The brother appeared shocked, “I’m sure that is not possible. There are no women living, nor working here.”
“She has been missing a week. Might she have disguised herself and hid among the men?”
“We received no new converts or employees in the past week. Why do you believe so completely your friend is here?”
Helena pulled out the wine cork and the locket with Missy’s picture. “I was told that this cork might’ve come from here, and this picture is of Missy before she cut off all of her hair. These are the only two clues left behind. I hoped that you would help me find her,” Helena began sobbing, she reached for a hankie from her handbag.
Brother Murphy rolled the cork over his fingers while studying the picture. “I’m sorry Ms. Brandywine I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone that looks like this photo I’m sure I would’ve remembered. The cork could be ours it would be from one of our wines we sell to the Cliff House. But I must say we are moving more into Brandy than wines. It appears to sell better, and it will support our mission more completely.”
Helena, her face half concealed by her handkerchief as she feigned wiping tears, watched the brother as he spoke, “You’re sure you’ve never seen her before?”
“Miss Brandywine, I’ve lived here ten years since we formed our mission. I have not met that many women in the last ten years I’m sure I would remember her.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that, I was hoping a man of God would help me find Missy. Maybe the name rings a bell, Missy Whitaker of the Nob Hill Whitakers?”
The brother shook his head, “No, I’m sorry. We’ve not been selling wine that long, predominately to the Cliff House and a few other higher-end establishments in Oakland and San Francisco. I don’t believe I’ve ever met any Whitakers.”
“You said your mission here, what is your mission here?” Helena asked holding her hand out for the locket and the cork.
“As Jesuits, we believe that education is key to ending poverty. We began selling our wine in hopes of supporting our schools, educating poor young men reading, writing, arithmetic and in the ways of God.”
Helena so wanted to ask, ‘What about the young women?’ But decided to keep her mouth shut, she had questions.
“Do you know anything about the Sisters of Napa Valley?”
What could only be described as a darkness cast over Brother Murphy’s face. “You’ll not be wanting to get involved with that lot. They are nothing but a bunch of witches, who will all burn in hell for their affronts to God and nature.”
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Helena asked.
“The Jesuits are a Catholic order, Miss Brandywine we believe that witchcraft is the devil’s work, magic and miracles are reserved for our Savior and his saints. Mortals that make pacts with the devil will burn in hell, we are sure of it,” said Brother Murphy as if orating to his congregation.
“Are mechanical inventions the devils work as well?”
“I might seem a zealot to you, but understand we are made in God’s image. Mechanical devices are not inherently evil, but like all things, they must be used for Gods greater good, not the entertainment or folly of sinners,” Brother Murphy, made the sign of the cross as he finished his sentence.
Helena grew uncertain what to say after the man’s tirade, “Thank you for your time, I am sorry we interrupted your prayers,” she got up to leave.
“Miss Brandywine, be wary of the choices you make. I feel your immortal soul hangs in the balance. May the Lord walk with you and bless you,” he motioned his hand in a sign of the cross over her. He continued, “Remember evil is always looking for a way to take you over, to steal your soul.”
“Erm thank you?” hit with a sudden urge to remove herself from the frosty environment. She wasn’t sure if it was the cold stones surrounding her, sucking up the heat in the chamber or the Brother’s emotional outburst. Sigmund fell in three paces behind her, Helena turned her head and whispered, “This place scares me.”
The bright sunlight warmed both her spirits and her body once they exited the chapel. Lane sat parked not far away lounging in the driver’s seat prepared to leave. “Time to go?” Lane asked as they approached.
“There’s nothing for us here. I don’t think there ever was,” Helena said.
Witches of Napa:
It wasn’t a far drive from the Christian Brothers winery to the Martinez ferry landing. There was no scheduled ferry to take them from Martinez to Cuttings Wharf, the closest dock to Napa Valley. Sigmund found a steam-powered flat bottom launch capable of carrying Bessie and the trio, yet small enough to make it up the river.
The bay here looked different from what Helena had seen before. The river snaked through a floodplain, and on either side acres and acres of fruit trees spread out to the brackish water edge. The orchards chaotic with activity, men, women, and children picking the ripening fruit and loading them into horse-drawn wagons to destinations unknown. The three dug into the basket full of food at Lane’s request, he had been hungry since leaving San Francisco.
As the ferry pulled into the dock, she was assaulted by a cacophony of noise and action as boats were being loaded with boxes brimming with fruit. Helena was surprised to find so many children working among the adults, toting the heavy fruit laden crates.
“Why do so many children work here on the docks, and on a Sunday?”
“Each person gets paid per box, during the harvest season there is more work than there are people. Families will allow their children to work to help save money for when there is nothing to be harvested,” Sigmund said as they piled into Bessie for the ride into the hills to meet the sisters.
Driving up the valley, Helena smiling marveled at how beautiful and green the area looked. Much warmer than San Francisco, without a cloud in the sky.
“It’s so beautiful here, why would anyone ever leave?” Helena asked.
“It is nice, but the city has so much more to offer. I find the country a little too quaint for my tastes,” Sigmund replied.
Lane tracked the auto onto a drive passing under a sign that read entering the property of the Sisters of Napa Valley. Someone had nailed a poster on the right hand supporting column. It read, ‘Enter at your own risk’ in bold black letters and Helena could just make out ‘Witches’ that had been painted over and cleaned from the word ‘Sisters,’ “Why would anyone say such things?”
“Many people fear what they don’t understand. We are surrounded by individuals who are afraid of the unknown,” Sigmund said.
“That doesn’t seem fair, shouldn’t everybody be treated honorably?” Helena asked.
“I think so,” Sigmund replied.
Behind the columns and signs stretched fields of grapevines with the path snaking around the low rolling hills. Lane navigated Bessie around a bend in the road, around a small knoll they could see the track opened into a vast hollow. Here, like the Christian Brothers, sat several low one-story buildings, but the difference became apparent by the enormous wooden tubs scattered haphazardly among the buildings. Each vat contained three or four women who seem to be dancing, and each container was serviced by a dozen women carrying grapes to them.
Lane slammed on the brakes at the site stopping the automobile thirty or forty paces away from the women working.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here with the car. I’d rather not get too close,” Lane said.
“What and miss the opportunity to mingle with these young ladies?” Sigmund asked giving Lane a verbal jab.
“You see any men here? I don’t think they like men.”
“Lane, try not to be so judgmental,” Helena said.
“I just don’t want to be turned into a water dog, remember my grandma is a witch.”
“And did she ever turn you into a water dog?” a woman with wild black hair, natural streaks of gray and white shot through, said as she approached the automobile. Her dress, tied up to her waist showing off her p
urple calves and sandal covered feet.
Lane almost jumped out of his skin when she spoke muttering a simple, “No ma’am.”
She burst into laughter at Lane’s reaction, the sound of her voice like music dancing upon Helena’s ears, “My, don’t you project an interesting aura,” her hand reaching towards Helena’s face.
Helena felt drawn to the woman, odd since they just met, like Lane she felt a little unsure how to react to her statement.
“Please forgive my rudeness, I am Ophelia Jinx. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
Helena spoke up, here she found a sense of power never felt before, “I am Helena Brandywine, and this is Sigmund and Lane... My escorts,” she added that last part as an afterthought trying to defend why they were there.
“Miss Brandywine, the name does sound familiar. I feel you’ve come here for a compelling reason, why don’t you join me, and I’ll show you around, and we can talk,” Ophelia said.
Lane never attempted to move, but Sigmund slid out of the backseat to join the two women.
“Sir, I must ask you to stay in your carriage. We consider this sacred ground not to be tread upon by any male. If you step foot out of the carriage, I’m afraid we’ll need to sacrifice you to consecrate the ground again,” she said face like stone.
Lane gulped with an audible sound. Sigmund froze looking at Helena for guidance.
“It’s all right you two stay here I would hate to see you as guests in their human sacrifice. I believe I’m safe here.”
“My aren’t you city folk wound up and serious. I was only joshing, but we would like the men to stay in the carriage.”
Helena climbed out of the backseat, and Ophelia immediately took hold of her arm. She guided her several paces towards the winemaking operation before she began speaking again.
“Do you always travel with such a well-rounded bodyguard?”
“They are not my bodyguards, one is my driver, and one is my butler.”
“Wouldn’t your mother be impressed, two armed servants traveling the world with you?”
Helena stopped dead in her tracks. “You knew my mother?”
“Oh yes, when your father disappeared she came here and stayed with us for some time. We knew she would never stay with us forever because you were still a baby and in San Francisco. I think she loved it here, if it hadn’t been for you, I don’t think she would’ve ever left.”
“You said my father disappeared, my father died.”
“No dear, your father’s body was never found. His family and your mother’s family assumed he died, but your mother never gave up hope that he still lived.”
“So, the grave on our property...”
“I assume holds an empty coffin.”
“Excuse me a moment I think I need to sit down, this is all news to me,” Helena’s face turned pale, placed her hand to forehead fearing she might faint.
Ophelia led her over to a bench beneath the shade of a spreading live oak tree.
“I could tell you were your mother’s daughter as soon as I saw you. You look just like her.”
Regaining some composure, “Why was my mother even here? Why did she leave me?”
“After your father disappeared she kept searching for answers, much like you’re looking for answers now. I’m afraid she didn’t find what she was looking for here. Why did she leave you in the city? I must assume to keep your grandfather happy. I know she missed you dearly, but to keep her father from having her committed, she needed to convince him that this was a short-term stay.”
“Was she insane? I’ve met a mad woman, was she a lunatic? Will I become insane?” fear gripped Helena, she had always been told that insanity ran in families.
“No dear, she wasn’t insane. She was heartbroken,” Ophelia put her arm around Helena’s shoulder trying to comfort her.
“What did my mother do while she stayed here?”
“During the day she worked in the fields like all the women do here. At night she studied in our library.”
“Where did all these women come from?”
“These women come from many different backgrounds. Some are former prostitutes, pretty waiter girls, some come from abusive marriages, some are on the run from the law. I don’t ask where they come from, some volunteer the information, some simply find us. I think they’re drawn by the power of the valley and the serenity we offer them.”
“You said study, study what, winemaking?”
Ophelia laughed again filling the air with the crystal sound of her voice, “No dear I’m sure you saw the signs, all the women here are studying to be white witches.”
“White witches?”
“Yes, a white witch is someone who uses magic to better their society or to help people. This valley, our valley is so fruitful because we work together as a coven to cast beneficial spells that will help our whole community. Your mother learned about us and thought we might be able to teach her some divination magic. She so wanted to find your father. We tried to tell her that all magic has a price, the stronger the spell, the steeper the charge. I think she would’ve done anything, given up everything to find your father. When I told her, we didn’t practice that kind of magic, I think she stayed because she thought I lied, but after a month of searching, she came to the realization that I was telling the truth. I just couldn’t help her.”
“So, she came home and took care of me.”
“I would assume so after she left here we lost all contact with her, but I’m so glad that you searched us out. How did you find us? What led you to follow in your mother’s footsteps?”
Helena blushed lightly, “I didn’t come here following in my mother’s footsteps. I didn’t learn you exist until last night, and Brother Murphy at the Christian Brothers warned me I shouldn’t even come.”
Ophelia laughed even louder at the mention of Brother Murphy, “How is the old hypocrite? He hates me because he got drunk at a vintner’s meeting on his own brandy and tried to seduce me. When I said no, he accused me of casting a spell on him, like I need to use magic to bed a man,” she combed back her graying hair with her fingers to prove her point.
Helena was shocked at Ophelia’s blunt admission. People didn’t talk about such things in polite society. That was why she went to Miss Andrea with their questions about sex. She would never talk about it with a total stranger, she abruptly changed the subject.
“I came here following advice from Mister Adolf Suttor. I’m trying to find a lost friend, her name is Missy Whitaker,” she handed the locket with Missy’s picture and the cork to Ophelia. “Do either of these items mean anything to you?”
Ophelia took both items and immediately declared, “The cork could be ours, not much to go on. If it is ours, we would’ve sold it to the Cliff House. That’s the only place we sell unmarked corks,” she took more time studying the picture before answering, “she’s a beautiful young woman, I’ve never seen her here, but we take in so many women.”
“She cut her hair off last week if that makes a difference.”
“Your path is like your mother’s, she came here searching for your missing father, and you’re here searching for a missing friend. I’m sorry, but I possess no magic to help you. I might have a more mundane answer,” Ophelia motioned for a passing younger woman. “Madge, I want you to be quick and go to the women, ask them if they know anything about this woman. Her name is Missy, and now she would have short hair. Now make off with you quick like a bunny.”
“I thank you so much for all of your help. This is my last lead, my last hope. If I don’t find a clue here, I don’t know what I’m going to do next,” Helena paused to take a breath when a question struck her, “You said my mother was here searching for magic?”
“Honey I don’t think the people you are with are telling you everything. Your mother, many would consider a dynamic witch. In many circles, she was immensely powerful. Do you understand how magic works?”
/> Helena embarrassed at her own ignorance shook her head no.
“At times I am infuriated by the ignorance some people show. Magic is simply controlling energy. Your automobile harnesses steam energy to make it move, fifty years ago people would’ve called that magic. Edison has learned to control energy and electricity and create light. Fifty years ago, people would’ve called that magic. What we do is no different. Through study, research and practice we control energy through our bodies. There are many different types of energy, based on the ancient elements of the world. Each witch draws their power from Earth, Wind, Water, or Fire. Two more powers are added that are the most potent Life, and Death energy. Here we practice mostly earth magic, we use our powers to supplement nature, and we draw our power from nature.”
“What energy did my mother use?”
“Technically it would be rude to ask what type of magic energy a person controls. However, if you are close enough to someone and observe them for some time, you can usually guess. With all those caveats, I assumed your mother controlled fire. It was a stretch for her to try divination spells. They reside more in the life sphere of influence.”
“If my mother was a witch that means I’m going to be a fire witch.”
“I’m sorry dear, it doesn’t work like that. If it did every child every witch ever birthed would be gifted, magic is much rarer than that. I’ve read about cases where the gift jumped three or four generations. Before the purges, in the Middle Ages, the ability to control power could go dormant never to resurface in a family line. We’re not exactly sure what sparks the ability or if it ever will spark. Most research has shown that young adulthood is when the first manifestations of control show themselves. Once that starts, there is a huge amount of work that goes into learning control and finesse,” Ophelia glanced and leaned over before continuing like a co-conspirator, “You haven’t turned eighteen, yet?”
“I hadn’t thought about it much since my stepfathers been gone, my family never really celebrated birthdays. What’s the date? I forgot what the date is.”
Pretty Waiter Girls Page 10
