would that I had my locket, as well. Mother, forgive me.

  Emily stopped, tensed, grasped Emme’s wrist, parted her lips, stared ahead with piercing, unblinking eyes. The man stood ten yards away, wore a large fur around his shoulders, and fur leggings that rose from his moccasins to his knees. His dark eyes bored into Emily’s, questioned her, waited patiently, expectantly for a reply. Her chest pounded, legs buckled, breathing quickened. My God, must go to him, hold him; need him so.

  “Emily.”

  “Isna.” Tears filled her eyes, ran down her cheeks; she trembled, moaned softly. Want to run to him, hold him. No. Cannot dishonor him, must bear this alone, ashamed, unworthy. She tugged on Emme’s hand, turned, started back toward the palisades, moaning softly as she walked. She suddenly stopped, looked back with mournful eyes, saw him watching her; she turned, sobbed as she trudged back toward the palisades.

  Tayler sat on a stump a foot from the fire at the back of his cottage, a heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He laid a pair of logs on the fire, watched them catch. Fie on grass houses in winter, damn heat goes but a foot or two before the cold swallows it. Back’s freezing. He shivered, wiggled his stool a little closer to the flames, tucked his hands under his armpits. Acted impetuously today . . . stupidly . . . not cleverly, as I should act. Too much attention, they watch me now, who I talk to, how I behave. Made them more suspicious, jeopardized my mission. Fool. Keep your head down, bide your time, and keep your mouth shut for a while; let things settle, appear to be your old loyal, dedicated, hard-working self. He took a bite of smoked venison. Don’t need to be on the council of idiot Assistants to complete my task . . . work through Willes and the others; let them bear the suspicion and distrust while I muster more support and guide their actions from afar . . . easy to persuade people when they’re weary of work and starving. Promise them anything, and they believe it . . . and all accept a good bribe. Thank you, Lord Walsingham—Father—for your foresight. A consummate conspirator you are for provisioning me with such a bounty of funds. He wondered what his life would have been like if he’d been raised in Walsingham’s household, wondered if he’d have been happier, been a better man, mayhap even one whom people looked up to rather than despised. He shook his head. No. I am who I am. So I must make the best of it and have my way with life, do what I want, take what I want, no matter who from, and let nothing stand in my way. But what if there is a God and a hell? He shuddered, quickly cast the thought from his mind.

  He thought he heard a sound at the door, turned, stood, hoped it was Emily. No, no one there. Hearing things, Hugh. He sat, squiggled closer to the fire. So when things have calmed . . . when they believe they’re in control again . . . then . . . then we will act. Meanwhile, what do I do about Gibbes and Waters and the other two? Though all be fools, I think they know I’m up to something . . . but they can’t possibly suspect the truth . . . not yet. But what if they do? What then? Perhaps ’tis why they watch me so closely, especially that son of a whore, Gibbes. Would that I could put a ball in his brain this very moment. And Waters, as well. Curse the day those two entered my life . . . but must be cautious . . . both excellent marksmen . . . far better than I . . . and fearless. Dare not face either of them, or Myllet or Smith, in a fair fight. He smiled. The credo of your life, Hugh Tayler: do nothing fair. Fairness is for fools.

  He tossed another log on the fire. Burning too fast. Damn cold out there. “Brrr.” Damn cold in here. And what of Emily? Must soon feel her close to me again. My God, I crave her . . . not just her body but her whole being . . . truly love her. He smiled, imagined her lithe, exquisitely proportioned body standing naked before him. ’Tis blissful to know that none but I have had her . . . to know I
own her forever . . . to use as I wish—the only person in this world who can turn me from my ways, make me the person I long to be but cannot become on my own. He took another bite of venison. Must make her love me, convince her to give me a chance. Yet, despite the ecstasy of being the first to have her, ’twas another foolish mistake. Should never have done it . . . terribly wrong. Should have been patient, rebuilt our relationship, regained her trust. He shook his head. Blather, patience is for fools. I want her now; and if I’m to have her now, I must use whatever means are necessary. But what of the consequences? What if I kill the young child and am discovered? “Christ, ’tis cold in here.” He eyed his shaking hands, again thrust them under his armpits. They’ll draw and quarter me . . . there will be hell to pay. Hell. Hell. The word again conjured up his recurring horrific vision, planted it in his mind. He trembled as he visualized himself writhing in everlasting flames.

  When the image faded, he again thought of Emily. Days since I’ve seen her . . . avoiding me. But today is the day she will come to me. His heart quickened at the thought. But what if she doesn’t? He stared at the fire for a moment. If she doesn’t, then I shall go to her and . . . careful, Hugh, you dare not attract more attention. ’Tis not the time for a noisy argument or to be smothering the governor’s granddaughter. But my need is great, uncontrollable. The thought of Emily’s firm, tight, naked body, warm and sweaty against his own, stiffened his prick, made it throb with anticipation while warming his blood and quickening his heart. Pox on caution, I must have her now. But this time . . . this time ’twill be different: gentle . . . slow and loving. She’ll savor the slow rise of her passions, the wild release, the rapture. True, she felt it last time, but this will be better: endless; she won’t be so afraid and will therefore allow herself to savor the ecstasy I bring her—and, yes, let herself drown in the glorious intoxication that follows. And she will beg me to do it again and again and again, and the joy of it will make her begin to love me.

  He suddenly scowled as his idyllic daydream yielded to shadows. She will not come to me unless forced, and . . . and she still loves her Savage and will continue to love him, at my expense, until . . . until I kill him. So I must do so soon. He stirred the fire with a stick, added another log. But what of today? How do I quietly force her to satisfy my passion?