by Mike Rhynard
Emily stared at her, didn’t move, didn’t speak, then slowly reached out, took Virginia in her arms.
Elyoner said, “God be with you, Emily Colman . . . pray for us.”
Emily searched for words, found none. Elyoner and Ananias quickly hugged her, kissed her cheeks, laid their hands briefly on Virginia’s forehead, then turned, faded into the darkness, back toward the colony. Emily stood stunned, numb, devastated, stared at the empty darkness where they’d stood a moment before; she tasted salty tears, felt their warmth as they crept slowly down her cheeks. Ellie, my friend, my sister . . . Ananias . . . dear Lord, why? How can this happen? I shall never see them again . . . nor will Virginia.
She sighed, abruptly turned, cradled Virginia in her arms, jogged off toward the rendezvous with Isna. Nausea dizzied her mind, soured her stomach. She imagined Elyoner and Ananias being hacked to pieces by crazed Powhatans, heard their helpless screams as they reached for one another. Dear God, let them die quickly . . . all of them . . . and please care for Shines, and . . . oh, Lord, what if the Powhatans consider the Chesapeakes our allies . . . part of the prophecy . . . attack them, as well? Saints above, please, no. Pray thee spare Shines.
Fifty yards later, Emily heard brush crack behind her. She stopped, turned; glanced at Virginia, who miraculously slept; heard the sound again, this time closer, then again. Saints above, what should I do? She shifted Virginia gently to her left shoulder, held her with her left arm while she reached behind her back with her right hand, pulled her knife from its sheath. She heard another crack, heard her heart pounding. She tried to steady herself, slow her breathing, was ready to run, when a surprise pulse of hope surged through her heart. Praise heaven, they’ve changed their minds . . . they’re coming! Her lips slowly curved into a smile. Thank you, Lord. Thank you. She sheathed her knife, shifted Virginia back to her arms, then started toward the sound as she smiled with anticipation. “Ellie, I’m over here. This way!”
Suddenly she stopped; her smile withered; she stepped slowly backward, felt her mind muddle with confusion, panic. Hugh Tayler stood a few feet before her. She turned to run.
Tayler lunged at her, reached out, grabbed a handful of hair, pulled her toward him. She stumbled blindly backward, nearly dropped Virginia. He gripped her shoulders, spun her around to face him, pulled her close, glared into her eyes.
She felt his breath in her face, trembled, panted; her mind swirled in chaos; terror paralyzed her body. She clutched Virginia to her breast with an iron grip.
“Emily, my love, I feared I’d never see you again . . . that I’d never again feel the warmth of your body against mine.” He sighed.
“Let me go! I came to you as you asked. There was a body . . . a man grabbed me, and—”
“ ’Twas I who grabbed you. I’d no choice. One of the guards refused my bribe, would not agree to let you in or leave us alone. We struggled . . . I killed him.” He looked momentarily remorseful. “But we got his body through the palisades and concealed while everyone ran about preparing for this imaginary Powhatan attack.” He smirked. “Fools. There will be no attack . . . and Lord Walsingham’s ship will arrive any day, and I shall return to England under his protection . . . and you shall accompany me and be my wife.”
Emily’s jaw dropped; her eyes swelled in disbelief. Isna, find me, save me. “But . . . but how did you . . .”
“I suspected you’d leave with your Savage, so I watched the Dares’ cottage from the shadows . . . then slipped through the palisades just behind you and them when Waters resumed his preparations for the attack . . . but before his replacement took over his watch. So here we are, Emily Colman . . . you and Hugh Tayler . . . alone”—he noticed Virginia for the first time, scowled—“almost alone . . . in this dark forest . . . under a glorious full moon . . . a fitting place for me to tell you again how much I love you and that I can never allow you to leave my life . . . especially with a primitive Savage.” He shook his head. “Truly, why would you want to be with a Savage, when I can give you everything you desire? I will—”
“Because I do not love you, Hugh Tayler . . . and I dearly love him.”
He stared at her in silent disbelief then spoke softly, affectionately, as if her words had dissipated before reaching his ears. “You are my salvation, Emily Colman, my reason for living, and I again beg you to forgive my transgressions. But whether you do or not, you shall return to the colony and England with me and be my wife.”
Fear sliced through Emily like a glowing-hot knife through wax; she trembled; her voice cracked with fury and fear. “Hugh Tayler, the Powhatans are coming tonight, and no one will be left alive. And your fantasies of rescue are the aimless meanderings of an insane man . . . as is your expectation that I will go with you and yield to you.”
Tayler looked briefly insulted then smiled. “Milady, you may be correct about my insanity, but it matters not. And if you also happen to be correct about the Powhatans, then I shall die a happy man for having spent my final moments in the warmth of your body.”
Emily jammed the hard toe of her shoe into his shin, tried to turn and run. Tayler groaned but held her fast, dug his fingers into her shoulders. Pain shot down her arms; she twisted left and right, tried to break free. “Curse you, Tayler! Let go!”
He grasped her wrists, looked into her eyes with the same crazed look he’d had at the rape; his breathing quickened; he pried her hands from Virginia.
Emily screamed as the baby fell to her back on the ground, began to sputter then cry. “Virginia! Let me help her, you swine.” She jerked, twisted wildly, but he held her fast. He pulled her away from Virginia, yanked her into an embrace, and pressed his lips against hers. As he held her with one arm, he pulled up her dress with the other, then glided his hand over her thigh, caressed her behind, slid his fingers between her legs.
“No! Damn you, Tayler. Let go!” Tears filled her eyes; she tried to squeeze her legs together, felt his fingers pushing higher between them. Her pulse and breathing quickened. She heard Virginia screaming. God, help me. Please! Isna, find me, let me—
She heard a sharp grunt behind Tayler. He moaned and lurched forward, pushed her to the ground on her back, then yanked his dagger from his belt, spun about with a blind slice at whoever was behind him.
Emily saw a knife in Tayler’s back, saw Emme Merrimoth drop to her knees, blood gushing from her sliced throat. She fell forward onto her knees and hands, gurgled, “Run, Em.” Her eyes rolled back in their sockets; she collapsed to her face, lay still on the ground.
“Emme!”
As Tayler staggered toward her, Emily sprang to her feet, gawked briefly at Emme, then leaped the two steps to Virginia, grabbed her rucksack on the run, sprinted away.
She’d made thirty yards when she suddenly stopped, wrapped her arms protectively around Virginia. She started to the right, stopped again, felt terror paralyze her senses, cloud her head. Her legs buckled; she trembled. Thirty feet to her front and left stood sixty or more Powhatan warriors.
The Panther, painted as at Roanoke, stepped slowly toward her, three warriors at his sides. He stopped in front of her, glared into her eyes while the moonlight gave a fearsome, ghostlike aura to his painted face.
Emily dropped to her knees, shielded Virginia, waited for his deathblow.
Tayler yelled, “Emily, I love you!” She glanced toward his voice, saw him rushing toward her, his sword above his head.
The Panther stepped past Emily into Tayler’s path, a stone tamahaac in his right hand, a knife in his left. Tayler slashed at his head; but the Panther sidestepped, sliced his tamahaac deep into Tayler’s forearm, yanked it free, then waited for his next move.
Tayler screamed, sank to his right knee; quickly stood again, faced the Panther; grabbed the sword with his left hand, raised it for another slash. But before it moved, the three warriors seized Tayler by the arms and head from behind. The one holding his head yanked Emme’s knife from Tayler’s back, quickly sliced a six-inch slit across his
throat. Tayler’s eyes bulged; he gasped for air, spewed blood from throat and mouth, tried to speak, gagged. The Panther watched him with contempt then thrust his knife into the left side of his belly, sliced it slowly sideways, rib to rib, then up the middle to the bottom of his chest.
Emily vomited as Tayler’s guts spilled from his body, hung from his waist like a rumpled apron. The warriors let his body crumple to the ground then followed the Panther toward Emily.
Emily stood, held Virginia over her left shoulder, backed away, reached for her pistol with her trembling right hand. Fie! Didn’t light the match. Dear Lord, help me.
The Panther and his men suddenly stopped, focused their eyes behind Emily.
Emily glanced over her shoulder, saw Isna and his three Lakota a few feet away, their bows drawn, aimed at the Panther. No one moved.
The Panther motioned with his tamahaac for Isna and his men to leave. Isna smiled, spoke in Lakota. The Panther looked at Emily, jerked his chin slightly upward, signaling her to translate Isna’s words.
She fought to steady her tumbling mind, finally collected herself, signed, “He said, ‘ ’Tis a good day to die.’”
The Panther looked at Isna, smirked, stowed his weapons, signed, “Not this night . . . but when we next meet . . . soon.” He turned, vanished, ghostlike, into the darkness with his men.
Emily took a deep breath, trembled, fixed her eyes on Isna.
He walked slowly to her, touched her cheek, pulled her and Virginia into his arms, held them close for a long moment, kissed her hair. “We must move swiftly, my little one.”
Emily nodded, laid Virginia on the ground; removed her rucksack of supplies from her back, handed it to Isna; knelt, checked Virginia, caressed her cheek, then slipped Virginia’s rucksack onto her back. “We’re ready.”
Isna nodded, turned, led Emily and the Lakota at a brisk pace to the west.
Twenty minutes later, they crossed a stream, stopped to sip the fresh water, top off their water bladders. Emily said, “Isna . . . there were so many of them . . . why did they let us go?”
“The Panther leads the attack against your people. It will come from three or four directions, and he will give the signal to begin. He could not risk the noise or delay of a fight . . . or his own death . . . which was certain if we fought.”
She nodded. “How quickly will he pursue?”
“They will celebrate their victory . . . perhaps until midday. Then he will pursue, but with only a few of his best warriors.”
“Why only a few?”
“Because we have hurt them before, and he knows we are dangerous enemies . . . and there will be far greater honor in killing us if they are few.”
Emily stared at him, fear in her eyes, sighed. I shall never understand this thinking. “How soon will they catch us?”
“Perhaps when the sun rises on the second day . . . but before we reach the mountains, and the Monacans, who would protect us.”
Emily thought for a moment. “We will move slower because of Emily and Virginia. Perhaps Emily should—”
“Emily and Virginia will come with us. We must go now.” He nodded at his men, turned to leave as the throaty rumble of matchlocks echoed in the distance. All five looked east, saw two yellow glows above the treetops, heard the faint shrill of war cries mingle with screams of terror.
“They attack my people.”
Isna nodded. “And the Chesapeakes. That is the second glow.”
Emily stared at him. “Isna . . . I did not understand how this would feel . . . all my people . . . Ellie, Ananias, Waters . . . my friend Shines . . . all will be dead in a few minutes . . . their heads smashed, bodies full of arrows, torn apart, burned, tortured. Isna, they’re all going to die . . . all of them. I must help them.”
He shook his head. “Emily cannot help them. No one can help them.”
Emily looked back toward the village.
Isna laid his hands on her shoulders. “Emily, we have much distance to cover in a short time. We will not leave an easy trail, but we must move quickly if we are to find good ground before we fight.”
Emily again visualized Elyoner and Ananias being bludgeoned and hacked to death, their bodies mutilated, burned on a huge fire. She said a quick prayer then sighed, stared into Isna’s eyes, and as if she’d turned the last page of a book, said, “ ’Tis done . . . I am ready . . . my new life begins now.” And as dawn’s first glimmer teased the horizon, she followed Isna toward the mountains, and their fate.
Chapter 26
Emily lay wide-eyed on her left side beneath a deerskin robe, cuddled the sleeping Virginia to her chest as she fought valiantly to exorcise the disquieting uneasiness that pervaded her mind and soul. What will the morrow bring, what will remain, if anything, of my life, my dreams, my future, after this inescapable encounter that will soon overtake us? She closed her eyes. But what is it that troubles me so? ’Tis not the thought of dying itself. Nay, I’ve confronted death too many times already to fear it. She opened her eyes, smiled to herself. Nay, Mistress Colman, ’tis your heart and its fear of the very real possibility of losing your life before you consummate your commitment, your marriage, to the man you love above all in the world. She glanced at the black sky above her. Would that my friend the moon would escape those evil black clouds that hide her light, and allow me to see his face, so I might know his mind, understand what course this first, and perhaps last, night with him will take.
A moment later, the moon slid unexpectedly from behind the clouds; she saw Isna’s intense, dark eyes drilling into hers with the same disquietude that haunted her entire being. Her heart suddenly quickened; chills danced nimbly down her neck and back. I know what I must do. She whispered, “ Isna and Emily will perhaps die tomorrow.”
“Yes, my little white fawn.”
“And this night—their first together—may be their last.”
“Yes.”
She held her stare for a moment then gently eased away from Virginia, laid the fur over her, stood, stepped quietly to Isna’s far side.
He rose, took her hands in his; their eyes again met, spoke an unmistakable message.
Emily whispered, “Perhaps Emily and Isna will—”
“Will Emily be Isna’s wife?”
Her apprehension fled, she smiled. “Yes. Will Isna take Emily?”
He smiled back. “Yes.”
“Who will marry Emily and Isna?”
“When two people agree to marry, and a proper ceremony is not possible, they may commit to each other and marry themselves . . . and have a ceremony when they are able.” He eased her closer, moved his lips slowly toward hers until they touched with a gentle, loving softness that belied the torrid emotions about to ignite between them. He leaned back, smiled tenderly at her. “Emily is Isna’s wife . . . forever.”
Her heart pounded with anticipation; her chest heaved. She held her eyes on his, slowly reached to the top of her right shoulder, untied the three ties that bound her doeskin dress at the top. The right side of the dress dropped to her elbow, bared her right shoulder and breast. One by one, she unfastened the ties on the left; the dress fell to her ankles. Moonlight bathed her body, accentuated the rhythmic heaving of her full, erect breasts, the small patch of hair at the top of her legs. With glistening, damp lips, she stared beguilingly into his eyes, felt the warm dampness of expectation rise within her.
He slowly reached to his waist, untied his loincloth, let it fall to his feet. He stared at her for a moment then held her hands, guided her down to his deerskin robe, pulled another on top of them, began to explore and caress her body.
Emily trembled, felt steamy perspiration dampen her body, a wave of primitive passion like she’d felt at the harvest dance. She touched his cheeks, panted, kissed him wildly, teased his tongue with hers; felt his manhood throbbing against her, reached down, softly caressed it; felt his lips on her firm nipples, his fingers between her legs, softly touching, slowly searching their way inside her. She surrendered her s
oul; her hips moved rhythmically with his touch as her passion billowed like a towering thunderstorm; her senses exploded, yearned for the precipice, the release that would complete her gift of herself to the man she’d love forever.
Allie awoke panting, wet with sweat, exhausted, afloat in a dizzying sea of ecstasy. Oh my God . . . what a ride . . . every emotion . . . everything. But how can it be?
She suddenly tensed as an uninvited thought shot through her mind like an arrow. This may be their only night together . . . ever. She sat up, shook her head. “No, God, please don’t let them die there. Please . . . let them live, have some life together. Please.”
She closed her eyes, imagined them in a desperate, hand-to-hand fight with the Powhatans: Isna being clubbed by the Panther and three other warriors, Emily shielding Virginia with her body then aiming her pistol at four screaming warriors racing toward her, the other three Lakota dead on the ground, their bodies peppered with arrows like George Howe.
She fell back on the bed, took three long, deep breaths; spread her legs and arms out to her sides, ordered her body to relax, voided her mind; absorbed the cool softness of the sheets, let it envelope her, levitate her, carry her back to her dream. Go back, Allie . . . go back . . . eyes heavy . . . I’m coming, Em . . . please be there . . . please be . . .
A grizzly bear and a small white fawn walked together. Soon, scores of brown and white fawns appeared beside them, followed them for a while, but then dispersed in different directions until all vanished, except for one brown fawn that turned into an old woman with two black stones around her neck and a Lakota vision pipe in her hand. A new white fawn then appeared beside the old woman, and the old woman placed her hand on its head. Then, along with the two black stones and pipe, the old woman vanished, leaving only the little white fawn, who then grew into a blacktail doe with its own little white fawn. But an instant later, the two black stones and pipe appeared around the little white fawn’s neck, and she immediately changed form.