Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (83 page)

Emily stared thoughtlessly into the fire for twenty minutes until, for the first time in a month, an image of George congealed in her mind. You were such a good, kind soul, George, but I’ve betrayed your memory, your sacrifice. How strange that in a day’s time two men saved my life: you, who were truer than true and gave your life for mine, while the other forcibly invaded my body and stole the life you saved, along with my eternal soul. And you, Isna, my love, now banished from my life; nay, I cannot bear it . . . but nor can I bear the pain, the shame of facing you now that I’m . . . oh, Isna, how I miss you, how I love you. You must be wondering what’s happened to me, why I’ve abandoned you. I love you, I love you, I love you. She closed her teary eyes, moaned softly. My life is done. She thought of Isna’s vision, her dream, the white fawn, the brown fawns. Never to be. She looked at her doeskin dress hanging on the wall. Must give it away or destroy it lest its presence torment me all my days by reminding me of what was and what might have been. Must also forget
you
, my Isna . . . now . . . even before you leave in the spring. She felt a surge of nausea rise to her throat, stood, started for the door. But it settled as quickly as it came; so she returned to the fire, sat, tried to calm herself with slow, deep breaths.

As Emily visualized Isna handing her the doeskin dress, her father moaned, tried to raise his head from the pillow but couldn’t; his lips moved but without sound. She rushed to his bed, knelt beside him. His gaunt face was a pasty, pallid color like old, icy snow, had the texture of an empty, crinkled, rawhide bag, and a deep, thick cough rumbled in his lungs with every breath. He covered his mouth with a blood-soaked rag, pressed his other hand against his chest, again tried to speak, managed only a faint, broken whisper. “Emily . . . my . . . my dear . . . Emily . . . Oh, Em . . . look at me. Shall . . . soon die . . . so much . . . to say . . . to you . . . no time . . . so weak.” He moaned, lay back on the pillow, closed his eyes, trembled.

Emily rubbed her eyes on her sleeve, leaned over him, whispered, “No, Father, please don’t leave me! I beg you.”

He opened his eyes, again mouthed words without sound. Emily leaned her ear close to his mouth, whispered, “Speak slowly, Father. Take time, don’t tire yourself. I’m here.”

He wheezed, rattled, coughed; his voice quivered as he spoke. “Nay . . . my dear . . . few . . . moments left . . . must tell you.”

She sobbed, held him, moved her ear closer. “Yes, Father. Tell me.”

“You . . . must be . . . strong . . . my Em . . . as when . . . brother died . . . you . . . were strong . . . Mother and I . . . broke . . . remember?”

“Aye, Father. But that was different.”

“No, Em . . . same . . . same . . . you’re strong . . . stronger than I . . . stronger than Mother . . . you will survive . . . must survive . . . live.”

“Father, don’t leave me.”

“Emily . . . tell Mother . . . I love her . . . always . . . loved her . . . even when . . . she was . . . angry at me.”

“Yes, Father. I shall.”

A faint twinkle appeared in his eyes, a hint of a smile grew on his lips. “Before . . . you . . . were born . . . I forgot . . . anniversary . . . Mother . . . angry . . . I knew not . . . why.” He closed his eyes, rested a moment, panted, intermittently coughed. “When I . . . realized . . . why . . . brought . . . fat goose . . . flowers . . . knelt . . . before her . . . proposed . . . again . . . she smiled . . . kissed me.” He forced a weak smile. “You . . . were conceived . . . that night . . . and what . . . a joy . . . you have . . . always been . . . to us . . . so proud . . . of you.” He closed his eyes, again rested, coughed; his body writhed violently from side to side as if to expel the cough.

So helpless . . . be strong, Em. She blubbered through heavy tears, “Father, I love you so. I’m so sorry for the things I’ve—”

“Emily . . . survive . . .tell Mother . . . how deeply . . . love her . . . so sorry . . . brought you here . . . sorry for . . . leaving you . . . here alone . . .”

“Father, please forgive me for—”

“Hugh Tayler . . . loves you . . . good man . . . gentry . . . marry him . . . Emily.” He seized her sleeves, tried to lift himself. “Emily . . . marry him . . . survive . . . only way.”

She eased him back onto the bed. “You must rest, Father. Don’t speak.”

He nodded weakly, relaxed his grip, closed his eyes, then resumed his rhythmic chest rattle.

Emily moaned, cried quietly beside him. Such a kind, well-meaning man, and I treated him so poorly. She took her mother’s letter from her apron pocket, looked at it, held it to her cheek. Thank you, Lord, for sparing him the pain of knowing what’s befallen me at the hands of this man he would have me marry. She stared emptily at him for several minutes before a repugnant thought took shape in her mind, hovered there like a stale kitchen smell. In the end, I’ve no choice but to go to Tayler . . . but as wife or whore?

Tayler sat alone in his cottage, stared at the embroidered kerchief Emily had given him back at Roanoke when their relationship was on the ascent, when her growing affection had warmed his heart, nurtured and encouraged his hopes for the future. He spread it open, read the inscription—
Savor Each Day the Lord Provides
. A thin mist hung in his eyes as he recalled their moments together, the afternoon in the forest when she’d smiled, handed him the kerchief, then held her hand on his for a long moment. What have I done? He bit his lip, stared at the ground with mournful eyes. The love of my life . . . the most wonderful, kind, gentle, innocently stunning woman in the world . . . and I despoiled her. He laid his face in his hands. Ashamed. My future, my pathway to salvation, all gone, for she spoke the truth. She
will
always hate me. But yet, he squinted, raised his cheeks in a puzzled look, she showed the rapture of one lost in passion. Perchance, she
did
find pleasure but battles guilt within. Or mayhap she had no control at all over how her body responded. Women are indeed complex, confounding creatures. Either way, I was disdainful of her honor . . . but it was my frustration that prompted it—her abandonment of our relationship, her foolish infatuation with that Savage.

A half hour later, he looked back at the kerchief. I love her as no other, but beyond that I have an obligation to her for what I did, for ’tis likely true
that no worthy man will now have her. But mustn’t I also fear she will tell another what I’ve done? And if that should be, am I not then bound to do what I threatened to do to the young Dare child? He nodded. Yes, I
am
so bound, and though it would grieve me to do so, I
will
take her life if I must. But most importantly, Emily must
know
that I will do so; for if others learn what I’ve done, my future and my mission will be in peril. He shook his head. Fie on these thoughts. They torment me without mercy. He thought for a moment. There’s but one way to rid myself of this torment and at the same time satisfy both my love
and
my obligation to her: make her my wife. He looked at the candle burning beside him. And if that cannot be, then I shall force her, by way of my threat, to become my mistress; and if, in the end,
that
should fail, as well, then I shall indeed take that young life. He frowned as an unsettling thought infiltrated his mind. If I take the child’s life then all will know of my transgressions; I shall pay dearly, and my future and my mission will be at an end. So my plan must not end there. No, the young one’s death must be but the instrument that convinces Emily I will forever do whatever I say. There must be more, and the
more
will be the death of her Savage if she fails to keep her silence and do my will. He put another log on the fire, watched the flames take hold, slowly shook his head. Though I’ve gravely wronged her, the great irony is that my taking of her body did naught but enflame my lust to new heights—new heights that demand I soon lie with her again.

Emily stared at the floor of Elyoner’s cottage with a glum, detached look as she held Virginia to her breast. She glanced briefly at Virginia, offered a thin, fleeting smile as she began to nurse; but the baby soon stopped nursing, began to squirm and sputter. “Ellie, I think you’d better take her.” She shook her head, glanced furtively at Elyoner, shrunk from her probing glare. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My milk seems less each day.” She looked at the baby. Your mother suspects something, little one, but she must never know. And you must keep your life at all costs. Pray she stops staring at me like an interrogating barrister. She forced her gaze back to
Elyoner, broached a false smile as she handed Virginia to her. “Ellie, why do you look at me so?”

“Are you well, Emily? You . . . you seem most unlike yourself these last days . . . as if something troubles you deep within.”

She feigned a smile. “Of . . . of course, I’m well.” She shook her head. “You’re imagining things, Ellie.”

“I think not. Your thoughts are elsewhere, mayhap up there on a star.” She looked skyward, lifted her hand toward the ceiling. “I don’t know what it might be, but something is different; ’tis as if you carry a great burden you’re unable to confide. ’Pon my faith, lass, I’m not blind; I’m your dearest friend and know your manner.”

Emily swallowed hard, again shook her head as her dulled mind drifted in a sea of apprehension. What should I say? “Truly, Ellie, there’s nothing.”

Elyoner held her rigid glare. “Come now, Em. I’m not fresh from the womb. We women know when something’s amiss, and you’ve not been
you
for a week now. Forsooth, lass, none of us carry secret burdens well; and there’s great relief in telling others when something afflicts us, great comfort to be gained from another helping us endure our trials. And who better than the friend who loves you so dearly she’d give her life for you?”

Emily felt her composure crumbling from within. “Truly, Ellie . . .”

“Em, do you realize how much you’ve cried of late? People don’t do that unless something troubles them deeply.” She paused. “Is it Isna? Has something happened between you? Have you even seen him?”

A gust of pain stormed into her heart like a North Sea gale; her hands trembled; tears filled her eyes. “No, I . . . I have not.”

“Did you quarrel?”

“No.”

“Then why haven’t you seen him?”

Emily bit her lower lip, felt warm tears on her cheeks, her heart shattering like broken glass. “I don’t love him anymore.” She lowered her face to her hands and moaned.

“Then why are you crying? I don’t believe you for an instant, Emily Colman. ’Tis something else.” A compassionate look abruptly took her face. “Oh my Lord! ’Tis your father! How stupid of me. How callous. Oh, Em. Pardon my
blindness. Yesterday when I saw him, he . . . I understand your distress.” She laid Virginia in her crib, pulled her smock over her shoulders; hurried to Emily, leaned over her, held her close; kissed her head, caressed her neck.

Emily whimpered, trembled. “He’s near death, Ellie. What shall I ever do without him?” Father, Isna, losing both of you at once.

“You shall come and live with us. That’s what you shall do.”

“Nay! I could never do that. You must have your privacy.”

“It matters not.”

“Aye, it does. And I shall not intrude upon you. I’ll do quite well on my own. But Ellie, I shall miss him so. I never truly appreciated him; and now . . . now when he’s slipping away, I feel so guilty that I wasn’t a better daughter. So many times I was brash and short with him. Ellie, give me a kerchief. I can’t stop crying.”

After a lengthy cry, Emily dabbed her bloodshot eyes, gave Elyoner a faint smile. “Thank you, Ellie. You’re such a dear friend. I . . . I don’t know what I’d do without you and your relentless solace.”

“Dear Emily, you are the sister I never had. And it shall always be thus. Your sorrow is
my
sorrow, and it
will
pass, and I will
help
it pass.”

“I love you, my sister.” She smiled a genuine smile, took a deep breath, then looked at the door. “I should return to Father. Thank you, Ellie.”

“I shall come over and stay with you as soon as this one’s asleep.” She nodded at Virginia. “Call me if you need me sooner. Oh, by the bye, did you meet with Hugh Tayler?”