. . . . .
Emmeline Page - Born To Run
'Some Will Rob You With A Six-Gun, And Some With A Fountain Pen'
(from Woody Guthrie's 'Pretty Boy Floyd')
.......
Editor's Note: From Jacqueline Hackworth-Bowen--
The following chapters are from several documents which turned up unexpectedly when the new owners of 'Alice Stein's' residence found
notebooks of my sister Josephines' hidden in their attic. How they came to be there seems a mystery only plausibly solved by the supposed innovation of 'Time Travel.'
They came thence into 'Jack's' posession and he, in turn, released them to me. These notebooks would appear to cover much of the time period immediately following 'Emmeline's' flight to Mexico, (the first time),and thereafter; up to her involvement in the revolucion, and prior to her meeting with Ambrose.I was able to patch together a more or less chronological order of events and render them into a workable storyline. I hope readers find my efforts worthwhile. Enjoy.
--JHB, Ontario Canada
. . . . .
Chapter One - Revelations and Ruminations
'I did alot good for you baby
To satisfy your mind
But I wake up every mornin'
Got me moanin' and cryin'
Goin' to send me to the chain gang
Back to the Murder Home
I'd be in better shape mama
If I'd'a left that reckless woman alone...'
Aleister had just returned from town and was passing by Jack's room when
he heard the unmistakable and diamond-sharp blues of Blind Willie McTell
coming from behind Jack's door.
Blind Willie. Bad sign, thought Al, shaking his head. If it'd been Miles Davis, he knew that Jack's sky was still showing some Kind of Blue peeking through the clouds, but no. Jack was in Blind Willie country now. All was dark.
Al kept his step light as he passed down the hallway, not wishing to intrude on his friend. He heard a low moan that didn't come from Blind Willie, and it pained him to hear that from Jack, who never showed his feelings if he could help it, not if anyone was about.
It had been over a month since Emmeline's departure with the Guevaras heading for the border. No word since. Yeats too, had disappeared a couple of weeks ago, Al presumed he'd gone to check on Em, but they'd heard nothing from that quarter as yet, either..
As the days had slowly crawled into weeks, Jack's spririts and appearance had deteriorated alarmingly. He ceased to shave, and Jack could show
a full dark beard in no time;neither did he bother with a haircut and his
long black hair grew shaggy to his shoulders like a once-cultivated garden gone wild. He claimed he ate occasionally, but didn't show it. His face was gaunt like a man who'd dropped 20 pounds overnight. He'd stopped all restoration on the house and indeed was not home at all much. He'd take
Trotsky and head for the hills, where he spent most of his time with Homer and Jethro.Al accompanied occasionally, and saw that they all were working on alternative fuel formulas and devices. As well as apple-jack. Which Jack was uncharacteristically not shy of indulging in now, to Al's regret. One thing he balked at and that was any explosives of any kind. No bat bombs.
'I promised Em,' he'd say.
Doc Parsons went to his room at the end of the hallway and put his bag down after making a house call in town. Since Jack and Trotsky were gone so much, he'd gotten himself a nice pony from Homer, a sturdy Halflinger named Boreson who had a comfortable broad back like a table-top and was a good cart-horse as well. Al sighed and gazed out the window at the bright and sunny spring day. Heading into summer soon, he thought. Gods knew he'd tried to talk to Jack and well, get to him somehow, offer some comfort. Al knew, after all, what it was to have a woman you cared for, run off into the Great Unknown;the abyss ahead of her and the devil at her heels. He was satisfied that Alice was safe now though. And, she was with her husband.That made a difference. She was slowly fading to memory in Al's mind, and he had less of an ache in his heart. But, he knew things were different with Jack and how he felt about Emmeline.
Suddenly Blind Willie went silent, and Jack opened his door, locking it behind him, which was unusual.
'Hullo, Jack,'Al addressed him, dismayed anew by his friend's wasted face and frame.
'Al! Didn't know you were here,' Jack looked down and fumbled in his pockets abit before turning to head downstairs.
Aleister followed him to the landing and called after him as he shambled down the steps. 'Off to the hills again, then?'
'Yep.' Jack grabbed his hat and jacket and was making for the door.
'Jack--'Al felt like he had to try and reach him, but what hadn't he said already? Jack just pushed him farther away the more he tried to offer solace. Al just sighed, hands in pockets. 'You'll be back for dinner here tonight?'
'Maybe. Have to run, Al. 'later.' And Jack hit the road.
. . . . .
It was early afternoon when Jack arrived at Homer and Jethro's place up in the Sierra foothills. Getting hot already. He noted the dry grass smell in the air with strong herbal scents of spring and the tang of pine and eucalyptus in the breeze. Jack took in a lungful and it refreshed him somewhat. Getting out of town, and away from all that was familiar was the only thing keeping him going. He always was revitalized when he was out in nature and away from people and bustle of the town. Trotsky, too, kept his ears forward and stepped lively taking in sights and smells of the hills;rabbits popping out of the manzanita, quail hens followed by a line of chicks. Yep, spring alright. He heard the cry of a hawk, and pushing his hat brim back, gazed upward and watched it circle above. Must be nice to be up there, away from this world to which Jack was still bound, somewhat reluctantly.
He wound around the bend and entered his friend's property which sat over a little brown hill and in a small valley, surrounded by woods;shady and green still with a creek running through it. Jack was feeling more at home here than at Crowley House anymore; too many memories of himself and Emmeline there.
He alighted next to the big barn and took Trotsky's gear off, haltered him and turned him loose in the verdant pasture where he trotted off neighing to his pals, Lulu Belle and Scotty, the men's big draft horses, who called back, answering his tenor with their big husky voices which could be felt vibrating through their bellies when you rode them.
'Hey, Jack! Wond'rin' when you'd get up here!' Homer hove around the barn's open doorway, about half as wide as the barn door himself and no mistake.
Jack ambled over, carrying Trot's gear which he slung over a fence pole and accepted a friendly pat on the back from Homer which about knocked him to the ground. 'Gettin' puny there, boy!'Homer declared brightly. 'Well,
we have some work for you to do here, get you muscled right up!' He led
Jack to the back of the barn where they had their work bench, saws and tools. Homer knew about Jack and Em and what all had gone on. He wasn't having none of Jack's moping though and he worked Jack's skinny butt off when he was there, knowing it kept his mind occupied and that Jack would eventually work up an appetite that even he couldn't ignore. Indeed, the only time Jack really felt like eating was after a day's work on the ranch here in the hills.
'Where's Jethro?' Jack asked. 'Didn't hear the dogs when I rode up.'
'Yeah, he and the hounds-a-pack are out in the woods trackin'. Saw bear sign here, a little too close. I don't mind bears and they usually don't mind me, but I don't want to wake up with one staring in my kitchen window at my berry pie now.That ole bear can't appreciate a good pie like we can, eh, Jack?'
'Bear, eh? Where at?' Jack peered across the pasture where the horses were peaceably grazing.
'Well, actually pretty far up past the ridge there,'Homer pointed up past the wooded hills. 'But that's still too close for comfort. Jethro will be back soon though. Come on, I'll show you what needs doin' today, meanwhile...'
. . . .
Sunset in the Sierra took Jack by surprise. He'd been so busy he hardly noticed the hours fly by. He and Homer had sawed and planed wood and Jethro meanwhile had returned with the hounds and the men were washing up for dinner preparations.
His friends set Jack to work chopping onions, garlic, and vegetables and Homer got the old metal drum out back fired up for bar-be-que, whilst Jethro heartily hacked at meats for the rack therein.Jack had gotten the boys interested in shish-kebob and they had greenwood sticks stripped and tipped and ready for the grill. Potatoes for the baking nestled in the coals meanwhile and cabbage, garlic and onions were ready to boil on down. The men sipped on some nice cabernet they insisted Jack bring, (mostly to get Jack's appetite working), and Homer had some large fresh cheese curds that he'd rolled in chopped walnuts and they munched upon these tasty country tidbits whilst dinner cooked.
'You're turning us into real gourmands, here, Jack...'Homer allowed, as he
sat down at the picnic table making the bench creak, situated handily beneath the large oak tree behind the house to whence they repaired in the cool shade of late afternoon, keeping an eye on the kebobs and turning them as they roasted, the scent lingered tantalizingly in the gentle breeze.The dogs, though well-fed, sat some distance away, their eager gaze pleading for more. Homer didn't brook no begging at table though, no matter how much he loved his hounds;they knew not to get between their master and his fork, 'lest he spear their hides with it.
'So old Mr. Bear is hiding out, eh?'Jack enquired of Jethro as he turned the kebobs over.
'Yeah...found more bear sign though. Pack picked up his trail heading over the ridge and followed down into the far valley aways. He crossed a creek though, and we lost him after awhile. I guess he's moved on down the hollow...' Jethro had his mandolin out and he picked randomly, noodling out an old reel that sounded familiar yet twisted into something new.
Jack regarded his friend and realized that he, himself, hadn't played any music in weeks. Just hadn't felt like it...hadn't the heart for either piano or guitar. He'd fooled around with his uncle Daryl's mandolin briefly, years ago...liked the plaintive, celtic sound of it. Surprising himself, he asked, 'May I?' and Jethro casually handed his instrument over,knowing that a breakthough was forthcoming, and figuring he'd best stay low-key and not scare Jack's rare good feelings off. Jack found he actually recalled some chords and scales and started in with the Pogue's version of Woody Guthrie's 'Jesse James', adapted from traditional...
'Jesse James we understand,
had killed many a man
He robbed the Union trains
He stole from the rich, and gave to the poor
Had a head, and a heart and a brain...'
. . . . .
The evening crept up silently as a hungry cat on the prowl and the men were relaxing in the cool indigo twilight after their well-earned meal, sipping
apple jack and strumming strings, Homer having brought out a couple of guitars to accompany Jethro...somehow they took off on Jack's lead and trotted out all the old 'outlaw', bandit and Robin Hood-themed songs...
Homer paused and poured more brandy for all. 'Oh, yeah, you know these old hills were ringing with gunfire during the gold rush days...Joaquin Murietta, and ole Black Bart, the 'gentleman bandit' used to rob the stage
not far from here...he'd leave poetry at his crime scenes and never harm the ladies, either.'
Jethro took a hearty swallow and sighed. 'Well, not so long ago, one of our neighbors was a self-styled Robin Hood...'
Homer shot him a glance, and after catching Jethro's eye, he nodded almost imperceptibly, signaling Jethro to continue...'He was quite a local legend. Nice enough lookin' guy, I guess. Long, curly blond hair like Bill Hickok or somethin'...he and his family and some local boys were brewin' that ole 'shine waaaay back over the ridge there...had hideouts in some old Indian caves that not many knew about. He'd also sneak on into some of these big haciendas in the valley and steal plate and silver,too...not from just anyone though...'
'Only peckerwoods with the character references of politicians...' Homer commented, as he packed his pipe.
Jethro nodded, smiling. 'That's so. See, he was on good terms with the servants who worked there, and they'd tip him off when no one was around...they liked him 'cause of the 'shine, and also he'd share his booty with the poor, keep bankers from the widow's doors and all that.'
'You don't say!' Jack loved these old tales. He'd forget he was from another place and time altogether and get caught up in the moment and it made him feel like living again. 'Who was this guy? Maybe I've heard of him...'
Homer spoke up, 'Ooooh, you know...justa local boy ...a crack shot too, pistol or rifle...with a Winchester .73 he'd bust open anything throw'd in the air, no matter how far away or how small and he let fellas with shotguns have a go and they couldn't match him. Take a pistol, say, his favorite, a single action Colt .41 short barrel, and you could toss nickles in the air and he'd hit 'em dead center. He could take a mirror in one had, lay a pistol over his shoulder, and shoot a playing card in half, edgewise...'
'Damn!' Jack exclaimed, his eyes regaining some spark.
Jethro chimed in,'I seen him packin' his big ole .44, too. Don't wanto get on the bizness end of that.'
The men paused and let it all sink in a spell...the night began to close in around them, bullfrogs croaked in the distance, and Jack thought he heard a hoot owl.
'He had an eye for the ladies, too...'Jethro continued.'Even had a gal from town come up and join the gang for awhile.' Jethro poured more jack all around. 'Nice gal, too, pretty, and from a good family. 'Course no one knew what she was up to. She had an idea she'd be Maid Marian to his Robin Hood. He taught her to shoot bow and arrow, and she was sharp, too! Could shoot like an Indian! He gave her a pistol and rifle and taught her all about firearms and had her target practice along with the rest of the gang.
She was a regular Lil' Sure Shot!'
Jack sipped his apple brandy. 'Did she go along on raids and such as well?'
'She did. And her pa never knew what she was up to! It tickeled her something sweet! Never did get along with her old man...he hadn't much use for women,after her mama died, and well, she was a smart girl and felt she had something to prove you know, that she was worth something. You'd think she'd have gotten it out of her system by now. Her pa's long gone, and she's still trying to impress a ghost...'
Jack got a strange feeling creeping up on him then, like misty clouds crossing over the moon...the night seemed quieter suddenly, the frogs had stopped their croaking.
Jack leaned back in his chair then, crossing his long, bony legs before him. 'Just who was this outlaw lady and her robin hood bandit?' he enquired, narrowing his gaze at Jethro.
Jethro reached in his pocket and took out a cigarillo, and striking a lucifer which cast eldrich shadows upon his young face, inhaled slowly and blew the smoke into the air in a blue haze.Looking out toward the dark woods beyond he answered, 'Well, now, that'd be your Miss Emmeline Page and Comrade Lev Kopalski, I reckon.'
. .. . .
Barranca del Cobre, Mexico
They had made it across the border and were now deep in the giant canyons that snaked through the mountains. Thus far, nothing had followed them except storms and torrential rain. They planned to hide out in the hills and rest up before heading on to Mexico City where Marta's former husband and father of Leon and Ernestina lived.
Emmeline had no clue where they were. She had given up on all thought and wished she had no feeling as well. She was wet, frozen, miserable and she had caught a wretched cold on top of it all. The last thing she needed;she abhorred being any sort of burden to anyone, especially Marta and now, at this,the worst possible time...
Her cold worsened into a deep rattling cough that she and Marta both feared was bronchitis. But, at last they saw smoke from campfires in the valley below and soon they pulled up before a rock and adobe home built up into the cliffside and Em could just make out in the growing darkness, an old woman emerge from within, leaning on a tall staff decorated with odd bits of things hanging from the crook. Em was so weary and sick that she really didn't remember much else, beyond being helped from the cart by Marco and Leon and the next thing she knew she was naked and wrapped in a soft wool blanket and lying on sheepskins before the fire in a large stone fireplace, an old woman with long white braids holding her head while she held a cup of something hot, liquid and smelling of fresh herbs to her lips.
Emmeline slept.
