Maya's Aura: The Redemptioner

by Smith, Skye

  Rachel went back in the parlor to collect the tea tray. They were all still sitting there. She walked behind Jim and clipped him softly across the back of the head. "Go after her, boy. Make sure she is safe. And if you get the chance, ask her to marry you. She is a lot of woman, even at her age."

  Ruth and Elizabeth yelled out, "Rachel!" at the same time and in the same scolding tone. Mary, on the other hand yelled, "Yes, catch her Jim, and bring her back! I like her. She would make a better sister than the one I have now." Elizabeth pounced on her and pulled her hair, and both girls started screaming.

  Jim jumped away from his fighting sisters, thought for a moment, and then grabbing his coat from the vestibule, and went running out the front door.

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  MAYA’S AURA - the Redemptioner by Skye Smith

  Chapter 18 - Jim to the Rescue

  Just before the Otis house was out of sight behind trees, Britta gave it one last look. She saw Jim racing along the road to catch her up so she stopped and waited for him.

  "Where are you going?" he asked. "Sam's house is the other way."

  "I am going to the Warren's," said Britta, starting off again. She was very late back to the shop. The midday rush was about to start. There was no way she could get back in time.

  "I will go with you. A woman alone should not walk these streets. They are dangerous."

  Britta looked around at the gracious houses and the well-dressed strollers and the streets without any rubbish, and laughed. "I walked alone to your house from the market at Faneuil."

  "But you could have disappeared. Been dragged into an evil man's den and disappeared. When you are finished with my father I will walk you home. There, you can just see the roof of the Warren house now. I am sorry my mother was so rude. She does not approve of my father's political friends."

  "Then you know his politics. I doubt that. Prove it," said Britta.

  Jim wanted more than anything in this world to prove himself to this woman. Anything to get another smile like sunshine. "They are creating a shadow government, a linking of committees from all over this province and hopefully in other provinces too. They are putting together a pamphlet to print to send to all the villages around Boston, to convince each to create a local committee."

  "Then you know that the message I carry cannot fall into the sheriff's hands. I mean, in case we are stopped by the governor's spies," she said, playing with his wholesome earnestness.

  "Yes, my father and Sam both fear spies. That is why they want many, many committees, so that if one of them is shut down, there are many more to do the work."

  "What work?" she asked.

  "Why, they are to shadow the governor and his agents, and send notices about what is going on in each village. A shadow government. Didn't I say?."

  "Ah, so they are getting local people to spy for them."

  "No, they are committees of mostly school teachers and pastors," he objected.

  "Committees of spies, for what else is a shadow that watches and reports?"

  "You must not say such things in the Warren house," he warned. "That is where the central committee is meeting for now. Keep in mind that they fear spies. Fear them a great deal. You must not make them suspect you."

  "Why the shadow government, why now, why so urgent?"

  "A customs schooner was burned in Rhode Island," he explained.

  "The Gaspee."

  "Yes. Little was done to capture the man who set the fire," he continued.

  "John Brown."

  "Why yes. Well, parliament in London fears that our provinces are now as corrupt at the colonies in India. You know, the nabobs scandal." She did not respond so he explained. "The nabobs are the equivalent of governors in the Indian colonies, but they worked for the East India Company. They are so corrupt and have taken so much for themselves that now the Company is near to bankruptcy. Meanwhile the nabobs have all become richer than princes."

  "I don't understand."

  "They were being paid handsome bribes from all sides, and at the same time keeping the best trade goods for their own ships. My father says it is the way that all companies go when they get too big. The shareholders must trust the managers, but the managers are working for themselves more than for the company, and certainly not for the shareholders."

  "If they have taken too much, then they are stealing, and should go to prison, and all of their stolen wealth returned."

  "They are too wealthy and too powerful to go to prison. There is corruption in the courts, too. In any case, Parliament in London has decided that from now on, they will pay our governors and their officers directly, rather than having our provinces pay them. They hope that will curb the local corruption."

  "It won't," she said. "John Brown is a big, rich, violent man with many other violent men working for him."

  "You know him?"

  "I do. He does not just bribe. He plays carrot and whip. If you don't take his bribe he threatens you and your family, and he does not make empty threats, so you cannot just ignore it and hope that he goes away. You must choose one or the other. The Gaspee was burned because the captain would not take his bribe."

  Jim let out his breath and whistled.

  "So England pays the governor. So what?" she said. "That is good news. It means less for the province to pay."

  "That is what everyone thinks," he said, "but is it worth the price? A man's boss is the person who pays him. It means that the wealthy of this province no longer have a direct say in what the governor does. That is why we need to shadow them, so that we know."

  Jim held the gate open for her, and won his smile. He skipped up the steps ahead of her and knocked on the door. A shutter in the door opened. Jim was recognized and the locking bolts were slid and the door opened. Jim walked in, followed by Britta.

  "Who is she, Jim" asked a large man who carried a pistol in one hand.

  "She has a message for my father."

  "Can you vouch for her? How long have you known her?"

  "She just came to our house. She said she was from Samuel Adams. Is he or my father here?"

  Another man came close. He also had a pistol. "Who are you girl?" he asked with a trace of a Dutch accent.

  She looked at the serious expressions on the men's faces. "My name is Bri..." she broke off. This was stupid. She just wanted to pass the message on and get back to the shop. "It doesn't matter who I am. I bring a message for James Otis. Jim's father. Please tell him there is a message for him."

  The Dutch man grabbed her cloak roughly and shook her. "I asked you who you are."

  Jim stepped forward and tried to get between the man and Britta, but the other man tripped him and told him to stay down.

  "Ve have vays of making you talk," said the Dutch man and dragged her into the vestibule beside the door. "Talk or I vill search you." A nasty gleam came into his eye. He lay down his pistol on a bench, then he undid and threw her cloak back and over her shoulders. He pushed her against the wall and then put both hands inside the short sleeves of her smock and started to reach towards her breasts through her slip.

  She struggled against him, but that just made him smile and press her harder against the wall. Jim kicked the other man in the leg and then flew across the hall and into the vestibule and tried to drag the Dutch man off her.

  "Stop!" she yelled. "Stop!" She had freed her arms from his crush, and as the man was pulled backwards by Jim she slapped him as hard as she could manage across the face and spat out a curse in the old tongue, "May the eels eat your manhood!"

  The man hardly felt the girl's slap, but the curse in the old tongue took him aback and he withdrew his crawling hands. She caught her breath and looked him straight in the eyes. "If I must be searched, then it is Jim who will search me, and no other. You two stay back and turn your heads."

  The two men backed a few steps to give Jim room. They weren't going to turn their heads. Let the lad search her. That would still be enjoyable.

/>   "I cannot," whispered Jim, "it is against all I have been taught."

  "Do it Jim," she whispered back. "Anything to keep their hands off me."

  "Freeze," said a voice from the hallway. Everyone turned. An elegant woman stood there, not in Puritan drab, but dressed in a rich blue gown which displayed all of her neck and upper chest. She was pointing a cocked pistol so large that she had to hold it up with two hands. "A slip of a girl. I came down here expecting to protect my house against the governor's agents, and I find us under attack by a slip of a girl. Nephew, is that you? Thank goodness."

  The Dutch man spoke out. "She may be a spy. She came in vith Jim here, but he has only just met her. Ve thought she vas a honeypot sent to charm Jim to get her past the door and mark who vas here."

  "And are you a honeypot, my dear?" asked the elegant women, as she handed the pistol to one of the men, who would have the strength of hand to safely uncock it.

  "As I have told everyone, I carry a message from Samuel Adams to be placed into the hands of James Otis. Nothing more, though I do make an excellent honey cake with currents."

  "Fools," the woman told her men. "Jim, come with me. Your father has had another of his attacks. He is upstairs in a bedroom. Bring the girl to keep her away from the dining room."

  Jim ran ahead up the stairs. The two women followed, the older turning to allow Britta to precede her. "I am Mrs. Warren. You may call me Mercy. I am sister to Jemmy Otis, and Jim's aunt. And who are you?"

  "I am Britta Fisher. Sam was fearful of being caught out in the street with some papers so he gave me a copy to deliver to James Otis. I didn't know there were two James Otis's until an hour ago."

  "If the paper is what I think it is, I will scold Samuel severely. He has put you in danger, child. I must apologize for the manners of my own men. They will be scolded for it, but later. Turn right and then in the first door."

  Britta was about to enter but Mercy held her back. "My brother has a sickness of the mind. Sometimes it is like he is two different people, an angel and a demon. Sometimes he is so sad that we fear he will take his own life."

  "Has he suffered a wound that needed the care of a surgeon?" asked Britta.

  "Yes."

  "And he carries a bottle of opium syrup with him?"

  "Why, yes. We just gave him some to calm him down," Mercy replied.

  "Then you have just fed the demon that is fighting for his soul," Britta had long ago learned that the only demigods that Puritans believed in were demons. They truly believed in them, as others believed in angels and saints and goddesses.

  "I don't understand, the medicine makes him better."

  "Yes, you don't understand. It is the lack of the medicine that splits his soul in two. Each time he has the medicine the bad side of his soul is strengthened. You must wean him off the medicine. Not all at once. That may make him very ill.

  Near the market there is a shop that sells things smuggled here from New Spain. Go there and buy a large bag, at least a pound of dried coca leaves. Sometimes it is called Peruvian tea or matea. The tea will help him to give up the opium. Eventually, in perhaps a year, the demon side will start dying and he will be whole again."

  "You should be telling this to his wife, not his sister," replied Mercy.

  "Her, Ruth, why her nose is so long that her ears don't have a chance to hear."

  Mercy started to snicker and then had to hold her hand to her mouth to stop from laughing. "Come, give him Sam's paper, so he can give it to me."

  "To you, why to you?"

  "The men who write these pamphlets are long on politics but short on spelling. I am a writer by trade. I prepare the final version that we take to the press." Mercy held Britta back for a moment more. She pulled something from her long tight sleeves and pressed two cards into Britta's hand. "These are tickets to see my latest play. It opens tomorrow night. They were for Jemmy and Ruth, but now he won't be going. Please ask Jim to take you."

  "How must I dress?"

  "Most of the women will be dressed in black or drab like you. A few brave women will be dressed in gowns like this one. It is your choice, of course, but if I were as pretty as you, and my escort were as pretty as Jim, then I would dress so that he could strut around knowing he was the envy of every man in the theatre."

  She tugged at Britta's sleeve. "Be careful not show the gown in the street. It would offend both Puritans and Quakers. Cover up with a long cloak." She chuckled. "Once inside the theatre, however, there are no rules."

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  MAYA’S AURA - the Redemptioner by Skye Smith

  Chapter 19 - Mercy and Jemmy Otis

  Britta followed Mercy into the bedroom to see a man half reclined on a bed and a woman plumping pillows behind him. Her skin was jet black and her hair was in short tight curls against her head. Once she finished with the pillows she put two fingers to his neck and counted his heart beats. He looked very drowsy, and Jim was holding his hand.

  She looked up, saw the madam and made a slight curtsy. There was a young girl with madam. Tall and blonde with honey-colored skin. The girl was giving her the sign for signs. She ignored her. It must be a mistake for no whitey knew the signs. She was taken aback when she saw the sign of a healer. Good. This poorly man needed help, badly.

  She pushed the men that had carried Jemmy upstairs away from the bed as she came around it. She even pushed away the son. "Stand back. Let the healer see to him," she said.

  Mercy was about to speak, but shut her mouth abruptly. How did Bessy know that this girl was a healer? She had only just walked into the room. She stood back so that Britta could approach the bedside.

  Britta could sense that something was very wrong with this man. She leaned over Jemmy and looked into his eyes. "I need more light," she spoke in urgent tones. Jim jumped to the table and snatched the oil lamp and turned it up and brought it closer. Just before the oil smoke clouded the brightness, she saw the eyes. They were cloudy. His breath was shallow, very shallow. His heart was barely pumping. He was dying.

  She reached out and snatched up a medicine bottle that was lying on the bed. She held it up to the light to see its level, then opened it and tested its strength on her tongue. She grimaced. Very bitter, despite the sugar syrup. Very strong. "How much has he had?" she asked, holding up the bottle. She looked around, and raised her voice. "How much has he had?"

  One of the men waved his hand. "I gave him about two tablespoons full. That is what it says on the bottle."

  She held the bottle to the light and squinted at the fine print. "This is the symbol for teaspoon, not tablespoon. How much did he have before you dosed him?" She looked at them all and raised her voice. "How much before that?"

  Jim spoke up. "He took a new bottle with him when he left our house this morning."

  "Well it is over half gone now," Britta said. She looked at the black woman. "You seem to be the one with the most sense here. I am Britta." The woman replied that her name was Bessy. "Bessy, go and mix three tablespoons of salt with warmed drinking water, about three cupfuls, and bring it here along with a bucket. And hurry. Make that two buckets."

  Bessy did not wait for madam's consent. She flew down the hallway.

  "You, and you," she said pointing to the men, "I am going to pour salt water into his stomach. You will have to hold him up so that he does not choke. It will come out again, in a hurry, from his mouth. Hopefully into the bucket. Hopefully the syrup will come out with it."

  She started pulling off her clothes. When she saw the surprised stares of all the men, she stopped and explained, "When it comes up I don't want my best smock ruined. I am wearing a slip underneath, so you needn't fear for my modesty. Mercy, if you wish to watch I strongly suggest that you don't do it in that gown."

  Britta was down to her slip now, and she threw her other clothes out into the hall out of harm's way. She noticed that the men were stripping off their formal jackets and ties and trousers. The men all wore long knit winter
underwear. They were all staring at her, or rather at where her breasts stretched out at the thin silk of the slip.

  There was a rustle of silk behind her and she was comforted to see Mercy was also down to her slip, and pushing volumes of blue satin and lace through the door. Mercy stared back at the men and then shifted her gaze lower. "Don't be embarrassed, boys. In the war I helped in the hospital. I've seen bigger than anything you can show me."

  Bessy arrive back, and they began the purge. It took just a cup and a half. When it came up, it came up like it was shot from a cannon. The vomit spread across the room and splashed everything in front of him. Bessy moaned knowing it would be her task to clean it all up.

  Amazingly, the men standing behind holding Jemmy, and the bed they were perched upon, were not touched. Britta, who had been trying to stand to one side, and Mercy who was on the other side holding the bucket up, were soaked from the waist down. Luckily what rushed out first was almost all clean salt water.

  There was no time to think of what a damp mess their slips now were. Jemmy was moaning and in a bad way. She poured more salt water down his throat and he upchucked immediately and this time it was the complete contents of his stomach. The third time it was mostly just water that came back up. She poured a cup of fresh water from the jug on the table and tried to get him to sip some. "Come on, dear. Swallow. This is just plain water. Use it to swill out the taste."

  "What now?" asked Mercy looking down at her ruined slip and at the mess on the floor.

  "This would be the time for the Peruvian tea I was telling you about. Coca and honey to calm his stomach, and stop the cramping that he will have soon. Bessy, what teas are in the kitchen?" She listened to Bessy’s list, but the only things that might have helped were mint or chamomile. They were too gentle. "What about medicines, herbs?" Bessy looked to Mercy. Britta looked to Mercy. "Anything to calm a stomach."