Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (73 page)

Emily stared into the fire at the back of Elyoner’s cottage, its quiet, rhythmic crackle the only sound. She watched the yellow tongues wrap around the log, creep slowly up its sides until, like clasping fingers, they joined over the top, enveloped it. Relentless, she thought, like the march of fate. She watched the blue flames beneath the log, admired the intensity of their color. Even
looks
hot . . . lying down there below, distributing heat to the rest of the log like a commander sending troops into battle. She heard a loud pop, watched a stream of sparks rise to the smoke hole in the roof, shook her head. Unnerving having a fire inside a grass house. She glanced at Elyoner, who slept soundly, then at Ananias’ empty bed and the crib that sat close enough to the fire to overcome the slight chill that hung in the room. Ananias must be growing weary of me . . . fortunate he and Father are such good friends. She looked back into the fire, thought of
Richard Taverner, unconscious, hanging by his hands, his back a bloody, shredded, gooey mess. She breathed deeply, exhaled slowly, stifled the sudden nausea that rose to her throat. She’d nearly retched at the end of the flogging, had rushed away with Elyoner close behind. The two had walked briskly to Emily’s cottage, stopped, looked at one another in silence for minutes before they spoke. Yes, it had been a difficult moment, but not nearly as terrible as little Henry’s death and burial, after which they’d both dashed behind trees and vomited, then sobbed in each other’s arms. She closed her eyes, felt her heart knot as if twisted by a pair of giant hands, felt Henry’s soft, still-warm, lifeless little body pressed against her bosom, his cheek gently touching her own. She’d rocked him back and forth, thought of the hours they’d shared together, their bonding, his instant smiles at the sight of her face; she’d blinked at the tears filling her eyes, trembled, asked God why he’d taken such a helpless, innocent young life, berated him for doing so. She’d then laid him in his crib, stared at him: pale, still, silent. She and Elyoner had embraced, held each other close, then cried on each other’s shoulders until Virginia had awakened, diverted them with hungry sputtering. Now Emily slowly shook her head, drifted into a comatose state as she again slipped under the fire’s magical spell.

When her mind awoke, Emily realized the big log had burned down to coals before her oblivious eyes, her senses having been thoughtlessly submerged in the fire’s mysterious heart. Bewitching it is . . . as if taunting me . . . telling me it holds all the primordial secrets of the world—past, present, future—but it refuses to yield those secrets, abandons me to my heart. She thought of Tayler, thanked him for staying away while she grieved for Henry. Clearly, he had some decency, but soon she must meet with him, end their relationship. And Father . . . poor Father . . . his gut-ripping cough, lost weight, frequent fevers, ever-increasing time spent lying exhausted on his bed. Where will it end? Mother, please come soon, or I fear you’ll ne’er see him alive. And Mother, please ask God to let me find my locket.

She put another log on the fire, again stared into the flames, saw her parents, her deceased brother, herself holding her baby brother and Henry on her lap, all beside the fireplace in a new frame house in Chesapeake.
Her father smoked his pipe and between puffs joined them in verses of
The Keeper
, one of their favorite songs. She smiled as she mouthed the words, saw their laughing faces, their bodies swaying to the music, felt their joyful hugs, their warmth.

The Keeper did a-hunting go

And under his coat he carried a bow

All for to shoot at a merry little doe

Among the leaves so green, O
.

Jackie boy! Master!

Sing ye well! Very well!

Hey down, ho down
,

Derry, derry down
,

Among the leaves so green, O!

To my hey down, down
,

To my ho down, down
,

Hey down, ho down!

Derry, derry down
,

Among the leaves so green, O
.

Mother, I miss you so. Her smile melted away as her eyes bored deeper into the fire. She allowed it to pull her inward, beyond the surface of the flames, into its hidden soul, the sanctum of knowledge. Suddenly, she saw flashes of her strange dream of the night before: the huge brown bear walking side by side with a little white fawn as if protecting it, then many brown and white fawns walking behind them before scattering in all directions. What does it mean? Why would I dream such a thing? Isna’s face appeared in the fire, his wry smile, his intense warrior’s glare, then a different smile, a smile of warm affection, adoration, tenderness. Her heart sizzled with desire; within a single beat, a warm glow flowed through her body, down her legs. Her breath quickened; she felt a sudden, damp warmth between her thighs. Isna, I must be with you . . . my life, my all.

She’d not seen him since the hunting foray to Monacan country and Henry’s passing, but Shines had told her of the encounter with the Powhatans, how Isna had charged ten Powhatans alone, how he and Soft-Nose had killed two, wounded two others, including their leader, held them at bay until the Chesapeakes arrived. The Powhatans had demanded the Lakota and Chesapeakes relinquish Isna’s deer, but he’d refused, stepped forward to claim it. The Powhatan leader had moved to stop him; but as the two grasped their weapons, the second Chesapeake and Lakota hunting party had arrived with bows drawn. And since the Powhatans had left their bows in the forest when they charged Isna, the Chesapeakes and Lakota now had the advantage in both numbers and armament. Shines had measured up to her name when she proudly told Emily of the Powhatan leader’s fury at being outmaneuvered, his promise to kill Isna when next they met. But her smile turned to awe as she described Isna’s calm courage in standing a breath from the Powhatan’s face, smiling at him, telling him not once, but twice, that his scalp would hang in his lodge at the bottom of his scalp pole. She’d beamed with pride when she’d told how the Powhatan leader, whose name was the Panther, had glared at Isna for a long while then turned his back, motioned his men to leave, walked away. The Chesapeakes and Lakota had kept their bows aimed at the Powhatans until they’d picked up their dead and their bows and disappeared into the forest. After a tumultuous victory cry, the hunting parties had gutted the deer and started back to the village with advance and rear scouts, bows ready, in case the Powhatans returned to fight. The Chesapeake warriors said they’d never seen such courage as Isna’s in charging ten Powhatans alone, killing one and wounding the Panther. Emily had stared at Shines, wide-eyed, speechless, her hands trembling, a sudden sweat beading on her forehead. Fie on him, she’d thought. How can he do this to me, risk his life as though it means nothing, and charge into certain death. I can’t bear it. How can I love a Savage . . . but, dear Lord, I do. You know I do, with all my heart and soul. I must see him.

While the other three Lakota slept, Isna stared into the small but intense fire in the center of his lodge. His gaze penetrated to the fire’s heart, pulled his mind and soul along to search for answers to the questions that haunted him. I love her, he thought, but how can it be so? She’s of a different people with strange thoughts . . . yet
she’s
not strange. She understands the Lakota, thinks more and more like us, will soon know our language, more of our ways. Perhaps . . . he shook his head . . . no, it can never be. So am I not foolish to remain with her? Perhaps I should leave now, spare us both the pain of leaving later, when that pain will certainly be greater, for my love and desire grow with the speed of a bounding deer. He saw her face in the flames, her raven hair, features that captured and held a man’s eyes, her own eyes of blue fire that enflamed his soul, harvested its secrets, enslaved him, filled him with wild desire. No! I cannot leave her, must be with her, hold her, feel her heart beat with mine, her warmth, her touch, her kiss, her . . . but she will be mourning the death of the child she nursed. Nothing strikes a woman harder than a child’s death, and it will be of no matter that the child was not her own . . . the pain will be the same. Unfortunate that Isna knows not how these people grieve . . . but could it not be the same as the Lakota? Perhaps . . . but not likely, and would it not be bad manners to do the wrong thing and increase her pain . . . and would not a kind person stay away for a time, let her mourn, strengthen her soul from within? Yes, but it could take many days, perhaps an entire moon cycle, for she has seen much death for one so young; Isna must give her time . . . but how much? Even tomorrow is too long.

Virginia’s whimper broke Emily’s trance, sent an alarming shudder through her mind. She climbed to her feet, walked quickly to the crib, lifted her out, sat on a stool, then dropped her smock and began to nurse. She looked at the sleeping Elyoner. Thank you, Ellie, for letting me be with this little one. Were it not for her, I’d cry myself to death and worry myself into my grave. May God care for our little Henry . . . and help Father recover. And, blessed Lord, please let me see Isna tomorrow.

Emily and Shines laid strips of venison across thin, green tree branches supported at either end by tall, vertical, forked stakes which held the meat high over a smoky, slow-burning fire outside Shines’ lodge. When the new meat was in place, they collected the dried, brittle meat they had removed from the fire and laid it beside two thick, flat rocks a foot in diameter, sitting on a tanned deer hide spread on the ground. Emily watched attentively as Shines laid several dried strips in a single layer on top of one of the rocks, began pounding them with a second rock, which had a flat bottom and a top that fit comfortably into her small hand. She pounded vigorously until the strips were pulverized into a fine powder which she then brushed off the stone and heaped around it.

Emily covered her own rock with a layer of dried meat and started pounding along with Shines. After twenty minutes, Shines raised her hand for Emily to stop, covered her rock with dried, purple berries, and resumed pounding. Emily mimicked her until after an hour, Shines again stopped, laid her two rocks aside, and retrieved a wooden bowl of melted animal fat that had been sitting beside the fire. She then sprinkled in the powdered venison and berries, stirring the mixture into a thick paste with a wide stick whittled flat on one end and carved into a handle on the other.