Chapter 9 - A Pumpkin Coach Drives Jack Out of His Gourd

Chapter 9 - A Pumpkin Coach Drives Jack Out of His Gourd
For once, the day appeared a sunny one, Emmeline observed from her window. And the weekend! How she wished to be out of Casa Cabron'!
She smiled at her wicked jest. Oh, she supposed Daryl had his good points. None of which made up for kidnapping a person. However, she was feeling more genial these days as she had been able to venture beyond the confines of work and the house somewhat.
As she made her way downstairs she thought she heard the plaintive sound of strings...approaching Daryl's study, she recognized the distinctive minor intonations of the Russian Sailor's Dance from the Red Poppy. Spellbound, she stood and listened as Daryl (it could only be he), wrought forth from the violin the dances'terrific crescendo and galloped onward to its' ultimate conclusion in a passionate consummation that set her heart to quickening. My! The man could play, she'd give him that.
Feeling like an evesdropper, ever on the outside of the inner circle, Em slowly turned from the study door, but stopped midway when she discerned the notes of 'Sir Roger de Coverley'. Smiling, she shook her head as she continued into the kitchen. She wondered if Daryl was a Dickens fan, as well...
 She was taking tea with Rosa and enjoying pumpkin empanadas when Daryl, still flushed from his playing, hair rather tumbled about his head, entered, saying, 'A lovely day, yes?
I thought we might take a drive, along the coast perhaps.'
Knowing that Em really didn't have a say in things, she said that sounded most agreeable. Really, though, she was aching to get out, out of the city would be a welcome change, even if she was still in custody, and ever with her warden.
'Fine, then. We'll take a lunch...whatever you think would go well, I'll leave it to you and Rosa. And Rosa, after packing a lunch, here...' he fished in his pocketbook, taking out bills and handed them to her, 'do take the day off and enjoy yourself.'
Rosa's eyes lit up like twin flames as she smiled wide and with many 'gracias's' and 'thank you, Don Diego!' she set about folding a checkered tablecloth and piling items into a large basket.
'I'll just go find Manuel. The landau for today, I think...'
and off went Daryl to the stable.
Well, now; Em wondered what this little jaunt would portend.
If she played along nicely, Daryl, seemingly in an expansive mood, just might be forthcoming with some information. It was certainly worth a try.
                        . . . .
The unlikely threesome; Daryl and Emmeline with Manuel driving, were heading out along the coastline by noon.
The open coach was a treat; Em held her head up to the sun, eyes closed and dreamed of Sonoran sunshine...inhaling the tang of eucaplyptus trees lining the rough road.
'Ah, look! Just ahead! A pumpkin patch!' Daryl woke her from her reverie.
'Oh, do let's stop a moment!' Emmeline couldn't resist the fat orange calabasas.
They halted and the party busied themselves contentedly among the pumpkins, small and large, round and oblong. 'Pick any and all you like. We can decorate with what we do not consume...'said Daryl, hoisting a good size jack-o-lantern candidate.
The pumpkin farm also sold cider, hard as well as 'soft' and Daryl bought a rather a large jug of the hard. He also took the proprietor aside and after their sotto voce confab, the two disappeared around the back of the shed and returned with two jars of dark amber liquid which looked to Em's experienced eye suspiciously like apple jack.
Em pretended to be perusing the pumpkin pies when, after Daryl and Manuel had loaded the carriage, she heard Daryl at her shoulder saying, 'Rosa would make the better pie, methinks.'
Em heartily agreed and off they went, the coach rather heavier for their enterprise. They continued on down the narrow stretch of oceanside road and then turned toward the strand and the water beckoning beyond.Past a small seaside hamlet, which Em dearly would have loved to explore, noting the shops selling seashells, ships-in-bottles and other marine trinkets, they headed beyond toward a copse of tall, slender eucalyptus trees which sat upon a hillside overlooking the sea.
Here they disembarked and everyone set to laying out their picnic in the bit of grass amongst the sand dunes. There was a slight breeze, but not too strong as yet, and Em held the checked table cloth down with a small pumpkin at each end. The picnic lunch, and jars of cider, soft and hard were set out along with the tableware. Em wandered about the dunes, seeking shells, picking late summer wildflowers, while she noticed Daryl handing Manuel some bills, and, tipping his hat, their worthy driver betook himself off to the village they'd just past, leaving the landau and taking shank's mare instead... Hm. Well, so they could have a private conversation then, thought Emmeline, hoping that this day would yield something more than alot of calabasas...
                        . . . .
Em and Daryl sat companionably enough leaning against a large driftwood log, facing out to sea and tasted the cider; Daryl tried both soft and hard, whilst Em stuck with the soft stuff. Although Daryl sampled a taste of the apple jack, he pronounced it 'not bad' but stoppered it for another time.
'Back in Pankhurst, I know of some friends who are the apple jack kings, truly. The jack I tried in Sonora, at the gypsy camp, was rather too strong for my taste.' Emmeline allowed, hoping that some small disclosures on her part would encourage Daryl to speak freely as well.
Daryl laughed and leaned back, his hair going wild in the freshening breeze. 'They are used to it that way, no doubt.'
He took another sip and cracked a walnut, handing the nutmeat to Emmeline. 'That particular tribe, Xandor's gypsies, are based usually in South America. If, indeed, gypsies can call anywhere a home base.'
Em took the nut, and a bit of cheese as well, enjoying the 'afters' along with her cider. She made a show of inspecting her ring finger and cut upon it.
  'How is it healing?' Daryl enquired.
'I believe it is healed. I shall probably keep the scar, though...' Em trailed off, actually hoping that she would have some permanent reminder of Josephina her gypsy sister.
'I wonder if I shall ever see them again...'she gazed longingly out to sea.
'Oh, I believe you shall. Gypsies have a way of finding folk they don't wish to lose.' Daryl looked down at his own krys knife scar.
'So...'Em endeavored to be casual, '...is your tribe related to Xandor's at all?'
'My tribe?'Daryl looked at her, grey gaze echoing the seascape. 'Mmm, you mean this cut?' He stared at the ocean once more, inhaling the salt air. 'All gypsies are related.
Either by blood, or...'he held up his finger. 'But yes, I have a gypsy blood brother as well. And his brother, lives in the village near where Xandor was camped.'
Ah, so that explained that, up to a point, Em granted.
'...An interesting people...do you know much of their history?' Daryl enquired, cracking more walnuts. Em shook her head, her mouth full as a squirrel's.'An old people...no one but themselves know their true history, but, they originated in India and Egypt mostly.'
'Yes, Josephina said as much to me...'Em recalled.
'And did she tell your fortune?' Daryl asked, gazing at his nutmeat.
Interesting question...considering Daryl was  the tall, dark man who whisked Em away, as the gypsy princess predicted.'She read my palm...'Em was disconcerted, remembering the rest of that prophecy: that she would have the true love of two men in her life, at the same time. She sincerely hoped that part was not to be.
If Daryl had intimation of this, he didn't show it. 'Ah. Too bad she didn't do a card reading. The history of the Tarot, mirrors the history of the gypsies.'
'Indeed? How so?'
'When the library in Alexandria, all it's scrolls  and tablets which contained the history of the ancient world and all it's knowledge,  was ransacked and burned, the gypsies had foreknowledge of its' coming and all the important information on science, philosophy, theory, alchemy were put into the arcane form of an encyclopedia via the Tarot deck; symbolically of course, so that only true seekers of wisdom would be able to read behind the sigils and divine the messages hidden therein, to keep it safe from marauders and barbarians who would wish to remake the world to fit their own selfish agendas and keep people in chains of superstition and dogma...' Daryl was frowning now, and tossed empty nutshells into the winds.
Emmeline looked sideways at Daryl. Curious. She'd heard something of which he claimed, that the Alexandrian library in Egypt held vast secrets of the ages before it was lost...
Secrets of...'Alchemy?' she asked at last. 'Turning lead to gold you mean?'
'Symbols, Em.' He smiled at her. 'There are many ways of turning lead into gold.' He let  that statement hang in the air awhile, the wind seized it and carried it out to sea...
True enough, she agreed. She had learned that much from her Druid mentors. 'I do know what you mean, though. When I studied ancient teachings with the druids back home, we were taught the symbolism of alchemy...that man himself could be lead, and become refined in the fires of knowledge to become a more rare and worthy substance...'
'Hm...'Daryl picked up a bit of abalone shell and studied it in the sunlight, it's rays divulged the rainbows within.
'One should question, perhaps, why is gold valued thus? Perhaps lead has a more worthy purpose in its' own intrinsic state...and who was it who said that this mineral or element is more valuable than the other? Or, that this person, or peoples, should require 'refining'? And, to what purpose, ultimately?' He looked at her.
'A worthy question, indeed.' Goodness, a day at the beach with Daryl was no walk in the park! Em welcomed such deep conversation however, even though she wondered where it all was meant to lead...
'So!' Daryl changed tack. 'Did Josephina divine anything of interest in your palm?'
Em looked down then, smoothing the sand beside her, and began tracing spirals in it. 'Oh, the usual, you know...
we hadn't time for a long reading then.' She wasn't about to tell Daryl intimate details of her life just now. She stole a glance at her warden then. A fine looking man, really, if you liked that tall, dark and handsome type. Too bad Em loathed the sight of him. She erased her sprials and took the nut sack from Daryl, and the nutcracker. She emptied afew walnuts into her skirt and began cracking his nuts for him.
She handed him a nutmeat. 'Are you fond of Dickens?'
Daryl munched his nut and raised his eyebrows. 'Dickens? What brought him up?'
'Whenever I hear 'Sir Roger de Coverley' I always think of Fezziwig's party in Dickens' 'Christmas Carol'.'
Daryl laughed. 'Ah!' He nodded. 'Yes, I am fond of Dickens, actually. 'A Tale of Two Cities' is my favorite.'
'So it is mine, as well!' Em couldn't help but agree. Oh dear. She didn't wish to give the impression she was enjoying his company...although she was in spite of herself.
'But, I do love his 'Christmas Carol'...' Daryl stared pensively down. 'Oddly, I find myself feeling sympathetic with old Scrooge...' he looked up then and gazed out to sea.
'"I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the lightest license of a child, and yet been man enough to know it's value,"'he quoted.
They sat silent for a space, just listening to the wind in the seagrass and the eucalyptus, watching the restless waves beat upon the shore. Daryl would feel a kinship with Scrooge, Em realized...it was a tale of time travel, really; Scrooge following the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future.
Did Daryl lament the past, or know of a future he wished changed somehow?
'Is the future writ in stone, I sometimes wonder...' Emmeline queried, not really expecting an answer unless it was written on the wind...
Daryl looked at her then, subtle alarm in his eyes. 'No, Emmeline, it is not.' He sounded as though he wished to make it so by simply declaiming it as truth. He blinked and looked away. 'Each decision, each action we make, opens a new pathway to new possibilites, worlds upon worlds...in infinite number...' He frowned at the oceanscape before them.
He roused himself then. 'Ah, here comes Manuel back from town. Just in time too. Getting rather nippy...' The wind had picked up and the slender young trees were bending away from the oceanside. He held a hand out to help Em to her feet and they began to gather the picnic things and repack the basket.
'So you heard my playing this morning? Hope I didn't wake you...' Daryl smiled that familiar lopsided grin.
'No, not at all! I only caught a couple of songs, I don't really hear much downstairs from where my room is.I love the violin...and the Russian Sailor's Dance...reminds me of the gypsey's music! Close your eyes!' She shook out the tablecloth, scattering sand to the wind.
Landau packed up and Manuel at the lines, Daryl helped Emmeline into her seat.
'It's really about time you gave my mandolin a try,' he said. 'And, you can tell me more about these druid friends of yours.'
And off they headed,in a coach full of pumpkins, back to the City, and the life and music there that awaited them.
                          .....
That evening Emmeline sat upon her bed, gazing at the mandolin Daryl had given her which now stood in the corner of her room, as if daring her to wrest music from it. She had tried, truly...but oh!--how out of practice she was! She first clipped the nails of her left hand, the better to chord with, my dear, while leaving her right nails long for the picking. To little avail. Her callouses had gone soft and oh, how her wrist ached from lack of practice... But, still, she had to admit it felt good to have a mando in her arms once more...to hear the plaintive, celtic sounds in the strings. Daryl played it a treat, darn him!, she thought, with a wry smile. Well, he could have his violin, she was determined to make the mandolin her instrument. Someday.
She sighed.
It was a beauty. Inlaid light and dark woods. It looked to be a twin of the one Josephina had. Em was determined to keep up her practice so that when, not if, she met with her gypsy sister once more, they could play together. She longed to learn the minor-key gypsy songs that so stirred her passions...and keltic tunes as well as the old mountain ballads of the hill country.
She reached for it once more. Tried a few chords. Ow, ow, ow! Daryl,like Carlos, had taught her to shake out her wrist, not try too hard, and take breaks. She was anxious to play, though! It had been so long...
She noodled about, letting her mind drift back over the day's events...and her conversations with Daryl. Well, had he been forthcoming? She sighed. He talked a good banter but did it really tell her anything? Mostly riddles,she decided.
Daryl remained a puzzlebox.
Still, perhaps he was giving her clues...mercy, what was all that about the Tarot deck and alchemy? Did it relate to what he'd told her before about her heritage? (And his.)Her druids had told her true alchemy was the refinement of the spirit of man (and woman). She wondered what Daryl meant by
who decided what was to be valued, ultimately. It almost sounded like he was warning her away from meddling with base elements, trying to alter or make something into that which it is not.
She stopped playing. Everytime she spoke with Daryl, she wound up with more questions than answers.
She tapped her fingers on the soundboard, musing. En route back to the city,Daryl had asked casually about her druid friends back home. All to the good, for when she expressed her desire to contact the San Francisco druids, he owned that he knew some of that group and she would be welcome if she wished to continue her druidic studies. Excellent, thought Em! Yet another chance to get out of Daryl's house and clutches!
Setting her mandolin back in its' corner, (yes, she thought of it as hers now, it was just so familiar to her, having the same look and feel as Josephina's;indeed the mandolins could be sisters as well), Emmeline rummaged about for paper and pen. She would write the local druid chapter first, and enquire about a membership. That seemed only proper.
Hopefully, she would be among them by Samhain.
                           . . . .
Sunday dawned brightly as well, and another market day was underway.
Daryl seemed to have accepted that this would be routine for Em's Sundays and off to the farmer's mercado she went with Rosa and Manuel.
'Ah, you see? There is the farmer from the pumpkin patch on the coast! I must say hello...' Emmeline spotted the purveyor of all things pumpkin and stopped to buy his apples. 'I believe we have pumpkins enough!'
'We have enough calabasas to send Cinderella to the ball for a full year...'Rosa muttered to herself as she shook her head, wondering what she would do with them all.
As the three resumed their marketplace meander, Rosa would glance behind her from time to time, noting the tall dark man who discreetly followed. Yes, she told herself, he was the same one who Emmelina met here last week. It had taken some doing, but Rosa had managed to keep Manuel away from them for awhile...
'Ah! Manuel, look! It is the same musicians who played so well last time! Let us go closer that we may hear them better, yes?' She looked at  Em and winked, with a subtle flick of her eyes behind them.
Em's eyes went wide. Oh my. Rosa knew, then... 'I wanted to look for some peppermint first, before I forget...a good digestive!' Em lied blithely, 'I will join you later!'
Rosa commandeered Miguel by the arm, and Emmeline watched them go, then turned about her, seeking signs of Jack.
'Looking for someone, Miss?'
'Oh, Jack!' Why must he do that? 'There you are! Rosa saw you before I did! You must be more careful!'
Jack glanced about them. 'Alright, then.' He guided her by the elbow to a large oak surrounded by hedges. 'How's this?
I dare say it has served well as a trysting place...' He smiled down at her.
'I'm still rather nervous about all this...' Em bit her lip, looking anxiously about. 'But, I did have a long talk with Daryl yesterday.
Ah, yes. Daryl. 'Yes? What about?' Would that they could forget bloody Daryl for a moment, thought Jack wearily, brushing a stray lock of crimson hair from Em's cheek. She blushed.
'Yes, well...' Jack took her arm and leaned against the oak, pulling her close. 'Jack, you are distracting me...'
'Am I?'
'Yes.' Em tried to stay on topic. 'We took the landau to the coast, for a picnic...'
'Charming.' Jack frowned. 'Just the two of you?'
'...And Manuel, of course, who drove. Anyway, Daryl later sent him into the town after we found a secluded spot on the beach...'
'Did he now.' A flat statement. Jack did not look pleased.
'Jack. I was only on a fact-finding mission.' She frowned at him in turn. 'Anyway, most of the conversation centered around the gypsies...how they preserved the arcane knowledge that was lost in the Alexandrian library...'
Jack raised an eyebrow, attentive now.'Go on.'
'Yes. And some odd insinuations regarding alchemy...how it's all about metaphor...he then posited something about, what was it now...? Who decides what is base and what is the noble element, metaphorically speaking... And why... And how power structures are built about a popular idea;put forth by those who wish to gain the world, and keep others in thrall. Oh, it was quite alot to wash down. Luckily we had stopped for cider. He picked up some apple jack as well, and a carriage full of pumpkins.The jack was not as good as Homer's, though, I bet!'
 She smiled at him, but found him looking pensive. 'What does it mean, Jack? How does it relate to this barrage of information he disclosed about our heritage?'
'Disclosed...' Jack frowned. Exactly. Daryl was heading toward full disclosure. That had to be it. Well...was that such a bad thing? Em had to know sometime... He wished that Daryl wouldn't be the one to so enlighten her, though. 'The chemical wedding...'he muttered.
'Jack...?'Em glanced about. 'We haven't much time, really...I should go.'
He looked at her, thinking only of Emmeline and Daryl, alone together at the seaside, picnicing of all things! And bloody Daryl about to divulge secrets of the ages as one would offer a glass of cider...
'Emmeline, take care!' He pulled her closer. 'I'm not sure what Daryl has in mind, but I fear he will soon show his hand!' He kissed her cheek. 'It is not easy for me to know you are there with him, constantly...sharing the same space, spending all your time together,' he whispered hoarsely in her ear. 'Picnicing at the seaside...'
'Jack, it is hardly something I chose for myself!' She drew apart from him, gazing hard into his eyes.
'Of course...forgive me. It's just...'he sighed. 'I don't know if it's the right thing to do, letting you stay there with Daryl, just to spy on him. It is too risky, for your sake, Em. I worry for your safety every waking moment.' He touched her cheek. 'Please, Em. Be careful. For us? Think of the future.'
Future, the past, and now...somehow they were all becoming blended lately. Em looked at him. 'I do, Jack. But I need to know. I seek an end to secrets, and I feel we're getting closer to knowing what is behind all the hinting and innuendo. I can't leave now. Not just yet, please...' She daringly kissed him lightly. He returned her kiss, holding her tight.
'Alright. But promise me that you will take extra care and
let us know if ever you feel unsure of your own safety. Promise me, Em!'
'I promise, Jack.'She glanced about once more. 'Now I must go, or Manuel will be suspicious. Adiosa, Jack!'
'Take care, Em.' A quick kiss. And he was gone.
Emmeline found herself alone, in the trysting place.
                            . . . .
Nob Hill. Daryl's study.
Wherein Daryl sat alone, violin hanging loosely in hand whilst he gazed, chin in hand, out the bay windows, seemingly deep in thought. He thought of Emmeline out there, probably meeting with Jack, perhaps at this very moment. Well, it wouldn't be long and then those two could at last
be together without his infernal interference...
It was a particularly thin line he walked...how to make certain truths palatable to Emmeline he wished her to grasp, and yet keep her at bay and ease her into Jack's waiting arms...Daryl knew the importance of her knowing and understanding her position and what it meant to others, as well as the disasterous consequences of what would happen if she ceased to hate him for his abduction of her. He hoped she wasn't feeling the yo-yo effect.
Trying to be an utter bastard as
well as a benefactor and tutor was trying for Daryl, especially toward someone he cared for as much as he did Emmeline. He sighed, and lay down his instrument, the mood for music had passed...
She had asked him if the future was already pre-destined and unalterable.
He had told her it was not.
He hoped like hell it was true.
                        . . . .

Dance! --to Sir Roger de Coverley aka Virginia Reel @:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxFgdC2nH1Q