by Mike Rhynard
Ananias stared numbly at the fire then at Waters. “But what about John White? Walsingham’s ship can’t cross the Atlantic any earlier than John’s can. A winter crossing is too risky, and Raleigh will surely outfit and dispatch John at the first hint of spring, so how—”
“Walsingham, Ananias. Walsingham. Forget not that he is the most powerful man in England, second only to the Queen herself. He will intercede in some manner to delay, or even prevent, John White’s sailing; and by the time John finally arrives, if he ever does, the conspirators will be gone, and we’ll be dead.”
Baylye looked as if his favorite dog had died; he shook his head, rubbed his thumbs and fingers together. “My God, William, you paint a dreadful picture . . . unfortunately, one that has an unwelcome and chilling reality to it.” He paused. “But how will the pilot of Walsingham’s ship find us?”
Ananias smiled. “He’ll go to Roanoke . . . and as you so carefully planned, he’ll see CROATOAN and CRO on the tree and post then go to Croatan Island, retrieve our people, and come here.” He snorted cynically. “And when John White arrives at Roanoke, if he ever does, he’ll do the same; except when he arrives at Croatan, no Englishmen will remain. And unless Manteo happens to be there to tell him where we are, he’ll never know our whereabouts. Even if a blind guess sends him here, we’ll already be dead.”
The three looked silently, reflectively at one another for nearly a minute before Waters spoke. “Gentlemen, here’s what we must do.”
Elyoner cradled Virginia as she and Emily walked briskly through the palisades gate toward the Chesapeake village. Virginia smiled with the rhythmic sway of her mother’s step, chattered continuously. Elyoner said, “Well, aren’t you the happy one today.” She smiled at Emily. “Listen to her, Em. Quite a conversation she’s having with herself.”
“Aye, like a little squirrel, she is.”
Elyoner sniffed the air. “Em, I know ’tis only February, but do you not feel a touch of spring in the air?”
Emily sniffed, smiled. “I do, and it lifts my spirits.”
“Indeed.” Elyoner peered ahead for several steps, progressively rearranged her smile into a frown, then abruptly stopped, faced Emily. “Em, you . . . you were to meet Tayler the other night. May I ask if . . .”
Emily’s smile withered to a hollow stare. “No. I did not.”
Elyoner grinned. “Thank God. How did you—”
“When I went out for water, I saw him from the corner of my eye watching me, but I pretended not to see him. And when he started toward me, I stopped, clutched my stomach as if I had terrible cramps, doubled over, knelt and moaned for a few seconds before continuing with a pained look on my face . . . I even staggered a bit. He looked aghast, immediately changed direction and walked away.” She shook her head. “But I doubt ’twill work again, for he surely knows the length of a woman’s period.”
Elyoner held Emily’s shoulders, kissed her on the cheek. “You’ve a quick wit, Em. No man relishes a tempestuous, bleeding woman, so perhaps ’twill work again. I myself have be been cursed for two weeks on occasion. But ’twould be far better if you’d simply tell me how the lowly varlet compels you, so we can prosecute him.”
“Ellie, you know I cannot tell you more; and though I despise it, I’m resigned to my fate and must face it.” She thought of her friend Mary Thomas in England, who’d become pregnant at seventeen. She’d been shunned as an adulteress, disowned by her parents when she showed, and had hanged herself a short time later. Emily shuddered. The same will surely happen to me. I’ve but two choices: be an outcast whore, alone with my child, or be a whore to Tayler. But if I don’t become Tayler’s whore, then—
“Fate, shmate! ’Tis wrong that you pay for his crime. It infuriates me, and I’m loathe to promise I’ll maintain my silence.” She shook her head, again faced forward, resumed her course.
After a few steps, Emily said, “Ellie, pray tell, where are we—”
“To meet Shines, but I must first ask you something else. I’ve thought much on Emme’s proposal. Have you?”
“Aye, and it scares me; for though I would savor Hugh Tayler being punished for what he did, I doubt I could deliver the punishment . . . and who but I could claim self-defense? Then too, while rape is supposed to be a capital offense, it seems the authorities often decide the woman was at fault; so in the end, I could be without a defense and tried for murder. And where would that leave my child? Oh, Ellie, my life, my choices, my future—all suddenly changed, vanished because of Tayler.”
Elyoner stopped, faced her with a sad, thoughtful look, then pulled her into an embrace, leaned her head on Emily’s, closed her eyes.
Emily whispered as if thinking aloud. “Worst of all, murder is a more serious mortal sin than adultery, and who am I to judge that my preservation”—and that of Virginia and Isna, she thought—“ justifies the death of another . . . even Hugh Tayler? And what if God disagrees with my judgment? Verily, the truth is that every course before me is a grave sin, and my future is now narrowed to choosing the least of them. Still, the day may come when I’ve no choice but to defend myself in spite of all my reasoning. And then my life will be in the hands of a magistrate, and my soul in the hands of God.”
Elyoner looked at her philosophically. “That may be true, but I’ve not a crumb of doubt that God would view your defending yourself against Tayler as self-defense.”
“Ellie, even if that is so, I’d have to kill him in my house; for in his house, I would certainly appear to be a seductress. But I never want him to set foot in my house again. So . . . yet another dilemma.” And, she thought, wherever I did it, Virginia and Isna would be saved, but I would leave a motherless child when hanged for murder. In truth, I’ve no escape.
Elyoner sighed. “ ’Tis indeed an impossible situation.” She hesitated, stared vacantly into Emily’s eyes. “But mayhap there is another way.” She crossed herself, looked suddenly afraid. “God forgive me for suggesting this, but I can see a time when, in spite of everything we’ve considered, there’s no choice but for the three of us to dispatch this bastard to hell; and if it comes, Emme and I shall be at your side.” She shook her head. “But Emily Colman, I state again that the only way to completely free yourself of this agony is to seek the aid of those who will help you . . . now . . . before the rest of this story has a chance to unfold.” She looked abruptly ahead, proceeded another twenty yards, then veered off the pathway into the forest.
“Truly, Ellie, where are you taking me? You’re being most mysterious about this. I thought we were going to meet Shines.”
“We are, but in the forest . . . we have a private matter to discuss.”
She sighed. “Very well, but we’re not supposed to go this far.”
Elyoner tugged her along with her free hand. “ ’Tis only a short way farther, not far beyond the restriction.”
Emily’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Ellie, this is the way to my . . . my special place.” A sudden pain pricked her heart as she visualized Isna in his buckskin leggings and shirt, white choker, long black hair, feathers, entrancing dark eyes, wry smile.
“Aye, it is, Em; we’re to meet Shines there.”
Emily shook her head. “You confound me, Ellie.”
They entered the small clearing that was Emily’s special place; Elyoner stopped, looked suddenly angry, frustrated. “God’s teeth, Em, I’m getting forgetful . . . or stupid.” She sighed. “I forgot the food I was supposed to bring . . . and I’m famished. Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.” She turned, jogged back into the forest.
“Ellie, wait. Leave Virginia. I can . . .” Gone.
Emily sighed, looked around, smiled. Feel the memories here. She spontaneously spun around in a circle, her arms extended like a little girl twirling her dress. Haven’t done that since I walked down the pathway with George our first day at Roanoke. George . . . thank heaven you cannot see me now, though I gravely mourn your loss. A feeling of sadness swept through her as she plopped down
on the leaves by the stream bank, watched the water ripple over the rocks, and listened to its soft, reassuring purl. Love that sound, free and endless. No ice now. She thought of Isna. A lump grew in her throat; a sudden ache squeezed her heart. So long ago, so many memories, beautiful memories . . . loving memories I shall never live again. Lord, how I miss him, love him so. She surveyed the forest around her, brushed some leaves from the grass beneath them. No green yet . . . and no buds on the trees. She sniffed the air. But Ellie’s right, there is the smell of spring in the air. Won’t be long . . . perchance another light snow or two, a little more cold, but green and warmth will soon overtake us . . . if we don’t starve first. And John White will return, and my child will grow within me, soon show itself to the world, and . . . and—tears trickled down her cheeks—and Isna will return to his people . . . and I will have naught but his memory for the rest of my life, and—
She heard a branch crack behind her, tensed, looked back over her shoulder, and slid her hand over her pistol grip. “Elyoner?” No, can’t be Ellie, wrong direction, too soon. She stood, strained her ears for another sound, heard nothing. Stream’s too loud. A chill raced down her back as she recalled the moments before the Roanoke massacre; she pulled the pistol from her belt, gripped it with both hands. No birds to warn me this time . . . shouldn’t be here, stupid girl. After a soundless minute, she relaxed, replaced the pistol, again sat on the leaves watching the forest where she’d heard the sound.
Her gaze eventually wandered back to the stream then to the place where she and Isna had played the kicking-ball game. She smiled as she remembered smashing his fingers with her stick, tripping him, falling on him, their sensuous embrace, her abandonment of restraint.
Suddenly sensing a presence, she whirled around, sprang to her feet, gripped her pistol. Isna stepped from the trees at the edge of the forest. Her heart and mind fluttered with fright, passion, shame, joy; her legs trembled like flimsy sticks. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes locked on his. She suddenly turned away, took a step; stopped, turned back; held her eyes on his, her resolve melting as she felt their pleading, their pain, their love.
He took a step toward her, stopped.
Her heart raced, hands quivered. “ Isna!” She ran to him. “ Isna, oh Isna.” Their bodies met, embraced, melded to one. Their lips pressed together, hearts pounded like the drums of the harvest dance.
“My little white fawn.”
“My Isna. Forgive me. I’ve hurt you so. I . . . I . . .”
“Do not speak. Hold Isna; let him hold you, feel your heart.”
Emily sobbed, pressed her body tighter against him, kissed him frantically again and again. Her chest heaved with quick breaths as she whispered, “Isna . . . never let me go, never leave me . . . never, never, never.” But a moment later, her body tensed; she eased her head away, looked emptily past him into the forest, visualized Tayler forcing himself inside her. She trembled; her eyes filled with fear. I’m a whore, unworthy, ashamed, destined to be with Tayler . . . but I love Isna; he stirs my soul, my blood; feel safe, secure; must never leave his arms, but . . . but . . .
“Emily fears something.”
She nodded slowly, turned toward him with a heartsick look, whispered, “Yes.”
He stared into her eyes, laid his hands softly on her cheeks, leaned forward, kissed her forehead, slowly pulled her into a gentle embrace. “Emily will be afraid no more. She is with Isna.” He leaned his head on hers, held her close as she moaned softly.
When she’d calmed, she eased back, stared into his eyes; held his head in her hands, pulled his lips to hers; felt her heart racing, her breasts heaving with each rapid breath. She again eased back, smiled faintly. “Perhaps Emily and Isna will sit.” She led him to the stream, pulled him to the ground beside her, looked at the water for a moment, then smiled at him, kissed him again. “How did Isna find Emily?”
He smiled his wry smile, held his silence for a moment. “Shines . . . Elyoner. They worry for Emily . . . worry for Isna. They know Emily suffers . . . they want to help her . . . and they know Isna wants to help her . . . but something keeps Emily from Isna . . . though her heart commands her to go to him.” He paused. “In his heart, Isna knows something has happened to Emily.” Another pause. “And Isna now tells Emily that he loves her above all things under Wakan Tanka and will give his life to end her pain. But first, he must know what causes it.”
Tears ran down Emily’s cheeks like hot wax down a candle; she stared into his eyes, couldn’t speak, swallowed, took a deep, quavering breath. “Emily will tell Isna all that happened.” With frequent tears, she told him of Tayler’s courtship, his past, his love and desire for her. “And . . . and the day after the harvest dance, Emily walked with him to tell him she loved Isna, and . . . and . . .” She buried her face in her hands. I cannot tell him this.
Isna reached out, pulled her gently into his arms, held her head tenderly against his chest. “ Isna will hold Emily until she is no longer afraid.”
A minute later, Emily sniffled twice, whispered, “The white man, Tayler, took Emily’s body . . . against her will.” She started sobbing. “He took her life, her soul, her honor.”
Isna pulled her closer, kissed her hair, held his cheek against her head, swayed her gently back and forth like a small child. “Did Emily believe Isna would turn from her?”
Her voice shimmered, cracked as she spoke. “Emily is . . . is dishonored . . . shamed . . . unworthy of Isna.”
“Emily is not dishonored . . . nor is she shamed. Only the coward who forced himself on her is dishonored and shamed.”
“No, Isna, Emily is unworthy, for though she hated what he did, she . . . she felt pleasure in it.”
He paused a moment. “Only Emily’s body, which could not hear the hate that screamed in her mind and heart, felt pleasure.” He slid his hand under her hair, gently caressed the nape of her neck. “Perhaps Emily will also know that this evil one took only her body . . . no one can take her honor or her soul. These things were given to Emily by Wakan Tanka and will remain hers for as long as she breathes the air.”
She looked into his eyes, blinked her tears away as they formed. “But Isna, Emily is . . . is no longer a virgin.”
He shook his head. “Isna loves Emily all the more for her courage . . . and he will love her so forever.” Again he pulled her into his arms, kissed her cheek.
“And Emily will love Isna until the sun no longer rises and sets.”
“Isna knows this is so.” He paused, feathered his cheek softly back and forth against her hair. “ Isna now tells Emily that he will kill this evil one and take his hair from his head. But since there is no honor in keeping the hair of a coward, Isna will burn it, so Tayler walks without it in the next life and is scorned by all who see him.”
Emily tensed. “ Isna’s words frighten Emily.”
“Why do they do so?”
“Because if Isna kills Tayler, other white men will try to kill Isna . . . too many white men for Isna to defeat.”
“These men must find Isna before they can attack him, but they will not find him because they do not know the forest or that it is Isna’s friend . . . and if Isna is no longer here . . .”
Emily pulled away. The color fled her cheeks; she gaped at him with sad, fearful eyes. “Isna will leave the Chesapeakes . . . and Emily?”
“The warm-weather moons approach; Isna must lead his men back to the Lakota.”
Emily turned away; tears filled her eyes. “Emily understands. Isna said it would be so.” She rubbed her eyes. “But Emily was foolish. She hoped . . . and prayed . . . that Isna would . . .”
“Isna’s heart is also troubled by this. His vision, Emily’s dream—the bear and the little white fawn, the great bear’s instruction to protect the little white fawn forever, the many brown and white fawns, and the old woman with the two black stones around her neck—how can the vision and the dream be fulfilled if Isna and Emily are apart?” He shook his head. “It is s
omething Isna and Emily must think about, try to understand.”
She looked at him with desperate eyes.
“And even if these white men find Isna before he leaves, he will kill many before dying a great warrior’s death.”
She shook her head rapidly. “No, Isna. Please. Isna does not understand these men.”
“Isna understands, yet he wonders why these men befriend one such as Tayler . . . a coward whose heart burns with hate for himself . . . an evil man. Surely, they are like the people Ptesanwin spoke of when she told the grandfathers that as long as they kept and honored the pipe, they would live; but if they forgot it, they would be without a center and perish. Have these white men not lost their center? Do they not follow a path away from the one you call God?”
“Yes, Isna. They do, but—” She clutched her abdomen, bent over, took several deep breaths, smiled. “ ’Tis my time.” Would that it were so. She looked away for a moment then back at him. “There is something else Emily must tell Isna.”
He looked perceptively at her, canted his head, eased her into his arms. “Be silent; find comfort in Isna’s arms, the arms that will forever protect the little white fawn from all evil . . . as the great bear commanded.”
They held each other in silence until Isna said, “Isna has learned that Emily’s father has gone to the spirit world . . . he remembers when his own father and mother went there . . . he knows Emily’s pain, and his heart aches for her.”
She looked tearfully into his eyes. “Did Isna cry for his father and mother?”
“Lakota women wail and slash their arms and hair . . . Lakota warriors mourn in their hearts.”
Emily nodded. “Nor does Emily slash her arms, but she misses her father and mourns him every day . . . and every day she regrets words she spoke to him in disrespect when his words angered her, though they intended no harm.”