“Had I stayed in England, it would be a simple matter to tell you who I am. I would be Lemuel Hawkins, fourth son of John Hawkins, a prosperous Devers whaler. That answer would have been all the questioner expected and all he required. It would have told those looking to marry off their daughters to look elsewhere. It would have told those looking to influence my father to look elsewhere. It would have told all and sundry that I was unimportant and not worth their courtesy. Non-conformists would weigh my soul’s worth against the cost of their pamphlet and pocket their tracts.
The Lemuel Hawkins that lies here before you, thousands of miles from that other man, the one who should have died in that yard below, is not that man. Too much has happened. I have lain too many long nights in my rude shelter, the events of my life passing before my sleepless eyes. Through those solitary nights I weighed the people I encountered on my travels to this place. I considered how they acted and how I responded. I tried to make sense of it all, to find the coherent narrative that must be woven through my life. Otherwise, what is the point of life?
Now that I hear my thoughts aloud and am aware of an audience for my words the part of me that holds back, that watches myself, warns me that my language is running is running wild, unchecked. It seems there is nothing I can do to reign it in. Words have been my solace in these years in the wilderness. Words I overheard, words I read, words I selected and shaped to create a chronicle of my life, to explain my life’s trajectory, perhaps to create one. If fancy overtakes my story, so be it. Words will have their way.
How did I become your hermit? I have to say I never thought of myself as one. Anglicans have no place for hermits. To your Catholic minds, the image of a hermit comes easily to hand, but in my mercantile nation it is an odd, romantic notion.”
Lemuel paused to rearrange his thoughts before striking out again. “I am avoiding your question. I owe you an answer and shall begin anew. My story begins on that dreadful night when my father decided my fate. That sounds absurdly portentous, I realize, but for me that night was just that. I suspect to my father it was a thing of no matter and a night he has long since forgotten. I was a pebble in his shoe that he wanted to be free of, so he sat down for a moment, dug out the irritant, and flung it away. Who remembers the pebble once it is tossed aside?
No, no, let me start again. It was in 1784 that my father noticed he had a fourth son. Until that time I was lost in the shadows cast by three older brothers and the swirling confusion of six rather silly sisters. Not one of them would have done what you have done for me.
It was my mother who remembered me and she notified my father. To be fair to my forgetful father, I have always been inclined to draw away, to avoid the light, a kind of negation of a moth. Upon estimating my age, he decided that it was time for someone to take over my feeding. I would be apprenticed. A simple flip of a deficit into a credit. At seventeen, I was old for an apprentice, but that fact only increased my father’s customary rashness. My father had, as he told anyone who lingered, however briefly, within earshot, much to think on and worry over. He gave my future what time he could spare.
As I said, when presented with the fait accompli of a seventeen year old, fourth son, my father’s action was to discharge his duty to me as soon as possible so he could return to his pressing concerns. I suppose I am fortunate that I escaped his notice for so long. Had he noticed me as an infant I might have been exposed on a rock. But I survived to seventeen, swaddled in benign neglect, until my father’s rush to apprentice me and his stubbornness combined with his tendency to confusion and propelled me across the length and breadth of the Atlantic.”
Lemuel began coughing. He winced as the spasms pulled at his stitches. Rose handed him her handkerchief and poured him a glass of water that he drank gratefully. “Are you sure you are strong enough to continue?,” asked Rose. Her expression of concern indicated that she did not think he was. Maria held back, watching the two of them.
When he caught his breath, Lemuel replied,“Yes, I need to talk. I should answer your questions.” The women waited for him to begin, but Lemuel stared at the ceiling, as if searching for how to return to his tale.
You haven’t even started, thought Maria, but you have captured our dear Rose, that trusting soul. “You were speaking of your father’s confusion,” prompted Maria. Rose shot her an angry, protective look.
“My father’s confusion,” began Lemuel haltingly, returning slowly from his private reverie. “How can I explain it? You must understand that he loved hot rolls with his morning coffee. He had made an arrangement with a local baker, a Mr. Edwards, to have these rolls delivered to the house at precisely six. At quarter past the hour, a servant would bring a tray with a pot of coffee and four hot rolls to my father’s office. He would thus break his fast while going over the night's reports. He had settled on Mr. Edwards, because he was the first baker who would reliably deliver the rolls daily. He had a Jewish partner, Mr. Kazden, so that the shop would work all week, each tending to the others' Sabbath.”
Maria considered dragging the wayward Lemuel back to the question, but she did not want to provoke Rose’s protective vigor further. So she waited quietly, if not patiently, while the hermit steered the tale back onto the path.
“I believe that is possible that when my father decided that I should be a baker, he did so because he admired the business sense of Messrs. Edwards and Kazden. But it is much more likely that he saw an opportunity to garner a free supply of hot rolls.”
Rose began to defend Mr. Hawkins Senior's motives, but was silenced by a brisk wave of Maria’s hand and by Lemuel’s plowing forward with his tale.
“A baker’s life would have probably suited me. Although this rambling monologue puts the lie to my assertion, I am a quiet man who likes to stay in the shadows. No, that is too strong. I like the space between the light and the shadows. That space is one that no one struggles to dominate. That is the quiet place between. Why I am dwelling on these things? They do not matter. The fateful confusion occurred when my addled father thought he was sending me off to be a baker, but instead he told me that I would be apprenticed to the Annumpi.
I can see by your faces that I have not made myself clear. Let try again. When I was prowling around in the attic of my father's house, I found crates containing the library of a great uncle who had once owned the house. I read many of the books including “The Lastoc of the Annumpi.” Perhaps my father had similarly come across the book and read it. Perhaps he had heard his Uncle speak of the Annumpi. I don’t know. I only heard him speak of them that one time. However he heard the name, on that day he was convinced that the Annumpi were bakers. Do not ask me to explain how this came about. I have come to conclusion that it is an unfathomable mystery. Or perhaps merely a joke.
You must understand that my father was notorious for muddling things. In his business affairs he was keen witted and highly organized, but in the wider spheres of knowledge he would hopeless conflate disparate ideas, names, dates, anything and everything. “Poppa’s muddling” as the family named it was harmless and the source of great mirth behind the patriarch’s back. He was firmly convinced that gecko was another for the Jacks in a deck of playing cards, for example. With anyone else, a kindly correction would resolve the confusion, but my father could be bloody minded when corrected and would argue the point to the death rather than acknowledge an error. One soon learned to ignore Poppa’s muddlings. Thus, to this day, I am certain, that if he is still alive, he believes that a phaeton is kind of ghost. Or a carriage for ghosts, I forget which. So once dear father had spoken, the deed was as good as done. Lemuel Hawkins, John Hawkins' fourth son, would be an Annumpi.” Lemuel sagged back onto his pillows. Rose poured him a glass of water and carefully handed it to him.
“How you feeling, Lemuel?,” she asked. “Would you like to rest for a while?”
Lemuel shook his head while he drank, indicating that he wanted to continue. “Just give me a minute to collect my breath, please, Rose,” he said. “Then I would like to continue.”
“I must check on something,” said Maria rising to leave. “I will back in no more than ten minutes.”
******
Lucinda entered the kitchen and rushed over to where her mother was sitting. Mrs. O’Brien was deep in thought, a half cup of tea had gone cold in her hands. “Mother,” cried Lucinda, “I can’t find them. No one has seen Ethna, Mariel, or Fiona since the storm began. “
Mrs. O’Brien blinked several times in an effort to corral her mind and direct her thoughts to Lucinda. “Have you checked the library? The attic?”
“Don Hernando is the library, and you know he does not allow the children to play in there. And Rose would never allow the children to disturb Mr. Hawkins. I’m worried about them, Mother.”
“Yes, of course, my dear. We will find them. Make another search. Be sure to check Maria’s study and the storage rooms in the attic. If you cannot find them, find Daniel and Michael and bring them here. Have them change into old clothes first.” Mrs. O’Brien patted her daughter on the arm soothingly and said, “It is a bad storm, but it’s just water. They will be fine.”
******
Maria returned to the attic to find Rose talking to Lemuel about the storm. She was asking him how he made it through such terrible storms while living in the grass. Before he could answer, he noticed the irritated look on Maria’s face and returned to his tale. Maria didn’t realize how she had altered the atmosphere. She was not annoyed at Lemuel and Rose, she was annoyed that the book she had gone to find was missing. Still wondering where the book had gone, Maria missed Lemuel’s first few words.
“I tried to explain to my father that the Annumpi were a South American people who lived in the vast grasslands that ran the length of the southern tip of this continent. He dismissed me after telling me that a carriage would arrive in one hour to take me to the Long Voyager, a whaler owned by one of his colleagues. My father said that he would pay for my passage to South America. The captain would set me down at whatever port I decided was the best. From there I would have to make my way to the Annumpi. With that done, he hurried me out his study, and I ran to the attic to get an old chest. My father had stressed that I must be on the carriage in one hour because the ship was leaving on the tide.
What could I do? I was seventeen. I had spent my young life avoiding involvement in the noise and confusion of the world. And now I was told that I had one hour to be on my way to South America to be an Annumpi.
I didn’t think about anything. My body moved without instruction from my higher faculties. I dragged an old sea chest from the attic and threw my few clothes in willy-nilly. I pitched a few books on top, along with my journals and my writing box. My Bible and a collection of Mr. Pope’s works were more carefully stowed in a protected pocket. The last thing I packed was “The Lastoc of the Annumpi” which would be my constant companion on the long journey.”
Maria sincerely wished she found the book. She wanted to make certain of what she thought before deciding on how to broach the topic with Lemuel. Perhaps her father had misplaced it.
“It would be a fine tale,” Lemuel continued, “if we had had to outrun a French frigate, dodge American privateers, claw our way through the doldrums, narrowly avoid an ice mountain or two, survive a shipwreck, live on seal livers and smoked penguins until we were rescued by natives who turned out to be cannibals, but the honest fact is that the trip was uneventful. Captain Lowell was a solid, reliable man who knew his business and didn’t take foolish risks with the owner's ship. We had an unpleasant time of it in the doldrums, but we were never becalmed, and most of us left with the same number of teeth we brought with us.
No, the sea voyage was largely uneventful. My difficulties began when Captain Lowell’s luck with the weather ran out. I had studied “Lastoc” and the Master had helped me with the charts. We had decided that the Pacific harbor of Puerto Seguro was the best place to land. But winter set in early and we could not clear the Southern straits. The Captain decided to head west across the Southern Atlantic to the Southern tip of Africa, so it was time for me to leave. I and my sea chest were loaded in the jolly boat, rowed to the dock, and unceremoniously plopped on the dusty dock of Puerto Zephyr. The jolly boat rejoined the Long Voyager, which slipped anchor and swiftly faded away.
Wait, Wait. I’m getting carried away. The situation was not as dire as I’ve made it out to be. I must resist the temptation to embellish. Before I left the Long Voyager, the purser had handed me a folded scrap of paper. On it he had written a brief introduction to a Mr. Adeel Beydas, a ship’s chandler with whom he had dealings. He told the crew to land me near Mr. Beydas’ yard, but the currents had not cooperated, so I found myself on the opposite side of the wide harbor from my goal.
It took me the rest of the day to manhandle my sea trunk around that harbor. With noble forbearance I resisted the constant stream of offers from the unkempt hordes of children who lived along the docks. Although this had been my first sea voyage, I had been to enough ports to know that had I surrendered control of my chest, I would never have seen it again.”
“Surely not, Lemuel,” said Rose. “They were just children.”
“He is right,” said Maria. “He’s lucky those wharf rats didn’t swarm him and steal the teeth out his head.”
“Oh, Miss,” said Rose.
“I wish it were otherwise, Rose, but Miss Valenzuela knows how it is. It is the same in Devers and ports everywhere, I’m afraid.”
Maria heard hurried steps coming up the stairs and then hurrying back down. She could hear Lucinda calling to the twins from the second floor landing. She wondered if something were wrong. Should she investigate? But then Lemuel returned to his story and she decided to stay. Mrs. O’Brien and Lucinda knew she was in the attic. They would send for her if they needed her.
“It was after dark when I reached Mr. Beydas' yard. I was exhausted and hungry. Mr. Beydas was an old man in poor health. He slept very little, therefore he had grown accustomed to never closing his yard. Two strong, but simple, men stood guard at the gate. I handed the purser’s letter to the brighter looking of the two giants. He took it from my hand and held it at arm’s length, pinched between his thumb and a huge, knotted finger. He seemed to think it might explode. “Mr. Beydas,” I yelled and waved my hand at the dimly lit building in the yard. I don’t know why I yelled. I wasn’t sure what language, if any, the monsters understood. I may have worried that my voice wouldn’t reach those battered ears so high above me. The giant stood motionless for a few moments just looking at me. Then he turned and pounded in a shambling trot toward a building I could barely make out in the gloom. I sat on my trunk and decided that regardless of Mr. Beydas’ reply, I could go no further. I was going to sleep right were I was.
The second giant watched me with with an utter lack of interest. I had the feeling that he could crush me with the marlin spike he was casually tapping against the fence, or he could let me pass. It would make no difference to him. Mr. Beydas would say the word, he would act, and that would be that. I couldn’t help but notice the area around the yard was free of the urchins who had dogged my every step along the wharf.
But I’m wandering again. I’m sorry. Please excuse me, ladies. I must be more concise. Mr. Beydas hired me on the strength of my letter of introduction. I was given a space in the attic to sleep, meals, and a tiny wage. Mr. Beydas taught me how to keep the journals, but not before explaining to me in some detail what Atlas and Hercules did to the last clerk who tried to cheat him.”
“Lemuel, surely, those cannot the real names,” said Rose carefully.
“We’ll be calling you Odysseus next,” said Maria somewhat archly. The look Rose gave Maria clearly indicated that she had abandoned her challenge and did not appreciate the tone of voice Maria had chosen. Maria decide to ignore the look.
“And so time passed.” If Lemuel had noticed the exchange between the women, he wise enough to avoid involvement. “I learned to be a chandler. Atlas and Hercules carried heavy objects, and hit things. And without me noticing it, Mr. Beydas’ illness grew worse. When I had time to myself I studied the Annumpi. I liked my life as a chandler, but I felt like I had to follow the instructions my father had given me. That was the way the world should work.
Mr. Beydas was a Syrian Christian who ended up in Puerto Zephyr through a truly astounding series of misadventures. Through them all, far too many to relate now, Mr. Beydas always managed to escape with a little more than he started with. He liked to say that he never made a fortune, but his pockets always jingled.
I knew that I would have to leave sometime and seek the Annumpi, but I liked staying with the old man. He talked to me and listened when I talked to him. We sat together by the hour, looking over the piles of nautical wares littering the yard, and he’d tell about his home and his adventures. Sometimes I’d talk about Devers, but he never questioned me. I’ve never talked with anyone like that before or since.
As I said, Mr. Beydas’ health was failing, and after I’d been in Puerto Zephyr for about a year and a half, he died. I found him one morning in his favorite chair, the one that he had placed so that it faced Syria. I didn’t want to leave him so I wrote a note to his closest friend and called Atlas to deliver it. The note was to Abraham Dadian, an Armenian Jew. Dadian was Mr. Beydas’ lawyer as well as his good friend. When he arrived, he brought Mr. Beydas’ will with him. I knew that Mr. Beydas had no family, but other than that I had no idea what his will might contain. It had not occurred to me to even speculate on the matter. I never expected him to die. I was young and caught up in my own troubles. I hadn’t noticed his decline. He deserved a better companion, but I was what he got.”
Mr. Dadian showed me the will. Mr. Beydas had left the bulk of his money to build a synagogue for the small Jewish community in Puerto Zephyr. The lawyer said he expected that the Catholic Church would be apoplectic when they heard about this, and would demand the will be voided. “That’s why we made sure we had some of our other friends witness the will,” said Mr. Dadian, smiling broadly. He turned the will around so I could read the witness signatures. A Jesuit and and Monsignor. Mr. Dadian tapped me on the knee and winked. He said, ‘Make friends with all kinds of good people, son. You always want friends in your enemy’s camp.’
So that was that, I thought. I didn’t resent the money going to the Jews, that was Mr. Beydas’ choice. I didn’t expect anything from him. So when Mr. Dadian said that there was more, I was confused. The rest of the money should be split between Etienne and Carol La Fleur. I must have looked puzzled because the laywer said, ‘Atlas and Hercules.’ I laughed so hard, I started choking. Mr. Dadian had to slap me on the back several times before I could recover. Before I could recover my composure and regain a appropriately respectful countenance, the lawyer knocked me off my feet. The business was to go to me.
I was speechless. I was not quite twenty, remember. I could keep the journals, but I had no idea how to deal with harried captains, thieving pursers, or demanding ships' carpenters. I didn’t even know what most to the things in yard were.
Mr. Dadian rescued me again. He went into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine. He poured us each a large glass and told me to drink. I did so and without thinking poured the whole glass down my throat. I didn’t taste a drop. He laughed and took my glass from me. ‘We are going to do business here, and I do not want anyone to say I took advantage of a drunk boy.’ We talked for a while about what I wanted. He asked me if I wanted to stay in Puerto Zephyr. I told him that I was not prepared to operate the yard. The last thing I wanted to do was to destroy what Mr. Beydas had worked so hard to preserve.
The lawyer finished his wine, and said ‘My friend Adeel has given my people a marvelous gift. I shall begin repaying him by helping you.’ He drew a small leather pouch from his cloak. It plopped on the table with a solid thud. ‘In this purse are fifty silver reals. That is more than the yard and its contents are worth its current state. I mean no disrespect to you, but my friend was unable to maintain the yard and you did not even know that it was falling apart. When the yard is organized, repaired, and restocked, it will be worth more than those fifty silver reals. But it will take money and knowledge to do all those things and you have neither. Adeel told me that you want to be an Annumpi. I don’t know what an Annumpi is, but I do know that purse is your best chance to become one.’”
Lemuel paused and then asked Rose if she could get him some tea. Maria told Rose to go ahead, she’d follow with the dishes. Before she left, Rose rearranged the pillows so that Lemuel could stretch out to rest. Maria put the tea things on the tray. She waited for Rose to leave, then checked to see if Lemuel was still awake. He was watching her. She picked up the tray and started for the door. She paused, weighing her decision carefully. She turned around to see that Lemuel was still watching her.
“Rest up,” Maria said. “We have so much to discuss.”
*******
As Maria reached the back hall, she saw Lucinda disappearing through the kitchen door. By the time Maria had reached the door, Lucinda swung it open and charged back through, nearly upsetting Maria. She twisted out of the way, narrowly avoiding losing her grip on the tea tray. Lucinda threw an hurried apology over her shoulder and ran up the stairs, moving swiftly on the balls of her feet instead of with her usual stately flowing motion.
“Has this storm made everyone insane?,” Maria asked the kitchen generally. “Has the electricity addled the ether so, that all sanity is driven away?”
Rose pointedly ignored Maria, while speedily assembling another tea tray. She was amassing a rather large pile of sandwiches to balance the heavily laden plate of cakes. Rose believed in appetite as a measure of health. She did not approve of Lemuel’s thinness.
“Some of the children are missing. Ethna, Mariel, and Fiona. Lucinda is worried that they might be caught in the storm,” said Mrs. O’Brien. She and Maria said nothing for while. They both knew that the other was afraid of another reason for the girls' absence. If someone has hurt those children, thought Mrs. O’Brien, nothing will stop the men.
“Lucinda has searched the house?,” asked Maria.
“Everywhere. I have sent for the twins. They will search the outbuildings.”
“If they do not find the girls quickly, send for me. I will search for them.”
“The men will come when the twins reach the butchering shed,” said Mrs. O’Brien. Then she seemed to reconsider. “But I will send for you. The men have been in that shed for hours, waiting out the storm. They no doubt have been drinking and eating sausage. Most will be drunk and they all will be farting garlic for days.”
Maria laughed at Mrs. O'Brien's unexpected departure from decorum, releasing pressure in her breast that she had not realized was there. She shook her head and smiled broadly at Mrs. O’Brien, unable to know what to say. Rose acted as if she had not heard, but she must have. She lifted the tea tray and was ready to return to the attic. Maria moved ahead of her to help her with doors.
*******
Lemuel awoke when the women returned. He ate two sandwiches and drank a cup of tea before resuming his tale. He flicked several furtive glances at Maria that she pretended not to notice. She did not feel like comforting him. Rose would provide the comfort. It was her way. Maria would be the skeptic, holding the hermit and his story up for examination. That was her way.
“If you remember,” Lemuel began, “we were speaking of Mr. Dadian. After he made his offer to buy the yard, he took me to his office. We signed an agreement and he gave me the silver. Two of his brothers were there. They were the men who would operate the yard. They had travelled widely in the southern tip of New Spain. They gave me maps and sat with me while we examined the rough maps in the Lastoc. From those rough maps and from descriptions in the text, we determined that the country of the
Annumpi was most likely this desolate area around us, this area many simply call ‘the Grass.’
The men marked a suggested trail on the map and gave it to me. They then took me to a store run by one of their sons who outfitted me for my journey. Mr. Dadian had gone to buy a horse for me as I knew little about horses. He returned with a fine, fierce stallion. The horse stared at me with his wild, rolling eyes and nervously stamping his huge feet. I knew that I would never be able to ride such a beast. I begged Mr. Dadian to exchange him and explained to the lawyer that I was an indifferent rider at best. He returned with a gelding name Constante who met my needs admirably. The next morning, I said goodbye to Atlas and Hercules. They were sorry to see me go, and I left them feeling that if I could survive their fierce hugs and mighty thumps on my narrow back, I could survive anything.
At first, the journey promised to be as uneventful as the voyage by sea. I followed the Camino Real west, spending the nights at inns along the way. The Dadian brothers had been concerned about my safety, so the they had draped me with weapons enough to equip a squadron of dragoons. I was wearing a rapier, and two fine pistols. A heavy cavlary sword and carbine were sheathed on the saddle. My tall boots were provided with sleeves to hold shimmering ten inch long daggers of Damascus steel that had belonged to Mr. Beydas. I hadn’t the heart to tell my benefactors that I never swung a sword or held a dagger or shot a carbine. I had shot pistols, but only at bottles aboard ship. I had never shot at a person and doubted I could do so. As for the swords and carbine, I was more likely to injure myself than to harm anyone. The daggers made useful cooking knives, which I fear would have broken Mr. Beydas’ heart. The Dadian’s, the evidence of their senses notwithstanding, firmly believed that all English were pirates, so they armed me as one. I was pleased they did not weave burning punks into my hair. Perhaps if I had had a beard. The sight alone of my mobile arsenal must have had a effect however, as I was not troubled until my sword and carbine were stolen.
The theft took place the first night I had departed the highway to follow a mining road into the mountains. I slept in a clearing by a small fire over which I had cooked a meal. When I awoke, Constante was gone along with his saddle, my sword and carbine. My pistols and silver were in my packs against which I had propped my head. To this day I do not why the thieves did not cut my throat while I slept and take everything.
I was frightened, as you could well imagine. That was the last night I slept in the open. For the rest of journey, I slept in in thickets, under piles of leaves, tucked into rockfalls, anywhere that hid me from sight. I had packed my remaining possessions in a single pack and began to pick my way along a narrow trail that climbed the steep sides of the mountain. I could see the mining road below me and used it as a guide.
After a few days, a supply train followed by a loose crowd of miners came into view. As it was headed toward the mines, I slipped down the mountain and blended in with the crowd. I felt safer there than I had since the robbery. I used my old skills to float on the edges of the crowd. The robbery and the days alone on the mountains had broken the habit of conviviality I had fallen into during my time with Mr. Beydas. My older, more ingrained habits of moving on the edges, of being silent and listening, resurfaced.
I trailed along with the crowd for several days before I was challenged. A man on horseback had ridden up and was moving through the crowds of miners questioning everyone. I told the man that I was a clerk on my way to Puerto Seguro. I spoke in halting Spanish, although I was quite fluent in Spanish by that time, and tried to convince him by my actions that I was a half-wit Englishman who would walk across a mountain while any sensible Spaniard would have waited for Spring and sailed around the Horn.
He looked at my rapier. A clerk should not have such a weapon. He left me, but I was certain that I had stirred his suspicions. He had gathered a small crowd around him and was clearly asking them about me. I drifted away from the miners and scrambled up the mountain. I hid in the rocks while they searched for me. They could not search for long because the wagons continued to climb the road and they were forced to rejoin them. From then on I stayed on the mountain avoiding the mining roads.
Two days nights later, I came to the entrance to the mine. From my perch in the rocks, I carefully surveyed the scene. I saw at least ten men sleeping on the ground near the mine. As I watched, two Africans staggered out of the mine pulling a low heavy wagon. In it were four other Africans, piled on top of one another. The Africans dragged the bodies from the cart, piled them on top of the ones I had thought were sleeping and then turned to drag the wagon back into the mine. Several Spaniards with muskets were standing well away from the entrance. They had strips of cloth covering their nose and mouth.
Those few men were the only living beings I saw in that awful place. A fever must have spread through the mine or some other calamitous disease. I climbed a ridge that ran a good distance above the mine until I could see the supply train. I fired both pistols and then withdrew. I hoped that the miners would send someone to investigate, then they would surely see what I had seen and turn back.
I skirted the mine entrance and searched for the road that lead out of the mining camp. About a quarter of mile away I saw the buildings where the Spaniards had lived. Or rather I saw the remains of the buildings. Some where still smoldering. Row after row of fresh graves filled what had once been the main street through town. I took my bearings from the setting sun and fled westward down the mountain. I gave up on using the road for fear that the Spaniards fleeing the fever were carrying it with them.”
Lemuel paused and asked Rose for a drink of water. She insisted he drink some tea and eat a small cake to keep his strength up. While Lemuel followed the doctor’s orders, Maria was working out the dates in her mind. She wondered if the fever that Lemuel had seen wasn’t the wave of influenza that had taken her mother.
Refreshed by the tea and cake, Lemuel thanked Rose and returned to his tale. “I was out of food by the time I reached the western foot hills. I had been raised in a busy town and was ill equipped to survive in the wild. I relied more and more on the Lastoc to be my guide.
At the base of the foothills, I came upon a farm. I told the farmer about Constante’s theft and warned him about the fever at the mine. He was a good man and took pity on me. I stayed with his family for a few days. His wife insisted that I rest to build up my strength before traveling on. They sent their son to ask at the neighboring farms if anyone was planning a trip to Puerto Seguro. A neighbor was planning to carry a load of squash to the city and was willing to take me along.
My hosts refused payment, but I left half a real behind when I departed. They were true Christians, and the world would a better place with more like them. I gave the other half of the real to the farmer who carried me to the capital. I still had most of my silver, so I searched for a boarding house. I found a clean establishment in a modest and secluded part of town. I paid in advance for two weeks. The house was mostly frequented by older, sober sailors, who wanted a quiet place away from their wanton crewmates while their ship was in the dry dock for repairs. Mrs. Rodriguez was a severe woman who held herself and her boarders to a strict moral code. As an Anglican, I am not familiar with the particulars of the Confessional, but the only sin I could imagine Mrs. Rodriguez needing to confess is excess zealotry.”
Rose looked away. She was not comfortable when people treated the sacraments lightly. Maria tried not to smile.
“I am being much too hard on poor Mrs. Rodriguez. She was a good woman and kind in her way. Like you, Rose, she worried that I was so thin. She insisted I eat double potions at every meal. She was an excellent cook, so I had no complaints. In England we have a saying, ‘firm, but fair.’ That was Mrs. Rodriguez.” Lemuel caught Maria’s eye and she blushed in spite of herself. “Mrs Rodriguez was firm, but fair. She simply would not tolerate any actions or words that would damage her reputation or the reputation of her house.”
"I used those two weeks to search out information about the Grass, the region where I had come to believe that I would find the Annumpi. As the end of the fortnight approached, I found that I could no longer bear the crowds of Puerto Seguro. I spent my last few days in the capital preparing for the long walk to the grass. I had my worn boots resoled, replaced my saddlebag with a used military pack, and bought a few tools that I would need to build a shelter. When the end of the two weeks arrived, I slipped on my resoled boots, slung the pack onto my back, bid Mrs. Rodriguez farewell, and walked out of town.
I had picked up from fragmentary overheard conversations that the Grass lay to the northeast. I lingered by the Northern gate until I saw a string of hay wagons approaching. They had to be coming from the Grass I concluded, so I started walking down the road in the direction from which they came. Two months later I was here. That was fourteen years ago.”
Lemuel turned his head away from the women. He stared out the window where the storm continued unabated. Rose and Maria waited. They were not certain if Lemuel intended to go on. Rose began to worry that he had overtaxed himself. Maria wondered if he would ever answer her questions.
The silence was broken by Lucinda flinging the door open. “Maria, Momma wants to see you. Come quickly.” Maria immediately replaced her tea cup on the tray. “I must go,” she said to Rose and she bid a hurried farewell to Lemuel. When Lucinda and Maria swept out of the room, Rose and Lemuel sat quietly for a few minutes dazzled by the abrupt departures.
“I think I need to sleep now, Rose,” said Lemuel breaking the spell.
“Of course,” said Rose. “You’ve had such a hard day.” She helped him rearrange the pillows and get comfortable. “Will you be if alright if I go?,” she asked. “I should see what is happening.”
“I’ll be fine, Rose. I’m just very tired.”
“You rest then, Lemuel. I’ll look in on you in little while,” said Rose. She pulled a key from her apron pocket. “Maria asked me to leave this with you. She would like you keep the door locked so the children don’t disturb you, but she does want you to think you are a prisoner.” She placed the key on the table.
“Please give my thanks to Maria. She is very considerate.” Lemuel reached out and turned the key over in his palm a few times before returning it to the table.
“You are a fine nurse, Rose, I can not thank you enough,” said Lemuel. “Now go and see to your family.”
********
In the kitchen, Mrs, O’Brien had met Lucinda and Maria at the door. Her worried look halted the women in their tracks. She quickly told them what had happened. “The twins searched the out buildings. The girls are not in any of them. The boys decided to report to me before going to the butchering shed. I told them to send the men to the creeks and rivers to check for flooding.”
Lucinda was shaken by the news. Maria could see that she was silently crying. Anger rose in Maria and she swore softly. If any of those children are harmed by those thugs, I won’t aim at Cupido’s foot this time, she promised silently. “We cannot wait for the men. Lucinda, stay here with the others. You must calm yourself or you will frighten them. I will go and search for the children.” Maria did not wait for discussion. Mrs. O’Brien and Lucinda didn’t offer any. They knew Maria would go.
Maria rushed out of the kitchen and ran to her study. There she would quickly change out of her useless dress and into her field clothes and boots. Her pistols would be dead weight in the downpour, but she would bring a dagger. She swept into the library and startled her father who was dozing in his favorite chair. “Where are you running to, young lady?,” he called after her.
“No time, Father,” Maria replied as she disappeared into her study.
In a flash, Maria had stripped down to her small clothes. She dragged on her pants and work shirt, slipping the dagger into a leather sleeve sewn into the heavy canvas pants. She was lacing her boots when something thudded into the door that lead to the yard. Maria ran to the door and unlocked it. The door flew open and Maria had to stumble backwards to keep from being run over by a small cart pushed by three mud splattered and nearly drowned young girls.
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