Maya's Aura: Destroy the Tea Party

by Smith, Skye

  Jemmy put three identical written pages in front of Lydia. Her eyes were closed and tears were glistening in her lashes. "Do you want to continue now?" he asked and saw Lydia nod. "All right. The lawyer has done you a great disservice. The will has been stalled in court because one affidavit was not supplied by the lawyer. There is no indication he has ever sought it. This one I have made up, and we need to fill in names and addresses and dates."

  Lydia wiped her tears and started to read one of the pages. Britta pulled one towards her.

  "Your inheritance is not actually yours, it is Robby's, but you are his trustee until he is of age. Your step-daughter's case is based on the wording of the will which leaves the estate to his son. She claims that Robby is not his son. She has various affidavits to form her case. You need only one to remove the merit of her case. This one."

  Lydia summarized the paper, "This is a sworn statement of a freeman that says he was witness to my husband copulating with me nine months before Robby's birth date."

  "That is true, is it not?" said Jemmy. "You told me you had a witness to that event, before you were married. This paper must be filled in and signed and witnessed. One copy to the freeman, one for our records and one for the court. Once we submit it, the court will uphold the will, and the estate is yours." He neatly piled the copies.

  "The lawyer also gave you bad advice. You should never have vacated the home on the estate. As the wife you have a strong claim to the family home no matter what the will states, so long as you are still using it as a home. I will have to look up the precedent, but I believe you must not be absent for more than six months. I assume that it is a valuable building."

  Lydia crossed her arms on the table and laid her head down on them.

  "I must go now. I have been here too long. I will have more to report in a few days. Meanwhile, get those papers signed before the trustee can do more damage." He stood up, and Lydia stood up with him and pressed herself against him so that he was forced to hug her. He felt the kiss and her tears on his cheek and heard her whisper her thankyou’s into his ear. He tried to ease away from her. He did not welcome such public displays. She was a comely woman which made it worse. Oh, but her body felt so good against his.

  Britta saw the look of guilt pass over Jemmy's face, so she gently pulled Lydia away from him. "Good night, father. I will make sure she gets these papers signed." She led a dazed and upset Lydia towards the door to the stairwell and then upstairs to tuck her into bed. Nothing was worse than being cold when you are having a good weep.

  * * * * *

  Britta sat on Lydia's bed with her. "Just go to the farm and tell the trustee that you know what he has been doing, and tell him to stop, then get these papers signed, and then come home," Britta suggested it matter-of-factly. "If you stay more than an overnight in your house, then it probably starts the six month clock ticking again."

  "No, I can't go there," replied Lydia.

  "Oh yes, the baby. Well, send a message for the witness to come here and sign the papers."

  "That won't work either," said Lydia. She was so depressed.

  "Oh yes, of course, there is nothing in it for him. Why would he come? He certainly would not hurry, and the trustee would continue selling stock."

  "Oh you are so naive sometimes that you make me want to slap you," snorted Lydia. "Don't you get it? Look at Robby. Look at the mop of red hair he is now growing. Don't you get it? Really. Red Jennison is the father of both of my children. He doesn't yet know I am pregnant with this one, at first sight he will know. If he sees Robby he will know him as his son. As soon as he sees either of us he well demand that I marry him immediately. He will make trouble, bad trouble, if I don't."

  "So, don't meet with Red."

  "Fool," snorted Lydia. "He is my witness."

  "But..."

  "As I told you when we first met. The witness only agreed to do it if I, ugh, favored him. That day that Robert was witnessed copulating with me, his bond girl, I was done by two men, a few hours apart." Lydia grabbed Britta's hand and put it to her belly. "And you, yourself were the lookout while Red put this one in me."

  "So, marry him."

  "I refuse. I refuse on many counts. If I marry him and immediately bear his child, there may be questions about Robert's death. That is how I have been able to keep Red at bay up until now. If I marry him he will be seen together with Robby, and the truth will be known and I may lose the estate.

  Most important. I don't want to marry him. He has lied and seduced and blackmailed me into two children. He is an evil man. He is a banker. He doesn't want me, he wants my estate. I would not be surprised to find out that he profited in some way from the sale of the women by that sod of a trustee."

  Lydia's eyes grew large with an idea. "Do you think that Jemmy would go? He would know better than any how to get answers, and signatures. He would certainly put the fear of God and lawsuits into the trustee."

  "That is unfair. He is old and sick and sometimes not right in the head," replied Britta testily. "The only person we can send is Jon, but that means he must know enough of all this to make decisions for you while he is there. He will also need some legal paper granting him the right to make decisions on your behalf."

  "Fine, I will talk to Jon."

  Britta stood to go downstairs, "I will send Jon up."

  * * * * *

  * * * * *

  When Jim drove his father to the coffee shop two day's later, he was told that Jon was gone to the Eagle Valley for a few days. He dropped his father at the shop, turned the cart, and went home to pack a bag, and a bedroll. He was determined to move into the meeting room until Jon returned. There should always be a man in the shop over night.

  Jemmy approved of Jim's actions, and envied him staying here with these two vivacious women. His wife Ruth, however, would not be amused. Ruth always looked at things as half empty rather than as half full. She thought frivolity a sin. He had come to the shop to get away from her so that he could work on a legal question for a client, without being harangued by her for not charging a fee.

  Britta was very vivacious today. She was happily impatient for Jim to return, and she was very nosey.

  Jemmy sighed as she looked over his shoulder yet again. "I am trying to unravel some property deed transfers, but the dates are wrong, which means I must find other references to correct the dates."

  "How can a date be wrong? Oh, you mean like November 31. It doesn't exist."

  The man chuckled for no reason other than it felt good to be in her company. "You have a quick mind, lass. Quicker than the clerk that dated this transfer." He took another sip of matea. He preferred Chinese tea, but this was a tasty enough mix, though he could still taste the bitterness of the coca leaves. "The fool dated it March 5, 1752."

  "I don't understand. March 5 is a date," Britta said while pushing her chair closer to him so she could read the date on the paper.

  "In the year 1752 there was no January, February, or March. That was the year that the British Empire switched calendars so that 1753 started on January first, rather than April first." He stopped talking because she had shrugged her shoulders and smiled at him. What a sweet sweet smile. What a sweet sweet girl.

  "Oh of course. You were a baby when the calendars were switched so you will not remember the chaos it caused. The East India Company and the governments kept April first as the start of their ledger years, and they still haven't switched. It was madness and confusion for everyone else ...,"

  Britta interrupted him, "Why is there so much madness and confusion now. Companies, businessmen, political parties, they all seem so secretive, and that is confusing everyone."

  "It is the bad economy, dear. There is always competition in business. When times are good, and you are bested, that is not a big problem. There is always other business, other work, other ways to recover. When times are bad, it is critical not to be bested. It is too difficult to recover."

  "And the economy is still bad because of the wo
rld war? Still?"

  "Yes, but not just here. It is much worse in the colonies of the other empires that lost the war. It was a world war so there are hard times around the world."

  "But the British won, so there should be no hard times in their empire."

  "And that would be true, if they had not fought the war on borrowed money. Now that money must be paid back. That is why the import taxes are so high. Now everyone hates taxes. It is one thing when taxes go to building ports and roads, but another when the taxes go to pay the banker's interest on a war that ended a decade ago."

  "There must be more to it than that. That tea you are drinking is imported but smuggled so there was no tax paid, yet it is still expensive."

  "Ah but smuggling flourishes only because of high taxes, especially when they are well enforced. Smugglers are not trying to bring prices down, because the higher the official price, the more profit the smugglers make. The more profit they make, the more they can bribe the customs officers to shut down any new smugglers who try to compete."

  "John Brown pays lots of bribes," said Britta.

  "Yes, I have been meaning to talk to you about Captain Brown. You have a low opinion of him, yet many cheer him for burning the Gaspee."

  "So I have noticed. Why do you allow businessmen that are partnered to smugglers to join your committee? Is that your real politics? To help smugglers?"

  "Of course not. I entered politics because my father's career was ruined by Governor Hutchinson. Samuel because his father was ruined by the big banks and moneylenders. We seek the same end."

  "The end of English taxes?" she guessed.

  "No. Everyone hates taxes so we wave the tax issue whenever we want to draw a crowd. The real issue is the English Bill of Rights. We want it enshrined in the provinces as it is in England. We want the same fundamental rights as any Englishman."

  He saw the blank look on her pretty face. "Have you never heard of the English Bill of Rights? It is a charter the likes of which is found no where else on earth. It gives an ordinary Englishman the ability to challenge a government and be protected while doing so."

  "An ordinary man, even a slave?" asked Britta, suddenly more interested.

  "Even a slave, Britta. Soon there will be no slavery in England. If the Bill of Rights comes here, the same will be true."

  "You be careful Jemmy Otis," she warned. "Slavers like John Brown won't like that, and they are evil and dangerous men. Smugglers and slavers used to be privateers and pirates, you know. They will eventually turn on you and Sam and your high ideals, and they will do so with violence and deviltry."

  "Tell me more about Captain Brown. He is gaining influence in the Caucus since the Gaspee was burned."

  She came closer to whisper. "John Brown controls Providence. He has a lot of rough men working for him and he rouses them with free rum and hot talk. You don't do business with John Brown, you do business for him. If he profits from your business you are protected by him. If not, you will be shut down. He is a slaver and a smuggler, and he burned the Gaspee because the skipper refused his bribe."

  "But I thought he ran trading ships around the Atlantic."

  "Ha!" she exclaimed, and then covered her mouth and whispered again, "don't confuse your Boston trade with Brown's trade. Boston trades salted cod from here, for sugar from the Sugar Islands. The islanders love cod, and here they love sugar. That is good business for both sides of the trade."

  "I know all this, Britta," said Jemmy.

  "But do you know John Brown's sugar trade, do you? In Providence he has a distillery that turns molasses into rum and a foundry that make weapons. He ships rum, weapons, and saltfish to Africa, where there are continuous tribal wars. He keeps the tribal wars going with his rum and weapons.

  The tribes trade their war captives for more weapons and rum. He feeds the slaves on coconut and saltfish while he ships them to the Sugar Islands. There he trades African slaves for molasses and for Caribbean slaves. And not just in the British sugar islands, but in French ones and Dutch ones too. His ships come back here not just with trained slaves and molasses, but with tea and spices and opium from the French and Dutch. He smuggles them in by bribing the Customs officers."

  Jemmy started figuring on a pad of paper. He held up his hand. "Don't interrupt, carry the nine, add the sum, plus taxes not paid." He worked thus for a few minutes. "My goodness. Each of his ships may make five times the profit of a Boston ship. Perhaps as much as a five thousand Spanish dollars a trip, that is over a thousand pounds sterling per trip in clear profit. That is astounding."

  "Profit, pah, who cares about profit." Britta held the end of his pencil to stop him from figuring any more. "He is trading guns and rum to both sides of a war that is destroying lives and villages. He is taking people far away from their land and their villages and trading them to plantations where they will work in the cane fields until they die. He is smuggling tea and spices here which is causing arguments with London, and he is smuggling opium so that our babies can be hooked on croup medicine, and so men can be hooked on your syrup."

  She looked around to make sure the two men by the shop window were not listening and then breathed words into his ear. "The Massachusetts trade is good business. The Rhode Island trade is completely evil. And John Brown is a devil walking on this earth like a man."

  He saw the men in the window watching him and he pulled away from her in embarrassment. "How does a young girl like you know all this?"

  "My ship to New England stopped first in Providence. I was indentured to wait tables in Brown's favorite tavern. I served him his ale. He would keep me near and fondle my bum while he discussed such things with his captains."

  "You let him fondle your bum?" whispered Jemmy and added hurriedly. "Don't worry, I won't tell Jim or Ruth."

  "I endured his groping so that none of his rough men would dare to. They worked for him and they respected him, but more than all else, they were scared to death of him. Literally to death. He corrupts everyone around him. Now that the Gaspee has been burned there is not a customs ship on this coast whose skipper is not in Brown's pocket."

  Jim came through the shop door, gave Britta a kiss on the cheek as he passed, and went through to drop his things into the meeting room. "What is she telling you, Dad? She makes some good quips. What was that one the other day. Oh yes. ' Hutchinson is the nabob of Massachusetts'." He looked at his father. "Did you hear?"

  Jemmy shuffled his papers and pulled out the one he was searching for. He scratched the nabob quote onto the page with his quill, and then chuckled.

  "What is that?" asked Jim.

  "The draft of a letter to Ben Franklin in London, to send with our latest pamphlets."

  "That do-nothing Franklin, why bother?" grumbled Jim.

  "Tut tut, Jim," replied his father, "Franklin holds a diplomatic post. We don't want him to do anything, or even to be forceful, for we want all doors to remain open to him. He is our spy in court, and he nags Parliament about our issues.

  Britta's quote is timely. The Cabinet is ignoring us while they search for solutions to the corruption that the nabobs have spread in India. Naming Hutchinson a nabob will point out his corruption. Just as consumption is a wasting disease that weakens a person's body until it collapses, so is corruption a wasting disease that weakens a society until it collapses."

  "How can they ignore us?" asked Jim "We are a province. We are a part of England."

  Jemmy laughed, "The Empire became so vast after winning the war, that now our provinces pale in comparison to places like India. Even the wee sugar islands of the Caribbean have more sway than us. Controlling the wealth of India is akin to controlling the wealth of all Europe. Until the problems of India are solved, our problems will be pushed aside."

  He took another sip of tea and looked at his son and Britta sitting together holding hands with the entire sides of their bodies touching. Whenever they were in the same room they were attracted like two magnets. He knew they were just humoring him
so they could sit together.

  "India is like Europe?" asked Britta, stalling some more.

  "Yes, India is a place of many kingdoms, like Europe. The Company is slowly taking it over by arming the kingdoms to fight each other. Since India has been civilized from before the time of Jesus, they have wealth and skilled craftsmen."

  "The wares brought here from India by the Company are putting our own craftsmen out of work." said Jim. " Is it any wonder that the Company is so hated here."

  "That isn't true Jim. Many here do good business with the Company, and many more have jobs because of the Company. But I understand your point. Those that have no business with the Company, tend to hate the Company."

  "You mean those that do business with smugglers and slavers instead," Britta hissed quietly. "Some of them come to your meetings." She was suddenly fearful. "None of them do business with John Brown do they. Brown must never know that Jon and I are here."

  Jemmy reassured her, but he was not sure himself, and wondered who could he ask?

  While he was thinking, Britta asked, "So there are the rich who are tied to the Company, and the rich who are tied to the smugglers, and your rich intellectual friends who want the Bill of Rights and to get rid of Hutchinson. What about all the other people?" She paused. "You know, the ones who aren't rich. The farmers, and the tradesmen, and the bond slaves, and the chattel slaves, and the Red Indians. Where do they all fit in?"

  "Umm, they don't fit anywhere. They have no say. Only the rich have any say," replied Jemmy.

  "Ooooo," Britta was getting angry and she hissed, "your party sounds just like the Caucus in Providence. Freedom, freedom, freedom, they kept yelling, but they didn't mean freedom for the slaves or the bond slaves or the Red Indians or the women. They meant freedom for rich men to do anything they wanted, and to anyone else who wasn't rich, like..., like..., like sell some innocent girl's bond to a brothel for a profit."