Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (65 page)

Their intense, deliberate eyes held on one another’s. Emily wondered, how can he beguile me so? “Lakota words are lovely . . . they sing like the birds.”

“Isna will teach Emily more. Her pronunciation is very good, and she will soon speak like a Lakota.”

A sudden, childlike delight sparkled in her eyes, flowed to his like a soft, gentle breeze. “Emily would like that. Will Isna teach her often?”

“He will . . . but Emily will also teach Isna more of her words, to add to those Manteo taught him.”

She gave him a slight tilt of her head and the beginnings of a smile. “What did Manteo teach Isna?”

He signed, “Emily has two names. Her second is”—he said, “Col-man.”

Emily said, “Yes.”

“Emily’s friend is”—he said, “El-a-nor.”

“Yes.”

“Elyoner’s man is”—he said, “Ann-na-nigh-as.” He studied her, thought, her heart and soul glow in her eyes without fear. She warms my heart.

“Yes, Isna.” Her eyes remained on his; she trembled, felt a pulsing warmth flow through her body, her mind.

He slowly extended his hand as if to shake hers but raised it toward her cheek, hesitated, asked with his eyes if he could touch her.

She nodded slowly, willfully.

He gently laid his fingers against her cheek, held them there, gazed into her eyes.

Her heart raced; her breathing quivered. Unable to move her eyes or lips, she laid her hand over his, closed her eyes. My heart . . . my soul . . . spinning.

He held his touch and gaze for a long moment then slowly withdrew his hand and spoke measuredly, “Emily lifts Isna’s heart like an eagle in the sky. He will see her again soon.”

Emily whispered slowly, lingeringly, “Yes.” Dizzy, going to faint. My heart, my heart. Is this what love is like? Am I falling in love . . . no . . . I’m
already
in love. But how . . . how can . . .

Emily’s complexion was three shades livid, her eyes tight and focused, her hands alive, abrupt, angry. “Father, how dare you betroth me without my agreement! Fie upon thee! By the saints, you’ve no right to do so . . . ’tis ardently against my will. I’m not a swine or a goat waiting to be paired for breeding. How dare you?” She picked up a pewter pot from the table, flung it across the room into the fire, sending a cloud of sparks and smoke into the air, compelling her to look at the smoke hole to be sure she hadn’t started a fire. She pushed the table onto its side, walked to the wall where her shawl hung, snatched it, flitted toward the door.

“Emily! Please. Calm yourself. You’ll burn us down.”

“I don’t care. How could you betray me so? Tell me, Father!”

Colman coughed three times, then once more, clearly for sympathy. “Emily, I sought only to protect you. Our lives are fragile . . . and I have this worsening cough . . . I don’t know what will befall me . . . I wanted only to ensure your protection.”

A twinge of compassion flirted with her heart. He’s indeed growing more ill . . . ’tis now a deep, vicious cough. “ Elyoner and Ananias will protect me if anything happens to you . . . but you’ll soon recover, so that’s no excuse for treating your daughter like a piece of livestock, and I sha’n’t abide it!”

“But, Emily, do you not care for Hugh?”

“No. I do not.”

He looked confused, off balance. “This is sudden. Why not? You seemed quite taken by him.”

“There are things . . . things you don’t know . . . about his character . . . other things, as well. But even if I
did
love him, betrothing me without first
asking
me
would remain a grievous transgression I would never accept.
I
shall choose my husband . . . not you or anyone else . . . and that’s the end of it. So you can go back to Hugh Tayler and tell him—”

He shook his head; despair, frustration wrinkled his face like a raisin. “Emily, my dear . . . there are necessities that outweigh love . . . marriage will provide security for you . . . Hugh loves you deeply . . . he’ll protect you, care for your every need.”

“No! I refuse. I shall kill myself . . . or go live with Elyoner . . . or Emme . . . or the Chesapeakes. I’ll simply not accept it.”

“Emily, don’t say such things.” He coughed again. “I’m loathe to say it, but arranged marriages remain quite legal and binding under English law, and—”

“Try it, Father! I dare you!” She opened the door.

“Emily, please. Hear me. Consider the benefits.”

She looked back at him, said, “Goodbye, Father,” walked out the door.

“Emily. Come back. Don’t begrudge Hugh. He came to me openly and honestly . . . as a gentlemen
should
. Emily!”

Emily walked briskly toward the edge of the village and her special place beyond. I’m too enraged to think. She kicked at the ground as she walked. As she passed Elyoner’s cottage, Elyoner walked outside.

“Emily. What ails you, lass? You look furious.”

“I am!” She held her forward gaze, crossed her arms, and stomped into the forest as if she were walking through foot-deep snow.

When she reached her special place, Emily sat by the stream, stared at the water swirling in a lazy eddy beside her. Her blue shawl covered her shoulders, and she wrapped her chilly hands in the long ends that hung across her chest to her waist. I was too harsh . . . unkind. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Father cares only for my safety and well-being, and I should not treat him so. His cough is truly worsening. Please, Lord, let it leave him. Still . . . I cannot abide what he did, and I cannot . . . will not . . . marry Hugh Tayler . . . even if what Johnny’s told me is untrue, which I know ’tis
not
. Oh, Mother, help me. Help me know what to do. Yes, Mother, I’m finished with Hugh Tayler . . . yes, Isna
is
a Savage, but . . . no! He’s a Savage
only
because that’s what we in our ignorance have chosen to call people we
judge less civilized than ourselves. In truth, he’s a Lakota warrior . . . a brave man . . . with values, gentleness, honor, dignity . . . more genuine than most English gentlemen I’ve met . . . and being with him excites me like nothing I’ve ever known.

She stared at the center of the stream. I must apologize to Father . . . but I shall hold my position. She looked up, surveyed the orange, red, yellow, and green leaves around her; listened to the soft whisper of the stream; heard three different bird songs, the screech of a hawk, the gentle breath of the light breeze rustling the treetops; savored the refreshing chill in the air that invigorated her with every breath. How beautiful you are today, my world. How free from my tribulations. My Lord, I see your face in all around me. What better way to know you and worship you than to admire and delight in the beauty you’ve provided. I wish I could know your mind, for you know what is to become of me . . . of us . . . whether we’ll be alive a year from now . . . how I shall resolve my trials . . . whether I shall know happiness or sadness in the days ahead. Please let me choose my actions in a way that pleases you. And let me know how to govern my feelings, my emotions . . . yes, my passions . . . with Isna. I don’t know how to proceed with him, for in spite of my feelings, he
is
a Lakota, and he
will
return to his people. And I am English and must be with
my
people, my family. So I fear that giving my heart, which I cannot control, can lead only to my deep sorrow at his parting . . . but so be it, for I cannot be without him if he is near . . . I shall simply bear the pain of his one day vanishing from my life. As for now, I shall enjoy my time with him to the fullest.

She drew her gaze back to the eddy, smiled at herself. Seems to be a rather boastful sort . . . but perchance ’tis a
warrior
trait rather than a personal flaw. No matter . . . I warm at his presence. So let yourself be free, Emily Colman. Dream of him now; let your mind imagine what it will.

She closed her eyes. Isna and I are here by the stream . . . talking with signs and words. He looks into my eyes and . . . she shook her head. “Don’t be a twit, Emily Colman! Do something useful.” Practice your Lakota words. Yes. Practice.

“Man . . . wee-chah-shah.

Woman . . . ween-yahn.

Father . . . ah-tay.

Mother . . . ee-nah.

White men . . . wah-see-chew.

Friend . . . tee-blow.

Water . . . m-nee.

Yes . . . hahn.

Sky . . .” She sensed a stiff, new silence around her. Birds stopped singing . . . like at the massacre. Her body tensed; her neck tingled with a sudden chill; she studied the forest for movement, clutched her knife, listened, waited. After half a minute, she looked back at the water. Seconds later, Isna’s reflection appeared beside hers.

“Oh!” She sprang to her feet, faced him. Something different about him, she thought.

His hair was parted on the right side of his head and hung freely to his waist on that side and behind; while to the left, it was clasped at shoulder height by a four-inch-wide strip of leather which gave it a neat, formal look. In spite of the early fall chill, he remained clad in only a buckskin loincloth and moccasins. But what caught her attention was his eagle-bone choker made of five separate necklaces stacked on top of one another, each a ring of end-to-end, tubular, white eagle bones an eighth-inch thick and two inches long, arranged with the bones of each necklace in perfect alignment with those of the adjoining necklace, so they could be tied together at the ends of each bone with vertical strips of sinew to form the choker.

Emily’s pulse quickened. Want to touch him, hold him . . . Em! Control yourself! Trembling, she stood straight and formal, looked into his eyes, whispered, “Isna,” then signed, “Isna scared Emily . . . she was visiting Mother Earth again.”

He smiled, reached out, held her hands, studied the intricacies and graceful lines of her face as he thought, her eyes shame the sky . . . their brightness outshines the moon and the sun. “Emily.” His face grew suddenly grave as he signed, “There are many dangers in this forest.”

“Yes, but Isna will protect Emily.”

“Isna is not always here.”

“But every person needs a place to be alone . . . to think.”

“Perhaps there is a place closer to Emily’s village where she can think alone. And perhaps she will come here only with Isna or some other protector.”

“Emily will think on Isna’s words.” Starting to talk like him.

He nodded, guided her to the grass, where they searched each other’s eyes until his hands spoke. “Does Emily mourn her friend who died saving her?”

Sudden tears appeared in her eyes; her voice quivered. “Hahn.”

“Isna is sorry he upset Emily,” he signed, “but . . . why does Emily not slice her arms with her knife for this friend?”

She looked confused for a moment then said, “Emily does not understand . . . hee-ya okah-nee-zhay.”

“Lakota women slash their arms and legs, cut off their hair, and wail when in mourning. Do white women not do this?”

Emily’s lips parted; her eyes looked like big, white bird eggs with a small dot of blue in the middle. She shook her head, said, “No . . . hee-ya.” She dabbed her eyes with her shawl, signed, “White women weep and moan . . . and Emily weeps for her friend . . . and her heart aches for him . . . but she loved him as a friend . . . not as a . . .”

He nodded. “ Isna understands.”

She signed, “Emily knows he is now at peace with”—she said, “God.”

“Who is this person?”

How can I explain this? I know no sign for God. She raised her right index finger, assumed a thoughtful look, then smiled. “God.” She spread her arms wide and looked at the sky.

He signed, “Sky.”

She shook her head, said, “Hee-ya,” and signed, “higher than the sky . . . everywhere.”

He smiled, nodded, said, “Wakan Tanka.” He lowered his forehead slightly toward her, assumed a serious demeanor, signed for her to watch carefully, then moved his hands slowly so she could follow. “There are three types of peace. The
first
peace—the greatest peace—enters men’s souls when they escape the things of this world and look
within
to become one with the great powers of the universe. And when this happens, they see that
Wakan Tanka is at the center of all, that there are no limits to his presence, and that he lives within each man’s soul and everywhere in the universe. There is no greater peace than this first peace, and the other two are but images of it—like seeing one’s face in the water—for this first, great peace must exist before the second and third can come to be. The second peace is the peace between people who know the first peace, and the third is between nations who know the first peace. So Emily will see that the first peace must live in each man’s soul before it can grow to peace between people and nations.”

Tears glistened in Emily’s eyes. “Isna, this is beautiful. Emily thinks Wakan Tanka and”—she said, “God”—“are the same. And her people believe as the Lakota do . . . but Emily has never heard it explained so well, so clearly.” She smiled, nodded quickly several times. “Strangely, Christians have been taught that the people who live in this land do not believe in God, have no honor, no values, kill each other at will.”

Isna smiled. “It is true that the third peace, the peace between nations, is often not attained by the Lakota or their enemies. But still, the Lakota believe in the harmony of all things in the universe because Wakan Tanka lives within each of these things—the forests, each piece of grass, rocks, waters, hills, sky, moon, sun, the two-legged and four-legged and winged peoples. And because of Wakan Tanka’s presence, all of these things have spirits and life . . . yet Wakan Tanka is also
over
all these things, and has allowed man alone to be the determiner . . . and sometimes man determines poorly.”