Chapter 15: Cinderella Disappears

Chapter 15: Cinderella Disappears
Jack spun about, searching.
She couldn't have simply, vanished! No one seemed to have noticed her leaving, the ball continued about him, unconcerned. What had happened here? She simply...faded away, literally. Much like the initial timewalk  when he'd taken her to Daryl's the first time.
Jack realized then that he stood alone on the dance floor. He made for the hallway, in a daze, his gaze still seeking about him.
Daryl. Had to be. Could only be! Jack took his coat, and Emmeline's as well, and headed into the night. Daryl's wasn't far, just over the hill...he needed a cool walk to clear his head and chill his temper before he got there.  Emmeline had better be there. And Daryl had better have some answers. None of which would do him any good.
                     . . . .
Madame Yvanna awoke to sounds of an attack. Something was battering at the front door! She sleepily arose, cast a half-opened eye on the other side of the bed, no Daryl. Had he ever come up to bed, then? She'd fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow...
 
She met Rosa tying her robe about her in the foyer, and together they peeped out the small round window in the front door. 'It is him, her Jack! But where is Emmelina?' Rosa opened the door.
An angry and glowering Jack with a stormy countenance met them on the porch. 'Emmeline. Where is she? Where is Daryl?' Jack pushed past the women and strode into the parlor. 'Daryl!' he yelled, turning about, hands in his hair, he tossed Em's cloak on the sofa, then stood, frozen, as he beheld the portrait above the fireplace.
Yvanna and Rosa were beside him. 'Chack, I presume? Vat is the meanink of zis intrusion!?' Madame drew herself up to her full height and looked Jack in the eye.
'I, I...what is this?' Jack pointed to the portrait. 'It looks like Emmeline!' he accused.
Madame spared a glance at the portrait. Returned to the matter at hand and regarded Jack closely. 'You. Vhy haff you come burstink into ze house, vaking up everyvon?'
Jack realized that he had. 'Emmeline. Is missing. Gone. I figured Daryl had...something to do with it...' he got nothing but puzzled stares. 'Don Diego, my...uncle.'
Yvanna looked about, noted the late hour. 'Diego is not here. Iz odd...I left him here, in ze parlor, not more than an hour ago...'
Just then, Manuel entered the front door. 'Rosa?' he inquired, as he heard voices in the parlor. 'Ah, Jack! There you are! I heard that Emmeline had disappeared, and  you had left! What is going on?'
That seemed to be the question on everyone's mind....
                             . . . .
They had ridden through the night. Emmeline had fallen asleep as they rode, (something in the canteen, perhaps)... until they came upon a village and found a stable for the horse and a room and bed. Daryl put Emmelina to sleep, and took the sheepskin by the fireplace...
Exactly what he had worked so hard to undo, had just been done.
Well, damage control. That's all he had to work with now.
Try to get them back on their own timeline. He'd seen it coming, of course, and that was what had set him on this seemingly mad path...he shook his head.. Who would believe him? Ah, in the future, perhaps...should they ever catch up with it...
Daryl propped his head against his saddle and checked his rifle before laying it within handy reach; finding shelter tonight had been sheer luck. He'd no idea where they'd been until they'd happened upon the village. Apparently they were where they decidedly should not be.
He had to get them out of harm's way...they were now near Quemada, and according to Daryl's calculations, and history, that put them too close to Torreon, and the corazon of la revolucion. They dare not move north, back to Sonora now.
Hopefully, they wouldn't have to travel by any mundane route whatsoever; he should be able to effect a transfer of their molecules back home to San Francisco...only...he hadn't been able to quite make that work as yet.Hence, the port in a storm here, or foxhole in a battlefield, as it were.
He'd come up against such glitches before. One thing at a time, there, man. Get out of the line of fire! and some sleep...and then deal with the next thing...si, it was indeed 'muy peligroso' travelling nowadays, Daryl had agreed with their erstwhile host... One thing at a time.
He tried his best to get comfortable as the fire banked low,and he turned in his serape and sighed, thinking of Yvanna, warming his bed at home...his very comfortable bed.
No, this was not at all how he had planned to end the evening.
                           . . . .
Morning found Daryl and Emmeline back on the trail.
'Where are we headed?' Emmeline had slept somewhat, but her mood had not improved one whit.
Daryl sighed briefly. 'I've been trying to get us back home, back to California, and the correct time frame...but so far...' he turned his head sideways to her, 'no luck.'
'Why? Why not? What's happened, Daryl? I am past simple weariness of this whole business...' I should have gone to South America with Alice and Frank, Em decided.
'I don't know. But, I haven't given up. We have other avenues to try yet.'
'Such as?'
'Well, I can try to contact some...others who may aid us. And, also, different physical places have certain properties, such as a vortex, that may help our situation...'
Em rode silently for awhile. 'Alright, Daryl. Why did you abduct me, from the gypsy camp? --the FIRST time?...'
'Emmelina...as you know, I have been able to access various timelines. In one such timeline...' he sighed,
'In one timeline, I found us both here, now.' He turned, looked at Em behind him.
'What do you mean?'
'I mean...just this. Us, here in Mexico, and in the middle of the revolution.'
'And you don't know how, we got to here? To that, this point?'
'I don't. It was not something I wanted though, and I imagine you didn't either. So I attempted to go back, in time, before that happened, and change things. I took you, OUT of Mexico. Back to San Francisco. Back to Jack.'
Emmeline was beginning to discern a certain vague logic to some things now. 'Alright...so, that didn't work. We're back here. Something keeps pulling us, both, back here...'
Daryl considered this. 'It can't be right though. It's too dangerous here now. Well,' he shifted in the saddle, 'Worse case scenario, we can always travel in real time, back to California. But it's too dangerous on the roads here. Best idea would be to take a ship north.'
'How far are we from the coast?'
'Days and days of riding...I'd try a train, but the Constitutionalist army has been 'liberating' the trains of late. We could get hijacked into action. So, we're headed west,' he nodded toward the lowering sun, 'toward Puerta Vallarta. It's closest.'
Days of riding. Em groaned to herself. How did this happen...? She'd been having a grand time, dancing to Rachmaninoff in her once-fine gown, Jack's arms about her, and then, it didn't matter! She was there one minute and gone the next. Reality was not solid. It was malleable.
What was real, was Emmeline's sore derriere. She then thought of the artefact. Should she try it? Or let Daryl know of it? He seemed to know more about it than did she...
'I may know of something.'
'Yes?' he pulled the horse to a halt.
Em pulled out the artefact from her now somewhat rumpled, torn and dirty ballgown.'This.'
Daryl glanced with an eyebrow raised her way. 'Why didn't you say so?'
'Apparently you aren't the only one with secrets.'
'Apparently.'
                           . . . .
Yeats was pacing the parlor floor, stabbing the air with a finger in punctuation. 'The first thing, we must make certain of Emmeline's whereabouts!' He stopped at the fireplace and turned to Jack and Aleister. 'My sources have confirmed that she is well. And somewhere between Durango and Mexico City.'
Jack had returned to Pankhurst two days ago. Since then they all had been frantically trying to locate Emmeline, and Daryl. Yeats had only just returned from a fact-finding junket.
'She must be heading to Mexico City and the Guevaras.' Jack sat forward on the sofa, since Yeats had claimed the pacing area. 'I can go there and find out.'
Yeats regarded him cooly. 'Well...they wouldn't be heading north into the revolution, I don't think...so yes, that is certainly a possibility. But don't let's go haring off just yet Jack. We need confirmation, or it's time and energy wasted..'
Jack sighed. 'Of course.
The men planned and argued and plotted and discussed the situation for some hours, but Jack knew that if Em was in Mexico, she wouldn't be wanting to travel through heavy fighting north just to get to the village there...not if she was near Mexico City and the Guevaras. They could talk on and on if they liked, but Jack needed to take action.
His mind was made up. He was going after Emmeline.
Down to Mexico.
                        . . . .
Daryl swiftly took note of their surroundings, saw no one.
He urged the horse into the shade of some small trees.
'Alright.' He nodded to Em.
Well, now what? Em hadn't a clue. 'We can't dismount, just for a little while?'
'We're all going together. We'll need a horse. As long as we're all touching, we're all going. So, keep one arm about me at all times.'
Sighing, Emmeline unwrapped the artefact. It looks just as it always had, (or usually did);white, cold, still and silent.
Putting one arm about Daryl's waist, and tightening her grip with her thighs on their mount, Em held the ovoid in her other hand and, well, concentrated...
'...just keep thinking: 'There's No Place Like Home,' over and over...!' Daryl said, with a small sideways smile on his mug.
Would that really work? Well...Em thought it. She thought it hard. Again, and again.
Nothing seemed to be happening. Then she thought she felt a gentle vibration. The goose-egg began to take on a pinkish hue. 'I think something is happening!'
Daryl twisted about in the saddle for a better view. 'Hold tight, Emmelina!' He stared at the object, frowning. Em grasped his waist and heard him 'ulp!'
'It's beginning to vibrate!' It felt warmer to her hand as well. She thought she could detect a humming sound now. The ovoid began to turn rose-colored. Then a deep red.
'Here we go!'--from Daryl.
Blackness. She could hear their horse's deep whinny as the world went dark, but she could still feel him under her, and she felt Daryl next to her as well. She never thought she'd be grateful for that, but she was at the moment.
Then, daylight again.
Emmeline looked up from the pulsating object and gazed about her. The area looked much the same, yet, with some differences. Some rather big differences, really, now that Em turned around and viewed the surroundings. Big, as in, a huge mountain.
'That certainly wasn't there a minute ago!' she remarked, unnecessarily.
Daryl turned around to where Em was pointing, and groaned.
'Nooo...!' He glared back at her, 'What were you thinking?'
'Just what you told me! However silly it seemed! I was thinking 'there's noplace like home!' Really, men, sometimes!
Actually, most of the time, she had to admit, she couldn't fathom the buggers. Was Jack going to be this idiotic as well?
'Well, this isn't it.'
'Truly?' Em had about had it with Daryl.
Their horse began to fidget now, which wasn't so bad, considering  all the poor beast had been through.
'Alright...' Daryl sighed, staring at the ground awhile. 'Well...no use crying about it.'
Who was crying? Honestly...Em's disgust was becoming something she'd soon have to deal with. Like getting off and taking her artefact with her into the wilderness. Let Daryl cry over that...
He looked up then, one arm leaning on the saddle horn, and tipped his hat brim back, looking at the mountain's silhouette behind them. 'Alright,' he said again. And nudged the horse into a walk, away from the mountain.
'Now where are we going?' Em felt like a recalcitrant child
forced into an outing with adults.
'We are off to see the gypsies!' Daryl relaxed into his saddle and seemed to take it all in stride once more.
'Which gypsies? Yours or mine?'
'My gypsies...'he answered softly.
'And this mountain here...what is it?'
'It's name is Mount Popocatapetyl. I know it as Mt. Popo.'
'You know this mountain well?'
'Very well. Too well.'
Emmeline pressed Daryl for more information but he steadfastly refused to speak again. She would turn to gaze behind her at the looming peak, remarkable in its' stark beauty, snow dusting it's crown, and wonder why the artefact interpreted 'home' as this area?
Curiouser and curiouser.
                   . .. . ..
Jack had made it! He assumed that he'd gotten the right time and place. It was definately Mexico City. It was larger than he had supposed it had been, for that time. Now, how to contact the Guevaras? He knew that Marta's husband, former husband, worked as a scientist. Perhaps he should make some inquiries at the embassy...the university...Jack was really working in the dark here.
But, he'd gone 'haring off' anyway, just as Yeats had warned him against. He was going absolutely mad, though, just sitting, waiting. Couldn't take anymore.
By late afternoon, he was beginning to rethink his haste. He'd been everywhere and had gotten no closer to locating Emmelina or the Guevaras. Discouraged,  Jack at last found himself hungry and wandered into a small bistro. Ordering a plate of tamales with beans, a cheese and a cold cerveza, he was wondering if he'd made a grande mistake coming. Well, so he'd worked the tension out of his system anyway...he could always return and take his punishment. Possibly, he hadn't even been missed as yet...
Someone asked for a cigarro. Jack, knowing how popular smokes were, brought some with him for barter, and handed one to the man. Someone else struck up 'The Merry Widow Waltz' on an old piano. 'Are you going to the baile?'the man who asked for the cigarette addressed Jack. He said no, he didn't know how to dance the jota.
'This man doesn't know how to dance the jota!' the local cried, laughing to his companeros. They all began to laugh and the man at the piano began to sing:
 'The Gringos they all are fools,
they've never been to Sonora,
and when they want to say 'Diaz Realez,'
they call it 'dollar an' a quarta'...'
Jack smiled good-naturedly, taking the ribbing, and continued eating placidly. The pianist began a new tune: 'Puentes a Chihuahua'. The men started a small poker game and mostly let him be after that. Although there were some men at the back of the room who seemed to be staring at Jack and speaking in low tones to one another. Perhaps he was just imagining it...
'So, gringo, are you going to fight with us?' Jack's cigarette smoking acquaintance enquired.
Jack had decided to adopt the guise of a U.S. correspondent as a cover for his inquisitiveness. 'I'm just a reporter, for the paper back home. Correspondents aren't allowed to fight.'
'Coward! We need no words printed in a book! We need fighting, and rifles! Liberdad! Our cause is just! Coward!' he spat. 'Huertisia!'
Jack knew things were getting out of hand. He decided it would be a good time to be heading back home about now, indeed. But as he stood, he found the men who had been watching him so closely from the rear of the bistro were suddenly at his side,
revolvers drawn. 'We need for you to accompany us, senor.'
'I knew it!' The Cigarette Smoking Man yelled, 'He's a spy! A dirty gringo spy!'
'Andele,' the men flanked Jack and ushered him out of the room, guns at his back and side. Jack was thinking that this definately was not going the way he had hoped.  He was assured of this when he was ultimately shown to a jail cell and the door firmly locked.
Not what he had hoped for at all.
                           . . . .