Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (7 page)

Waters, a relatively inexperienced young officer, had been trained both as an engineer and an infantryman and compensated for his inexperience with enthusiasm and a precocious degree of professional bearing and common sense. Educated and from a wealthy family, he knew he’d suffered a serious lapse in judgment when he’d questioned the governor’s order yesterday; but like most young officers, he was sensitive to the fact that sergeants and conscripts generally had little respect for young, newly commissioned officers, regarded them as a threat to their survival. He was also aware that
such fears were often well founded; and for that reason, he’d made it clear to the men that he’d stood up for them by resisting the governor’s assignment of improper duties, wanted them to know he wasn’t afraid to risk his own skin on their behalf. Foremost, he’d wanted to make that point with his sergeants: the non-commissioned officers, the implementers of orders, the buffers between officers and men, the battle-hardened survivors rich in the experience and credibility young lieutenants lacked, the gritty, up-from-the-ranks leaders who ultimately won or lost battles.

With his point hopefully made, he intended to redeem his indiscretion with White by throwing his mind and spirit, and even his muscle, into erecting as impregnable a fortress as was possible with the materials at hand. In anticipation of the possibility that there were no existing palisades, he’d taken the initiative of completing his own design during the voyage from England. It was in the shape of a polygon, with a series of cortynes— straight sections of wall with angled shooting towers, called flankers, that jutted outward from the walls like star points. The flankers joined each cortyne, or side of the polygon, to the next cortyne and allowed defenders to shoot their muskets and arrows at attackers both head-on and from the side. The latter shots were achieved by the shooters positioning themselves on the sides of the flankers and firing through narrow firing ports that exposed only a small part of their bodies, and through which an attacker could not crawl. His decision to adopt this design in lieu of parapets and scaffolding, which would require shooters to climb ladders or ramps to access firing scaffolds and probably take more time to build, gave him a deep feeling of accomplishment which he hoped the governor would share when the fort was complete.

All of the men on the palisades crew had weapons nearby, and four soldiers stood guard around the work area. Hugh Tayler and several other civilians, inexperienced at felling trees, stripped, split, and carried the logs to the trench, stood them upright, and backfilled dirt to hold them in place. When enough posts were set in line, others would bore and mount the cross braces. The heat and humidity had taken their toll on the men, drained them as if they’d been without food and water for a week. Their faces were gaunt; their clothing drenched in sweat, covered with dirt; their numb,
slow movements and labored breathing vivid symptoms of their exhaustion. Having watched the pace of the operation slow, Waters now noticed the growing sloppiness in the men’s movements and concluded a rest was needed to avoid an accident, particularly with so many inexperienced cutters. Experience was a relative word when it came to the colony’s woodcutters, for only a handful of civilians and a couple soldiers had ever wielded an axe against a standing tree, and only one of them had done it more than a few times. So, given that a cutter’s or trimmer’s axe glancing off a trunk or a branch and slicing a leg was the most common tree-cutting accident, such was Waters’ greatest worry.

Suddenly, he heard shouts from the tree, saw that two axe men had come dangerously close together, and someone had yelled at them to reposition themselves farther apart. He shook off a fearful tremor and recalled a long-ago day when he and his best friend, Douglas Murray, both sixteen, had been doing exactly as the two axe men were doing today. Each of the friends had been paired with another partner, and the two pairs raced to see which could fell their tree the quickest. As he caught a quick breath, Waters had glanced at Douglas and his partner to see if they were ahead of, or behind, his own team. He saw that Douglas’ team was slightly ahead; but as he’d quickened his swing, a gnawing discomfort had rooted in his murky subconscious: Douglas and his left-handed partner were too close together, and their axe swings were within glancing range of each other’s legs. A moment later Douglas had screamed in agony as his partner’s axe glanced off the hard oak trunk into his thigh, sliced it to the bone. The three boys had knelt over Douglas, watched the blood spurt from his wound as he screamed, convulsed in wild agony. Partially unnerved, Waters had shouted at one lad to go for help, told the other to hold the leg, keep Douglas from thrashing. He’d pulled off his shirt, wrapped it tightly around the leg, but the blood immediately seeped through and under the wrap. Blood everywhere. He’d pulled the other boy’s blood-stained shirt from his back, wrapped a second bandage around the wound, again to no avail. As he’d wondered what to do next, the color had suddenly drained from Douglas’ face like water into sand. His convulsing had abruptly lessened, then stopped, as he lay still, eyes wide, locked in a vacant stare.

Shaking the memory from his head, Waters pondered the fact that even though one of the colonists, John Jones, was a physician, there were scant medical supplies to deal with serious injuries, and so resolved to have none such on his watch. Thus when he saw the six women and two soldiers who guarded them approaching with buckets of water, he shouted to the work crews. “Come, men. Let’s have a rest. Find shade; drink and eat. We’ve a good start but a long way to go. Take your weapons with you to the shade.”

Emily set one of her buckets down by the group of cutters, lifted her round-brimmed sunhat higher on her forehead. “Drink well, gentlemen.”

Waters, who sat with the cutters, said, “Thank you, Mistress, you’re an angel . . . and not just for your kind deeds.” Waters had admired Emily from afar on the ship but refrained from approaching her when he’d seen how several of the male colonists eyed her. ’Twould be improper for the man-at-arms, commissioned to protect them, to compete with the colony’s civilians for the favor of such a lovely lady, at least under the current, dire circumstances.

Emily blushed, sent Waters a quick smile. “You’re most kind, Lieutenant.” She nodded then carried her second bucket over to the transport crew which had found shade thirty yards away. Others in Waters’ group gratefully thanked her as she walked toward the transporters. She turned, acknowledged with another smile and a nod.

As she approached the second group, the men gathered around her then dipped their wooden cups in the bucket. Tayler, who stood twenty feet away, his back to Emily as he leaned his musket against a tree, turned when he heard her name. He watched her, felt his heart quicken as she walked toward him.

“Master Tayler, aren’t you thirsty?”

He stared at her for a long moment; his already warm face grew warmer. “I’m thirstier than ever before in my life, Mistress, but I’d rather die of it than walk away from you at this moment.”

Emily felt a pleasing twinge of embarrassment, smiled, instinctively looking at the ground without speaking.

“Would you sit with me for a while in my parlor?” He pointed at the grass to his side, extended his other hand to hold hers.

“Why thank you, Master Tayler, I’d enjoy that.” She held his hand, lowered herself to the grass, then spread her skirt like a fan over her quite-improperly crossed legs. When she removed her hat, her hair, which she’d stuffed up into the crown to keep her neck cooler, dropped down over her shoulders in an unkempt tangle that gave her a wild, primitive, sensuous look. She flipped it twice with her hands then settled her gaze on Tayler.

He stared at her with a gawky, awestruck hint of a smile.

“What amuses you, Sir?”

He shook his head, studied her eyes, started to speak but stuttered twice before putting a sentence together. “Mistress Colman, you honor me . . . thank you for allowing me to converse with you . . . I’ve long hoped for the opportunity.”

“Master Tayler . . .”

“No. ’Tis true . . . and with your father’s permission—and, of course, your own—I would warmly savor more such opportunities.”

“I would enjoy that, Master Tayler . . . you have
my
permission.” She smiled. “And, I’m quite certain, my father’s, as well. I only hope the urgencies of life here permit such moments. And how do those urgencies treat Master Tayler today?” She glanced at the nearby pile of posts.

“Please call me Hugh.”

She studied his face, thought how she enjoyed their quick dialogue, wanted more. “I shall. And you may call me Emily. English decorum does not fit here, does it?”

He replied excitedly, as if pleased by her response. “Indeed, it does not seem so . . . and I
shall
call you Emily . . .
Emily
. . . but forgive me if habit forces me to call you
Mistress
on occasion.”

Emily nodded advance forgiveness.

“So, to answer your question, today’s urgencies have been brutal and inhuman for Hugh Tayler, breaking his back and dulling his mind.” He rubbed his sleeve across his brow. “I’ve never seen such humidity. Or heat. Devilish they are! Quickly destroy any enthusiasm a man has for manual labor. But your presence has markedly tempered their impact on Hugh Tayler.”

With an inquisitive twinkle in her eyes, Emily said, “So hard labor is not for Hugh Tayler? I heard you were of the gentry, but . . .”

“Mistress—I mean, Emily—” Another smile. “See, I told you. Anyway, ’tis true, I
am
of the gentry, but gentry are no strangers to hard work. A good master knows the toils and hardships demanded of his people, and there’s but one way to learn those lessons: experience them. And, sad to say, my father took his responsibilities in that regard quite seriously.” An abrupt, anguished look distorted his face; he looked away.

Emily laid her hand on his shoulder. “Master Tayler—Hugh—are you . . .?”

“Sorry. I rather lost myself for a moment . . . a bad thought. I’m afraid my childhood and ascent to manhood were not pleasant. I may be gentry, but as a third son, all that buys one is, perhaps, an education and a pat on the back when you walk out the door. I got the education . . . and some money . . . but not the pat on the back . . . I apologize. This is not what I thought to discuss and bore you with. But since I’ve already opened the door, I’ll close it quickly. My father was an evil, abusive man. Not just to me, but to everyone, including my mother, my brothers, and the people who worked their lives away under his overbearing hand. He’s long dead, and good riddance it is. My oldest brother now owns the estate, and the next brother in line is his manager . . . and I’m here . . . to build a life for myself . . . and for the family I someday hope to have.” He looked directly into her eyes.

She felt a pang of sympathy, extended her hand, touched his cheek. “And what of your mother?”

A damp mist covered his eyes; the shadow of anguish again swept his face. “She died when I was six, but we never discovered the cause . . . I missed her very much and for a long time . . . but that’s behind me now.” His heart felt like it was erupting in flames as he recalled finding his mother dead, hanging by her neck in her bedroom. He’d watched his father abuse her mentally and physically, watched him drive her insane; tried to stop him once and been severely beaten for his effort; knew she’d killed herself to escape him. After tying the rope to a ceiling beam, she’d stood on a stool, tied her hands together with her teeth and fingers, then kicked the stool away. He’d wrapped his arms around her legs, tried to lift her, screamed for his father and brothers. When they’d finally rushed into the room, they’d
stood still, staring without emotion at her cocked head and white face with its hollow, wide-eyed stare.

“Hugh, I must quit asking questions. I always seem to find the worst ones to ask.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” He blinked twice, started to wipe the wetness from his eyes, but seemed to think better of it. “So I understand from your father that your mother and young brother are still in England but will join you sometime in the future? You and your father must miss them a lot.”

“Indeed.” Emily glimpsed a fleeting image of her mother as she slipped her hand into her pocket, squeezed her locket into her palm.

“Well, you may miss them, but your father could not have a more efficient or attractive assistant than you, and I can see he appreciates you greatly.”

“You flatter me, Master Tay—Hugh. I’m sorry.” A smile. “This is truly difficult for me.” She blushed. “I’m not used to addressing older men by their given names . . . but I shall become so.”

He feigned injury. “Come now. Certainly I don’t qualify as an older man. But yes, you’re correct. I
do
flatter you. I
want
to flatter you. You’re most worthy of flattery.”

Her blush deepened. “I’m not used to flattery either. It embarrasses me. And yes, you
are
an older man, much older than I. And we young damsels must be wary of who we talk to and how. An older man could take advantage of a young, naive damsel like me, lead her astray.” She smiled, thought how she enjoyed teasing him.

“If you aren’t careful, I’ll call you
Mistress Colman
. So behave yourself, Mistress . . . I mean, Emily.” They both laughed again, stared into each other’s eyes. “Emily, your father told me you’re fluent in four languages. Is it true? I know about four words of French, and no Spanish or other language. You impress me again, Lady.”

She wasn’t used to being called
Lady
either but liked the sound of it, liked the banter. “You will not woo me with flattery,
Master Tayler
. See, I beat you to it.” They held their smiles, studied each other’s faces, as if trying to discern the truths behind the eyes.

“You have indeed, but can you say something to me in Spanish so I can see that you truly know it?”

“Si, Señor, puedo. Es hora de volver al trabajo.”

“What did you say? It sounded
very
serious.”