Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (122 page)

Elyoner looked stunned, stood, rushed to Emme’s side, knelt beside her, hugged her as both began to cry. “Oh, Emme, you’re with child!”

Emme blubbered, “Yes, but . . . but now there will be no one to . . . to help me raise it . . . no father . . . no . . .”

Emily’s eyes filled with tears. “Emme! ’Tis not so. Ellie and I will help you.” She flung Virginia over her shoulder like a bag of salt, stepped quickly to Emme and Elyoner, and caressed Emme’s hair and neck with her free
hand. “Please, Emme, have faith. I’m
so
happy for you.” She felt a pang of sadness in her heart, a brief twinge of jealousy. Shame upon you for such a thought, Emily Colman. “We’ll help you, Emme . . . Ellie and I, your baby’s two Virginia aunts. I promise you.”

They hadn’t planned it that way, but Waters, Baylye, and Ananias stood in front of the other loyalists, faced Sampson and Stevens, who stood alone. Waters said, “I don’t give a damn if you were hungry. We’re all desperately hungry, but what you did was against Governor Baylye’s explicit orders to not take food from the Chesapeakes. My God, are you daft? Without their help, our situation is hopeless. How the hell could you think stealing food from them would help
anything
, beyond filling your own selfish guts for a while? Fie on you! You’ve now alienated the Chesapeakes to where they won’t share even a collop with us.”

Sampson said meekly, “ ’Twasn’t us, Waters.”

Baylye shook his head. “You lie, Sampson! Even Gramme and Dutton named you two as the instigators when they were under the lash. We’ve no time for such treachery and foolishness.”

Stevens snapped, “Go to hell, Baylye. You can’t prove a thing.”

Waters stepped to within a few inches of Stevens, snarled, “We don’t need to; and if you fail to grasp my meaning, ask your leader.”

Stevens and Sampson eyed one another uneasily, looked back at Waters.

Waters glared at them then abruptly walked to the door, opened it. “Bring them in, Sergeant.”

Smith and fourteen other soldiers squeezed into the tiny room. Stale smoke and body heat fouled the air, bedecked each forehead with beads of sweat. Waters wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Leave that door open, so we don’t suffocate.” He took a deep breath, looked sternly at Gramme, Dutton, and two other soldiers, then scowled at Stevens and Sampson. “You four men in uniform . . . and you, Stevens and Sampson—and your cohorts who are not here—are known conspirators against this colony.” He paused for a ripple of underbreath murmurs. “And conspiracy against the colony
is conspiracy against the
Queen
”—his eyes contracted to tiny, dark dots— “and conspiracy against the Queen, for soldiers, is
mutiny
. And both conspiracy and mutiny are treason.
Treason
, men! A high crime punishable by death. Did Tayler explain
that
to you?” He again paused to exploit the heavy, tense silence that enveloped the room. “Whether he did or not, I will now tell you Hugh Tayler is a dead man—either by the Powhatans’ hands, mine, or the executioner’s.” He placed his hand on his sword. “His actions from here on will determine which it will be. But no matter who delivers the blow, Tayler’s dead, and all of you conspirators must understand how this affects you. So listen well. You shall not have another chance at reprieve.”

Sampson and Stevens glanced at each other more uneasily than before. Several soldiers did the same, shuffled their feet, wiped sweat from their brows.

After glaring briefly at each man in turn, Waters said, “We’re slowly starving to death; and if the hunting and fishing do not improve with spring, we will all die a slow death together. But we will all die
faster
if the Powhatans attack us soon . . . as I believe they will. And that death will be faster
still
if you and the other conspirators persist in foolish noncooperation.” He paused, smiled with facetious concern. “Now you men are probably wondering about Walsingham’s rescue ship . . . where it is . . . why ’tis not here.” He surveyed their tight, strained faces, saw he’d touched a tender spot. “Quite overdue, is it not?” Another pause. “In truth, I myself harbor
doubt
that John White will return in time to save us from the Powhatans, but I am
absolutely certain
Walsingham’s imaginary ship will
never
arrive. He’s far too clever to risk
his
position and life by openly challenging the Queen when he can accomplish his goal by risking
yours
.” More silence. “So where does that leave us?”

No one spoke; all stared anxiously at Waters.

“It leaves us where we were a moment ago—awaiting an imminent Powhatan attack, by a vastly superior force, against our
inferior
force of
insufficiently trained
defenders, with serious gaps in their palisades, and scarcely enough firepower to survive a night. Now consider
this
for a moment: what will you be thinking when hordes of screaming, painted Savages swarm through the palisades bent on killing you and your women and children?”
He again eyed the conspirators. “What will you do? Will you stand by and watch the slaughter . . . and then explain to the Powhatans you’re on their side . . . that the whole idea of a colony was a bad one . . . that you’ll leave as soon as your rescue ship arrives . . . and that no other Englishmen will come here? Is that what you’ll do? And do you think they’ll believe you? Or even understand you?” Silence. “I think not.” More silence. “But if we all fight together, then perchance—just perchance—we might hold out until John White actually
does
return.” He paused, shrugged his shoulders. “But if he does
not
return”—he smiled—“ then we shall all wing our way to heaven or hell in good military formation.”

Nervous laughter rippled through the room.

“So, to each soldier who has violated his oath and conspired to mutiny, I promise a pardon . . .
if
you fight with us . . . and
if
we survive . . . and
if
you remain loyal. I also promise immediate
death
to any who
refuse
to fight when the time comes.”

Baylye stepped forward, cleared his throat. “I have been silent today. Lieutenant Waters has spoken well, but I now promise the same to any civilian conspirators.”

Waters nodded. “What say you, men?”

Sampson and Stevens glanced at one another, their comrades, then Waters, nodded grudgingly. Sampson said, “ ’Twould appear we are now with you, Lieutenant.”

Waters nodded. “Good. And I now expect you to confer with your cohorts who are
not
here, and relay
their
decisions to me.”

Both nodded.

Waters then eyed each soldier in turn. “And you?”

“Aye, sir.”

“And you?”

“Aye, sir.”

After every man had pledged to fight, Waters again nodded, took a deep breath, smiled. “So now you’re all probably wondering how in Dante’s hell we’re going to do this, eh?”

Nervous laughter.

Waters looked at Smith. “Sergeant Smith, your turn.”

While the Dares slept, Emily probed the reassuring depths of the fire. She tensed as a spark crackled, rose toward the thatch roof. She started to stand, take a swipe at it with the damp rag the Dares used to swat rising sparks, but it died a foot above the fire. So she sat back on her stump, resumed her reflective stare into the coals. You always enchant me, she thought . . . conjure my deepest thoughts to the forefront of my mind. So now, my dear spirit of fire, help me weigh and deliberate the choices before me . . . heighten my feelings, my emotions, my senses . . . and yes, my reason . . . so all may battle to govern my mind. She then stared expectantly at the gracefully swaying flames, waited for them to obey her command, fill her mind with persuasions of decision.

Minutes later, she smiled as if a bright candle had been suddenly lit within her. Since the moment I met him—though I did not know it—I’ve wanted nothing but to be forever with Isna. But if he stays here, he and his men will perish with me, and
that
I cannot allow. And even if the unlikely occurs, and John White returns in time to thwart the Powhatan attack, I cannot ask Isna to become a white man. ’Twould kill him, and he would still face the dilemma of leading his men home. So what would be accomplished? Nothing! Therefore, I cannot let him stay under any circumstance.

On the other side, if I go with Isna and the Lakota, we might
all
reach Lakota land and survive. I love the Lakota way of life, its spirituality, its respect for all things; but . . . but ’twould be so different from
my
life, from
English
life. I’d become a . . . I hate the word . . . a Savage: no potpies, no Christmas pudding, no Christmas at all, no house, no bed, no pots and pans, no beer, no privy, no books, no church—all so different. But strangely . . . so very strangely . . . none of this concerns me compared to being with Isna. So I
can
go with him; I
want
to go with him; for above all, I love him to the depths of my soul and will do anything to be with him. His soul is one with mine.

She broke a branch in two, threw it on the fire. But truly, how can I desert the colony in time of great danger and need . . . my friends, my mother and brother . . . Father? She again visualized her mother and brother
crying over her father’s grave, begging God to help them find her, discover her fate.

But what if Mother and Brother never come . . . or if
no
other Englishmen come? What then? And is not leaving with Isna much like escaping a sinking vessel, where the lucky ones find something to float on . . . and others do not; and some survive, and others do not? But what of George, who could have saved himself but instead did as Christ instructs . . . laid down his life for others . . .
no greater love hath any man
.

She closed her eyes, thought of her visit to her father’s grave the day before. She’d explained everything that had happened since his death: John White’s failure to return, the colony’s imminent demise, her deep love for Isna, her conviction that going with him was the only way to preclude his sacrificing himself and his men in a futile fight, and her desire to someday return to find her mother and brother. She’d then asked him for his guidance and blessing on whichever path she ultimately chose.

She laid another log on the fire, again studied its pulsing blue heart, saw Isna’s face within. So afraid to be without you. But I cannot let you die here; yet, how can I abandon my people in time of need? Dear Lord, what must Emily Colman do? She thought of the Lakota circle of life, thought of Isna explaining Lakota virtues to her, then smiled. Emily Colman must
forever
be with Isna . . . but does
forever
end
here
, when the Powhatans attack . . . or does it last a lifetime . . .
somewhere else
?

Emily and Isna wore strained, anxious looks as they walked toward Emily’s special place; neither spoke. As they crossed one of the clearings short of their destination, Emily glanced upward, immediately smiled at the sight above her. What a sky. . . beautiful, fluffy little clouds drifting in perfect formation across that little sea of blue . . . like cattail blooms, they are . . . floating on a lazy stream . . . like that first morning at Roanoke when George and I walked down the path to the sound to retrieve luggage from the ship. Her smile broadened. How excited I was to be in the New World . . . finally free of that miserable ship . . . such innocence . . . such
ignorance of the trials to come. But in spite of all that’s happened since,
that
day was packed as tight as our ship’s hold with discovery and excitement. Her smile slowly dimmed like a spent candle that fades, flickers, and finally expires. But
this
day,
this
moment, my heart and soul burn with fear and anguish . . . fear of the unknown . . . anguish over what, in a few moments, I will say to Isna . . . for I’ve changed my mind twenty times since last night, and at this very moment I know not what I shall say.