Vanessa

by David Howells

Chapter 23 – APRON POCKETS

  Marianne watched Nicole mount the first porch step, turn, and talk to the tourists. The young boys were front row and fully attentive. Marianne thought, “And why not? She put a site of local interest right at eye level (snicker). That girl’s going places. She and I are going to have to have a little girl to girl chat, someday.”

  “The Edwards Homestead was built by Col. Edwards’ great grandfather in 1752. If you look around, you can see that we have recreated some of what we know about the place according to the pictures you will see inside. The fruit trees, cotton, black-eyed peas, squash, potatoes and corn were all well known to the occupants of this house. We are not in the agriculture business, so the crops you see are taken care of by Massey Farms, Incorporated, based in Atlanta. We have agreements that are mutually beneficial. One part is that, though their harvesting methods are more modern than when Col. Edwards resided here, the men and women who come to take care of the fields do wear period clothing. Workers back then would all have been Afro-American, but federal laws prevent our hiring only one ethnic background in a publicly-owned company or government-subsidized historic site, as it would be racially biased. I’ll let you all muse on the irony of that. The rent they pay to farm the land also helps maintain this property. The slave shacks were over there, in between where the forest ends and the road. That is the apron that marks the end of arable land for the Edwards family, though it did provide wood for heating and building supplies.”

  Marianne’s brows went up and she looked at the area Nicole had mentioned. “Apron?”

  Vanessa had the same reaction. She looked at Marianne and saw that she, too, had caught that last sentence. She saw the dawning comprehension in Marianne’s face as she fumbled for her SatCom. That meant...“Oh, my!” She looked at Annie, whose face had a knowing, secretive smile.

  “We located the slave graveyard earlier this year. The Civil War Museum in Gettysburg had a collection of diaries that escaped slaves had left behind. Keep in mind that diaries were very rare among the slave population, as slave owners prohibited literacy in their work force. For that would mean possible new ideas that the owners disagreed with could make their way into the labor force, and it would allow the spread of those rebellious ideas to other plantations. That is also why Africans were the one American sub-population to be absolutely denied its native languages. They were forced to become monolingual, while all other immigrants were only encouraged to be monolingual due to peer pressure and better opportunity availability in the work force. You may also know that this is why ‘The Blues’, or ‘Black Blues’, is the only truly American music, besides that which comes from the American Indians. There are people who would discount the latter, saying American Indian culture, including its music, was brought over from Europe by migrants crossing over the Bearing Strait. But when was the last time anyone here has heard any of the top fifty Cherokee war chants?

  “English did not lend itself to the cadences of African music. So, being inventive and intelligent, they created a new form of musical self-expression. It was also through music that maps of the ‘underground railroad’ were passed on from slave to slave, from parent to child. ‘Follow the Drinking Gourd’ was said to be one such piece that carried in it many code words. The title itself was code for using the Drinking Gourd, or Big Dipper, as a constellation to guide them north as they traveled at night. The two end stars of the cup of the Big Dipper point to the North Star. The song gained popularity among music folk who liked period pieces, but it seems the song was actually written decades after the Emancipation Proclamation.

  “It was accurate in that, usually, slaves left when the ground was hard, during colder weather, so that they would be more difficult to track. That was an instruction in that song: “When the moon goes down and the first quail cries out, that’s a mighty good time to go.” That spoke of less light to be discovered by, and the time of year to leave. It went on to sing of a river that ends between two hills, with another river on the other side. That was a minor mistake, as we have found that this ‘river on the other side’ was a very long and narrow lake. The atlas page you will see inside the house actually names it Slave Lake.

  “The graveyard path goes behind the shacks into a younger copse of trees. This was not only where the slaves were buried, but also the final resting place of the soldier found dead with Mrs. Edwards. It was considered an insult by the locals to be buried with slaves, so they must have felt it was the only vengeance they were capable of at the time for the murderer of their beloved neighbor. The soldiers, as was reported in several diaries of soldiers under Major Covington, had buried Private Jed Patterson out by the barn before moving on. The dead Private was later disinterred and transferred to that pocket in the woods where the slaves rested their own dead. Now, if you are all ready, let’s continue on with the tour inside.”

  “POCKET!” two minds thought together.

  “Incoming message, Gustav, from Marianne.”

  “OK, Allen. Rachel, you may want to hear this.”

  The flash on Allen’s PC showed that a speed contact had been dialed and was hooking up the PC communications chip to the phone line, which was connected to the high data-density satellite link the hotel maintained. There was the usual short hum, the soft clicks as relays were locked in for security. Marianne’s voice came out as clear as if she were right there.

  “Everyone, I know where Annie’s ‘apron pocket’ is!”

  Gustav looked quizzical. “It’s not on her apron? Marianne, that was just a figure of speech that Annie used. It doesn’t mean she has a pocket full of soldiers, does it?”

  “Allen, pull up the schematics of the Edwards Homestead you were showing us earlier. Let me know when you’ve got it.”

  Gustav hit the signal for Ryan to patch into the circuit. Ryan got the chirp. He was busy with other matters, so he took the earplug and followed along.

  “Hold on, Mother Hen. Adopted Chick is working on it. Got it. OK, go ahead.”

  “Take a look where the slave cabins were. It was along the road between the forest and the road.”

  “Bracketed. Now what?”

  “Do you have anything about a graveyard behind the cabins in your data files?”

  “Checking, wait. I need to do some referencing. Hold on.”

  Rachel looked at Gustav. “What is she on to? And why is she calling us about this when she is on emergency watch to protect Ryan, Allen and Ralph?”

  Gustav was brief, as he knew Allen was flying through references and didn’t want to distract him. “If Marianne thinks it’s important, I will bet you a vacation in the Bahamas that the call is warranted.”

  Rachel thought for a second. “No bet. Sorry about that.”

  “I know, you’re worried. It’s one of your endearing qualities as one of our two M.H.’s.”

  “Marianne, got it. According to this article, they used ground sound equipment to locate a large graveyard behind the shacks two years ago. Looks to be about fifty by eighty yards. They located ninety-four bodies there, mostly adults, six children. Guess the Edwards family help had turnover. Wait, here’s something. One body had a lot of metal, probably buttons and buckles. That wasn’t standard fare for slaves, so they figure it to be a soldier. Does that figure with what you’re calling about?”

  “Big time, Chick Boy. That strip of property between the woods and road was just called an ‘apron’ by Nicole, the tour guide. That graveyard was an inset into the woods. That’s the ‘pocket’. Must be fairly new on the lecture docket. Nicole didn’t mention this stuff the last time I took the tour.” Home base jaws dropped, while Ryan almost fell off his horse.

  Rachel spoke. “M.H. one, this is M.H. two. Annie’s two children, would they have been buried there?”

  “Not likely. Remember that the locals at the time didn’t want to integrate before or after death. They have to be somewhere else.”

  Rache
l thought a moment. “Spirits are often restricted to region. That corner you’re at, if you are still there, was where Jason and Rebecca were trampled. Is that where they’re buried?”

  Allen pulled up another entry. “10-4 ladies. You’re showing up us poor slow man types. Marianne, you are standing at their graves right now. The locals thought that the flowerbed would make a nice resting place. That isn’t mentioned in the tours because it might make people too sad and not willing to come back for another paid visit. Civil War death was fascinating, but kid death required some distance. The gore associated with this particular picture was considered too high on the gut wrench scale for a family attraction. Annie is buried with the children, but she died in the main house. She isn’t completely bound to the house, but she has to feel its pull on her. That’s why she hardly ever leaves the porch.”

  “Sicilian Sweetie to Einstein. Nice one, young man. Where did you pull that up?”

  “I accessed their training files. That tidbit is listed on the lecture ‘no-no’s. Is there any indication what the Casperettes are up to?”

  “Negative. My ears are still a delightful Mediterranean tan. By the way, I made an executive decision to speak to the kids to assure them of our support and love. Any problems with that?”

  Eyes turned to Gustav. He had the most years on this case under his belt. “Shark here. Probably not, but cut it off there. What good was to be done was done and additional risk of revealing yourself to Monkey and Mad Annie is not worth it.”

  “Copy that. That’s the morning report. Any orders?”

  Gustav continued: “Negative. Just do what your ethnic background has prepared you for so well.”

  “Color me clueless, Shark. Just which of my many sterling attributes are you referring to?”

  “Silent patience, my dear.”

  Marianne looked at her SatCom for a moment, then smiled . “Copy that, you dear man. Sleep well tonight, for the Good Sicilian Fairy will visit you with a shallow dish of warm water. Marianne out.” The connection was broken. Rachel’s eyes were closed and her shoulders were bouncing up and down as she held her lips together with her free hand (the other had a cup in it that she was desperately trying not to spill). Allen had never been introduced to the evil trick and asked innocently what Marianne had intended to do with that odd tool of revenge. Gustav told him.

  “My God. Would she really do that?”

  “I’m locking my door tonight,” was his answer.

  Rachel had finally managed to get her cup back on the table, with only minor spillage, and let out a merry screech.

  Ryan and Ralph were up to ‘L’ now. So far, so good. Ryan had caught looks from Patterson from time to time. So far, they didn’t seem to have any wicked intent in them. It was more curiosity than anything else and, maybe, hope?

  Ralph saw Ryan pick up his SatCom after a series of soft chirps. Ryan had kept going and used the earplug. After three more sets of soldiers had passed, there was a distinct bouncing of Ryan’s shoulders that wasn’t related to any horse gait.

  “I can’t tell you yet. Wait till we break for the Country Store. I’ll fill you in.

  Fair enough, Boss. Need to drain the dragon, anyway.”

  “Where does he get these sayings?” Ryan wondered.

  “Annie, Dearie, I don’t want to follow them in right now. Would you please talk to me out here for a minute?"

  “If you wish. You re got something on your mind, I see. Well, out with it.”

  “That stretch of land that the slave shacks were once set on, did you call that an apron, like your helper just did?”

  That narrowed Annie’s eyes for a moment as mistrustful Monkey picked up on what might be intrusion into her secrets.

  “I seem to recall that word might have been used. I’m not completely sure.”

  Vanessa kept smiling pleasantly, and thought, “Bingo! Smoke screening. I don’t even have to ask about ‘pocket’.”

  “I was just curious, Annie. That was where you housed your slaves once. Shame they ran off like that, never to return.”

  “What makes you think that they never returned, Dearie?”

  That didn’t make any sense. Was that Mad Annie or Monkey speaking? Might be nothing, or...“I’m sorry to seem so brainless, Annie. Did your slaves return after they ran away? That must mean that they realized how good you and your husband were to them. Is that what happened?”

  “I brought the soldiers back to pay their debts. What makes you think I couldn’t do the same for my slaves? I was like a grandmother to them, knew them all by name, who was related to who. I made sure they were warm in the winter and didn’t collapse from heat exhaustion during the summer. I made sure their bellies were full and kept the families together. When they got sick, I paid the doctor to see to them and they left us without so much as a thank you. What do you think about that?”

  It hit her: “Allen’s dream, those slaves. They weren’t just figments. Sweet Mother Mary, they were real!”

  “Annie, you brought them back. I can understand that. Where are they now, Annie? Are they still here? I would like to see the ones that you took such good care of.”

  That hit a nerve, a very sore and raw nerve, recently wounded. Monkey had brought all the slaves back under her control, only to be recently re-released by that brat from the North. He had taken them from her. All of them! How? Even Marigold, just entering into womanhood. Annie had seen Marigold look at the wicked boy, as she herself was fleeing the rebellion. Annie had loved Marigold as a daughter, well, almost like one. She was a slave, after all.

  The more she thought, the worse it got. Monkey’s rage was mounting, amplified by the containment earlier that morning. The anger intensity triggered Mad Annie to submerge to Monkey Annie earlier than she usually did. The kettle boiled over. “This is too much, this means WAR”

  Vanessa saw Annie’s face become solid stone, saw her eyes begin to burn. No matter what she said, it fell on deaf ears. Mad Annie was no longer reachable. There was only Monkey and she was not approachable. Vanessa ran to Marianne and, in an instant, had focused her energy to flick one of her friend’s ears, then the other.

  “Ouch! Uh-oh. Ouch! Crap! Home base this is Marianne. It’s hit the fan, big time! Get them out of there, NOW!”

  Annie was extending her consciousness westward. The soldiers, where were they? She sensed them up ahead and raced toward prisoners, looking for enemies. Did they actually dare to come again after yesterday? If so, Annie Edwards will just see about that! Dim awareness of passing objects came and went as her mind sprinted west. The occasional tree with its sleepy life force only made a slightly greater resistance to her passage when it blocked her path, not even qualifying for a speed bump.

  Monkey felt them. “Yes, there they are. All of them. No escapees. A little behind schedule? Well, let’s see about that, too.” To the soldier’s surprise, their mounts began to trot. Nothing they could do would slow them down. Their ‘connection’ to their saddles was hard put with this pace. Their pain was sensed by Monkey and savored. She searched with her mind to find any mortals she could recognize. There was nothing in the immediate area. Behind the soldiers there was something: two unfamiliar riders on unfamiliar mounts. They were upset, that much could be felt, but didn’t feel like enemies. Well, you could never be too careful.

  Vanessa desperately wanted to go to Ryan, but it had been emphasized that she had to stick with Annie, the children and Marianne, no matter what. This was a team play and personal heroics could spell the failure of the whole project. All she could do was to keep the children as calm as she could, for they sensed something big was going down, and to keep trying with Annie to break the hold Monkey had on her.

  Vanessa got the children to try calling to her and that didn’t do anything. “Damn it!!!”

  Ryan got a call on his SatCom, picked it up, and then crammed it back. “SCRAMBLE!�
�� Ryan and Ralph did a quick turn and raced back up the path. A young couple of newlyweds going in the opposite direction were nearly knocked over and yelled out a string of invectives after the reckless riders. Ryan wanted distance between them and the soldiers, quick time. A couple of minutes later, two panting horses with two heart-thumping riders stopped and turned around to watch nothing in particular.

  Ryan and Ralph listened. Hoof fall. Ryan looked at Ralph, “What the hell?”

  Ralph heard it, too, and mentioned it to Ryan, who responded, “If you can hear it, it’s not the soldiers.”

  A young man and woman on mounts bore down on them, yelling at the top of their lungs. Ralph said, “Didn’t mean to piss them off. Christ! They’re going to ram us!”

  Ralph and Ryan reined their mounts in opposite directions, diving off the path and out of harm’s way. But when the riders streaked by, it was apparent that revenge was not on their minds. Both riders were trying desperately to slow their renegade steeds from a full gallop.

  “Ryan, we’ve got to help them!” Ralph said, as he made ready to charge after the unfortunate couple.

  “FORGET IT, RALPH!”

  The heartlessness and force of that order caught Ralph by surprise. He was about to tender his resignation via a single finger, when Ryan followed up with common sense. “We’d never catch them. Their horses are heading full tilt back to the stables. Monkey’s influence on them, if that’s what it was, will diminish with distance and the horses will slow down on their own. If she is on the warpath, we have our own to protect, do you understand? That includes my Vanessa and your Marianne! GOT THAT?”

  Ralph’s mouth hung open and his hand was stopped halfway from it’s intended mission of communication. ‘His’ Marianne? That’s what the man said. That almost made him smile, despite the craziness of the moment. Then the full import of the statement hit. The man said ‘protect’. His Marianne, in danger? He looked at Ryan and hit a wall of frustration when he was ordered to stand to. All they could do was sit and wait for orders from their command post. Ralph issued a favorite invective of their youngest member: “Crap on a Cupcake.”

  Ryan nodded agreement. “War sucks, don’t it?”

  Monkey couldn’t find her expected enemies. “Well, isn’t that just too bad?” She knew where at least one of them could be found, regardless of distance. They were connected.

  Gustav was waiting for word from someone, anyone. Rachel couldn’t wait any longer to answer a caffeine side effect.

  Allen felt a curious tension in his chest. He had been downing too much Columbian bean juice, too. That stuff could get to you after a while, though he had learned to pace himself in college. The tension got worse, though. That was odd.

  “Hey, Gustav. You got any antacids? I’m getting heartburn.”

  “Sure, kid. Hang on. You really ought to switch to herb tea, by the way.” He went to his room, pulled open his top drawer and got a dose of Pepticalm. It was the latest thing. Antacids of the past only encouraged more acid to be produced, causing a self-defeating cycle for the sake of short-term relief. Pepticalm absorbed acid, but also released a chemical messenger through the blood stream that told the central nervous system ‘all is well, no more acid is needed, thank you very much.’ It was one of the new hormonal class of over-the-counters and worked like the proverbial charm. People still called them ‘antacids’ as the name was so ingrained for anything that reduced gastric hyperacidity symptoms regardless of how it did it. Gustav walked back to the common room and took one look at Allen. He dropped the Pepticalm. It wouldn’t have done any good.

  As adrenalin kicked in, time awareness changed to dreamlike slowness. He ran to the table where Allen was leaning forward turning blue, holding on to his chest. That short trip seemed to take forever. He heard his own voice cry, “Rachel, front and center! EMERGENCY!!”

  Rachel dropped the amenities of toilet paper and made it to the common room unzipped. “ALLEN!”

  Gustav had been in the military, reaching the rank of drill sergeant. Old training kicked in, for it never really left you. “Rachel, emergency kit. Kitchen, next to the ultrawave, right low shelf. Move!”

  There were medical emergency buttons in the bathroom and in the kitchen where most needs of immediate help seemed to happen in hotels. He didn’t have time to describe to Rachel where it was, so he sprinted there and pushed it just as Rachel was pulling out the kit. Both ran back to Allen, whose lips were now absolutely blue and his fingers were following suit. Normal time passage was gradually reinstating itself, as Gustav got over the initial panic and settled into procedures ingrained in him many years ago.

  “Allen, can you breathe at all? Can you tell me anything?”

  Allen was panicked, but his mother and good friend gave him hope and focus. “Bubbly, suffocating.” His voice came out raspy and rattling, like someone with a bad case of pneumonia.

  Gustav’s mind raced, as did Rachel’s. His mind was the more objective at the moment, so he came up with the answer first. “It’s Annie. Rachel, connect Allen to the oxygen bottle in the bag. Use the full face mask, the one with the plastic bag on the bottom, turn the oxygen to maximum flow.” He pressed the speed connect on the PC. If what he thought was actually happening, they were in a race for time to prevent anything from oxygen deprivation brain damage to lethality.

  Ryan picked up his SatCom and put it on audible so that Ralph could hear as well. Gustav sounded calm to anyone else. Ryan knew him well and knew in an instant that what hit the fan had missed him and struck elsewhere.

  “Ryan, Monkey’s here. Allen’s in some kind of respiratory seizure. She’s doing it. We have to break her concentration, somehow. Quickly. Medics are on their way up, but I don’t know how long we’re going to be able to fight this off.”

  “Copy. Gustav, have security clear a path to the porch. We’re on our way. Out. Ralph, the only thing we have to fight with is me. Keep up if you can.” With that, Ryan spurred Maribelle forward as fast as the winding path would allow. Stones and sticks rained on Ralph, whose lessons in riding were limited to nags who were over the hill. That run from the soldiers was pretty hairy for him, short though it was.

  He looked down the path, then at Cumquat. “Young lady, go easy on me, you hear?” Like a western hero of old, Ralph reined his trusted steed and with a hearty “Hi Ho Cumquat! Hyah!” he spurred on his mount to well beyond the posted trail speed limit.

  Marianne was on pins and needles until she finally got an indication that something was happening. The alert from home base had hit all SatComs. She had refrained from joining in the conversation, for she had nothing to add for the moment. Security personnel were heading in her direction with stands and ropes to keep the patrons out of harm’s way. Guides were given the emergency cue, which was an announcement over the public address system that free coffee, soda, cookies and peach pie ala mode were now available in the main barn, first come, first serve. Each guide charged his or her flock to proceed with order first, haste second and a migratory competition suddenly took form. Vanessa saw the preparations. She still couldn’t break Annie’s concentration and so went to Marianne’s side. She focused her energy and gave Marianne what she had given to Allen shortly after first being introduced to him. Marianne’s right hand came up to her cheek and a tear came down to meet it. “Thank you, Vanessa.”

  “Hurry, Ryan.”

  There was no time for the leisurely side route by the Country Store. Ryan plowed through the soldiers, who were more than just a little surprised. “Major! She’s got Allen! Distract her!” was all he had time to say as he raced by. Ten seconds later, a second mount raced through their ranks. This rider looked a lot less adept at horsemanship, but just as bent on his mission.

  Major Covington turned to Private Cooper. “Son, Union Army help is needed!” Despite the pain caused by the more hurried pace, the Major still had a job to do and men to do i
t with. “SOLDIERS, Ryan’s company is in peril. It is up to us to do our part to save them. They are our comrades and descendents. Mrs. Edwards wants us bent and bowed. Raise your spirits, Union men! Push the pain away! Laugh, sing, give a merry shout. Keep it up for all you’re worth! It’s now or never!”

  The command was not the easiest they ever had. Yet now it was not just them and their plight. It was their friends and fellow fighters who had engaged the enemy on their behalf. After all these years of oppression, broken only by spurts of resistance, they had to rally. Rally they did, all of them to a man. Even Jed Patterson, who wasn’t as mad as he used to be, gave what he could.. Though the process was far from completed, insanity was not incurable.

  The paramedics had arrived. Allen would owe his life to the latest in IV set-up technology. The 12-guage needle/cannula split on entry into the brachial artery, with the needle aimed upstream pulling blood out, cycling it to a hyper-oxygenation chamber strapped to the victim’s arm, then returning it into the downstream port. As long as the heart kept pumping, this kept the blood oxygen levels high enough to keep the patient alive, even if the lungs shut down completely. Monitors were up and running, measuring the oxygen/carbon dioxide ratio, blood pressure, capillary perfusion and refill, brain activity and cardiac function. The lungs continued to rapidly fill with fluid and, to his mother’s horror, Allen stopped breathing.

  Monkey had felt the distraction of the soldiers. She was trying her best to add the evil brat to her collection of wicked intruders, but the feeling of happiness in so many of her prisoners was almost more than she could bear. It was enough to decrease her focus. She knew that, but even so the child should have been dead by now. It had been a long time since she had passed the death sentence to slaves and soldiers alike. This time, she was looking for only one victim. The results should be all the faster than before, despite the lack of practice. So why was there so much resistance?

  The answer was that there had not been the modern countermeasures to her handiwork back then. Technology fought furiously against paranormal rage and, for the time being, stemmed the tide. That should have been sufficient incentive for Monkey to turn up the gain and finish the job, but the soldiers were fifty thorns in her craw. She was balanced on the fine edge of indecision to fish or cut bait.

  Things were spiraling rapidly downhill when the patient apparently rallied. Alert beeps softened to noises that indicated that things weren’t rosy, but put a hold on the funeral arrangements. Three professionals were at Allen’s side. He had been put on a couch, bolstered up to a semi-recumbent position that facilitated lung fluid drainage. The woman paramedic (name tag reading ‘Jeannie Hafner’) had inserted a tube into the central bronchus, which released an aerosol that encouraged fluid drainage out of the lungs via the pulmonary venous system and back to the heart for recirculation. Allen’s lips were only pale blue now and the return of fluid to the vascular system was bringing the blood pressure back up. He started breathing again. So did his mother.

  Paramedic Kurt Mangela asked Rachel, “Please, anything you can tell us could help. You said no allergies, no injuries, no medications, no recreational drugs, and no history of respiratory illness with Allen or anyone else in the immediate family. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, Mrs. Gladstone. We’ve stabilized him, but that can change at any moment, for all we know. Is there anything else we might go on? Anything?”

  Rachel looked desperately at Gustav. She was going to spill the beans, permission or not, but she had come to look to the man as something like a father. She was asking for guidance. Gustav thought fast, nodded to Rachel, and then pulled Kurt aside. He looked at the man’s nametag.

  “Mr. Mangela, what I’m about to say can’t go any further. You are going to have a hard time accepting what I’m about to tell you. It’s going to take about three minutes to cover the basics. Can Allen be left in the care of your two helpers for that long?”

  Mr. Mendelssohn, I’ve been doing this for nineteen years. There’s nothing you can tell me I ain’t heard before.” Kurt Mangela took it back, three minutes later. It had to be a scam, but the situation and the people belied that. It couldn’t be true, but nothing else in his experience matched what he was up against.

  Gustav saw the wheels spinning. “Mr. Mangela, did you ever read Sherlock Holmes?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “When you have eliminated all other possibilities, whatever remains, no matter how preposterous it sounds...”

  “Is the truth. I heard it before. I just never had to put it into practice. OK, so the Wicked Witch of the Homestead put a whammy on your friend. Would you mind telling me what to do about it? This wasn’t covered in my training.”

  “Look, the deaths of the soldiers are documented. You can look it up. Most of them weren’t KIA’s but some respiratory illness that was usually ID’d as consumption. I feel that what you’ve done so far has saved Allen’s life, for the time being. How long can he be kept this way should our opponent get her head of steam up again?”

  Kurt Mangela thought about it. “Honest truth? Can’t say. My call is to get him to the hospital tout suite. He’s stable, but should that change, we may need the heavy hitters.”

  “I think you’re opinion is correct, Mr. Mangela.”

  “Call me Kurt.”

  “Gustav. The mother’s name is Rachel. Use it. We’re all on the same team now. We’ll keep the cause under our hats unless it comes to pass that we need to do more than basic life-support for Allen. By the way, the kid’s a real trooper. There’s strength in him that will surprise you.

  “Thanks, that’ll help.” Kurt walked out with Gustav. “OK people, package and roll, level two pace. Jeannie, you monitor. Shay, you and I grunt.”

  Gustav went to Rachel and comforted her with a hug. “Rachel, Kurt is on board, but it is to go no further than that, if possible. If things turn sour, spill everything, and I mean everything. Allen’s life is the priority. Nothing else matters. Ryan is on his way to the Homestead. If anyone can break through Annie’s concentration, he can. Ralph is with him and the soldiers will probably lend their hand if they can. It might be that it was they who gave us the breather. Ryan couldn’t have arrived yet, not by horseback. He’ll be there within the next fifteen minutes, though.”

  “You’re not going with us, are you?”

  “I’ve done all I can by letting Kurt in on things. I’m no medic. You can give him the only thing the medics can’t and that’s his mother’s love. Go with him. I’ll man the fort. Someone has to be here and you’re too distracted to react rationally. Go on, Rachel. God speed the two of you.”

  Rachel flung her arms around Gustav’s neck, wanting to release her tears, but there just wasn’t time now. She crammed down her feelings as best she could and followed the medics, who were wheeling Allen’s stretcher to the elevator. Gustav watched until the doors shut, then went back to the common room, to wait.

  “County, this is Milledgeville 696, give me a frequency to the ER.”

  “696, you are cleared on 319.5.”

  “Copy that.” Kurt pushed a button.

  “Milledgeville Emergency, this is 696, do you copy?”

  “Copy, 696. What have you got, Kurt?”

  “We’re bringing in that SWM21 with severe pulmonary edema. He’s stable for the moment, repeat, moment. BP is 100/54, heart rate 82, respirations 20 and shallow, temp normal. IV established, Kawli tube in place in the main bronchus with a Res-Solution mist going. We are seven minutes to your door. Copy?”

  “Copy, 696.”

  “Two more things. This is the same kid brought in on horseback yesterday. Pull his records. Second, I need a quick search on a respiratory illness, possibly contagious, historical. We may be dealing with a flare up of a virus. Be prepared for possible need of isolation.”

  “Copy, 696. Details on contagion?”

  “Circa Civil W
ar. Union Cavalry, an advance of Sherman’s group after it passed here. It was that squad that stormed the Edwards Estate. Most of them died of a respiratory illness similar to this one.”

  “Uh, copy, 696. Relaying that to historical section, now.”

  “10-4 Milledgeville. This is 696. Out.”

  A 67-year-old woman looked at the mike. Those were her boys and girls out there, and they looked to her as their grandmother. Kurt could be a pistol, sometimes, but he was a good man in a storm. If he thought it was important, well...

  “Records? This is Granny. Go to the ‘blow-the-dust-off’ files. This is a STAT situation for Kurt Mangela. Here’s what my boy needs...”

  Maribelle was older than Cumquat, and Ryan had a few pounds on Ralph. Between the two and despite the riding experience difference, Ralph and Ryan crossed the highway together. The meridian strip seemed a bit high. Ralph called it a ‘steeple chase’. The descriptive adjective preceding the phrase to add emphasis was colorful. Both horses jumped the strip with inches to spare. Both riders hit their saddles with an ‘OOF’. A quick look, a careful trot across the eastbound lane, then it was into the strip mall’s lot. Ryan had been there before on foot and had the emergency path already planned. Ralph rode behind and prayed that the man he followed was only partially off his nut.

  Milledgeville Mammoth Mall’s largest resident (there were many smaller ones shoehorned into a very long row of connected stores) was a used furniture outlet designed to outfit any office or home at a reasonable price with free delivery and free pick-up. One man’s meat and all that. The big double-doors opened automatically to the store. Nothing was unusual about that, so none of the bank of cashiers paid any attention. Hooves on tile, however, did get their attention. It was later said that the floor manager had given birth to seven kittens and a cow

  Ryan and Ralph had to duck real low to get through the doors. They trotted down aisle C, passing desks, file drawers, gawking staff and customers and, finally, floor lamps. A half dozen of those were knocked over, not from the horses, but from people getting out of the way. There was a loading dock in the back and both riders made for that door. Luckily, there was a walk ramp that sidestepped the 4-foot drop onto concrete that delivery trucks backed up to for deliveries. One such truck’s driver was the store’s main casualty. Jack Welch looked out his left side window. The left hand was resting on the steering wheel. His right hand held a just-purchased medium Duncan Donuts coffee in a Styrofoam Go-Cup. Seeing horses exit from the delivery doors was enough to cause both hands to contract. The left hand wasn’t the problem. The hand with the cup was the problem. The new lid design worked exactly as the designers had intended. It stayed on perfectly. The bottom of the cup split.

  Once past the mall, the route was fairly straight and unimpeded (there was an unpaved service road that entered the Homestead property), which prompted a return to rapid transit. The horses had gotten their wind back and rode full tilt at the behest of their masters. So many years of keeping their pace down to a trot, at best, had made them long to stretch their limits, and they eagerly took full advantage of the opportunity.

  Ralph had never gone much above a canter. Any faster pace he had experienced in the past had always been very bouncy. The two earlier runs were on a winding scenic path, so he couldn’t open the throttle fully. He had been prepared for the worst on this last leg, but was taken aback. Though there was a heaving power under his rump, the ride was surprisingly smooth. Full speed didn’t call for up and down, only forward. Anything else was wasted energy and God didn’t create animals that gave something to get nothing. He felt the wind like a low force hurricane ripping through his hair and the leather reins that controlled the powerful beast grasped tight in his hands. The trees whizzing past amplified the feeling of speed and power and the sound of hooves tearing up the turf completed the wondrous sensation syndrome.

  Ryan was up ahead for two reasons; otherwise Ralph would have passed him by. One, Ryan knew the terrain and Ralph didn’t. Two, Ryan knew what to do when they got there and he didn’t. At least, that’s what Ralph thought. Truth be known, Ryan’s brain was spinning in the mud.

  Marianne and Vanessa both heard distant hooves, and both thanked God that their cavalry was coming. The side access road, just 100 yards up road, was where two horses burst out onto the main farm road. Most of the patrons were involved in the big barn doings and horses were around aplenty anyway, as part of the ambience. The two riders, therefore, didn’t attract the attention they might otherwise have garnered.

  Both high tailed it, literally, to the Main House porch that appeared empty to one of the riders. The other saw his beloved and breathed a mental sigh of relief. He couldn’t breathe a real one, as he couldn’t afford the distraction from trying to keep mounted during the changes of direction and velocity he was trying to maintain. Ralph saw Ryan maneuver Maribelle like he was a veteran cowboy. “Where did he learn to ride like that?”

  Ryan reined in at the porch. Ralph was torn between aiming towards Marianne or Ryan. He chose the latter, though damned if he knew what good he could do. Marianne looked all right, so no knight in shining armor was needed there. However, he was just able to catch a look from her aimed right at his heart, and that was all the encouragement he needed. “Bring on the whole mother-lovin’ underworld,” he thought.

  When Ralph dismounted, Cumquat walked over with Maribelle to munch some grass to the shady side of the house. Their part of the effort was finished and it was time to reward themselves for a job well done. Ryan bounded up the steps and mortal and spirit alike heard him.

  “Mrs. Anita Edwards, there is someone here that wants to talk with you. I am your enemy, Ryan Fitzgalen. Turn your face to me and deal with me. Stop your childish toying with a mere boy. There is a real man here and he will have his way with you like that Union Private did. Do you hear me, woman? You yellow-bellied, dishonorable, Southern WHORE!”

  Twelve miles away, ER personnel settled down into the routine of processing the newest emergency. The medic in charge was one well known for his many years of excellent professional service. More than a few locals and transients owed their lives to that man. This patient had pulmonary dysfunction of unknown causes. All the typical reasons for the symptoms presented (viral, bacterial, chemical) had been investigated and eliminated in the right algorithms. This was what emergency people liked the least, besides losing: dealing with a bad situation and not knowing what they were dealing with. Emergency people were well trained, but that was both blessing and curse. They worked best against problems they were trained for. While versatility and being ready for anything was part of the curriculum, it couldn’t be stretched to fit all the stranger things in this world. This was just such a case. The patient was stable, but the vitals, lack of contributing history and the general picture as a whole, frankly, stank. There wasn’t much they could do that hadn’t already been done at this stage of intervention, though if things turned sour, the patient’s arrival at the ER might just save his life. If they could just find out what it was that threatened his life.

  Gustav had done his best in passing on essential information about the uniqueness of Allen’s dilemma to Kurt. He had forgotten that Kurt was on duty and wouldn’t remain with Allen, though releasing Rachel from her vow of confidentiality was a good failsafe. It wasn’t enough for Kurt. Someone had to know the score, and there was one Doc he knew that might understand.

  Marc Benoit was Jamaican by ancestry and birth. He had seen a lot of strange things in his native country that still, after all these years, held pockets of superstition and voodoo. “Hi Kurt, I hear you brought in the mystery of the week.”

  “Hey Doc, you and I gotta talk.”

  “Sure Kurt, give me a call when I get off duty.”

  “No, Doc, right now.”

  Dr. Benoit had heard Kurt say that code phrase three times in his life. It told him that nothing was mor
e important than doing just what Kurt had asked. Titles offered advantages and the title of ‘Doctor’ opened doors that few others did. Mothers bent over backwards for them if their daughters might snag one, or vice versa if the genders were reversed. Waitresses rarely complained if one jumped ship when a beeper went off. Police went real easy on them if they bent the speed limits a bit. Kurt didn’t have that title, but that didn’t make him one iota the inferior to Dr. Benoit. They were both soldiers in the war against the collateral damage of accidents, both were professionals and both were damned good at what they did. Their teamwork demanded give and take. Time to give.

  A minute later (it took a medical professional less time to give the needed data than a lay person), Dr. Benoit walked to the cubical that Allen was in. A staff member from ‘Records’ came in and handed Dr. Benoit the research they had been able to dig up at Kurt’s request. He took a minute to read it, then muttered something in another language, one more familiar with this sort of voodoo.

  Kurt bowed out from the ER, and walked to the waiting room (well named) to speak to Rachel.

  “Rachel, I can’t stay. I broke my word to Gustav, but I think it was called for. Dr. Benoit knows the score and he has dealt with some pretty weird stuff. He was born in Jamaica and he’s seen things crazier than what your son is going through (I hope). I can’t think of anyone in whose hands Allen would be better off. I gotta go, Rachel, but I’ll check in later.” He was about to leave when he heard his name called by a nurse who stuck her head through the doors.

  “KURT! Get your butt in here! Bring the mother with you.” Kurt saw Rachel’s face drain of color. “Rachel, I’m sure it’s all right. That’s not the panic button code phrase.” That didn’t stop either of them from fearing the worst, or from making fast tracks to get to cubical B, bed 2. Rachel passed Kurt by. She had been here before and knew the way. Both stopped, shoulder to shoulder.

  Allen was sitting up looking like his old self. He smiled, waved and said “Hi Mom!” Rachel Hawthorn Gladstone saw her son faint two days ago, when Vanessa first demonstrated her existence. The shoe was now on the other foot. Kurt caught her before she landed. Fortunately it was a quiet afternoon. Bed 1 was unoccupied, until now. As she was being checked over by a male nurse intern, Kurt came up to Dr. Benoit and said, “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I came in here, took a look at the chart, read the research blurb you requested, walked up to the patient and he just opened his eyes and introduced himself. I about wet my scrubs! If I didn’t know you better, you’d be up on professional misconduct charges for playing a prank. Look at his readings! BP is normal, oxygen/carbon dioxide is normal. We’re unhooking the IV and bronchial mister now. He doesn’t need any of it. There’s not a goddamn thing wrong with him!”

  Kurt had never, ever, seen someone go from being that bad to being that good in his life. Dr. Benoit had, once, but that particular illness wasn’t listed in Taber’s Medical Dictionary. There was a village medicine man back in his hometown. He made a mental note to pay the gentleman a visit, next time he went to visit his mother, and ask him whether there was a witch doctor that specialized in respiratory system voodoo.

  The medical intervention was a bother. The soldiers being awakened late added to it. That it was due to her own inexplicable lateness made it even worse. Vanessa tugging at her skirts was a nuisance. But that MAN, who once spoke to her like a friend and then betrayed her. That MAN, whose scion was responsible for the second loss of her slaves, whose ancestor was part of the Army of Satan that invaded her precious South and attacked her personal honor. HE was challenging her in a manner that would offend even the lowliest Southerner. “How dare be?!?”

  She broke the connect. Two sets of eyes saw Monkey go from unfocused to normal again, if what followed could be considered normal. No artist could have captured the feral rage that evidenced itself upon her face. Ryan saw it and feared for his life, but he held up a hand in the direction of Ralph, Marianne, and Vanessa. All saw it and reluctantly obeyed. He prayed, “Lord, put some words in my mouth that won’t get me killed.”

  “I am a Texas-born Navy man and have a code of honor to both. You are a Southern woman who died two hundred years ago, but that does not excuse you from the attempted murder of an innocent young man, endangering the lives of two young people you don’t even know or have ever met, from murdering over three score men who meant you no harm but were caught up in a war not of their own making, and then preventing them from even the opportunity of meeting with their maker, a sacred right belonging to even the lowliest of cutthroats and scoundrels. You compounded your damnation with the murder of innocent families of freed slaves. You have disgraced your husband, your state, your country, your God and yourself. You mate your soul to Beelzebub himself by daily engaging in an orgy of sin and degradation that includes your causing the terror and daily death of your own innocent children! Those men, completely by accident, ended the lives of Jason and Rebecca. That should have been it, but NO! You had to satisfy your obscene lust every day at the cost of the two innocents who call you mother. You are no mother! You are not worthy of that title and I hereby strip you of it!” His outburst surprised even Ryan, who had just said it. Those were the Heaven-sent words that were supposed to keep him alive?

  The disorientation of a rapid disconnect to Allen had shaken Monkey enough, and the fury of Ryan’s invective against her had kept her off balance long enough, for the full narrative to sink in. Her defenses were down and his words found their way to Nighttime Annie, grieving her sorely. To get there, they also passed the shell that was Mad Annie, shaking her to the bone. There were disjunctions in Mad Annie that were re-united and the blinding light of realization was like being suddenly revealed to a multitude of people only to find that you were naked and guilty of unspeakable crimes. That realization caused Mad Annie to slink further down. That eroded the barrier that kept her from Nighttime Annie. Thin enough that, for the first time, she could see there was another her; still apart, but closer. She looked at herself and asked, “Who are you?”

  “I am a part of you, a part that you left behind when we died.”

  “We’re, dead? How can that be? And what Ryan said, can it possibly be, be true?”

  “I’m afraid so, Soul Sister, for that is what we are. Please do not be afraid. You and I must unite our efforts. There is a third being that is responsible for the horrible things you heard earlier. They call her Monkey and our friends are doing what they can to defeat her. Monkey is the one that has misguided you and lied to you. She has kept you from sanity. She has murdered innocents. Our friends may help us, but it is up to you and me to defeat her. If we can do that, perhaps we can earn the forgiveness of God, our children, our slaves and those poor soldiers Monkey has tortured mercilessly.”

  The two could see each other clearly. It was like talking to your twin. There was a barrier between them that had been opaque and then, thanks to Ryan, became translucent like a shower door. As they spoke to each other, the barrier became still thinner, the images became clearer to each other. Through the grieving process and through self-love, which was not evil but a prelude and prerequisite to loving others, the barrier wasted away to nothing, like the last traces of winter ice on a pond under a warm sun.

  It was no longer Mad Annie and Nighttime Annie. The distinctness between the two was growing fainter. Their rhythms began to synchronize, healing a very old fracture in her essence. In moments, the madness ended and Annie was made more whole. She looked up, but there was Monkey. That was organized raw power there, much more than anything they could mount more than a token resistance to, for now. Mad Annie had been the main power, but she was confused and disorganized. Monkey had aimed her like a gun, which amplified her own firepower. Annie considered the thought that, perhaps, she ought to challenge Monkey, that it would be the best thing, if she could destroy herself in order to free the
others. Yet, something stopped her. Nighttime Annie alone might have gone in and risked the sacrifice of herself for her friends. Now, she was more circumspect. If she lost and that left Monkey in complete power and charge, then what? It would be best for her to wait until Monkey satisfied her lust for base satisfaction just one more time and then confer with her beloved companions. She waited.

  Monkey prepared to send her rage at the impudent devil spawn in front of her, but something was wrong. She had come to rely on Mad Annie to aim her wrath. She could unleash power on her own, but it was so much easier and far more powerful when riding her insane counterpart. She searched for Mad Annie, but could not find her.

  Ryan saw the look of surprise on Annie’s face and took heart. He had been a man who stared into the bore of a cannon that misfired. What had happened? He didn’t know, but here was one gift horse he had no intention of orally examining.

  “Annie, I am very sorry to have spoken to you like that, and hope you will some day forgive me.”

  “What is the silver-tongued demon up to,” she thought. This momentary change of pace was more welcomed than she would have liked to admit, given her sudden reduction of firepower. She needed to assess whatever it was that this man had just done to her, the man who continued to speak.

  “The one you were harming is my heir. You, of all people, should know that, to defend one’s descendents, one will go to great lengths and do or say things that otherwise they would never dream of doing. (Keep talking, steady monotone, like what they do to jumpers. Bore them into submission.)”

  “I do not trust you, Ryan Fitzgalen. You have joined with my enemies and are trying to defeat me. Why should I listen to anything you have to say?” Monkey, too, was playing for time. She wanted to know what happened to Mad Annie, how Ryan had come to be here, how things conspired to break her connection to the boy and how the boy had survived a force that had laid low everyone else to whom she had applied it to.

  “I don’t blame you, Annie. It is hard for you to trust anyone anymore. It must seem like everyone has turned against you and your cause. We are not against you, Annie (keep using the name, it’s disarming). We are just trying to end a punishment that has come to the end of its time. Please Annie, think. Has anyone besides the mad soldier actually tried to harm you, personally? Haven’t all our efforts been extended to reduce the pain and suffering of the unfortunate soldiers under your control?”

  Monkey actually listened to Ryan. It was a fallback action step to her standard ‘shoot first and don’t bother with questions later’. Annie, from below, saw that happen and hope rose in her heart. Could it all be over?

  Monkey thought about all her dealings with her ‘mortal enemies’ and could see the truth in Ryan’s words. “Could it be?” Ryan had not directly confronted her, until now. He had only kept company with the soldiers. He was freely admitting it, without seeming ashamed of it. “This is a man from Texas?” There were Texans fighting under her husband Archibald, once. She then brought to mind the boy. He, too, was only riding with the soldiers. Yet, he turned the slaves against her. He incited them to take up their implements and that boy led a direct assault against her. Which meant, “Ryan lies! They all LIE!”

  There was a moment when Ryan had hoped the war was over, but the look of contemplation on Annie’s face faded suddenly. What could have she thought of that derailed her from his track? He was the one that had broken her contact with Allen, so that...Allen! That was it. He had attacked her with Annie’s own slave army, didn’t he? Shit! He had forgotten that. And...what was that? Hooves!

  All who had the ears for it had heard it. It was almost funny that the sound be accompanied by bluegrass music, for there was a contingency plan in place had the confrontation taken longer than anticipated. There was now a full-scale barn dance with square dancers both demonstrating for and pulling tourists out of the audience. The dance was spilling out to the lawn behind the barn and there were more amusements and events starting up further away from (never closer to) the Homestead Main House. Ryan didn’t know whether to be pleased or not. Annie would be forced to aim her efforts somewhere beside him due to the soldiers’ arrival, but the progress he might have been able to accomplish was cut short. On the other hand, he was still breathing. That was a good thing.

  Monkey looked west, then back to Ryan. “We will finish this later, Yankee!” she spat out and turned her attention to the Passion Play, hoping that the loss of Mad Annie wouldn’t spell disaster for her when the soldiers broke through the woods.

  Ryan sprinted away from the gathering chill behind him, Ralph followed close behind. Stopping at the fence, he told Marianne and Ralph to make tracks out of there immediately. Marianne tried to argue but Ralph grabbed her hand and hauled her to greener pastures. Vanessa and Ryan looked at each other, then at the children. Ryan’s heart broke.

  “Kids, this is the last time. I swear before you and God above that this will be the last time.”

  Rebecca looked up to Ryan. “Thank you, Mr. Ryan, sir. You too, Miss Vanessa. Oh, it’s really Mrs. Vanessa, isn’t it? It’s time for you to go now. Jason, hold my hands, please.”

  Vanessa backed away down along the fence, not taking her eyes off the children or Ryan. He couldn’t touch them, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon them. Ryan recalled all those years he distanced himself from this part of the Passion Play. Now, having talked directly with the children, distance was no longer an option for him. Ryan had finally tasted the heartsick bitterness he had avoided for so long. Rebecca kept her sights on Vanessa, Jason looked up to a man who gave him a taste of having a protective father, and Ryan turned to see the surprised Union men.

  Monkey witnessed the wave of horse and man. The loss of Mad Annie may have lessened Monkey’s assault on mortals, but she found herself still quite capable of handling her captives, despite the silliness of that Ryan who had tried to distract her by standing with her children (what was that all about?). No one got away, but Jed’s expected attack seemed little more than perfunctory. There was no rage in it. She still burned him and buried the others, as always.

  Ryan turned to watch Monkey complete her ritual revenge. Disappointed over no apparent lessening of Monkey’s abilities, he went to comfort and to be comforted by Vanessa. But Vanessa wasn’t looking at him. She was looking behind him. He turned.

  It was yet another mistake he had made that day. Monkey was staring at him, at them. She had a view of Ryan and Vanessa standing together. Ryan realized the disaster potential. Not knowing what else to do, he turned his back to Monkey and performed a credible ‘Hollywood swing’ at his Love, using the hand unseen by Annie to slap his own leg as his right hand met Vanessa’s face. He yelled, “TRAITOR!”

  Vanessa was shocked. She felt a tug as Ryan’s hand went through her face. Time stopped for her as reality broke into pieces. She could only stare at him and place her hand upon her cheek through where his hand had passed. The angry look on his face didn’t mesh with the soft ‘shhh’ that came from his lips. Then came a wink from Ryan’s left eye. That was when realization sank in. All of this passed in less than three seconds, and she had the presence of mind to haul back, focus her energies and land a roundhouse, with an answering, “YANKEE!” Vanessa didn’t think to use Ryan’s ‘Hollywood swing’. The last thing Monkey did that day was smile and nod.

  Marianne and Ralph were watching. All they saw was Ryan taking a swing at nothing while slapping his leg and yelling, then, moments later, he spun around as though struck by a wrecking ball. They both ran up to see what had happened, fearing that Monkey had switched her destruction goals from Allen to Ryan. When they arrived at the ‘man down’, things seemed even more un-right.

  First, Ryan was going to have one heck of a shiner unless an ice pack was applied soon. Second, he was laughing, hysterically.

  “Holy Hannah, Vanessa! You must be part mule! Oh, hi guys.” He got up
and walked to the porch where he chatted with the wind for half a minute. Ryan came back and announced “Good news. Mad Annie (ouch!) is no more. She (oooh!) has merged with our own Annie (yo!). More on that, later. Best of all, Monkey (oyy!) can’t get at Allen anymore. He’s (erk!) safe now. As a bonus, we (yo!) made progress with Jed’s madness, as well. Now, let’s go to the medical office and see (oh, man!) if they have an ice pack.”

  Having decided to eliminate all words with the ‘ee’ sound from his vocabulary for a while, Ryan strode off like nothing had happened. Marianne and Ralph looked at each other and just shook their heads. Ryan turned around and said, “Vanessa, see (wince) to Annie will you? Don’t fret about the hit. Just call it a love tap. Ralph and Marianne, go fetch the horses, won’t you? Marianne, while you’re at it, call Gustav and fill him in and get the low down on Allen and Rachel.”

  “HOLD IT FOR ONE DAMNED MINUTE!” Marianne hollered. A family of tourists had drifted away from the ho-down, and figured that the security-lady must have stopped a bad guy. Must have done more than that! Even from a distance, they could see a seriously swollen left eye. “Vanessa did this to you? Jesus, Ryan, what did you say to her?”

  Ryan replied honestly, “Nothing. I (ow!), just winked.” Then he resumed walking to the infirmary to find an ice pack. He’d need both eyes functioning tomorrow.

  Ralph leaned over to Marianne. “And I thought Sicilians were touchy.”

  A young boy asked his parents why the nice lady was chasing the two men. He was told that the lady was a member of the Homestead security team and was making sure that bad guys were sent away. “Wow, Mom, she must be very brave!”

  Gustav was happy to get the good news, though he wondered why the sender was curiously out of breath. The stress of the day had given Gustav cause to take another dose of his meds. Maybe now he could get some ‘west and wewaxation, huhuhuhuh.’ He ‘party-lined’ everyone together.

  Rachel took Allen’s SatCom and related the miracle of Allen’s recovery. They compared notes and found that Allen’s improvement coincided exactly with Ryan’s intervention. Allen expressed his gratitude directly to Ryan. About that time, the ER doors opened and he heard a man yelling at the top of his lungs about the two idiots on horses that were responsible for cooking his cojones in a coffee bath and someone had better call his lawyer and the police because he was going to press charges big time (all that in one breath)! The noise was loud enough to carry over the SatCom, and Ryan recalled that there had been a driver staring at them from inside that truck behind the furniture warehouse.

  Allen told Gustav that he might be able to pick up a client if he got down to the ER real fast. Gustav leaned back and laughed, which felt like manna from Heaven.

  Annie stood with Vanessa, watching the westering sun.

  “So you two are fully merged now? Seamless?”

  “Yes, Dear, fully. There is such a feeling of wholeness, now.”

  “Annie, even in just your nighttime state, you were able to hold back your mad self and Monkey for a time. Now that you are one, could you do it again? Maybe longer?”

  “Perhaps, but would that be a good thing? I still don’t know how to reach my children or those soldiers.”

  “Annie, I know where the soldiers are kept.”

  Annie looked into her apron pocket sadly. “I can’t see them there, Dear.”

  “Wrong apron, Annie. Look over at the slave shack area.”

  Annie did. Slowly her mouth opened. “The graveyard. That has to be it! That’s the pocket in the apron, isn’t it? But what good does that do?”

  “I don’t know, but I’d like to try and find out. Now that you are stronger, is there any possibility that you can go there with me?”

  Mad Annie had been off the porch to look at the people working on the gardens, but that was a long time ago and it was in the direction she was used to focusing her power. Since then, she hadn’t left her porch (other than to deal with Jed). Vanessa reached out, wondering. She placed her hand on Annie’s shoulder and felt it. Her hand met resistance, though she was not making any special effort at making contact. That hadn’t happened before. Normally Vanessa would pass right through her and vice versa. Annie felt it and was most pleased. No one had touched her since before she died. Her hand trembled as she returned the motion and felt a friend’s solid shoulder under her own hand. As always, there was no sensation of touch, but even the sense of solid resistance was a revelation. The two women stared at each other, mouths trying to say something but unable to utter the joy in their hearts. So, they held each other in their arms and wept without tears.

  Finally, “It must have been your re-union that did it, Annie. What a wonderful sign!”

  “Is it, Dear? I’m not so sure. If I’m more together and am capable of doing more, what does that do for ‘Monkey Me? Is she weaker, or did she also gain strength?”

  Vanessa thought about that. “I don’t know. I don’t think Ryan will know either. That makes it all the more important for us to go.”

  “Go? Go where. Dear?”

  “Let’s go see if two slightly over-aged women can dig up a few good men, Sweetie.” Vanessa took Annie’s hand and they took one step at a time away from that cursed porch.

  Allen was released under protest of the business office, but with the blessings of Dr. Benoit. Kurt, who had brought in the truck driver, stopped in to visit the miracle boy about the time that Rachel was recovering her conscious awareness. The four of them traded notes. They said that a final council of war was scheduled that night at their hotel suite and could Kurt and the Jamaican doctor be called upon to act as sounding boards, later? All answers were to the affirmative.

  Rachel and Allen were informed by Gustav that Ralph would pick them up at the main doors. Sure enough he was waiting there for them, with Ryan (holding an ice pack to his face) and Marianne already on board. Allen and Rachel both wrinkled their noses on getting into the car.

  Allen asked, “What in God’s name is that SMELL?”

  Ralph responded, “Riding horses can get you a little stinky. Lighten up little man.”

  Rachel took up the baton. “That’s not just horse sweat I’m smelling.”

  Ralph snickered. “Sorry about that, lady. Cumquat took a squat when I wasn’t looking. Got most of it off with the Homestead hose. I’ll change after I drop you all off.” Chuckling at his revenge, he apologized that his power windows had also gone on the fritz. His other two passengers had almost gotten used to it, but not quite. At least the air conditioning kept them from asphyxiation.

  They were dropped off at the Marriott, gasping, and amazed that Ralph showed no signs of gag reflex. Marianne tossed in a ten-dollar bill and told him to pick up a six pack of Lysol for his taxi. “Will do, ma am, he said. “Oh, and after today, I officially believe in miracles. My friends, do all of you believe in miracles?” This seemed a little sappy coming from someone like Ralph, but it had been quite an amazing day. Everyone agreed that miracles indeed did exist and many had been witnessed that day.

  “Well, I’m glad to be able to share one more with my best friends.” He sat back in his seat, power rolled down all of the windows and pulled away from the guest drop-off curb. Ryan’s “You son of a...” was barely caught, but he could hear Sicilian invectives for another tenth of a mile.

  The elevator opened and Gustav welcomed them back home. He was so relieved to see Allen up and about. “You don’t know how bad you looked young man. The sky was never so blue as your lips and fingertips were and what IS that smell?”

  Ryan merely grumbled on his way to the love seat, “Ralph’s revenge. That’s going to cost him.” Seeing the expression on Marianne’s face as she claimed the recliner gave Gustav comfort. Someone else had taken his place as her primary revenge target.

  Allen plopped down on the couch and sighed. “Yeah, it was pretty scary. I felt my chest tighten up more and more until I reali
zed that it was no java attack. It was like I could feel myself rotting inside, not just with my body, but my, I don’t know, soul? If that was the same thing the soldiers and slaves went through, damn!”

  Ryan looked at Allen and remembered something that might cheer him up. “My boy, what do you remember most clearly about the participants of your dream encounter?”

  Allen thought for a moment. “It was those poor slaves. They looked like zombies or something, no control over their own lives. Must have been what it was like to be a slave back then. Shame it’s too late to do something for them.”

  “Not so, G cubed son. Those slaves were real.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Monkey didn’t punish them like she did the soldiers, but she did murder them in like fashion and stored them in that apron pocket we talked about. Son, you set them free and you did it using Lincoln, the slave liberator, as your weapon. It just doesn’t get any more ironic than that.”

  Allen remembered the faces in his mind, and the one that lingered the most was that young woman. “I wonder what her name was.”

  “Who are you talking about?” his mother asked.

  “There was this one lady, about my age or a little younger. She smiled at me when they were leaving. Of all of their faces, hers is the only one I remember.” Marianne and Rachel caught each other’s eyes. They were both pleased about Allen getting over that Melissa ding-dong. Now, if he could only find himself attracted to someone with a pulse.

  Ryan recalled his conversation he had with Vanessa, after he had caught his breath at the Homestead medical aid office. “Her name was Marigold. She was Annie’s favorite.”