Mystic Memories

by Gillian Doyle

  She had a feeling Blake was right. Still, she knew in her gut she must go, even though it might be a wasted and tiring trip.

  The hike turned out to be more than invigorating for Cara. The smell of spring was in the air with a rich scent of the earth mingling with the sun-warmed tall grass and green bushes. The lack of abundant trees didn’t seem to matter. There was a perfection in the untouched, untainted landscape that only someone from the urban sprawl of the future could appreciate. It all seemed so wide open and spread out.

  Following a worn trail over low hills and uneven terrain to a lush valley, she spotted in the distance a tiered bell tower with five bells and a cross on top. After what seemed like half an hour or more, they crossed a small stream and entered Mission San Diego de Alcalá. The perimeter was marked by a row of tall white buildings on one side, smaller structures on another side, the large church taking up the whole of the third side, then a long wall that finished the enclosure of the square. The place appeared as deserted as the one at San Juan Capistrano. Occasionally, a half-dressed Kumeyaay Indian walked from one doorway to the next, not acknowledging their presence.

  While Blake looked around, Bud followed Cara to the church, where a large fountain spouted four columns of fresh water into its base. As the dog sat at her side, she cupped her hands to catch some water and bring it to her mouth. Free of chlorine and other purifying chemicals, the water tasted so refreshingly clean it could almost be sweet. When a paw brushed her leg, she glanced down at Bud.

  “You had plenty to drink at the stream,” she reminded the dog, then chuckled at his woeful expression. “Oh, all right.” She scooped more water, knelt down, and offered it to him as Blake approached, but most of it dribbled onto the ground.

  Somewhere behind them, a man emerged from a building and called out an exuberant greeting in Spanish. He was dressed in the more civilized apparel of the region—a wide hat, short jacket, open-neck shirt, red sash, knee-length pants, white stockings, and deerskin shoes ornamented with Indian beads. He also had a set of keys dangling from a neck chain, which indicated his stewardship of the mission. As the mayordomo, he offered them food and wine and a bone for the dog, but no information about a blond ten-year-old.

  After their meal, Blake compensated the man with a few reals in much the same way that he had handled payment for services to Lupe in San Juan.

  When Blake suggested visiting the Indian huts to talk with the people, Cara agreed, despite her certainty that they would not be any help either. Still, there was some reason she’d been compelled to visit this mission. Why? What was this niggling feeling just out of reach in the back of her mind?

  The mayordomo accompanied them, to interpret the Kumeyaays’ native language. Beyond the mission walls was a tiny community of crude twig domes with naked little children running about. The men could be seen in the distance, tending cattle and a large plot of land with numerous vegetables and abundant fruit trees.

  The women wore sack dresses similar to the one on the woman who had sneaked off with the three sailors on the beach. She wondered if any of these women were also forced to visit the hide houses, though she couldn’t imagine the need to do so when she saw the garden. Still, her full stomach gave her a guilty conscience for consuming a huge lunch while others were suffering from lack of food.

  Bringing her concentration back to the search for Andrew, Cara followed the mayordomo around the small village, learning nothing as he asked questions about the missing boy. As he spoke to a feeble, shriveled-up little man who could easily have been more than a hundred years old, she noticed an old woman hurry away and disappear through the huge gates of the mission. Cara’s internal radar perked up.

  “Blake, would you stick around and ask the questions for a little bit while I go back inside the mission?”

  “Why? What’s in there that you need?”

  “I’ll just be a few minutes,” she said, purposely being vague. If she told him about her hunch and it turned out to be wrong, he wouldn’t let her forget it. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Very well. But stay inside the walls. Don’t wander away.”

  “Aye-aye, captain,” she answered obediently, then turned to leave, only to stop and tell Bud not to follow her. The black Lab’s ears drooped as he plopped down in the dirt.

  Walking away, she overheard Blake grumble, “That’s the first time someone’s had to make my own dog stay with me.

  Leaving him with the mayordomo, she passed through the entrance and glanced around the square. The door of the church was closing. Instinct prodded her to follow.

  The interior of the enormous adobe church was cool and dark in contrast to the warm spring sunshine outside. Cara paused to let her eyes adjust to the low light, then looked around. The sanctuary was empty.

  “Hello?” She spoke quietly, yet her voice seemed to bounce off the walls in the silent house of worship. She heard the skittering of a small animal, and saw a field mouse running along the base of the rough white wall a few feet away.

  Walking toward the altar at the front of the church, she again called out, and again received no answer. She stopped alongside one of the first few benches, absorbing the feeling of reverence and sanctity. Moving over to the wooden seat, she kept her eyes forward, staring at the crucifix. She slowly sat down. And waited.

  Even though her parents had all but abandoned their affiliation with the Catholic Church when Cara was young, there was something about the traditional church setting that prompted her to fold her hands and bow her head. A compulsion to pray for Andrew prompted a spontaneous yet awkward one-sided conversation with her creator.

  “Please watch over him,” she murmured. “And show me how to find him. I’m having a hard time accepting that I came all this way without catching up with him. So what do you say? Can you throw me a few clues?”

  A sudden tap on her shoulder made her leap to her feet as if a needle had pricked her backside. “Blake—” she scolded in hushed anger as she spun around. She stopped, stunned by the sight in front of her. It couldn’t be. Not again. This was too strange . . . even for her.

  “A-Aunt G-Gaby?”

  The woman smiled sweetly and gave a slight nod. “Estoy aquí, mi Cara.”

  “Uh-uh. No way. This can’t be possible.” She turned and walked a few paces, then pivoted. “Okay, I’ve got this figured out now. You’ve had a week or more to travel down here from Capistrano by donkey.”

  “No,” Gabriella answered in Spanish. “I am here, Cara. Simply accept this. Don’t try to understand how.”

  “I may be psychic. But I’m just not used to these real-life visitations. It’s downright spooky.”

  Her aunt kept on smiling that familiar, lovable smile, then gestured toward the bench. “Come and sit.”

  “I’m more comfortable standing, thank you.”

  “Easier to run away if you get too scared?”

  “You’re reading my mind.”

  The woman chuckled silently. “I came to you during your fever, Cara, but I want you to understand that you can ‘see’ me whenever you wish. Or you can simply hear my voice.”

  “So, you’re a figment of my imagination.”

  “Not entirely. But if that is how you wish to believe, so it shall be.”

  “It’s not like you to patronize me, Aunt Gaby. I want to comprehend what’s happening here.”

  “Do you ‘comprehend’ your time-travel experience?”

  “I—” Unable to describe the complex confusion of acceptance and bewilderment, Cara backed up to a bench on the opposite side of the aisle from her aunt and sat down. She looked down at her hands, turning them over and studying her palms. “I know I am here in the flesh. I feel the sea breeze and taste the water. I see the ships and hear the birds. I experience the passage of days and nights. So to answer your question—I cannot grasp how it is I am here in this time, but I do accept I am here now.”

  “Then why is it so hard to accept that I am here with you now?�
� Gabriella came over and joined her on the bench. “You have stepped beyond the portal of Time. Now step beyond the portal of Mind.”

  Her aunt reached out, taking Cara’s hand. The warmth of Gabriella’s skin defied logic. But wasn’t that the point? Here and now, there was no logic of twentieth-first century science. Her own psychic abilities defied scientific logic. Yet she lived with it every day of her life. Funny, how easy it was for her to accept one thing and not another, especially when the average man on the street would refuse to accept any of it and consider anyone who did just plain crazy.

  As Blake did.

  “Okay, I don’t have a fever, so you’re not the Angel of Mercy that Lupe talked about. And you’re definitely not a ghost.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  Cara glanced up, then saw the teasing in Gabriella’s eyes. “That’s meant to be a joke? Ha, ha.”

  “Is it so important to define who I am or what I am? No, it’s more important to find Andrew.”

  “That’s why you came to me again, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why all the hocus-pocus?” She launched herself to her feet, squelching the urge to fire off a few curse words inside the church. Pacing in the aisle, she said, “If you know where he is, tell me and I’ll go get him. Better yet, why aren’t you the one bringing him back to his parents?” She halted in midstride and spun around. “Wait a second! You talked me into taking this case in the first place! You knew damn well what I was getting into!”

  “Now, now, watch your tongue. You’re in a church, Cara.”

  Cara glowered. “What the hell—excuse me, heck—is going on, Aunt Gaby? I think I have a right to know.”

  “This journey is as much your destiny as it is Andrew’s. For now, that is all you need to know.”

  “No, I need to know where to find him so I can take him back. He’s been gone more than three months. I’ve been gone nearly two weeks. The authorities are probably dragging Dana Point Harbor looking for my body and Andrew’s.”

  “He is on a ship called the Ballade, bound for Boston.”

  “Is he being treated decently? No abuse? Please tell me he’s not being harmed.”

  “Life is hard for him, but he’s strong, a survivor.”

  “But what about—?”

  “His treatment has been harsh but not cruel. He hasn’t suffered the way Captain Masters suffered when he was a cabin boy.”

  “You know about Blake?” Her eyes searched her aunt’s face, hoping to learn more about his traumatic past and how to help him. She threw her hands up. “Why on earth am I asking you such a dumb question? Of course you know about him. You know everything else about Andrew and me. Why wouldn’t you know about Blake?”

  “Whether you realize it or not, you are healing him, Cara. You must make him remember his past.”

  “Getting him to do anything is tough enough. Making him do something he doesn’t want to do is impossible.”

  “Just as it is impossible for me to be sitting here talking to you? As impossible as traveling through time?”

  “Okay, okay. I get your point.”

  “I must leave now.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she rose from the bench. “Blake is coming for you.”

  “Will I see you again?”

  Silently, Gabriella cocked her eyebrow as if to say, “Need you ask?”

  At that moment, Bud yipped from the open doorway as he saw Cara in the aisle at the front of the church.

  “Quiet, Bud. Stay!” ordered Blake, standing beside his dog.

  Cara walked up to the two of them. Resisting the urge to reach up and touch Blake, she gave her attention to Bud, petting him affectionately and scratching behind his ears.

  “Did she know anything about Andrew?” he asked.

  “Who?”

  “That woman who walked out the side door just now.” In a way, she was relieved to know he’d actually seen someone. Yet she was also surprised, considering the way her aunt left in such a hurry, as if she hadn’t wanted Blake to spot her. Then again, why hadn’t Gabriella simply vanished into thin air, since that seemed to be her modus operandi. “You saw an old woman? With me?”

  “A glimpse.”

  “Well, Blake,” she sighed, “you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, anyway.”

  “You are absolutely right,” he remarked a bit too adamantly. “I do not want to know.”

  “Fine by me.” She headed toward the entrance gates, with Bud brushing alongside her leg.

  Blake caught up with her, then fell into step. “I want to know.”

  His reversal amused her, but she kept walking without uttering a word. She knew it wasn’t his curiosity he wanted appeased. In her gut, she was certain he had his own hunch, just as she’d had one when she’d seen the old woman leave the Indian village. But Blake didn’t want to admit it. Instead, he wanted her to say who was with her in the church. Then he could spout off about the absurdity of it . . . just as she’d done. And he would refuse to believe it . . . just as she’d done. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly open to every bizarre twist the universe could throw at her. But at least she’d gotten over it quickly enough. Blake wouldn’t.

  They walked in silence out of the mission and crossed the small stream. On the opposite bank, he gently grasped her arm and pulled her to a stop.

  “Was it that blasted angel again? Or your aunt? Or whatever she calls herself.”

  She gave him her most mischievous grin. Without saying a word, she turned back to the well-worn path and started again toward the presidio.

  “Ca-ra,” he called after her. The touch of warning in his voice sounded more playful than threatening.

  “If I tell you now, you’ll only get upset and ruin a perfectly beautiful afternoon walk back to the beach.”

  “You are not returning to the beach with me. Or the ship.”

  She abruptly pulled up, remembering Keoni’s disclosure that Blake was going to leave her here in San Diego. “Is that so?” she asked, pretending not to know she was about to be dumped. “Did you have somewhere else in mind?”

  “There is bound to be a family in one of the big houses who will take you in.”

  “But Andrew isn’t here. Why would I stay if he’s not here?”

  “I can’t take you with me, Cara.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, seeing no apology in his determined gaze. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “I don’t want to argue. As you said a moment ago, it is too nice of an afternoon—”

  “Forget that. I’m telling you now, I must find a way to get to Boston. You’re headed there. So why can’t I go with you?”

  “How is it you suddenly have a need to sail to Boston when you have never mentioned it before today?”

  “Andrew is on the Ballade, bound for Boston.”

  Blake narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Did Gabriella tell you this in the church?”

  She scuffed the dirt with her shoe, then scratched an itch by her eye. Finally, she decided to face the music. Looking straight at him, she tried to be as casual as she could. “Sure, yeah, of course.” So much for casual.

  “I’m sorry, Cara.”

  “You won’t take me?”

  “No. I will find someone to rent a room to you, which will be at my expense. You needn’t worry about money.” As the afternoon sun shone on his tan face, she realized that too soon he would be gone from her life, leaving her alone in the past, in a weird time warp that she’d never asked for. He was her stabilizer, her security. The realization stung the back of her eyes and closed her throat.

  “You need me, dammit.” Her shaky voice betrayed her emotions. “You need me as much as I need you.”

  “Don’t make this hard . . .”

  “But it is hard, Blake. I have to find Andrew. And I don’t want anyone else to take me to Boston because I’m scared to death I might end up with a perverted, sadistic bastard of a captain who might do to me what was done to you.”

  “
What do you mean ‘what was done to me’? A woman would never be flogged.”

  “I’m not talking about being whipped.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  She stared at him, regretting her outburst. He had not reached the point of remembering. Or else he’d refused to remember. Either way, he honestly didn’t understand her meaning. How could she explain the atrocities committed against him? She couldn’t. Not only would he be horrified, he would call her a liar. There had to be a better way to get herself on that ship before the week was out. This way was not it.

  “I’ll go to the village,” she acquiesced, hoping that somehow she would find a way to convince him to change his mind in the next few days.

  They walked along for quite a while, up hills and down, following the general direction of the stream, which could occasionally be heard in the distance. Both of them were lost in their own thoughts, neither of them in much of a mood to talk. Bud seemed to sense that the two dreary humans were not about to throw a stick for him, so he trotted ahead of them, content to carry one with him in case they changed their minds.

  About midway to the presidio, Cara looked around for a tall thicket to serve as a privacy screen for a sudden need.

  With a little embarrassment, she asked Blake, “Would you mind if I walked over there a little way so I can . . . uh, use a bush?”

  Understanding her situation, he nodded. “Keep a keen eye out for snakes. They are quite abundant this time of year.”

  “I will.”

  Bud followed her twenty or thirty feet through low shrubs and around large rocks before she shooed him off and took care of business as best she could in the primitive surroundings. Afterward, she was headed back to the trail, winding past a cluster of small boulders, when she saw the dog racing toward her.

  “Not again,” she laughed, dashing off toward Blake to avoid being pounced on. Bud was in hot pursuit when she heard the distinctive hiss and rattle just ahead of her.

  Trying to stop, she skidded in the dirt. In a blur of motion, the diamondback struck out at her right foot, barely missing the toe of her shoe. With lightning speed, it retreated into a coil at the base of a rock, well within striking distance of her ankle. The black Lab charged past her leg, growling.