Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (17 page)

Emily picked up a sixteen-inch-long stick that had eight, evenly spaced, twelve-inch-long strings tied to it; and each string, from the tie point on the stick to its low, dangling end, was a partially completed candle. Holding the stick horizontally, one end in each hand, so the eight partial candles hung vertically toward the ground, she walked to the pot, checked to see that her skirt was clear of the flames, then slowly dunked the candles in and out of the fat four or five times to allow more to adhere to them. She then carried the stick to the drying rack five feet away, set the ends on two parallel, five-foot-long branches that were twelve inches apart and supported at each end by the four log stump stools from inside the cottage. Six sticks, each holding eight candles, already sat on the drying rack; she lifted the driest of them, took it to the pot for another dunking. She’d been at it for nearly three hours, and her fifty-six candles were nearly complete—one more round for each stick and the job would be done.

What a pity they smelled so bad when you burned them, she thought, though a person got used to it after a while. Fortunately, Governor White had shown Emily and a few others the plentiful bayberry bushes that thrived all over the island. He had told them how the berries, which ripened in the fall, could be boiled in water to separate their wax, which then floated to the surface where it could be skimmed off, congealed, and added to the previous skimmings until enough was collected to make several melting pots of wax that could be re-melted for candle dipping. He had also mentioned that bayberry candles had a pleasing aroma; so Emily now had another reason to be eager for fall, the first being relief from the stifling, relentless heat and humidity.

As she placed the stick of candles on the drying rack and lifted the next, Hugh Tayler and John Bridger slid a log into the palisades trench about seventy-five feet from Emily’s cottage, butted it up against the adjoining log, and held it in place while two other men deposited and set the next log. After Tayler and Bridger released their log and started back to the forest for another, Tayler veered toward Emily, waved at her, and called out. “Emily, Emily Colman.”

She looked up from the drying rack, wiped her sweaty brow with her sleeve, then replied with a broad smile and a wave of her hand. “How fares Hugh Tayler this day?”

“At the top of his form and eager for more work. And what of the colony’s foremost candle maker?”

“She’s hot, sweating in an unladylike manner, and ready for a rest. When will you have a break?”

“One more log. May I visit you then?”

“You must ask my father first.” She tried to look serious, but a slight smirk formed on her lips, then bloomed into a full smile.

“Where is he?”

“On the other side of the island.”

Tayler assumed a pitifully sad look. “Mistress Emily, you wound me.”

“Very well, then come and see me, Master Hugh! But put another log or two in the ground first, for I’ve more candles to finish before I can dally.”

“Very well. I shall return; and I hope your candle making will be complete, for I will
not
sit by that fire on this hot day.”

“Fear not, Sir.”

Emily smiled to herself as she watched Tayler quicken his pace to catch up with Bridger, then dipped another stick of candles into the pot.

Twenty minutes later, Tayler approached Emily’s cottage as she lifted the heavy melting pot from the fire.

“Emily, let me do that.” He took the pot from her. “Where do you want it?”

“Over there.” She pointed at the barrel of congealed fat. “Many thanks. I’m weary of bending.”

“At your service. And where’s Master Colman today?”

“He’s with the others transporting the last of the equipment and baggage from the ship. ’Twill be most pleasant to have all the things we brought, especially the cooking wares; but”—her look suddenly saddened—“ but the arrival of the last of our belongings brings with it an ominous sense of finality and aloneness . . . a bit like the Queen’s headsman raising his axe over someone’s head after ’tis properly positioned on the block. It means we will, indeed, be abandoned here.”

“Aye,
’tis
a sobering thought, and your simile is distressingly accurate. When those ships sail away, we’ll be completely cut off from civilization for who knows how long.” He marveled at how, in spite of sweaty clothes, disarranged hair, and a soot-covered face, Emily looked ravishingly sensuous. She overwhelmed him with the urge to take her into the cottage and make wild, passionate love to her. How could she do that to him? But it wasn’t just his passion she excited. No, it had become far more than that; for ever since their first conversation, each moment he was near her, heard her voice, held her hand, he felt intense flames of affection engulf his heart—flames he’d never before felt and could not control. “So how is young Master Howe? I heard he’s having a difficult time—not surprisingly, of course—and . . . oh, by the bye, I must tell you, I feel like an utter fool for speaking down about the young lad the other day. I owe you an apology for that. ’Twas quite small of me, and I hope you’ll forgive me.”

She smiled. “I shall, Hugh. And you heard right. He’s
not
faring well. I truly do not know what will become of him. ’Twas an awful experience . . . for me, as well. Master Howe was a kind and gentle man, my good friend, and to see him like that . . .” She rubbed sudden tears from her eyes then forced a slight smile. “And how go the palisades?”

“Forgive me for distressing you, Milady.” He paused, studied her face for a moment. “The palisades advance . . . but very slowly. And John Wyles suffered an axe cut to his leg this morning. He and Peter Little were chopping on opposite sides of a large tree, and John moved around the tree toward Peter to get a better angle on his cut . . . and bad fortune arrived at exactly that moment. Peter’s axe glanced off the trunk and cut through John’s calf muscle all the way to the bone—a very ugly wound, a lot of blood, and certainly a lot of pain. ’Twill be a difficult one to heal, for it will want to fester. Haven’t seen that much blood since the army.”

Emily looked surprised. “You were in the army?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Actually, I wondered about that, since so many in your circumstances
do
enter the officer corps. But I thought ’twas usually a career.”

“Well, it normally is . . . I shall tell you the story. When my father died, both of my brothers became drunkards, and the estate was headed
for the cemetery. I suppose it just happened gradually, but after a year, I was running the place while the brothers wallowed in wine and women. Things were actually going quite well for the estate, but my brothers spent the income faster than I could earn it, and eventually we found ourselves on hard times. I was exhausted, but they wanted me to
do
more so they could
spend
more; so I left, obtained a commission, and spent several years fighting Spaniards in various places, until in ’85 I found myself fighting them in the Netherlands.”

“I’ve heard ’twas a very bloody campaign.”

“ ’Twas indeed. And on the first of July of that year I was on a mission to rescue a large group of our troops that been trapped by the enemy. I was with my commander and forty men.” He paused, looked away from her.

“Hugh, don’t tell this if it upsets you. My God, here I am again asking someone a painful question. I’m not asking any more questions.”

“It
does
upset me, Emily, but I can’t lock it away in a box.” He paused. “So somehow, they knew we were coming and ambushed and slaughtered us like pigs in a corral. Most of the men were killed outright; and my commander was badly wounded, shot from his horse.” He paused again.

“And you?”

“I took a bullet in the shoulder, which knocked me off my horse, as well; but the horse stayed beside me, as did my commander’s. The commander was barely conscious, but I was able to shove him up onto the saddle and get the reins into his hands and send him off toward our lines. But then because of my shoulder wound, it took me a long time to get
myself
back in the saddle, and just as I finally settled there, another shot hit me in the hip.”

“Your limp.”

He nodded. “Well, I leaned forward on the horse’s neck and spurred him on with great urgency until I was out of musket range. Then as I approached our lines, I passed out and again fell from the saddle.”

Emily cupped her hand over her mouth.

“A number of our troops rushed out and dragged me to safety and deposited me in hospital.”

“And did your commander live?”

“He did; he was already in the hospital when I arrived.”

“And quite grateful, I’m sure? He should have had you decorated.”

“Well, he was, and he did. But unfortunately, I couldn’t walk for a year and wore a sling on the bad arm for nine months; so the army discharged me, and now I’m here with you with an interesting story to tell.”

“Hugh, I’d no idea. You’re certainly mum and humble about it. Did you want to remain in the army?”

“Indeed, but, Emily”—he took her hands in his, looked into her eyes— “had I not come here, I would never have met you, and meeting you is the most wonderful thing that’s happened in my entire life.”

A sudden blush glowed through the soot on her cheeks. “You’re embarrassing me again. I’m but a common, ordinary English girl, nothing more.”

“English, yes . . . common, by birth only. But ordinary? No, not in a thousand years.”

“Now I’ll blush again, thank you.”

“You’re already blushing, and it makes you even more beautiful.”

She hid her face in her hands.

“Do you know that I watched you every day on the ship and racked my mind to understand why you’re not married to some lord? And if not a lord, at least a country nobleman?”

Her heart tremored. “My mother told me to never talk to men, especially older ones.” An impish smile appeared on her lips. “And Father enforced Mother’s wish; so I’ve never been allowed to talk to men, and I’m therefore unable to trust them.”

“Emily, that’s inhumanely cruel and unfair to the men of England!”

She thought how she enjoyed their gentle teasing, his easy company, savored the strange new warmth that sometimes spread from her head to her shoulders and down her back when they talked. “And what else did you do while you were on the ship, Hugh Tayler?”

“I spent many minutes watching you lean over the side looking for fish.”

She laughed as she covered her lips with her hand. “I
wish
I’d been looking for fish. Now you’re
truly
embarrassing me.”

“Well, the reason I saw you was because I was on the other side of the ship doing the same thing you were.”

She laughed again. “Actually, now that you mention it, I
do
remember seeing you on the deck a lot . . . and by the bye, looking rather pale.”

“At your service, Mistress. But ’tis true, I did wonder about you . . . and I’m very glad you’re
not
married to a lord or country nobleman. Very glad indeed.” He again held her hands, stared into her eyes with a deep, searching gaze, which she met with a steady, piercing look that bored into his soul.

As her breathing and heartbeat quickened, a warm twinge of alarm settled in her mind, alerted her to a sudden, unfamiliar cleft in her emotional control.

After a long hesitation, he blinked then smiled. “I saw you helping the governor’s daughter to her cottage last night. How does she fare?”

“She’s well, for ’twas only a false labor . . . and such matters are not to be discussed with men.” She smiled. “But at that moment, both of us were quite certain her time was at hand. And then it took me considerable time to locate Agnes Sampson, who’s to be her midwife. So we were in a bit of a twitter for a while.”

“I can imagine. And Mistress Harvie is also due soon?”

She nodded. “It could be any time now, for both of them. Actually the two of them have a wager on who will be first. Agnes thinks ’twill be Elyoner, but who knows.”

“Well, I’m glad I won’t be there. Too much pain for me, from what I’ve heard.”

Emily glanced toward a sudden clamor at the far edge of the village. “Hugh, look. Governor White and the Assistants are returning. Perhaps they’ve good news.”

Tayler’s eyes remained fixed on Emily. “Emily, might you and I walk together one day away from the village and all the eyes that spy on us when we talk?”

She wanted to say yes but knew her father would be unlikely to permit it even though he encouraged their relationship. ’Twas simply too soon, and too unconventional for Thomas Colman, even in a remote colony. “I’d enjoy that, Hugh, but with Savages about, I fear it won’t happen soon. And of course, you
would
have to ask Father’s permission.”

“Ah, yes. The harsh realities of English decorum. Then perhaps an evening stroll around the village?”

A loud bell clanged at the gathering place in the center of the village, summoning all inhabitants. As people began to walk toward the spot, John White climbed on top of a large stump, motioned his Assistants to gather around him.

Emily, again in her smock, sat on her bed, leaned close to the candle that sat on a small stump beside the bed. Her father and George were asleep. She had read her mother’s letter three times, and it now sat on her lap as she visualized her mother’s face in the darkness of her closed eyes, saw her rocking her baby brother in her arms. Mother, I so wish you could be here to guide me. I’ve told you about George . . . but I’m still quite uncertain about how it will be when he revives. Please help me know what to do . . . and I have something else to tell you. I’m growing quite fond of Hugh Tayler. She wondered what Elyoner had been about to tell her about him the night before. As you know, he’s much older than I; and even though I’m well practiced at conversing with older men, he sometimes unbalances me, gives me feelings I’ve not had before. A few times I’ve even felt a little muddled in the head, and . . . and no, I’m not worried, and I will remain strong and save myself for none but my husband, whoever he may be. Yes, ’tis not inconceivable that it could be Hugh, or perhaps under the right circumstances even George . . . if he recovers . . . but ’tis impossible to say now . . . with either of them.