Maya's Aura: Destroy the Tea Party

by Smith, Skye

  "I never knew him before the opium," she said. "He used it because of a war injury. I was his second wife. I should not say this about the dead, but he was a bad man. A warrior, a slaver, a rapist, and my marriage was a trial before God. Now his family have petitioned the courts to deny me any part of his will. I am reliant on his lawyer to plead my case, but I begin to think that he is on their side."

  "Keep this to yourself," his voice was stronger now, and the keenness of his intellect was now shining through his eyes. "One of the reasons for the Town Meeting on Tuesday, is to choose a new chairman. I have resigned in order to fight my demons. At one time I was a lawyer of acclaim. If you wish it, I could look into your inheritance for you. You would not need to pay me, for I need the practice to sharpen my memory."

  The look of joy and relief that came to Lydia's face, brightened his whole day. Not just because a comely young woman was smiling at him, but because now he had something useful to do once he retired as chairman.

  Britta danced by their table a few moments later. She was smirking ear to ear and dancing to some inner music. Jemmy reached out and stopped her from passing. She was looking but not seeing. It was only when he touched her, that she realized it was him.

  He gave her a knowing smile. "Do you realize that Puritans think that those who dance when there is no music, must be insane?"

  "Then I pity them, for having music inside your mind is one of the innocent joys of life," replied Britta. "Can I get you anything, father?" she asked warmly and put an arm on his shoulder. She noticed the opium pipe on the table and stopped smiling.

  He did not know how to react to her calling him father, but it pleased him. "Some more of this Peruvian tea would be nice. What is its other name?"

  "The plant is coca, the drink is matea," she replied, and hummed and danced on towards the galley.

  Jim was next to arrive. He was carrying a very smelly Robby. Lydia knew the look on Robby's face and stood up to take him. "His things are upstairs," she said. "You could have just changed him up there for me." She watched Jim shrug his shoulders. "Men, they'll slaughter a pig without a whimper, but don't you dare show them a dirty diaper." She hurried off upstairs to change the child.

  Jim sat down next to his father. He looked at the strange small pipe on the table, and sniffed at it. Only then did he remember his father's bottle. He pulled it out of his pocket and placed it in front of Jemmy.

  "No need, son, Lydia fixed me up with her husband's pipe. Stay, I wanted to talk about you and Britta. You were just upstairs with her, yes. You are a lucky fellow to be pampered by that one. I just wanted to say, that if you want to be welcomed upstairs by Lydia, then you must abide by her rules. This is her shop and the upstairs is her home, and Britta is her bond servant."

  His father continued talking at him, but Jim had already heard enough. His father had just given him permission to keep Britta's company. He leaped up when he saw Britta dancing towards him with a pot of tea. Once she set it down, he took her into his arms and danced with her.

  "Oh, oh, oh," said Britta, "let's try that new dance we watched at the theatre. Now, how did it go?"

  Jon had just come back in with an armload of firewood. He saw tables, chairs, and lanterns at risk from the young couple, so he put the wood down, and hurried to push back some furniture to give them enough room to dance.

  Lydia came back with a fresh-smelling baby. She watched the dancing for mere moments before she handed Robby to Jemmy, grabbed Jon and tried to copy the moves of the new dance.

  Britta was laughing at the fun of it as she repeated the instructions she had heard at the theatre. "It is called a waltz and it is the rage in Austria. The man who demonstrated it was an Austrian mercenary attached to the army here.

  It is in triple time, so just a beat slower than a jig. The man must hold the woman to his breast so that he can twirl her to swirl her gown, but without her falling. He turns slowly as he walks backwards, and she must follow in his steps. Together they stay in balance and if she does misstep, he can hold her weight until she finds her feet again. Very clever. You should have seen the effect on the gowns. Oh they swirled out so gracefully, swirl after swirl."

  Britta and Jim stopped to allow more room for Lydia and Jon. Britta hummed out a tune of the right speed and Jim stomped his foot in time. Once Lydia and Jon had the hang of it, Jim started with Britta again. After many many minutes they stopped in breathless giggles after a small table went skittering across the floor.

  Jemmy was holding Robby's weight, while Robby tried to dance on the table. "That is one dance that will never be allowed here in Boston by the Puritans. It is delightful, and beautiful, and absolutely shameless. It sometimes looked like you were having sex standing up." It had not escaped his notice that both of the teen boys had bulges under their aprons.

  "I'll bet they are all doing it in Newport," replied Britta.

  "Newport is a nest of wealthy libertines. Of course they are all doing it," laughed Jemmy. "This is Boston. It will never be allowed."

  "Britta," called Lydia breathlessly, "we must go dancing at the Music Hall before the waltz is banned, and while I can still fit into my roomiest gown."

  "Jim can find out when the next dance is, when he picks up his sister Mary from her violin lessons," Britta replied. Jim nodded.

  Lydia sat down beside Jemmy and put her hands out to keep Robby from falling as he tried to walk towards her across the table top.

  Jemmy bent close to her. "I feel much better than I have in weeks. Perhaps that opium syrup hangs too heavily in my stomach and robs me of energy. With the pipe the opium does not have that same effect."

  "That is truer than you know, Jemmy," Lydia said quietly. "Excuse my crudeness, but drinking opium bungs you up. When was the last time you had a good fast fluffy dump." He turned scarlet as he shook his head, and she exclaimed "Ah ha, that is also part of the problem. You must get regular again, for that is how your body rids itself of poisons. When you are bunged up, they stay inside and poison you. Never forget that opium is a poison."

  "May I buy your husband's pipe and opium from you?" Jemmy asked.

  "No, absolutely not," she said forcefully, "but I will loan it to Jim, and show him how to prepare it. You must promise me never to fill it or to smoke it without his help."

  "I promise." He squeezed Lydia's hand. "Thank you for everything."

  "Don't be so quick with your thankyou's. Getting off opium syrup is a difficult path, and some day soon you will curse me."

  * * * * *

  Sunday at the church was as different as could be from last Sunday. Over the past week at least a half dozen society women had drunk Britta's chocolate at the shop. Over a dozen of the men now considered Lydia's shop a critical part of their attempts to organize the committees of correspondence. Most importantly, due to Ruth's rudeness to both Britta and Lydia, Mercy now felt protective towards them.

  The young women of the church now recognized Britta as Jim's betrothed, and searched out her company. The younger daughters came with them to inspect her handsome brother. The pews around Mercy's family were full to overflowing.

  Jemmy sat with Ruth and his daughters and tried to explain Lydia's sudden popularity. Ruth capitulated. She quietly stood and shuffled her way to the aisle, and then joined the ring of people around Lydia. She could not push through, so instead she shuffled along in the row behind Lydia where Mercy squeezed sideways to make a place for her to sit.

  "Mrs. Caldwell," she said as she tapped Lydia on the shoulder. "would you like to join us for our Sunday meal. We eat two hours after Church ends. Jim can take you to our house, and then take you home afterwards."

  "We would love to come to your house, Mrs. Otis. Thank you so much for your kind invitation."

  The service started, the prayers began, and Lydia whispered to Britta, "My dear, our wishes are about to come true. You will have Jim, and I will be accepted by Boston society. Please do not poke sharp sticks at Ruth. Allow her to change her mind ab
out us with grace."

  It was no to be. Ruth's invitation in public was for the sake of the audience, not the guests. At her home she was as frosty as ever.

  * * * * *

  Now that Lydia was a member of a respectable Congregationalist church, it was expected that she keep the coffee shop closed on Sundays, as all Puritan businesses remain closed on the Sabbath. The shop was closed to the public only, of course, not to the private business of the committee’s meeting room.

  Jon was downstairs making coffee for those in the meeting room, while Lydia and Britta relaxed upstairs. Having the day off made them realize how busy the coffee shop had become. They had been run off their feet for a month, and were now the overtired victims of their own success.

  Britta sat on the end of Lydia's bed watching silently out of the window. The blanket draped over her head and down in folds around her, hid that she was naked underneath. One of her hands pressed her quartz crystal against her neck and she sent a prayer out to her mother, where ever she may be, by way of the half moon that was already above the horizon in the afternoon sky.

  Lydia watched her for a long while in silence until she saw the head move. "You do realize that our new Puritan friends would be angry with you if they found out that you kept that crystal down your cleavage rather than a cross, and that you prayed to the moon rather than to Christ. Just a warning."

  "Jim knows. He doesn't mind," Britta spoke softly still feeling the peace of her prayers. "I am a healer, my mother is a healer, as was her mother. This crystal is something that grew from stone. We believe in things that grow; in the cycles of fertility and birth and life. Why would we wear a cross, the symbol of the torture and death of a gentle man?"

  Lydia's mouth dropped open. "Oh Britta, that was blasphemy. You must promise me that you will never, ever say such things aloud."

  "But it is true. Don't you think it rather silly for so many people to endlessly study and argue the writings of men who died in some desert place thousands of years ago, rather than to simply look up at the moon and see for themselves, the wonder there, that cannot be captured underneath any roof built by men."

  "Does your healing power come from the moon. Are you absorbing it now, to use it later?" asked Lydia in an attempt to steer the girl away from speaking more blasphemy.

  "Perhaps, I don't know. My mother told me that the goodness in my hands is love. That I collect together all the love inside of me and push it out through my hands. It is this love that does the healing, not the hands, which is why I must not touch whatever I am healing. The love is the same mother's love that you have for Robby, and for the new one inside of you. For some reason, I am able to push it out through my hands, whereas most people can't."

  Lydia pulled her silk slip down from her breasts and wriggled it further down her body to leave her belly exposed. "Come and give my new one some of that love."

  Britta broke her stare away from the moon, and then from the street of tall brick buildings and paving stones. There was no green on this street, no grass, no trees, no live plants at all. Just brick and stone. "We are not meant to be living in canyons of brick and stone without any plants," she gave words to her thoughts. "I feel that my healing power is dying here. On your dairy farm it became very strong, but here it is dying."

  "At my dairy there were animals and children and women to heal. You are just out of practice. Now come here and practice on me." Lydia smiled in expectation of what was to come. The girl had a touch, or rather, a non-touch, that soothed and made one feel delicious.

  Delicious was not a worthy description for how good Lydia felt after just ten short minutes of Britta hovering her hands back and forth over her skin. "How is the baby. Is he healthy?" she opened her eyes to ask.

  "She is very healthy. You will be feeling her kick very soon now, and then your belly will grow and grow."

  "She, then a daughter, are you sure?"

  "Oh yes, very sure. Girls accept the love I push and draw it into themselves. Boys do not. It is the same once they are grown. Women draw it in. Men get horny. That is why I rarely try to heal men using it, but instead give them herbs and potions."

  "Mmm, well don't stop, not yet."

  "If as you say, I may be losing my healing touch from not using it," said Britta thoughtfully, "then perhaps I should try to use it more often. We have more women visiting the shop now, perhaps ...."

  "No," said Lydia immediately, "that is a very bad idea. Besides, they come to our shop covered from head to toe in heavy and dark Puritan garb. You have told me many times that your healing powers work best when there is as little clothing involved as possible. I mean, look at us right now. We are both almost nude. Do you really think you can talk those stuffy socialites out of their clothing."

  Britta was silent and thoughtful. She had lived in just two cities in her life, Bristol and Boston, and both cities seemed to have snuffed out anything that was natural and good. The unnatural modesty that was forced on women in cities was not just forced by their church, but by the crowding together of lusty men.

  "Hah," Lydia snickered, "and you are about to be married into a good Puritan family. I can't wait to see how you behave after you move into Jim's mother's house." Her words were almost cruel considering that Jim's mother Ruth completely disapproved of Jim's choice of Britta, a redemptioner, as his bride to be.

  "You may be surprised," replied the girl with a confidence in her voice that she did not feel inside. "Ruth tries to be very English in everything she does. She is a royalist, and if it were up to her, she and her daughters would be dressed in the latest European fashions and colors all day long."

  "Jemmy Otis's wife is a royalist?" Lydia began to laugh at the perversity of life. "Jemmy the ultimate Puritan king hater. Jemmy who is still fighting the English Civil War of the last century. His wife is a royalist."

  "Don't laugh," Britta scolded. "It's not funny. It causes much grief in that household, especially since the family fortune is all in her name."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

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

  Chapter 5 - The Town Meeting at Faneuil

  "Are you sure of that date, dear, November 20th?" Nana asked looking up from her notes.

  "Yes, I can visualize it on the shop's calendar," confirmed Maya. "The calendar by the front door of the shop was a wood carving of a cat and had two slots. One for the month and one for the day. November and 20."

  "Can you remember the rest of the shop with such clarity?" asked Nana.

  "Some of it. Like the ladies table because it had a large scorched mark on the top surface where someone had put down a tray right out of the oven."

  "Sorry to interrupt, then," whispered Nana. "but the date could be vital to verifying all these memories. Close your eyes again and describe the memory."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  Tuesday, November 20th, the day of the long expected town meeting, was a very strange day at the Anchor Coffee Shoppe. For the first time in many days there were no women customers. Two men now took turns standing inside and outside the front door of the shop. To pass the doormen someone inside had to vouch for you.

  The back room was in use continuously for one small meeting after another. The shop had become the waiting room for the meeting room. The landlord sat in the shop sipping tea all day long in case he was needed by his tenants.

  An hour before the start of the town meeting, the Anchor Coffee Shoppe emptied. The two doormen came inside and bolted the door and put up the closed sign. They sat with the landlord at the window table closest to the door, drank coffee, and waited. Every time Britta or Lydia walked by them they felt like they were being stripped of their clothes by the guards' eyes. Eventually they went upstairs and left Jon downstairs to serve coffee to the men and to keep the fire stoked.

  Britta went to her room and shut the door and did not light a lamp. She sat in the window, from where she could not actually see Faneuil Hall, but
she could see a corner of the square that led to the hall. She prayed that there would be no massacre on this day. Not with Jim at the hall caring for his father.

  She woke with a start at the sound of a knock. How long had she been asleep? She was freezing, for with the door closed no heat from the sitting room could reach her room. Another knock. It was from down below. She opened the window and peered over the ledge and into the dark street. There were dark figures at the shop door. She looked at Jon's bed. It was still made. Jon was still downstairs.

  She walked through the sitting room. There were no lights lit in any of their rooms, so she wrapped her wool cloak around her and made her way downstairs in the pitch black. She entered the coffee shop from the stairwell. As soon as she was through the doorway she felt a hand go over her mouth and a strong arm pin her arms to her waist.

  "Shh, it's Jon. Quiet," he whispered and then released her.

  "What is happening?" Her words were just the slightest of breaths against his ear.

  "We think it's the governor's spies for they are not in uniform. They are at the door demanding to be let in. They say that one of them has a writ of assistance, a standing warrant to search."

  "So now what?" she whispered, fearful, shivering.

  "The landlord is pretending they woke him out of a sleep. He has told them there is nobody here and to come back tomorrow. Shh. Listen."

  She could now hear the landlord's voice rising. "I tell yee to get thee gone. Fair warning before I call my watchmen to drive you off. They are armed and I have every right to order them to shoot if I feel threatened."

  "We have no interest in you. We are searching for evidence of sedition," said a bellowing voice from outside.

  "This is a coffee shop. We sell coffee, not sedition. Be gone fool, and quickly."

  "Do you deny that members of the seditious Committee of Correspondence meet here?" bellowed a voice.

  "Lots of people meet here. It is a coffee shop. We sold a lot of coffee today to people on their way to the town meeting. Why don't you check at the hall and see if they will sell you some sedition, and let me go back to bed."