Library Appeal

Hello, Olneyites!

Back in July, Don Mason generated 366 Likes and 127 comments with his post about the Greater Olney Library.

Since then, we've been toying with this idea: Our group – the 4,233 listed members on the Olney page, could be a positive force for Olney, by making a meaningful donation to the Olney branch library.

We are asking you to make a donation to the Olney Branch Library.

Any amount would be helpful. Our combined donations could easily add up to a generous gift.

It’s easy to donate.
Go to https://libwww.freelibrary.org/donate/giving.cfm
Go to “Direct Your Gift.”
Select “My Neighborhood Library.”
Scroll down and select the Greater Olney Branch.

All of your donation will go directly to the Greater Olney Branch Library. Your gift will be confidential, seen only by the library staff.

We realize that there are many deserving causes in the Olney/Philadelphia area. Don’s post showed us that helping the Olney Library is a good place to start.

The library was there for us, let's help it be there for others.

Maureen Kerwin Drinkard and Ken McFarlane    

A confession

One of the consequences of being reflexively oppositional is gaps in my reading. One of the books I've avoided because I've been told so often I must read it is "To Kill A Mockingbird." I finally read it over the past few days. Twice. I will read it many more times. I'd even join a book club, if an intelligent group of people agreed to discuss it. Ok, I probably wouldn't join the book club, but will read it many times, think about it often, and try to write a sentence or two worthy of it. I guess "Catcher in the Rye" is next.

The hero of "To Kill a Mockingbird"

I'm toying with the idea that the hero(s) of "To Kill a Mockingbird" is not Atticus Finch, but Boo and Sheriff Heck Tate. Boo strikes down Bob Ewell and Tate, over Atticus' objections, shapes the story of the killing to protect Boo. The evil, represented by Ewell, is untouched by Atticus' nobility and social conscience. It takes the recluse, the damaged man living outside society, and Sheriff Tate (who admits to Atticus that he "is not a good man" to kill and bury Ewell. Atticus' virtues can only protect the town and his children from the first mad dog.

More on "To Kill a Mockingbird"

The heart of the story is the realization that law and rationality is powerless against "the rigid and time honored codes of our society." 

"Tom had been given due process of the law to the day of his death; he had been tried openly and convicted by twelve good men and true; my father had fought for him all the way. Then Mr. Underwood's meaning became clear: Atticus had used every tool available to a free man to save Tom Robinson, but in the secret courts of men's hearts Atticus had no case. Tom was a dead man the minute Mayella Ewell opened her mouth and screamed."

The cat Whisperer and Kumquats from Tangiers

So I go to the pet store, park next to the owner’s Jaguar my monthly cat food and treats bill is paying for, and I ask about Purina Kumquat and Quiona cat food. He says he’s got some in the back. A few minutes later he comes out with a 20 pound bag of Purina Cat Chow. Written in red marker is   “Kumquat and Quinoa.”

       “How many do you need?” he asks.

          I tell him I need three, but that’s not the issue right now. “Why is Kumquat and Quiona written in red on a regular Purina Cat Chow bag?”

       “What’d you mean?” he says.

        I said,”Look at it. Somebody wrote ‘Kumquat and Quiona’ on that Purina Cat Chow bag.”

       So he looked at the bag and said, “Well, sure. At the plant. It’s somebody’s job. This is a special order mix.They use regular bags and write ‘Kumquat and Quiona’ on the bag. It’s a special order. From Tangiers. Best Kumquats in the world are from Tangiers. What? You need three?”

         Now I’m intrigued. “What about the Quiona?” I ask.

       “I’ll be honest with you,” he says. “It’s only so-so. But the Kumquats make up for it. Best Kumquats in the world are from Tangiers.”

       Then I notice that the price of $29.75 is crossed out and $43.50 in written in red marker. “Whoa. Hold on there,” I said. “Why is this stuff so expensive?” 

      “Well, you know, it’s a special order. Kumquat and Quiona. Kumquat’s from Tangiers. Best in the world.”

      “I guess,” I said, “but it still seems kinda high.”

       “Well, I mean, Tangiers is way, um, way over, ahh, you know, there.” He waved two fingers in a direction I think was NorthWest. 

        “But the price printed on the bag is crossed out and the higher price is written over in red marker.”

        “Like I said, it’s a special order. That’s the Purina special order pricing system.”

        “A red marker?”

         “Or blue sometimes, yeah. I’m almost positive these bags are hand-labelled in Tangiers by Tangerines. Very rare these bags. You can sell the empty bags on eBay to Purina collectors.”

          So what could I do? The cats had allergies and this was the food they needed. While the owner went to get two more bags, I used my phone to transfer some money into my checking account from my mom’s nursing home account. Then I made a note to transfer her to a cheaper place. I'm sure they've fixed up that one that was on the news last year.

         I loaded up the food, tossed in a dozen catnip stuffed toy mice and nine batteries for the laser pointer. Mom will understand. She had three cats in a one bedroom apartment when she had me.

Excepts from "Families," a novel available for free on iTunes.(First three chapters online, next five on the way.)

     Ten short excerpts from my novel, "Families," are on another blog "A ten-year-old in Olney, 1968."

http://olneyfamilies.blogspot.com/

Winter Wonderland (Winter of 2014 version)

(To the tune of Winter Wonderland)

School is closed
Kids are twitching
In the street, cars are slipping
A miserable blight
Is upon us tonight
Bitching 'bout this frozen, snowy land

This is a real conundrum
who moved all our houses to the tundra?
This sub-zero cold
Is getting real old
Bitching 'bout this frozen, snowy land

In the city, there are ten foot snow drifts
You can't park your car when they're around
Your garage is covered
with more snow drifts
Leave you car in the street
Just shut it down

Power out
House is freezing
Frozen pipes will soon be leaking
It's warmer tonight
under Northern Lights
Bitching 'bout a frozen, snowy land.

In the yard, kids built a snowman
Looks just like our mailman, Mr. Brown
The kids said they didn't build a snowman
Come quick, we've got to save Mr. Brown

Some folks say
Snow is thrilling
They're the ones
Making a killing
Renting vacation homes
In warm weather zones
Bitching 'bout a frozen, snowy land
Bitching 'bout a frozen snowy land

Baseball Cards from Heaven

Helen, Kate (Steven’s mother), and Steven (10 years old) are walking down Tabor on their way home from something or other. It’s a little after 9, late June 1968, not yet dark. 

     Helen was animatedly telling a story that had Kate laughing so hard she doubled up and had to stop walking. The story was about something that happened to Helen in High School, and Steven had lost interest. He was running a little way ahead, chasing the first fireflies of the summer, when a speeding car jerked to the curb and slammed to a stop. The smell of bubble gum crept over Steven, as three men in their late teens hopped out of the car. The men were laughing wilding, shoving and punching each other.

      “We showed that asshole, din’t we,” bellowed the tallest one.

       “He’s lucky we din’t lay him out,” roared a smaller, thick set man. “Him riding us like that all the time.”

       “That piece of shit think’s he’s God and that working on the line at Fleer’s is the best job ever,” said the third.

    “Yeah, well,” said the first guy. “He’s gonna have to work the damn line himself with us three quit.”

      Steven eased back toward Helen and Kate who stepped on either side of him and eyed the three men suspiciously. The men saw the women and stopped, the first one’s hand pulling the door of the Tabor Lounge half open. Music and loud voices spilled out of the bar. A sour beer smell mixed with the bubble gum aroma.  

    “You ladies like a drink?” asked the quietest of the three men. “The party’s on us.” 

    “Thanks anyway, boys,” said Kate. “We’re on our way home.”

      The thick set man stepped forward blocking the sidewalk. “Oh come on,” he said. “It’s early. A beer or two won’t kill you.”

     Helen stepped forward, her face clouded with anger. 

     Before she or the thick set man could speak, the other two men grabbed the man’s shoulders and shoved him into the bar.

     “He don’t mean nothing,” said the tall man, raising his palms toward Helen and stepping back to give her room. “We all just quit a really lousy job and we’re a little worked up. No harm done, right?”

Helen nodded agreement slowly, but was still angry. Kate and Steven had joined her and the three started to walk away.

    “Wait a minute,” cried the third man. They turned to see him reaching into the backseat of the car. He pulled out a large, flat rectangle of cardboard, about two by three feet. In the dim light, Steven could see that something was printed on the cardboard, but he could make out the details.

    The man walked up to Steven and held the sheets toward him. “You collect baseball cards?” he asked.

    Steven nodded. 

    “Here you go,” the man said, and he pressed the cardboard into Steven’s hands.

    Steven tilted the cardboard toward the light of the Schaefer’s and Ballantine signs that hung in the bar’s window. He was stunned. Orange and blue neon light  played over uncut sheets of Fleer’s baseball cards. He stared at the two men who were smiling back at him, not so far removed from being ten-years-old boys that they couldn’t recognize the amazement Steven was feeling.

    “Thank you,” said Steven in a hushed voice, his eyes fixed on the sheets.

     “Enjoy them, kid,” said the tall man, turning to enter the bar.  He looked at Kate and said with a shrug, “They fell into our car when we quit that dump.”

      Kate put her arm around Steven and led him away toward home. Helen stayed for a moment, considering the two men who returned her frank look. “Watch out for your friend tonight,” she said. “He’s really wound up.”

     “We always do,” said quiet man. “Somebody has to.”

Going Victorian On You

      For some years, I thought about writing a novel, which makes me the one in my little group of one in four Americans. I'd read another book and thought once again that I could do as well, but I could never get past the fact that here was several hundred pages printed by a publishing company and sold to me by Amazon, and I was in my extra bedroom staring at a blank screen with the number one in the footer. A good writing day was deciding on center or right justify for the page number. (I'm still open to suggestions on this.) I never really started my novel, but I certainly stopped many, many times.

       In the midst of a long period of not writing, a strange confluence of events brought me to the point where I've made a good start and am working fairly regularly. The first is that I spent most of several pleasant summer days on my back porch plotting the entire book in a notebook using my favorite Lamy pen. I'd never gotten all of the pieces out of my head at one time and suddenly I could see that there was a book somewhere in all that mess. I've completed six chapters (about 150 pages), and my original notes are unrecognizable in the written story, but they provided a structure to get me started, to give me something to put on all those empty pages. 

      The second and third pieces were the result of the strange thinking that happens in my brain for which I cannot claim responsibility. I can only see the result and wonder how it happened. In this instance, I was browsing through the Apps Store, wondering what new strange, silly, and obsessively mundane little gems people had put together. I came across iBook, which I wrongly assumed was an app to help organize and structure novel writing. I downloaded it. I could have read the info about it, but then I would be a different person.

      I quickly discovered that iBook gave you access to publishing your book in the iTunes Bookstore. I played with it for a while, but, not having a completed novel, didn't publish anything. Then some synapses twisted in a new series of connections, there was a whiff of burnt cinnamon, and my brain spit out, "'The Moonstone' and all Dickens' novels were serialized. He and Wilkie would have loved iBooks. Write it, publish in the bookstore, write some more, publish a new version, repeat until completed." (It turned out that the burnt cinnamon was from a left over pecan roll I was heating up and forgot about, and had nothing to do with my brain. I was relieved by the discovery.) 

       So I stopped writing the silly adventure story I'd been playing with, and started "Families." I've now posted the first five chapters in the iBookstore and the sixth is nearly ready. About a dozen people have downloaded either "The Memoirs of Finn O'Brien" and/or "Families." They are, of course, family and friends, live and online, but knowing that someone has bothered to get them is motivation to continue. I'm not complaining, really I'm not, but it would be nice I heard from any of them about the book. I have chosen to assume that they have been overwhelmed by its brilliance and rendered speechless, as opposed to being appalled and embarrassed for me. 

       So that's it. Victorian weeklies or monthlies combined with iBooks and iTunes set me on way. My novel is expanding as I write. The characters don't always do what I want or they object to what their told. There is still a plan to guide these people to a conclusion, but that ending has already changed radically, so I wouldn't bet on what I have in my notes being the last word. Now I've procrastinated enough and need to get back to correcting chapter six. The phone call between Edward and Helen needs work.

A fictional trip to the Universal Bookstore in Olney

This is a rough draft of a trip to the Universal Bookstore. It will probably go into Chapter 7. The Characters are:

Agnes: owner of apartments.
Helen: her niece, in her early twenties, starting Grad school at Penn
Kate: lives in apartment below Agnes and is very close to her,
Steven: Kate's 10 year old son, starting 5th grade at Morrison Elementary in the fall.
Tony: Friend of Steven

Summer, 1968

“Anybody want to go the bookstore?” called Helen through the open door of Kate’s apartment.

“We’re busy with the slipcovers,” said Kate from the bedroom where she and Agnes had laid the fabric on the bed and were marking the pattern.

“Can I go?” asked Steven. He’d bought a few books on the Civil War at the Universal Bookstore on Fifth Street. He loved to wander through the narrow aisles and let his eyes play across the books until something caught his eye. 

“If it’s ok with your Mom,” said Helen.

“Go already,” said Kate. “He’s been wandering around looking for something to do, driving us crazy.”

Agnes called Steven into the bedroom and gave him a ten dollar bill. “Buy us a pizza for dinner,” she said, “and if there’s enough change, buy yourself a book.”

“What book are you going to get?” asked Steven, as they turned the corner past the Library and crossed Fifth. 

“I ordered two books from Germany. One is about Nineteenth century German women who came to America. The other is a history of the part of Germany my family comes from.”

Helen walked inside, but Steven stopped to scan the windows displays on either side of the door. There were neatly arranged stacks of “Airport,” “Testimony of Two Men,” and “Topaz” in one window. The other held smaller stacks of  “Couples,” “Myra Breckenridge,” “The Confessions of Nat Turner,” and “Tunc.” The brightly colored covers drew him back to the “Airport” display.

“That’s trash,” said a brusque, Germanic voice. “That window is for the trash I have to sell to keep food on my table. Come inside, Stefan, I remember you. The Civil War boy. Maybe I have something new for you.”

Steven was startled to be recognized and remembered. He blurted out, “I’m with Helen. She’s inside. I’m not doing anything.”

“It’s alright, boy, calm down. You’re fine. Let’s go inside. My coffee is getting cold.”

Steven opened the door and tripped the small brass bells that notified the owners whenever anyone entered or exited. Mr. Richter followed him into his shop.

“There he is,” said a heavy set woman with cat’s eye glasses and a pencil piercing her lopsided bun constructed from her long, thick, graying hair. “He went next door to the deli to get coffee an half hour ago, and he’s finally returned.” With this, she turned and retreated through a narrow door in the rear of the shop.

“I talk to people,” Mr. Richter said with a shrug. He took both of Helen’s hands in his. “My new friend. It is so nice to meet such an intelligent and beautiful young lady who is wise enough to read German books.”

Helen laughed, and thanked him for the speedy delivery.

“It wasn’t me,” he said, “I mailed the orders to the publisher's New York offices and the books were shipped from Germany. You should thank the Post Office.”

Steven had a difficult time following the conversation. Mr. Richter’s English was heavily accented. He and Helen also slipped into German occasionally. At one point, Steven noticed that he was standing near the nudist magazines. He quickly stepped away from the rack so that Helen wouldn’t think he was looking at them. The only other place he’d seen nudist magazines out the open was at the German butcher shop near the train station on Tabor. He wondered sometimes if Germans were all Nazi’s or nudists.

The conversation between Helen and Mr Richter had grown more intense and was now completely in German. Steven heard names and places he recognized, Nixon, Bobby Kennedy, Johnson, Viet Nam, Russia, and he began to wonder about things he’d heard about the Richters. Tony had said that they were Russian spies from East Germany. Steven had asked him why Russian spies would be in Olney.

“There’s lots of Germans in Olney to help them,” said Tony.

“Help them do what?” replied Steven.

“Be spies,” insisted Tony. “You know, like, kill important people. Like Kennedy was killed.”

“Spies didn’t kill Kennedy,” said Steven.

“My Uncle says Russian spies killed him,” said Tony, belligerently. 

“Steven, wake up. Mr. Richter is talking to you,” said Helen, rapping him on his skull with two fingers.”

Mr. Richter handed a book to Steven. It was about Sherman’s March to Sea. “Read this, and you will never think that war is glorious. It’s for adults, but you can make sense of it if Kate here helps you now and again.”

The book cost $1.75. Steven hesitated. He wasn’t sure he’d have enough left over to buy the pizza. Helen handed Mr. Richter two dollars and said, “My treat. Now let’s get the pizza, I’m hungry.”

Prometheus

He squinted into the rising sun
searching for a dark shadow
slicing through the orange blaze.
There it was, it was always there,
speeding toward him
hurled each morning by Zeus
at the chained Titan.


"Today's eagle looks tattered, a bit shabby,"
thought Prometheus,
as the cruelly curved beak tore
into the thief's scarred abdomen.
There's pain here, sure, but
one grows accustomed, and
nerves, always seeking novelty,
soon tire of reporting familiar assaults.


At night, his ravaged liver mending,
the chained Prometheus turns his head,
his only possible motion,
to watch the fires being lit in the valley
below his blood-splattered rock.
His fires glitter like earthbound stars,
vanquishing the cold and darkness,
fires lit by free people,
unchained from the captivity of the night,
people who hunt eagles
as Prometheus taught them
and roast them over his fire.


He smiles
knowing that the day will come
when there will be no more eagles
to deliver the vengeance of the jealous Gods,
when the gods will be stories
told by people
around his fire.

The Memoirs of Finn O'Brien Villens: Part 8

Between Families

From 1802 - September 1808, I lived with the Villens family and spent my time in classes and military training. After a time, I was appointed to the Army and served in the Household Guard as an aide de camp to Martin or Theodore, as needed. I spent a great deal of time with the General as well. I grew comfortable at the Chateau, but I missed my family and longed for the day I could return to them.

Theodore didn’t tell me much about the constant negotiations that he was party to. Lucien and Martin kept me informed in general terms. It seems that Rodrigo Arguello had returned to his home and immediately began turning his family toward the Morales government. Theodore soon discovered that Rodrigo was working with Eduardo O’Brien to convince the Morales government to gather its allies, thus splitting the Army led by Theodore Villens. According to Martin, all Eduardo wanted was an incident that proved to the neutral families that the Villens felt that were above the law, and then he, Eduardo, could unite the other families under the flag of the pliant Morales family and the combined forces could march on the Villens forces. 

Theodore was confident they could hold off any attack. His intention was to anticipate and blunt any attack through a careful placement of his troops. The General welcomed the attack. he could scarcely contain his excitement. Martin was busy fortifying Puerto Seguro and the roads and bridges that led to Villens territory. I was carrying messages back and forth and wondering if I would have a more active role than messanger boy in the coming fighting. It turns out my role would be be quite different than I imagined.

Early one morning, in September 1807, Martin slipped into my room and woke me. He cautioned me to be silent and signaled that I should get dressed. While I dressed, he gathered my personal items into a sack. He tossed my weapons onto the bed, and I strapped them on. Martin showed me the items he’d collected in the sack. He asked if wanted to take them now, or would I trust him with them. I asked if we were traveling quickly. He said that I would be, so I left the sack with him. 

We made our way silently down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen. A large leather pack sat by the door to the kitchen. I could smell bread and sausages.Shouldering the pack, I slipped through the outside door. The morning air was brisk, the sun not yet risen. Ayala was standing outside the door, his huge hands gripping the reins of three horses. I said I thought I was going alone. Ayala said they would accompany me to the edge of the woods.

We mounted and galloped off to the east riding across open country, avoiding paths and roads. When we reached the edge of the woods, the sun was beginning to rise. Martin dismounted and signaled for us to do the same. Ayala lead the horses to water at a nearby stream, while Martin and I walked a short way into the woods and then sat on a large, flat rock to rest. Martin told me to eat breakfast from the sack, but he refused to join me. Ayala rejoined us, and he also refused to eat from my small supply of food. So I alone drank strong coffee from a flask and ate rolls and sausage, while waiting for Martin to tell me what the hell was going on.

Martin finally broke the silence. He told me what Eduardo and Rodrigo Arguello were up to. Eduardo had convinced several other families that he, Martin, had been a spy living with the O’Briens. Martin was there to foment a revolution against the rightful and heroic Morales government. I was cast as a collaborator who had killed the police coming to rightfully arrest Martin. I was a wanted man and a warrant had been issued for my arrest. Eduardo could not reach Martin, but I was an easy target.

It was well known that I was living with the Villens family. Rogrigo Arguello had seen to that. Theodore had received notice from sympathizers in the Morales government that troops were on their way to arrest me. It was necessary that I not be there when these troops arrive. Matin and Ayala assured me that these troops would be met by a larger and better force, but Theodore wanted to avoid a clash, if possible. Some thought that Theodore was afraid, but he was determined to avoid being dragged into a war. He would fight on his terms and in his time. I was being sent to live the woods until the politicians could work things out. If it came to war, my Riflemen would find me and we would join the action. Ayala and Martin hugged me. They promised to find a way to get supplies to me, then they mounted their horses and rode off. In the meantime, I would live in the woods and fend for myself. They knew that I could live in the forest and defend myself if necessary.

My horse was tied to Ayala’s saddle. A horse would be useless in the woods. I was alone, an outlaw, and an unknown number of troops and Eduardo’s Secret Police were searching for me. I sat on the rock and watched the rising sun climb over the trees. It seemed like to a good time to remember the General’s lessons. According to him, these odds would be just about right for a legend.

For the next few weeks, I wandered aimlessly through the woods avoiding the people I came across. Several times I spotted troops from the capitol or the Arguello family. I followed them, but never heard anything that helped me, so I would quietly slip away. They never realized I was nearby, so they never came after me, and I had no need to defend myself. Once three Secret Police stumbled on my resting place while I was sleeping, but they made so much noise, I was able to scramble into the brush. As they nosed around my campsite, I loaded my rifle and pistols. One of them decided that I must have fled north and they hurried off in that direction. I waited a bit and then went south. I never saw them again.

I was getting tired of this hide-and-seek and decided that I needed to do something. I was tired of the Villens protecting me. They could negotiate and raise an army, but I’d grown up with Eduardo. I knew him. I’d been giving it a great deal of thought and it seemed to me that he was after me because I had beaten him. His men would likely have captured Maria and Martin if I hadn’t interfered. My father had returned home unseen, so Eduardo probably though I’d killed all five of his Secret Police. If not for me, he would have had Martin in his power and would have had a hold on the Villens family. I once thought this was all about Maria, but now I was sure that Martin was the target. He was always more interested in power than love. I was just an irritating pebble in his shoe that Eduardo wanted to remove. For two years I’d been living in luxury and spending my days learning and playing. My nights were full of games and adventures. I grown stronger and smarter, my mind and weapons sharpened. Then why was I hiding and letting others protect me? It was time that I found a way to stop Eduardo.

I was sitting in the deep shadow of a beech tree, staring out at the stars that filled the skies. Finishing a handful of nuts I’d gathered earlier in the week, I washed them down with gulps of cold water from my flask. I sat there most of the night thinking. I decided that since this was an O’Brien matter, it was time to go home. In the morning, I’d gather my few things and head east until I reached the grassland, then I’d skirt south until I reached the O’Bryant lands. My cousins would give me shelter and help me reach home. If anyone tried to stop me, I’d avoid them as I have been, but if they were blocking my way it was time to go through them. The Villens had taught me to use weapons, but O’Brien blood taught me to fight. It was time to put both to use.

I caught a few hours sleep and woke at dawn. A noise woke me and, at first, I couldn’t determine its source. I thought it was a woodpecker, but as my head cleared I realized that wasn’t right. Something or someone was chopping wood, but very slowly and gently. The axe was hitting the wood intermittently and without much force. I followed the sound and came upon a charcoal burner’s camp. An old woman dressed in black rags so ancient they were closer to powdered gray was trying to cut wood for the fires. She could barely swing the axe and when she did, the axe hardly bit into the wood. I looked around and determined that she was alone before I stepped out of the woods to address her.

She did not hear me approach and flinched when I called, “Good morning, Mother.” She turned to face me and rested the axe on her shoulder. I expect she wanted to hold it up and menace me with the axe, but she was too weak. “Go away,” she said bitterly. “There is nothing left. Your friends took everything.”

It took me a while to convince her that I meant her no harm. Giving her some of my remaining smoked sausage did the trick. She told me that three men had robbed her and her husband. They had beaten him badly and he was resting in the lean-to. I asked her why she stayed here. She laughed and asked where she could go. She could not move her husband for he could not walk. The few coins they’d earned were gone. The little food they had was taken. If she could not make and sell more charcoal, both she and her husband would die.

I went over to check on her husband. He was unconscious. His face was swollen and bruised. Someone had beaten him badly. I wasn’t sure he would survive without care and food. His wife would soon be as bad off as him if she tried to do all the work. They needed more help than I could give, but I had to do something. I knew that the Turbio River was a day’s hike to the west. It ran north under bridges that Villens forces were defending. If I could get the couple onto a boat, they could sail north and get help.

I told the old woman of my plan. She kept saying that her husband could not walk. I assured her that I could cary him. She looked me over and must have decided that I could do what I said for she mentioned it no more. She was also worried that she had no money. No ship would carry them for free and no one would would help them if they made it north peniless. I convinced her to worry about one thing at a time. 

I had to lighten my load to carry the old man. I carefully wrapped my sword, rifle, and cartridges and buried them along with my pack at the base of a tree with a twisted trunk. I transferred my remaining food to the old woman’s basket. Carefully lifting the old man over my shoulder, she and I started toward the river. The old man was lighter than I expected. He must have been skin and bones. He never said a word or opened his eyes the entire trip. Only an occasional groan proved that he was alive. As I had to lay him down to rest periodically, it took us two days to get to the river.

On the way, the old woman told me about the attackers who robbed them. She had lived in the woods her entire life and she was certain that they were not forest people. They were too loud and wasteful. They went through her food and threw things they didn’t like in the fire. Bandits would never do that. Food is food, she said. Only the rich have a choice of foods, not forest people. 

I didn’t say much, but I listened carefully when she described the thieves. They were dressed alike in a type of uniform that I’d never heard of in all the lessons I’d taken. The uniform consisted of dark green pants, a black shirt and tunic. They wore no badges, shiny buttons, ribbons, or any other mark  or label. Two of them wore black canvas hats. The other was bare-headed. I decided they must Secret Police. The uniforms were just the thing for nighttime raids and attacks in alleys and on dark city streets.

We waited for another day on the bank of the river until a boat passed and I was able to flag it down. I asked for the captain and after a while he appeared at the rail. I explained what I wanted and he refused. I told him that I would pay and he said he couldn’t be bothered with old forest people. He had quality people on board and they would be offended by the old couple. 

I had had enough. I gave the captain a last chance to take the couple on board, or I would climb onto the ship and throw him overboard. One of his officers stepped up next to the captain and pulled a pistol which he aimed at me. Several other officers and seamen stood where they were. The captain laughed and ordered the ship to pull way from the bank.

I grabbed a line that hung from the ship and prepared to climb on board. The officer called to me to stop or he’d shoot me. “Look around,” I said. “You’re the only one defending your bastard of a captain.” The captain and the officer looked at the sullen faces of the crew and other officers. 

“They’re old people and they’re in a bad way,” said one of the crew. An officer asked if the captain if he would reconsider his decision. There was a tense moment when the officer with the drawn gun couldn’t decide whether to aim at me or the other officer. The crew of about a dozen men was grumbling angrily. The captain signaled to the officer to lower his gun. “Get them on board and out of the way,” said the captain as he stomped away to his quarters. “And do it fast. We leave it five minutes.”

The crew sprang into action and the old couple was swiftly brought on board. I scribbled a note and handed it to a crewman. It was addressed to Ayala asking him to help the old couple in any way he could. I told the bosun to give the note to the company guarding the first bridge that they came to. They could unload the old people there. I gave him a coin and several for the captain, then jumped from the ship. One day later I was at the twisted tree and digging up my supplies. After a night’s sleep, I started east.

I wasn’t hunting the men who had robbed the old people and beaten the old man so severely, but I wasn’t avoiding them either. I was aware that they might still be in the woods searching for me. If I found them, I wasn’t going to hide. Eduardo sent the bastards and I would take care of them. I had decided to end this thing and these guys would be as good a first step as any.

I found them two days later. I risen just before dawn, eaten, and started east. I was walking along a trail that climbed through rocks. I was about twenty feet or so above the forest floor. As the sun came up, I saw three men sleeping around a burned out fire. I loaded my rifle and sat against a tree trunk to wait for them to wake up. After a short wait, one of them stirred and then rose. He wore the green and black uniform. 

I carefully worked my way down the hillside toward the camp. I saw the others wake and the three wandered around pulling on boots and tunics. They complained about having nothing for breakfast. One said he was sure those old charcoal burners had hidden food. They should go back and beat the woman until she told them where it was hidden.

That was the last thing he ever said. My bullet smacked into his forehead and he was dead before his body hit the ground. The others stared at him in stupified amazement, then they died. The first one from a pistol shot though the head, the other from a sword thrust through his chest. I doubt the whole thing took two minutes.

 After I’d searched the men and removed several papers, I cleaned my weapons and continued east. This was the first time I’d killed men when I’d planned an attack. I could have let them go, but I choose to kill them. It was a war, I thought. A war that I didn’t want, that was forced on me. So be it. I was at war. Eduardo’s men were dead and I was alive. There were three less men between me and him. Good.

*********

I walked deep into the night, eating occasionally as I went. I wanted to sleep as far away from the three bodies as I could get. A ridge sloped off toward the east, a path wound its way along the face of rocks. I followed the trail in the darkness, invisible from above or below. After a while I found a thick place were the undergrowth thickened. From this protected place, I could rest and spy on the forest below. 

It was nearly noon when noises woke me. A Secret Police officer was walking along the trail and had just passed my hiding place. He stopped and was waving to the forest floor. I shifted slightly and peered through the shrubs. I saw a uniformed men looking up at the trail. One man was signaling to the officer who was about twenty feet down the trail from me. I carefully loaded my rifle. I’d loaded my pistols before I’d slept. All I could do was settle in and wait. In full sunlight and at close range, my only chance was that they would not find me. 

The officer stood on the trail and looked back the way he came and then looked ahead. He searched for a path to the top of the ridge, but there was none. A voice called out, but I could not understand what was said. The man must not have been able to hear the words either as he bent over and held a hand to his ear. The shout was louder the second time, but still unintelligible. The officer sighed and began to carefully climb down the ridge face. We were about hundred feet above the forest floor, and the climb was steep. I wouldn’t have tried it with my pack, but the man was only carrying a musket. Even so, he struggled, and it took him a good while to reach the bottom. I ate while I watched him climb. His men took advantage of the break to rest. I counted them carefully and there were still six men, including the officer. Perhaps there were others nearby, perhaps not. this was the largest group of Eduardo’s men I ever heard of. Perhaps he was changing his tactics. Perhaps something more serious was underway.

Once the man reached his troops, a discussion took place, then lunch was eaten. I didn’t care. As long as they stayed in my sight and I stayed out of theirs until dark, I didn’t care if the rested all day. I just wanted them within reach by night. My knowledge of the woods, my rifle, and my anger would give me the edge in the dark.

After about an hour they began to stir. I waited until they headed into the woods before leaving. I stashed my supplies deep in the shrubs and trotted down the trail in the direction they were heading. I knew a easy path down about a mile ahead. If I could reach the place before they did, I could get to the forest floor and find a hiding place. Then I’d wait for them to pass and follow until they stopped for the night.

I knew I was taking a chance. I was visible on the ridge in the daylight. I was counting on the men keeping to the woods and, I suppose, I was counting on dumb luck. I found myself wondering if my action would fit the General’s definition of reasonable recklessness. I decided that it did, but I was probably fooling myself. I was angry that Eduardo was keeping me away from both my families. I was young and I didn’t want to reasonable. When it grew dark, I would search for the men and I would hunt them down. 

I found the path down the ridge face and swiftly reached the forest floor. I stepped into a stand of birch and stood still listening. I knew that Eduardo depended on city men to fill his ranks, and they were uncomfortable in the country and woods. They were also noisy. I heard them approaching and slipped beneath the branches of a fallen oak. A few minutes later, a rare quiet Secret Police trooper walked right past me. Voices called out and he turned around to rejoin the group. The six men thundered past my hiding place. They were laughing and telling stories. Several were passing a flask around and there was a general sense of merriment. Just a nice day for a walk in the woods, I guess. 

The quiet one stayed a little ahead of the group. He looked angry and was the only one who held his musket in readiness. He was taller than the others and thin. He walked quietly and his eyes searched the woods around him as he walked. I decided that I would have to kill him first. The others would be lost without him.

I let them pass and then followed the noise they made. I stayed off the trail, picking my way through the trees. They stopped late in the day, a little before dusk. Working my way in a circle around the men, I found a place where I could spy on their camp without being seen. I settled in to make a plan.

The quiet man drank water with the stew. The others were clearly drinking wine or something harder. He tried to quiet them several times, then gave up. There was a large, flat rock near the campsite and he walked over and sat down. He kept his musket by his side. I had no doubt that he carried pistols and a sword as well. 

I was hiding on the other side of the campsite from the flat rock. I turned my attention to other men and when I looked back, the quiet man was gone. He had silently slipped into the woods. I didn’t even know which way he’d gone. At first I thought he’d gone to relieve himself. The others were stumbling into the woods, loudly announcing their intentions to do so. But I wasn’t willing to bet on this. I had the definite feeling that he might just be hunting me. 

I lay still in my hiding place deciding whether to run, stay put, or search for the quiet man. The other men were getting louder as darkness settled in. I decided to back away from the campsite so I might hear anyone stalking me. I’d taken two steps when a musket ball crashed though the brambles  a few inches from my head. 

I dove to the ground and rolled about ten feet to the base of a tree. I crawled around the tree so it was between me and the directed of the shot. My rifle’s advantages over muskets were diminished in heavily wooded areas like this one, but I still was a good shot and was ready to give it a try. 

The shot silenced the men for a moment and then they started yelling. I heard them thundering through the woods toward the shot. It was time to get out of there. I knew I could get away from the drunks. It was the quiet man that worried me. I got to my feet and struck out from my hiding place, moving in a ninety degree to the direction of the shot. I wanted to outflank the quiet man as he searched for me.

I found a deeper shadow among the trees and stopped to listen. The crowd of men were on my right, towards the campsite, and a little behind me. I guessed that the quiet man was somewhere in front of me. I swung my rifle onto my back, primed my pistols, and made sure that my knives were secure in their sheaths, then I followed the shadows in a looping path around the campsite. I wanted to reach the other side of the camp so I could set up a long rifle shot into the lit up camp. I had a pistol in my right hand and a knife in my left. I’d switched my other pistol to my right side. If needed, I’d fire the first pistol, drop it, and pull the other pistol for a quick second shot. Ayala had taught this trick to me.

I had made it about a quarter way around the campsite. The mens’ voices were difficult to hear. I froze and then realized that I’d heard a noise much closer. It might have been an animal, a branch creaking in the breeze, or some other forest sound, but I stood stock still, straining to hear another sound. Nothing. I softly stepped over to a tree and pressed myself against the trunk. 

I waited for several minutes without hearing anything unusual. I stepped away from the tree and directly into the path of the quiet man. He was no more than twenty feet away and he flinched when he saw me. We’d surprised each other.  I suspect I flinched also. We fired and it sounded like one shot. A bullet tore into the bushes, just missing my right arm. I heard a grunt and a body fell into the undergrowth. I had dropped my pistol and ran toward the man, my second pistol in my right hand, my knife in my left. 

I found him struggling to crawl into the undergrowth. He was clutching his throat and making gurgling noises. As I drew near, he rolled onto his back and I saw he had a pistol pointing at me. I dove to my left and heard his shot rip past my ear. I hit the ground, aimed carefully, and put a bullet in his head. Then I scrambled to my feet and ran to retrieve my dropped pistol. 

Our shots had drawn the others, so I ran down the trail to get some distance from the pursuers. I could hear one of them yelling that he’d found the quiet man’s body, he was their Lieutenant apparently, and the others must have been gathering around his corpse. I took advantage of their distraction to leave the trail and cut through the woods. I kept going until I found a protected spot with a clear line of fire on the campsite and waited. I needed to calm myself after the shock of the fight with the quiet man. Ayala once told me that it all comes down to reflexes in a close fight. He forgot to mention luck.

In about a half-an-hour the men returned to camp carrying their dead officer. They all had their muskets ready now. A few took up the flasks and began to drink again, but an argument broke out and a man with sergeant’s  stripes slapped the flask out of a man’s hand and yelled at him. Shoot the officers, Ayala had said. So I did. The Sergeant dropped and the other fired a ragged volley in my general direction, but I was already gone. I’d faded into the woods and retreated to high ground. I knew that in the morning, the men would need water, so I found a spot on the ridge that provided cover and overlooked a stream. I slept, assured that the rising sun or the noise of the city men would wake me.

Sure enough, I was awakened by the noise the men made as they came to the river in the early morning light. The sound carried well over the meadow   and across the river. I heard them say that they’d had enough and were going home. They were rattled and were seeing enemies everywhere. One man stood guard while the others drank, and filled water bags, all the while looking about them nervously. “Should have lapped the water like dogs,” I thought, remembering my Bible lessons, and then I shot the guard.

I waited in my protected spot while the three remaining men fired musket balls wildly. They were shooting blindly uphill, but I did want to walk into a shot, so I waited them out. Besides I knew where they going and would get there faster. When the shooting stopped, I had time to go back and move my supplies forward, then I set out for the nearest bridge that led back to the capitol. I hoped that it was too small and inconsequential for any troops to guard.

I reached the bridge in the late afternoon and was pleased to see it unguarded. I’d passed the three men and fired a shot to slow them down. I needed a little time to prepare for them. I crossed the bridge and carefully climbed down the far bank. Gathering about a dozen rocks from the base of bridge, I built a carefully balanced pile under it. I’d taken the cord I carried to snare birds and small animals and tied it around the bottom rocks and also around a stick that I’d shoved into the mud to help hold the rocks in place. The pile was about two feet high, and, if all went well, I would pull the string and the stick would fall away while the bottom of the pile was pulled forward, then the rocks would tumble down the bank and splash noisily into the water. 

That’s what I hoped would happen, at least. I would be hidden on the bridge behind a support. The noise under the bridge would cause the nervous men to fire their weapons over the side and then I’d be on them. If my deception failed, I’d be on the bridge facing three armed men and frightened men. It had to work, I assured myself.

It was nearly dark when the men came into sight. They were being uncharacteristically quiet and I realized that their swagger was gone. They were scared and fear had silenced them. They didn’t want to spend another night in the woods and they picked up speed as the neared the bridge. Once across the bridge, the well-travelled road to the capitol was no more than an hour away.

I waited until they stepped onto the bridge until picking up the cord. The bridge was about fifty feet long and I wanted to start my attack when they were in the middle. They reached the mark and I yanked the cord. Nothing happened. The men were now about fifteen feet away. I yanked the cord fiercely and felt it give. For a second I feared that it had snapped, then I heard the rocks tumbling over each other and into the water.

The men yelled and pointed over the side of the bridge. The fired the muskets and began to reload. As soon as I heard the shots, I sprang up and raced toward the men screaming. They leapt back as if a demon from Hell had appeared. I shot the first one, holstered the weapon, and drew my sword. I slashed the nearest man across the midsection and, leaping past him, closed on the last man. He had loaded his musket and was raising it to shoot. I batted the musket away with my sword and slammed the basket into his face. He fell back and I drove my sword through his chest. The second man was groaning and clutching his guts. I shot him in the head. I checked and they all were dead. 

Before I left I cut off their leather vests, I needed leather patches to prepare more bullets. I also searched their packs for food. As the sun set, I went back to the spot where I’d hidden my supplies. It took most of the night to reach the hiding place and I spent the next day resting and thinking about what to do. I didn’t see anyone that day or the following one. Either Eduardo’s men had moved on, or I killed the small unit he’d sent on this particular mission. 

It was time to move on. While I’d been resting, I realized that I was taking too many chances. It was time to get help if I wanted to end this thing. Eduardo could keep sending men and I wouldn’t kill them all. I thought about going upriver and finding Ayala and the riflemen, but no. Eduardo was my cousin. This was a family matter. It was time to go and gather the O’Briens and the Bryants. Time to call out the clan. I wondered if any of the Bryants had pipes.

The Memoirs of Finn O'Brien Villens: Part 7

12 December 1806

Maria was preparing to attend the birthday celebration of her mother-in-law, Doña Mathilda, when the baby declared its intention to be born and soon. Martin burst into the parlor where most of the family had gathered prior to the birthday dinner and announced the big event. Chaos erupted as Doña Mathilda and her daughter, Julianna, leapt to their feet and hurried from the room, issuing orders to a herd of maids trailing in their wake. Martin collapsed onto his chair and his grandfather handed him a glass a wine. Before he could drink it, his father and brother pressed another glass on him. I was the youngest present and the only one not a member of the family, but by this time, nearly six years since Maria and I had helped Martin escape Eduardo’s men and return safely home, I was considered family.

We men spent the next six or so hours wandering about downstairs and on the patio. Every so often one of us would sneak upstairs searching for news and be quickly sent downstairs, our tail between our legs. This was women’s business. Even the maids had no compunction in ordering their masters downstairs. I took up position outside a kitchen window, and managed to have a quick word with Martin’s sister, Julianna, who was arranging for some cold food for her mother and the midwife. We had become friends over the years and she told me that Maria was doing fine and the baby should be here soon. I passed the message on a relieved Martin. This was his second child, but the poor man was as nervous as if it were his first. 

There was a full moon and I found the Villens men gathered on the patio in the gleaming silver light. The air was warm and still. We spoke softly and drank to Martin and Maria. Phillipe offered a toast for a son, and we all seconded that wish. Martin replied that he would never give up his daughter, Alisa, but a son would be welcome. As always when important events brought the Villens family together,  I thought of my family and  wondered when I would see them again. I wondered how many marriages, births, and deaths I’d missed while Eduardo’s vengeance kept me away from home. How many celebrations had passed by without me?

As the evening drifted on, the men moved into Don Lucien’s study and settled in to await the birth. I grew increasingly homesick and remained behind until I was alone in the darkness. I walked around to the other side of the house, from where I could see the brightly lit birthing room. Shadows passed across the curtains. Once the curtains opened briefly and Julianna looked out, searching the darkness and then returning to the room. I wondered if she somehow knew I was out there, but no, that was impossible.

I turned from the window and began to walk toward the open doors across the patio, when I heard footsteps in the trees. I continued to walk, but focused my hearing on the faint noise. Eduardo had sent men after me on numerous occasions, but he had never dared to trespass on Villens’ property. Perhaps this would the first time. I reached for my dagger. Fury filled me when I thought that Eduardo would dare send his vile creatures to invade this moment. I made a vow that if I found the man, I would kill him. I slid silently into the woods and followed the heavy footsteps that were leading away from the house. That was fine was me. I didn’t want the cur’s death to disturb the household. 

I rapidly closed on the man. He was alone and I had to respect his daring, but he knew nothing of the woods and tromped through them so loudly a deaf man could have followed him. He was walking slowly along a path I was familiar with, so I was able to circle him and lay in wait a short way ahead. As he approached, I could see that he was a large man, heavily built. I would have to be careful.

I decided to let the man pass and then attack him from behind. This would allow me to make certain the man wasn’t a local fellow. As the man passed my hiding place in the shadows, I saw him up close for the first time and instantly recognized him. “Ayala, I almost stuck you,” I said stepping from the shadows, “You walk like an elephant.”

Ayala flinched, startled from his reverie. He stared at me with my drawn dagger. I slid the dagger into its sheath and the two of us just looked at each other for a while. Ayala was unable to clear his mind of whatever had been preoccupying him. I’d never seen my friend so morose.  “What is it, Luis?,” I asked. “What has happened?” 

“It is my mother,” he said vacantly. “My mother has died.” He held out a letter to me. I took the letter and read. It was from Ayala’s sister. I’d never met his family. They lived far to the north and were quite poor. I knew that Ayala sent them money and visited them when he could, which was not often. Apparently he was planning on visiting his mother soon and his sister was writing to tell him of his mother’s death so he could adjust his plans. 

I handed the letter to Ayala and said how sorry I was at his loss. The big man took the letter and stood there, his arm extended, holding the letter away from him. He was in a daze and I could see tears on his cheeks. I stepped over to my friend and threw my arms around him. “My mother is dead,” he repeatedly softly. “And I was not there.”

“Come with me,” I said and I led Ayala back to the house. “Standing in these woods is no way to honor you mother.” Ayala followed me and we went to the carriage house. We carried a small table and two chairs out into night. We sat in the darkness and I listened while Ayala told me of his mother, her life, her long illness, and how he would miss her. 

From our place on the lawn, we could see the brilliantly lit windows of the General’s study. After a while Ayala noticed that the Villens men were gathered in the room. He asked what was happening. I told him about Maria and the baby. He smiled slightly and wiped is eyes. “My mother always said that when someone dies, another is born. Life is wheels within wheels, she’d say.”

I left Ayala briefly and went across the patio and into the dining room. I gathered up a bottle of red wine and two glasses and returned to the small table. I poured us each a glass and we drank to his mother. He insisted that the second glass be to Maria and Martin, then he asked me about my mother and it was my turn to shed a tear. 

We sat in the darkness, drank our wine, and told stories about our distant families. All the while, we absently watched the Villens men drinking and talking about their family. In the early morning hours, the conversation ebbed and we all were drawn into our own thoughts. Then we saw the door to the General’s study open and the Villens men poured out of the room. Ayala stood up to say goodnight. He said that I should go with the Villens family. 

I insisted that I was going nowhere. I was with my closest friend, and I would stay with him. Ayala smiled, the first smile of the night for the usually jovial man. So we sat and drank the wine, until we saw Martin step onto the patio. He was clearly searching for someone, so we called to him. He waved to us and hurried over to our little table. 

“Perfect,” he said. “I’ve found you both. Maria has sent me to find you two so you can see the baby. Come quickly, she is so tired, but she will not sleep until I find you.” With that, the three of us charged across the yard and into the house. We thundered across the dining room, terrifying a group of servants who were preparing a cold meal, and ran up the stairs. Martin waved us to a halt in the hallway and we caught our breath before entering Maria’s lying-in room in a somewhat dignified manner.

The baby was beautiful. I knew it would be with such handsome parents. He was a boy and his name was Javier Alejandro, after uncles on either side of his family. Maria greeted us warmly, but she was so tired and worn, that we quickly turned to leave her. Martin asked me to stay, then invited Ayala to join the family in the dining room for a cold meal. Ayala looked surprised, then thanked Martin and left the room. Maria waited for him to leave and then patted the edge of the bed. “Sit down, Finn,” she said. “Martin and I would like to ask a favor of you.”

I sat down and she took my hands in hers. Martin walked around the bed and rested a hand on my shoulder. I looked from one to the other and they were beaming at me. I couldn’t imagine what favor I could provide for them, but I was willing to do anything they asked.

“We would like you to be Javier’s godfather,” said Maria softly, her voice weakened from the delivery. 

I was stunned. “But there are so many important people who would be a better choice,” I stammered. “Me? His godfather?”

Maria and Martin laughed. “We’ve never forgotten that we owe our lives to you,” Maria said.

“And so, we place our son in your protection,” said Martin.

A nurse brought the baby into the room and handed him to Martin. He held the baby out to me and I reached for him and cradled him in my arms. “My godson, Javier,” I murmured tears clouding my vision. I looked at Maria and then at Martin. “I will protect him will all my skills and my life itself. I am honored.” Then I kissed Javier on the forehead and gently handed him to his mother. 

The family gathered in the dining room, but I wanted to be alone for a while to gather myself. I went to my room to lie down. After a while, I dozed off. When I awoke a few hours later, a tray of cold meats and a glass of beer was on the little side table by my bed. A small box was balanced on the edge of the tray. I sat up and reached for the box. Inside was a silver pin and a small note card. The pin was the Villens family crest, such as was worn on the uniform of members of the Villens family. The card read “You’ll be a wonderful godfather. I’m proud you are one of us.” The card was signed by Lucien.

Thinking about the Tigers

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

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.

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

The Memoirs of Finn O'Brien Villens: Part 5

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.”