Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (37 page)

Elyoner stared at Emily with misty eyes, shook her head. “My friend, my friend, my poor, dear friend. You must return to us.” She leaned forward, kissed Emily on the cheek. “Here, George. Hold her head up—right here, under the neck—while I unwrap the cloth.”

After George did as she asked, Elyoner gently unwrapped the bandage, winced, swallowed hard as she saw where the stone club had hit on the left side of Emily’s head and the physician had cut away enough hair to see and stitch the gash. “Well, ’tis still ugly but definitely better. I think she’s improving . . . at least the wound is. We won’t know how she is inside until she wakes . . . and she
will
wake. God will answer our prayers.”

Elyoner began to bathe the wound with a slow, feathery touch. It was a two-inch-long cut surrounded by a purple-black bruise that covered the entire side of her head and the left front of her face, all the way to her black left eye. Careful to do no more than caress with the wet cloth, Elyoner cleaned the dried blood away, rinsed the cloth, and repeated the process until the blood was gone. Then as a trace of new blood appeared, she held the cloth against the wound with a slight pressure until it stopped.

The men watched the process with twitchy, empathetic eyes, grateful that Elyoner, rather than they, was treating the wound.

When she had stopped the bleeding, Elyoner put a bit of tree moss on the wound, wrapped a new bandage around it, and nodded at George to ease her head back onto the pillow. “Good, George. Now hold her left arm up a bit . . . that’s good.” She unwrapped the cloth from Emily’s purple-black forearm. Elyoner shuddered at the horrific punishment the arm had taken, agreed with Physician Jones that there would likely be shattered bone beneath the bruises. “The arm’s improving, as well, though it still looks horrible . . . hurts me to look at it. She’ll be in pain for a good while, but it
will
heal . . . she has ferocious determination.” She cleaned the wounds, rewrapped the arm, and repeated the procedure on the right arm. “Much better here. She obviously took most of the blows with the left arm.”

When she had finished, she kissed Emily on the cheek, stood, stared down at her friend’s expressionless face. “I so miss your bright eyes and smile, Em. Please heal.” She caressed Emily’s cheek, dabbed the tears that had formed in her eyes, then faced the men. “Come, gentlemen, let us sit with her and pray.”

In a silent pall, the four sat glumly in a circle by the door, prayed privately for five minutes, then looked at one another in painful silence. With
a morose expression accented by a forced smile, Elyoner looked at Colman and George. “This
will
pass. She’s
going
to live. I
know
she is.”

After Elyoner put Virginia to bed, she returned to the Colman’s cottage, and the three took turns reading Bible passages. George had read three lines when, from the back of the cottage, a faint voice whispered, “May I have some water?”

George stopped; the four regarded one another with quizzical looks, their eyes wondering who had spoken.

Elyoner looked toward the back of the room, saw Emily’s tired blue eyes peering at her between the top of the sheet and her head bandage, instantly thought how she looked like a sick, helpless little girl in need of her mother’s love. “Emily!” She dashed to the bed, knelt beside her, crossed herself, caressed Emily’s cheek, kissed her, caressed her again. “Oh, Em. You’re here. Thank God!” Tears rolled down her cheeks faster than she could catch them with her sleeve. “Someone bring a cup of water.”

Emily looked back at her with exhausted, glassy eyes and a tepid smile, whispered softy and slowly, “Hello, Ellie.”

Colman knelt on her other side, fought his tears, touched her cheek, then kissed her.

“Father.” Tears filled Emily’s eyes.

Elyoner took the water from George. “Thomas, hold her up a little . . . gently now . . . too high, back down a bit. There.” She held the cup to Emily’s lips while she sipped. “Slowly, Em, slowly. Not too much.”

When she had finished, Emily noticed George standing behind Elyoner. Her face immediately filled with sadness, uncertainty, caution. “George . . . are you . . .”

He knelt beside her, eyes damp and red. “Emily . . . I’m here. I’m myself now . . . I . . .” He kissed her cheek, held the hand she’d raised to him. He leaned down to her ear, whispered, “Emily, I love you. Praise God, you’re alive.”

Emily answered with a faint new glimmer in her eyes and a soft smile, then looking at each of them in turn, whispered hoarsely, “Why am I like this? What happened to me? I remember nothing. Why do I hurt so?” She winced as she moved her left arm, then rubbed the back of her neck with her right hand.

The four looked at one another. Solemnly, Elyoner said, “You’ve been lying here on your back for eight days, Em, eight days unconscious.”

“Eight days? But . . . but why? What happened? I don’t remember anything.”

Again they glanced at one another, each pair of eyes begging another to tell the tale, none accepting the challenge.

Emily’s eyes suddenly widened with a spark of remembrance. “I
do
remember something . . . a dream . . . unlike any I’ve ever had before . . . a ship . . . a Viking ship, I think . . .”

A chill raced through Allie’s sleeping body like a cold gust of wind on a winter night.

“and some men talking . . . I felt their thoughts and feelings, understood their language . . . smelled the sea air . . . they were deciding something . . . something about freshwater seas . . . ’twas so strange. I’ve never given a thought to the Vikings in my entire life. I know they raided us for many years and left much of their blood in our veins, but . . . but why would I dream about them? Never had a dream like that before . . . and I remember everything.”

Elyoner said, “I don’t know, Em, but nothing would surprise me after your ordeal.”

Emily touched her bandaged head, looked at her wrapped forearms, moaned as she tried to move, then glared at her attendants. “God’s blessed mother! Will one of you tell me what happened!” Her cheeks reddened, she kicked her legs up and down like a child in a tantrum. “ Ow!”

“Emily Colman! You stop that right now!” Elyoner said. “You’ll hurt yourself, make things worse.”

George said, “I’ll tell you, Emily.” He sat down beside her, held her hand, took a deep breath. “You, Agnes Wood, Joyce Archard, and
Audrey Tappan were washing clothes. Three soldiers guarded you. Then Savages—the Roanokes, who killed my father—and another, different-looking Savage from some other tribe, surprised and killed the soldiers and Joyce Archard. They tried to take Audrey with them, but she resisted and they clubbed her . . . she died that night.”

“And Agnes?” Emily’s eyes were a wide, fearful blue.

“They took her.”

“Did you try to rescue her?” She looked at each man.

All three shook their heads. Elyoner’s hands covered her face.

Colman said, “It grieved us, Em, but we’d not the strength, the means, or the will to rescue her . . . and shame be upon us . . .” He sighed. “Her existence, if she has one, will be one of unspeakable horror.”

Emily’s eyes misted; she looked toward the wall. After a long, reflective pause she said slowly, “I remember him . . . the different-looking one! His face, its hateful look . . . he was the only one with hair . . . long hair on the left side . . . pulled back . . . three thin feathers. I shall never forget him.” Her breathing quickened as if she were again running for her life. “Wanted to kill me.” She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them; looked at her arms, touched her head; began to cry, slowly rocked her head back and forth, panted loudly. “He hit me . . . then must have decided to take me with him . . . his hands on my breasts . . . then picking me up . . .”

“Em, this pains you. Enough for now.”

She stopped, grabbed George’s sleeve, stared at him with sad, spent eyes. “Go on, George.”

He stared at her for a moment. “As you wish, Em. We heard a shot in the village. I seized my axe and ran toward the sound. Twenty men and soldiers were behind me; and when I saw you about a hundred yards away, the Savage was clubbing you like a berserk. You blunted his blows with your arms . . . mostly your left arm . . . again and again. I don’t know how you kept the club from your head.”

Emily’s eyes widened in terror. She pulled the sheet up to her nose, closed her eyes, sighed. “I remember.”

“Should I stop?”

“No! Tell me everything.”

“Truly, Em, you need not—”

“George, go on!”

“Very well. He suddenly stopped pounding you, reached down to lift you up . . . I think he wanted to take you with him like they took Agnes. Then two soldiers fired their muskets; I yelled and ran toward him; he looked, saw us, swung his club at you, hit your arms, then your head . . . you went limp.” George pressed his lips together, looked away, dabbed his eyes. “He raised his club to hit you again, crush your skull . . . like Father’s . . . but the soldiers shot again and he ran off.” He faced her. “Em, I thought you were dead . . . covered in blood and dirt . . . lying still as the earth, barely breathing. I screamed your name . . . cried . . . Lord God, how I cried . . . the thought of you dying before I could beg your forgiveness . . .” He touched her cheek.

She laid her hand over his. “George, if you hadn’t come, I’d . . .” She held his hand to her lips.

Elyoner said, “Let her rest. This is too much.”

As George slid his hand along her right cheek and stood, Emily reached under the sheet, assumed a frantic, panicked look. “Where’s my apron?”

George reached behind her, picked up her apron, and handed it to her. “I found it on the ground near where you fell.”

She snatched the apron from George, thrust her hand into the pocket, searched with her fingers. “ ’Tis not here. Where is it?”

“Where’s what, Em?”

“My locket! I want my locket! It was here in the pocket.” She grabbed his sleeve, pulled herself up.

“Em, I . . . I don’t know. We searched the area for anything that might have been dropped, but—”

“Mother!” A flicker of insanity flashed in her eyes. “I must find it! I’m going now!” She rolled to her side, braced herself to rise.

Elyoner held her down. “No, Em. Not now. You’re not strong enough. Tomorrow. Perchance I’ll take you tomorrow . . .
if
you’re ready.”

“No! I won’t wait! I want it now!” She tussled with Elyoner.

Colman held her right arm. “Emily! Stop this! You don’t need the locket. Your mother will join us soon, and we’ve scant time to search anyway.”

“
Scant time
? Why?”

Colman looked flatly at Elyoner then at Emily. “Because in a fortnight, we depart this wretched island for the Chesapeake country.”

“Then I’ll find my locket now.” She rolled off the bed onto her knees. “Ahhhh!”

“Emily Colman! Enough!” Elyoner said. “You can’t leap about like this.” All three eased her back onto the bed.

Like a little girl telling her mother about her skinned knee, Emily blubbered, “That hurt . . . bad.”

“The ribs,” Elyoner said with a mother’s scolding look. “Physician Jones said you may have cracked a few in the back; so by my troth, you stubborn, rebellious lass, lie still! You’ve only just awakened, and you’re not ready to walk. And you’re not going anywhere . . . yet. If the locket’s there today, ’twill be there tomorrow. So rest awhile, and then I’ll help you stand if you must. And perchance in a day or two, we’ll take some soldiers and go look for it.” She waved her index finger up and down at Emily. “We’ve an entire fortnight, so do as I say, girl!”

Emily closed her eyes, curved her lips into a pouty curl then looked up at Elyoner. “You act like my
mother
. I want my locket! I can walk
now
.”

“You
need
a mother, Emily Colman, and I’m her! You
cannot
walk yet, so lie still and behave yourself. You’re
such
a troublesome lass.” She thought how diminished, fragile, and frail Emily looked, thanked God she was alive, still spirited—nothing could take that from her.

Emily glared at Elyoner, snorted like a hungry swine. “Very well then. Tell me about departing for Chesapeake.”