by S. L. Hawke
“McKenna!!!! Dammit man, she’s a member of the Russian Royal Court. Keep your distance.” Her uncle’s voice came to the rescue.
McKenna’s cornflower blue eyes went icy, his lips slow to let go of hers, as he released her neck. Emma looked away and down to the ground, feeling ashamed that she allowed him to be so intimate.
“She is not Russian,” McKenna challenged.
“She has the Royal Blood of the Islands too, you fool!” Her Uncle wheezed. His breathless corpulent form now came alongside Emma.
“She should not have been alone then,” McKenna hissed. Emma’s uncle came between them, huffing and puffing a stream of apologies, but Emma was deaf to it. Instead she watched McKenna leave, stopping only once with his back to her, looking behind him as if she had called to him. Emma flushed, feeling shame and rage at once, and trembled with anger, fear, and resentment.
The next month, McKenna visited the farmstead, following Emma with those eyes, still, and ice-like, as if he was waiting for the right moment to take things into his own hands. And whenever Emma was in town, he would ‘accidentally’ be nearby, helping her up into her carriage. The worst of it came at the summer ball, when McKenna held her tightly to his body during a waltz, breathing deeply near the base of her neck, and again, trying to kiss her in a recess of a nearby alcove. It was as if he had already taken her and yet, he told no one of the beachhead, made no boast of the kiss. He had no respect for Liam.
“Men die easily here. Should you find yourself unexpectedly widowed you can count on me to do the right thing.” McKenna told her one afternoon as he helped her up into the royal barouche. Emma refused to look him in the eye, but she could feel him smile at her fear that he would someday win. It was only a matter of time. The sensation of helplessness sickened her. She fought the emotion with investigation and study, trying to learn as much as she could about him. McKenna had no respect for human life and had owned slaves. His father kept young Haitian women for his personal pleasure. Emma was certain McKenna would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
“Idiot sot. You don’t deserve any of this!” McKenna yelled, turning the furniture over, breaking the lamps and vases.
Faustino’s voice intruded: “There are silver ingots in the workshop at the other end of the house, enough to buy your supplies for Poole.” Emma could see Faustino look down the hallway. They saw each other. His eyes widened for a full heartbeat. Quickly he turned away, his back to Emma, blocking McKenna’s view of her in the hallway. Faustino was giving her time to get away, just as he had promised.
“Forgive me Liam,” Emma whispered. She scurried away through the kitchen and down into the basement. Her servants were huddling quietly around the cellar door. They saw her. One of her maids took off her own happi, a short Japanese work coat made of linen, and tried to give it to Emma. Emma stopped her with a gentle hand on the maid’s own. The sounds of burning and breaking above their heads made Emma quickly move through the cellar door and down to its back wall. Liam had installed a false panel within the brick, hiding the secret cellar.
Emma struggled to recall the puzzle’s key. The clever thirteen different levers of wood held the door unseen against the panel. Softly, like a spell, she began to recite the combination. “Light as wind,” she whispered, and pushed the Birchwood peg to the left.
Crash! Her servants cringed, looking upward.
Emma tried to focus on the rhyme and the lock. “Dark as night,” she murmured, and moved the ebony peg to the right. Voices could be heard, yelling above them. “Warm as blood,” The mahogany peg went in, “Soft as silk.” Emma heard the tumbler lift with a slight click as she slid the last peg, made of oak, into the hole. The door opened with a slight sigh.
Emma pushed her maids through its opening while the men watched from behind. One of them, she saw, held a short, half size tonto blade. She was grateful. Most likely, he had carried this with him regardless, a truly loyal member of her mother’s court, samurai to the last moment. Nodding to the other butler, they rolled a nearby heavy barrel of gunpowder for just this purpose, directly in front of the door. Emma blessed Liam for seeing ahead, and fled down into the tunnel.
After a stifling, frightening hour, they were able to come out into the Gulch. Everyone was covered in waste, as Emma thought it would be best to take the tunnel that came out into the waste pipe which flowed directly into the creek. They ran gratefully, into the rushing waters of Rodríguez Creek and washed the slime from their clothes. Emma looked behind her in fear, wondering if they had figured out where she might have fled. She could hear the screaming of horses and knew that Faustino had collected his payment for silence. They were worth more than he stole all year, especially the Arabian Mare, a gift from her Russian Uncle. At least, if McKenna agreed to let Faustino have a share of the ‘spoils’.
Would McKenna kill Faustino? No, Emma thought, not yet, not while the Confederate Thieves hid out on rancho lands. Faustino was too smart to fall into that trap. Emma wished Faustino would not work for the Confederates. But he hated America, and felt it his duty to try and destroy it. Aiding the Confederate cause would create havoc, giving Spain time to retake California and restore the ranchos. He was a dreamer, Emma thought sadly. Still, his information on their movements kept all people of color safe most of the time.
Another explosion shook the ground. They all cried out, despite the danger. Emma moved up the creek as quickly as she could, stopping and listening for any sound of pursuit. It was getting near noon, but the light from the barn and house fire still illuminated the creek. Smoke drifted downward, making her eyes sting. They coughed, the servants holding the sleeves of their coats over their faces. Emma let the tears fall across her cheeks and let her nose run. It’s all gone now, everything I have, everything Liam had, it’s all gone, and it’s my fault.
Emma led her servants up the cold, wide creek. General Sweet himself had told Emma, should anything go wrong, she was to come that way. He must be watching the creek, she thought. Sweet did not believe in the Yankee purity, as the local newspaper had called it. Yes, General Sweet would be on the lookout, especially after seeing the fires.
Suddenly out of the bushes, came three armed men. The servants huddled around Emma, protecting her with their bodies. Her butlers drew their tontos.
A short man with a moderately thick middle, cigar clamped to the side of his mouth, enormous Walrus (Emma had actually seen one once) whiskers, appeared out of the darkness. She relaxed.
“You said ‘no’, to this suitor too, eh?” General Sweet grinned but gestured to Emma to move forward. Emma hesitated. “Well, com’on Your Gloriness, we can’t wait.” He used both hands to move her forward, like a wayward child.
“Take them, shelter them, until I can get help.” Emma started to turn around.
“My Illustrious Princess, yeu are under my protection. Yeu are not to be that bugger’s concubine. Yeu are comin’ with me. And beggin’ your pardon, My Queen, but yeu are in your underthings.” General Sweet’s eyeballs were bulging out of his sockets.
“He can’t find me Paul. Please, I can’t risk you becoming his enemy. Please just take care of them.” Emma then turned her back on her servants. She ignored the pleading, plugged up her ears and ran down the gulch as far as she could. Another explosion went off. Emma hoped wildly that McKenna would die in the house fire. She ran, through the water, stumbling on and off a trail she often used during her rides, moving towards Rodríguez land. If Faustino was anywhere nearby, she could ride to their rancho and hide, wait, create a plan…
She stopped once, to retie her sandals and rinse off the cuts on her legs from the low brambles. It seemed to be getting dark now. How long had she been wandering down this gully? Nothing looked familiar and it began to get cold. The gulch opened up into a meadow. She thought she saw lights ahead and the sounds of music and people talking. A great gregarious laugh echoed up to her. A woman’s voice joined it. Happy Birthday! She heard one man loudly exclaim, followed by OOOPAH!! T
he sounds of happiness and people enjoying themselves heartened her. She ran towards them. Lights seemed to twinkle above a set of large oaks she did not remember being in this part of the gulch before, but the lights wriggled and became distant, as if they were phantoms. Then all was silent again.
Finally, she came upon the Soquel Road. Crossing it quickly, she found a barn. Carefully she opened the door and went inside. A burro turned from his hay to look at her. She staggered into the next stall and fell into the fresh straw. Then curling up like an abandoned kitten, she burrowed under the sheaves and fell into an exhausted sleep.
A tall man with a black hat, beard and long hair, wearing a strangely shaped gold shield on the side of his belt haunted her dreams of gunshots and fire.
2
Emma heard the barn door open. The rising sun spilled in, leaving her blind for a moment. She stood up, shaking the straw off of her hair.
An old man cried out, then calmed when he saw that it was Emma.
“My child, what has happened? Have the bandits ravished you? Those white devils are evil. Please, do not be afraid,” He spoke oddly but gently, as if to a small colt, and in old Castellano. She wracked her brain for the right words.
“Don Arana?” Emma recognized the old man. He mucked her stables and brought wood for Liam’s boilers and kilns. The wrinkled face crinkled with relief as he regarded Emma with concern.
“Holy mother of Jesu! You are safe. The Iced Eyed Gringo is looking for you. “
“Has he come here? Have you been harmed?” Emma shook at the thought of being caught. She was exhausted and wanted to give up, then grew angry at herself for feeling a lack of resolve.
“He came and looked right into this barn and did not see you by the love of Jesu! “ Don Arana took Emma’s hands as if she were otherworldly. Emma suddenly felt self-conscious, standing half naked in a filthy shift and sandals. “He wants me to go back up to your farm and put out all the smoldering wood, chop it up and make piles. The Lorenzana boy told me to listen to him and make sure the fire is completely out.”
Emma started to shake and cry. It was miraculous that she was not found. She had slept through it all! How was that possible? For a moment, Emma truly believed Liam must have had some divine influence. Don Arana put his poncho over her shoulders and took her back to his home. Doña Arana had just stoked her oven and was rolling out the tortillas on the hearthstone. When she saw Emma, she cried out and took Emma to the bath house.
“We have only these things for you.” Esperanza Arana sadly gave Emma a set of trousers, long underwear, and a brightly colored shirt with silver buttons. “My skirts and corsets are too wide and too long. There is no time, if Juan is to get you safely to Rancho de Carbonera.”
There was also a hat made of felt and a red flannel bandana. These were Juan Arana the Younger’s clothes, preserved tenderly on his neatly made bed. “They tell us that he died of snake bite, but he was mistaken for Faustino.” Esperanza whispered sadly.
They did not know that Juan the Younger had been lynched by a mob in the hills, the same mob that Faustino was helping now. Faustino must have told them Juan had died of snake bite, Emma thought.
“I am so sorry.” Emma held Esperanza’s hand in common sorrow. Her own little son of two years was laid to rest at the Evergreen Cemetery just last year. Emma unfolded the tenderly washed and preserved garments as if they were made of the most expensive silk.
“I will be alright, Esperanza.” Emma put on the young man’s clothing. It was comfortable and clean. Suddenly she had an idea. “I need to go back to my ranch.”
“But why? The Iced Eyed Gringo and the Whipping Man will find you!”
The Whipping Man. Emma had never heard John Towne called that before. She would find out later why he was known this way. If anyone would know the answer, it would be Cynthia Guild. Cynthia was married to Jonathan Guild, a wealthy merchant and dairy farm holder. They had no children of their own so Cynthia made it her mission on the Earth to minister to orphans, women of the whorehouses, and especially women pregnant by those men who abused them in such a way. “Esperanza, Liam left something for me that I must have. It will save all of us. We must go back so that I can find it.” Then Emma took a deep breath. With her left hand and using Doña Arana’s cleaver, Emma lay her head down on the wooden kitchen table. Then she raised the cleaver and let it fall with a loud clunk! Emma straightened. Esperanza held her hand over her own mouth.
Two feet of Emma’s braid lay on the table. She picked up the hair and threw it into Esperanza’s oven flames. My life as I knew it, is no longer mine. Emma said to herself. I live to avenge Liam, and destroy men like McKenna, and John Towne. Old Juan, She knew would be going up to the estate to clean up after the fire. No doubt his cart would be stopped by McKenna’s men blocking the road, but Emma, wearing their son’s clothes, because she had nothing else, hoped she would be ignored.
McKenna’s men, some missing teeth, or an eye, guarded the Gulch trail with rifles and an occasional pistol. Emma kept her eyes downward and sat in the back of the wagon as any Latino son would. She hid most of her face in her poncho. What was left of her hair was tied back in a boy’s pony tail with a red ribbon, a mother’s token against witchcraft. The men stopped Don Arana’s cart, then looked briefly in the back. They ignored Emma.
The house had been burned to the ground. But sections of the workshop were intact. Emma’s hopes rose. What she needed was inside the workshop.
The Barn was also gone. Emma stayed close to Old Juan as he began to gather wood and stack it. She helped him, hiding behind a smoldering, odiferous pile of debris when McKenna strode by. John Towne was there, as was General Sweet, who was gesticulating wildly about the fire.
“General, General, be calm, man! We have it under control. Are you certain the Princess was not at home? Her husband’s body unburied and she leaves him in the home? Savage beliefs I imagine.” John Towne snickered loudly at his own words.
“She would have been overcome, regardless!” General Sweet argued. “She was also to meet her aunt down at the Harbor.” Emma heard the General cough and saw him look around in disgust and anger. ”OH yeu are so full of yourself.” General Sweet cradled his rifle. “If yeu don’t watch it, it will be yeu smoldering in your own house, and McKenna’d not likely be comin’ for yeu. Yeu could have taken all of our lands in fire, man!”
“I didn’t set it! It was an accident. Most likely, the burglar knocked over a lamp. I am here to help clean up and of course to be a good neighbor. Can I really be responsible for horse thieving? Look to your greaser neighbors! They stole her horses! They must have done this as well,” John Towne pointed to Old Juan Arana and Emma, “Those are the only greasers you can trust to work around here. I don’t see that pissy little brat Lorenzana. He must have taken off with Her Highness’ horses. I’ll see to it that the catamite gets hanged for horse thieving. Don’t you think for one moment that I won’t talk with the Sheriff!” John Towne crossed his arms in front of his chest, as if to conclude the matter.
General Sweet shook his head. He walked away, mounted up with his sons and men he hired from New Almaden, and rode back up to his fortress on the hill. Emma fought back tears watching him go, but then at Old Juan’s insistence, returned to her task.
Ian McKenna had felt the effete’s eyes on him. Especially when he could not stop kicking the corpse of Liam MacAree. Ian had deliberately ignored the greaser’s hint of looting silver ingots from the workshop. He was not a common thief. All Ian could think about was her. Emma. Emma MacAree and that day. That perfect day, not long ago, on Schwann’s beachhead when he truly saw into all of her soul.
Her shift had clung to her breasts, their dark nipples trying to escape from the cotton as the water pressed the garment to her skin. The mound of her belly, the tangle of her nethers, dark and curled, like the hair that hung down in a braid to the side. The curve of her thigh, cream through the sheer jellyfish like silk, made him think of nothing, except that he wanted
to caress her, that he could caress her, if she would have him. But to see her standing there, defiant, daring him to try and even imagine if he could lay with her, made his heart completely stop.
She had no shame, as a true queen never would. Her amber eyes drew him in against his will and yet with his permission. The ice in his veins, the dull hard ache inside his stomach finally eased. He drew breath as if the ocean itself had given him back his life. He had watched her swallow at his understanding of her state and saw her entire body slightly tremble.
Ian knew she would lie with him, given time. A woman like that loved a strong man who rode well. She certainly had no fear about sharing herself even now.
Schwann’s Beachhead had a regular stream of vagrants sleeping on the embankment after their ration of whiskey and moonshine. Schwann gave good money to have them chased off, and Ian made a decent living doing just that since he had arrived here from Alabama. He was destitute after having lost his plantation to the ravages of the War.
Keeping other ranchlands free of squatters and drunks was something the law had no time for and did not want to do. Ian felt like he was ridding the land of vermin, shooting the hobos and ne’er do well drunks, enjoying the fear in their faces as they fled before him. Good. Maybe word will get around that vagrancy isn’t tolerated on private lands.
He’d seen the wild women from a distance, but he didn’t think they would be as beautiful or as brazen as they were, almost naked, save for the cotton nightshifts. But exotics were different, and they made men mad with their hot blood. Greaser women were temperamental and violent, but Island women were different.
His own father had lain with slaves, saying that Darkies were full of passions white English women didn’t know about. French women did, he would tell his sons, and Darkies were trained by the French. As for Island women, they came from Eden. God gave them to us. They were ours.
