by Mike Rhynard
“It is proper to each day think of our fathers and grandfathers . . . our mothers and grandmothers . . . bring their wisdom into our souls as we do with the wisdom we acquire from our own mistakes. And Emily must also know that regret is part of grief. As Isna once told her, all people sometimes grieve . . . as they are also sometimes afraid . . . and it is these things—fear and grief—that make us whole.”
She smiled. “And help us live the four virtues of Lakota men and women . . . the greatest of which is bravery.”
“Emily remembers well . . . and she will also remember that fear and grief teach us bravery and inner strength, and that we must therefore experience them and then place them in their proper places in our minds.” He smiled. “The little white fawn understands this because she has the gifts of the north and east.”
Emily tilted her head. “What are gifts of the north and east?”
“Isna will tell Emily, but first he must explain the order of the world and how it determines these gifts.” He crossed his legs, sat erect, assumed a scholarly pose, then brushed a two-foot-wide clearing in the leaves, scraped the yellow grass away so only bare earth remained. “All things in the world are in rounds, except the rock. Animal bodies and legs, plant stems, trees and their branches—all are round . . . as are the sun, moon, earth, and sky. Day, night, the moon, and the year all circle the earth, as do the four winds. But the world is also in fours. Four things sit above the earth: stars and sky, sun and moon; there are four parts of time: night, day, the moon cycles, and the year it takes them before they repeat the cycle; there are four pieces of each plant: flower, leaves, stem, and the roots that provide the water of life; four seasons: summer, fall, winter, and spring; four animal types: those who crawl, those who fly, the two-leggeds, and the four-leggeds; four virtues of men and women; the four seasons of life: that of the baby, the child, the mature adult, and the aged; and last, the four directions: north, south, east, and west.”
Emily smiled. “Emily has never thought of the world in this way, but . . . but it is true.”
He picked up a small stick, drew a circle in the damp dirt, scratched marks at its top, bottom, right, and left, then pointed with the stick as he spoke. “Just as the world is in rounds and fours, so is this circle, the circle of life, which represents the universe and everything within it—all animal families, human beings, the seasons, the earth, and all things upon it. The four marks are the four directions: north, south, east, and west. And each direction holds a certain gift. The north holds the gift of wisdom; the east, the gift of enlightenment; the south, the gift of innocence; and the west, the looks-within place, holds the gift of introspection.”
Emily nodded as her eyes alternated between Isna and the picture in the dirt.
“Every human being is born somewhere on this circle or within it, and their position determines which of the four gifts they receive at birth.” He pointed at the mark on his right. “So a person born here is a person of the east, with the gift of enlightenment.” He then pointed at the bottom mark. “And one born here is a person of the south, with the gift of innocence; and here, a person of the north, with the gift of wisdom; and here, a person of the west, with the gift of introspection.”
“But Isna said Emily is a person of the north and east. How can she have two gifts?”
“Because some people are born with two or three gifts, and Emily is one of these . . . she was born here.” He touched his stick to the circle, halfway between the north and east marks. “But the strength of the gifts depends on where on the circle, or inside it, one is born, and the gift that one is closest to will be stronger than another.” He pointed the stick closer to the north mark then closer to the east mark. “To be whole and balanced and more like Wakan Tanka, we must seek more than one or two gifts, and these additional gifts must be acquired as we walk through life. Emily will understand this; for she knows that if a person is only a wise person of the north, they will be wise but will lack the illumination that brings understanding. They will also lack both the introspection that lets them see within themselves and the innocence that allows the understanding and trust of other beings. So they will be a wise but cold person—one without feeling.”
Emily nodded. “Emily understands. She has met people like this.”
Isna then drew a line between the north and south marks, and another, between the east and west. “If a person is on one of these lines, they are on a pathway from their birth gift to the other three gifts, and their position on the line determines the strength of the other gifts in relation to their birth gift. So a person here”—he pointed at the middle of the line segment between the center of the circle and the west mark—“ would be introspective but would also have lesser gifts of wisdom, innocence, and enlightenment. And one here”—he pointed halfway between the center and the north mark— “would be wise but would also have lesser gifts of innocence, enlightenment, and introspection; while one in the center of the circle, where the two lines cross, would share all four gifts equally and, like Wakan Tanka, be in perfect harmony with himself and all things in the universe. No human being can achieve this position, for it represents the spirit, Wakan Tanka himself, who is everywhere and in all things yet above all things. This center is the place of the pure heart and truthfulness, from which love and goodness radiate like the warmth of the sun—a secure, guarded place that is the center of goodness for all the universe. And even though no human being can enter the center, every human being should strive throughout life to touch and understand each of the other gifts, thereby becoming closer to the center, closer to being whole, and closer to Wakan Tanka.”
Emily looked away, mused for a moment, then looked back at Isna. “Emily likes this, for it explains God’s gifts better than she has ever heard. And . . . and Isna is right: no human being can enter the center of the circle; but . . . but most of my people believe that God, Wakan Tanka, long ago, sent his son to the world as a human being, to save us from ourselves; and since he was the son of Wakan Tanka, he too was at the center of the circle.”
He looked at her with a pensive look, a soft smile. “The Lakota do not know of this man, but Isna would like to learn more of him.”
She smiled impishly, nodded. “Emily will someday tell Isna about Him; but now, she wants Isna to show her where Isna is on the circle.”
He looked embarrassed, slightly annoyed, pointed quickly to the top left of the circle, between the west and north marks. “ Isna was born here; but like Emily, he is no longer on the edge of the circle.” He made a new mark inside the circle, between the north and west lines but more to the east than the south, then looked back at Emily. “ Isna’s travels started him on the pathway to enlightenment, but knowing and loving Emily has taught him far more and also allowed him to learn from her the gift of innocence.” He quickly made another mark inside the circle, this time between the north and east lines but closer to the center than his own. “But Emily has grown far closer to the center than Isna; for she has a strong gift of innocence,
They held hands, stared silently into each other’s eyes. Tears tumbled down Emily’s cheeks; she smiled, leaned slowly forward, placed her hands behind his head, then pulled his lips to hers. He embraced her, eased her gently to the ground, where they held their lips and bodies together while their love-fueled passions rose toward the threshold of flames.
A pang of sadness gnawed at Emily’s heart as, hand in hand, she and Isna approached the edge of the forest by the Chesapeake village. She glanced silently at Isna several times, and he at her. They’d stepped but two feet into the clearing when Emily stopped, pulled him back into the forest, threw her arms around him in a frantic embrace. They stared longingly at one another, kissed, smiled. “Emily’s heart will cry until Isna is again near her.”
“As will Isna’s.” He nodded once, turned, walked away toward the Chesapeake village. Emily watched him for a moment then started toward the colony. She was halfway there when a thought bludgeoned her mind like a blo
w to the head: Tayler . . . surely furious with me. A chill raced down her back. My God, what if . . . what if he’s made good on his promise, hurt Virginia. Good Lord, please don’t let it be. She lifted her skirt above her ankles, ran as fast she could. Virginia, Virginia, must find you. Lord, let her be safe. She gasped for breath; her heart pounded. “Oh!” She tripped over a root, sprawled front first onto the ground, gasped for air, found none. More gasps, then finally breath. She struggled to her feet, sprinted for the palisades as new images flashed through her mind with each gulp of air. Virginia . . . please . . . be there . . . please . . . please. She envisioned her lying in her crib, face blue from strangulation, eyes bulged wide, unmoving, sightless, her body still. Oh, God! She raced through the palisades gate, saw no one on the green; her throat burned for air. Keep going . . . Em . . . hurry . . . Virginia . . . be there. She reached the Dares’, burst through the doorway. No one here. She dashed to the crib. Gone! Dear God! Where can she be? She turned, ran to the door, imagined Virginia lying dead, bloodied in the forest. She stepped outside, looked for people, saw none but the sentries. Ellie, Ananias, where are you, must find you. My God, save her! My fault . . . all my fault! Dear Lord, where is she?
Allie’s eyes blinked open. Blurry, can’t see, gonna puke. Must be the pills. She started to roll out of bed, felt the tug of electrodes. Damn it! She plucked the electrodes from her body. Hurry, Allie. She stumbled into the bathroom, retched into the toilet. Jeez Louise, this sucks! Dizzy, clumsy. She retched again. Oh my God. She started toward the vanity, but her legs buckled; she dropped to her knees. “Holy shit! I’m a mess.” She pulled herself up, leaned on the vanity top; poured a glass of water, took a sip, another, then a gulp; looked in the mirror. “Big wreck, O’Shay.” She stepped slowly toward her bed, her sluggish mind recapping her dream. Things going to hell . . . but at least she told Ellie and Emme. She smiled weakly. And she got back with Isna. Finally! Really love each other. Lakota beliefs, totally cool . . . wonder if they think that way today. She frowned. Tayler . . . prick . . . took Virginia. Gotta get back. She stumbled to the bed, sat, caught her breath, looked at the window. Dark, what day is it? She looked at her watch. Wow! Sunday night. Stuff really works, out for almost two days. She glanced at the pill bottles. Gotta get back, stuff happening fast. Gonna feel miserable when I wake up, but . . . but what the hell. She took a swig of water, looked at the tangle of electrode wires on the bed beside her, shook her head, then brushed them onto the floor. She parceled out three sleeping pills and three Mestinon, eyed them in the palm of her hand, glanced at the family photo. No tears, Allie, you’re already gone. Gonna be a mess when you wake up . . . if you wake up. She thought of Ian and her suspected overdose. God, why am I doing this? She tossed the pills into her mouth, gulped some water, then rolled onto the bed, looked at the ceiling fan. “Head ’em up, move ’em out! Burnin’ daylight.”
Chapter 22
As Waters sucked in a big gulp of air, he savored the fresh, lingering smell of the previous night’s downpour, decided it was the cause of the spring-like feel in the air that had invigorated his usually reluctant loggers. But at the same time, he wondered if he’d been hasty in restarting the palisades work on such wet and muddy ground—too much slipping and sliding, and the wet bark increased the risk of an axe glancing off a tree trunk into someone’s leg. He stood with a small group of sawyers and limbers on the far side of the clearing from the palisades, watched two axemen vigorously attack a sixty-foot tree from opposite sides. Deciding they were exercising proper caution, he forced his mind to the unpleasant reality that it was now unlikely the palisades would be finished before John White returned—too many now hunting, fishing, guarding—only a small contingent left for palisades work, and most of them ill fit for the task. Nonetheless, even though the work was slow and laborious and the heavy, green logs had to be carried ever farther, each new log brought added protection to the village. So persevere, persevere, persevere.
He then daydreamed of Rebecca Roberts—her smile, long brown hair, green eyes, somewhat plain yet captivating face, and slightly buxom body. It had been her smile that attracted him; and when he thought of her, it was always the first thing he saw, a permanent fixture of her visage. They’d fallen in love immediately; but her father had harbored nagging doubts about his daughter marrying a soldier—not because he had anything against soldiers, especially officers of good breeding, but because he didn’t want his daughter to be a young widow. So he’d withheld his blessing for a time—too long a time—and the day before he’d given it, Waters had accepted the Virginia command, which was a career opportunity he could not pass up—a lieutenant in sole command of a contingent that would normally be commanded by a senior captain. His superiors had told him if all went well, he’d be immediately promoted upon his return—perhaps two ranks—a prospect that somewhat lessened the pain of Master Roberts’ awkward timing. But now he was beginning to wonder if he’d live to see England and Rebecca Roberts again.
Peripherally conscious of the rhythmic thuds of the two axes striking the tree, his thoughts drifted to something that had nagged him all day: Elyoner Dare’s curious reply that morning when he’d asked her about Emily Colman, voiced his distress at seeing her with Hugh Tayler. Elyoner had told him that when she’d seen Emily the day before, she’d initially been quite distraught over something but had calmed when she’d found Virginia with her parents at Governor Baylye’s cottage. Elyoner had then started to tell him something else but stopped in mid-sentence. The entire exchange now chewed on his mind like a dog relentlessly gnawing on a bone. What had Elyoner started to tell him? Why had she held back? Why had Emily been so frantic about finding Virginia? He rubbed his chin. What was she afraid of? He stared at the ground for a moment then raised an eyebrow. Perhaps Tayler’s threatened to harm Virginia . . . or . . . or worse . . . if Emily does not do his bidding, and . . . and the poor lass bears the entire burden alone. He shook his head, stared dejectedly at the forest. So what did Elyoner start to tell me? He rubbed his chin again. Perhaps she knows something of Emily’s plight . . . and . . . and she’s sworn to secrecy but started to tell me anyway because it torments her to keep it inside . . . then she changed her mind . . . and two shillings says Tayler’s taken advantage of Emily and will do so again. He stared vacantly for a moment. “Bastard.” I cannot abide this, must somehow persuade her to tell me what’s happened, so we can prosecute this swine and give him what he deserves . . . protect her. He sighed, shook his head. ’Twill be an arduous task to draw her out . . . unbearably painful for her to speak of it, but I must try. He glanced at the two axemen, thought they’d moved too close together, particularly since one was left-handed.
A loud crack ripped through the air as the tree snapped from its stump, plunged toward the ground, and crashed with a muffled thud into the mud. Taking a deep breath, Waters looked around, saw Thomas Stevens, Private Taverner, and Humfrey Newton whispering secretively to one another as they approached the tree to trim limbs. It had not escaped him how quiet Tayler and his miscreants had been of late; but he’d wondered about Newton, who’d previously been little more than a shadow—yet a shadow with a reputation for sudden, stupefying displays of rage. Ah! He smiled faintly. Forgot he’s one of the two former convicts—not surprising to see him with Tayler’s bunch after all . . . wonder what they’re plotting. He picked up his axe, looked around the clearing; accounted for each of the four guards, ensured they were alert, looking in the right directions; then walked toward the far end of the tree just as several ladies arrived with smoked fish, water, and pemmican.
The men received their rations, dipped their cups in the water buckets, then walked back to the downed tree, sat wherever they found space between the branches. Several picked up sticks that had broken off when the tree fell, used them to scrape the huge globs of sticky mud from their shoes before they ate. Stevens and Taverner sat ten feet from the other six men, but Newton sat barely four feet from Cuthbert White, who meticulously removed not
just the big globs of mud from his shoes but all of it.
Waters watched White with amusement from a hundred feet away, thought how, despite always being impeccably dressed, and wrongly voting for Tayler in the election, he seemed a good man—ever willing, naturally helpful, in spite of being gentry. Waters smiled as he watched him shift his food and stick between hands to avoid dropping the food as he experimented with stick positions to effectively remove the mud. Finally, he seemed to tire of the endless juggling, carefully set the food and cup on the log beside him to concentrate on the muddy shoes.
Waters looked back at Stevens and the other two, saw nothing to arouse his interest, started to look toward the palisades, but his periphery caught Newton sliding down the log toward White.
Newton looked back at Stevens and Taverner, smirked knowingly, then turned to White, said something Waters couldn’t hear.
White stopped scraping, stared incredulously at Newton, mouthed something.
Newton responded with more words and an angry glare. The other loggers stopped eating, focused on the two as White suddenly snatched his food from the log, placed it in his lap, covered it with both hands as if to protect it, again spoke to Newton.
Newton sneered, barked loudly, “Perchance you didn’t hear me, White. I said give me your food, now!”
White shook his head, again spoke too softly for Waters to hear. Waters started toward the two.
Newton stood, reached for White’s food; but White pulled it to his chest, turned his back to Newton.
Newton grabbed White’s collar, yanked him off the log, shoved him to the ground, then kicked him twice in the back.
White groaned, rolled toward the log, still clutching his food.
Waters pulled his pistol, broke into a run. “Newton, stop!”