Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (51 page)

Colman said, “Richard Arthur, Thomas Scot, and Margaret Lawrence.”

Baylye nodded. “Since we’ve nothing to write with, all of you must help me remember the names of those who’ve perished. Sergeant Gibbes and I buried Morris Allen and William Sole. There were also five others, four men and a woman, we couldn’t identify. We’ll have to determine who remains when we reach Chesapeake and check the manifest.” He shook his head. “It has been a long, tiring day, Thomas, and—”

“Excuse me, Sir,” Emily said, “were any of those you found dressed like George Howe? He rescued Father and me . . . and others. He was wearing a—”

Baylye and Gibbes looked at one another, shook their heads. “I’m afraid not, Emily. I saw him helping others, as well. A courageous lad. He would have made you—”

Emily covered her face, turned away.

“I’m sorry, Emily. Please forgive me.”

By the time the sun sat two hours above the western horizon, they had advanced but two miles, buried eight more people, found five alive. Two of the dead had been with Gibbes on the shallop that had sailed to the right of the pinnace, closest to the outer banks, while the remaining dead and the survivors, three men and two women, had been on the pinnace. As the nine made their way slowly up the shore, they scanned the sound and the banks for more bodies and survivors, searched for debris that might reveal the fate of the second shallop. Most had lost their hats, shoes, jackets, and weapons in the storm; and though the early fall sun was slightly cooler than the debilitating August sun, it remained hot enough to burn exposed skin and gravely aggravated their thirst. So Emily and the other woman had torn their aprons and part of their skirts into sections of cloth for themselves and the others to drape over their heads and necks for a measure of shade.

Wary of surprise by Savages, Baylye had cautioned all to watch the banks, sound, and sea, both north and south, for Savages on foot or in canoes; for without weapons or cover to hide themselves, they were nakedly vulnerable to discovery and attack, their only hope being to spot an enemy before being seen and lie flat on the opposite side of the small rise that formed the spine of the outer banks. Although they had seen nothing but small pieces of debris on the shore and in the sound, they
had
discovered six sets of footprints heading north, including a set made by shoes.

As he walked with Thomas Colman, Baylye said, “Thomas, I think ’twould be wise to walk through the night and try to reach the main by morning . . . we
must
have water. Another day in this sun will shrivel our chances of survival like spit on a hot rock.”

“Aye, Roger; and remember, Lieutenant Waters won’t consider us overdue until tomorrow night. So we’ve no choice but to go on . . . Emily and I had planned to do so.”

Baylye nodded, scanned the sound for a few moments, then looked back at Colman. “Thomas, I’ve been fretting all day over how many critical skills we might have lost in the storm and what we’ll have to work with at Chesapeake. Physician Jones will be irreplaceable, and—”

“Our three sailors, as well . . . but with nothing left to sail . . .” His voice trailed off, then he flashed a hopeful look. “Actually, Roger, we don’t yet know the fate of the second shallop, and ’tis not impossible that they survived and are looking for us.”

“I suppose there’s a chance, but ’twould indeed be a miracle if ’twas so.”

Emily and Johnny Gibbes walked thirty feet behind Baylye and Colman. She had told him of George’s heroism, her hope they would yet find him alive. “I suppose you felt the same when you heard about Audrey after the massacre. ’Tis natural to keep on hoping, even when you know there’s no reason to it.” She studied him with empathetic eyes.

“Aye, Mistress, I did . . . but fortunately, there’s much to think about now: survival and starting a new village.” They walked silently for a few moments before he said, “I imagine you’re in no mind to hear about Master Tayler . . .”

Emily stiffened, looked at him in fearful anticipation. I so dread this . . . the end for Hugh and me . . . but why should I fear it? If Johnny can affirm Elyoner, why wouldn’t I
want
to know it, and why would I
ever
want to see Hugh Tayler again? And if he
can’t
affirm her, then I’ll know
that
truth . . . and be able to go on with my life and my relationship with Hugh. So what do you fear, Emily Colman? Forsooth, I fear knowing I was deceived and must face my deceiver and confront him . . . and hear him deny what’s been said . . . and then face a dreadful dilemma: my own uncertainty, the possibility of my own indecision . . . and the difficulty and pain of doing whatever
I must do. So the problem is mine . . . mine alone, and
I
must face it and resolve it. But by Christ’s suffering death, I
do
dread facing Hugh Tayler if ’tis true . . . wonder if he’s alive. “I suppose he could be dead.”

“He
may
be dead, but in case he isn’t . . . and because you’re in danger if he isn’t . . . I feel a duty to tell you the truth about him before ’tis too late.”

Emily squeezed her lips together, looked at him with tight eyes. Hear him, Em . . . hear with your heart but react with your mind. “Very well.” She gazed up the shoreline.

“I know much about him, Mistress, but I should start with whatever your friend told you.”

She glanced at him. “How do you know so much?”

“Because we grew up together in the same place, his father’s estate.
My
father was a tenant farmer there; and though Tayler’s a bit older than I, I grew up hearing of, and witnessing, his deeds. So if it be your will, Mistress, I shall tell you all I know . . . and ’twill be God’s own truth.”

A wave of apprehension burst into Emily’s mind like flood waters through a broken dike. She felt like a child alone in a dark forest on a stormy night. With a quaver in her voice, she said, “My friend heard something about him forcing himself on a young maiden.”

Gibbes flashed an angry look, then one of sadness. “He did indeed, Mistress, and more than once. But the occasion your friend likely spoke of was when he seduced a young lass of fifteen, made her pregnant, then abandoned her, left her alone when she was in labor . . . she bled to death with no one to help her. The baby died, as well . . . and Tayler denied even knowing her.”

Emily’s heart tightened like a hangman’s noose as grim acceptance chewed its way into her exhausted mind. “Forgive me again, but how did you or anyone else come to know such private matters?”

With a look beyond painful, he said, “Mistress, the young lass was my sister.”

Emily gasped, cupped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no! How horrible, how . . .” Her eyes misted with tears.

“Do not be concerned, Mistress. ’Twas long ago.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You must hear the rest. There’s much more.”

She took a deep breath, nodded, felt a surge of anger, then embarrassment that she’d been deceived by a womanizing bounder. She imagined the girl writhing in agony, screaming for help on her blood-soaked bed, suddenly saw
herself
in the girl’s place, felt the agony, the abandonment, despair, life seeping from her body. “Can you tell me what happened at the estate?”

“His father was a firm, fair man, but they never got on well. Nonetheless, his father respected tradition and, while he was still alive, placed Master Tayler in charge of the estate, even though both of his younger brothers were, and still are, far better beings than he.”

“He told me he was the youngest of the brothers and that the older brothers ran the estate . . . ran it into the ground . . . and he had to step in to save it.”

“On the contrary, Mistress Emily. Hugh Tayler was successful only at drinking and womanizing; and ’twas
he
who ran the estate into the ground . . . to the point that his father threw him out and disowned him on his deathbed, gave the estate to the brothers . . . and that is when he joined the army . . . as an officer, of course . . . and that is yet another story.”

Emily shook her head. A fool, I am. “I want to hear about the army, but first, what of his mother? He told me she died when he was very young.”

“No, Mistress. His mother was always on the border of insanity; and though I believe he loved her, he’d no wish to have her survive his father and meddle in the estate; wanted everything for himself, he did. And this part I cannot verify, but ’twas said he encouraged her to take her own life; and being of unsound mind, she did as he suggested, hanged herself from a ceiling beam. Strangely, I believe his grief was genuine, though I don’t know if it was because he feared going to hell or because he loved her and truly regretted what he did.”

Emily stared into empty space. Strange, but I feel sorry for him . . . yet how shall I ever face him or speak to him again . . . perhaps
’twould
be better if he’d died in the tempest. She shook her head. Shame upon you for such thoughts, Emily Colman. “What of the army?”

Gibbes glanced at her with a somber look. “Worse than his earlier years, and since I was in his unit, I know the complete truth of it, even though I
was but a simple soldier and he, an officer. The entire company knew.” A worried look suddenly spread across his face like night shadows following the setting sun. He looked around as if to ensure no one was listening. “Before I continue, I must tell you that Hugh Tayler knows I know everything about him . . . and as you know, he saw us talking at Roanoke. With no uncertainty, my life will be in danger if he ever suspects I’ve told you the truth about him. So I pray, Mistress, please keep all I’ve told you secret.”

“Johnny, surely you don’t believe he’d—”

“Aye, he would, and without hesitation. He’s a brutal, selfish, evil man, and he’ll destroy anyone or anything in his way. And Mistress Emily, if he even suspects I’ve turned you against him, he’ll kill me dead, as sure as there’s a sun in the sky.”

She looked away. “I cannot put you in such danger. Tell me no more. We must tell Master Baylye. We cannot simply sit by and—”

“Tayler’s clever, and telling Baylye may be worse than simply taking my chances.”

She shook her head. “Johnny, you should not have said anything to me, shouldn’t have risked your life on my behalf.”

“Nay, Emily. I did so because you’re in danger of falling prey to his evil . . . like my sister. I did it for both of you—her memory, and your future—and I beg you, please, never again allow yourself to be alone with him . . . never.”

Emily’s teary eyes glistened in the sunlight; her stomach churned. She shuddered, nodded, wished she’d never met Tayler; wished she wouldn’t have to bear the grim truth about him, fear for herself, fear for Johnny Gibbes. She took a deep breath. “Tell me the rest.”

He nodded. “Very well. When we engaged in our first battle in Holland, Tayler—Lieutenant Tayler—was—”

Roger Baylye yelled, “Hello! Hello over there!” He and Thomas Colman quickened their pace toward six colonists who had gathered a small pile of driftwood and were laying a fire. Two lay motionless on the sand, their backs bare, their shirts pulled over their heads.

Christopher Cooper replied, “Roger. Thank God. We prayed there’d be others . . . we’re building a fire for the night in case we find some fish
on the shore . . . Roger, we’re
very
hungry and thirsty, and two of us”—he waited for Baylye to reach him, leaned close, whispered—“ two of us are sick . . . rapid heartbeats, short breath . . . as if they’ve run a great distance. They’re very hot; and both have headaches, cramps, dizziness, and who knows what else.” He glanced at the two. “They also seem lost in their own heads . . . and I know not if they can go on.”

Baylye said, “I’ve seen this before. ’Tis the sun that does it . . . and in God’s name, I don’t know what we can do for them without shade and water.”

Sergeant Gibbes said, “Governor, we can find some sticks and make them a tent with our shirts . . . at least for the remainder of the day.”

“That’s a splendid idea, Sergeant Gibbes . . . as are the ideas of waiting for others to find us and building a fire to cook fish . . . excellent ideas, and I’d gladly embrace them . . . if we weren’t in the situation we’re in.” He looked at each person in turn, gauged their expressions, read little but raw, numb exhaustion. “Unfortunately, there may be hostile Savages about, and a fire would tell them our location . . . we’ve naught but one sword and our eating knives among us.” He glanced at the two sick men. “Of greater concern is the possibility that without shelter and water, some could die tomorrow. Thus I fear we must walk through the night, so we can find water and shade as soon as possible in the morning.” He looked north to where the sound ended and the outer banks merged with the main, estimated the distance at ten miles. “ ’Tis less than two hours until sunset; so until then, I propose we do as Sergeant Gibbes suggested—shield the two who are ill; then at dusk, we shall head north with all the haste we can summon. We shall carry these two, if necessary. At least we won’t get lost out here on the outer banks, and—”

“Hello! Hello there!” a voice to the south yelled.

All but the two sick men looked south. Cooper said, “Looks to be Master Tayler and Sergeant Myllet.”