Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (66 page)

“Isna, Emily’s people know these same things to be true, but they have a
church
with a chief . . . a
queen
. . . at its head to tell them how to live.”

“How can any person tell another how to live? Isna does not understand this. A human being must believe and feel and live every day on his own . . . in harmony with himself and the universe around and inside him. It must be something he knows on his own and holds sacred . . . not something he does because he is told.”

Emily nodded, considered his words for a moment, then smiled. “Most people ignore the Queen and do as they please, and some are good and some not so good. And some are truly evil.”

“This is the nature of man, and so it is with the Lakota . . . but truth is the Lakota way of life, and they rub out those who speak
untruth
or
withhold
truth because such people will also break customs and rules and will eventually hurt others to gratify themselves, which makes them a danger to
all
the people.”

“Truly?”

He nodded.

“Most of Emily’s people . . . white men . . . don’t think of harmony . . . they think only of themselves, their work, their own lives. So I see good in the Lakota way of thinking, for when one is at peace with oneself and the universe, one will be at peace with God . . . Wakan Tanka.” I want to hold him close . . . feel his heart beat with mine.

Isna glanced at something behind her, sprang to his feet.

Emily spun about, stood, grasped her knife, searched for danger.

Realizing he’d frightened her, he smiled, held up a hand, then stepped a few feet away to a purple flower that held its head proudly above the colorful carpet of leaves. He picked the flower, returned to her, held her right hand with his left.

Her breathing raced with her pulse; they searched each other’s eyes.

Slowly, measuredly, he held the flower to her parted lips, leaned forward, and touched his lips to the petals.

She closed her eyes as he lowered the flower, felt his breath, then his lips as they met hers with the lingering softness of a gentle summer breeze. He again gazed into her eyes, laid the flower in her hand and touched her cheek with the lightness of a down feather, then led her into the forest, toward the village.

As they approached the village, they stopped, faced one another. Isna touched her cheek, turned toward the Chesapeake village, and walked away.

Emily stared after him, waiting for him to look back so she could see his face one more time. When he did, she waved inconspicuously with her right hand, smiled, kissed the air.

He repeated her gestures then walked into the Chesapeake village.

As Emily entered the village, Hugh Tayler spied her, hurried toward her, raised his hand. “Emily, wait . . . may we speak?”

Emily’s heart raced with alarm; she gauged the distance to her cottage, realized she couldn’t reach it before he overtook her, took a deep breath, faced him.

As he approached, he said, “Emily . . . Emily . . . it’s been days since we’ve spoken. May I—”

“No, Hugh. I do not wish to speak to you. Father told me of the bargain the two of you struck . . . and I despise you for it. Leave me!”

Tayler frowned, lowered his gaze to the ground like a guilty schoolboy. “Emily, I . . . I only sought to—”

“I said leave me . . . be gone from me this instant.”

“Emily, please let me explain—”

“No . . . you knew my mind on the subject of betrothal, and you willfully ignored it. I’ll have nothing to do with you.”

“Emily, you treat me unjustly. How can you thusly wound the man who loves you so?”

“Your going behind my back makes it easy.”

“When we last spoke, you told me you would meet with me again, let me defend myself against the frivolous, wrongful charges levied against me by your . . . your secret source. Do you not intend to keep your word?”

Emily glared at him, took another deep breath. “No! I do not!” She turned, walked away.

Virginia suckled Emily’s breast with fervor; while Henry refused Elyoner’s, turned away, sputtered, coughed, then tentatively nursed for a moment before repeating the cycle. Both women cringed each time he did so. Emily said, “ ’Tis like Father’s cough . . . deep and chesty, a lot of phlegm. Seems fine one moment, then he’s doubled over the next. At least this one’s not so bad . . . at least not yet.”

“Aye, but it’s hung on far too long, and I think he’s losing weight, do you not agree?”

“Indeed I do. And it matters not which of us nurses him. He’s simply got no appetite . . . he’s a most discontented little lad. And I know not what we can do to help him; and sadder still, there’s no one for us to ask. Grieves me to see him suffer so and be so incapable of helping him.”

Elyoner studied the wall for a few seconds, looked at Emily. “Perchance you could query some Chesapeake mothers to see what they do for colic . . . if they even have it?”

Emily nodded. “I shall, Ellie, this afternoon. I shall.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Meanwhile, mayhap we could lull him with a gentle tune. Do you know ‘Green-sleeves,’ my favorite?”

“Of course. ’Tis mine, as well. Same for the Queen’s court, I’m told. Oooh! Virginia’s hungry today. Sucking hard, she is . . . are you ready?”

“Aye, I am . . . but let’s skip the chorus after the first time through.”

Emily nodded as they began floating their mellow notes toward Henry.

Alas, my love, you do me wrong
,

To cast me off discourteously
.

And I have loved you so long
,

Delighting in your company
.

Green-Sleeves was all my joy

Green-Sleeves was my delight
,

Green-Sleeves was my heart of gold
,

And who but my Lady Green-Sleeves
.

I have been ready at your hand
,

To grant whatever you would crave
,

I have both wagered life and land
,

Your love and good-will for to have
.

A pall of sadness appeared on Emily’s face with the first words of the song, deepened with each verse. Pox upon me. It may as well be Hugh Tayler singing this song. Swirls of compassion, then guilt, drifted through her heart.

If you intend thus to disdain
,

It does the more enrapture me
,

And even so, I still remain

A lover in captivity
.

My men were clothed all in green
,

And they did ever wait on thee;

All this was gallant to be seen
,

And yet thou wouldst not love me
.

Emily’s mind filled with images of the good moments she and Hugh had passed together, joking, teasing, touching, sharing their intimacies.

Thou couldst desire no earthly thing
,

but still thou hadst it readily
.

Thy music still to play and sing;

And yet thou wouldst not love me
.

Elyoner looked at Emily. “Psst.” She nodded at Henry, who had settled and was nursing with conviction, then she suddenly shot her gaze back to Emily. “ Em, you look ill. What afflicts you?”

“Nothing, Ellie.”

“Are you sure?”

“No . . . in truth, those lyrics saddened me, made me think of Hugh. Am I not
his
Lady Green-sleeves? Forsooth, I’ve heard some of those same sentiments from his own lips.”

Elyoner nodded. “I understand. ’Tis only natural. But you would truly be insane to be with him . . . and to be brutally frank, that he tried to trap you into marriage is . . . well . . . nakedly despicable, and I’m aghast your father agreed to it.”

A moment later, the babies finished suckling; Emily and Elyoner lifted their smocks over their shoulders, buttoned their shirts, lifted the babies over their shoulders, and gently jostled them up and down as they thumped their backs.

“Well, as angry as I was when Father told me, I can’t blame him, Ellie; and indeed, I’ve forgiven him, for I know he cares only for my safety.” A sunless look spread across her face. “Though he hasn’t said so, I think he believes he’s dying; and it saddens my soul, for I fear he may be right. Every day he coughs more and seems weaker; and now he sometimes gets chills and muscle aches with the cough, and . . . and, Ellie, I can’t suffer the thought of Father dying . . . being without him. I love him so”—she smiled faintly— “though you wouldn’t know it from our frequent arguments . . . and my awful rudeness to him.”

Elyoner walked to her, held her hand, looked at her with compassion. “My poor Emily. I think your father will heal in due time; but should the worst happen, you’ll have a home with Ananias and me . . . and Virginia and Henry, of course.”

“Thank you, Ellie, but let us pray he recovers.”

They laid the babies in their cribs, returned to their stools. Emily said, “Let us speak of something besides Hugh Tayler and Father’s illness.” Her face beamed with a wide smile and sparkling eyes.

Elyoner shot her a knowing smirk. “And what might that be, Mistress Colman?”

“Isna, of course. But mind you, ’tis only a
casual
relationship . . . mostly educational, for I scarcely know him, though I do greatly relish learning about him and his people.” Emily thought of Isna—his wry smile, piercing eyes, dignified presence, his Lakota pride, his gentleness and patience. Yes, her entire body—mind, soul, heart, newly discovered passions—all simmered in a hot, tingly, dizzying cauldron whenever she thought of him.

Elyoner smirked. “Indeed! Is that why you light up like a lantern when you hear or speak his name?”

Emily glanced at her with furrowed brow, hard, tight eyes, fought the sheepish grin that wanted to creep across her face.

Elyoner’s round, rosy cheeks mushroomed over a perky, knowing smile. “Not being blind, I
have
noticed you spend considerable time with him . . . and seem to take far more than educational pleasure in it.”

Emily’s wooden look unexpectedly burst into an ear-to-ear smile and an unrestrained giggle. “You’ve found me out, Ellie Dare. ’Tis true. I delight
in every second I’m with him, and I greatly enjoy learning of his peoples’ beliefs and their legends . . . so many things are so close to what we believe. Listen to this. Yesterday he told me about P’tay-sahn-ween and—”

“Who?”

“
Ptesanwin
, the White-P’tay-Cow-Woman.
Pte
means bison, like the bison that used to roam the plains of Europe in ancient times. Isna says that to the west of the mountains, they’re as many as the stars, and that his people use them for nearly everything: shelter, food, clothes, tools, water bags, string, thread, and many other things. But to the story, Ptesanwin brought the Lakota—and others of their larger group, the
Da-
kota—a sacred pipe.”

“A pipe?”

“Aye. And I think they revere it . . . and follow the teachings associated with it, much as we do the Eucharist.”

“Oh. Interesting. Go on.”

“Well, Wakan Tanka, who as far as I can tell is exactly like our
God
but without Jesus Christ, sent a magical bison cow, or
pte
, who turned herself into a beautiful woman dressed in white buckskin and delivered the sacred pipe to them. Actually, though I hadn’t thought of it until just now, it
does
sound a lot like God the Father sending Jesus Christ . . . but without the crucifixion and all . . . to save humanity.”

Elyoner nodded reflectively. “Most interesting. I’m listening.”

“Well, as she approached, two young men, one of whom who had impure intentions, met her; and she immediately turned the bad one into a pile of bones, which taught the Lakota and the other Dakota peoples to revere the sanctity of women and honor them forevermore.”

“I rather like
that
story.”

“She then gave them the sacred pipe, which has a red stone bowl meaning
the earth
, a long wooden stem that signifies everything growing
on
earth, including people and animals, and twelve eagle feathers that signify everything that flies
above
the earth. She said that all of these things, together with people who smoke the pipe, speak to Wakan Tanka . . . God. She also told them to walk the earth
with
the pipe and that the earth is their Grandmother and Mother and very sacred, and that every step taken upon
her should be a prayer . . . that every dawn and every day are holy, and that each day’s light comes directly from Wakan Tanka.”

“A rather beautiful notion . . . but how can so many smoke one pipe?”

“Well, I’m not certain they do . . . I think it may be symbolic, in the sense that
walking the earth with the pipe
means living a good life, at peace with all people and things in the universe . . . like Christians walking the Bible’s
straight and narrow path
. And—”

“I see what you mean about similarities . . . quite mystical, it is.”

Emily rippled with enthusiasm. “ ’Tis beyond mystical . . . ’tis completely
astounding
. . . two cultures an ocean apart, with no contact, having similar views of God and how he wants us to live. Think about it.”