Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (38 page)

The next day, Emily sat tenuously on a stool beside Elyoner, her bandaged left arm in a cloth sling. As Virginia sucked assiduously on her breast, Elyoner said, “Well, Em, the three of them, and the soldiers with them, searched the area again, found nothing. So perhaps in a day or two, you and I can get some soldiers and look again. It’s got to be there somewhere . . . but the way you ran . . . you covered a lot of ground, and
who knows? Emily, do you have the stomach to go back there . . . it was such a terrifying experience.”

The massacre squeezed its way back into Emily’s mind as it had routinely done since her awakening, made her shudder with renewed terror as every detail again unfolded before her: the dash for the forest; the Savage pursuing, pushing her to the ground, his knee on her stomach; gasping for air, his face. His face . . . never forget his face: curved nose, gaunt features, red and black paint, wild, malicious eyes. She again felt herself slung over his shoulder, his jog jarring the air from her lungs like a bellows. That’s it! That’s where it is. When I stabbed him, he threw me to the ground; it must have fallen from the apron pocket. “Ellie, I know where it is . . . if I can . . . if I can find where he dropped me.” A solitary tear tracked haltingly down each cheek as a shadow of fear crept across her face. “But you may be right, Ellie. Perchance I’m
not
yet ready to go back there. Perchance . . .”

Clutching Virginia with one arm, Elyoner stood, stepped over to Emily, gently pulled her head against her side, and caressed the back of her neck. “They say tears and time are the greatest healers, my friend, so let them flow. I cannot imagine how you feel, your memories, your terror. But I’m with you, and I’ll stay with you and help you. You
will
persist, dear Emily. You
will
.”

A few seconds later, Emily looked up with passive, mournful eyes, wondered how it could ever be so; then before the thought faded, resolved that it
would
be so, that she would
make
it so. “Ellie, thank you for being my friend. We
will
go to the place. We
will
find my locket.” She closed her eyes. Mother, I promise you I shall find it.

After Elyoner returned to her stool, she smiled at Emily. “ Em, I must tell you a story. The year Ananias and I were married, I was helping him dig post holes for a small fence we were building. My wedding ring was hurting my finger on the shovel handle, so I took it off and laid it on the ground near one of the holes. Well, that night after supper, I stuck my hand out to admire the ring as I frequently did in those days, and to my horror, it was gone. I couldn’t sleep that night, cried and worried that Ananias would notice, think the worst of me, that I didn’t love him and was declaring my independence. At first light, I rushed to the post and searched for the ring; and when I couldn’t find it on the ground, I concluded we’d buried it in the post pole. So
there I was on my hands and knees, digging and sifting dirt with my hands, when Ananias came outside and saw me.” She chuckled. “You can’t imagine how embarrassed and tongue-tied I was when he asked me what I was doing.”

Emily smiled. “Just trying to do a better job of setting the post, right?”

“That’s
exactly
what I told him; and to my utter surprise, he nodded and walked back inside, quite impressed by the diligence of his new bride. Anyway, I dug up and reburied that post three times—in secret, of course—before I gave up hope. Then I went inside and cried all day— fortunately, Ananias was away. So the next morning, I went back to the beloved post one more time and searched the ground around it; and by the saints of Christendom, there it sat on the ground exactly where I’d put it.” She held her hand out, looked at the ring, her smile broad, proud, and radiant, as if she were about to delve into a dish of plumb pudding. “And the moral is that one should never give up. Never! And that’s my story. And don’t
you
ever give up, Emily Colman.”

“I sha’n’t, Ellie. I’ll search until I find it.” After a pause, Emily flashed a more somber look. “Ellie, have you seen Hugh Tayler?”

Elyoner frowned instinctively at Tayler’s name then quickly recovered her smile. She still had misgivings about the man, felt an uneasy ripple in her heart when she saw him; but she’d noticed heartfelt concern in his eyes when he looked at Emily, prayed that her apprehension was misplaced, that he
was
as he appeared to be. “Have I seen him? My Lord, he was practically living here the whole time you were unconscious. Came by twice a day to see how you were doing, spent hours talking to your father, who’s quite impressed with him, by the way, and . . . oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t have known. Master Tayler was with the men who ran to the . . . to the site, helped George and two others carry you back, and I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he hears of your awakening.”

“Really?” Emily’s eyes brightened with the delight of a young girl receiving her first piece of jewelry.

“Aye. ’Tis true.”

Emily studied Elyoner’s face, noticed the shadow of misgiving that always appeared there at the mention of Hugh Tayler’s name. “You still don’t like him, do you, Ellie?”

Elyoner frowned again, this time through a weak smile. “Truly, Em, ’tis not that I don’t
like
him. ’Tis . . . ’tis just something I sense . . . and your age difference doesn’t help. But ’tis only me, I’m sure. He seems genuinely taken by you, and I’m being a dunce by scowling every time I hear his name. So please forgive me and think nothing of it.”

“You don’t need to ask forgiveness. I know you’re only thinking of my well-being, and one must respect one’s intuitions. And Ellie, please understand that though I’m attracted to Hugh and enjoy him, I’ve much more to learn about him before I could ever say I loved him, though I confess I
do
have strong feelings for him, even now.” She felt a twinge of guilt at understating the depth of her attraction, justified it by telling herself that Elyoner would be all the more concerned if she knew the full truth; but she respected Elyoner’s unspoken intuition, resolved to be cautious with Hugh. “So did Father tell you anything of his talks with Hugh? He’d never discuss such matters with me, other than to encourage the relationship.”

“Not a lot. Only that he retains considerable holdings in England and will someday receive a rather large inheritance, possibly including the family estate under certain circumstances. For sure,
if
he’s spoken the truth, he already is, or will be, a wealthy man.”

Emily wondered why Elyoner had questioned his honesty, stowed the thought in her subconscious for later consideration. “Interesting. I’ve never had such discussions with him; but regardless, my feelings are independent of any wealth the man has or may acquire in the future. When
I
fall in love and marry ’twill be for love of the
man
, not his money. I know some think those priorities are reversed, but I guess I’m just a simple, naïve young lass.”

“Emily, your priorities are exactly as they should be. The love of money leads nowhere. Only the true love of another person can sustain one through life’s challenges, though a little money certainly helps. Anyway, I’m just happy you’re alive and recovering well, and I’m anxious for the time—soon, I hope—when you can begin nursing Virginia. And speaking of Virginia, I must take her back to the cottage for a change of clothes and a nap. A nap would suit you, as well, my friend, keep you on the rapid mend.” As she rose to leave, someone tapped on the cottage door.

“Come in,” Emily said.

Hugh Tayler poked his head into the room. “Emily! I heard . . .” He rushed through the door, knelt beside her. Looking into her eyes, he shook his head slowly back and forth, seemed awed that she now sat alive before him. “Emily . . . I’m . . .” He started to put his hands on her shoulders, noticed the sling, then grasped her right hand with both of his, held it to his lips. “Emily, I’m so happy you’re alive. ’Twas unbearably painful seeing you unconscious, not knowing if you’d live or die. I . . .” His eyes glistened with a thin dampness; he thought how vulnerable and helpless she looked with all her bandages and her black eye, marveled that even in her helpless, wounded state, she remained striking beyond description, stirred his soul and emotions to their deepest depths.

“Hugh, I . . .” Familiar warmth surged through Emily’s body. She reached up, touched his cheek, began easing her head toward his, looked alternately at his eyes and lips; her heart and breath quickened.

Elyoner coughed. Hugh and Emily stopped, pulled back with knowing smiles.

Emily took a deep breath, mentally thanked Elyoner for rescuing her from another emotional lapse she might have regretted; admitted she was no longer confident of her ability to control herself with Hugh Tayler, knew she must avoid situations that could imperil her chastity—her mind flashed to her narrow escape with the young lad back in England. Even if she were truly in love, she could allow no compromise of her morals before they were married. Stupid girl, she thought, why are you thinking marriage? You haven’t even decided that you love the man . . . must ask Ellie again what she heard about him.

Elyoner said, “Master Tayler”—she couldn’t bring herself to call him
Hugh
—“I don’t wish to sound like a nagging mother, but I suppose that’s what I am. I was just telling Emily that she’s been up too long and needs to rest if she wants to continue mending. I’m sure you understand. Perhaps you could come back this evening, when Thomas is here, and have a lengthy conversation with my
young
friend.” She couldn’t resist expressing her disapproval of their age difference.

Emily showed a pouty look but was again relieved at Elyoner’s intervention, knew it would have been improper to be alone in the cottage with Hugh; she agreed her father’s presence would be a perfect, though
somewhat awkward, solution, one that would also allow her to assess the relationship between the two men. The last thing she needed was her father and Hugh striking a secret betrothal agreement; her presence with them would surely preclude such an occurrence.

Tayler rose, swallowed his disappointment. “An excellent idea, Mistress Dare.” He turned toward Emily. “With your permission, Emily, I’ll return this evening. Your father and I have actually become quite good friends, even talked about him nominating me to be an Assistant. So I shall enjoy the visit on two counts. Good day, ladies.” He bowed to both women then walked out the door.

Elyoner, instinctively unsettled by Tayler’s comment about the Assistants, stared at Emily without expression. “I’ll see you later this afternoon, my dear friend. I expect George will be by to visit you sometime today, as well. Em, I trust George completely; but on other matters, please take care . . . and I speak not of your health.”

Emily didn’t sleep. Rather, she lay on her back, relived the massacre, grieved for the dead; imagined Agnes being raped again and again, beaten, led about by a rope around her neck, treated as a slave, visualized herself there instead of Agnes; saw Audrey Tappan, Joyce Archard, and the three soldiers enshrouded, being lowered into their graves; thought how quickly the graveyard was filling, shuddered when she thought how close she’d come to being there herself. As her hand slipped into her empty apron pocket, she blinked at the fresh tears in her eyes, again promised her mother she’d find the locket. In a day or two, I’ll be strong enough, and Ellie and I will go there and find it. Yes, Mother, it
was
awful . . . but I didn’t have time to be afraid . . . even when I knew I was going to die. With a moan, she rolled to her right side, stared at the cottage wall, thought about all that had befallen them in so short a time, and again felt the wispy twinge of foreboding that had haunted her since their arrival.

No, Mother, I don’t know what I’m going to say to George. He told me he loves me again. I’m so torn, don’t want to hurt him; but in truth,
I don’t have a passionate love for him . . . yet someday . . . he’s such a good young man. And Hugh . . . he actually helped rescue me and . . . I like him, Mother . . . and my passions are rising, and I may be falling love with him, so I think I must guard myself carefully. But on the other hand, there’s so much happening in my life right now, there’s little time for daydreaming about love . . . daydreams, and Hugh, may have to wait until Chesapeake . . . Oh! Elyoner also told me Manteo was here to see me several times while I was unconscious, paddled his canoe all the way here from Croatan Island. A true friend he is, and I regret that I’ve seen so little of him. Yes, Mother, he’s shown me that Savages aren’t at all what we think they are—at least
he’s
not. I expected an ignorant, unfeeling, ferocious animal, like Savages are said to be; but I found him intelligent, witty, honest, and with feelings and values like any good Englishman. No, Mother, the one who nearly killed me was
not
like Manteo . . . but I think ’tis because his people have suffered at English hands, and they believe they’re fighting for their existence . . . the same as we would. As a man, he’s probably as noble as Manteo. She trembled, imagined his ferocious glare hovering above her, his club on its way to her head. With a painful moan, she rolled onto her back, closed her eyes. Anyway, Mother, we’ll soon be away from here . . . and I
shall
depart with my locket in hand. So pray for me to find it . . . and to find the words I shall say to George. I love you, Mother. Come to us soon.