Maya's Aura: Destroy the Tea Party

by Smith, Skye

  "Darling," Mercy cocked her head, "what are you up to? I feel like I am about to be used. How delightful."

  Normally Britta was shunned by the clutches of old Puritan wives who controlled the church, but now, arm in arm with Mercy, there was no reproach from them. When she was close enough to over hear their words, the women's gossip stilled, as she expected. At the squeeze of her arm, Mercy asked, "So how is business at your coffee shop?"

  "Oh, Mercy. It is not good. Business is so slow." Britta could see from the corner of her eye that every wife had turned an ear towards her. "I try so hard to keep my shop clean and polite for my woman customers, and so I refuse to serve the Devil's spirits. Good coffee and chocolate no longer seem to be enough for my male customers."

  "I don't understand," replied Mercy, enjoying being a player instead of a playwright for a change, "you run such a delightfully clean shop, and with a retirement room."

  "But the men now prefer the Coffee Houses. They compete with each other, but instead of stealing customers from each other, they are stealing mine. They have even hired young and pretty escorts to encourage the men to spend their money. On rum and wine I mean, for I am sure that those lovely young escorts are always chaste. But you know men. Always eager to win a smile from a pretty face."

  They had walked out of earshot now and they both had to hurry away because Mercy was giggling like a school girl. "That was so deliciously naughty of you Britta. Do you think it will work?"

  "I will know within the week. In any case, it was worth the try."

  Mercy and Britta turned to look out over the pews. The clutch of wives had broken up and new clutches were forming all around the church. "Or even by Monday," Mercy giggled. Britta was not paying attention. She was staring at the door.

  Jim had arrived. He was allowed away from his Harvard college residence just one Sunday a month to visit his family. Mercy clamped Britta's arm hard to keep her from dancing across the church. "Slowly, and with grace," she ordered. "Do not make a scene." Then she eased her grip and let her go to her lover.

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  * * * * *

  This is hopeless, Britta thought. Mercy had asked her to take minutes while she went to the ladies' retirement room, but she was not able to write quickly enough for the argument that was now in progress. Why did they use such big words? Harvard snobs. She decided to listen closely and just write down the occasionally reminder to help her explain this all to Mercy when she returned.

  "The agenda of the street demonstrations is no longer our agenda," John Adams pointed out to the committee. "It has been hijacked by the smugglers and their merchants and shippers to incite the mob against the Company. Our own attempt to show that all of this is the governor's fault is being ignored. Besides that, the merchants are now cozying up to the governor in hopes of being included on his recommended list of consignees."

  The exquisitely dressed Mr. John Hancock was now a more frequent visitor to the meetings. Unfortunately, he was a hot head who always seemed to be in a bad mood. He was speaking now, "You cannot blame us merchants and shippers for taking action. No one is buying anything any more. They are waiting for the promised cheaper prices."

  John Adams interrupted. "As for your actions we only have to look to the crews of the ships that sit idle awaiting the Company's decision. They've nothing else to do but drink ale and cause trouble." He stared at Hancock. "Someone is using the promise of free rum to move them from demonstration to demonstration."

  "I have said it before and I will say it again," said Sam Adams keeping his seat. Britta had recently learned that he only stood to speak when he was speaking as the chairman. "It is the banks, easy loans, and the interest that is behind all of this. There is other business that those merchants and those shippers could take on, but they cannot. They must keep all of their cash available because they know, absolutely know, that if they are not chosen as consignees that the London banks will call their loans."

  "If I understand your point," said the merchant who supplied Boston with cocoa, "you are saying that the smuggler merchants are foolish to seek help from that scoundrel of a governor. That instead they should speed to London and have their bankers present their case directly to the Company."

  "It could work," replied Sam. "Though knowing the banks, they are as likely to make a case against them so they can foreclose on their warehouses and ships in time to sell them at a profit to whomever is finally chosen as consignees."

  John Adams interrupted again. "Can we get back to the fact that we no longer control the agenda on the streets. It is like a tinderbox out there. Any spark could turn the streets into a war zone."

  Mr. Hancock countered with, "So keep your family safe at home. What do you care if the smugglers and the Company and the governor are swept into violence. Wouldn't that be a blessing to your cause."

  "Excuse me," interrupted Britta, "Did I hear Mr. Hancock correctly? He wants to encourage violence. Jemmy's family is dealing with a crisis brought on by just one knock to Jemmy's head, and he wants you to risk such hardship to how many more families. Ten, Twenty, a hundred."

  "Shut up woman!" snapped Mr. Hancock. "You have no voice in this meeting." He looked around at a sound behind him and saw Mercy coming through the door.

  Mercy was quick to speak. "I think what the minutes-taker meant to say was: 'I need a clarification for the minutes'." She turned to Britta and said, "Continue, please."

  "I objec...." said Mr. Hancock.

  "Shhh," Samuel interrupted him, "she has a soft voice."

  "Well, it's just that you are starting to sound like you want to start the English Civil War all over again, but on this side of the Atlantic. I learned first-hand from the world war that men are quick to argue bravely about how to win a war, but it's always the same people who lose; always the women and children."

  Mr. Hancock banged his hand on the table to interrupt her, but the entire room shushed him.

  She gulped. She was well-used to this many men eyeing her body, but now they were listening to her. It was different. "I heard that over a million people were killed in the world war. That is a number so large that I cannot understand it. And that was a war of armies. I have never studied history at Harvard, but isn't a civil war far worse than a war of armies? Doesn't it turn into a battle of village against village, neighbor against neighbor, brother against brother."

  "How so, Britta, how do you see this as a civil war?" asked Sam. He guessed what her response would be, but he wanted to make sure everyone else knew the answer.

  "The people of this province are organized by church. Our church is Congregationalist and the members are of old Puritan families. The Anglican Church is filled with English families who came here after the Puritans, like the governor. Then there is the Society of Friends, the Quakers, who are pacifists and are hated by the other churches for them speaking against the need for clerics. And then there are the Baptists. They are the merchants and privateers and slavers like John Brown, whose businesses are deemed too immoral for acceptance into the other churches.

  What Mr. Hancock seems to be urging is for you Harvard Puritans to poke Boston's hornet's nest with a stick, and then step back so that the Anglicans and the Baptists will come to blows. I suppose his logic is that once they destroy each other, then the Harvard Puritans can take control."

  There was a long silence around the table. The strategy was not new to them. What was new was this soft voice describing it. It sounded lewd and disgusting coming from the lips of this angel.

  Samuel Adams stood and cleared his throat. "I move that we strongly advise the merchants to fight the Company with the help of their bankers in London, and not with their crews in our streets. That they order their ships' captains to keep their crews off the streets until the London strategy is under way. That they keep the demonstrations peaceful by ceasing to supply rum and ale."

  "I suggest we call this the 'do no harm' motion, and I second it," John Adams called out, "for we must prevent the mo
st vile of violence, that of neighbor against neighbor."

  The motion was immediately passed. Britta was thankful that Mercy was back again to write it all down. When Mercy started writing "do no harm" Britta said, "That was part of my oath as a healer. Do no harm and do not wish evil onto anyone."

  "So you have never wished evil onto John Brown, then?" asked Mercy pointedly.

  "No," giggled Britta, "but I have wished that he meet with much disappointment."

  "Oh, Britta, that is so.... so....." for the first time in a long time, words failed Mercy Otis Warren, "so appropriate!"

  The meeting was breaking up, so Britta gathered the cups onto her tray and wiped the tables down. Samuel whispered a 'thank you' into her ear, but did not say whether it was for wiping tables or for speaking out. John also whispered a 'thank you' in her ear, but stated that his was for convincing the Whig wives to keep their men out of the coffee houses.

  On her way to the galley she took a quick look at the shop. It was half full and had a friendly feel. An old man was teaching Winnie how to play Damas, and Jon was sharing a table with Daniel. Jon was beginning to worship Daniel as the father figure he never had. She supposed it would be easy for any young man to worship Daniel. He was calm, and purposeful, yet extremely dangerous when need be. Jon was teaching the Dutchman more of the old tongue, Frisian.

  Come to think of it, Daniel seemed to be more than just a body guard these days. Since his switch over from guarding Jemmy to guarding Sam, he seemed to be giving orders more often than taking them. When Daniel spoke, more than one man jumped to do his bidding. And though his job was the protection of the chairman, it seemed to have expanded to the protection of the committee. Daniel himself seemed to get his orders not from Sam, but from John Adams, and sometimes from Mercy.

  Britta gave Jon the high sign that the meeting was finished so he could go and warn the drivers to ready the carts. Come to think of it, the drivers now all seemed to be dangerous men like Daniel, and took their orders from Daniel.

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  MAYA'S AURA - Destroy the Tea Party by Skye Smith

  Chapter 16 - Lobster feast at Nantasket

  The summer was lovely though business at the Anchor Coffee Shoppe was slow. Not too hot and not too damp and not too windy. The long daylight cheered everyone's mood and was kind to the always present demonstrators in the streets and squares of Boston.

  Each week added to the number of men without work. They would bring their wives and children and join the marches through the streets that were a common reaction to how unfair it was for some to be so wealthy while others could not keep up payment of their rents to those same wealthy.

  The presence of women and children in political marches was a new thing for Boston, but it was a good thing. The women were quick to throw words of shame at anyone who threatened violence, and anyone who threatened a woman was asking for a caning.

  The grand house parties normal in the summer months were much subdued from last years lavishness, even those of the governor and the admiral. On the streets of Boston the rich no longer flaunted their wealth for fear of angering the masses of people sleeping out in the main squares who had no money for rent or for food. Wealthy Quakers and the Puritans had always dressed modestly when appearing in public. Now even wealthy Baptists and Anglicans were doing the same.

  In the hot month of August the local fishermen did not work on Sundays. Those were family days. Winnie invited Britta and Jon to come onto her parents' fishing sloop for a day of sailing to Nantasket beach for a lobster feast. It was a glorious summer Sunday, so they skipped going to church and went sailing instead.

  Theirs was not the only fishing sloop heading for Nantasket and the ships held mock races across the harbor and around the great ocean point. Britta and Winnie, being the weakest, took turns at the wheel while the men used their strength and balance for hauling sheets and setting sails, and yelling insults at their friends on the other ships.

  Nantasket beach was a delight. It was so clean and fresh, and it stretched for miles. They were told that in stormy weather it was treacherous, but now in the summer calm it was pleasant beyond belief, and so very different from the mud and horse filth of Boston's streets. It turned out that what the locals called a lobster was like a giant version of the cray fish that Britta had fished for in the fens.

  In Boston, lobster was a fish with little profit in it. Winnie told her that it was because the meat did not keep well, so as soon as a lobster was killed it had to be eaten. Bostoners thought it fit only for slaves, servants, and the pigs and even the servants turned their noses up at it if they were forced to eat it more than once a week. Britta could not understand why. She thought it one of the most delicious meats that she had ever eaten, especially when smothered in salted butter

  While some of the men were swimming in the cold ocean, Britta boldly lifted her skirts to put a toe into the surf to see how brave they really were. The water was warm. Winnie told her that in summer there was a warm current that flowed up from the south, and they had even found coconuts on this beach. Britta had seen a coconut in the market, otherwise she would have called Winnie a liar for pretending that nuts could grow so large.

  When the men dared the younger women to go swimming, Britta joined them. It was nothing like she expected. Back home in the fens, the women would have simply shucked their clothes and dived in with the men, for everyone in the fens could swim before they could walk. Swimming was a basic survival skill when you lived on low islands surrounded by marsh.

  Instead, she marched with the women down the beach and around a small point to be away from the eyes of men. There, even though they had trudged so far away from the men, they still went swimming in their shifts. The women’s' shifts were of coarse linen and the fabric bubbled up around them, which meant that they could wade no deeper than their waists else they would float off their feet and be pushed over by the waves.

  None of the women seemed to know how to swim, which amazed Britta as they made their living from the sea. Instead of swimming, they were chasing waves into the sea, and then screaming in joy as the waves chased them back to the beach.

  Britta's shift was inherited from Lydia, and was a mix of silk and linen and was too tight on her to bubble up. She found that she could actually swim in it if she hiked it up to her thighs. She loved to swim, and this was her first chance since the swimming hole at Lydia's farm, so she ignored everyone else and swam over the water, and under the water, and along the beach, and through the shore break until she was exhausted.

  When she stood to come out of the water, she created quite a stir amongst the women on shore. Her shift was of such fine material and so tight on her, that when wet it was most immodest. Or so the other women said as they ran up to her with her cloak to cover her. Britta laughed at such nonsense until she was told that they could not trust the younger men not to spy on them. Sure enough, there were heads bobbing up and down behind the dunes that ran along the beach.

  Damp and chilly, but happy, all the swimmers walked back to the fire to dry their underthings and eat more lobster. No sooner had they thrown some more lobsters into the wash tub of boiling sea water, when there was a cry from the water's edge. Two young men were dragging a third out of the waves. Britta ran down to the waters edge to make sure that it was not Jon, and met Winnie running the other way screaming that it was her brother David.

  Britta could not believe it when the two young men simply lowered David onto the beach and then stood there explaining that David was a goner. She pushed through the growing crowd of the curious and yelled at the two young men who were standing above the body. "Help me to save him!" she shouted. There were scoffs at her words. "You two, pick him up again! Stand him up. Now." They ignored her.

  In a madness born of frustration she grabbed at the largest man in the crowd, a man everyone called Bear for obvious reasons. "You, Bear, stand him up and place your shoulder against his stomach and then lift him of
f the ground, so his feet are down your front and his head down your back."

  Bear seemed confused and shy of her commanding voice, but eventually nodded his head slowly and did as he was told methodically. It was now obvious to her that Bear was a bit slow, a bit charmed. "Now walk in a circle," she said to him in a less commanding and much softer voice, "and gently bounce him up and down."

  The effect was immediate. Water sloshed out of David’s mouth and down Bear's back. Britta followed him, holding David’s head up by his hair. And then he coughed. And then took a breath. And then coughed up water, and then breathed again. And then puked up lobster and moaned. "Stop," she said as she grabbed Bear's arm.

  "Lift him down, gently," she said to some other men who were standing around doing nothing. "Put him down on the warm sand and lay him on his side and cover him to keep him warm".

  David was naked and some young teen girls were giggling at his shriveled penis. "Go ahead, take a good look," said Britta, "that is as small as you will ever see it. I dare you to ask him tomorrow to show you how big it can get, just to compare."

  An older man came and blocked their view, and pushed Britta away with the young girls. "Shame on you. Show some respect the lad's modesty. If you want to be useful, run and get a blanket."

  Britta ducked around him and went to comfort David's mother. She was in shock. She had just seen her son pulled dead from the sea, had wept her heart out, and now had him restored to her. The men standing around wanted to know how.

  Britta explained it to them in a voice still touched with anger, "Drowning just means that your lungs have filled with water instead of air. You go to sleep but you don't actually die for a few minutes. If you are still in the water you die because once your lungs fill with water, your body sinks. All Bear did was to push the water out of his lungs, and because David’s head was down, the water drained out and was replaced by air. His cough was like a newborn's cry as he woke up."