Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (23 page)

“You’re welcome, Allie Girl. Love you, too. Good night.”

On her way to the bedroom Allie stopped by her chair, swallowed her last sip of scotch.

It says colonists settled there in the early 1600s. Hmm. Heard someone mention 1585 . . . close, but too soon for Chesapeake. Maybe another group. Or maybe they were somewhere else first and then went to Chesapeake in the 1600s. Yeah, they talked about doing that. Jeez . . . am . . . , am I dreaming something real? I can’t believe it. The wave of foreboding hit her again. Oh my God. This is awful. I’m scared. She saw Emily holding her locket. But I’ve got to face it . . . but I don’t want to face it . . . but I have to. She undressed, donned her t-shirt and flannel pants, and with trepidation and excitement pounding in her heart, turned out the light and rolled into bed.

Nancy stared into the darkness, wondered if Allie was the one, wondered if she should tell her what she knew about the dreams, try to help her deal with them before it was too late. But would it make any difference in the end?

Chapter 8

T
he grating whine of mosquitoes permeated Elyoner’s cottage like a bugle stuck on a dissonant high-note, induced Elyoner and Emily to flail the space around them every few seconds to deter the demonic little vampires from approaching them and the baby. The fire smoke drifting in through the door blended with the dense humidity and the burning-animal-fat smell of the candles to give the room a dank, unpleasant aroma that was only slightly tempered by the fresh smell of the baby.

George sat ten feet from the women—emaciated, gaunt, trapped in his silent, torpid world as he stared vacantly at the wall, amidst his own private swarm of mosquitoes. The women had placed two candles beside him, hoping the smoke and foul smell would repel the pests enough to spare George the plethora of bites he would otherwise suffer. Elyoner and Emily sat on the stump stools, Elyoner nursing her baby and Emily dividing her attention between Elyoner and the floor, which she scanned for invading cockroaches.

“There’s another one,” Emily said. She stood, rushed to the unsuspecting insect, stomped it flat into the dirt floor. “Why are they all gathering right here, right now? Enough! That’s five in the last few minutes; they’re invading us.”

“There do seem to be more than normal . . . filthy little creatures . . . though I’ve heard people quite fancy eating them in some parts of the world. Perhaps we should use them to supplement our diet.”

“Faugh! Not me. Disgusting they are.” She swiped at the mosquitoes.

The baby suckled loudly, contentedly, almost gulped. Elyoner smiled at her amusedly then drifted her gaze to George, nodded toward him. “What do you think, Em?”

Emily looked at George. “I’m quite beyond thinking. ’Tis simple. He eats or he dies. I led him over here by the hand like one would a goat. He just plods along wherever you take him, doesn’t seem to see or hear, mayhap doesn’t think either. I don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but he eats and drinks less than one of those roaches.” Her eyes began to mist. “The last time I felt so helpless was when my brother was dying. Watched him slip away, we did. Quite depressing . . . Ellie, I truly miss George. We were together a lot, and it’s like a piece of my life is suddenly absent . . . even though we’re but good friends.” She felt a prick of guilt, anguish that she hadn’t requited his love, wondered if her reluctance had worsened his condition. Her invisible gloom deepened as she again wondered if she could love him as he loved her. But, she reasoned, pretending love is a lie; and lies always catch up with you, not worth the effort; better to be brutally honest and take what comes . . . on both sides of a relationship. She thought of Hugh Tayler, contrasted her growing affection for him with the friendship she felt for George. Different, very different. Her heartbeat quickened at the thought of Tayler.

“I can see it upsets you, Em.”

The baby stopped nursing, began to sputter. Elyoner leaned her over her shoulder and patted her back, gently at first, then when she didn’t burp, with more force. The child responded with a belch worthy of a grown man.

Emily laughed. “God’s mercy! Most unladylike . . . Ellie, may I hold her awhile?” Emily had already developed a close bond with the baby; but there was something beyond that, something that made Emily want to hold her constantly—perhaps because she was a girl and already showed awareness of that fact in her behavior and movements, or perhaps because she reminded Emily of her baby brother back in England. Whatever it was, holding her instilled a deep warmth in Emily’s heart, aroused a fierce protective instinct that made her want to never let go.

“Of course, Em. Here.” She handed the baby to Emily, who cradled her as if nursing. Emily gave a hearty laugh. “ Elyoner, look at that!” She glanced down at the baby as she rooted for her breast. “She’s no pride at all. She’ll take a handout from anyone . . . knows what she’s about, doesn’t she?”

Elyoner looked suddenly somber, thoughtful. “I’m actually quite glad of that, Em.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Margery Harvie and I were talking yesterday, and—oh, by the bye, Agnes thinks Margery will deliver in the next few days—and we . . . we talked about what would happen to our babies if . . . if the ultimate misfortune befell one of us.”

Emily glared at her incredulously. “ Elyoner, that’s not—”

“No, Em. It could happen. Think about where we are, the dangers. Truly, it
could
happen, and ’tis something we must think about . . . and if it
did
happen, how would the baby survive?” She looked at Emily, searched her eyes while her own suddenly assumed a pall of sadness.

Emily sensed something grave at hand, held her silence.

“Well, we agreed that if anything happens to either one of us, the other will nurse her baby . . . and help the father care for it.”

Emily’s face brightened. “Now that’s a rather fine idea, Elyoner.”

Elyoner nodded. “Well, there’s more. Perhaps Margery and I worry too much, but ’tis not impossible that something could happen to
both
of us. Or if one of us survived, what if the other’s milk was insufficient for two infants? Where would we be then with no other nursing mothers in the colony?”

Emily’s bright look faded; she listened intently, uneasily, fearfully.

“Emily Colman, will you help me nurse my baby?”

Emily tried to speak, but her lips wouldn’t move.

“There’s no other person in the colony, or the world, that I would ask to do this.” She reached out, touched Emily’s cheek. “You are the sister I never had.” She beamed a radiant smile, her eyes filled with tears.

Emily’s eyes sparkled with tears of her own, her lips parted; her suddenly joyful face brightened like a freshly lit lantern on a dark night. She laid her hands unconsciously on her breasts. “Oh, Elyoner, I . . . I don’t know what to say. I’m . . . I’m so honored that you’d ask this of me. Of course, I will. Yes, yes.” She promptly frowned. “But, Elyoner, how can I nurse? How can a—”

“Quite easily, in truth. I’ve seen it done. My cousin, who was about my age at the time, helped her sister nurse when she fell ill and later died. That’s where I got the idea.”

“But how?”

“Well, first you start squeezing and pressing your breasts with your fingers many times a day; I’ll show you how. And the more you do it, the quicker your milk will come in. But when you first start, you won’t have a lot of milk, and she won’t suckle long. So you’ll coat your nipples with smashed berries or something else sweet before you nurse—berries worked well for my cousin—and the sweetness will encourage her to suckle, but it could still take some time for you to produce enough milk to fill her. So you’ll have to suckle more often at first, but the frequent demand will rapidly increase your milk supply. I can promise you the little rascal likes a full tummy, and she’ll suckle until she gets it . . . or let you know forthwith you’ve failed her.”

“Elyoner, I had no idea. I can’t wait.”

“ ’Tis I who am happy, Em . . . and honored to have such a friend. ’Tis a big commitment, one that will definitely tie you down a bit.” She stood, embraced Emily and the baby, then kissed Emily on the cheek. “Thank you, my friend.”

While Elyoner sat down, Emily imagined herself nursing the baby, eyed her with a motherly smile. “When may I begin?”

“Today, for it could take as long as a month for your milk to come in. But it could also be much quicker. Everyone’s different.”

Emily looked disappointed. “Well, I wish it could happen sooner . . . I feel so close to . . .” She scowled, sternly waving her index finger up and down at Elyoner. “Elyoner, are you ever going to name this child, or do we have to call her
the baby
forever?”

Elyoner laughed. “Yes, Em. We’ve chosen a name but told only Father. We’re saving the announcement for the christening four days hence, but I’ll certainly tell
you
now if you truly want to know?”

“No, you should wait if that’s what you’ve decided to do . . . and I’ll keep guessing.” Emily held the baby tight against her breast, kissed the side of her head. “I love you, little one . . . here, Elyoner.” She handed her to Elyoner. “If I hold her any longer, I’ll steal her and make her mine.”

The baby sputtered as Elyoner took her. “She wouldn’t mind that at all. See, she already loves her Aunt Emily.”

“I shall count every second until the moment arrives.” Emily rose, took a cup of water to George and held it to his lips. To her surprise he drank a couple sips. “Here, George, have some more.” He took another sip. “ Elyoner, did you see that? He heard me.” But her quickened heartbeat slowed as George resumed his arcane stare. She shook her head as she walked back to her stool and sat. When she noticed Elyoner was deep in thought, she focused her eyes and mind on the baby, imagined herself holding her, offering her breast; felt a warm glow spread through her body as she wondered how it would feel, if it would hurt. She looked back at Elyoner, who remained within her own mind. “Elyoner, what troubles you? You’ve vanished into your thoughts.”

Elyoner held her stare for a few seconds then looked at Emily. “ ’Tis Father. He’s different since the birth: upset, depressed, seems ashamed or embarrassed about something. I’m worried that he’s having misgivings about our future, perhaps chastising himself for bringing us here. He gets reflective like that sometimes.”

Emily had hoped someone else would tell Elyoner about the raid; so caught by surprise, her mind scrambled for appropriate words.

“I know Father’s looks, and I know when he’s upset; and he’s upset now, but I know not why. Em, is there something I don’t know?”

Emily stared thoughtfully at the ground then at Elyoner. “There
is
, Ellie, and ’tis nothing to do with you being here.”

“What then, pray tell?”

“Your Father and Ananias told me not to tell you until you’re recovered.”

“Tell me what?”

“Well . . . you seem quite yourself now, so I shall tell you.” Emily took a deep breath. “Just before dawn the morning you were giving birth, they attacked the Savages on the main—men, women, and children sitting around a fire talking. They charged in shouting and shooting. ’Twas like a chaotic nightmare, I’m told, and one of the soldiers gutshot a man, who then died a slow, agonizing death.”