Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (62 page)

“No, he did not.” She cringed at the lie but knew she dare not speak the truth . . . or could she?

“Then who?”

“I cannot tell you, Hugh. I’m sworn to silence.”

She’ll never tell, he thought. Don’t push it. “Emily, I’ve not the heart nor will to go against you, but it had to be Johnny Gibbes, for no one else bears me such ill will.”

She kept her silence, her flat look.

“So I shall tell you that he is indeed a liar and a thief, and I can prove it.”

Be careful, Em. “I care not, Hugh, for ’twas not Johnny, but if you—”

“I’ve written proof from the magistrate . . . proof that identifies him, and others, as deceitful blackguards. John White himself knows the truth though he’s loathe to admit it, for he dislikes me. Yes, he knows—from the lips of a benefactor of mine—and by King Henry’s soul, I shall force him to tell you the truth when he returns.”

She watched his eyes for any betrayal of falsehood, found none. More confused than ever, I am. Mother, help me. I was nearly in love with this man . . . I can’t discard him like old clothing based on what may be a lie . . . nor can I trust him. Must stand my guard and wait for the truth to reveal itself . . . as it will in time.

“Emily, my love for you has not diminished. It shall never diminish. You are the love of my life, and I shall patiently await your learning
of the truth . . . and learn it you will. And when you’re ready, I should dearly love to walk with you in the forest . . . perhaps take a small meal with us . . . talk of pleasant things . . . and as you said, again share our hearts . . . as we did at Roanoke.”

A gust of caution swept her mind, then a wave of compassion; she smiled faintly. I can ill learn the truth by avoiding him, must gauge him directly. “We’ve little time for such pleasures these days, Hugh, but if chance permits, let us speak of it again.” She glanced behind him. “Master Cooper and Master Prat approach. Please be patient with me, Hugh. I need more time to—”

“Hello, Mistress Colman,” Christopher Cooper said. “Master Tayler.” He shot a rancorous glance at Tayler.

Prat said, “Good day, Mistress Colman. Are you ready to proceed to the village?”

“Aye, I am.” She glanced at Tayler. “We shall speak again, Master Tayler.”

Tayler returned Cooper’s glare with one of his own then nodded at Emily. “Indeed we shall, Mistress Colman. Good day to you.”

Emily sat by a meandering stream, stared at her image in a small eddy by the bank. Well, Mistress Colman, you’ve still got black hair and blue eyes, but that’s all that hasn’t changed with you. You’re certainly no longer the carefree young lass who arrived from England a few months ago. She looked up, surveyed the forest around her, mentally cataloguing the different types of trees. Some of you are changing colors. You’ll soon look like a rainbow . . . red, orange, yellow . . . still some green . . . in only a fortnight or so. She closed her eyes, inhaled a deep breath of cool air. How wonderful it feels after breathing water like a fish these last months. She took another deep breath, opened her eyes, fixed them on a small clump of purple flowers with six wide, pointy pedals, a yellow core, and a short, reddish runner in the middle. “Aren’t you a pretty sight . . . and just why might you be still in bloom in this late season? I’m glad you are though, for you brighten my day and my life. I shall visit you as often as I can . . . until the snow hides your
pretty faces. Would that—” A branch cracked behind her; she spun about. “Ellie, you startled me.”

“Sorry, Em. I should have announced myself.”

“Babies still asleep?”

“Aye, but we’d better check them soon. They’ll be awake and hungry.” She frowned. “Henry’s a bit colicky today. Pray it passes quickly.” She replaced the frown with a broad smile. “And Mistress Colman, I’m amazed at how quickly your milk’s come in. A boon to me, you are.” She looked around the small clearing. “You’ve chosen quite a lovely spot for your thoughts. I should not intrude on you here.”

“Nay, Ellie. I’m always eager for your company. Sit . . . share the peace of it with me. I was talking to that clump of lovely flowers over there . . . look like crocuses, they do, but rather late for such.”

She sat beside Emily. “I would agree. And how clean and refreshing everything is since the weather’s cooled . . . much fresher than England . . . and how does the skirt fit?”

“A bit long but well otherwise. We should hem it after we nurse.” She smiled. “My feet get tangled up every time I turn about quickly . . . nearly spilled me on the ground a time or two. But thank you again for the gift of it. ’Twas quite foolish of me to pack so many clothes on the shallop instead of sending them with you.”

“Well, you didn’t know the shallop was going to sink. I have other things you can have, as well.”

“Many thanks, Ellie. Actually, I suppose we’ll all be wearing Savage clothing by spring unless your father returns before then.”

“You’re probably right . . . and I do not think we dare expect him before then. Not many captains and seamen are willing to venture across the Atlantic in winter. So I think we’re on our own for a good while . . . by the bye, you seem to enjoy your translating with the Chesapeakes.”

Emily smiled again. “You know how I love languages. They’ve taught me many new hand signs and quite a few words; I made friends with some of them, as well, and learned much about how they live.
And
”—she smiled— “ ’tis delightful having two English
men
anxiously awaiting my every word, for the Savages told me all their secrets of hunting, fishing, preserving,
fleshing, and tanning hides. Of course, the women do the dressing and preserving, as we will; but, Ellie, I must tell you ’tis exciting learning it all . . . a completely different way of life . . . admittedly primitive by our standards but undoubtedly similar to how we lived in ancient times. Nonetheless, I wager many will abhor lowering themselves to such ways; but truly, we’ve no other choice if we’re to survive . . . and that’s why ’tis so thrilling to
me
, for I now know I can exist in this land . . . without English wares and civilization . . . and”—she assumed a guilty look—“I think I’ll actually quite enjoy doing so. I shall tell you about all of it in time, but”—her eyes glistened with excitement as her hands moved in continuous motion with her lips—“ the most clever thing I saw was their fishing weirs. They make a fence of sticks stuck into the bottom of the bay and draped with nets made of wild hemp and deer sinew, that runs from the shore out into the water nearly a hundred yards and into the top of a heart-shaped enclosure with an opening in it. The fish then swim along the fence, trying to find the end of it to swim around it; but since the end is inside the heart-shaped enclosure, they swim into the enclosure and can’t get back out because more fish are always swimming in and blocking them. So they swim toward the bottom, pointy part of the heart, but it opens into yet another heart-shaped enclosure, and that into a big, square one with no outlet, where all the fish remain trapped until the fisherman comes with a net, scoops them out, and takes them ashore to be cooked, dried, or smoked. And . . .”

Elyoner’s eyes were wide as shillings, vacant as an empty glass of water, her jaw agape.

Emily pointed at her, snorted, then giggled girlishly, covering her mouth with her hand. “God o’ mercy, Ellie. You should see your face. You look ready to faint . . . I’m so sorry. I’ve rambled on like an old crone with nothing better to do . . . bored you to oblivion, I have.”

Elyoner shook her head. “Zounds, Em! You are truly taken by your experiences . . . I hope I can match your enthusiasm, for I fear you’re right. Their ways will soon become ours . . . and will remain so for considerable time to come.”

“ ’Tis true, and I’ve no doubt you’ll do it well, Ellie.” She glanced up at the sun. “And shouldn’t we be returning to the babies?”

“Aye. Let’s fill the water bags and be on our way.”

They stood, filled two deer-stomach water bags each, started toward the village. After a few steps, a dark cloud of anxiety drifted over Emily’s face. “Ellie, I must talk to you about something.”

Elyoner looked at her expectantly.

“I told Hugh everything Johnny Gibbes told me though I denied it was from Johnny’s mouth. I hated lying, but I couldn’t put Johnny at risk. And, Ellie, I’m more confused now than ever. He denied everything . . . again declared his love for me, and I know at least that part ’tis true, and he then told me he has written proof Johnny’s a liar and a thief.”

Elyoner stopped, faced Emily. “Em . . .”

“He also told me your father knows the truth but won’t admit it because he doesn’t like him . . . says a benefactor of his told your father the truth . . . perchance ’twas the high official who made him bring Hugh on the voyage . . . and, Ellie, I don’t know what to do. But I
do
know I’ll never know the truth unless I give it a chance to reveal itself . . . and to do that, I must be with Hugh.”

“Emily, the one who told Father to bring Tayler on the voyage was none other than Lord Walsingham himself, the Queen’s favorite . . . and rumored to be Raleigh’s ardent enemy. . . and no friend of this colony. ’Tis said he tried to turn Her Majesty against Raleigh, and Father thinks he insisted Hugh Tayler be on the voyage so he’d have a spy among us. You see, Hugh’s father was close friends with Walsingham, and Walsingham owed him a debt for some service he’d performed before he died. Hugh called in the debt to extricate himself from whatever shadowy trouble he was in shortly before we departed England. But Father mentioned nothing of Walsingham being associated with Johnny Gibbes, or his family, though he did confide that Walsingham admitted Tayler had an ignominious past then told Father to disregard it and give him a fair chance. And for Father’s part, he never heard of Hugh Tayler before someone—possibly Raleigh—warned him to beware of the man.”

Emily and Elyoner were nearly to Elyoner’s cottage when a man’s voice behind them said, “Emily.”

Emily stopped, spun about in a single motion; her too-long skirt wrapped around her feet, sprawled her on the ground. “Oh!” Lying on her stomach in a puddle of water, she saw a pair of wet moccasins inches in front of her. She awkwardly pushed her torso up on her elbows and forearms like an infant in a crib, rolled slightly onto her left side; gazed up tan, muscular legs, past a deerskin loincloth and a sturdy chest, to a wry smile and a pair of dark eyes that peered amusedly down at her; the eyes and smile were strikingly framed by a full head of black, waist-length hair with five large, black-and-white eagle feathers arranged like a fan, extending to the right from behind the head. Dearest Lord. ’Tis him . . . his eyes.

Elyoner helped her to her feet. Heart’s pounding . . . he’ll hear it. Lord, help me! She stared into his eyes, felt herself unraveling, melting, hypnotized like a snake’s prey. My soul’s bare . . . can’t move. What’s wrong with me? She rubbed her wet hands on her skirt. “I . . . I . . .”

His eyes sparkled; his wry smile bloomed into a full one. He pointed at her and said, “Emily,” touched himself on the chest, said, “Eee-shnah.” He made the hand sign for
people
, said, “Lakota.” He then pointed to the north and made the
far away
sign. Emily watched his hands as he quickened his movements, nodded her head with each sign, but shook it and motioned him to repeat when she didn’t understand.

“Isna will stay with the Chesapeakes for the winter and return to his people in the spring, near the birthplace of the Mother-of-All-Rivers. His land is by big seas like that”—he pointed east toward the ocean—“ but the water can be drunk. And from here, it is
this
many suns’ journey”—he flashed all ten fingers five times—“ first by foot, then down a large river to the Mother-of-All-Rivers, and then up to her birthplace.” He stopped for a moment, looked into her eyes. “ Isna heard of the sinking of Emily’s people’s canoes in the storm . . . and of her friend’s courage. It is a great honor to die for one’s people. Such bravery must be remembered.”

Emily’s eyes misted; she bit her lower lip.

“Isna will visit Emily again.” He smiled his wry smile, turned, walked away.

Emily stood silent, motionless, stunned; heart racing, panting, head flushed with feverish confusion; watched him walk toward the Chesapeake village. Body’s aflame, tingling, clammy, legs like butter, can’t think, can’t move, can’t do anything! She shivered. How can he do this to me?