Teach313's Random Keystrokes

My First Attempt at Providing Spiritual Guidance

2012-01-28T16:12:00.000-05:00

KS found this and asked me to post it. I'm happily doing so as I wish I'd created it. (I believe it was created on something called voiceable.org.)

Thinking about the Tigers

2012-01-28T11:34:00.001-05:00

The arrival of Prince Fielder in Detroit sent shockwaves of excitement across SE Michigan and alarms from seismic monitors across the midwest. The new Heavyweight Tigers have made me think more about building a baseball team than I have in years. Mike Ilitich has once again mistaken a huge contract for huge ability - (see Juan Gonzalez.) Gonzalez was pumped up on steriods. Fielder is corn-fed, I suppose. A 280 lb. steroid case would look like a cartoonish muscle boy, while the 5' 11' Fielder resembles, well, a short, fat guy. And there's our new hero - he can't run, field, or throw. He's a five-tool player, if the tools are hitting and a four course meal. Baseball purists shudder, while a discouraged Michelle Obama shakes her head.

The Tigers had an excellent hitting, mediocre fielding, overweight first baseman last year in Miguel Cabrera. Now they have an excellent hitting, poor fielding, overweight first baseman and an excellent hitting, poor fielding, overweight third baseman. The '12 Tigers will the first team to lose 12 - 9 to a team that gets 36 hits on bunts only. I like Cabrera, but I have no illusion that he is a complete player. He played third for a few years and his fielding percentage declined as his weight increased. The Tigers tried him at third last season and pulled him after a few weeks full of errors and misplays.

I sympathize with Cabrera. It has become more difficult to pick up my shoes when getting dressed as my weight has moved from 220 to 240 (-ish). My knees are complaining and my back isn't happy. Of course, I'm also 25 years older than Cabrera, but you get the idea.

Last season the Tigers were 3rd in hitting in the Majors. They were 17th in fielding and 18th in pitching (with MVP and Cy Young winner - Justin Verlander.) They have little team speed. Comerica Field is huge. So what they need is some fast guys with good gloves and line drive power, right? Don't you think $214 million could have brought some of these guys? The new gloves would lower the team ERA and the line drives would create some action on the base paths. The Tigers are building Earl Weaver's Orioles when they should be building George Brett's and Hal McRae's KC Royals.

Let's look at the rest of the worst defensive infield in baseball. Shortstop - Jhonny (the Human Typo) Peralta, and God Knows Who at second. Peralta came to the Tigers from Cleveland in 2010. He had a solid season at the plate last year, but he won't do that again. He's go too many miles on him. His range is only slightly greater that Fielder's circumference. The Tigers will give up seventeen hop grounders between 3rd and short.

As for second, well, you choose between Danny Wirth, Hernan Perez, or Ryan Rayburn. I can't and Leyland doesn't want to. Remember Dick Green and Dick Williams' four second basemen a game strategy with the A's in the '70s? Dick Green is an All-Star compared to any Tiger's second basemen. OK, an alternate selection, but still much better.

Let's wrap this up. The Tiger's offense will drop off this year. Avila, Boesch, and Santiago had career years. Victor Martinez is out for the season. Fielder won't add much more than Martinez did last year. Cabrera should have another great year because I hope he will. I did say I liked him. The pitching will stay the same or drop, depending on whether the young arms can cover Verlander's inevitable return to human greatness after a season of transcendent greatness. The fielding will be at or near the bottom of the league. Get ready for many really annoying 8-6 losses. And by the '15 season, Fielder will be enjoying many dozen Coney lunches while recovering from surgery after surgery on his broken down body.

The good news connected with the Fielder signing is the announcement by the State Lottery Commission of a new scratch game, "First to 300." The $5 ticket has five scratch zones. The player chooses three zones which reveal dates. The Commission will stage a daily weighing of Cecil Fielder, (watch YouTube for the daily posting), and whoever holds the tickets containing the correct date when he first weighs 300 pounds will win a share of Fielder's remaining contract value. The tickets are shorter than regular tickets, but twice as wide. They show a picture of Fielder at National Coney Island in Grosse Pointe with a chili-dripping coney dog in each hand.

The Memoirs of Finn O'Brien Villens: Part 6

2011-11-27T12:08:00.003-05:00

My 16th Birthday

My first few months at the Chateau flew by. It was as if the entire family had set a schedule for me without regard for the others’ plans. My days were filled with instruction of all kinds. Mornings I learned French, dancing, and etiquette under the tutelage of Phillipe and Julianna. Phillipe also instructed me in Natural Science, although it would be more accurate to say that he spoke at length about some topic or other that had caught his interest and I tried to keep up. Julianna’s mother would call for her before Phillipe’s lecture ended, and I was left struggling to stay awake.

I ate lunch with Theodore in his study. Martin joined us when his duties allowed. While we ate, Theodore talked of government, politics, history, and geography. He firmly believed that the geography of our continent would determine our history. Unlike Phillipe’s lectures, Theodore’s talks drew me in and converted me to his point of view. I diligently applied myself to learning the incredible variety of lands and waters that shaped our continent. Theodore explained how the Incas were shaped by the mountains and plains, and how the new government slowly forming after the overthrow of the Spanish must conform to the land. When I look at the map fifty years later, and see the states sharing borders with geographical regions, I see that Theodore’s arguments against a united continental country won the day.

After lunch, Martin lead me through my physical lessons. He insisted on instructing me himself in the use of the epee, rapier, and saber, although he said that if I keep growing, I’d be better suited for a claymore. Ayala joined us and we three would practice shooting with pistols, carbines, muskets, and rifles. I loved this part of the day.

My final lessons of the day were with the General. He was determined to teach me to ride like a calvary officer. He explained that your horse isn’t for dashing around the countryside, looking pretty in your fancy uniform. It is a partner in quickly closing on your enemies and killing them. He showed me how to fight from horseback and situations to avoid. Theodore referred to this as training in combat skills. The General called it “learning all the dirty tricks, so you can kill them before they kill you.”

He and I raced around a field slashing at each other with dull swords. At first I worried about injuring or even killing the old man, but after the first few times he unseated me with blows I never even saw, I stopped worrying about the General’s safety and began to look after my own. In all the months and years he fought me, he never fell. I rarely touched him, and when I did, it was a harmless, glancing blow, that he followed up by clouting me in the chest or on the head. Once, as I was sprawled on the ground and he’d circled back to see if he’d killed me, I asked him how he could still be riding like this in his seventies. He shrugged and said simply, “I am a legend.”

Evenings were my own. I’d eat with the family or in the kitchen if the Doña was out visiting and dinner was informal. I liked eating in the kitchen. It reminded me of meals with my family at Don Valenzuela’s home. After dinner I wandered around the countryside, exploring or searching for plants and birds for Maria. Sometimes I’d play billiards with Martin and Phillipe or cards with Ayala and other soldiers. Occasionally Julianna played the piano and I’d stay and listen. On inclement evenings, I might even be found reading a book. I left Phillipe’s natural history books unopened, favoring instead Theodore’s histories and geographical studies.

**********************

I tried to avoid formal occasions at the Villens’, but I couldn’t always escape. And so it was that I found myself a guest at a luncheon for visiting members of the Arguello family, a prominent ranching family from the central plains. Doña Villens had always treated me kindly, if somewhat distantly, since I had joined her household and, as such, I was seated at a small table in a rear corner of the dining room with two elderly companions to even more elderly Villens aunts and several people whose connection to the Arguello family was claimed, but unclear. I was told to refer to them as “cousins,” a flexible genealogical term that covered a wide area of irregular familial events. From my distant position, I had no hope of talking with Julianna, but I could see her and was forced to watch Rodrigo Arguello dominate her attention. I counted on Julianna’s company to make these occasions bearable and the company at my table was unable to match her charm and wit.

I was still young, but it was obvious even to me that Rodrigo had come to the Villens estate with the intention of marrying Julianna. Remembering what Don Lucien Villens had said about the great families remaining medieval, I feared that a political marriage had already been arranged been Juliana and the eldest son of the Arguelo family. The General had assured me that this would not happen, but I’d come to realize that in his steady, quiet way, Theodore was independent of his father and was calling the shots.

*********

I suppose I should say a bit about my turning sixteen. The luncheon was, in fact, on my sixteenth birthday. The Villens did not known this for the simple reason that I had not told anyone. As my birthday approached, a severe case of homesickness set in. This was my first birthday away from home. The Villens family had treated me exceptionally well, but I still missed my family. I’d asked Theodore on the morning of my birthday if I’d be able to go home by Christmas. He said that he didn’t think so and had the decency to looked pained as he did so. So there I sat, nursing my adolescent grief over my unobserved birthday.

When the meal finally ended, the honored guests at the head table rose and strolled into the gardens to enjoy the afternoon sun. Rodrigo had Julianna on his arm and glared at me as he passed. He was older than Julianna and me, eighteen or nineteen at least. I sized him up and estimated that he had three to four inches and forty pounds on me. I wasn’t intimated by any of these advantages. He looked soft, his round face puffy. I was certain that I could handle him in a fight, and if he gave me another disdainful look I planned to start one. I may have been a year older, but I still had a great deal of growing up to do. Perhaps I was jealous of Rodrigo’s ability to sweep in and assume the right to marry her. I would never be able to assume such a privilege. Yes, jealousy was a strong possibility. I thought of Julianna as a sister or cousin, but not for the first or last time my feelings were running ahead of my thoughts. Of course I would accept any opportunity to fight him. He will, of course, be too well-bred to fight me, a member of the odds-and-ends table. So why was he glaring at me? Why would he even notice me?

As he drew nearer, Rodrigo said, in a voice loud enough for the whole honor party to hear, “My dear Julianna, your family does treat its help in the most extraordinarily generous fashion.” Laughter all around, various august heads turned toward me, the Villens family looking stricken, the General fingering his sword, God bless him, Julianna’s face flushed with embarrassment, and me standing there like an idiot as the group swept out into the garden. All these images swirled in my head as I felt my stomach knot and my fists clench.

I followed them. I had found a target for all my birthday bitterness and my brain shut down. Any thinking for the next period of time would be done by my muscles. My emotions must have been transparent for I hadn’t the wit to disguise them. I had taken two strides to close on Rodrigo when Ayala stepped into my path and guided me away. He maneuvered my out of the gardens and over to the stables. I demanded that he get out of my way and he politely refrained from laughing. I might be sixteen, but I still had many years of growth ahead of me before I had any chance of moving Ayala out of my way.

Ayala told me that he had heard what Rodrigo had said. He acknowledged that it was an offensive remark and that Rodrigo should be squashed like a bug. “But he is one of our betters,” Ayala explained carefully. “You and I can only kill them in battle. Or a duel, of course, but he would never fight a duel with the the likes of you or me.”

I immediately demanded a duel. Ayala patiently explained that I couldn’t challenge a high-ranking aristocrat such as Rodrigo. He couldn’t challenge me either. There was nothing I could do against Rodrigo, so Ayala told me I had to control of my emotions. I didn’t want to control my emotions. I knew that Ayala was correct, but I wanted to pay Rodrigo back for his insult.

While we were talking, two strangers approached us from the gardens. They were dressed in officers’ uniforms of the Arguello regiment. Ayala asked them what they wanted. “We are here to see the wolf-child,” said the thin one. “Yes, we understand that Villens has taken in one of those wild Irish as a pet,” said the other blandly. I moved toward them, but Ayala once again stepped in front of me. The men looked past him at me, while he addressed them in a calm, soothing voice. “Why don’t you fine gentlemen return to the garden. The flowers are lovely and you’re a lot less likely to get your dainty asses kicked.”

The men paused, uncertain at what they’d heard, then turned their focus on Ayala. They took a step back when they saw the size of the bear they’d roused. “Be still, Lieutenant,” ordered the one dripping in gold braid. Ayala removed his uniform jacket and answered, “There are no Lieutenants here. Just Finn O’Brien and his friend, Luis Ayala.”

The Arguello men were sizing up Ayala and considering sending for reserves when a sarcastic voice cut through the silence. “Is the foundling proving too difficult for you, gentlemen?” It was Rodrigo. He had slipped away from the crowd in the garden and had come to see what his men had done with me. My first thought was how could I start a battle.

Ayala fixed Rodrigo with a menacing stare. The aristocrat struggled not to take a step back and, to his credit, he succeeded. Blood will tell and all that. Had Ayala lost control, Rodrigo’s would have been a Pyrrhic victory. “It has come to my attention that the Irish wild-man has been pestering Julianna with his unwelcome attentions. Should he persist I will be forced to teach him his manners.”

No battle, alright, a duel then. “I demand satisfaction,” I yelled.

One of Rodrigo’s minions laughed and said, “Don Arguello wouldn’t trouble himself to fight a duel with one such as you, boy.”

Rodrigo added, “You will have to get your satisfaction elsewhere, cur.”

All self- control gone, I shot back, “Which, I hear, is what you mother ...”

“Enough,” roared General Villens, arriving on the scene on horseback. “Put down those weapons all of you. Lieutenant Ayala, get you uniform on. There will be no brawling here.”

“Come here, Finn,” ordered the General and I walked over to him. “You as well, Don Rodrigo.” Rodrigo thought things over for a short while and then decided to obey the General. People did. The two of us stood before the General and he considered us in silence. A sunny smile played around his eyes, but his mouth was firm and unsmiling. “Let’s think about this for a bit, shall we?” Lucien said. “The boy was about to say something unpleasant about you mother, Rodrigo. You would have forgotten yourself and challenged him to a duel. Finn would have the choice of weapons. At this time he’s a poor swordsman. You are a highly trained, talented one. In six months, he will be capable of slicing you into however many pieces he chooses, but for now, you would win. You should know, Rodrigo, (who was so busy preening over the praise of his swordsmanship that he missed the insult), Finn is typical of his race. The Irish are foolish in many things, but not in fighting. He isn’t going to choose the aristocratic sword. He’ll choose pistols.” The General called to Ayala and told him to give me his pistols.

“Finn, do you see that apple on the branch hanging over the stream?” I told the General I did. “Do you see it as well, Rodrigo?” he asked. He nodded. “Now that apple is at least five times the distance Finn will be from you in your duel, Don Rodrigo.” The General waited a moment and then said, “Finn, shoot the apple.” I placed a bullet in the center of the apple.

“That is no great distance,” sneered Rodrigo.

“No, you’re right. We better make the test more challenging.” The General looked around, hunting a new target. “Ayala, when I command throw a rock into that pine tree past the apple tree. There is a bird on the upper branch. Finn, hit the bird in flight.” Ayala walked a ways toward the tree, then threw the rock when the General ordered. He startled the bird and I brought it down in flight. Rodrigo stiffened, but did not respond.

The General watched Rodrigo and seemed to waiting for him to speak. When he didn’t. the General handed me one of his pistols. “Finn, do you see Don Rodrigo’s right ear?” he asked. Rodrigo clapped a hand over his ear and began to protest this latest challenge. “I would stand very still if I were you, Don Rodrigo,” advised the General. The young man quivered a bit as he struggled to stay perfectly still.

“Finn,” said the General in a calm, contemplative tone, “Do you suppose you could place a shot so close to Don Rodrigo’s ear that he could hear it fly by over the pounding of his heart?” I assured him that I was willing to try.

“Rodrigo,” asked the General. “Do you think that Finn could make such a shot?” Rodrigo responded that he did and that no proof was necessary.

“Then let’s all agree that it has been done,” said the general cheerfully. “I don’t think that there will be any further insults or duels. Don Rodrigo, I will guarantee that Finn will not trouble you further. I trust that you and you people will agree to do the same. Perhaps this matter would best be forgotten and we all should return to our parties.” Rodrigo and men started for the garden at a pace just short of running.

When they disappeared behind the hedges, the Ayala started laughing, but the General silenced him. The old man called me over to him. I returned his pistol to him and tried not to look him in the face. He was clearly angry with me. “It’s time for a lesson, Finn,” he said sternly. Ayala quietly slipped away. “You were about to do something very reckless. Insulting Don Rodrigo would have made it very difficult for you to remain here with us. You would have killed that boor in a duel and his family would not have accepted that. They would have provoked you until finally someone killed you in a duel.”

“You cannot be reckless in order to feel better. That’s a sure way to get killed. There are times to be reckless and reasons to be reckless, but self-pity must never be the reason. You must always keep your wits about you to determine if recklessness is proper. If you see a small weakness in an enemy that you can slip into and shatter them, like a knife blade finding an opening and prying it apart, then go, whatever the odds. If you are outnumbered and the enemy is scattered, a reckless attack followed by a swift retreat can be effective. If you are outnumbered and have no other options, then slam into your enemy as hard as you can and keep moving forward until you are through their lines or dead. All these moves are reckless, but if you take them with at least part of your mind clear, you have a chance of surviving and leading your troops to safety. In none of these cases are you attacking because your feelings are hurt. Reason must hold the reins on recklessness and reason must unleash it.””

“I have done all these reckless things many times and here I am. Stories are told of my acts. Of course, you must remember that I am a legend.”

******************

When the General had returned to the garden, I walked under the trees for a while to calm myself. I succeeded somewhat, but decided that I had no desire to attend a formal dinner. If that pompous ass, Rodrigo, said anything to me, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of the Villens family after all they’d done for me, so I sent a message to Doña Villens that I was ill and requested that a light supper be sent to my room.

To my surprise, the Doña herself came to my room to see how I was feeling. My room was on the third floor of the west tower, quite a long way from the main living quarters of the Chateau. She asked if I needed a doctor and I assured her that I’d be fine with a little rest. She left, promising to return after dinner to check on me. Prior to this, the Doña had been polite to me, but not very interested. I didn’t know why she changed her attitude. I hoped she hadn’t heard Rodrigo’s insults and now pitied me.

I settled in for a long night of maudlin thoughts about Rodrigo marrying Julianna, my sixteenth birthday going unnoticed, how I was the most miserable person alive, and generally wallowing in adolescent self-pity. If I ever were to write the bleak, self-centered poetry of youth, that would have been the night, but my atrocious spelling and limited vocabulary prevented that embarrassment.

My dinner arrived and I tried to pick at it as a sick man might, but I was hungry and the food was quite good. I wound up sneaking down to the kitchens for a second helping. It was my birthday after all, I thought, as I ate another chicken leg, and I assumed that it would be the only present I’d get.

I’d managed to maintain a proper morose state for almost three hours, when a heavy knock resounded on my door. It was an official knock and, when I opened the door, one of Theodore Villens’ captains was standing there backed by two lancers. “Is Señorita Julianna here with you?,” the captain demanded.

The question came completely out of the blue. “No,” I answered. “Isn’t she at the dinner?”

The captain ignored my question and looked past me into my room. “Step aside,” he ordered. “I must search your room.”

I stood my ground, quickly sloughing off the lethargy that had taken hold of me. “I said that she is not here,” I snapped angrily. “Is my word no longer trusted in this house?”

The captain was unimpressed. “If you are hiding the Señorita you will be dismissed from your soft life in this house,” he spat at me.

I reached for the sword I’d earlier tossed onto a chair. “If my word is no longer respected here, I will leave of my own accord,” I said, my voice cold and angry. “But all that is in the future. Right now, you will not search my room.” I raised my sword and made it clear that I would fight rather than have my room searched as if I were a common criminal.

The captain stood in the doorway with the two lancers at his back and stared at the boy with sword who was defying them. Whatever the consequences, there was no way in Hell he was going to search my room. I had a large chip on my shoulder that would take more than this captain to dislodge. I must have convinced the captain for he turned and walked away. One of the lancers grinned and winked at me as they followed the captain down the hall. I struggled to keep from grinning back.

I quickly dressed and armed myself then ran to the dining hall. I peered through a small window in a side entry door and saw that Theodore and Martin were absent. I ran to Theodore’s study and found them there. Martin told me that Julianna was missing. No one had seen her since the company had scattered throughout the gardens. She had sent her maid to get her a cool drink and was gone when the maid returned. The maid searched for her for hours and then told Doña Villens that Julianna was missing. Everyone had searching for her since. I asked what I could do. Martin told me to get five troopers and search the grounds beyond the gardens and around the carriage houses.

In no time I was searching the open grounds past the gardens. Julianna and I often rode across this rolling grassland where sheep grazed and she might have wandered out here to get away from the crowds in the garden. I was worried that Julianna might have somehow hurt herself and was lying in the darkness alone and frightened. Then I thought that it could be worse. Julianna was a small girl and she should have not have wandered alone out here. I hoped that she hadn’t.

We swiftly covered the cleared ground and found no sign of Julianna. Men on horseback were searching the further hills, so we raced over to the carriage houses as Martin had directed. The six of us had nearly completed our search when a carriage followed by a pony cart came to a halt in the courtyard. I recognized, but could not place, the carriage. The pony cart was driven by a footman in the livery of Doña de la Vega. The footman leapt from the cart and raced to the carriage to lower the steps and open the door. To my complete surprise, Maria and then Julianna stepped down.

Without thinking, I hugged them both in turn. Maria laughed and said that everything was fine. Julianna shivered and then returned my hug in way that gave me my first glimpse that Maria might not be the most desirable woman in the world. I stepped back and looked at Julianna who looked back at me boldly, not turning away. When I finally broke away from Julianna’s eyes, I saw Maria watching us thoughtfully. “I believe we should take Julianna to her father,” said Maria softly. I agreed and lead Maria and Julianna to Theodore’s study. We walked in silence. I was lost in wonder at the meaning of the long look I’d shared with Julianna.

The silence was broken when, with Maria’s urging, Julianna began to tell me what had happened. Rodrigo had found Julianna alone in the garden after he had been sent away by the General. He was angry and accused Maria of things that she was unwilling to repeat. I angrily worked my hand across the hilt of my sword. Maria adjusted her pace to draw even with me and placed her hand on mine. “This is not the time,” she whispered and I withdrew my hand from my sword. Julianna continued, saying that Rodrigo and grabbed her and kissed her. I asked her how she escaped from him. She didn’t want to say. Maria spoke up. “She had had lessons from her grandfather. She punched Rodrigo in the throat and ran.” I looked at thin, small Julianna and imagined her punching tall, powerful Rodrigo. I stifled a laugh.

Julianna took up the story again. She kept running until she reached the carriage houses. She did not want to return to house and risk running into Rodrigo. The pony cart was hitched for any children who wished to ride in it. She climbed in and rode away. She decide to ride all the way to Puerto Seguro to find Maria. As luck would have it, Maria met her a short way from the Chateau. “Not exactly luck,” said Maria. I had no idea what Maria had said. I was thinking about where I might find Rodrigo after I’d delivered the ladies to Theodore and how I would kill him.

We reached the study and walked in without knocking. The guards saw Julianna and stepped aside, broad smiles on their faces. Theodore jumped out of his chair and raced over to Julianna, seizing her in a tight embrace. The General was sitting in front of the desk, beaming at me. I could read his expression. His prize student had saved the fair maiden. The General thought mythically. I shook my head and pointed at Maria. “General Lucien Villens, I would like to introduce my good friend, Señorita Maria Valenzuela, the true rescuer of your granddaughter.”

The General stood and executed a graceful bow. He offered Maria his seat and took her by the hand to lead her over to it. He produced sherry from a small flask and found two glasses in a small cabinet behind the desk. Soon the two were chatting away like old friends. Theodore was busy listening to Julianna tell about her meeting with Rodrigo. Theodore’s usually calm exterior was slowly replaced with an expression of barely controlled fury. I decided that it was time for me to settle things with Rodrigo.

I took several steps toward the door when Theodore barked a command at me to halt. I’d never heard the gentle man speak like this before. “Sit down, Finn,” he ordered. I sat. “This is a father’s duty, not yours.” I looked at the General who had turned away from Maria when he’d heard his son’s raised voice. His face was carefully neutral. He was yielding the moment to his son, Julianna’s father. As always, I followed the General’s lead.

Theodore dispatched a captain to locate Don Rodrigo and bring him to the study. Julianna was sent with two guards to her mother. The General invited Maria and I to his study. Theodore sat behind his desk perfectly still waiting for Rodrigo. I have no idea what he said, but Rodrigo left the Chateau before breakfast and resigned his commission in the army. The General told me that he was satisfied with these actions, but would have been happier with castration.

After Rodrigo was dismissed, Theodore sent a messenger requesting that we return to his study. The General led Maria and I and we saw that Julianna and Doña Villens were already present. Apparently Martin and Phillipe were still searching for Julianna and had not been located yet. It was nearly mid-night, but everyone was energized by Julianna’s safe return. Theodore said we should celebrate Julianna’s safe return and he poured wine for everyone. The General insisted that we drink to Maria, Julianna’s rescuer. From the gleam in his eye as he looked at Maria, I was afraid the old reprobate was planning on proposing to her. The wine glasses were refilled and slowly everyone, including the General, relaxed as the tension of the evening dissolved.

It was nearly one in the morning and the conversation was beginning to lag when Theodore stopped in mid-sentence and turned to Maria. “Señorita Valenzuela, I just realized that I have no idea why you happened to be a short way outside our gates.” He turned to his wife and Martin, who had just joined us. “Did either of you invite Señorita Valenzuela to the dinner?”

Before either could answer, Maria laughed and said, “I was hoping that I could escape all your kindness without having to explain why I here without an invitation. I assure you Major Villens, I was not planning on insinuating myself into your company uninvited.” The General interjected that she was welcome anytime, anytime at all, no invitation was required for one so charming. Maria smiled warmly at the old man and continued.

“As it happens, I was not here to visit any of your family, not even Martin, although I am glad of the chance to spend time with him again. I have also enjoyed meeting your father, the famous General Lucien, and visiting with the rest of your family. But the truth is I was planning on slipping into the courtyard and sending for Finn.”

All heads turned toward me. I was as surprised as anyone and stared at Maria wondering what could bring her so far to see me. “You see,” said Maria, “I was thinking a few weeks ago how much I missed my father and the O’Briens, who are like family to me. I began to wonder how Finn was doing with you. I was sure that he must be homesick. I decided to write a letter to his family and then I realized that his sixteenth birthday was approaching. Before long I received a return letter from Finn’s family along with birthday presents to deliver to Finn. Since his birthday is nearly over, I suggest that anyone who isn’t too tired join me in the courtyard to unload Finn’s presents and wish him a happy sixteenth birthday.”

And so they all did. We celebrated my birthday in the courtyard and moved into the stables when the night air grew cold. The General entertained us with a variety of jokes about birthdays and mangers, while Maria and Martin managed to slip into the darkness for a bit of privacy. Julianna and I talked for hours until her mother requested that she walk with her to the house. Maria refused to stay, and returned to her home at Doña de la Vega mansion in Puerto Seguro. Martin, Phillipe, Theodore, Lucien, and I sat in the stables until dawn. I listened to the General’s war stories, Theodore’s plans for the future of the new country, Phillipe’s tales of Paris life, and Martin’s insistence that he marry Maria soon. They listened to my stories about my family and Don Valenzuela, about my specimen hunting with Maria, and about adventures I’d had prowling the grassland as a small boy.

As I mentioned, Julianna was also at the party. At sixteen, I didn’t know what I felt about her. She was still a young girl, four years younger than me. But I knew that on that night something had changed. I felt differently about her, but I didn’t know what those feelings were. In three or four years, I would know. In eight years, I married her. Almost fifty years later, I am still married to her and am still warmed by those feelings.

The Memoirs of Finn O'Brien Villens: Part 5

2011-11-24T21:58:00.001-05:00

Changes

The four days we spent in the hotel were filled with the dull stuff of supplying Maria and I with the material goods needed to enter polite society. Our wardrobes expanded, I chose two sets of pistols, my first sword arrived with a note from Ayala warning me not to play with it until I had some training, and we ate as I had never eaten before. At home, we always had food, plentiful and delicious, but no one would ever use the word “delicacies” in connection with O’Brien cooking. The hotel chef leaned to delicacies and I learned to enjoy them even though I often had no idea what I was eating. With the exception of the food, the supply process proved dull and annoying. Maria grew irritated, complaining that she was being treated like a doll. I grew restless and began to plan my escape.

On the fifth day, things started happening. Early in the morning, I had managed to slip away from Angelo, Señor Bernard’s assistant, who was driving me mad by fussing over my clothes. I was required to dress and undress repeatedly as the fit was adjusted. He had brought a small stool upon which I was required to stand for what felt like hours while he adjusted a seam or added a silver button. When Angelo wandered off to find scissors, or one of the thousand other tiny tools he’d brought with him, I slipped out of the room. I swiftly darted down the stairs, crossed the lobby, and ran out into the street. It was the first time I’d been outside my rooms alone since we arrived and the freedom was intoxicating. I was dressed, Mr. Bernard assured me, as a son of a prosperous business man. I felt like a damned silly, flouncing fool, but at least I was a free fool. I walked a little way down the road, just past the hotel, to the mouth of a small alley. I peeked into the alley and heard laughter and talk, so I decided to investigate. I was in the mood for fun.

The alley led to the rear of the hotel. When I turned the corner, I saw two maids and a couple of rough looking guys. The guys were eating sandwiches that the maids must’ve smuggled from the kitchen. Open bottles of beer stood at their feet. When the girls saw me, they panicked and ran back inside. The fellows called after them, then turned their attention on me. They quickly measured me with appraising eyes and decided that the son of a prosperous business man must carry a heavy purse.

The two split up and approached me from either side in approved stalking mode. From their grins it was clear they thought I was an easy mark. “Didn’t your mother warn you about dark alleys, little boy?,” The talkative one said.

The other was more to the point. “Give us your purse and you might keep your clothes,” he muttered darkly.

I smiled, which slowed them a bit. They expected me to run, but I knew better than to run from wolves. I wasn’t too worried though. These wolves looked like they’ve seen better days. More likely, they’d never had better days. Ragged was as good as they would ever get.

I patted my pockets and exclaimed somewhat theatrically, “Damn! I have left my new pistols in my room.”

“Too bad boy,” said the talker. “‘Cause we’ve got these.” The thugs pulled kitchen knives honed to a fine point out of their pockets. No doubt the girls had stolen them from the hotel as well. They held the knives at their waists, points upwards, and fixed their eyes on me. They probably expected me to bolt anytime. I had different plans.

“Well, well,” I said, “knives. That’s a different story!” I reached under my knee length tunic and slid my long knife from its sheath laced to my thigh while with my left hand I drew the heavy blade from my boot. “I have knives,” I said, grinning maniacally.

The dogs stopped in their tracks. They each seemed to be waiting for the other to start. The quieter one looked down at his kitchen knife and frowned. All the frustration built up during these days of being bullied and pestered by Mr. Bernard’s assistants flowed through me. I’m not proud of it, but there are times when I dearly love a fight. I grew tired of waiting for them to attack, so I did.

I took two quick steps to my left and swept my long dagger at the loudmouth thug’s throat. He leapt backwards, swearing. The other tried to close in on me, but he didn’t realize that I was setting him up with my initial feint. When he tried to close on my blindside, I spun away from him, and flashed out with the short, heavy blade. He wasn’t ready for my attack. I stopped the knife just shy of his throat. He dropped his blade and begged me not to kill him. I had no intention of killing him, but I did deliver a solid kick that made him unlikely to father a child any time soon.

The loudmouth, his larger partner down, turned and ran down the alley. I thought about chasing him, but a dark figure detached itself from the shadows and smashed the loudmouth with the cage of his sword hilt. The men was knocked off his feet. A second figure stepped from the shadows and dragged the unconscious man into the deeper shadows of the alley. The figures were much more threatening than the two thugs had ever been. I did not wait to see what their intentions were. I ran back through the alley and out into the street. Before stepping out into the daylight, I sheathed my knives. It turned out this was a bad idea.

Once I was clear of the alley, I walked down the street, straightening my clothes and brushing off dirt. I didn’t pay attention to the clatter of a carriage closing in on me. The carriage slowed to a walk right behind me and, in a carefully orchestrated attack, my arms were pinned behind me, the carriage door was opened, and I was tossed inside. A large man followed me into the carriage. He effortlessly grabbed me and tossed me onto the bench. No words were spoken. No false bravado here. It was a thoroughly professional kidnapping.

An older man sat across from me, a pistol aimed at my chest. He banged on the roof of the carriage with a silver handled cane and the carriage jerked into motion. The big man who had been throwing me around removed the knife from its thigh sheath and dropped it in a brown leather bag at his feet. The older man leaned back into his bench and stared at me, his pistol now aimed at my head.

We only got a short way when I saw the troops appear on either side of the carriage. The old man was staring out of the window and the big man leaned forward and was fumbling with the leather case. With speed fueled by fear, I ripped the short knife from my boot and slammed it between the strong man’s shoulder blades. He felt to the floor, desperately pawing at the knife. Then the carriage brakes slammed against the wheels. The older man was thrown toward me. I dove to the side as his pistol discharged, its flash blinding me, the powder burning my cheek. The older man fell against me. Grabbing for his shoulders, I turned toward him and snapped my head forward. I felt my forehead slam into this face and flatten his nose. The old man screamed and fell backwards, slamming against his bench and bouncing back at me. I shoved him onto the big man and climbed over them both. By now my sight was returning, and I kicked open the door, and hurled myself from the carriage.

I hit the street, and rolled to a stop against a building. I tried to stand, but my body wasn’t working right and my legs folded up under me. I tried again, but this time a strong hand grabbed me under my arm and dragged me onto the back of a horse. “Hang on,” yelled Ayala, his booming voice cutting through the fog that surrounded me. Before long, I was back at the hotel and two troopers were helping me down from the horse.

They carried me to my room and laid me on the bed. Ayala and Maria washed the blood off my face. Maria asked why I was covered in blood when she could only find a small cut above my eye. “Broken noses bleed something awful.” I struggled to get out the words.

“But your nose isn’t broken,” she said.

“I didn’t say it was my nose,” I whispered and Ayala let out a huge roar of laughter.

Before long a doctor arrived and began checking me for injuries. I tried to speak, to ask questions, but talking was difficult. Ayala assured me that things were fine. One of the men in the carriage was dead, the other three were captured. Before long, they would tell the troopers who sent them. “The one with the broken nose said the boy’s a demon,” Ayala said addressing his words to Maria. “I told him to avoid fighting Irishmen. They don’t fight fair.”

He also told me that he had the two thugs who pulled knives on me in the alley. Maria’s head snapped towards Ayala. It was clear even to me in my muddled state that this was the first she heard of the fight in the alley.

“Was that you in the alley?” I asked.

“It was,” he said. “Also Sgt. Lopez.”

“And you let them attack me?” I asked.

“They were fools,” he said dismissively. “Besides I needed to see how you handled yourself.”

“Two men attacked Finn and you watched?,” asked Maria in amazement.

Ayala shrugged, “They needed more help than Finn did.” Maria glared at Ayala, who met her eyes with calm indifference.

A message arrived about an hour later. Villens would meet us at the address on the card. Ayala knew the address and told the manager to have a carriage waiting in thirty minutes. Maria was excused and the doctor cleaned and bandaged my injuries, mostly scratches and bruises. The doctor inspected my self-inflicted thigh wound, but I refused to answer his questions about it.

In a half hour, I was dressed in fresh clothes and clean bandages, sitting across from Maria and next to Ayala as the carriage rattled down the King’s Highway toward Puerto Seguro. Ayala’s pistols were in the pockets of my jacket. The gunsmith was still tinkering with mine. I leaned out of the window and saw a dozen troopers, surrounding the carriage. I asked Ayala where we were going, but he would not say. I had never seen him so tense. At one point he muttered something about being on top, not riding inside like some damn, fool aristocrat. If anyone was planning on attacking us, the dozen carbineers discouraged them. I think they should have been worried about the Ayala, who was furious that I had nearly been kidnapped when he was guarding me.

We arrived at our destination after a journey of several hours. The carriage and troops passed through a heavy gate which was swung shut and bolted behind us. We followed a circular gravel drive to the front of the tall brick house of Spanish style. Liveried footman opened the carriage doors and assisted us to the ground. We climbed the marble steps and a butler met us at the door. He lead us to a large library, then informed us that Doña de la Vega was unfortunately occupied with delicate matters. She would be with us as soon as she was able. The butler stepped out of the room and soon two maids arrived with trays of cold meat, bowls of fruit, and drinks. The butler soon returned with wine.

Maria wasn’t hungry and turned her attention to the library books. She made noises of approval as she muttered names of authors that meant nothing to me, save for Cervantes. Ayala and I ate heartily, while he retold, with ample embellishments honesty requires me to admit, my adventures in the alley. After the number of my attackers had risen to an even dozen, Maria dryly commented that soon I will have defeated Napoleon’s entire Imperial guard armed only with a pointed stick. Ayala insisted that Maria would not talk in such a manner had she seen me in action. I ate and enjoyed the exchange, while remembering to remain suitably modest. Maria mentioned something about the kidnapping and the memory of killing the big man ended all my sense of adventure.

When Ayala took a break from entertaining us to enjoy the claret and figs, I took advantage of the opening in the conversation to ask Maria why Doña de la Vega was in Puerto Seguro and why we were in her house waiting to see her. Maria returned the book she was studying to the shelf and walked over to me. She motioned that I should join her on the sofa. I carried my plate, still piled high with meat, cheese, and fruit, and placed it on a small table. I asked Maria if I could get anything for her. She asked for a glass of wine. When I returned, she sipped the rich red liquid and sighed. “As far as I can understand all this, we are in trouble and Doña de la Vega wants to help. You probably are aware of all the difficulties I had with her son, Cupido,” she began. I nodded. Cupido and Maria had been a constant topic of conversation while I was a boy. “On the day of the ambush of Gen. Morales, I went to Doña de la Vega in an attempt to prevent the slaughter. She and Morales are related by marriage and I had hoped that she could do something to warn the troops. Cupido was at the center of the plot to the place Morales on the throne or whatever the ruler of this new country of ours sits upon. Who knows, maybe he thought that if he were a high-ranking officer in the Army of the new country, I would relent and marry him. His behavior had become so erratic, anything is possible. Of course, the ambush ended all those hopes and his life as well.”

“The events of that awful day and the weeks that Doña de la Vega spent at my father’s house nursing Cupido and easing his last days, brought us together. My mother died quite young and I came to appreciate the sagacity and wit of the Doña. I look at her as a wise aunt, an experienced woman who has my interests at heart. That said, I didn’t know of this house, nor did I have any expectation that we would be waiting to see her. From the way that Ayala and his troops hurried us here after the attack on you, I can only assume that we are here for our protection. I believe that there must have been many conversations about you and I that we have not privy to.” Maria looked at Ayala for confirmation of her suspicions. Ayala held up a finger, hurriedly chewing and swallowing the cold pheasant he been systematically working through. He took a long drink of wine and cleared his throat before addressing Maria.

“I think it best if we wait for Doña de la Vega,” he said.

Maria did not look satisfied, but as Ayala returned to his assault on the pheasant, the pointlessness of further questions became obvious. Maria ate some of the fruit from my plate and sat lost in her own thoughts among the books and paintings of the grand library. After a while, Ayala left the room to check on the soldiers.

The door opened and we expected Ayala to return, but instead Doña de la Vega swept into the room. Maria and I rose to our feet and Doña de la Vega embraced Maria and kissed her on the cheek. The Doña shook my hand and greeted me then she waved us into our chairs. We talked for a while about this and that, nothing really important, nothing touching why we were there. Then Ayala returned and led me outside. That was the last time I saw Maria for several months. She did however send me several letters to keep me informed and to check on me.

Before I go into how Maria and I spent the next few months, I want to explain something, just in case I haven’t made it clear. Villens would have married Maria the first day we left the woods and set foot on his family’s grounds, but his family was a different matter. Maria felt the same way. Unfortunately, many influential families with marriageable daughters and calculating parents wanted an attachment to the Villens family. While they both wanted their son to marry a worthy woman, Martin’s parents had their own concerns. Theodore was concerned about the current volatile political situation. The revolution led by the Rojas family was an incomplete and rather sloppy act. He would like his see his family tied to one of the eight great families by marriage to help him shape the events of the near future.

Doña Villens’ thoughts were elsewhere. She wanted her son’s marriage to raise their family to the upper realm of society. They currently had access to that lofty position through their military role, but she wanted full access. Since Martin had turned twenty, his mother had been making arrangements with other socially prominent women to bring a small army of marriageable women into contact with Martin. Every leading family with an eligible daughter had spent long visits at the Chateau Villens. The general once requested that the printed menus for the formal dinners that accompanied these visits include the name of the intended betrothed so that he could keep the names straight. While Maria came from an old and honored family, the Valenzuelas had fallen on hard times several generations back and had not regained their former status.

Martin adored his mother and so was blind to her faults. He had cheerfully endured the efforts of a large portion of society to led him to the altar. His father generally stayed out of these machinations, however he did point out how attractive the daughters of several political powerful families were. When Martin asked his father how to choose a wife, his father told him to carefully evaluate what he wanted in a wife and then throughly examine all the available women to find the best match. Martin was struck at how different this advice was from the story of how his father met his mother, but he thought too highly of his father to point this out. When Martin asked his grandfather about choosing a wife, his grandfather offered to pay his way to Paris where Martin was to seduce the most beautiful woman he could find and then whisk her away to the New World one step ahead of her father, brothers, and fiancee. “You want two things in a wife,” the General concluded. “A great passion and a great story.”

Maria spent the next several months becoming established in the de la Vega home and in society. Maria was taken to visit prominent citizens. The de la Vega house became the center of social activity. The prominence of Doña de la Vega along with the sparkling wit and beauty of Maria attracted the important members of Puerto Seguro society. Members of all the important families soon found their way to the Doña’s home. The Doña and Maria would also visit the great houses in the nearby areas. Soon Maria’s charms, intelligence, and beauty established her as a prominent social figure.

A room off of the library was turned into a study for Maria. Arrangements were made to bring her books, specimens, and equipment from Don Valenzuela’s home. Once the new study was established, Maria began to attract members of various philosophical societies that were springing up around Puerto Seguro. It was rumored that several elderly naturalists were so taken by her study of comparative anatomy that they offered to marry her, but Maria managed to put them off without insulting them. Julianna and Phillipe Villens became regular visitors. Julianna was barely in her teens, but she admired the taste and sensitivity of Maria and Doña de la Vega, while Phillipe was thrilled to have access to Maria’s scientific studies.

Considering their places in society, it’s not surprising that Doña Angelica de la Vega and Doña Mathilda Villens were old friends. They had been in each other’s wedding party, and often visited each other’s home. After Maria had become established in the social world of Puerto Seguro, and word of her qualities had time to drift back to Donña Villens, Doña de la Vega arranged for a small dinner party at her home to which the Villens family was invited.

While Maria was becoming a familiar sight in society, I was getting to know the Villens family. The day that I was separated from Maria, Ayala took me to the Château. Martin greeted us there and I was amazed at how different he looked. When he had lived with us, Villens had a air of shabby nobility about him. The nobility remained, but the shabbiness was long gone. He had returned to his uniform, and the commanding presence I’d seen once or twice was now a permanent, natural feature. He greeted me warmly and asked after Maria. I told him what little I knew at the time, and he assured me that she would be fine. He seemed quite confident that Maria would be taken care of properly. Apparently he, his parents, and Doña de la Vega had been involved in many discussions about Maria and myself.

I’m not sure why I did what I did next. I think perhaps I was just tired of all these people having discussions about my life without bothering to include me. What I did was this. I told Villens that he may have returned to the cavalry, but I had not joined. He looked dandy in his new uniform, but I didn’t feel like saluting. I wanted to know right now what all these plans are about me. Then I would decide whether I was staying or whether I was going home. I’d gotten there on my own two feet, and I could get back the same way.

Villens looked surprised and then a little hurt. His eyes narrowed as he examined my face. I stared back unblinking.“Perhaps I should have a word with the boy,” said a voice from behind me. I whirled around and saw an old man in the fanciest uniform I’d ever seen. He was tall and thin, and even so, the large chair he was sitting in threatened to swallow him. The old man waved the others out of the room and gestured for me to sit next to him. When we were alone, the old man introduced himself as General Lucien Villens, Theodore’s grandfather. I rose and shook his hand. He asked me to come outside with him.

As we walked through the corridors of the great house, the General asked me to tell him about the journey from my home to his. I told him about the time that Maria, Martin, and I had spent together. He wanted to know about the events before I caught up to the others. I asked him why he wanted to know about things that didn’t concern him. “I understand that you saved my Grandson’s life,” said the General. “That concerns me, don’t you think?”

I had to agree, but I told the old man that I didn’t enjoy talking about that night. “I would like to know what happened,” the General said softly. “In your own words. It’s important to me. You say you are tired of people talking about you, well, here is your chance to start talking about yourself.”

“You’re still telling me what I should I talk about,” I said.

The General laughed and slapped me solidly on the back. “I guess so,” he replied. “Tell you what. You tell me what I want to know then you can ask me questions. Is that fair?”

I nodded and told him about hunting the men in the forest. I was careful to give credit to my father and to describe my actions without exaggeration. He asked me how I felt, and I told him that I was scared at times, and at other times I had no feelings, I just reacted. He asked me why I didn’t shoot the men. I told him that I didn’t know where they all were and I didn’t want to give myself away. He wanted to know why I didn’t use a knife. I explained that I didn’t plan my attacks, I just wanted the men stopped. “‘Stopped,’” he said slowly. “Not killed.”

I thought for a minute. “No, I wanted them dead,” I said. “I knew that if the men weren’t killed, Maria and Martin, would be.”

“And so would you have been,” said the General studying me closely.

I laughed. “Those city boys never would have come close to me in the woods,” I replied. “Besides, I had the Baker rifle. If they trapped me somehow, I would have picked them off one by one before they reached me.

“You killed one of the kidnappers with a knife,” said the General.

“I did,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Why? What was different?” he asked.

“I had already been threatened in the alley. I suppose you’ve heard of that?”

“Yes, Ayala reports that you handled yourself well.”

“Better than he did,” I answered and the General couldn’t repress a smile.

“But the carriage was different. The man I killed was stronger than me. He’d tossed me into the carriage like I was a rag doll. The older man in the carriage held a pistol on me, but I was worried about the big man. I knew there was a driver, but there could have others on top of the carriage. I also was worried that the carriage was taking me away from the hotel and I had promised to protect Maria. All that swirled through my head, so when the chance came to escape, I took it.”

The General and I walked in silence for awhile. “And you are fifteen?” he asked. “You look quite fit.”

“And you are eighty,” I said. “You also look quite fit.”

The General laughed so long and hard he had to sit and catch his breath. “I am seventy-eight,” he said, “and I am a legend. But then, legends have to be fifteen sometimes.” I have never received a compliment that meant more to me, although it would take years before I realized what the General meant or I began to earn it.

We walked through a heavy oak door and entered the gunroom. “Enough stories,” he said. “Finn, my boy, I would like you to demonstrate this new rifle.” And so I did. He gave me targets to hit and I hit them. The most distant target was a rock on a fence about seven hundred yards or so away. The rock was the size of a coconut. I knocked it off the fence. I told the general that with a little practice, I could stretch the distance a little further.

He said that he had heard that Napoleon rejected the rifles because the were slow to load. I said that I wasn’t a good person to demonstrate speed, because I hadn’t used the rifle in battle. I wasn’t trained to load quickly, but I’d heard of British troops that could fire three rounds in five minutes. While I cleaned the rifle, the General returned my knives to me. Ayala had brought them to the chateau from the carriage where I had one taken from me and I’d left one in the strong man’s back. The general admired my father’s work.

We sat outside the gunroom, he in a campaign chair he kept stashed behind the door and me on the grass. “Thank you for the demonstration, Finn,” the General said.

“Is it my turn to ask questions now?” I replied.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Why can’t Martin and Maria get married?” I asked.

He explained about politics and about the rules of society. “You have to understand, Finn. The great families of this country think that we are still in Medieval times. To them, everything is King and land. Napoleon has unseated the King and Eduardo O’Brien is going to teach them that land is not enough. My family, that is my son and grandson, understand that the world has changed. We are entering a time of great men, Washington and Napoleon, for example. There will be men like them here. Martin and Theodore want this land to become a republic like the United States. Eduardo O’Brien wants to serve Napoleon, or someone like him. Rojas is no Napoleon. He should watch O’Brien closely, for if O’Brien finds a Napoleon here, he will ally himself with this Napoleon and destroy the Rojas family in a heartbeat.”

“So for now, Martin’s marriage must be carefully arranged. There are those in the great families who want to be allied with us. We are the dominant military family. The Army is loyal to the Villens family. As I said, these families are Medieval and they see marriage as the best way to tie families together. Don Valenzula is a good man from a good family, but he is not in the same element of society as the other families. We must negotiate carefully with the leading families, so that they will not be offended when Martin marries Maria. When those things are done, Martin and Donna Maria will marry, not before. From what I hear of her from Martin, the young lady is a unique prize for a young man. I look forward to meeting her.”

Finn thought about all this for awhile and then set it aside. He knew he’d have to discuss these things with Martin, as he was coming to think of him. “What about me?” asked Finn. “When can I go home?”

“Ah, yes, well that’s difficult to say,” said the General. “When Martin and Maria fled from your home, Don Valenzuela sent a message to Theodore via Donña de la Vega. He wrote us about their flight so that we would search for them and help them. We sent troops to the south, never expecting that they would loop around to the north. Don Valenzuela added that you might be with them and asked as a personal favor to him if we would take you under our protection. He was concerned that your cousin Eduardo might strike out at you if you got in his way. A very perceptive man is Don Valenzula.”

“What did he mean ‘take me under your protection,’” I asked.

“He means that we should keep you safe and treat you well. We haven’t been doing a great job of keeping you safe, but you’ve done well for yourself. Lt. Ayala has spoken to me about you and asked to be allowed to continue to act as your bodyguard. It’s up to you.”

“I would be pleased to spend time with Lt. Ayala, but what about Maria?” I asked.

“We don’t think that she is in danger,” said the General. “O’Brien is married, and shows no further interest in her. He seems to strike out at those who protect her or who want to marry her. Martin is safe here. Any action against him would bring down the army on Eduardo and Rojas. We have made that clear to Rojas. He commands some troops, but we could raise a much larger force if Martin as attacked. As for Ayala, after that attempted kidnapping, he was all for driving the carriage to Eduardo’s doorstep with the corpses of all four of O’Brien’s men inside. As it was, we escorted the carriage to the capitol with the man you killed and the other three men inside. The others were a little worse for wear, what with you breaking one’s nose, and Ayala talking severely to the others. I trust that the your cousin got the message to stop his attacks. If he has not, we will take action.”

“For the time being, we think that you would be best served to stay with us. We don’t know how your cousin Eduardo will respond to his failed efforts. He has lost six men. You will be safe here and there is plenty to keep a young man busy. If you would like, I would be pleased to see to your training as an officer. In a few years, perhaps you would like to join us.”

“In the meantime, as you are the only one here who is familiar with the Baker rifle, perhaps you can help Lt. Ayala form a squad of Light Infantry. Arrangements have been made with the British to supply us with a quantity of Baker rifles and munitions. They would like allies in case Napoleon attempts to establish his rule here. You have to understand that warfare here in South America is not like it is Europe. There are vast areas of land here and few people. Few Europeans, that is, for that is who is fighting these days. What we need are fast moving infantry to complement our already superior cavalry.”

“We must also teach you the ways of a gentleman. Your knives are excellent, but you must learn to use a sword. Stand up, boy, and turn around,” he ordered. I did as he said. “You are going to a large man. Forget about the epee or rapier. You will have a sabre. You would probably snap an epee in two.”

“You must also learn to dance and ride. And perhaps we can brush up your social skills a bit. Teach you to speak properly to a young woman. To either be witty or proficient enough with pistols and the sword that others will not practice their wit on you. But most importantly, we must teach you how to avoid brawling in alleys. I have a feeling that you’ll have your hands full dueling.”

“So, what do think of all that, Finn? Would you like to stay with us and get started?”

I told the General I’d like to think about his offer. He suggested that he, Martin, Theodore, and I meet after dinner to discuss the matter. At dinner, I was seated across from Martin’s younger sister, Julianna. She was just entering her adolescence, and at times she would turn head a certain way and I could see glimmers of the beauty that she would become. I did not speak to her, but I listened to her conversation and enjoyed her lively wit and intelligence.

After dinner, the four of us retired to the General’s library and before anyone could speak, I told them that I would gladly accept their offer. Martin jumped from his seat and slapped me on the back. His father rose sedately and shook my hand. The General poured a glass of Port for me, grinned saying, “Well, gentlemen. Let's see what we can make of this promising young man.”

The Memoirs of Finn O'Brien Villens: Part 4

2011-08-12T22:22:00.003-04:00

Arrival

The last day we spent on the rock road, the previously straight path began to curve sharply back on itself, twisting first to the south and then to the east before stopping abruptly. At the end of the road the forest was as thick as any I’ve seen. Great trees towered overhead and pressed in around us. The last standing stone was several inches from level as if the giant trees were forcing thick roots under the stone to overturn the great slab. An unbroken stand of these huge trees surrounded the terminus of the rock road blocking the view. Realizing that we’d come to the end of our easy traveling, we walked several hundred yards back to where we’d seen the last stairway down to the forest floor.

For the first time on our travels, the stairs were damaged and we climbed down with some difficulty. Several of the stone slabs were split and saplings had grown in the cracks. The branches filled the narrow stairwells, grabbing at our clothes, and scratching out arms and faces. The mule was so angered by a thorny sapling blocking his way that he trampled it. He was badly cut up on his head and chest. When we reached the bottom, we stopped and pulled dozens of thorns from his matted coat and washed his wounds.

With only a dim light filtering though the canopy on intertwined branches high above us, we lost our sense of time. Exhausted by the difficulty of moving through the thick undergrowth and thinking that night was almost upon us, we’d about decided that we’d have to spend the night in the forest. We were looking for a place to camp near water, when we forced our way through a mass of grapevines that had grown over shrubs and into the trees. Once clear of the wall of vines, we saw that the forest thinned just a little way ahead. The thought of leaving the oppressive woods lifted our spirits and we nearly ran toward the sunlight. In five minutes, we were clear of the forest altogether. We were probably a hundred yards or so from the edge of the forest when we nearly stopped for the night.

To our amazement, it was only late afternoon when we left the forest behind. We found ourselves on a low, grassy hillock. Rolling hills stretched out before us. In the distance, between two taller hills, we could see a patch of bluish-green different that the grass all around us. Villens excitedly pointed and explained that it was the sea. “This means that we are on Villens’ land,” he explained. I stared at the small patch of color. I’d never seen the Atlantic Ocean, and I expected my first view to more impressive. Villens must have seen my face and read my disappointment for he patted my on the back and said, “Finn, the ocean is at least twenty miles from here. You’ll get a much better look before long.”

Energized by the realization that he was nearly home, Villens dropped his pack and gun and ran a short way to a higher point. Maria and I scooped up Villens’ things and gave chase, laughing and yelling at him to wait. The mule followed but refused to run, still unhappy about the thorn tree and thick undergrowth. Mules do not quickly forget.

When we caught up to him, Villens pointed to the east and say simply, “There.” A large stone house stood by a road several miles from our vantage place. The building had a thick center, nearly square, with two long wings set at right angles from the center. The roof was dull gray, as was the stone. The windows were narrow and round towers capped with peaked roofs stood at the corners. It was difficult to make out from were we stood, but it appeared as if a large gate was set into the front of house. “Villens lives in castle,” I thought. It was the largest home I’d ever seen, larger even than Don Hernando’s hacienda.

“Is that your home?” asked Maria, her normally confident tone a little shaky.

Villens looks surprised and answered, “No, no. That is the guard house. It houses my father’s personal troops and his officers. Can you make out those two long, narrow buildings in the rear?” We nodded to show we could. “Those are the stables. On the other side of that low hill is the riding arena where the horses are trained.”

I could’t judge the length of the stables very well, we were too far away, and before I could ask, Maria said, “How many horses are stabled there?”

“As many a hundred,” answered Villens. “That is were the officers and my fathers troops keep their horses. My family’s horses are kept our stables at the chateau.”

“The chateau?,” asked Maria.

“Where my family lives,” answered Villens. It’s just over that ridge between the guardhouse and the sea. It is a copy of a chateau were my grandfather and grandmother found refuge on their flight to Spain. My grandfather built it for her so that she wouldn’t become homesick for France. We should be able to see it from the next hill.” And so we hurried on. Villens’ excitement lifted us all and we dashed away like children running for the sheer joy of speed.

We reached the next hilltop in about twenty minutes. We stopped before the crest to catch our breath. It’s a good thing we did, for when we reached the top what we saw took our breath away. Below us, and half way up the next hill, was the Villens chateau. I stood and gaped, utterly speechless. Villens was describing the house, the gardens, the decor, but I am not going to pretend at this late date that I remember what he said. Indeed, I couldn’t have told you at the time what he was saying. I was thunderstruck at the scale and beauty of the building stretched out before me. I had first thought that Villens lived in a castle, only to discover he lived a palace.

I was brought back to awareness by Maria repeating my name in a calm, but firm voice. “Wait here, please, Finn,” she said. “I need to speak privately with Villens for a bit. Sit and rest. We may be a while.” They walked down hill out of sight and I sat to rest and stare at the magnificent building. I couldn’t say how long Maria and Villens were gone, but when they returned we turned around and walked with a definite sense of purpose, as if something had been decided.

Villens broke the silence and told me that there was a hôtel not far down the road from the guard house. The road was the Kings Highway and it went to Puerto Seguro, about twenty miles down the coast. We were going to the guard house and from there Maria and I would be taken to the hotel. He would go to his house. The mule would be stabled with the regiment’s mules.

Maria had walked on ahead while Villens was talking to me. He glanced at her to make sure that he could speak to me privately, then gripped my forearm tightly. He turned me around so that we were facing one another. “Finn, I do not want to leave Maria, but she insists. It is complicated. I will be gone for four or five days. You must stay with her. You must protect her. Your rifle will be useless, so I will take it and keep it safe. Keep your knives with you. I will send you pistols, powder, and shot. I want you and Maria to carry pistols at all times. Do you understand?”

His voice had started out in his usual light tone and ended with the commanding voice I’d first heard when he interrogated Aubusson. “Yes,” I answered. It was all I could think to say. I thought we’d put danger behind us, but Villens thought differently.

Maria glanced over her shoulder and noticed Villens and I talking. She walked back and Villens started to walk away. She reached out as he passed and slid her arm in his, gently guiding him back to where I stood. “Finn,” she said, “after all you’ve done for us and all we’ve been through together, you have a right to know what is happening, but I must ask you to keep these matters between the three of us.” I agreed instantly. She smiled a slight smile that said she knew that I could be counted on. “Martin has asked me to marry him and I have accepted. This is, of course, not the usual way of doing these things, and we are not certain if his family will accept the idea. My father will be overjoyed, I suspect you know.” I laughed. Don Hernando had wanted his daughter married for years and he thought the world of Villens. I kissed Maria’s cheek and shook Villens hand so wildly he rubbed he shoulder in mock pain.

“You know that I not a vain woman, Finn,” Maria continued, “but I am not foolish one, either. I will not be seen by my future mother-in-law and her friends in my present bedraggled state. If the great beauty that is Villens’ mother saw me in these torn and filthy pants, cotton field shirt, heavy boots muddied and torn, my hair unwashed and pulled back into this single braid like a peasant, she would think that her son had gone mad and wanted to marry a fellow escapee from an asylum.”

“But you are beautiful, Maria,” I said full of impassioned earnestness. “I’m sure you are more beautiful than any Villens woman.” I had risen to Maria’s defense reflexively, and was a little embarrassed to spoken so passionately. Villens smiled at my defense of his fiancee, and Maria ran her hand lightly down my cheek.

“Thank you for that, my champion,” she said. “I am not interested in competing with any woman, but I am interested in looking my best. If I can do so, things will work themselves out.” Threaded her arm through mine, and said, “We must go to the hôtel,” she said. “A hot bath, clean clothes, a fine meal, good wine, and clean sheets on soft beds.” We all laughed in giddy anticipation of these pleasures after all our hardships. “And then we will see if under all this filth is a woman worthy of a chapter in the Villens family history.”

************

The many days we’d spent in the woods had begun tense and fearful, but had settled into a trying, but regular routine. I was at home in the woods and understood the dangers. All that familiarity ended when Maria, Villens, and I neared the guardhouse. I was there thrust into a world with unknown rules and unseen dangers. The comforts and ease hid silken snares, but snares none the less. If you had told me that this strange world would become my home, the place I would meet and marry my Julianna, where our children would be born, I would have thought you were a lunatic. Had I not promised to stay with Maria, I would have slipped out of the Hôtel Rodriguez that first night, and returned to home, Cousin Eduardo be damned. But I must return to the events as they happened or none of this will make sense to any reader. Let me leave my midnight thoughts and return to the earlier in the day when we three weary travelers reached the guardhouse.

We made a strange sight, I’m sure, as we trod wearily up the road to the sentry box that stands in front of the guardhouse. Villens and I had our weapons slung over a shoulder. Our clothes were caked in dirt, torn and patched. Maria was dressed as a man in her specimen hunting outfit, and was similarly dirty and disheveled. A mule followed us, its coat matted and muddy, tattered bundles lashed to its back. When Villens, looking like a scarecrow but walking and talking like an officer, demanded that the sentry go and find Captain Olivera, the guard hesitated, unsure how to reconcile Villens appearance and his manner.

Before any unfortunate words or actions could be exchanged, an officer thundered over and pulled his horse to sudden stop directly in front of us. While the horse was still scrambling about to get his feet under him, the rider leapt from the saddle and raced over to Villens. Before Villens could react, the man grabbed him and lifted him off the ground. “Martin! Martin! It is you. I thought that was you under half the dirt in the country,” the officer bellowed, bouncing Villens as if were a small child. The officer was a half a head shorter than Villens, but heavily built, with sturdy thighs, a deep chest, and broad shoulders. His square head sat on his shoulders without the benefit of a neck. His brow was heavy and jutted out over his small, dark eyes. A thick, carefully trimmed mustache draped over his wide mouth which was curved into a broad smile.

The officer finally released Villens, who stumbled backwards and almost fell. Struggling to catch his breath, Villens managed to gasp, “Luis Ayala, you crazy, wild bull, has no one killed you yet?”

Lieutenant Ayala’s smile improbably widened. “They try,” he said, “but I don’t make it easy.” The men laughed and I had feeling that this was a ritualized greeting between the two.

Maria and I stood by and waited to be introduced. Finally, Ayala noticed us and asked Villens, “Why have you brought these peasants with you?”

Maria stiffened and I considered knocking him down until I realized that he had sword and probably wouldn’t need it to kill me. His bare hands would suffice. Villens stepped forward and assumed a military posture. He spoke in a cold, official tone that rang like a hammer on steel. “Lieutentant Luis Ayala, I demand that you apologize to Señora Maria Beatriz Venazuela y Montoya. She is special friend of mine and is under my protection. The young man is Finn O’Brien, a superior fellow whom I am proud to call my friend. We owe him our lives.”

Lieutenant Ayala’s expressive face collapsed. He was so obviously upset that I started to speak, to reassure him that we were not offended, but Villens caught my eye and gave a short, sharp shake of his head. Ayala gathered himself and, sweeping his hat from his leonine head, bowed low to Maria. “Señora Valenzuela y Montoya,” he began in a humble tone, “I am Lieutenant Luis Ayala y Cruz. I can never apologize enough for my thoughtless error. I was never my intention to offend a lady such as yourself, such a lovely pearl. I can only say that in my pleasure over my good friend safety, I was blind to the your obvious refinement. I beg your forgiveness, and from this day on you have Luis Ayala as your loyal servant.”

Maria smiled at the man, touched by the sincerity of his embarrassment. As the Lieutenant has still bowed low before her, she said, “Rise, Lieutentant Ayala, I take no offense. You are seeing Finn and I for the first time, and we are a frightening sight to see. You are very kind to compare me to a pearl, but in my present state I feel more like an oyster. Take my hand. I am certain that we shall be fast friends.” They shook hands and then Ayala turned to me.

He drew his sword, snapped to attention, and saluted me. “Señor O’Brien,” he began, “I ask you forgiveness for my unintended slight. Such a mistake brings much dishonor onto me. I assure before all who heard my comment that I meant no insult to you. Will you accept my apology and my friendship?”

I didn’t know what was the proper response to Ayala apology. I already liked the man and wanted to just laugh the whole thing off, but he was genuinely upset. I fumbled around for the right words, gave up, and settled for the first thing that came to mind. “I was not offended, sir, I have to admit I’ve been away from a bathtub for far too long.”

Ayala’s huge smile returned, his eyes sparkled, and he roared in laughter. The next thing I knew he was crushing me in a bear hug and bouncing me as he’d had Villens. When he released me I took a deep gulp of air and discretely checked for broken ribs. Ayala spread his arms widely and I thought for a minute that he was going to lift all three of us, but instead he bellowed, “Now that we are friends, you must all come inside and tell me of you adventures. I will get food and drink and many of your friends, Martin, will join us.”

But my first visit to the guard house was not to be on that day. Maria told Ayala that she must go to the hôtel and begin to metamorphose into a lady. Villens arranged for a carriage to be readied to carry Maria and myself to the hôtel. While we waited, Villens request pens, paper, and ink. The sentry pulled a small table out into the sun from inside the sentry booth. Maria and Villens wrote several letters and exchanged them. It was clear to me that these letters must be part of the plans they made after we’d seen the chateau.

The carriage arrived and we were surprised to see that it was clearly intended to carry officers and high ranking officials. Maria insisted that blankets be laid in the upholstered seats so that we would not ruin them. With the seats now covered, we climbed in, Ayala handing up Maria, and the four matched horses smoothly pulled the carriage onto the road. As we picked up speed, I looked out the back window and saw Villens watching us glide away.

As we rolled to a stop in front of the hotel, we felt a motion on the driver’s bench and heard heavy boots crunch on the gravel. Maria’s door swung open and Ayala, hat tucked under his arm, extended a hand to help Maria from the carriage. “I am here at Martin’s request to see you that you are comfortably established and that all your needs are swiftly met,” he announced in a loud voice so that everyone entering and exiting the hotel could hear. Maria accepted his hand and gracefully stepped down from the carriage.

When he had escorted Maria to the steps, Ayala hurried to my side of the carriage and threw open the door. I would have already left the carriage, but I couldn’t find the latch in the ornately carved door panel. I thanked him for opening the door, jumped out before he could assist me, and ran over to Maria unassisted. I had my pride. Ayala bounded over to us, the man’s energy was inexhaustible, and led us into the lobby of the Hôtel Rodriguez.

I am certain that no such shabby persons as Maria and myself had ever entered through the front door of that grand hôtel. I suspect the same is true of the back door. I stood motionless in that glittering lobby, while Maria walked purposefully to the counter, Ayala trailing behind her. The guests stared at the strangeness of the sight. Several tall, well built, determined men in the hôtel livery closed us intent on removing us as quietly as possible. The moved dispassionately, as if intent on swiftly clearing up a spill from a dropped tray or some other unsightly intrusion on the splendor of the hôtel.

Maria called for me to join her and Ayala turned to shield her from the path of hôtel footmen. Maria was showing a letter to the clerk, and I could hear Ayala dismissing the footmen. The clerk read the letter slowly, twice raising his head to glance swiftly at Maria. He was uncertain how to respond. He seemed unable to imagine that people who looked as Maria and I did, could possible possess such a letter from Martin Villens. Maria spoke firmly with the voice of a lady accustomed to hôtel clerks obeying her instructions. “Perhaps it would be better if you brought Señor Rodriguez to me.”

The clerk blanched. I doubt he’d every gone to Sénor Rodriguez for any reason. He was frozen to the spot, watching his position and all his hopes for advancement crumble. Ayala had joined us and he leaned over to the clerk and said in voice so low that I struggled to hear it, “Let me make this situation simple for you. Look at me. I am Lieutenant Luis Ayala. Go and bring Sénor Rodriguez to the lady.”

The clerk jumped back from Ayala as if he’d been slapped. When he was able to gather himself, the clerk scrambled through a door behind the counter and then dove back through, grabbed the letter, and disappeared through the door. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Maria wearily. “I will be so very glad to be clean and properly dressed. I have never been keenly aware how clothes make the woman.”

“A jewel is still a jewel if it is accidentally dropped in the mud,”replied Ayala.

Maria smiled and turned to me saying, “The Lieutenant is teaching you how to charm a woman, Finn. It's a useful skill.”

I felt awkward and clumsy next to this officer in his finery. Around him, I felt fifteen. I was already his height, and my frame would soon carry more muscle than his. I would come to know him well and admire his quick tongue, as he would come to appreciate the love of language that my family had bred in our Irish bones. But right then, standing in that lobby, a muddy mess from head to toe, I felt the keen embarrassment of a boy who is no longer a child, but not yet a man.

The door behind the counter opened and a small, plump man, soberly and immaculately dressed emerged. Everything about him that could be brushed, shined, or polished had been, some of it twice. His face was oddly thin for such round man and on it hung an exactly trimmed mustache that must have once belonged to a much larger man for it obscured most of the lower part of his face. His large dark eyes rarely blinked and missed nothing.

“Mademoiselle,” he said to Maria, bowing slightly. “Please come into my office and everything with done as Lieutenant Villens has requested. Please pardon my clerk. He is a promising young man, but he is inexperienced. He did not understand the misfortune that has befallen you. I will see to it that you are restored. That is the service requested of me by the Villens family and it one that I will gladly undertake.” With that said, Señor Rodriguez stepped from behind the counter and offered Maria his arm. She accepted it and he led her to his office at the far end of the lobby.

While Ayala and I waited for Maria to return, he peppered with questions. He’d seen the Baker rifle that Villens was carrying and he asked what I knew about it. He was also interested in my skill with a sword. I answered the former in great detail, the latter I glossed over. I was skilled with the rifle and with pistols, but I rarely handled a sword and had no idea how to fight with one. Ayala didn’t ask me about knives, but I’d had a knife in my hand since was a young boy and knew how to use one. I drew my long, bone handled knife and showed it to him. I told him my father had made it for me and he praised my father’s skills. I knew that when I saw my father again I would ask him to make a knife for Lieutenant Ayala.

The door opened to Rodriguez’s office and he signaled for the young clerk. He handed the clerk a piece of paper and whispered instructions in his ear. The clerk hurried off holding the paper in both hands. A little while later, Rodriguez again signaled to the clerk. This time he gave him a brief order and stood in the doorway until a distinguished looking woman in an elegant light blue dress swept across the lobby and into the office. She cast a quizzical look at me and it occurred to me that she would think I was Ayala’s prisoner. A minute later Rodriguez left the office, closing the door behind him. He walked over to Ayala and me. “I apologize for keeping you gentlemen waiting, but Madamoiselle and I had arrangements to make. Everything is understood and my wife is assisting the lady. Please follow me and I shall show you to your rooms.”

He leads us up one of the wide, curving stairways that lead from the lobby to the rooms. We passed onto a second and third set of stairs and reached the top floor. “Madamoiselle has requested rooms on the top floor. She has asked me to tell you, Senor O’Brien, that the two of you will be very busy and you will need quiet.” He turned so that his back was to a pair of doors. He reached behind his back and in practiced gesture, turned the golden door knobs and swung the doors open.

It is a strange experience for one’s first stay at a hôtel, to be at the finest hôtel one will ever know. The decor was French, indeed had been imported wholesale from France. (I later discovered that the Villens domination of the social and political life of the region had created this odd Francophile pocket in a Spanish country.) France was, of course, quite distant and the furnishing was of pre-Revolutionary style. The effect was stunning and overwhelmed the simple taste of my experience.

Rodriguez showed me the three rooms that were mine. There was a sitting room with a small writing desk and a table with six chairs. There was a large bedroom with a bed that would have held four or five O’Brien children on a cold night. The third room a a small dressing room that had a bathroom of it. As Rodriguez lead me through the rooms, showing me interesting features and telling me history of the carpets and wall hangings, a string of maids marched through with large jugs of hot water to fill the tub. Ayala praised Rodriguez for his lovely rooms and guided him out the door. I stood in the middle of the sitting room, uncertain what to do in all this splendor. Ayala returned and said, “Come, my friend. Strip so you can bathe.”

I pulled off my filthy clothes and Ayala took them. “Do you care for these clothes?,” he asked. I told them they were just clothes. “Good. They’re ruined,” said Ayala. He stepped out of the room and returned with thick, cotton robe. “Wear this until we can get some decent clothes for you,” he said. “I have sent for my tailor. He is a French Jew, a magician with a needle.”

Ayala led the way to the bathroom. He ordered me into the tub and took my robe which he tossed onto a stool. I slipped into the hot water and the top layers of dirt began to dissolve quickly turning the water to gray. Ayala walked over with soap and a brush. For a minute I thought he was going to scrub me. Ayala must have read the embarrassment on my face for he laughed his deep, rumbling laugh and handled the items to me. He then pulled a second stool to where we could see one another and began to explain to me what must be done to prepare me to meet the Villens family.

For the next half-hour, I scrubbed and scrapped and chipped at the deeply encrusted dirt that covered my body. Twice the tub was cleaned and refilled by an army of maids. Once, a maid inspected the bath brush, frowned, and brought a replacement. All the while, Ayala explained this strange world into which I had fallen. The hôtel was on the road to the largest Atlantic port of the new country, Puerto Seguro, about half way from the Army headquarters and the port. It was where the wealthy and influential citizens from the city and military officers stayed, as well as clerics, and large landowners. It was essential to be deferential to anyone you might meet, not only as courtesy is expected of a gentleman, but because anyone I might meet here is likely of significance. Likewise, it is essential that one dresses correctly, Ayala continued. It would be simple, if were an officer, then he could supply with a uniform. As it is, he had sent for his tailor and told him to bring what he had available until clothes could be made for me.

An armorer was also on his way. I required a sword, scabbard, and belt. Ayala assured me that he would choice these items for me. I would be allowed to choose the pistols for myself and Maria. “Choose well,” he warned me. “They are not for show.” He told me that I should were wear my knife in the thigh sheath as I always had. “It will become you signature,” he said. He had sent the leather sheath to the bootblack to be cleaned and oiled. The did not like the look of the short, heavy bladed knife, but he admitted would be unpleasant to see in an opponent’s fist. He promised that my new boots would have a pocket sewn into them to conceal the knife.

I was as clean as I would ever be and enjoying listening to Ayala while the still warm water soothed my tired muscles, when I heard soft noises from the other room. “It is your supper,” explained Ayala. He tossed me a towel and went into the sitting room. Soon I was wrapped in the thick robe and well into the serious business of eating my first real meal in weeks.

I ate and Ayala told of the political situation. There was an undeclared civil war between the eastern part of the new country and the western. The country was dominated by eight families, known as the Octopus. The Villens family was not one of these families, but its landholdings were nearly as large and its influence in the military was unrivaled. Three of the families, Escobar, Casero, and Tamayo, were firmly against the Rojas government. The great landholders on the Pacific, Talavera and Sabota, were Rojas supporters. Arguello, who held the desolate lands of the south, along with Nevares who holds the northern grassland of the central plains and the forests we’d travelled through, were leaning to supporting the government. The eighth family was the de la Vega family. They hold the great mines in the center of the country and have acted as mediators between Rojas and Escobar, the leader of the western families. General Villens is the military advisor to Escobar and leads the Eastern troops.

I was startled to hear the role the de la Vegas were playing in the affairs of the new nation. I had assumed that with Cupido’s death, his mother would withdrawal from public life. As for the rest of the families, I had heard of the ones whose lands were near Don Hernando’s, but the O’Briens did not move in such high circles. My father, Pau, was well known and respected, and my family was connected by marriage to the influential Bryant, Sanchez, and Casillas families, but the families of the Octopus dwelt far above us. In any political affairs, they would decide war or peace and, if war, we would bring the men to fight.

The wildcard in all the plotting that occupied the great families of the new country was Eduardo O’Brien. He had ingratiated himself into the Rojas family and government. He was the engine that drove the lazy and pleasure loving Rojas father and son. No one was certain what he wanted for the country or what he would do to achieve his ends. Disturbing news had come from the capitol about his secret police and the old warehouse that was his base of operations. Ayala warned me that our relationship to Eduardo made us suspect in many people’s eyes. Eduardo had shown that the Villens family name was no protection for Martin. Now that we were in lands controlled by Escobar and Villens, we should not assume that we were safe. Eduardo was no respecter of borders and Escobar’s followers would be suspicious of our O’Brien ties. I listened in amazement, unaware of the wider struggles that threatened war.

A knock on the dining room door interrupted Ayala. He called for the person to enter and footman opened the door. He announced that Señor Jacob Bernard had arrived. With him was a tall, thin old man dressed in black. Ayala waved in an the old man dressed in black and introduced his tailor. Bernard wasted no time and he ordered me to remove my robe and come stand in the light. I hesitated and Jacob, quickly realizing my problem, sighed and sent the servant to bring the small clothes he had brought with him. I slipped them on then removed the robe.

For the next hour, I was studied, discussed, critiqued, and measured as if I were a doll. Ayala and Bernard flipped through books with sketches of mens’ clothes, samples of fabrics, and careful discussions of my social status, which was complex due to the uncertainty of my relationship with the Villens family. Ayala was certain that I would be favored with wearing the family colors, but Bernard was unwilling to commit his reputation to Ayala’s confidence. He would require assurance from the Villens family. Ayala promised to have a message sent to Bernard in the morning confirming the arrangement. In the meantime, he, Ayala, promised to pay for any clothes that I was unable to wear due to his mistakes. Bernard was satisfied with arrangement.

The tailor gathered his things and lead me into the dressing room. He opened the wardrobe and showed me several complete outfits including hats, shoes, socks, jackets, and gloves. He told me that the clothes were as befits the son of a prosperous merchant. As I was going to be spending the next few days in the hôtel and the city of Puerto Seguro, they should me appropriate. Ayala had described my build, but Bernard would send around an assistant in the morning in case any adjustment was needed. With that, he left, Ayala trailing after him, making suggestions for my new wardrobe.

Alone in the suite for the first time, I wandered from room to room amazed that all this space was mine. I opened the doorway to the hall and the tall footman who had shown Bernard into the room was standing outside the door. He asked if I needed anything and I shook my head and returned inside. It took me a while, but I eventually realized he was there for my protection. That explained the footman posted at Maria’s door.

I went to the bedroom to lie down while I waited to hear from Maria. There was a finely made wooden box on a small, round table that sat between two tiny, upholstered chairs. I opened the box and saw the two most beautiful pistols I had ever seen. The handles were walnut with silver inlay. The barrels where engraved with a hunting scene. A brass plate in the grip concealed the cleaning tools. Ayala’s card lay on to of the pistols. On the back was written, “Until you have your own.” The note was signed "A."

Finding the pistols reminded me of my duty to Maria. I searched for my knives and found them in a drawer in the wardrobe. I was still in my robe and wasn’t sure if I should put on the clothes that Bernard had brought. I kept wondering who was paying for all this. I knew that no one would have expected me to pay. I assumed that Villens must be covering our bills. I had so much to think about and there was nothing or no place familiar to help me get my bearings. As I thought about what Ayala had said about the threats to Maria and me, I began to pace from room to room. The quiet of the hotel was disturbing. I was accustomed to a lively house full of brothers and sisters and cousins.

I walking through a short hallway that connected the sitting room and the dressing room when I heard laughter. I stopped and heard faint voices as well. I followed the sound to a wall hanging that draped all the way to the floor. The conversation and bursts of laughter came rom behind the hanging. I carefully pulled at the side of the hanging and it pivoted away from the wall. It was hung from an iron rod that was attached at one end so the hanging swung easily. A door was inset in the wall. There was no knob, instead a brass fixture shaped like an “X” was mounted on a short stem. The fixture was cut into the door so that you could grip the handle and turn it. I did and the door silently swung open. I stepped through.

I found myself standing, in my robe and small clothes, in Maria’s dressing room. Maria was seated on a silken, padded bench at a large dressing table. She also was wearing a dressing gown, and two women were combing her long hair. The laughter and talk stopped immediately. I stood speechless staring at the unexpected scene. Maria glanced into the mirror, saw me, and looked as startled as I must have. Her face relaxed, and she said very calmly, “It’s all right, ladies. This is the young man I have told you about. Finn O’Brien, I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Rodriguez, our host’s wife, and her daughter, Corazón. But before you introduce yourself, perhaps you should put down your knife.”

I stared at my hand and the long, bone handled knife it held. I did not remember taking the knife from the drawer or carrying in around with me. I suppose that I was more unsettled by Ayala’s talk than I realized, or perhaps I simply wanted something familiar near me. I slid my knife into its thigh sheath, but, of course I wasn’t wearing it. I managed to slit my robe and trace a shallow scratch down my thigh. Corazón screamed, Mrs. Rodriguez gasped, and Maria tried to free her hair from their grip so she could help me. I stumbled backwards through the hidden door and ran to my bathroom where I wrapped a towel around my thigh and looked for a hole to crawl into.

There was a knock on the door and I heard Maria asking if she could come in. I opened the door for her and went back to the stool, my head in my hands. I did not want to look at her. “Let me see your leg,” she said, and I let her unwrap the bloody towel. “It’s only a scratch,” she said. “A long scratch that has bled a bit, but you do not need stitches.” She opened a jar and put some ointment on the wound. It burned, but I refused to make a sound. Mrs. Rodriguez arrived with bandages and the women tied them around my thigh. Corazón did not appear and I was thankful that. She was a young and pretty girl. I did not want her to see me like this.

Mrs. Rodriguez had brought some pins and soon my robe was restored to a decent state. Maria asked if I had eaten, and I told her I had. She hadn’t and she invited me to eat with her and Mrs. Rodriguez in her rooms. I agreed, although I still was hoping the earth would open and swallow me. Mrs. Rodriguez said that she would knock at the adjoining door when dinner was ready. She added that considering the three of us would be the only guests at the meal it was fine for me to stay in my robe. I thanked them for their kindness and tried to apologize for my foolishness, but my words were hopelessly jumbled. The ladies left me and suggested I rest until the meal was prepared.

I went into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed. Soon I was asleep and when I awoke the next morning my robe was draped over a chair and I was under the down comforter. I didn’t know what bothered me more, if Maria had put me to bed or if Mrs. Rodriguez had. I wondered if it were possible that Ayala had returned and tucked me in.

The Memoirs of Finn O'Brien Villens: Part 3

2011-08-08T06:30:00.000-04:00

Stories

Maria woke me when the moon was high above the trees. The short sleep refreshed me amazingly. Ah, to be young again! Villens had the supplies loaded on the mule and we set off as soon as I pulled on my boots and gathered up the blankets. As we walked, we ate from our dwindling cache of food to which Maria had added berries and edible plants. When dawn broke, we stopped beneath a huge beech tree to rest.

We slept most of the day. Each of us stayed on watch for two hours or so, using the sun as our clock. Maria insisted that we stand guard for the same amount of time. She said that it would not do for any one of us to wear ourselves out in a foolish heroic gesture. I tried to ignore her gentle critique of my actions the previous night.

For four days and nights we hiked eastward through the woods. We didn’t hunt, because we didn’t want a gunshot to give us away. I netted two small birds that we roasted over a low fire with some mushrooms that Maria found. Their spare meat tasted wonderful, but left us wanting more. Maria produced pieces of a root she had washed, and then scrapped away the tough outer layer. We chewed it while we walked. I forget the name, but it looked like a thin, twisted potato and tasted like licorice.

On our fifth morning in the woods, we decided to rest and then walk a while during the day. “It’s time to rejoin humanity,” declared Villens with a smile. “Time to work during the day and sleep at night.” We’d left the trail far behind us. We hadn’t seen a soul since we entered the woods. It was time to relax a bit.

After a short walk of an hour so, during which we made silly jokes about how easy it was walk in the forest during daylight, the woods opened onto a beautiful high meadow. The pasture was surrounded on three sides by sheer rock walls and on the fourth by the forest we’d just left. Across the gently domed meadow, a small pond glittered in the rising sun. We’d been steadily climbing since we left the trail, but this was the first high meadow we’d come across. We stepped out of the woods and ran into the meadow laughing. The grass at our feet, the warm sun, the bright colors of the wild flowers and the birds were such a relief after all those nights in the woods.

The change of scene lifted our mood wonderfully. We’d been vigilant and largely silent, focusing our senses to detect any hint of pursuit. In the bright morning sun, with that lovely scene laid out before us, we knew that we’d escaped. Eduardo’s men wouldn’t dare travel so far off the trail.

Maria announced that instead of scheduling watches, it was time we scheduled washes. She pulled a bar of rough brown soap out of her pocket. “A gift from the Aubusson girls,” she said. “They strongly suggested that I bathe.” She claimed the first wash, Villens was to go last. I was told to go second. I believe that Maria felt if I went last, I might skip my turn. Villens told us to hurry because he wanted to fish, and the poor creatures would need time to recover from the shock of three huge, filthy animals invading their sanctum.

After we’d bathed, Maria declared the day would be a holiday. We’d all do what we liked before we had to leave this lovely place the next morning. Villens and I shouted our approval. I announce that I was going to hunt birds in the high grass where the meadow and forest met. Villens said that he was going to spend the entire day fishing and that he’d appreciate it if one of us would bring him some beer. I offered to return to Aubusson and fetch some wine. He declined. Maria decided that she’d try shooting a few rabbits with the Baker rifle. It had been a while since my father had shown her how to use the rifle and she wondered if she still had the skill with it that had amazed us all.

Now that I write about that place all these years later, I see that we all were determined to fill our food stocks. However, at the time, it was so enjoyable to be free from concern that our followers would swoop down us, these chores were relaxing. I wish we had spent more time in that meadow. Years later I found it again when I was once again fleeing pursuit, but that time the meadow was anything but a refuge.

I returned to the pond in the late afternoon as agreed. Villens was sleeping, a string of trout hanging from a tree branch. Maria was skinning a rabbit, two others piled by her feet. I walked over to Maria and nonchalantly dropped a huge male pheasant at her feet. Maria’s eyes widened and she cried, “A beauty, Finn!” Her cry woke Villens, and she pointed out the great bird. He whistled and demanded that I tell him everything about netting the bird.

While I talked, he began to clean the fish and I started plucking the pheasant. Villens declared that we were going to stay right there in that meadow and live like kings and queens. Kings and Queens of the gypsies, added Maria. Anyway, Maria said, we had to live like kitchen help first and prepare all the food for our travels.

While Villens and Maria worked on the food, I was sent to collect wood for a fire. We were going to smoke the fish and prepare the pheasant and rabbits on spits. I brought two arm loads of twigs and small sticks and started two fires. Once they were caught, I went deeper into the woods to get thicker branches.

I wasn’t very eager to get back to the food preparation, so I wandered around a bit. I was a good way south of where we’d passed on our way to meadow when I found piles of stone rubble and a huge rock outcropping rising from the forest floor. The forest was so thick around the rock that I didn’t see the rock until I nearly upon it. It towered over me, stretching into the treetops. I tried to walk around the massive stone, but looking along the face I could see that this was a line of rocks running off to the southeast. I couldn’t tell if the huge stones had been placed there like the monoliths I’d heard of near the mountains or if they somehow had been pushed out of the earth.

I walked along the foot of the rocks and saw that I was on path gradually widening to about five feet across. The path was nearly free of growth. It was paved with hard packed rock chips. I could not imagine how this path could form naturally. I was following the path when it turned sharply and led directly into a crevice, the first crevice I came to in over two hundred yards since the rubble heap that marked the beginning of the rock wall. I say wall, because that is what it felt like. I couldn’t go over or around it, and it separated the forest as a wall separates the rooms in a house.

The path ended at a bottom step of rough stairs carved into the rock. The crevice was about five feet wide, as wide as the path. The stairway twisted out of sight after the third step. I started to climb, and then wondered if it was the right thing to do. It would take me many years and some hard lessons before I learned to ask that question before taking action.

There were over forty steps to the top. The path began again along the top of rock, at least thirty feet above the forest floor. It stretched along the rock tops to the southeast as far as I could see. The rock path was lined with shrubs, which turned out to be the tops of the tallest trees in the forest. I looked to the northeast and saw the meadow and the small pond. I could almost make out the shapes of Maria and Villens preparing dinner. Ahead the path was clear and very slightly rounded. Rain would roll off of the rocks. The path rose with an easy slope as it climbed into the hills. It was getting dark and I needed to get back with the wood. Only my respect for Villens and Maria kept me from racing down that trail in the treetops to what lay down that strange road.

At the top of the stairs I noticed carvings in the rock that I had missed on the way up. At first I thought they were cracks in the rock, but when I stopped and examined them, I saw that they were pictures made a few lines. The first was an arrow with several points. The second was an oval made of wavy lines with a heavy line descending from it. The third was a thick line with a narrow, diamond shape on one end. The carvings were worn by the wind. As I followed the path back to the meadow, I saw these three carvings repeated several times, along with carvings of animals, some I recognized, others I did not.

I didn’t realize how long I’d been gone, and it was quite dark on the forest floor. I quickly gathered several long, thick branches and returned to the pond. Running as fast as I could while loaded down with firewood, I raced across the meadow. I stopped several times to look over my shoulder and try to locate the rocks, but the thick trees completely obscured them. When I reached Maria and Villens, I threw the wood down and excitedly told them of my discovery. I must have made little sense in my excitement for they made me sit, drink some water, and calm down. Maria kept telling me to breathe slowly and Villens looked at me like I was insane.

Eventually I calmed down enough to explain what I’d seen. I couldn’t tell if they believed me or not, but Villens pointed out that there seemed to be no way out of the meadow, except back into the woods. That being case, he proposed that we inspect my discovery in the morning and perhaps it would prove useful to us. We agreed, and I was pleased that they were taking my discovery seriously. I decided that I would sneak away when they were asleep to explore my find further, but when Villens began telling his story I was enthralled and forgot about my plan.

Villens and Maria returned to cooking dinner, while I told Maria about the carvings. She listened and asked questions. I grabbed a twig and drew the shapes in the dirt. Maria looked carefully at them for a while, then she told me that when she was a little girl, a Jesuit came to visit her father. He was an old man and very learned. He had lived in the mountains with the Incas since he was a young man. He mentioned Incan carvings and showed pictures of them from one of the journals he’d kept and had brought to show to Maria and her father. The carvings looked like the ones on the rocks. There was the mountain and the spear, but she did not recognize the third one, the oval made of curving lines with a jagged, thick line descending from it. What didn’t make sense was that we were hundreds of miles from the mountain kingdom of the Incas.

While our dinner slowly cooked, we relaxed and talked. Villens said that he wished we’d taken some of Aubusson’s wine. I gagged and Maria looked confused. She’d been spared the old man’s hospitality. Villens told her about the wine, then our thoughts turned to the future. Maria asked Villens to tell us about his family. Villens had rarely mentioned them. We never knew what to make of this reticence. He’d lived among our noisy, boisterous mob of a family, but his was a mystery.

We knew from own experience that Lieutenant Martin Villens was an educated man. He was an officer in the cavalry, but he was ambivalent about being in the military. His gracious manner convinced Don Hernando, Maria’s father, that Villens was an aristocrat. His uniform was expensive and his horse was excellent, but when he came to us from the battlefield, he didn’t have a penny. He lived in two rooms over the stables, and seemed quite pleased with them, even though Don Hernando had offered him rooms in the hacienda. He’d even taking on the daunting task of educating the O’Brien children in return for rent.

Villens tried to fend off Maria’s curiousity about his family. Finally Maria won the point, by saying that she refused to meet Villens’ family without knowing something about them. Villens grudgingly gave in as he would usually do when Maria insisted.

“My family is French, of course,” he began. “We have commanded horsemen for the Kings of France for centuries. It is said that it was a Villens who placed the child who would become Charlemagne on his first mount. We have been Knights, Lancers, Cuirassiers, Dragoons, and Chasseurs tearing across Europe, sword in hand, slaughtering the enemies of France.”

“We were well rewarded for our service. We held many estates throughout France, the largest of which were in the South, near Marseilles. The extent of lands and the fortunes of my family have risen and fallen as they sided with winners and losers in struggles for the throne.”

“It was when my grandfather, who is still alive and vigorous and is one the greatest heroes in the long history of the Villens, was fighting for a great French Duke in such a struggle, that he committed one our families greatest blunders. I’m don’t think blunder is quite the correct word. Blunder implies a mistake or accident. His actions were hot headed and ill considered. Perhaps ‘overly proud’ or ‘above his station’ would be better. Maybe ‘impudence.’”

“For God’s sake, what did he do?” I screamed, unable to control my curiosity.

Villens was caught off guard by excitement, or he acted as if he were. He waited a beat and calmly said, “He married my grandmother.”

“But how ...?,” I asked, completely confused.

“Let him tell it,” said Maria, patting my thigh, amused by my distress. She saw that Villens had hooked me as firmly as he’d hooked the trout.

Villens was smiling, pleased with himself, when the took up his story. “My grandmother was the daughter of the Duke. My grandfather, his name is Lucien, by the way, commanded the Duke’s cavalry. Lucien had led the Duke’s cavalry to victory after victory, scattering the Duke’s enemies before him. The Duke often honored Lucien by inviting him to the palace to dine with the ducal family. That was how Lucien met and fell in love with the Duke’s daughter, Arabella, a great beauty.”

“My grandfather often managed to sit near the Duke’s daughter and the two came to know each other. Soon they were in love. One day, when the Duke was defending his palace, his enemies shattered the center of the Duke’s defenses. The enemy poured through the gap. The Duke and his officers were directly in the path of the enemy. My grandfather rallied the cavalry and they slammed into the left flank of the enemy. They rolled the enemy to the right where the Duke’s left flank was rushing to support the shattered center. The enemy was caught in a vise and crushed. Several times that day my grandfather narrowly avoided death. He had three horses killed from under him. When the battle ended, and the enemy destroyed, my grandfather decided that he would not wait any longer to ask the Duke for his daughter in marriage.”

“When the Duke saw my grandfather approaching, he rode to him and embraced him. The Duke told the other officers that Lucien had saved their lives and that he had won the day. He praised Lucien’s bravery and skill, then removed a ring from is own hand and gave it to Lucien. The ring had belonged to the Duke’s grandfather. My grandfather thanked him humbly, then said that he had a much greater request to make of the Duke. ‘Anything,’ said the grateful Duke.”

“Your daughter Arabella and I are in love,” Lucien said. “I seek your permission to marry her.”

“The Duke was furious that my grandfather, this mere soldier, would even imagine that he might marry a Duke’s daughter. He heaped abuse on the man he had just been praising. My grandfather sat on his horse, his back straight, and head high. Blood stained his clothes and sword. He did not flinch as the Duke’s abuse grew more heated and more personal.”

“The final straw was when the Duke, after maligning the heritage of the proud Lucien, roared, “You dare ask this of me! I who have the blood of kings in my veins.”

“I am a Villens,” replied my grandfather angrily. “I have the blood of kings on my sword.”

“The Duke was speechless. My grandfather knew that his service to the Duke was through, so he and several officers rode to the castle, found the Duke’s daughter, and they all escaped to Spain. My grandfather insists that the cavalry were so offended by the Duke’s treatment of their commander, they refused the Duke’s command to hunt him down.”

Villens paused for bit to let the image of his grandfather and grandmother fleeing to Spain linger in our minds and then continued. “My grandmother, alas, is dead. She was the kindest, most loving soul I ever knew. She was a steadying force on my wild grandfather. They complimented each other perfectly and loved each other more on the day she died than on that wild day when they fled from her father’s rage. My grandfather has felt her loss deeply. He will sometimes sink into long periods of despair. My mother does what she can for him. She loves him and he is very fond of her, but it is difficult. I hope that I can help, as he and I have always been very close.”

Villens turned to his own thoughts for a while and my mind was filled with visions of men who looked like Villens, but were dressed in uniforms I’d seen in Don Hernando’s history books. Villens horsemen thundered before my eyes slaughtering Tartar horse archers, Teutonic knights, Turkish infantry, and English swordsmen. Maria was watching Villens, but her face did not give away her thoughts.

“My father,” began Villens suddenly picking up his tale, “my father is quite different from my grandfather. He followed his father into the cavalry, as expected, and has, if anything, outshone the old man. His talents lay in strategy and tactics, while my grandfather relied on wild, insane bravery and feats of arms. My father, Théodore, sees the battlefield as a chessboard, and makes moves that anticipate and check the enemies actions. Lucien sees the battlefield as a place of blood and honor, where heroes’ actions become the stuff of songs. Father and son would argue about these different approaches. That is, my grandfather would argue and my father would calmly discuss.”

“No one writes songs about delicate strategic maneuvers,” my grandfather would scoff.

“No one fills cemeteries with dead men from battles prevented,” my father would reply. When my grandfather was no around, my father referred to him as ‘the Beserker.’ My grandfather was told of this and now openly calls my father ‘the Diplomat.’ My father ignores this intended insult, but I think he is privately proud of it.”

Villens paused and then said, “Please don’t misunderstand. My grandfather and my father love and respect each other tremendously. It is just that they are oil and water. Perhaps fire and water would be better.”

Villens turned to Maria and with as sincere a look of innocence as he could manage, asked, “Would you like to know about mother?” Maria said nothing, but the look of annoyance and disgust on her face said everything that was required. “Perhaps I shall tell you of my mother,” began Villens.

“My mother and father’s story is not as dramatic as my grandparents, but it’s surprising in its own way. My mother’s family are impoverished nobility who reside in their crumbling country house near Nancy. Her father was a Marquis whose family had been driven to near bankruptcy by multiple generations bursting with daughters. The marriage settlements whittled away the family fortune so that when my mother reached marriageable age, precious little remained.”

“My mother was a rare beauty.”

“Claro que sí,” murmured Maria. Villens pretended not to hear and went on with his tale. Maria interrupted and said to me that it would save time if I simply took it as given that all the Villens women were beautiful. “They send the plain girls to the convent,” she added.

“What can I do?,” asked Villens mournfully. “Such is the way it is. Nature has chosen to shower beauty on Villens women. Who am I to say otherwise? But I was talking of my lovely mother before a heckler interrupted. My mother’s family could not afford to present her in court, but word of her great beauty spread and soon many courtiers found their way to her parents’ house. Entertaining these uninvited dignitaries further diminished her family’s resources.”

“At this time, my father was serving the Spanish King, who sent him to the French court to provide a service to Louis. My father was to review the French King’s forces on the border with some of the restless German Princes. My father proposed a system of deploying the troops that he claimed would discourage aggression and, failing that, would place the French troops in better defensive positions. He also was charged with assessing the troops’ readiness for combat. He spent his days traveling from camp to camp, hotel to hotel, encountering dubious and often angry officers who had no intention of changing their comfortable routines. He travelled in the drab uniform of the Spanish Engineers, as he thought that his Major’s uniform from the Spanish cavalry was so garish it was a provocation just to appear in it. His only accompaniment was two clerks. He was so unassuming that the lowest Musketeers were unaware of his high rank and openly mocked him.”

“At a fort near Nancy, the Captain of the Musketeers arranged a ball for the visitors. His intention was to humiliate my father through the glory of the French officers in their finest uniforms and the gracefulness of their dancing. The Captain was certain that his magnificent officers would win the hearts of all the women. My father would be shoved aside by the real soldiers, thought the Captain, which was as it should be.”

“The night of the ball my father made the one great dramatic gesture of his life. He appeared at the ball in his usual understated uniform. He was dancing with a Lieutenant’s sister, and as the Captain had predicted, he was overshadowed by the bright plumage of the French officers. My father is an excellent dancer when he is interested, but he was having difficulty keeping up with the flashy Musketeers. The orchestra played a very fast piece that my father did not recognize or appreciate. He excused himself and retired to a chair, surrendering the floor to the handsome Musketeers.”

“He sat for awhile and contemplated returning to his rooms and working on his reports, when the most beautiful woman he ever seen swept past him in the arms of the Captain of the Musketeers. Instantly my father rose from chair and forced his way through the crowd to reach the conductor. He somehow persuaded the conductor to halt playing. In the confusion that followed, my father found the beautiful woman, bowed gracefully to her, and extended his hand. She took it and he led her to the center of great hall, threading their way through the milling crowd.”

“They reached the very center, where he turned to face her. He was still gently holding her slim white hand, which he held high, a prelude to dancing. The couple stood stock still, looking into each others eyes, and their intensity rippled throughout the great room, silencing the amazed crowd. The couple remained still as statues until all eyes were on them, then my father gestured to the conductor and the orchestra began playing a waltz. My father took his beautiful partner in his arms. They spun and twirled, the crowd giving way as the young couple danced across the crowded floor as if they were they only two people in the room. Soon other couples began to dance and before long the entire hall was filled with dancers wishing to a part of the magic. Yet no matter how many people began to dance, a moving open space surrounded the beautiful young dancers that would become my father and mother.”

“When the music ended, my father bowed to his partner and kissed the hand he had been holding so tenderly. He walked out of the hall and returned to his rooms. During the night, the girl’s father met with several courtiers and discovered that my father was a Villens and that, though young, he was highly thought of by the Spanish and French Kings. The next day, my father went to the girl’s home, introduced himself to her father, and asked to marry his daughter. The gentleman asked for his daughter to join them. He asked her if she wished to marry the young man and she said that she did. A month later they were married.”

“I was born not a a great time later and my life has been as it has been. After a while my brother Philippe was born. He is intelligent and learned, the scholar of the family. Maria, you will like my younger brother. He is studying Natural Philosophy at the Sorbonne. We thought he might become a priest, but books and collecting take up all his time. I have a sister, Julianna, who is sixteen. She has been at a Swiss school and I’m afraid I know little of her. Her letters are terribly witty and they say she is beautiful, I’m afraid. She should be home when we get there. It is possible that Philippe will be there as well.”

“And that is the Villens family,” he said with a theatrical bow. “I have overlooked the drunkards, neer-do-wells, and heretics. The stories are as my grandfather and mother have told to me. They are responsible for any exaggeration. I seem to have taken up all the time. We must sleep or Finn’s secret passageway will be a difficult march. Do you mind waiting until tomorrow to take your turn?” he asked Maria and I. We both said that we needed to rest and our family histories could wait. It was late before we cleaned the place and packed our things for an early departure.

Morning came long before I was ready to waken. Villens and Maria let me sleep as long as possible, but I still struggled to clear my head as we reentered the woods. I need a clear head because I had to lead the way to the base of the rock trail. For the first time, the mule was having difficulty getting through the forest. The undergrowth was thicker than anywhere we’d passed so far. Had we not been searching, we would have avoided the dense undergrowth and missed the rocks altogether.

Villens used the sword bayonet as a machete to clear a path for the mule. Maria followed me closely. We pushed through a tangle of vines and fallen branches and the first rock stood about six feet in front of us. It was if it appeared out of nowhere. A few minutes later, Villens and the mule crashed through the barrier and the four of us stood on the crushed gravel path that ran along the face of the rock.

Because we hadn’t seen the rock until we nearly ran into it, it loomed over us. Had we seen it from a distance and walked up to it, the rock would still be massive, but the suddenness of its appearance lent it an unnerving, brooding quality. Lost in our own thoughts, we stood and looked at the rock for a time. My description hadn’t prepared Villens and Maria for its scale. Even though I’d seen it already, I saw in the late afternoon gloom of the forest. Seeing it in the morning light was an entirely different, unsettling experience.

The mule, however, was unmoved. It stepped onto the gravel path, pleased to free on the entangling undergrowth, and trotted away. This movement shook us from our lethargy and Villens called out for me to lead the way. I ran ahead to catch up with the mule and Villens and Maria fell in behind. Soon we were at the crevice where the path leads to the stairs. I was worried about how the mule would handle the stairs, but needn’t have been. It tripped as lightly up the steps as if it were on level ground.

I stopped at the top of the steps and looked back. Villens was right behind me, but Maria had stopped and was examining a set of carvings. She ran a finger in the deep grooves and frowned. She walked up the rest of the way and I showed her the carvings at the top of the steps. She asked for my knife and ran the blade along the carving. She held her hand so that she would catch anything the knife dislodged. The morning sun slanting over the tree tops illuminated the rock face. I looked in Maria’s palm and saw only dust and grit. She must have thought the same, for she handed me the knife and brushed off her palms. “I thought I remembered that the Incas painted their carvings. Perhaps these are so old the paint’s worn away.” She and I walked over to where Villens was standing with the mule. He was looking over the tree tops to the small pond were he’d fished the other day.

“I had no idea that all this was here. I was sitting right there, by the pond, and all this was hidden. Incredible. Quite a find, Finn,” he said.

We walked a few steps along the trail and checked our direction against the sun. We agreed that the rocks ran to the southeast, the direction that we were going. Maria said that we might as well follow the path along the top of the rocks for as long as we could as the smooth, straight surface would be faster than walking through the woods. Also, from this height, we could see a good distance in all directions. We agreed that Maria made sense and off we went.

Villens studied the rock carefully and Maria paid attention to the carvings as we walked. Villens noted the path was cambered so water would run from the rock instead of pooling and leading to cracks. Maria wondered if the water pouring over the side explained the thick plant growth near the rocks. I pointed out that stones of different sizes had been worked into the spaces between the standing rocks. This allowed for the smooth road to bridge the gaps between the rocks. After a while we settled into a comfortable pace and simply enjoyed walking in the warm sun with the cool breeze in the tree tops now cooling us as well.

We travelled for three days on what we came to call the rock road, covering a distance that would have taken us at least ten days in forest. At first we thought we’d make a mistake, for we had no idea where we would be able to get down. There was no food or water on the rock and if we slept there we would have been exposed and uncomfortable. After we’d walked a few hours that first day, Maria raised the question of getting down. We felt foolish for an hour or so, that we hadn’t considered this before we set out, but then we found another flight of steps that led to the forest floor. Before we went down, we looked from the rock and saw that the stairs would put us a short way from another small meadow, this one with a spring. We spent the night there and returned to the rock road in the morning. It turned out that these little meadows with water sources were scattered through the hills and whoever built the trail built stairways leading down to each one.

Traveling on the rock road and sleeping in the lovely meadows was so far removed from our flight from Eduardo’s men that we lost any sense of danger. The atmosphere became one of an extended holiday. Game was plenty in the forest, along with berries and edible plants. There was fresh water easily available in the meadows. As we walked along we’d sing and joke and tell stories. Villens would tell exquisitely detailed adventure stories or hilarious comic tales. Maria often speculated about the carvings, which fascinated her. She pointed out that animal carvings had started to appear. She showed me a carving of a beast that looked like a shaggy mule. She said it was a llama, a pack animal used by the Inca to carry loads in the high mountains.

I had heard about llamas, but had never been anywhere near enough to the high mountains to see one. Maria explained that llamas would have an easier time on the rock road than mules. The stairs would be no trouble to them nor would the cold winds in the winter. She also said that since llamas lived in mountains, that might explain the mountain and llama carvings appearing near each other. She noticed that the carving of the spear had differing numbers of feathers attached and pointed in different directions. Perhaps they were signposts.

I said that I thought the last carving, the one we weren’t sure of, could be a thundercloud with a lightening bolt. We stopped and looked carefully at the next one we found, and they agreed with me. Maria noted that the thunderstorm carvings looked recent. “My grandmother says that the worst storms come out of the mountains,” I said. Maria said she’d have to think about that. It would be several years until I found out what the thundercloud meant, until I and many others were caught up in the great storm that rolled down from the mountains.

What a mess! Need continuity help in the Annumpi/Memoirs series.

2011-08-04T23:31:00.000-04:00

As I've been writing the Annumpi Chronicles and Finn's Memoirs, I 've been relying too much on my memory. I just read part of AC and found huge problems. A character I'd completely forgotten about did some important things I later attributed to Eduardo Villens. Villens, in the version I posted died from his wounds. This called for some correction. I think I cleaned up the mess.

If you find anything that doesn't make sense, please leave a comment, so I can fix it. I'm going to schedule some time each day to reread the whole project and tighten things up.

PS: I have given in to common sense and changed Villens' first name to Martin. From now on, there is only one Eduardo, Eduardo O'Brien. I will have to go back and change history, but what the hell, I wrote it, I can change it.

I originally used the name for two characters when I read a snide comment somewhere that novelists never have multiple characters with the same name, when in real in life it happens all the time. I thought I'd be different. Bad idea.

The Memoirs of Finn O'Brien Villens: Part 2

2011-08-03T23:47:00.001-04:00

Found

Villens must have seen me coming for he ran through the door, engulfed me in a fierce hug and dragged me inside. “Finn, Finn,” he cried, “By God, Maria, it’s the boy! He found us!” I tried to free myself, but he held me tightly and thumped heavily on my back. He manhandled me into a chair, and before releasing me he whispered in my ear, “Don’t say a word.” I was confused by this warning which was at odds with his greeting. I sat down, blinked, and looked cautiously around the dim room.

Villens sat across the table, his dark eyes staring straight into mine, his face, usually so expressive, a blank mask. His hands were pressed flat on the table and unmoving. The room was a low ceilinged kitchen, rather dim on that early morning, it being on the west side of the house. A small oil lamp hung over the table. It gave off a yellowish light and a rancid odor. In the far corner of the room, an old man bent over a stove. He called something in French over his shoulder and Villens replied. The man raised a finger in acknowledgement and returned to his work.

Villens told me that the man was making an omelet for me and then he picked up a fork and returned to his own breakfast. It looked good, certainly better than anything I’d eaten the past several days. Villens ate steadily and did not talk. I followed his lead and waited for my food without saying a word. I wanted to ask where Maria was, but I assumed that since he had called to her while he was dragging me inside, she must be nearby and safe. Everything looked fine, but I felt Villens’ tension and was on guard. As I’d left the guns outside, I checked that my knives were easily accessible.

Suddenly the old man let out a triumphant cry, banged a bit on the pan, and turned around holding a battered wooden plate on which rested a steaming omelet stuffed with onions, mushrooms, and cheese. He carried it in both hands at chest level as if it were a presentation piece at a royal reception. The man was a little over five feet tall, with spiky, gray hair and irregular bald patches covering his bulbous head. A pendulous stomach hung from a withered frame. He grinned at me and showed an impressive array of missing and rotting teeth. A droopy white mustache, stained yellow from tobacco, and several days worth of stubble covered his lower face. His clothes were patched and dirty.

However unimposing and off putting his person, he produced a delicious omelet. I told him so and he smiled blankly, until Villens translated my compliment into French, at which the old man beamed and let loose a flurry of words that Villens did not bother translating. I smiled, grinned, and nodded, hoping to hit the mark with one of the gestures. I seemed to please the old man for he again held one finger aloft and rushed out of the kitchen. Villens stiffened and leapt from his seat. He moved quickly to the door through which the man had darted and almost knocked the him down as he returned carrying a bottle of wine and three mismatched glasses.

Villens and the man exchanged words in French, I believe the man only spoke French, and Villens returned to his seat. The old man opened the wine and poured a glass for Villens. Villens held the glass to the dim light, sniffed it, and then drank a small sip. He nodded to the old man, who ceremoniously filled his glass, then poured one for me and one for himself before joining us at the table. I reached for my wine and drank, nearly choking on the vile stuff. I have since drunk many an evil brew, but at the delicate age of fifteen, I had the misfortune of not having yet destroyed most of my sense of my taste. The wine, if wine it was, closer to alcoholic vinegar, I should think, tore at my teeth and scored deep rivulets where it touched my cheeks and tongue before scorching my throat and burrowing deep into my stomach where if slowly began to bore holes in that organ. My host tipped back his glass, drained it, smacked his liverish lips, and poured himself another. I shivered and gently touched my lips to see if they were bleeding.

Villens calmly drank his glass and refused a second. He waved a hand at me dismissively, and made what must have been a joke at my expense for the old man laughed and pointed at me while making antic gestures. Villens reached over and took my glass. He handed it to the old man who carried it away, discretely downing the wine when he thought we could not see him. I returned to my omelet, which I could no longer taste. In a few minutes, the man returned with a glass of buttermilk that I greedily swallowed. The thick milk blessedly coated most of the path to my besieged stomach.

Villens was through with his meal and began to talk with the old man, whose name, it turns out, was Anton Aubusson. I knew no French, so I turned my full attention to my meal. Every so often, Villens would translate something, but mostly I followed the tone of the exchange. Later Villens told me what was said and I relate it here. Aubusson’s journey to this small farm hundred of miles from the nearest city and thousands of miles from France was a strange, unlikely tale. I doubted it from the first, but Villens simply shrugged and said that the madness of 1789 had scattered Frenchmen to unlikely places all over the globe.

Aubusson said that he and his wife were in service to a nobleman from Loire. He was a butler and his wife a cook at one of the Marquis’ country houses. Their two young daughters helped in the kitchens. When the peasants rose and burned the house, Aubusson and his family escaped with the Marquis. They found passage on a river boat and made their way to the coast, and from there to Egypt, which was the destination of the first ship to depart on which they could secure cabins.

When they arrived in Egypt, the Marquis soon decided that he could not tolerate the heat, dust, and crowds of Cairo. His delicate nature had been shattered by the destruction of his ancestral home, and he needed to return to somewhere French. Soon the Marquis, his family, and the Aubussons were again aboard ship, this time bound for New Orleans in the French holdings of Louisiana.

The ship was a week out from Cairo when fever swept through the crew and passengers. The Marquis and most of his family died. Aubusson and one of his daughters fell sick, but they recovered. When the fever passed, the survivors took stock of the damage. All that was left of the Marquis’ family was a young daughter, who the Aubussons took into their family. They also took the material goods of the Marquis.

The crew was decimated by the fever. The captain was forced to land at Puerto Seguro in South America. He planned to replace the dead crew members and sail on to New Orleans. Under the cover of darkness and with a bribe to the bosun, the Aubussons were taken off the ship in the middle of the night carrying the remainder of the Marquis’ possessions. They had heard the sailors grumbling about the dead aristocrat’s gold and didn’t like the looks that the sailors had been giving them.

The Aubussons rested for a few weeks at a modest hotel on a quiet street a good distance from the docks while they considered their future. At the hotel, they met an engaging man who told them about the wealth to be had from fertile farmland to the north. “Drop a seed in the ground and you can watch it sprout,” he declared. “The Indians have never turned the soil. You merely need to think of something and it will grow.”

Aubusson was worried about how quickly the Marquis’ gold was slipping away from him. His wife and daughters had lost their heads and everyday brought home new dresses, gloves, shoes, and hats. There was talk of a carriage. When the charming man happened to mention that he had a farm for sale at a low price, Aubusson quickly paid it. (He later found he’d paid at least ten times what the farm was worth.) The very next day, the new clothes were sold and used farm equipment bought. All the family’s things were loaded onto a beat up wagon pulled by two worn horses and Aubussons put the city behind them.

Villens had been listening quietly, but at this point he broke in and fired several questions at the old man in quick succession. From the repeated place names, I took it that he was trying to pin down exactly where the Aubusson family had lived in France. Finally satisfied, Villens turned toward an open door and called for Maria. I had wondered where she was, but had held my tongue as Villens had told me.

When I saw Maria walk into the grimy kitchen, I dropped my fork and stared. She moved with her usual grace and elegance, but her clothes! Maria always has the most refined taste, and here she was dressed in a rude shift of rough gray homespun. The bodice and waist hung loose on her tall, lean figure and the hem revealed a good six inches of shin and the boots she’d worn to go exploring at Hawkins’ mound. She was followed into the room by three young women whose short, rounded figures, so unlike Maria’s, but not at all unpleasant to look at, would have filled out Maria’s dress quite nicely. They were pinching at the loose material of Maria’s shift and trying to pin the folds of cloth while Maria ignored them.

“Is the old woman with you?” asked Villens.

“No. She left about a half-hour ago,” answered Maria, peering around the dark kitchen. “I thought she came in here.”

Aubusson was staring at Maria with undisguised lust, his rheumy eyes devouring her thick, dark hair and olive coloring which gleamed set as it was against the pale complexions and dull yellow hair of the three girls. Villens called sharply to him and the old man started as he was yanked roughly from his reverie. Villens snapped out an order in a commanding voice I had never heard him use. The old man scrambled out of his chair and rushed from the room, nearly stumbling over an unnoticed dog that was sleeping by the stove.

“Quickly,” said Villens to me, “he’ll be back soon. Did you bring a weapon?” I told him that I had and he sent me to get them immediately. I ran through the doorway opposite where the old man had disappeared and into the yard where I had left the pack and guns leaning against a small shed. Pulling the pistol from the pack, I primed it and the two guns and ran back to the house. I had no idea what was going on, but clearly Villens was worried about something.

Aubusson had returned before I did and was standing by the stove. He was telling Villens that he had no idea where his wife had gone. His eyes widened when I entered with the weapons. He glanced at the open door he’d just used and then at the counter where a long, heavy carving knife lay. Villens barked at him again with that unfamiliar voice and the man froze. I passed the Baker rifle to Villens and he calmly slipped the twenty-three inch sword bayonet into place. I handed Maria the pistol and she waved the daughters away from her. They crowded together against the opposite wall. I had the fowling piece and positioned myself in the far doorway, blocking that exit. Villens slid his chair from under the table and blocked the door to the yard. I waited to see what he would do.

Villens began to question the old man. Of course, I could not follow the questioning and Villens no longer translated. He sat with the Baker rifle on the table before him, the long terrible blade nearly carving the old man’s belly. Aubusson was quaking with fear and I felt a little sorry for him, but I trusted Villens, so I was certain that Aubusson must be up to something. Maria followed the interrogation closely. At one point she sent the youngest daughter to get the clothes she had worn when she and Villens arrived at the farm. The girl returned swiftly with Maria’s naturalizing clothes, tough cotton pants, a long sleeve shirt, and woolen socks. The girl placed the clothes on the table and fled back to her sisters.

A few minutes later Maria sent me to see how many horses there were and if any were missing. I hurried across the yard and into the barn. There were two horses and a mule. I checked the fourth stall and saw fresh droppings. One animal was gone.

When Villens stopped questioning Aubusson, the old man sagged and looked ready to collapse. Villens kicked a chair toward him and Aubusson fell onto the seat. “We must leave now,” Villens said without taking his eyes off the old man. “I should kill this greedy peasant, right here in his filthy kitchen,” he muttered, but...” and he waved his hand vaguely. He spat some French and Aubusson winced as if he’d been slapped. “The old woman has gone to turn us in,” Villens said. “Eduardo has men near here. They were supposed to stay at this end of the valley to stop anyone trying to come through the woods. Instead, they’ve been drinking in the hotel bar at the other end. It will take a while for her to get to them and for them to get back here. It’s early, so they’re probably sober. If we’re lucky, they’ll be hung over.”

“What should we do with them?,” asked Maria, gesturing toward the family.

“The damage is done,” said Villens. “They can’t hurt us.” Maria nodded and looked relieved. So was I. I had never seen Villens so angry and I feared what he might do. Villens rose to leave, but before he did he walked over to the old man and whispered something in his ear. Panic wept across the old man’s face and he dropped his chin onto his chest. Villens never told me what he said and I never asked.

We hurried to the barn and while Villens and I saddled the animals, Maria slipped into the empty stall and changed her clothes. We led the animals into the yard where she and Villens mounted the horses while I climbed onto the mule. Considering the sorry state of the horses, I got the better of the deal. Villens lead us past the house and across a weedy field. About fifteen minutes later we were on the trail and heading southeast for the gap between the hills that would take us to Villens’ people.

Villens assured us that we had at least a four hour start on Eduardo’s men. The horses clearly displeased Villens, whose cavalryman’s eye noted every flaw. The mule, however, was an excellent beast. I’ve always liked mules, intelligent and rugged creatures that they are. I’d found they usually did what you asked if you were polite and they were in the mood. I had won this mules temporary affection by plying it with apples and my last biscuit. So while Villens worried about the horses, I bounced along merrily on the mule’s strong back, while it kept a disdainful distance from the broken down nags.

Once we were clear of the valley and settled into a steady pace, I asked Villens what had happened at the farm. He told us that the man’s fabulous story didn’t hold up. Villens said that he’d been to Loire and the man knew nothing of the place. As for his wife being a cook, no cook for a Marquis would have tolerated such a foul kitchen. Finally, Aubusson’s appearance, manner, and accent were completely unsuitable for a Marquis’ butler. His guess was that Aubusson might have been one of the peasants who burned the house. Perhaps the old fool found some hidden gold and ran off with it so that he wouldn’t have to share the loot with the mob. Villens ended his account by speculating that the old woman had turned us in to gain favor with Eduardo and perhaps find a place in the capitol.

One thing troubled me. I agreed that creature no more looked like a butler than the mule did, but what about the delicious omelet he had prepared? “He is a peasant, but he is a French peasant,” said Villens, full of proud Gallic culinary chauvinism.

After only an hour on the trail, Villens’ horse pulled up lame. We dismounted and Villens inspected Maria’s horse. He judged that it too wouldn’t last long. We decided that the horses wouldn’t keep us ahead of anyone, so we decided to cut them loose. We would leave the trail and find a place to hide. We needed a place to rest and time to think. I argued for keeping the mule of which I’d grown quite fond. But no, Maria pointed out that it would difficult to hide a mule in the brush. The mule had to go.

As we unpacked the beasts and redistributed the loads onto our backs, I surreptitiously slipped Victor several carrots I’d lifted from the farmhouse. Victor crunched them with great relish and nosed my pack for more. I rubbed his broad, flat head and set him on his way with a slap to his flank. Villens and Maria had already set the horses loose and were waiting for me by the edge of the trail. I joined them and we entered the brush.

The brush changed to forest about fifty yards from the trail. We’d gone only a small way into the forest when I heard something behind me. I turned and saw the mule stepping along forest floor so lightly I did not hear him until he was nearly on top of me. Villens and Maria were amazed at how quietly the beast moved. Maria guessed that the mule had a deer in his family tree. Villens said that the mule might as well join us as he seemed to have volunteered. We loaded our sparse goods onto his back. I slipped him a few more carrots, and off we four went into the forest.

About an hour and a half later, we’d reached the hills that ran along the eastern side of the valley and ran along the eastern edge of the trail. We decided to find to a resting place from which we could watch the road. As we climbed the gentle slope, Villens and Maria asked me how I found them. Maria was pleased that I’d recognized the feather signs she’d left. Villens laughed when I said that I hunted them like I hunted Maria’s specimens. He asked if I intended to skin them and boil their bones. Maria ruffled my hair and said I was her best student. I usually felt too old to endure my hair being ruffled, but, well, it was Maria. I turned my head to hide my blush.

I didn’t want to talk about what happened at the campfire, but Villens gently pressed me to discover if I’d seen anyone searching for them. Maria noted my discomfort, and I saw her glance at the faint brown stain of my shirt. When I told them what happened, they listened without comment. At some point during my recitation, I’m not certain when, Maria took my hand and held it tightly. When I finished, we climbed in silence. I went back to where the mule was following us, and pretended to check the lashings on the pack. In truth, I was near tears again and couldn’t bear for either of them to see me.

Villens broke the quiet by saying that he did not want to fight whomever might be coming for us. We were a long way from help and were sure to be outgunned. There would be a time to settle things with Eduardo, but fighting at this time would do us no good. We would make our way through the woods. Eduardo’s men were accustomed to docks and dark alleys. We’d quickly leave them far behind. When we made it to the Villens’ lands, we could decide how to strike back. Maria agreed and I was relieved. I wasn’t afraid to fight, but I didn’t want to fight when it wasn’t necessary. I could still hear the hollow thud of that skull smashing against the rock.

We hiked higher into the hills, and as we did, Villens told us what he knew about Eduardo. Maria and I had grown up with Eduardo, but we’d lost touch with him when he’d left for the capitol. He was my brilliant, oldest cousin, a rare scholar among the O’Briens. Everyone expected great things of him, and that included marrying Maria. Eduardo was a passionate lover of all things French. He believed that the Spanish Monarchy was weak and corrupt. He became such a fervent Republican that he’d been jailed by the Viceroy and my father had gone to the capitol to secure his release. Eduardo became a member of the Parisian club in the capitol on the strength of his many pamphlets against the corruption of the Church in the New World. When the Republic fell and Napoleon rose from the ruins, Eduardo’s passions transferred to the great man. He was certain that after Bonaparte crushed the English and the Russians, he would come across the Atlantic and seize the New World.

When a plot was discovered whereby General Morales would seize power with the help of the British, Eduardo worked with his young military friends from the Parisian Club to trap the General and to destroy him and his troops. Eduardo O’Brien had ridden to the capitol with the victorious forces lead by General Rojas and his son, Eduardo’s close friend. Soon Eduardo and Maria were no longer speaking and Eduardo married Rojas’ daughter.

The last Villens had heard from his military contacts, Eduardo had been appointed head of a security committee. His headquarters were in an old warehouse by an abandoned dock. The large brick building became known as the Irishman’s Castle and quickly became notorious. Eduardo’s agents brought people to the warehouse at all hours and few were seen again. Wild rumors circulated that he was experimenting with improvements on the guillotine. Eduardo also recruited criminals and thugs from the worst slums in the capitol to build a network of informers that covered the eastern part of the country, the part held by Rojas’ forces. It was thought that he’d failed to penetrate the western region, but who knew for certain?

Villens was certain that it was Eduardo’s men that my father and I had killed. He had been warned that Eduardo was planning to arrest him. He wanted to use Villens to pressure Villens’ father, a leader of the Western military, into surrender. Villens didn’t say that Eduardo was likely furious about his and Maria’s growing affection. He didn’t have to. I had known Eduardo all my life and knew how possessive he was. Eduardo would never accept Maria with anyone else.

Maria listened to Villens’ account without saying a word. She knew Eduardo better than any of us. After Villens finished his report, we walked in silence for a while, and then Maria spoke. “Eduardo was a great admirer of the French Revolution. He loved the passion and ideals, but he soon became fascinated by the Terror. He began to defend that the Terror as a necessary response to monarchist attacks on Republican France. But in the end, I came to see that it was violence itself that attracted him. After his arrest, he spoke of the necessity of purging our country of the aristocracy and the Church. I, too, admired the French, but I loved their science and art. He came to love the guillotine. When he went with the victorious army to the capitol, he expected me to go with him. He wanted General Rojas to marry us in a civil ceremony. The General refused and so did I. The next time I heard of him, he had married the general’s daughter in a lavish wedding at the cathedral. The Cardinal presided.”

Maria lapsed into silence. She had spoken dispassionately, without bitterness, but it was obviously painful for her to speak about such private things. We walked on, our minds on the man who had reached out from the distant capitol to threaten our lives. I still could not believe that my cousin, Eduardo would threaten his own family to reach Maria and Villens.

In the late afternoon, we climbed a small outcropping of rock that commanded the trail. From this vantage point, about thirty feet above the trail, we could see it stretching out below us. We ate some apples and rested. Maria and Villens were soon asleep and I was nearly so when I heard hoof beats. I crawled to the edge of rock and saw four horsemen driving their horses furiously. They came from the valley and carried carbines in holsters lashed to their saddles. The were dressed like city men and were out of place so far from the capitol. They swept passed the rock on which we lay and disappeared down the trail. Maria and Villens had slept through the pounding of the horses. I decided not to wake them. I reached for the Baker rifle and kept watch while they slept.

The evening slipped away as I sat in the lengthening shadows of the hills. I fought off sleep, but was losing the battle. When Maria awoke, she was startled that she’d slept so long. She told me that they had only reached the Aubusson’s farm a few hours before I did and they’d walked through the previous night. Villens was still sleeping. We let him sleep while we ate some of bread. Maria told me again how pleased she was that I had found them and that I was the O’Brien she’d always want to be with her in a tight corner. I told her that the O’Briens would do whatever we could to help the Valenzuelas. She looked at me and I realized that she was thinking that one O’Brien was the cause of all this. I didn’t know what to say. We watched the sun set behind the trees. I told her about the four men, and that no one else had passed. Villens slept on. Maria told me that he’d been awake for most of two days.

When the first stars appeared, Maria and I shook ourselves and realized that we were going to spend the night on the rock unless we got moving. She woke Villens and told him about the riders. He said that we’d better leave and walk through the night, but when Maria told him that I’d stayed awake and guarded them while they slept, he changed his mind. “We all need rest,” he said to me. “It’s your turn to sleep, but not up here. Let’s get a little farther off the road.”

We carefully climbed down the rock and walked a little way into the woods where we found a small clearing near a creek. Maria unpacked some blankets we’d grabbed from a clothesline as we left the farm. I curled up on the grass with my pack as a pillow and wrapped the blankets around me. I let myself relax and sleep swept over me. Villens said that he’d wake me when the moon rose, in about three hours. I heard Maria say something, but I was asleep before I could make sense of it.

The Memoirs of Finn O'Brien Villens: Part 1

2011-08-01T00:25:00.001-04:00

Leaving Home

I must start somewhere and I suppose the day that I went to Lemuel’s mound is as good a place as any. So many things that I did not understand for many years happened on that day. I was caught in the early stages of events that would shape my life, although at the time I was just a young boy playing a minor part. Years later, my role would grow and, an honest man having no use for false modesty, my actions would prove pivotal in saving my family, but on that night, I had no idea of the larger picture. I simply did what I was told me to do and used my wits to avoid dangers that I did not understand. In short, I was ignorant and lucky. The combination has worked for me many times since.

Before I go any further I must introduce a key figure in these memoirs, Lemuel Hawkins. Even now, after spending so much of my adult life involved with that chameleon of a man, I do not know for certain who he was or what his part was in all that follows. At various times in my life I thought I knew, but was always wrong. He was either the most complicated person I ever knew or the best liar. I speak of him in the past tense, as I should, I suppose, for it is widely held that I killed him, but I am not even certain that he is dead. One of the reasons I am writing these memoirs is to collect all I know of him and perhaps come to a conclusion about the man called Lemuel Hawkins.

One thing I know about the man is that he wrote an odd book called ‘The Annumpi Chronicles.” It so happens that his book ends with his version of the trip to the Annumpi mounds, with the very day that I have chosen to begin my book. His manuscript sits on the shelf above my desk. I have studied the work as I attempted to discover his secrets. My efforts have failed. However, I fully acknowledge that I may have missed some important clue or revelation in his writing, so I have decided to add it as an appendix to my words. Perhaps someone better at working with words than I will make sense of it.

Lemuel Hawkin’s account of that day is fairly accurate, at least as to my part in the day’s events. I was brought along to be an amiable beast of burden, but I would have endured much more to spend the day with Lt. Villens and Maria Valenzuela. I worshipped Maria as only a boy of fifteen can worship a beautiful and intelligent woman of twenty-eight and, although I had only known Villens a short while, he was already a hero to me, since I witnessed his brave actions when Cupido de la Vega and his men attacked my family. From that day on, I wanted to be like him and sought his approval. I suppose I still do.

Hawkins’ version of that day stops abruptly at the point where we returned home. I’ve often wondered if this was to hide his knowledge of what was awaiting us. As we approached the edge of the high grass, my brother, Ronan, rushed toward us and signaled that we should be quiet. He drew us off the path and into the tall grass so that we were invisible from the house. He told the others to wait while he and I dragged the cart back down the path and around the bend. I was left to the hide the cart while he swiftly returned to the others.

By the time I returned to the others, Villens and Maria were gone. Hawkins, Aunt Rose, and I waited while Ronan disappeared down the path. Hawkins and Aunt Rose spoke in quiet, urgent tones. I could not make out what they were saying. I was exhausted from the day’s labors, but energized by the strange goings on.

Hawkins asked where I hid the cart and when I told him, he left to get it. I started to follow, but Rose, who had sat down on the ground to rest, called softly for me to stay. I sat beside her and she looked silently at me for a long time.

“There are men at the house looking for Villens,” she finally said. “We do not know who they are, but your Grandmother and Senor Hernando do not trust them. We must help Villens escape. Much is happening and I do not have time to explain. I do not even know all that is going on myself. You need to do what exactly what you are told, without any questions. Will you do that?” Too startled to talk, I nodded my agreement.

“If the men ask you about Villens or Maria, you say that you don’t know,” she answered. “You were busy with the cart and then you noticed that they were gone.” She paused for a bit, and I wondered what had happened to them. I was glad that I didn’t know.

Aunt Rose leaned toward me and spoke in a whisper. “When Lemuel gets here with the cart, you will help him with it. The three of us will go home. Let me or Lemuel do the talking. When we get home, clean up, and go directly to your room. If you are stopped, say that you are exhausted and need to rest. Do not say a word about today to anyone, especially to the children. If you are stopped by strange men, act like a stupid boy who wasn’t told anything by the adults. Stay in your room until you hear differently. Rest if you can, you will need your strength.”

Before Aunt Rose could finish, I heard the cart coming up the path. Hawkins had injured his hand and he was having difficulty manhandling the cumbersome cart. The tension energized me and I rushed out to help him. He shook his head at me and said, “Calm down. You are tired from a long days work. You must not give away that anything unusual is happening.”

I tried to settle down, but I was fifteen and not good at concealing my excitement. Hawkins solved the problem by insisting that Aunt Rose ride in cart and then claiming that his injured hand prevented him from helping push it. Hawkins was a small, thin man and not much use for physical labor, but without his help, it was all I could do to manage the cart. My excitement faded as my exhaustion returned. Perhaps that was his plan all along.

We left the high grass and crossed a short strip of packed earth before easing the cart onto the gravel path that led to the house. Two men stopped us. They had rifles carelessly slung over their shoulders. They looked past us, clearly expected Villens and Maria to be with us.

Hawkins asked who they were and they ignored him. “Were is the Lieutenant?,” the smaller of the two asked. Hawkins insisted that Villens wasn’t with us. He said that Villens had helped us take the cart to the mound, but then he had left. The small man clearly did not believe Hawkins , but before he asked another question, Hawkins said that we didn’t have time for this. The lady was ill and needed to get home immediately.

I had been watching the exchange between Hawkins and the small man, and when I turned to look at Aunt Rose in the cart I was shocked at what I saw. Rose was curled up under the blanket we had sat on to eat our lunch. She was shaking and staring blankly. “I must get her home,” insisted Hawkins. Without waiting for an answer, he began to push the cart toward the house. I jumped into place and soon we had left the two strange men behind. I expected a rifle shot any minute and the skin on back twitched in anticipation, but they let us go. The bluff had worked.

At the house, I was hustled to the washroom by my cousin Ethna. Aunt Rose was rushed off to her room to rest, while Hawkins sat at the table in a hushed conversation with my Grandmother and other family members who had gathered around. My mother was at the stove and as I passed she told me that she would send dinner up me. “You must rest,” she said. “We will need you later tonight.” I noticed that my father was not there and I asked her where he was. She kissed me and told me not worry.

It was strangely quiet in the room I shared with my brother Ronan. No place with Ronan in it was quiet for long, however, it was early in the evening so Ronan wasn’t there. He and I seldom used the small room except to sleep. Neither of us was of a scholarly bent, I’m afraid, and we spent most of our time outside. Wanting to make sense of what was going on, I tried to stay awake, but the quiet of the room and the unusual amount of space in our bed won out and I fell asleep.

It was dark when Ethna’s whispered voice woke me. She sat on the edge of the bed and shook me by the shoulders when I tried to go back to sleep. “You must get up, Finn,” she hissed. “The men are with Don Hernando. If you hurry, you can get to the river without being seen.”

“But I’m not dressed,” I said. I was not fully awake and not yet appreciating her urgency.

“For God’s sake,” she muttered and smacked the side of my head. “Wake up. You must leave immediately.”

It was not the first time Ethna had slapped me. My cousin was several years older than me and had cared for Ronan and me many times. She was not a patient person and preferred a sharp slap to explaining herself. She also was wildly imaginative and included us in her adventures. The occassional slap to get our attention was the price we paid for time spent with our mercurial cousin. It was worth it.

On that night, it was clear that Ethna was not playing. I put on the clothes I had worn that day as they were they were close to hand. As I pulled them on, Ethna dug my boots out from under the bed. She handed me a pair of heavy woolen socks. “Dress warmly,” she said. “You’ll be out all night.” She was wrong. I would not return to my home for over a year.

As I laced my boots, I looked around for my knife. My father had forged the long thin blade and set it a heavy ox-bone handle that fit my hand exactly. I used the knife for skinning animals and habitually carried it in a leather scabbard that I laced to my thigh. “Don’t worry about your things,” Ethan said, trying to hurry me. “Ronan and I gathered what we think you’ll need. The twins have hidden them under the blackberries at the bend in the river. Do you know the place?” I nodded that I did.

“You must go now, while Don Hernando keeps the men occupied. Use the servants’ stairs and do not let yourself be seen. I think they have left guards on the bridge, so you will have to swim the river. Go around the bend so that they won’t see you. Go to the thicket and you will find dry clothes.” She pulled me to my feet and led me to the door. Opening the door, she looked carefully down the hall, then waved for me to follow.

Ethna left me at the top of the stairs. I had used the servants’ stairs many times to sneak out in the night, so I knew which treads squeaked and which were safe. The stairs ran along the back of the house and I stopped by the wall of Don Hernando’s old library. I could hear his deep voice speaking with his usual slow and steady pace, but several unknown voices interrupted him. The strange voices were loud and angry, but I could not make out what they were saying. I moved on swiftly. The servants’ door was locked, but so many generations of young boys had picked the heavy old lock, that a little tap in the right spot opened it. I tapped, the door opened, and I was outside in the starless night.

There was a quarter-moon somewhere above the heavy clouds, but it was an act of faith to swear to that. I stood in the shadow of the house and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Edging along the side of the house, I peered around the corner and could see two shapes on the bridge. I drew back into the shadow of the house, then made my way the five hundred yards or so to the river. The bend in the river was about a half mile from the bridge. There was no way that the men on the bridge could see me on such a dark night. I scanned the far bank until I saw the dark mass of the blackberry thicket.

Quickly stripping my clothes, I shoved my socks into my boots and tied the laces together. I whirled the boots above my head and spun them across the river. I wasn’t certain that they would clear the river, but was reassured by a soft thud. Easing myself into the water, I shuddered at the cold, and began to swim. My cousins and brothers and I had learned to swim silently, all the action beneath the surface. We’d use this method to sneak up on each other when we engaged in our on-going mock battles. As I swam, no sounds carried to the bridge, my presence was marked only by ripples that were invisible on this dark night.

I scrambled up the far bank and sought the thicket that should be on my left in the direction of the bridge. The blackberries were about thirty feet from where I left the river. As I made my way to the hidden entrance, I stumbled across my boots and nearly fell into the river. Picking myself up and brushing off the gravel and mud, I tossed the boots across my shoulder and continued on to the thicket.

The huge tangled mass of the blackberries loomed in front of me. The the ticket was nearly thirty feet by twenty feet. There was a secret entrance maintained by O’Brien boys for years. My father claims he and his brothers built it. I found the entrance and carefully lifted aside the branches that obscured it. A narrow tunnel led into the cleared center. My pack was just out of arms reach in the dark tunnel. I lay down and stretched for the pack, but it was farther away than I thought. I crawled into the tunnel, carefully avoiding tearing my naked body on the thorns.

When I stretched out for the pack once more, it was again father along than I expected. A dim light penetrated into the tunnel, and could see the outline of the pack about six feet ahead at the opening of the open central space. I crawled the final distance, as I stretched and grasped the pack, a voice whispered, “Want to buy some clothes?” in my ear, and the pack was yanked away from me.

Had I been dressed, I would have leapt out of my clothes. My cousin, Daniel collapsed in giggles and I knew that he’d pulled yet another trick on me. A sharp punch in the ribs made it clear that this wasn’t the time. His laughter switched to gasps for air. Daniel and his twin brother were a few years younger than me and were dedicated to playing tricks on their older cousin. The Twins, as everyone referred to them, were inseparable, so I quickly looked around for Michael, but Daniel was alone.

“They don’t know we’re twins,” said Daniel, reading my glance. “Michael is with the others and two men are guarding them. I slipped away and found Ethna hiding upstairs. We found you asleep and planned your escape. We don’t think the men know about you. We packed some things for you and made it across the bridge before they put guards on it.” He pushed my pack toward me, and said, “We packed your specimen hunting clothes on top. You know you’re naked, right?”

I glared at him, but he could not see my face in the darkness. He wouldn’t have cared anyway. “I left my clothes on the other side of the river. I was planning on going back across right away to help out with the men at the house.”

“So you came to a hiding place in a blackberry thicket naked,” asked Daniel with false innocence.

“I didn’t think it through,” I admitted angrily. “Ethna woke me up and shoved me out of the house with very little explanation. I didn’t wake up all the way until I was in the river.” I dressed hurriedly while ignoring the grin that I knew was on Daniel’s face. This would be hard to live down.

I rummaged through the pack and saw that they had gathered my specimen hunting equipment and a change of clothes. This was a good choice. Maria was a naturalist and had taught me how to gather specimens, plants and small animals, for her studies. She had outfitted me with equipment I’d need to spend days at a time in the field. My father had taught me to move silently in the woods and I was an excellent shot with the fowling piece Maria gave me to bring down birds. Ethna had thought to send the gun with Daniel, and he handed it over to me. A bag of shot and a powder horn were lashed to the pack. I tied the sheath with the long, thin, bone-handled knife around my thigh. The short, thick bladed knife, I tucked in my boot.

“Ethna made me steal these for you,” Daniel said, as he handed me a thick leather belt with a pouch on the left side. It was filled with the leather wrapped cartridges for the Baker rifles my father and uncles had used during the attack on General Morales. I was shocked to see the belt. The rifles and cartridges were kept locked away in a closet. I thought that my father had the only keys, but here was Daniel handing me the rifle. I could hit what I aimed at from four hundred yards with the rifle. A musket was useless at about a hundred. This weapon meant that Ethna was serious. She hadn’t had time to explain what was going on, but she’d never steal a Baker rifle unless she thought we were in great danger.

I sat with the rifle across my lap and asked Daniel what the hell was going on. For once, he appreciated the gravity of the moment, stopped clowning, and told me what he knew. While Hawkins, Aunt Rose, Maria, Villens and I had been investigating the mounds and generally taking the day off, six men had come to Don Hernado’s house looking for Lieutenant Eduardo Villens. They would not identify themselves. The family wasn’t certain if they were from the new government or were one of the bands of former soldiers roaming the countryside. These men were known to kidnap or rob officers. The men came at midday, and as the day dragged on and we did not return, they became irritable.

Ronan managed to slip away and warn Maria and Villens. Maria thought that the man must be from Eduardo O’Brien, another cousin of mine and a big deal in the new government. He had wanted Maria to come the capital and marry him. She refused and had become attached to Villens. Villens and Maria decided that their only option was to take to the woods and try to reach the lands of the Villens family on the east coast. They would be safe there, as Eduardo’s faction only controlled the western part of the new country. A de facto civil war existed between the eastern and western regions and the Villens father was a senior commander in the eastern forces. If Villens and Maria they could make it across the county, they would be safe. “Go and find them, Finn,” said Daniel. “Help them escape.”

I was fifteen and armed to teeth. I tried not to think that the largest thing I’d ever shot at was a badger. I’d missed and I had a long scar on my calf from not running away fast enough. “Where are they?,” I asked.

“I have no idea,” he said.

I thought about the problem while I gathered my things. Thinking aloud, I said, “Probably to the north, into the woods. That’s my best guess. They’ll try to loop around any pursuers and then head east. You know the trick, avoid roads, move at night. It’ll take them weeks to get through.”

Daniel shrugged. I knew would I hit him if he shrugged again. I sighed and made ready to go when my stomach growled and I remembered that I hadn’t eaten since lunch.

I guess Daniel heard my stomach because he pointed to the pack and said, “There’s food. Chicken, sausage, biscuits, cheese, some nuts and apples.” I found the food and sliced a chunk of sausage. I dropped the sausage in a pocket of my shirt and prepared to leave. I’d have to eat on the move. I had one last question for Daniel. “The rifle, Daniel,” I asked. “Have they hurt anyone?”

“No, not yet at least,” he said, stifling another shrug. “Your father told Ethna that there were too many of us. But they are armed and they are serious. I don’t trust them in the woods. Neither does Ethna.”

I sat a few minutes and chewed the sausage wondering if there was anything else I needed to do before I left. I told Daniel were I left my clothes and he promised that he would get them. I didn’t want anyone to know that someone had crossed the river in the night. I thanked Daniel for the food and said goodbye. He nodded at me and in the dim light I saw that he was frightened. He was just a kid, I thought. It took several trips to drag all my supplies down the narrow entrance path. I concentrated on what I was doing and tried to forget that I was only fifteen.

After crawling free of the thicket, I went to the river and carefully worked my way to the bridge. I wanted to discover what the guards on the bridge knew. There was a path that led along the riverbank and ended under the bridge. This time of year it was overgrown and in the darkness I would be hidden. I left my pack and the guns hidden in the catttails along the riverbank. I was about fifty feet from the bridge when a man with a lantern came down the path that leads from the house to the bridge. “Let’s go,” he called. “He and the girl must have seen us. They’re not coming back. We’ll have to go and find them.” The guards picked up their muskets and trotted over to the man with the lantern. Two others joined them and the men headed north. Like me, they must have decided that Villens and Maria would try to skirt them to the north.

I hurried back to my supplies and ran through the trees that lined the river. Keeping on the opposite side, I slowed when I could hear the men. They made so much noise, they had to be from a city. I had heard that Eduardo drew most of his men from the slums of capitol. They followed the river and I kept slightly behind them on the opposite bank. I would keep the river between us until the next bend, some ten miles north, where the river turned east, then I’d see what they did.

I followed them for several hours and began to worry that dawn couldn’t be too far off. I would have to hide when the sun came up. Twice they veered away from the river and both times I considered crossing the river to keep them in sight, but both times they soon returned. In the dark, overcast night, the city men found the going much easier by sticking to the river.

The men were passing around a bottle and getting louder, when the small man who was clearly the leader held up his hand and hissed for silence. He pointed into the woods and following his guide I could see a small fire through the trees. He spun his finger in a circle and the men separated. They fanned out and slowly moved to encircle the fire.

I quickly stashed my packs and guns beneath a tangle of fallen branches. I checked that I had the short, thick bladed knife in my right boot and the long, thin-bladed dagger on my thigh. I dug through the pack and removed a few of my bird hunting tools and found a pistol I hadn’t noticed earlier. I loaded the pistol and slipped it in my belt. The river was broad and shallow here and I found a place a short way upstream where I could leap from rock to rock dry-footed. I was now to the north of the camp fire. I hoped that I was still behind the encircling men. I started to move toward the fire, watching for movement in the woods, not around the fire.

I had no idea what I would do if I found the men, but I knew I had to do something to help Villens and Maria. Remembering that they were city men and would have no idea that I was following them, I stopped and listened until I heard movement about twenty yards to my right. I could make out a dark shape moving toward the fire. He was slightly behind me, so I waited until he passed me and then I slid in about ten steps behind him. He crept a little closer to the fire and then stopped, raised his musket, and took aim at something I couldn’t see.

Without thinking, I ran at him, making no effort to be quiet. He turned toward the noise, swinging his musket at me. I ducked under the gun and slammed my shoulder into him. He was taller than me, but I was thick and heavy for a boy and I drove my shoulder into his chest knocking him onto his back. His musket clattered against my back as he fell. I landed on top of him and kneed him in the stomach as we tangled together. Drawing my long knife, I smashed the bone handle on his head. He growled and tore at me with strong hands. I smashed the knife twice more and felt his skull crack. He sagged and stopped struggling. I rolled off him and crawled away into the brush. I caught my breath and tried to calm myself. The man lay unconscious or dead. I couldn’t tell which and didn’t have time to check.

I was certain that someone must have heard the fight, so I waited in the undergrowth until my breath came back to me and my heartbeat returned to normal, or close to normal. No one came, so I decided I better go looking for them. Moving silently through the woods, I kept the camp fire in the corner of my eye and walked in a circle around that central point. The next man I saw was much closer to the fire. He was kneeling behind a large rock and peering around it to the right and left. He had laid his musket in a groove in the rock. The gun was aimed at the camp fire and he appeared to be searching for a target.

I approached from his left when he suddenly leaned forward and picked up his musket. Before he could fix on his target, I pulled out of my pocket a small weighted net I used to catch birds. I twirled the net over my head and spun it toward the butt of the musket. The net wrapped itself around his hands, pinning them against the stock. Before he realized what had happened, I threw myself on him and slammed him face first into the rock he was using for cover. There was a sickening hollow thud and a low moan. He fell back from the rock and lay still. His face was a bloody mess. I untangled my net and went to find the other men.

The third man found me. I had only gone a few steps when a man stepped out from the shadows and leveled a pistol at me. “Who are you,” he demanded. “Where is the Lieutenant?”

I didn’t answer and he softly called a name. When there was no response, he lifted the shield of a dark lantern and shined the narrow beam of light on me. “If that is blood on your clothes, boy, I will kill you,” he said in a dispassionate tone that left no doubt that he would do what he said. He stared at me for while then said, “They are not here. Where are they, boy?” His voice was calm, dispassionate, and utterly unnerving. I was too afraid to say a thing. Up to now every thing I’d done was a reaction. Now I had to think and I’d never had to think with a pistol aimed at my head. I wasn’t good at it.

The man shifted his stance and I saw a shadow gliding toward him. He looked me in the eyes and I realized that he was going to shoot me. I saw him steady the pistol, and then in a swift blur of motion an arm reached around him and roughly pulled his head back exposing his throat. In a single motion a knife sliced through his throat and he sank down at his killer’s feet. My father cleaned his knife on the dead man’s jacket and looked me over. “Are you alright?,” he asked. I nodded, unable to speak. “Have you seen the other two?”

I pointed over my shoulder, then swallowed hard and said, “Back there.”

“Both of them?,” he asked. I nodded, my voice deserting me again.

Noticing my bloody shirt, he asked “Alive?”

“Don’t know. Maybe,” was all I could say.

“Show me,” he said and I took him to the men I’d fought. One was dead and my father dispatched the other. We walked quietly from the dead man and retrieved my pack and the rifles. My frowned when he saw the Baker rifle, but he said nothing. On the way back to the dead men, my father told me that he set the trap of the false camp fire and had killed the other men. He could tell that I was upset about our killing the men. “They held guns on our family,” was his only explanation. Pa never wasted words.

When we reached the river, it all caught up to me. I vomited and began to cry, partly overwhelmed by the violence and partly in fury and embarrassment over my tears. My father waited until I was finished vomiting and helped me wash up. He put a strong arm around my shoulders, waited for me to gather myself, and then said, “You did good, son. When you fight men like these, Eduardo’s men, kill them when you can.”

We buried the bodies without speaking, taking turns using the small shovel that was part of my gear. Silence was my father’s preferred state, but usually I would fill the silence on my own. In those early morning hours, I had plenty to say, but the words wouldn’t take shape. I had killed a man, helped kill another, and my father had killed four, one right before my eyes. They were wicked men I told myself. They had threatened my family and likely would have killed Villens and Maria. I had no doubts about that when I attacked them, but now wasn’t so certain. I wanted to ask my father if there had been another way we could have dealt with the men, but the words, the words just wouldn’t come.

Dawn had broken when we piled brush on the last grave. I offered some of my food to my father, but he refused. I wasn’t hungry either. He asked me if I knew of a hunting shack about an hour north. I didn’t so he lead the way. My father was a big man, but he moved through the woods without a sound. He carried the Baker rifle and cartridge belt and had slung my pack over his shoulder. I followed trying not to think about the sticky mess on my shirt.

The shack was a simple, low lean-to, made of thick oak branches, enclosed on three sides. It was perched on a small outcropping that rose twenty feet or more above a swift, rocky creek. The floor was packed sand and the open side faced east, across the creek. The roof was a rough thatch of branches that we quickly repaired. The shelter was about four feet deep and six feet long. It was built for one man to spend the night or to wait out a storm. My father told me to go inside and lie down. Before I did, I stashed my things in the back. I untied my blanket roll and stretched out on the packed sand wrapping my blanket around me. “Give me your shirt,” said my father. I pulled it off and handed it to him. He took the shirt and walked down to the creek. I watched him scrub the blood out of my shirt and tried to stay awake so that I could to talk to him when he returned, but it was no good, I soon fell asleep.

When I woke, the sun was high in the sky. My shirt was hanging from a tree branch to dry. My father had placed the shirt so it would shade my face from the rising sun. He was sitting with his back to me, and I thought he might be asleep. He must have heard me stirring for without turning around he softly asked, “You awake?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“That’s good,” he replied. “I’ve got to get back.” He stood up, turning toward me. I wanted him to say something, and I wasn’t sure that he would.

“You’ve been in these woods with Maria, haven’t you,” he asked.

“Yessir,” I answered. “Many times.”

He nodded and stood thinking for a while. I crawled out of the shelter and stood next to him. He was gazing north along the creek. He began talking as I was following his thoughts, which I guess I was. “They have no food or guns. They’ll need to find food and shelter soon. If it was you, where would you go?”

I thought for a minute or two and then said that I’d follow the creek a ways, then find a deer path headed north. That should take me to a small valley where there were several small farms.

“Is there a good way east from there?,” he asked.

“There’s a trail that goes southeast through a gap in the hills. I don’t know how far it goes.”

He nodded and said, “Then you better go the to valley.” With that he turned away and began walking south toward home. He took a few steps and then stopped. “Be careful,” he said without turning around. I watched him walk away until I lost sight of him in the trees then I packed my things. Climbing carefully down to the creek, I began following it north toward the valley. The shirt was damp against my chest. A faint, dark stain remained.

It was early afternoon when I stopped under a willow and rested. I ate a little and wanted to sleep, but I made myself get on my feet and start walking. By now I was deep in the forest and a long way from home. I couldn’t help thinking that I should have gone with my father to protect my family. But then he hadn’t asked me to come back. There were many men he could call on for help at home. He knew that I knew these woods better than most, save Maria, so I guess it made sense for me to search for Maria and Villens.

The problem was that I no idea where to find them. My confidence in finding them at the farms in the northern valley dwindled in the isolation of the woods. I tried to remind myself that I’d found birds and animals Maria had sent me after. It was a matter of knowing how they lived and searching those places that fit their needs. The farms best fit the needs of Villens and Maria, so I continued on. I often relied on bird calls to find my prey. Maria had taught me many of the calls. Somehow I thought it unlikely that I’d hear Maria singing.

I left the creek when it played out and went underground. I found a deer path nearby that was heading north. The path was heavily used, and I hoped that it led to the grassy valley. From the position of the sun, I knew I’d been walking six or seven hours since I’d rested at the willow. The lengthening shadows were a warning that I needed to find a place to bed down. There would be no hunter’s shack tonight. The sky had cleared and the night promised to be dry, but I‘d been caught in sudden rainstorms before, so I began to watch for a place to rest. I found a shallow ditch beneath a thick shrub. From the faint rank smell, I guessed that a deer must have spent the day sleeping there. I crawled in and lay down. After eating the last of the chicken and a biscuit and drinking from my water bottle, I closed my eyes.

I woke in darkness. The night was clear and the moon bright. I felt rested and decided to get going. I scrambled onto the path, shouldered my load, and checked the stars to orient myself to the north. Walking down the path, I realized that for the first time since this whole thing had started, I was enjoying myself. It was a beautiful night and I was in the woods alone. True I was carrying more than I liked. I preferred to travel light. Of course, I couldn’t fool myself forever. This time was different. I needed to find Maria and Villens soon. For the first time I began to worry that something bad might have happened to them already. Who knows, maybe more men had been sent after them. I picked up pace, eating my breakfast as I walked. I wanted to get to the valley as early as possible. If they were there, they wouldn’t stay long and would leave early in the morning. I wanted to catch them before they left the valley.

Walking along that path in the quiet of early morning darkness, I kept turning over in my mind the likelihood that I’d find them there. It made sense to me, and I couldn’t think of any more likely place for them to go. It’s what I would have done, but Maria knew the woods better than I did and she might have a better plan. Villens was a experienced soldier. He would know how to escape from pursuers.

Never had I needed Ethna more than in those dark pre-dawn hours. More exactly, I needed a slap to the head to make me stop thinking. I was following my best ideas, the doubts were getting me nowhere. “Twack,” I said softly, tapping my head in a much gentler version of Ethna’s slapping the nonsense out of your head slap.

The sun was rising when I caught a glimpse of red among the greens, browns, and shadows of the woods. A small blaze of red stood out from the gloom about a hundred yards down the path. I couldn’t make out what it was until I was almost upon it. Two red feathers were wedged into a cut in the bark of a tree. They formed an upturned V pointing north along the path. My heart leapt. The feathers were a sign that Maria and I would use when we’d separated while searching for specimens. The arrow pointed in the direction of a meeting place. I started running, then dropped back to a brisk walk. I wasn’t sure how far I had to go, so I had to pace myself. As I walked, I searched for another sign. It occurred to me that the feathers probably meant that they’d eaten last night. I found a sign every thousand feet or so, and began to think that I must be getting close.

The sun was clearing the eastern hills when I left the woods and entered the valley. Crossing a rolling meadow, I headed for the nearest farm. I found two red feathers woven into the wire gate. They formed a downward arrow. Maria and Villens had stopped here. I left my rifle and fowling piece by the gate and walked to the door of my farmhouse. I smelled breakfast cooking and, through an open window, I heard Villens’ voice.

The Memoirs of Finn O'Brien Villens: Introduction

2011-07-31T23:16:00.002-04:00

Note: These Memoirs pick up where the "Lastoc of the Annumpi" left off. Reading the Annumpi Chronicles, as they are sometimes called, would help understand the relationships and many references in Finnn's Memoirs. I have included a chart of the cast of characters on the second page of this website. If you have any questions, leave a comment and I'll try to help.

The Memoirs of Captain Finn O’Brien Villens, Irish Regiment,
Army of the Eastern Coast, (Ret), 1842.

Preface

I woke this morning with nothing to do. My sword rested in its scabbard, carelessly leaning in the narrow slot between the dresser and the wall. I looked for my uniform, but it was not hanging from the brass hook on the back of the door. In its place was a collection of worn corduroy and cotton. Had I somehow been transformed into a gardener overnight?

I carefully negotiated my way out of bed. I could feel every insult I’d dealt my body over the years. For years, decades, I’d taken my body for granted and abused it terribly. All the wounds, the overexertions, the illnesses, returned to leave reminders of old pains. I stretched and bent, as much as I was able, to loosen my stiff joints and painful muscles. With creaks and pops, my body attempted to convince itself that it was twenty again. The twinge in my back said I would be better aiming for forty. Perhaps fifty, considering it was about to rain and my rheumatism was flaring up.

So this was retirement. After a lifetime of haring about fighting, exploring, traveling to discreet meetings in dangerous places, and generally living a life of action, I was now to dress like an assistant gardener and pick aphids off the roses. When no one is listening, I will admit that I am tired. I fear I cannot keep up my old pace. Yet there must be a way to move from one state to the other, from man of action to man of leisure, without such a sense of abrupt dislocation. I need a way to stay active, while acknowledging that I can no longer survive the risks I faced for so long without consideration.

After dressing in the odd clothes, I walked to my desk and checked the box that held the reports from the previous day. It was empty. Of course, it was. I was retired. I remembered the ceremony yesterday and the reception last night at the Villens’ chalet. Maria and Eduardo were extremely gracious to honor me by hosting the reception at their home. Maria has always been special to me. I have loved her since I was a young boy, and until I met Julianna, I had thought she was all a women could be. Now I knew that in my heart Maria is woman idealized. Julianna is woman realized. I have never regretted learning the difference.

Eduardo was a hero to me from that first bloody day he came into our lives. When I was a boy, I followed him as a puppy. He could do no wrong. When we had to flee my home, he became my mentor and substitute father. I am fortunate to have had two men to call father such as Pau O’Brien and Eduardo Villens. I am proud to hold both their names and have endeavored to bring honor to them. These men taught me much and the service I provided each of them in desperate situations are my proudest moments. Even though I have seen their feet of clay, I love and honor these men. Lord knows I have tracked mud across many a floor with mine.

I decided to see if Julianna was in her room. I wanted to talk to her. I was going to need help with retirement, and Julianna was the one whom I knew would give sound advice. I went to the private door that connected our rooms and opened it quietly. It was not quite six and I thought she might still be sleeping. Julianna was nowhere to be seen, and on her bed, propped up on a mound of pillows larger than she was, sat my granddaughter, Bridget.

“Good Morning, Grandpa,” she said brightly.

“Where is your grandmother?,” I asked.

“In the kitchen making you a special breakfast,” said Bridget. “She told me to keep you here until she sends for you.”

“And how do you propose to me here, Little Mouse?,” I asked with mock seriousness.

“Momma said to tickle you,” said Bridget.

“I’d like to see that,” I said.

“Come here,” she replied. “You’re too big for me to catch.”

So I went to the bed and a brief tickle fight ensued. I let Bridget win, but considering how ticklish I am, she had a good chance in a fair fight.

While I caught my breath, and I noted that this took longer than I liked, Bridget hopped off the bed and raced to the door, opening it just enough to peek through. “Get ready, Grandpa!,” she cried. “Momma is coming! It’s time! It’s time!”

I sat up and arranged my clothes to assume a measure of dignity commensurate with my age, but I could do nothing about my red face. Eloise, my oldest daughter, came into the room and scooped up Bridget. “What have you been doing, child?,” she asked.

“I beat Grandpa in a tickle fight,” she said proudly, while her mother tried to tame the child’s wild hair.

Eloise glanced at me and I said, “My shoulder acted up or I would’ve taken the little monster.” My daughter smiled at me and I knew that she remembered tickle fights from before I carried so many wounds. I looked at her and the child in her arms and, for a moment, the two merged and I saw my daughter and the child she had been and my granddaughter as the woman I hoped she would become. Time seems more fluid these days. Memories flow into the present and project into the future. I suppose at my age I have more memories than any other form of time, so it is reasonable that they leap their paddock rail and sport about where they will.

“Come you two gladiators,” Eloise said. “Breakfast is ready. We mustn’t be late.”

Breakfast was a feast. It was served in the kitchen, my favorite place for meals. The room was crammed with family and friends and the odd dog and cat. I’ve never had such a noisy and boisterous breakfast, nor one that lasted such a long time. My many grandchildren contested for the honor of serving as my waiter, which led to my having four glasses of orange juice and eight pieces of toast at one time. I slipped the extra toast to the dogs and Julianna quietly removed two of the juices.

There was a lull in the general furor and I looked up from my eggs to see my wife raising her right arm for quiet. She stood quietly among the noisy throng, stillness flowing from her, silencing the crowd. “It’s time for the gifts,” she said softly, that playful smile I loved so much dancing across her lips. As always, her smile made we wish we were alone. She could still make feel like the passionate fifteen year old I was when I saw her for the first time.

I will not bore you with the details of the gifts. They were clearly intended to be the goods I needed to carry with me into the next world of leisure. They fell generally into two themes and when combined made it apparent that I was being outfitted to be a gardener with a drinking problem. However I must tell of the final gift, Julianna’s gift.

As Eduardo and Maria presented me with a wonderfully aged French brandy, Julianna signaled to Bridgette who scampered over to me and handed me a box of fine marquetry. Inside the box was a thick leather book. I was surprised to receive a book. I am proud that I can, read, but I freely admit I do so only when necessary. I looked up a Julianna and the question must have be on my face. It could have simply been in my head, for I swear Julianna can read my thoughts.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “You don’t read this book. You write it. It’s for your memoirs.”

I thought I had prepared myself for retirement, but the idea of my writing my memoirs undid me. I imagined a bent and withered man huddled over a crowded desk, his crabbed hand filling notebooks with trivial passages from his life as he attempts to get it all down before death claims him. Forgetting the crowd that swirled around me, I angrily blurted out, “But I still have things to do. How can I write my memoirs? My life’s not over yet.” I dropped the book the table and rose from the table. I must have been more agitated than I realized, because my daughter put her hands on my shoulders and said, “Why don’t you write your memories of your life up to this day? Then, when you finish, you can work on the material for the next volume.”

Nervous laughter rippled through the room, as I struggled to calm myself. I was keenly aware that I was ruining the breakfast. Julianna was at my side and whispered in my ear, “We’ll talk about this later, when everyone is gone. Don’t worry, dear, it will be all right.”

The growing silence was broken by Maria, who called across the room to Eduardo, and beckoned him to leave. The others followed their lead and the room quickly emptied. My daughter made to sit down next to me, but Julianna nodded toward the door and she left. Julianna pulled a chair next to me and sat down. She took my hands in hers and met my eyes. We sat in silence for a while and I calmed down.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” I said softly. “I guess I’m not quite as ready to settle down as I thought. It was the idea of writing my memories. It took me by surprise. Until that empty book was put into my hands, I hadn’t thought that the active part of my life my life was over. I’m not ready for it to be over. I’m not ready for my body to fail me. I’m damn angry about the whole thing, if you want to know, and it’s a struggle to pretend otherwise. And here all my family and friends are being so kind. It was more than I could do to smile and grin and go along with it.”

Julianna smiled and said, “You are Finn O’Brien. You fight back. You never calculate the odds. I’ve known that since we first we met. But, Finn, you have also learned to use your brain. You know that you have used your body hard and it will not stand up to further abuse. I have been very understanding for many years, but now I am going to be selfish. I don’t want to be your widow. I want to spend many years with you. I would also like to know what all you were up to all those years you were wandering around the country.”

I knew that I owed Julianna so much, and she knew that I could not refuse her anything when she asked. I would try to write my memoirs. I owed her that or more. But would she want to know all that had I done?

Bridget has been wandering in and out of the room while I have been writing. She just asked me when I would be finished and I told her that I thought I’d done enough for the first day. She asked me the title of the book and when I told her that I hadn’t thought of one yet, she glared at me in indignation. She has spent far too much time with her mother, cousin Ethna, and Maria. She has learned the art of righteous indignation from masters. Her grandmother, my darling, Julianna, is a more understanding, forgiving soul for which I have had many occasions to give thanks.

I grow weary of writing. I suppose I must deliver a title to my tiny taskmistress so I can lay down my pen. On the shelf above my desk is the memoir of a fellow officer. The title is twenty-seven, carefully arranged words long. He strives for dignity, I suppose, but it doesn’t seem to fit me. Just as he seemed born to wear a general’s gold braid, I never felt comfortable in my officer’s uniform, even though I wore one so long I feel strange without it. I must gather my thoughts. Ah, I have it. My memoirs shall be called, “Times That Failed to Kill Me.”

Gov Synder's Amazing, Astounding Educational Reform Plan for Michigan

2011-06-21T20:51:00.000-04:00

Once again, Gov. Synder proved that his Michigan is Wisconsin with a vague smile. Today the Governor announced his plan to fix public education in Detroit in a carefully scripted performance that included all the usual suspects getting their time in the spotlight. All the players were there: the Gov, the retired GM exec who is running the district, the head of the largest local foundation and her hand-picked and heavily funded parent representative, a state representative, the basketball buddy/Chicago political hack who is furthering George Bush's Education plans phoned it in from DC, the State Superintendent of Education, and a apology in the place of an absent mayor, which may be his best possible contribution. All parties involved in the Detroit public schools were on the scene, save one. Teachers. Not a teacher in sight. I guess only education experts were involved.

To be fair to the Gov, he's not used to including workers in his thinking. When he crashed Gateway, the workers weren't consulted. He was too busy collecting his millions and preparing to bring his expertise to running the state, after a few years making more millions playing with money in the markets. The new Emergency Financial Manager, isn't accustomed to listening to workers either. At GM, workers were sloughed off by the thousands so that the company could be saved from joining Gateway in the economic slag heap. And we all know that being a GM exec makes you a wiz at turning around a failing operation while having your funding from the government cut. No throwing money at the problem for GM. Just sound business thinking.

But back to the plan. If the devil is in the details, the devil was nowhere near this performance. Lots of talk about "accountability," but nothing about how accountability is to be measured and who will decide the definition of accountability. But accountability is good, and a lack of accountability is bad, so accountability it is. As a teacher, I fully support accountability. All I ask is for a tiny percentage, say 10%, of the money that Synder got when he was accountable for driving Gateway into the ground. I'll need it since Synder has cut the length of unemployment coverage in a state with a tremendous unemployment problem. Oh, and while the Michigan Republicans are hacking away at my retirement and health care, I hope they leave with a small percentage of the retirement and health care that Roberts left GM with.

I'll attach the plan and you can read it for yourself. If you suffer from asthma or migraines, look out for the smoke and flashing mirrors. The plan is delightfully free of details. Just a little tip, when they talk about principal's choosing their own staff, what they mean is teachers have no rights. When this process of education "reform" winds down, public education will be devastated, teacher salaries, benefits, and working conditions will be worse than they are today, and one of the cornerstones of democracy in America, neighborhood public schools, will be a memory. At heart, this plan is a machine to destroy public education. It is a charter school generator, with all the problems that entails. If you want to see accountability problems, Governor, give your plan ten years. By then, it will take a flotilla of Federal attorneys to root out the corruption and mismanagement in the charter school system.

I have a simple question for all the rich and powerful folks who have taken a proprietary interest in public education. When your company wasn't going so well and you needed talented people to help turn it around, did you publicly abuse them, cut their salaries, and reduce their benefits? Hey Gov, when you ran for office, did you cut the pay of the political consultants you hired? I thought not. I guess this is what they mean when you say teachers are special.

The Lastoc of the Annumpi: Molehills. Mounds, and Mountains (Part 19)

2010-11-05T23:58:00.001-04:00

While she was frying bacon for fourteen people, Rose managed to keep an eye on Lemuel and Maria. There should have fifteen people, but Villens hadn’t made it to breakfast yet. Deciding that the smell of all that bacon would draw Villens to the table if he was within sniffing distance, Rose tossed six more rashers onto the large griddle. Lucinda was about ready to get the eggs going, so he had better hurry. It was the first brisk morning of the season, and the cooks were celebrating with a full Irish breakfast. The eggs and bacon were just a warm up.

Rose saw that Maria kept throwing anxious looks at the window that faced the stables. She would be the first to see Villens come down the stairs and walk over to the kitchen. Lemuel kept looking at Villens’ empty chair and then over at Maria with a quizzical look on his face. Finally he caught Maria’s eye and then glanced back at Lemuel’s empty seat. She just shrugged. Rose decided that if Maria and Villens had an argument last night, she and Lemuel would go to the mound alone. She knew how much going to the mound meant to Lemuel.

Maria was now staring at the window, a puzzled look on her face. She watched for a while, and then stood up, poured two cups of coffee, and walked out the back door. Lucinda, Ethna, Mrs. O’Brien, and Rose exchanged a flurry of looks each carrying an assessment of what the two cups of coffee meant about the relationship between Villens and Maria.

Villens was halfway down the path from his rooms above the stables to the kitchen. He was wearing his new boiled wool jacket, and heavy work clothes he’d borrowed from Pau. The women had only made him dress clothes, never imaging that the Lieutenant would engage in physical labor. He was pacing back and forth and holding a letter tightly in his hand. He would slap the letter against his right thigh, then pace ten steps, turn around, and pace back. His lips were pursed and his brow was furrowed. His red ears were a sign of how long he’d been pacing in the cool morning without a hat.

Maria waited for him at the end of his westward pacing. When he arrived, he looked up and was clearly surprised to find her standing there and offering him a hot mug of coffee. He accepted the coffee without comment and while he drank, he looked at her searchingly, gauging the strength of their budding relationship against the weight of the thing that had set him pacing. He decided it was worth the chance and handed her the letter. “It’s from my father,” was all he said.

Maria set her mug on the ground and removed the letter from the envelope. The thick, ivory paper had his father’s name and titles printed at the head. His father wrote in a sharp, angular hand with brown ink. Even though the letter was written with some urgency, it contained no smudges or blots.

After absorbing these impressions, Maria turned to the contents of the letter.

“Dear Eduardo,

I have heard of Morales’s great error and the price he paid. He was a fine man, but perhaps he thought too highly of his own value. As soon as I heard of his death, I began to search for information about you. Such information is not easily found these days. As you must know, Morales’ regiments, the ones that survived, have been broken up. Their officers have been imprisoned or decommissioned, depending on their role in Morales’ plans. Most of your regiment is dead.

I had not spent time with Morales for several years, so I do not know of your involvement. I cannot imagine that you, a reluctant military man who served only out of respect for your foolish father, could have been involved in a plot. To be honest, son, you are not a good enough soldier to be helpful.

All is well here. Home is a safe place, as usual. Your mother would you like you to come home for the holidays. Philip is still in France at the University and Julianna sends her love. I have heard recently from our old friend from the desert Sheikh al Dereet. He is still alive and doing well. He was alway such a wise man. He sends his wishes and hopes that you will consider his long life as a lesson for us all.

I hope my messengers can find you soon. Please come and see us at your first opportunity. There is no need to write in advance. Your brother will be home from France in the spring.

I wish you thoughtfulness and wisdom, my son,

Theodore Villens

Major of Cavalry (Ret.)

Maria looked up when she read the letter and saw Villens carefully assessing her. She was in her working outfit for the first time since the day of the battle. “Are my clothes acceptable, Villens?” she asked. She expected this comment to fluster him as it usually did those men who stared at her.

He didn’t bat an eyelash. Instead he responded, “I haven’t seen you in pants and a man’s shirt since the first time I saw you.”

“You didn’t answer, Villens. Are my clothes acceptable?” she asked again. This wasn’t working out as she expected.

“Don’t be silly, Maria. You know it is not for me to accept whatever you choose to wear. I do reserve the right to respond to your clothes, but acceptance isn’t my place.”

“Aren’t we legalistic the morning,” said Maria. “I thought you slept over the stables, not over the stockyard.”

Villens was caught and he knew it. Rather than pout or fight, he smiled at Maria and admitted, “You’re correct, of course, I am full of bullshit. I was just considering which I find more attractive, you wearing your work clothes or you in a dress.”

“And?” she said, one eyebrow arched.

“I am attracted to whichever clothes have mademoiselle in them,” Villens replied, then performed a sweeping bow, the feather of his imaginary hat brushing the ground at Maria’s feet.

Maria couldn’t help laughing and said, “That’s it. You must have slept over the cattle pens last night.”

Villens straightened, grinning and adjusting his imaginary hat. He discretely took Maria’s hand in his. “Must we go on this dreadful trip through a swamp on such a raw, damp day? Couldn’t we make up some excuse to go to the capital for a few days? A hotel room, fine restaurants, maybe a show?”

“Maybe a duel with Eduardo O’Brien when you flaunt our relationship before his friends and government officials?” said Maria.

Suddenly serious, Villens said, “I have never claimed to be a hero, and in my family have I known many heroes, but I assure you that if that man is foolish enough to challenge me, I will kill him. I cannot do otherwise.”

The good humor left Maria’a face. “Tonight I will write him. He clearly is no longer interested in me, but I must make it clear that I am not interested in him. He is the kind of the man who believes a woman can never get over him.”

“I am not pushing you, and I would never challenge him, save for him making a grave public insult, but I would be pleased to know that he and his family, of whom I am quite fond, are aware that the earlier relationship is ended.”

Maria untangled the contorted comment, so unlike Villens’ usual direct, humorous speech. It was as if Villens’ sense of being constrained by others’ ignorance of his and Maria’s feelings for each other was communicated in the form of his words rather the substance.

Maria squeezed his hand and said, “I shall write him tonight.”

Villens stepped a little closer and replied, “The morning would fine. There are so many other things to do tonight.”

Pau came around the corner of the stable and pulled up short when he saw that he was intruding on Maria and Villens. They dropped hands quickly and Maria held the letter up to Villens face. “I cannot make out this passage, Villens. Can you read it?”

“I think it says, ‘quick-thinking’,” replied Villens.

“Yes, quick-thinking. I think you’re correct,” replied Maria.

Pau may or may not have fallen for the clumsy dodge, but he was wise enough to greet the pair and move on swiftly. Villens watched him go, then said, “You must write that letter and then let the O’Brien’s know. I feel like a fool sneaking around like this.”

“Tonight. Sometime tonight, I will write the letter. I promise,” said Maria, squeezing his hand.

Villens nodded his acceptance of her assurance. “What did you think of the letter?,” he asked, quickly shifting to his main concern of the moment.

“Honestly?” Maria asked tentatively.

“When we are together just a little longer, you will know that when I ask you something it is because I value your honest opinion.”

“I think your father is very rude to you and I can’t imagine a less inviting invitation,” said Maria.

Villens nodded his head and said, “That’s about what I expected. It’s what my father wanted people to think.”

“People?” asked Maria. “What people besides you, and now me, have read this letter?”

“When I received the letter, it had been opened and read,” Villens said matter-of-factly.

“What? By whom? Why?” asked Maria.

“You missed ‘When,’ and ‘How’,” Villens said.

“Just answer my question,” Maria said.

“Questions. You asked three,” replied Villens.

“I will shoot you if this goes on much further,” said Maria crossing her arms and pursing her lips.

“Let me explain quickly before Lemuel and Rose get here. The letter was opened by someone in the new government. I suspect Eduardo O’Brien or one of his agents. I have been told that he is the head of the Security Office for the new government.”

Maria was stunned. She wanted to know how Villens knew this, but she decided to wait and let him talk.

“My father anticipated that the letter would be intercepted, so he took precautions. First, he presented me as an incompetent and uninterested officer. It is true that I am uninterested in the military, but I am quite good at it. Men in my line have to no choice but to be good soldiers. It is in our blood and how we are raised. My father suspects that I have left the military and he is attempting to convince the new government that I am unimportant and not worth the effort of arresting. He’s correct about that. I was totally innocent of involvement in Morales’ plot. I’m not sure why he didn’t trust me, but he never did. Neither did Rojas or his son for that matter. Morales hated my grandfather, who had made his life miserable when he was a junior officer. As for the Rojas family, I never got along with the son.”

“What was the problem between you two?,” Maria asked.

“He is a missesah, as my grandfather would say, who considered me a fool who did not recognize his special mission.”

“He is a good friend of Eduardo’s, you know,” Maria said.

“So I’ve heard,” said Villens. “I have also heard that Mrs. O’Brien’s boy’s rise from humble beginnings is due less to native ability and than to a willingness to adore the Rojas, pere and fil. In some circles, he is called the Irish Ramora. The Rojas’s are confident that they are the future of a great empire in New Spain. Flattery seems logical to them.”

Maria had met the Rojas men briefly, and she hadn’t seen them this way. Of course, the brief meeting never got past Old World charm. She would have to think about Villens portrayal of the pair. “What is this about the Bedouin King?” she asked.

“That is both warning and advice. The story of Sheikh al Deleet is a favorite one in our family. The Sheikh was a Bedouin King in the first century of Islam. He had resisted conversion and kept to the old Arab ways that his tribe had followed for countless centuries. However the Sheikh had a problem. His kingdom lay squeezed between the eastern Christians in Constantinople and the Islamic Persians to his west. They were both pressuring him to convert, but he knew whichever faith he choose would bring the armies of the other down on him. The Sheikh was ruler of a small tribe and war with either one would crush him and his people.”

“The day came when the Sheikh had to decide. He sent for religious men from both faiths. For a week, they debated and performed services. They gave gifts and promised more. Finally the Sheik called the groups together. He told them he was ready to make a decision, but he needed one further question answered. Both groups agreed to answer his question.”

“The Sheikh began by asking the Christians who was better, the Muslims or the Jews. They answered immediately that the Jews were better than the Muslims. He then asked the Muslims, who was better, the Christians or the Jews. They quickly choose the Jews also. ‘That’s it,’ the King replied. I am converting to Judaism.’”

Maria thought for moment or two and then said, “Your father is afraid that you are caught between Morales and Rojas. He is suggesting you take a third, middle course. “

“Very good, but there is more,” said Villens. “He is also warning me that I will have to choose.” At this point, Maria and Lemuel came out of the kitchen and called greetings. They made more noise than normal to warn Maria and Villens of their approach. “Later,” whispered Villens, as he slipped the letter into his pocket.

“We’re sorry to interrupt,” said Rose. “If we are going to be back before dark, we need to leave soon.” She handed Villens a bacon sandwich wrapped in a napkin. “You need to eat, whatever we decide.”

“No, no, we’re ready, or I should say, I’m ready. What about you, Maria?” Villens asked.

“Let me run inside and get my notebook and drawing box. It won’t take minute.”

With Maria’s departure, the scurrying about that marks the beginning of any expedition began in earnest. Lemuel gathered up the coffee mugs and returned them to the kitchen. Rose went to get the food basket she’d packed earlier that morning. Villens walked over the stables while he finished his sandwich. He returned with a small cart laden with shovels, a pick axe, a few small trowels, and several horse blankets. He wore a sheathed dagger and loaded his cavalry carbine and sword into the cart.

********

On her way to her study, Maria saw Doña de la Vega coming down the steps. “Excuse me, my dear,” said Angelica. “I seem to be out of perfume. Could I possibly borrow yours until I can send home for a bottle? I have admired your perfume since we first met.”

“Of course, Senora,” said Maria. “I’m afraid that all I have is a small amount that belonged to my mother. I’ll get it for you.” Maria turned to go up the stairs, but halted when Angelica put her hand on her arm.

“I couldn’t possibly accept your kind offer,” she said. “You must wear your mother’s perfume. I will be fine sans perfume for a few days. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. Are you growing your hair longer?”

“A bit, I suppose,” said Maria.

“You should stop supposing, and make the choice,” Angelica said. “It already looks lovely. Longer hairs suits you. That handsome Villens seems to like it.”

Maria blushed, thanked her for the compliment, then hurried off to get her things for the trip. Angelica thought that if Maria could blush when she choose, most men would be defenseless. She sighed and wondered when she’d last blushed. Such is the price of a long, interesting life, she thought. It had been a long time since flattery or surprise had drawn a blush from her.

********

Villens wrestled the heavy cart out of the stable. The others noticed the weight of the cart and suggested that a horse or mule pull the cart. Lemuel pointed out the ground was still soggy from the flood and the path would pass over even soggier places. A horse or mule would get weighed down. They picked through the tools and discarded a few. Still, the cart would be difficult to maneuver.

“What we need is a strong back that’ll follow directions, and isn’t so heavy that it’ll sink in the mud,” said Lemuel.

“I can handle the cart,” insisted Villens, but Rose interrupted. She knew that Maria and Villens would want to spend time together today and that didn’t include dragging a cart along. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ve got the answer.” Villens and Lemuel shrugged and then began a desultory examination of the tools, noting the strengths and faults in a manly way.

Rose returned in about fifteen minutes with Finn by her side. The boy could barely control his excitement at being considered. “He’s nearly sixteen, but he’s large for his age, and he’s as strong as most men,” said Rose. Finn beamed and swelled his chest to the breaking point.

Villens walked over to Finn, never breaking eye contact. Finn stood motionless, growing increasingly uncertain as the unsmiling Villens drew closer. He stopped about a foot away from Finn, then slapped him in the chest with the back of his hand. There was a hollow thud, followed by air rushing out of Finn’s lungs. He doubled up and nearly collapsed, by Villens grabbed his arms and held him. Rose started toward Finn, but Lemuel grabbed her arm. Villens bent down and whispered in Finn’s ear, “Never pose, son. It makes you an easy target. Now let’s go. You’ll do fine.”

Maria had arrived while Finn was trying to catch his breath and Rose indignantly told her what Villens had done. Lemuel assured them both that this was standard young male-older male initiation behavior and Finn would not only remember it fondly, he would repeat the action as soon possible when he was the elder.

“Men are dogs,” Maria said to Rose. “Pack animals that can be sometimes be housebroken.” Rose laughed, but she wondered what Vera would have done if she’d seen Villens strike Finn. Vera was a wildcat where her babies were concerned.

The party headed down the path, Lemuel and Rose leading the way, then came Finn with the cart, and Maria and Villens followed behind. The path was narrow and the group stretched out. The couples wanted their privacy and Finn did not want his struggles with the heavy cart to be obvious to the others. “You may be big dog here, Villens,” said Maria quietly, “But you will help that boy.”

“I know,” he said. “Let him have his way for a while and then I’ll tell him you ordered me to take over. That way, I’ll be the weak one.”

“Why do men make things so complicated?” Maria asked.

“Oh, it’s not complicated to do. It’s only complicated to explain to women.”

Lemuel and Rose discussed the house that Don Hernando was building for them. They discussed getting married. Rose had heard that the new government was promoting secular marriages performed by judges and justices of the peace. She assumed that Don Hernando would still be a justice of the peace under the new government. Lemuel said he’d ask the Don. If so they could marry soon and begin preparations to move into their new house.

They spent some time talking about Ethna. There was no one nearby in whom she was interested. She was of a marriageable age, but she had never expressed interest in anyone. There was a Bryant cousin or two who seemed interested, but she clearly wasn’t. Maybe Eduardo could find a place for her in the capitol were she could meet eligible young men from the new party. If only there was school for her, she was so intelligent, but she was twenty and the university in the capitol didn’t take women. Maybe Maria could help.

Rose told Lemuel about her husband, Declan. Declan was an Irish sailor she’d met when he jumped ship in Porto Royal. He’d been press ganged in Liverpool where he was visiting family. He was a scholar who had travelled from Trinity university to Liverpool to deliver messages to family members who had gone to England to find work. He made the mistake of wandering around the docks, drawn by the noise and bustle, and found himself sailing to Africa on a slaver.

He was a gentle man and unused to physical labor. The physical demands of sailing and the brutality of the slave trade sickened him. He nearly died on board, but he was determined that he would not be cast overboard, sewn in an old sail with British cannon balls at his feet. He fought the illness and when the ship docked at Port Royal on the Atlantic coast, he ran.

He headed west, away from the sea, and ended up on the other side of the continent, on the land of Don Hernando. Pau found Declan collapsed on the road. He brought him to the house, where Mrs. O’Brien took him under her wing and nursed him back to health. Don Hernando’s family has always been opposed to slavery, so when Declan’s health returned, the Don put him to work writing anti-slavery tracts that were distributed in the capital.

Declan was a quiet man, a good man, and Rose soon fell in love with him. They married when she turned twenty, Ethna’s age, and soon had three children. Don Hernando insisted they live the large house with him and his family. He had grown quite close to Declan over the years.

It had been nine years since Declan had jumped ship and the risk of being recaptured by the British seemed negligible. Declan’s tracts had gathered a large readership in the capitol, so when he was invited to give a lecture at the university, he accepted. He travelled to the capital alone and was never seen alive again. Several weeks later his body washed up on the shore.

“We’re not sure what happened to him,” said Rose. “Mother and Pau went to the capital, but answers were hard to find. Mother thinks the invitation was arranged by British agents who wanted the tracts suppressed. She thinks they followed Declan and either killed him or returned him to a ship from where he jumped overboard some later.”

“What do you think?” asked Lemuel.

“I used to think all sorts of things about it,” Rose said. “But then I realized it didn’t matter. Declan is dead. He was killed by the British. He was Irish, so that’s always a safe bet. I loved him and he loved me. We have three wonderful children. I was pregnant when Declan was killed. That is why I named my youngest after his father.”

Rose paused and stopped walking. She took Lemuel’s hands and looked into his open, honest face. “It has been a long time, Lemuel. I have been alone a long time. So have you. I love you. I am lucky to be in love again. Are you in love with me, or are doing what the Don wants?”

Lemuel smiled shyly. “You know it’s difficult for me to talk, to speak about how I feel.” Rose nodded and squeezed his hands. “If you can love an odd duck like me, think how easy it is for me to love such a generous heart as you.” He drew her to him and they kissed until the rattle of the cart gave notice of the others’ approach.

***********

Pau was tending the fire at the forge when Anthony Bryant walked in. Before Pau could welcome him, Anthony asked, “Is Cupido dead yet?”

“No,” replied Pau. “He hangs on, but he is more dead than alive.”

“Is anyone helping him live?” demanded Anthony angrily. “Maria? Ethna?”

Pau picked up his largest hammer and effortlessly slammed in onto the iron piece he was shaping for the green house. Without looking at Anthony, Pau said, “I’m going ignore that last comment out of respect to you and your grief over your father’s death. However, I will not ignore what could be seen as threats against my family.”

The two men glared at each other. The heavy hammer rested perfectly still in Pau’s huge fist. Anthony looked away and said, “I meant no disrespect and I would never harm any member of your family. Your family is my family and mine is yours. We will not be broken by the likes of Cupido Valenzuela.”

Pau placed the hammer gently on his workbench and shook hands with Anthony. “Why won’t the bastard die?” asked Anthony.

“He’s either too stupid or the Devil doesn’t want him,” said Pau.

**************************

Finn was unable to hide his difficulties any longer. He was panting and his muscles were strained to the breaking point. Villens tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Put it down, Finn. We all need a rest.” Finn slid off the arms of the cart and heavy load slammed to the ground. Finn walked two steps from the cart and dropped to the ground. Villens rummaged around the cart and found a tarp. He folded it up and tossed it to Finn to use as a pillow.

Maria joined them and sat down on a rock. “Should we get Lemuel and Rose?” she asked.

“Let’s let them have some privacy,” said Villens, settling on the ground next to Maria and using the rock she was sitting on as a back rest. He stretched a leg out and kicked Finn’s foot. Finn, who was nearly asleep, sat up startled.

“Good job, Finn,” said Villens. “I’ll take over when we start again.”

Finn considered arguing, but then his good sense won out. “If you must, you must,” he said, and then he laid down to go to sleep. Maria went to the cart and found two burlap sacks to cover the boy. He was asleep when she reached him and covered him.

Maria and Villens sat and watched Finn for a while. When he had settled into a deep sleep, Maria said, “Villens, the letter from your father reminded me that I know almost nothing about your family. You have been living with mine, but I don’t know the first thing about your family.”

“I am the only son of a pirate Queen and her Egyptian lover. They raid the Atlantic coast leaving terror in their wake. I killed my first man when I was six and was captain of my own pirate ship at eight.” Villens seemed prepared to go on, when Maria noticed that Finn was wide awake and staring at Villens.

“Go back to sleep, Finn,” said Maria. “Villens head injury is acting up again.”

A disappointed Finn went back to sleep. “I really am going to have to shoot you someday,” said Maria to Villens. “For your own good.”

Villens leaned back against the rock and rested his head against Maria’s thigh. She glanced at Finn, but he was asleep. She stroked Villens hair as he began his story. “Let’s start with the founder of my branch of the Villens family. Please don’t shoot me, this is all true,” began Villens. “My Grandfather was Lucien Emile Villens. He was a cavalry officer in the French army. He was ruthless in battle and loyal to his troops. The problem was that he respected competence, not position, and he said what he thought. These are worthy qualities, but they do not serve in the army.”

“After a French defeat, in which he rallied the broken and scattered cavalry units and fought a rear guard action that prevented the army from being wiped out, the King called for my Grandfather to present him with a medal. After being given a royal ribbon for bravery, the King asked my grandfather to tell him about the action. The King expected to hear of my Grandfather’s heroic actions, but instead my grandfather said that if the idiotic General commanding the French Army hadn’t had his head firmly up his ass, the battle would have been won easily and the rear guard action would have been unnecessary. That General was the King’s brother, and only a timely escape aided by members of the cavalry saved my Grandfather’s life.”

“He ended up in Hesse, where he quickly rose to be the head of the Prince’s cavalry and a leading minister in the court. He helped the Hessians develop a heavy cavalry unit that was the envy of the German Princes. He would have stayed in Hesse, except that he was ordered to attack the countrymen of his new wife Arabella, and he refused. The Hessian Prince was disappointed, but he acted honorably and allowed my Grandfather and several of his officers to leave. He also granted them generous severance gifts.”

“Lucien was then recruited by a hidalgo who wanted to build up his cavalry. The only problem was that Lucien was Jewish. His family had ceased practicing Judaism, indeed most of the family had converted to Catholicism, but my grandfather belonged to part of the family known as ‘the Noseless Villens.’ It was said that every one of them had cut off their nose to spite their face before the where twenty. The Noseless Villens would not convert, even though they never darkened a synagogue. They just refused to be told what to do. When asked by the Spanish Lord why he would not convert if he didn’t practice the Jewish faith, my grandfather said, ‘Any religion where the believers argue and bargain with their God is a religion worth keeping.’ The Lord laughed and promised that he would protect him from the Church.”

“My grandfather spent many years fighting Spain’s enemies. As he promised, the Lord protected my grandfather from the Inquisition. When the Lord died, his heir was not as powerful, and the Church began to circle round with drawn knives.”

“Eventually it was decided to send my Grandfather to New Spain to escape the Inquisition. He was to serve as the head of a mobile band of troops that was to establish Spanish control over the Atlantic Coast of southern New Spain and then push inland. He was remarkably effective.”

“What about the Inquisition here?” asked Maria.

“Grandfather was no fool. He made it his business to protect priests in missions and to defend the houses and buildings of the Inquisition. He also befriended those who weren’t overly diligent, and they clamped down on the fanatics. As my Grandfather didn’t flaunt his Judaism, things went fine.”

“Grandfather was eighty-one when he died. He was thrown from his horse,” said Villens.

“He was still riding at eight-one?” marveled Maria.

“Oh, yes, in fact he was jumping a fence,” said Villens.

“Jumping a fence? Did the horse run wild?”

“No, the poachers he was chasing had climbed the fence.”

“And he fell off?” Maria asked.

“Good Lord, no. Lucien Villens never fell off of a horse in his life. No, the horse pulled up. It would not jump and it threw him,” said Villens.

“The poor man,” said Maria.

“He broke his back. His last words were, ‘Shoot the God damned horse.’”

*******************

Ethna and Ronan stood in the new library admiring the beauty of the woodwork. “It’s time we made it a library,” said Ronan.

“You mean books, right?” asked Ethna.

“Unless you want this room to be the Shelf Room, I think we need to get books,” replied Ronan.

Ethna had been dreading this moment. She hadn’t been in the old library since that horrible day. She still dreamed of the violence and the shooting. Ronan saw her hesitation and offered to get the books. “No,” Etha said. “No, Ronan, I’ll do it. I have to.” She walked slowly to the old library and put her hand on the knob.

Ethna’s throat was dry and her ears strained to hear through the heavy door. She knew the room was empty, but she feared she was wrong. She stood outside the room and slowly, meticulously, the bloody scene played itself out before her. She froze, trapped by the vision she had seen so many times.

Then Ethna took a deep breath and shook her head to drive away the visions. He turned the handle and stepped in the room. It took her a moment to realize that she had shut her eyes. She opened them and the ghosts were gone. The bodies and the blood were removed. The damage had been repaired. The smell of the gun smoke still lingered in the fabrics, or was it in her mind? She couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter. She opened the curtains and filled the room with light. She took down an armful of books and walked to the open door. “I will do this,” thought Ethna. “I can do this.”

The rest of the day she came in and out of the room moving books. Eventually Ronan joined here and before long they were laughing about childhood adventures in the library.

******************

“My father is also a hero,” said Villens. “The natives attacked a mission where the Cardinal was visiting. My father and a small band of cavalry blunted the attack and lead the priest to safety. The Church honored him with an ornate golden cruxfix.”

“Is you father a Christian?” asked Maria.

“Oh yes,” said Villens. “He converted when he came of age. His father must have furious, but I don’t think they ever spoke of it. I once asked my father why he converted and he said that his nose was far too distinguished to waste. I am not sure how deep his Catholicism goes, but he and my Mother attend Mass and entertain the Cardinal and other priests at our home. It was the Cardinal who secured my father’s position as military commander of the Southern and Eastern regions of colony. I suppose I should country now. My grandfather resigned his commission when his son was promoted over him. I’ve often wondered if that wasn’t the aim of the Cardinal.”

“My mother is a charming, lovely woman whom all the men admire. I have heard some women say unkind things about her, but I assume that was jealousy. When you meet her, I am sure you will love her.”

“She sounds like death on daughter-in-laws,” thought Maria. “I must remember to hire a food taster.”

“I have a younger brother, Philip, who is studying Natural Science at the Ecolê in France. I’m sure you two will have a great deal to talk about when he returns.”

“My sister, Julianna, is a wonderful girl, about Ethna’s age. We must get them together. They will become fast friends, I am certain. Can you imagine the commotion caused by two such bright, lovely, and spirited girls? Sparks will fly! The sons of the local gentry will be poleaxed. Their mothers’ will be lining up to arrange marriages.”

“Of course, if you come to my home before we are engaged, you will drive all the men crazy, and I will be forced to fight duels day and night to defend your honor.” Maria was taken aback by this causal mention of engagement. Villens reached into his pocket and handed her a torn piece of paper. She recognized the paper. It was torn from his father’s letter.

“This is for you,” Villens said. “Wait until I move the cart some way down the path, then read it.”

Villens stepped over the snoring Finn and slid in between the arms of the cart. He lifted the weight onto the front axle and started down the path. Maria waited until she lost sight of him around a bend, then began to read.

“On Discovering an Unexpected Love

We met on an inauspicious, bloody day

Denied us, an idyllic bower and lute,

Violence and death make treacherous clay,

Unpromising soil for love to take root.

But when the flood receded, stood revealed,

A blossom rare, strangely out of place,

The tiny seed in hard-baked soil, long concealed,

Flood drenched, sprung to life, our bond to grace.

Destruction, then introduction; flood, then bloom,

Nature’s polar dualities oft times are wed,

As in you, your struggle to find the room,

For thought and feeling, for heart and head.

Come floods or blossoms, there cannot be,

A better life, than all of you with me.”

Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner

2010-10-30T17:27:00.001-04:00

Just in time for Halloween, here's Warren Zevon preforming Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner. This video is from a few short months before his death and his voice is very weak. The song loses something without his deep voice, but the Late Night Band adds so much that I didn't seek an earlier version.

This song grabbed me the first time I heard it. It is a tale of heroism out of time, heroism in an unheroic age. Zevon's Roland is not a great warrior whose sacrificial rear guard action saves a Charlemagne. He is not a Rollo who establishes Normandy as the home of wandering Vikings from whom William the Conquerer will spring. This Roland is a mercenary who is betrayed by a colleague in the pay of the CIA.

Roland's revenge, his hunting down of Van Owen and his haunting of the world's messy on-going struggles (Ireland, Lebanon, and Palestine), turn him into the personification of the "small" wars that roll unchecked across the planet. The United States is not exempt from the lure of the Thompson gun, as shown by "Patty Hearst heard the burst / of the Roland's Thompson gun/ and bought it." I particularly like the "bought it" line. Patty Hearst didn't take up arms, she bought them. Shopping, then revolution.

Once, a warrior like Roland would have been a conquering hero. Today, after his personal revenge, the hero loses his personality. Roland diffuses into a destructive force that flows from battlefield to battlefield, pointless and uncontrolled. There is no place for heroes anymore. Or maybe the heroes are just different and I don't like the new ones.

************

This song also appeals to my love of narrative. In six short verses, Zevon tells a story neatly and precisely. The first two lines appeal to a heroic past that is long gone. The setting is quickly established and action described in broad, clean strokes. In one verse, Roland's "comrade" Van Owen is introduced, takes the CIA's money, and kills Roland.

The story then turns to the dead Roland, sans head, tracking down Van Owen "in Mombassa, in a barroom drinking gin." That's it for the traitor and the headless Roland comes the Flying Dutchman of the Thompson gun, haunting battlefields around the world. It is as if he has become the spirit of the nasty, internecine wars in places like Ireland, Lebanon, and Palestine.

That story could have been a book, although without vampires or werewolves it would have no hope of publication.

*************

Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner, Warren Zevon

Roland was a warrior from the Land of the Midnight Sun
With a Thompson gun for hire, fighting to be done
The deal was made in Denmark on a dark and stormy day
So he set out for Biafra to join the bloody fray

Through sixty-six and seven they fought the Congo war
Fingers on their triggers, knee-deep in gore
For days and nights they battled the Bantu to their knees
They killed to earn their living and to help out the Congolese

Roland the Thompson gunner...

His comrades fought beside him - Van Owen and the rest
But of all the Thompson gunners Roland was the best
So the CIA decided they wanted Roland dead
That son-of-a-bitch Van Owen blew off Roland's head

Roland the headless Thompson gunner (Time, time, time
For another peaceful war
Norway's bravest son But time stands still for Roland
'Til he evens up the score)
They can still see his headless body stalking through the night
In the muzzle flash of Roland's Thompson gun
In the muzzle flash of Roland's Thompson gun

Roland searched the continent for the man who'd done him in
He found him in Mombassa in a barroom drinking gin
Roland aimed his Thompson gun - he didn't say a word
But he blew Van Owen's body from there to Johannesburg

Roland the headless Thompson gunner...

The eternal Thompson gunner, still wandering through the night
Now it's ten years later but he still keeps up the fight
In Ireland, in Lebanon, in Palestine and Berkeley
Patty Hearst heard the burst of Roland's Thompson gun
And bought it

A New Gang of Four

2010-10-19T20:42:00.002-04:00

We have yet again attracted a litter of three kittens and a very young Momma cat to our yard. I swear abandoned cats must have a website - Fre füd.com - or at least a newsletter. I'll let KS wax poetic about this new horde overrunning our peaceful lands.

Here's the kitty video.

The Lastoc of the Annumpi: Swords into Plowshares (Part 18)

2010-10-09T20:26:00.000-04:00

Finn: Do people really turn swords into plowshares?

Villens: No. The furrows are too narrow.

Finn: That makes sense.

********************

The rising sun lit the eastern window of Maria’s study. It was fully a study again as Cupido had been moved upstairs to the attic room that had been Lemuel’s until he returned to his modified home in the grass. The rays flashed through the window to illuminate a narrow shelf that was bare save for a tiny plant in a clay pot in the center. An orb of delicate, deep purple blossoms glowed in the early morning light. When he had seen how much Maria liked the flower, Villens had returned to the river bank and dug up the plant. The skeletons of two mice and a small dog had been relocated to create space for the tiny plant. There was much more space than the plant required, for Maria, although she’d never admit it, was hoping for more. She’d even mentioned to Villens that a small greenhouse would be nice.

Maria watered the plant and listened to the young girl’s voices drifting through the open window. The day was warm for the time of year and she’d opened the window to enjoy the breeze. Although the sun was barely up, Mariel, Fiona, and Margaret were hanging laundry in the yard. Mariel was too small to reach the line, but the teenaged cousins had grown as tall as their mothers , so they did the hanging. Mariel bustled about handing damp clothes to the older girls and chattering away furiously. Theresa would be angry to have missed the adventure, but the girls couldn’t wake up the heavy sleeping six-year old.

Maria watched from the window, sipping a cup of tea, while the girls hung Villens’ new outfits on the line. They giggled wildly when they reached the small clothes. Mariel danced around, waving a pair of briefs in the air. “Men can have few secrets from women,” thought Maria, “when we do all the dirty jobs.” The women and girls had responded magnificently to poor Lieutenant Villens’ need for clothes. They raided secret stashes of fabric. Old trunks containing fine clothes belonging to Don Hernando that no longer fit and clothes from Rose’s late husband Declan were raided for buttons and anything else that could be used. Rose insisted that they make a few things for Lemuel as well and all agreed. It had taken them a week, but today, after lunch, the women planned to present Lieutenant Villens and Lemuel with their new clothes.

The women choose today as they wanted Villens to have a fine outfit to wear at the opening ceremony for the rebuilt bridge. For the past two weeks he had worn the odds and ends he found around the stables and a few castoffs from Pau, the only O’Brien tall and broad shouldered enough to fit Villens. He and Maria had burned his uniform when he found the old clothes. While he was supervising the construction of the bridge, Villens looked more like a tramp working for a meal than the engineer in charge. He saved the Pau’s old jacket and pants for his nightly walks with Maria.

Maria wasn’t sure what to make about Villens’ haste in building the bridge. He had promised that it would take at least a month and she had been looking forward to having him around at least that long. Yet, here it was only two weeks since the battle and there was the bridge, ready for use once the ribbons on both ends were cut. The ribbons had been her father’s idea. He would cut one end and Señora de la Vega would cut the other. He would make a short speech and if he did not mention Señora de la Vega several times Maria would be astounded.

She wondered if the letter Villens received from his parents last week hadn’t contained bad news requiring him to come home. They lived just north of Puerto Zephyr on the Atlantic coast. Villens did not like to talk about his family, other than to say his mother was a good women and is father had a difficult life. Maria noticed that Villens avoided the military patrols than occasionally passed along the capitol road. He was uncertain of his status after Morales’ defeat. Perhaps his parents had been involved in Morales’ plans and were in difficult straits with the new government.

The breakfast bell rang and Maria went to the kitchen to eat. Her father and Señora de la Vega were already seated, along with Ethna and young Declan, the twins, Daniel and Michael, and Mrs. O’Brien. Margaret came running in from the yard to take a tray to Cecilia, who refused to eat in the kitchen. The other girls followed and took their seats with their families. Rose and Lucinda were busy at the stove serving the food. Once the food was served, they joined the crowded table and all began to eat. Miguel, Villens, and Lemuel had been to work before sunrise and had eaten a breakfast fixed by Miguel.

Mrs. O’Brien watched Señora de la Vega and Don Hernando while she ate. She had to admit that the Señora had brought a vital spark to Don Hernando. And who would have thought that the great lady would insist that no trouble be taken for her and that she would be pleased to eat in the kitchen? Her children were another story. The daughter would be better off drowned. A waste of life that one was. It didn’t seem like the Señora spoiled her, but she was the most helpless creature that Mrs. O’Brien had seen since her family had that mule that kept banging its head on the fence post.

She was pretty though, with bright blonde hair and a narrow, elfin face. She was small and thin with long, delicate arms and graceful hands. Helpless and pretty, Cecilia quickly commanded the O’Brien men. Only Lemuel seemed immune. At times he was even rude to her, the only time the mild-mannered Lemuel had shown any kind of anger. Villens was polite, but tried to avoid her, although he was the main object of her attention. Don Hernando was kind to the girl, but his attention was on her mother, so he rarely noticed the daughter.

Señora’s son, Father Martìn, was a serious man who was waiting for some gray to lightly dust his hair so he could become august. He spent long private hours practicing augustnicity, as he thought of it. He stayed at the Valenzuela home for two days and then left volunteering to return the personal items of Cupido’s slain companions. Mrs. O’Brien couldn’t help wondering if he’d left because he’d run out of excuses for not eating in the kitchen. He didn’t seem like a priest who doted on pastoral duty. Lucinda took an instant dislike to the cleric and expressed the hope that he would go bald before he became a Bishop. It was Lucinda’s strong belief that behind the dignified bearing and elegant looks of the priest was little more than vanity and ambition. “So he’ll be a Cardinal then,” was Rose’s response, she being the religious skeptic of the family. During her WIDLING year she was pestered by a particularly annoying Benedictine who took undue interest in counseling young widows. Pau offered to have a word with him, but she choose to employ a carefully aimed knee and he quickly lost interest in the state of her soul and her cleavage.

**********************

Ronan and Victor were due back sometime today from the capitol. They’d gone to get glass for the library and to visit their Uncle Eduardo for a few days. He’d been elected Secretary of the National Convention, but as the convention was caught in a wrangle over regional representation, he’d have plenty of time to show his nephews around. Eduardo arranged for them to be awarded medals in a private ceremony with the recently promoted Field Marshall Rojas for their actions in the ambush of Morales, which was now known as La Captura de la Zorro. Victor was offered a Lieutenancy, but he politely requested if he could discuss the matter first with his family. The Field Marshall agreed, and gave the men the medals earned by the other family members, including posthumous awards for Big James and Little Jimmy Bryant.

After the ceremony, Eduardo took Ronan and Victor to dinner and chastised Victor for not accepting the offer immediately. “I don’t want to be in the army,” said Victor simply. “I’ve had a taste of it and I don’t enjoy killing men.” Eduardo was beside himself. He’d been hinting around for a commission since he’d arrived at the capitol, but the Field Marshall insisted that he was cut out for politics, not the military. Eduardo was moody during dinner, but he brightened when the three men went to a club where they listened to music, drank wine, and danced with stylish women who were friends of Constance Rojas, the Field Marshall’s niece and Eduardo’s guest. Constance kept a short lead on Eduardo, but Victor and Ronan were popular with the girls and danced with several partners.

The next morning, while the men were waiting for the glass to be loaded, a message came from Eduardo. He had forgotten to give them a letter for Maria. If they could stop by his office at the hotel, he would appreciate it. They did so and a servant met them at the door with the letter. He passed on Eduardo’s apology that he was in an important meeting and could not be disturbed. They shrugged, Victor tucked the letter into his jacket pocket, and they headed home. If all went well, they’d be home for dinner. They passed the long, slowl ride by comparing their dance partners and wondering what the family would say Eduardo’s guest. Maria had kept silent about Eduardo’s letter to her, and most of the family thought they were still nearly engaged. Maria certainly had no such illusions.

*******************

After breakfast, around seven-thirty, lessons started. Mrs. O’Brien, Maria, Rose, and Lucinda had put their heads together and decided that the children need some structured education. Until then, the children of the family had read whatever was around, and picked up this and that from the adults, but it was time for the little ones to have lessons. The group assessed the strengths of the various adults about the place and decided that a tutor was unnecessary. Finn, Daniel, Michael, Margaret, and Fiona were to attend lessons Monday through Friday. Mariel and Theresa, eight and six, respectively, were excused from formal lessons, but as they could already read, they were expected to read everyday. Ethna and Ronan received private instruction in Science and Math from Maria and Villens, and in Geography and History by Don Hernando.

The faculty of the O’Brien Institute, as Finn named it, (he called it the O’Brien Correctional Institute when only the kids were around), was made up of Maria for natural science, Villens for Math and Physics, Lemuel for Literature, and Don Hernando for History and Geography. Rose suggested deportment classes for the young ladies, but Maria vetoed the idea unless the young men also attended. Mrs. O’Brien suggested that occasional lectures on an “as needed” basis had worked for Rose and Lucinda, and should be adequate for their daughters.

After breakfast, Lemuel hurried to the old library to continue his lesson on “Paradise Lost.” He was excited because he was certain he had found way to convince the children that Satan wasn’t the hero. Don Hernando dodged Lemuel, then pulled Maria aside in the small sitting room. “I’ve been trying to have a word with you, but we’ve both been so busy,” he said.

“That’s true. I haven’t seen you so active in years,” answered Maria.

“Well, there’s so much to do. The library building, the bridge, our guests,” he said.

“You have been spending a great deal of time with Señora de la Vega,” teased Maria.

“She has always been a charming women,” admitted Don Hernando. “I only wish that she wasn’t here under such a cloud.”

“I don’t expect Cupido to last much longer,” said Maria. “Although I did not expect him to live this long, so who knows.”

“Who knows, indeed,” said Don Hernando. “I think it would be best if he were to let go. I think his body is simply operating without purpose other than to function. It’s time for him to go, but his body drives on. It cannot last.”

“How will Señora de la Vega take his death?”

“Like a rock. She and I are in agreement about his condition,” said the Don.

“What about Cecilia?,” asked Maria.

Hernando shook his head slowly. “There is not a big enough stage for the scene she will preform. I expect at least three fainting spells and a throwing herself on the coffin at the funeral. Angelica, that is to say Señora de la Vega, has promised to lash her to a seat at the funeral to avoid a scene.”

“I hope she has a stout rope,” said Maria.

They laughed, and Maria was pleased beyond measure that her father had reentered the world. She knew that she had Señora de la Vega, Angelica, to thank for bringing him back to life.

After briefly discussing a few small household matters, Don Hernando finally arrived at the purpose of his discussion with his daughter. He wanted to know if she would like the damaged library turned into a laboratory. Maria was ecstatic. The library would give her about four times as much space. Her study was overflowing with specimens and she had almost no room for experiments. Maria then mentioned that she was thinking about a greenhouse. Don Hernando said that he would think about building a greenhouse, but he wasn’t sure if this was a good time to build one. Maria quickly withdrew the request and assured him that it was only an idea and it could surely wait.

*************

When the kitchen emptied out, Mrs. O’Brien, Rose, and Lucinda had a quiet cup of tea before clearing the breakfast dishes. With the girls in lessons, the washing up fell on the women, but they felt it was fair exchange. This quiet time allowed the sisters and their mother to visit and to share opinions about the happenings around the busy house. Rose raised the subject of their baby brother Eduardo’s abandonment of Maria for life in the capitol. “I always thought they’d go together,” she said. “But he flew off to the capitol without a word to any of us for nearly a week.”

“And then his letter to mother didn’t even mention Maria,” added Lucinda.

“I never could see those two together,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “He wanted a society wife. Maria could be one, but then she wouldn’t be Maria anymore, would she”

“Why do you think she spent time with Eddie?,” Rose asked.

“Lonely, I suppose,” said Lucinda and Mrs. O’Brien agreed.

“Well, she’s not lonely any more,” said Rose.

“Not with Lieutenant Villens around, that’s for sure,” replied Lucinda.

“They make a charming couple,” said Rose. “So tall and elegant. He has such lovely manners.”

“And such broad shoulders,” said Mrs. O’Brien.

“And he will soon have lovely clothes to match!,” laughed Lucinda.

“Indeed he shall,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “You girls outdid yourself.”

“You should have seen the little ones,” said Rose. “I do believe every one of them has a crush on Villens. If we asked them to draw a picture of a prince and princess, all the princesses would be self-portraits and all the princes would look like Villens.” They all laughed. Rose sliced pieces of cake. The dishes could wait.

“Well, it’s only fair,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “Maria has charmed the men in this family since she was a young girl. First all my boys were in love with her. Then Victor and Ronan were entranced. Have you seen the way Finn stares at her? The twins can barely talk when she is in the room. Even little Declan ‘s eyes widen when she is nearby. Your father said she was the loveliest young thing that wasn’t named O’Brian.” The sisters smiled at the careful compliment and the recollection of their father.

“I wonder that Lemuel isn’t under her spell,” said Lucinda teasingly.

“You be quiet, Lucinda,” said Mrs. O’Brien, who watched out for Rose. Lucinda was apt to tease a bit roughly and Rose didn’t always know how to defend herself. This time though, Rose was ready.

“I doubt he even notices her,” she said reaching into her pocket. She pulled out a small rose delicately carved from oak salvaged from the rebuilding project. “Lemuel made this for me. We have been seeing quite a bit of each other. He’s a special man and I have reason to suspect he thinks I’m special also.”

Mrs. O’Brien and Lucinda admired the carving, which was wonderfully executed, and wondered how they hadn’t noticed Lemuel’s interest in Rose.

*********************

Lemuel ended his lesson early when he noticed that the twins were doodling portraits of a heroically muscled Satan rising majestically from the Lake of Fire. He was shaking a massive fist at Heaven, where pathetic angels in weedy robes peeked out from behind fluffy clouds. Finn also contributed to the difficulty by asking awkward questions about the idea of it being better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven. As a younger brother, he saw the point. Margaret was puzzled why God hadn’t simply destroyed Satan and wondered if was only English angels that fight. Lemuel considered abandoning the poem and moving on to A Pilgrim’s Progress as an antidote, but decided that would be horopecic.

When Don Hernando heard the children leaving their lesson, he slipped in to catch Lemuel. He had also been trying to talk with Lemuel privately for quite a while, but having houseguests and a construction project on-going had kept them both occupied. He asked Lemuel why he looked so glum and Lemuel explained his difficulty. “It’s the fault of the Protestant King murderers,” said Hernando dismissively. “What can expect< If you want heros, read the story of El Cid.” Lemuel agreed to consider the idea.

“What I really wanted to talk about is your future, Lemuel,” said the Don settling into a chair by the window. “Come sit with me for a few minutes and tell me of your plans.”

Lemuel pulled a chair over to the Don and stared out the window for a while. When he began, he spoke haltingly, unaccustomed to sharing his thoughts. “I have been thinking about the future, that’s true,” he began. “As you know, I returned to my home in the grass, but it’s not the same. I found a peaceful refuge there for years, but it nearly cost me my mind and my life. Thanks to your kindness and ... the kindness of others... I have been drawn back into the world. My rebirth was a bloody one ... “

“As was mine,” interjected Don Hernando.

“... but perhaps that is what was required. I don’t know. But I do know that I want to be a part of the world, here, with people I have come to respect, to admire, ... to love.”

“I’m pleased to hear this, my boy,” said Don Hernando beaming. “Particularly as it fits in with my idea of how to repay you for actions in defense of my home and family.” Lemuel shook his head and waved a hand disparagingly. “No, no, you risked your life,” insisted Don Hernando. “That is a debt that cannot be waved away. It is a debt of honor that I will repay gladly.”

Lemuel was about to speak, but Don Hernando held up a silencing finger. “I have thought about what a man needs to be happy. He needs satisfying work, an income the frees him from worry, and a family to love. I would like to give you the first two and put myself at your service in any way to assist with the last.” Lemuel seemed to be struggling between withdrawing and interest. Don Hernando reached out and patted him on the knee. “It’s alright. I know this a great deal to consider, but it’s time for you to take on responsibilities. You know this. You said as much.” Lemuel nodded briskly in agreement.

“Here is my plan,” said Don Hernando. “I would like you to be my secretary with the primary function of relocating my Annumpi collection to the new library. I will pay you forty reals per annum, paid quarterly. I am willing to advance you to ten reals. I will also do whatever I can to help you and Rose make a life for yourselves, starting with use of a cottage I will build for you and the children.” Having, he thought, neatly wrapped up Lemuel’s future, Don Hernando sat back and awaited Lemuel’s answer.

The mention of Rose in such a matter of fact way caused Lemuel’s emotions to surge and nearly overwhelm him. He thought that he had kept his feelings for Rose hidden from everyone, even Rose. Especially Rose. If Don Hernando could see through him, did everyone know his secret? Had he made a fool of himself before everyone?

Don Hernando could see his distress and stepped in to rescue him. “You were not indiscreet, son. Angelica, Señora de la Vega, spotted it. She has a sense about these things. I thought that you were in love with Maria, but the Señora laughed at me and told me I was being an old fool.” Hernando smiled when he remembered the chastisement, as he always did when remembering time spent with Angelica. “She told me that any woman with a brain could see that you were in love with Rosa. Are you?,” Don Hernando asked. “If it helps, Angelica is confident that Rose in love with you.”

“Yes,” was all that Lemuel could say. He looked terrified.

“Does she know?,” asked Don Hernando.

Lemuel thought about the Señora’s remark. She must know, he now realized, for Rose had brains. “I have not told her in so many words,” he said, thinking of the carved rose.

“Well, it’s about time,” said Don Hernando rising to feet and clapping onto Lemuel’s uninjured hand. He pulled him over to the window and began to point out plots of land. Lemuel knew the Don was speaking, but he couldn’t understand a word. He struggled to gather himself and push down the panic welling up inside him. Being in the world was difficult.

****************

When Rose left the kitchen, the door had barely closed before Lucinda blurted out, “Lemuel? I know Rose has a soft spot for the wounded and orphaned, but that Lemuel is a strange one.”

Mrs. O’Brien answered, “He has had a strange life, but that is not the same as being a strange one. He has come out of his shell since the attack. He’s trying. What more can one ask?”

“Where will they live?,” asked Lucinda. “Don Hernando has kindly allowed her and her children to live here since Declan was lost, but it’s an imposition on the Don’s generosity to live here as a married family.”

“Like you and Miguel,” replied Mrs. O’Brien, irritated at her daughter’s questions.

“We work for Don Hernando in exchange for rent,” said Lucinda stiffly.

“Which is your business, and I don’t see Rose questioning it,” said Mrs. O’Brien in a tone that indicated the matter was concluded.

“What shall they live on?,” Lucinda continued, still sMartìng from the mention of her housing arrangements. “He doesn’t have a penny.”

“Remind me again how much money Miguel brought to your marriage,” her mother replied. It was up to Lucinda to either absorb the blows or drop the subject.

“The children,” Lucinda said, switching areas of attack. “What about the children?”

“Margaret fusses over him like a mother hen when she isn’t dreaming about Villens. Declan follows him around begging for stories. Ethna is practically a woman and will be happy with anyone who makes Rose happy. I see no problems with the children.”

Lucinda opened her mouth the speak, but Mrs. O’Brien cut her off. “Lemuel is a comencho. As for the rest of Rose’s family, anyone who objects to Lemuel will answer to me.”

Lucinda closed her mouth and put away the pot she had finished drying. She had to admit that Lemuel was a good man. She had to.

****************

Ethna and Ronan’s studies were interrupted by the cries of the youngsters tearing across the lawn toward the stables. “Looks like Lemuel dismissed the little miscreants early again,” sighed Villens. “That’s enough for now,” he said, “Although I’d like it if you two would spend some time working on the proofs I assigned you. You are escaping early, you know. We’ll work through them tomorrow.” The cousins picked up their slates and slipped down the back stairs to avoid the crush of the kids on the main stairs.

“Let’s take a walk by the river,” said Ronan. “It’s a nice day.” Ethna agreed and they stashed their slates in an unused stall before walking across the gravel of the stable yard to the path that lead to the river. They passed the bridge and waved to Pau who was attaching a ribbon across the span of the bridge on the far side. A matching ribbon blocked access to the bridge on the near side. After lunch, a ceremony was planned to open the bridge. Don Hernando had insisted on the ribbon cutting even though most of the others thought it was a silly idea. The kids, however, where excited and had even formed a makeshift band to play at the event. Ethna and Ronan walked for a while, soaking up the warm sun and watching the river bounce over the rounded rocks. It was hard to believe that this tiny river, not much more than a stream, had been so destructive just a few short weeks ago.

When they reached the spot where Villens had found the flower, Ethna asked Ronan if he thought much about the battle. Ronan and his younger brother Finn had been at the bridge when Morales’ men had attacked. Ronan said, “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Me either,” said Ethna. “But I think we need to.”

Ronan and Ethna were born two months apart and were so close as children that they were called the Twins, until Daniel and Michael came along with a better claim to the title. As they grew older, they survived a crush on one another, and when that faded they remained close, closer than most brothers and sisters.

“It was awful,” said Ronan staring straight ahead. “We saw the soldiers ride up and I thought they were going to ask for food or a drink, but they demanded we send the ferry across. Someone quickly pulled the rope from the block which made the soldiers angry. The pulled their pistols and fired. Two of Miguel’s cousins were hit. Finn and I dragged them to safety behind a barricade we’d built. Pistol balls flew all around us.”

“When we made it to the barricade, shots started from behind those big rocks across the road from the bridge. It was just like Big James had said it would be. Finn and I were the only ones who could fire a rifle. We tried to shoot, but the musket fire had us pinned down. I could see through a crack in the barricade that a soldier was shinnying across the guide rope to get at the ferry. I slipped my rifle through the slot and killed him.”

“The solders on the bank started screaming and firing round after round into the barricade. We hunkered down and waited it out. Then the muskets stopped firing. Finn and I peeked out and saw the soldiers with their backs turned toward us looking at the rocks. We took aim on two of them and killed them. Big James and Little Jimmy popped up from behind the rocks. They must have killed the men behind the rocks and taken the dead men’s loaded guns, because they quickly shot four of the soldiers. The few that were left scattered. Big James waved his hat to me and disappeared. That was the last I saw of him or Little Jimmy.”

Ethna listened without interruption. When he finished, she told him her story. He too didn’t interrupt, but he took her hand and held it tight. When she finished they held each other while they cried. Ethna felt exhausted, but safe, protected by Ronan’s strong arms. The panic she’d struggled to hold back slipped away. The memories remained, and her stomach still tightened when she thought of the guns in the library, but she could control the panic now.

**********************

Villens followed Lemuel’s lead, also dismissing the children early. They would have a half-hour or so before the ceremony and he would have a chance to recover from a severe headache. Why could the children not see that four different answers to an addition problem meant that at least three of them were wrong? He enjoyed working with Ronan and Ethna, but the younger ones were a complete mystery to him. Even when counting on their fingers they came to the wrong answer. How in God’s name could three children subtract five from twelve and get thirteen?

He decided to seek adult company as an antidote to the children. Pau was hanging Don Hernando’s ribbons for the ribbon cutting ceremony. Villens changed into a new suit of clothes and headed down to the bridge. He waved at Pau and they met in the center of bridge. Villens stamped his boot in the exact center, as he always did, and was pleased when a solid thump reverberated from his bridge.

They talked about the bridge and complimented each other on the design and the speed of construction. Then Villens asked Pau if he knew of a place to get iron, a good quantity of iron. Pau thought that the shipyard could supply some, but the mine was the best bet. Villens wondered if the mine would sell iron to them and Pau said they would if Señora de la Vega told them to as she was the majority shareholder. Villens grinned and held out a sketch for Pau to see.

“How would you like to build that?,” he asked.

Pau grinned. “I’d need Finn and Ronan. Victor might even have to help, but, yes, I’d like to build that.”

“Well then let’s build it, but keep it to yourself for a bit,” said Villens. “I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up.”

***********

“Oh, mother, why I must attend this silly bridge opening nonsense?” The petulant whine was immediately identifiable as Cecilia’s trademark verbal sneer. “I’m sure the bridge is quite nice, but it is just a bridge. My only interest in the bridge is that it will allow me to return home more quickly than fording the river.”

“Do try and be human, dear,” said Señora de la Vega, wondering once again what a horrible mother she must have been to have given life to Cecilia and Cupido. One might be an excusable accident, but two? She sighed and wondered how long her boy was going to hang on. He never did know what was good for him. “How callous I have have grown,” she thought. Then she considered the messes that she and her husband had pulled the foolish boy out of time after time. The only lesson he seemed to learn was that he always got pulled out of his messes. Not this time. He’d finally gone too far.

“You’re not even listening to me, mother,” said Cecilia, notching her whine up an octave.

“I was praying for your brother, dear,” she said sweetly.

“But what about me!,” Cecilia objected. “He hasn’t even regained consciousness. You and the old man ....”

“Don Hernando Valenzeula,” interjected the Señora irritably.

“Yes, yes. Your latest conquest. The two of you dragged me away from home with the story that Cupido was dying. It’s been nearly three weeks. Either he isn’t going to die or he’s going to do it incredibly slowly. Either way, I need Eloise here, now! I simply cannot continue without a maid. These servants of the Don’s are incompetent and insubordinate. If that Ethie girl talks back to me again I shall slap her.” Cecilia halted her tirade to take a breath.

“I wouldn’t do that, dear. Ethna killed two men in your brother’s idiotic assault on this house,” said Señora de la Vega casually. “You must realize that the O’Briens are not servants. I suppose they might have been once, but since the death of the Don’s wife, they have become his family. This house is like a large farmhouse in the country with a huge family living in and around it. If you would join us for meals, you would understand how things are.”

“I will never eat with the servants in the kitchen. What if my friends’ found out? How would I explain it to Jorge’s family? Why they might call off the marriage! Oh this hair! I must have Eloise to manage my hair. I simply must have her!” Cecilia tossed a silver plated brush onto the dressing table and began to sob dramatically. She carefully tilted her head to and fro so the tears rolled evenly down one cheek and then the other.

“You are getting married soon, aren’t you, dear?,” asked the Señora, who had closed her eyes and was rubbing her temples with her fingertips. “You could always get pregnant, you know. To speed things up.”

“Mother!,” exclaimed Cecilia.

“Yes, of course not, you might ruin your lovely dress,” said the Señora. I have to get those two married, she thought. Such pretty things without a serious thought between them. When this is over, I must speak with his mother. Perhaps the Don will speak to his father. I will waive the dowry. I will pay the dowry, if needed.

She looked at the clock and saw that it was time to go down and meet Don Hernando for the ribbon cutting ceremony. She glanced in the mirror and saw a woman in her late fifties looking back at her. Considering she had turned seventy in May, she was satisfied. She would have preferred her late thirties, but, but a miracle was unlikely given that she wasn’t on the best of terms terms with the Church. “Come, dear,” she said to Cecilia. “We mustn’t keep everyone waiting.”

“I have a headache,” announced Cecilia, switching to petulance. “I’m going to lie down.”

“Do, dear,” the Señora replied. “I’m sure all that dressing and hair brushing has exhausted you.” The Señora had no difficulty nonnicing her family when they practically begged for it.

*************************

Don Hernando had seen Ethna and Ronan and he suspected what they were talking about. He knew that they both were shaken up by their recent experiences. He liked Ronan, but he wasn’t close to him. Pau and Vera, his parents, would take care of him. Ethna, however, was another story. He recognized so much of Maria in her and so much of Isabella, Maria’s mother, as well. When her father died, Maria and Don Hernando had reached out to her. Rose was at a loss to help her oldest daughter. Ethna was so different from her. Maria remembered the loss of her mother and soon the two were inseparable. The Don had come to think of Ethna as his other daughter. When she was little, he would call her his cuckoo and tell her that she was his daughter dropped in someone else’s nest.

When Ethna left Ronan to return to the house, Don Hernando leaned out of the window and called to her. She joined him in the sitting room and he asked how she was doing. She said she was fine and he didn’t pursue the matter. Instead he decided to talk about the future.

“Villens tells me that you were quite interested in the plant he stumbled upon,” said the Don.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, eager to change the subject. “I think plants are fascinating. Maria and I would like go collecting soon. Villens has said he will accompany us.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” said the Don. “But I’d like you to consider something else.” Ethna leaned forward in her chair and focused on Don Hernando with undisguised interest. Don Hernando always admired how she would never play the coquette.

“Would you like to assist Lemuel to relocate and catalogue the library?,” he asked. “You would, of course, be paid for your efforts.”

“I would love to!,” Ethna cried and she threw her arms around Don Hernando. He laughed and hugged her in return.

“Of course, once the repairs are made you could shift over to the new lab and assist Maria. There may even be something to do with plants later on,” the Don added.

“I can’t wait,” Ethna said. “Does Maria know?”

Before he could answer, Señora de la Vega entered the room and warned that they’d be late for the ceremony if they didn’t leave right away. Ethna leapt out of her chair and laced her arm through the Señora’s. Angelica peeked over Ethna’s shoulder at Don Hernando who was beaming at Ethna’s excitement. The Señora shrugged and let Ethna guide her to the bridge, all the while listening to Ethna talk excitedly about her plans for the lab and the library.

**********************

Everyone gathered around the rebuilt bridge in the unseasonal warmth and bright sunshine. Pau made a very short speech about how he’d never been so proud of everyone as he was when working on this fine bridge. Mrs. O’Brien talked about the bridge that was there when she was a child and how it swayed and bounced when you rode a horse over it. Villens thanked Don Hernando for allowing him to design the bridge, all the O’Briens for their tireless efforts, and Maria for inspiring him to complete the bridge without accidents. Everyone laughed and applauded, but Maria was uncertain what Villens was getting at. She was sure that something was going on, but she didn’t know what. Maria didn’t like the feeling. Not knowing annoyed her.

Don Hernando had pulled out two pairs of scissors from his jacket pocket when Rose and Lucinda called to him to wait. The children’s band had not performed yet. The Don apologized for his oversight and returned the scissors to his pocket. Little Ossian stepped out of the tangle of children. It’s possible he was pushed. At four years old and missing his front teeth, he was chosen to introduce the band by Margaret, in a callous appeal to cuteness. The assembled crowd hushed as the band pushed and shoved and sorted themselves out. Ossian stood calmly in the front of the band sucking his thumb. When the band was ready Margaret hissed at Ossian to go on and introduce them. He turned to look at her, having completely forgotten what to say. She loudly whispered, “Ladies and Gentleman - the O’Brien Musical Academy Performing Band.” Ossian pulled his thumb out of his mouth and said, “Ban.” Daniel and Michael began to pound on iron pots and the performance was on.

No one could agree on what they’d played, but everyone agreed the children played loudly. Since the instruments were homemade, percussion dominated, although the older girls had fashioned wind instruments from dried reeds. Ossian joyfully clanged a triangle Pau had made for him. When the piece wound down, and the twins had been silenced by the removal of their ladles, it was agreed that musically there was room for improvement, but the band won the Spirit Award. The children cheered and the adults applauded. Maria noticed that Finn was absent. She hoped he wasn’t upset about being caught between the children and adults, as he so often was. He would’t be fifteen forever, she thought.

When the excitement of the performance died down, Don Hernando stepped to the ribbon. “I will not make a speech,” he announced and the cheers drowned out the rest of his words. He waited for the noise to die down and then resumed. “I would like ask my good friend Señora de la Vega to come up here with me.”

Señora de la Vega looked startled. She clearly had not been expecting this. She carefully set down Ossian, who had climbed into her arms after the performance, and walked over to Don Hernando. “Here I am,” she said. “What should I do?”

The Don smiled at her and explained. “This bridge connects our side of the river to yours, Señora. Sometimes that has been good, sometimes not. Now when I see the this bridge, I see a connection between you and I, and that makes me very happy.” He handed a pair of scissors to her and Señora de la Vega cut the ribbon on the near side. The two walked across the bridge and cut Don Hernando cut the other ribbon. The Señora applauded and turned to him a whisper something. The Señora spoke so softly that only Lucinda heard, but that was enough. “I hope you often use this bridge to come and see me, Hernando,” she said and she kissed him.

Cecilia was watching the ceremony from her window through mother of pearl opera glasses. When her mother kissed the old man in front of everyone, she started to faint. Then she remembered she was alone and muttered, “Damn,” with easy familiarity. "This is so smied."

In the silence that followed the kiss, a loud thwock resounded from the other side of the house. It sound like an axe cutting wood. Everyone was torn between asking about the sound and wanting to hear the whispered conversation on the bridge between the Don and the Señora. Another thwock seemed to shake everyone from their dazed state. “Don Hernando?,” asked Villens. “Shall we?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Hernando. “Please lead the way, Villens.”

“Follow me, everyone, if you please,” said Villens and the race was on.

The children didn’t wait to follow anyone. They heard the noise and were homing in on it. Ronan and Ethna scooped up Ossian and his six year old sister Theresa and they joined the mad rush. The adults waited for Don Hernando and Señora de la Vega to make their way, arm in arm, to the head of the crowd and then they fell in behind them. Lucinda and Rose held back to talk about the shocking kiss. Mrs. O’Brien shocked them further when she commented that Samuel Rodriguez, the cobbler, had been showing his interest in her. He’d molded her shoes specially to fit her bunions. “Maybe word this’ll give him a kick in the rump and get him moving,” she said. “I won’t be well-preserved forever you know.”

As the crowd rounded the house, Finn came into view. He was pounding a large wooden stake into the ground. He’d already set numerous stakes and when he set this final one, he looked over his work, comparing it to a drawing on a piece of paper. Satisfied with his work, he shoved the paper in his pocket and rested the hammer on his shoulder. Villens stepped into the staked area and raised his arms to quiet the crowd. Everyone stopped talking and waited for Villens to explain. Don Hernando nodded at him to go on, so he began

“Friends, I have a special surprise to share with you today. It is my pleasure to announce that you are looking at the site of the finest greenhouse in New Spain. Finn has very exactly placed pegs where the corners of the building will stand.”

Maria gasped. The greenhouse would be huge. Villens was looking straight at her and she felt like he was talking to her alone.

“Don Hernando has asked me to design it. Señora de la vega has kindly offered to share the cost. Pau and Miguel and their crews will build it. Maria will fill it with beauty and science,” he paused then seemed to remember where he was. “Don Hernando, Señora de la Vega, I cannot thank you enough for this opportunity. May I suggest the greenhouse be named the Angelica de la Vega Botanical Gardens?”

Señora de la Vega blushed and tried to wave away the suggestion. Don Hernando laughed and said, “I had already decided to honor the Señora in such a manner. The only question is her surname.”

Maria started clapping and everyone joined in. Señora whispered to the Don, “Oh Hernando, not here, not on front of everyone. We must talk. We’re not children. Be sensisible.”

Don Hernando silenced the crowd with a raised hand and said, “It seems I have spoken out of turn. We will choose a name later. Now let us eat and drink an declare the rest of the day a holiday.” With this, the freed children roared. Their teachers clapped only a little less uproariously.

“The food is set up in yard,” called Mrs. O’Brien. “Let’s get to it.”

*******************

Villens and Maria found themselves at a table with Rose and Lemuel. They ate and talked and admired the wooden rose Lemuel had carved. Villens suggested that perhaps Lemuel could carve some decorations for the greenhouse. Maria told Rose how Villens had allowed her to think that he was rushing the work on the bridge so that he could leave, while all the time he was plotting to convince her father to build one. She asked if Rose had known about the greenhouse. Rose said that only the Don and Villens must have known or everybody would have known.

While she was talking with Rose, Maria kept glancing at Lemuel. She knew that she needed to apologize for her treatment of him. He had proven himself to be a good man and he clearly was attached to Rose. “Lemuel, do you have a minute?,” she asked.

He had been listening to Villens tell a story about his family, but he turned to her and said, “Of course, Miss Velenzeula.”

“Please call me Maria,” she said. “I have taken the liberty of calling you Lemuel for so long, it is the right thing to do.”

“Maria, it is then. What may do for you, Maria?” Lemuel asked. Rose and Villens observed the scene intently.

“If you are free tomorrow, how would like to come with Villens and myself to investigate that mound where you found the Annumpi artifact?,” Maria asked. “Perhaps Rose can get away also.”

Lemuel smiled broadly. “I think I can get away. I have a very understanding boss. What about you, Rose?,” he asked.

“I’d love to. I’ll make a picnic lunch.”

“Isn’t anyone going to invite me?,” asked Villens.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Maria. “After your little game. I’m ordering you to come. Wear old clothes and bring a shovel. Lemuel’s hand is too weak to dig and I won’t do it all myself.”

“Latrine duty it is, ma’am,” said Villens snapping off a professional salute. The couples laughed and then smiled at each other when they realized that they were couples.

***********

Angelica and Hernando had slipped away from the party and found a quiet spot on a side porch overlooking the kitchen garden. They sat on two battered, wicker chairs and sipped cider from champagne flutes. “You should have waited before making your dramatic semi-proposal, Hernando,” Angelica said.

“Is this a rejection then,” Hernando asked.

“Was there a offer to reject?,” she replied. “I know that you and I have been around, Hernando. We have married and had families and buried a spouse. But that does not mean that marriage is an inconsequential thing to be decided on a whim.”

“I’m serious, Angelica,” Hernando said taking the flute out of her hand and holding her hands in his.

She winced and said, “Be easy. I have arthritis in both hands.”

He apologized and loosened his grip.

“I think you may have gotten caught up in the drama of the moment,” she said. “I think you have been working very hard to help everyone over the terrible events that brought us together again. I worry that you are proposing to help me through Cupido’s death which cannot be far off. We have known each such a very long time. If you hadn’t been so shy and I hadn’t been such a shameless flirt, who knows, we might be an old married couple with grandchildren and ....”

“Would we have had Cecilia?,” Hernando asked.

“I doubt it,” said Angelica. “She is exactly like my mother-in-law. How that woman could SPHINGE.”

“You’re right, Angelica,” said Hernando. “I have tried to make things right. It’s my duty as the head of the family. I have mourned too long. It’s unseemly. However you are wrong to think I’ve proposed to you to help you. My inept proposal, which I shall deliver properly, I assure you, my proposal was to help me. Violence shocked me into action, but you have brought me back to life.”

Angelica looked at him and saw the nervous nineteen-year old who wanted to ask her to dance, but could get the words out. She blinked away the memory of how she’d laughed at him. “You’ll have to do propose properly,” Angelica said. “ And that includes a nurse for Cecilia.”

“I will ask you father for your hand this very evening,” said the Don. “He’s buried at St. Ludens’, is he not? Up front, near the altar?”

“You’ve always been an idiot,” Angelica said. “Now give me kiss before any of our nosy children track us down.”