Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (19 page)

Agnes pushed Elyoner’s smock up above her waist for a better view, positioned a bundle of the rags under her to absorb the blood and afterbirth when they came.

“Huuh! Huuh! Huuh! Aaahhhhh! Hellllp me!” Elyoner’s cold white hands squeezed Emily’s hand on her left and Jane’s on her right. “My God, hellllp me!”

Agnes shouted, “Breathe, Elyoner, breathe!”

“Huuh! Huuh! Huuh!”

“Now push!”

“Aaahhhhh! Going to die!” She spread her knees nearly flat to her sides, then up and back down again as if the motion would move the baby along its way.

“Breathe!”

“Huuh! Huuh! Huuh! Aaahhhhh! Make it come out!”

“I see the head . . . oh, dear Lord, ’tis a shoulder. The baby’s breech. Must find the head.”

“Huuh! Huuh! Huuh! Aaahhhhh!” Elyoner jerked her hands free from Emily and Jane, gripped her thighs, pulled herself up, flopped back, held her belly, tried to squeeze the baby out. “Aaahhhhh!”

Agnes shouted, “Don’t let her do that. Hold her still!”

“Huuh! Huuh! Huuh! Aaahhhhh!”

Emily and Jane grabbed Elyoner’s hands, pulled them back to her sides. Emily yelled, “Hold on, Ellie. Hold me tight. We’ll get you through.”

Agnes eased her fingers inside, gently slid them around, searching for the baby’s head. “Keep pushing, Elyoner! Breathe!”

“Aaahhhhh! Huuh! Huuh! Huuh! Aaahhhhh! Caaaan’t. Going to die!”

“Nay,” Emily shouted. “Keep breathing. Trust Agnes. Don’t quit!”

“Huuh! Huuh! Huuh! Aaahhhhh!”

The twenty-six men concealed themselves in the trees, about fifty yards from the village. Twenty-three Savages—men, women, and children—sat
around a large fire talking, occasionally laughing. As the sky began to lighten, the men watched Waters, waited for the signal to attack.

Agnes panted, “There it is. I’ve found it. Now, come around, little one, and—”

Jane shouted, “Agnes, she’s bleeding more. Hurry, dear!”

“Huuh! Huuh! Aaahhhhh! Please get it out!” Elyoner was pale as her smock, growing weak, her screams losing intensity; her head fell back on the bed. “I can’t do it.”

“You must!” Emily shouted. She leaned close to Elyoner’s ear. “Do it! Do it! Keep working, Ellie. Push!”

“Huuh! Huuh! Faint. Huuh! Going to faint. Aaahhhhh!”

Agnes said, “I’ve got it, getting it straight. Almost there.”

Waters raised his arm, thrust it toward the village. All but White let loose blood-chilling cries as they rose from their concealments, charged the village. The stunned Savages leaped to their feet; women and children screamed as their men herded them toward the water and the thin cover of the reeds that grew there. A soldier fired at a woman with a baby on her back, swore as the shot missed. “You fool!” Waters screamed, “Can’t you see that’s a woman?” He bumped the weapon of another soldier aiming at the same woman.

Another soldier stopped, raised his musket, fired at a man helping a child toward the shore. The bullet tore through the man’s middle, slapped him to the ground like a fallen tree; he jerked, writhed, gurgled, as blood filled his lungs.

Myllet shouted, “After them, men. Follow them into those reeds. Don’t let them escape.”

“There now. We’re straight. I’ve got the head. Push again! Jane, Emily, keep on her. Don’t let her leave us. Push, push.”

“Aaahhhhh!”

“Here it comes, Elyoner. ’Tis on the way out. One more. One more. Keep pushing! Almost there!”

“Aaahhhhh!” Elyoner lifted her head, looked forward between her legs, then fell back on the bed, closed her eyes, melted into limp exhaustion.

“Yes. Yes.” Agnes slid the baby out, cut its cord, held it upside down by its ankles. “Ah, a wee little lass, a pretty one, too. Look at that.” She gave her two rapid swats on the rump, turned her quickly upright when she began to cry, wrapped her in a cloth, and handed her to Emily. Smiling radiantly, Emily cradled her for a moment before handing her to Jane and then helping Agnes with the afterbirth.

One of the Savages stopped, faced the soldiers. “John White! John White!” he shouted in rough English. “John White!” He ran toward White. Three soldiers aimed their muskets at him.

“Hold fire!” Manteo screamed. “Hold fire! These are
my
people. We’ve attacked
my
people, not your enemies. John, stop them! Stop them!”

Chapter 7

A
llie opened her eyes, blinked twice, focused on the ceiling. Lying still, she listened to her mind, her memory, let them take her on a journey through the events of her dream. My God! I just saw a baby being born. I’ve never seen that before. Lots of calves and foals, but never a real person. She remembered she’d been on a basketball trip when her high school health class watched the birth video; it had been the talk of the class for several days. She winced as she saw Elyoner writhing in pain, screaming for help—desperation, hopelessness, fear, at once racking and contorting her usually serene face—the lady groping to find the baby’s head . . . a real live person being born . . . and I was there. But was it a real person? Why would I dream it, real or unreal? When was it . . . where was it? Good Lord, what’s happening to me? So real. Five dreams; same people, same story, goes on and on. The girl . . . Emily . . . she was there helping, first time for her too, scared . . . but she sure had a big smile when she held the baby. Allie smiled. Funny, but I felt her excitement and her awe.

Then, like an amorphous bad memory that suddenly congeals into consciousness, the attack on the Indians appeared in her mind; she felt the anxiety, the fear, the frenzy. They shot that man, shot him in the lungs; he was breathing his own blood, suffocating . . . what a way to die . . . is there a good way? They’re all gonna die, kill each other. Cruel, brutal people, all of them. But the leader didn’t want to do it; he was there another time, saw another massacre when . . . oh my God, when they raped that Indian woman, killed her kids, crushed her head. Her stomach instantly rose toward her throat. It was horrible, brutal. Unexpected tears rose in her eyes, ran down her cheeks. They raped her right there on the ground, with people
dying all around them. She blubbered through her tears. “This sucks! I don’t want to dream anymore.”

She closed her eyes. But Emily . . . I see her the most, like her a lot, feel close to her. But why? She searched the deepest recesses of her mind, wondered, probed, challenged her sense of reality. How can you feel close to someone in a dream, someone you don’t even know, have never seen before? Maybe even someone in another time. Could that be? No, you can’t do that . . . but I
do
. I think about her, feel her emotions deep inside me. Allie’s eyes blinked open; a sudden shadow of fear swept across her face as a tide of foreboding flooded her mind like a tsunami, sent a tremor rippling through her body. I’m afraid for her. Something bad’s going to happen. I know it. She noticed her hands had tightened into fists, relaxed them.

Gotta talk to someone, find out what’s going on. But who? Who’ll believe me? Maybe that guy I’m meeting today. What’s his name? Jackson, yeah, Doctor Jackson. Probably think I’m crazy. But maybe he can help. Gotta do
something
. . . maybe I
am
crazy.

She rolled out of bed and plucked at her damp t-shirt. Soaked, must’ve sweated all night. That’s another thing: it’s all so real, like I’m there and I feel whatever the person I’m dreaming about feels—their emotions, thoughts, pain. But especially with Emily. This can’t be. She turned on the shower, undressed. When she stepped into the shower, the cool water flowed over her shoulders, covered her body, instantly refreshing her. “Ooooooh, I could stand here all day.” When she closed her eyes, an image of Emily running through the forest with a fearful, panicked look on her face drifted slowly through her mind, sent a shiver, colder than the water, from her shoulders to her waist. What was that about?