Chapter 3 - '...Of Cambions and Kings...'
Emmelina and Daryl sat in silence awhile, as the dusk fell gently
about them.
'So quiet here...seems peaceful enough, does it not...?' Daryl
commented softly almost to himself.
Em didn't answer. It had been a busy day. The good meal, wine and
valerian! were enough to put her into a contemplative state that
was near to dreaming awake. Daryl, leaning one hand upon his chin
and toying with his wine glass whilst gazing at the last ruddy sky
light left, seemed to be of the same mindset.
'Have you traveled much in the Sierra, Emmelina?'
Daryl's inquiry jarred her to wakefulness. 'Um...not high up,no.
My friend Jethro and I, and Lev, too...we took trail rides to Lake
Tahoe on occasion.
Lovely country. A long ride, though... It is quite a trek really.'
'Are you familiar with 'Cherokee'--the settlement, in the
foothills? It's around the mining camps.'
Em was not that familiar with more northern areas of the
foothills. 'I believe I've heard of it, but, not really, no.'
Daryl poured out the last of the wine for them both. 'Last glass.'
He winked. 'You might be interested to know...that during the gold
rush, a group of Welsh miners traveled there from back east, and a
contingent of Cherokee Indians traveled along with them. Hence the
name, 'Cherokee.''
Em had heard of the Cherokee people's forced migration and the the
'Trail of Tears'; cruel banishment from their land. Some rumor of
Cherokee blood on her mother's side. Her mother, who was also
Welsh. 'Interesting...'
'Indeed.' Daryl agreed, sipping his wine, and leaning back in the
wooden deck chair. 'Welsh migrants worked the mines in the east,
coal mostly, and then many came west for the gold in them thar
hills...' He raised an eyebrow Em's way. 'Back east, in the
coalfields; helluva place, helluva job of work...men scrabbling
like rats for black coal, a day's wages and always when they'd try
to organize for a union, busted up by the bosses. Hired Pinkerton
men to infiltrate and bust 'em up before they could start. Odd,
considering Allen Pinkerton, from the worst slums of Glasgow, was
a Chartist back in the Old Country...' Daryl was rambling.
'Methinks the bosses were the ones stirring up trouble, setting
one faction against the other you know, so as to have someone to
blame. Kill 'em off, you see. Men there were aplenty and mules
were worth more than men...instigate abit of trouble and make it
look like The Other Guy... 'Tis the way politicians wage wars you
know. Then they could tell the tax payers: 'War is good business!
Be a patriot for godssake!', etcetera. Well, it's the peoples'
money; taxes, funding their war profiteering benefitting a few
rich males. If tax monies were allotted to education and health
care, one could then claim, 'Education is good business!' But,
then we wouldn't have all these needless wars, death, carnage,
doom and destruction...' Daryl was in his cups now and warming to
the subject with unholy relish. Em was transfixed.
'Course, not all were Welsh although they'd the mining experience,
they and the English...the Irish were desperate to flee the
famine, too...a big Irish gang, the Molly McGuires, once got into
a gang war with a Welsh gang, the Madocs.'
The Molly McGuires! Emmeline had heard of them. 'You mean...as in
Mr. Doyle's Sherlock Holmes story? What was it, now...?'Valley of
Fear'--that was it!'
'Exactly.'
'A Welsh gang, Madocs, by name, you say? Interesting... They went
at it with the Mollys?'
A sigh from Daryl. 'Um. Yes. Back east you know. Pennsylvania it
was...but you have heard of the Gangs of New York and all
that...You know the New York Volunteers wound up here in San
Francisco, and had a hand in the early racist violence and arson
in the city's early days.'
Gangs of New York. Em had heard of them of course. The Plug
Uglies, Dead Rabbits and others. She was glad to have missed the
worst of San Francisco's tumultous infancy. Odd how immigrants
came here from the Old World to escape persecution only to turn on
others once here. There is no escape from one's own failings it
seems.
'Had you not wondered, Emmelina, why your family wound up
diagonally opposite of where they'd begun? From the Southeast,
here to the Northwest?'
She noted Daryl had straightened and was eyeing her seriously.
Good heavens! What was Daryl implying? 'You don't mean...there
wasn't...they weren't escaping gang violence!'
Daryl smiled sideways at her. 'No, no, cara...not that. They did
leave the South, however, very secretly and quietly. And, before
they did, it was agreed that your mother should shelter with the
Page's and take their name.
Publically, she was no longer a Bowen.'
Em frowned, wondering why Daryl knew so much about her own family
when she did not. Perhaps she felt rather slighted, and jealous
too. Whatever; she knew she didn't much like it. However...news is
news. And finally she was getting some answers. He had mentioned
that he'd researched his own family in depth and over much time. A
century, apparently. And found a link betwixt his ancestors and
her own. Again, a Welsh connection, and Native American.
'Odd, though, isn't it?' Em mused, 'How the Welsh turn up again
and again, in conjunction with the native Indian tribes? Mandan,
and Cherokee...?' Possibly Modoc as well, thought Em, recalling
that California tribe.
Daryl's eyes glinted in the deepening dusk. It was nearly dark and
his tan seemed a shadow now, a chiaroscuro study in black against
the white of his shirt in the gathering gloom. 'Yes. Something to
ponder.' He drank more wine. 'Your father changed his name as
well.'
'Yes, he wished to fit in, to be a 'real' American...took the 'j'
out of our last name and changed his own from Englebretson to
William. Wouldn't do in academia and science to appear too bloody
Swedish, you know. Rather too foreign all that.' Em drank deep as
well, recalling her late father.
'...other changes as well. Your mother's real name for
instance...' Daryl was staring at the night sky, speaking low
almost as if to himself.
What was that? 'Daryl...what say you now? Her real name?'
This was news. Emmelina had known her mother as Serena. Once more,
Em was amazed and dismayed at Daryl's familiarity with her family.
'"Seren" was her name, originally. It is Welsh, for "star".'Daryl
paused a moment, stretching his legs before him and sighing. 'The
old Welsh myths tell of the 'tall, shining ones' with names such
as 'Meinir' and 'Meinwen' meaning 'tall and white, shining,
fair'. The old tales of Taliessin and the Merlin both had such
'shining brows' as of light glowing within them, and also were
said to have been cambion; born as a result of their mother's
impregnation by a...spirit, incubus, or by fay or elvish means...'
His words hung in the air a moment. Silence all about. How came he
to know these things? Emmelina was confused, and tired. She looked
at Daryl who was low in his chair now and
leaning with his head against the back of it. She wasn't sure
whether to disturb him or not. Was he asleep?
Just then, she noticed a small smile tracing his lips, a gleam of
light reflected in his eyeslits. He yawned then. 'As dear old
Oscar Wilde noted, 'The truth is rarely pure and never
simple.'...' He crossed his ankles before him and leaned back.
'You will plant artichokes for me, won't you, Josephina? And
poppies.'
'Of course, Diego.' Em returned his smile.
Daryl set his empty glass down, satisfied. 'I do so love
poppies...' His eyes closed and she watched as his head rested
against the back of the chair. 'You may do better to shift your
investigations nearer to home. The answers you seek are closer
than you think. The gold rush is gone but there's secrets still to
be mined in them thar hills...' and soon, she noted, his breathing
deepened into a soft snore. Like an inebriated lion, thought Em to
herself.
. . . .
'Great Scots, or Irish, rather...it's Yeats!'
Aleister stood at the parlor window, coffee in hand, as Jack came
round from the kitchen, hitching his braces over his shoulders,
hair still wet from his morning shower. He stood next to Aleister
and wondered what Yeats was about. The Head of their Order was
strolling about the grounds, staring up at the oak trees and
gazing off into the distance. And sneezing.
The two went out upon the veranda to meet their Head, who had
removed a large red bandana from his pocket and was busy blowing
his nose with a mighty honk.
'Head at war with Nose, it would seem...' Jack whispered to Al,
who rolled his eyes and elbowed his young partner a warning.
Yeats approached, stuffing his kerchief in pocket and deigned to
notice the two men at last. 'So. Here you are.'
Jack and Al eyed one another; it was the Head who had been
disappeared lo these many long weeks.
'Let us apparate into the parlor, shall we? I find the bounties of
spring rather too flagrant at present...' Yeats pushed past Jack
and Al, who followed on his heels and they all gathered in the
parlor, Dylan slipping in behind.
'Ah, tea, Mr. Yeats?' Jack offered.
'Certainly.' Yeats stretched his long legs out and absently patted
Dylan who flopped himself down at the man's feet and seemed oddly
content to lie still for a change.
Jack emerged with a tea tray presently, (with coffee refill for
Al), and the men settled themselves. Jack and Al had been
discussing earlier how to broach the subject of heading back to
the lab on the east coast to investigate the time bursts and hoped
the Head would be amenable to their wishes.
'To business, then...' Yeats jumped right in. Taking a sip of tea
he continued: 'Prepare yourselves for what may be quite a long
stay away...' He set his tea down and regarded them intently.
'We're heading back to the Massachusetts house.'
Jack and Al looked at each other, but perhaps were not so amazed
after all. Yeats wasn't the Head for nothing.
He continued: '...And, as it may be for some time...' he looked
down at Dylan who thumped his tail sociably, '...I suppose we may
take Dylan and, er...Alice...' he waved a hand about as if to say,
wherever she may be...'but, the livestock should be pastured out
elsewhere.'
Livestock meant Boreson, Trotsky and now Pancho, they surmised.
'Ah, well, I see...' Jack began, 'I suppose I could take them up
to Homer and Jethro's, they have plenty of room...'
'No, no, Jack,' Yeats pulled him up short, 'that won't do, as you
will have to come with me rather soon. Aleister, you would be able
to manage could you not? And join us directly after?'
Al suddenly looked alert. 'Well! I suppose, ah, certainly!'
He frowned, trying to work out a hasty plan. He looked at Jack.
'Hitch Boreson to the trap, I think...whilst tying the other two
behind. Should work alright, eh?'
Jack opened his mouth to comment, but Yeats cut in, 'Excellent!
Let's make it this afternoon then, shall we?'
. . . .
Emmelina awoke recalling that she'd the day off today. Good. She'd
plenty to think about. She dressed hurriedly and headed downstairs
seeking Daryl. Em had left him to slumber outdoors, feeling rather
shy about waking him and asked Manuel to do so later...she didn't
think she should leave Daryl out as mosquito banquet all evening
should he be tired enough to sleep through where he sat.
'Buenos dias, Rosa!' Em greeted her friend in the kitchen, feeling
rather chipper this morning after last night's talk fest with
Daryl which had given her some food for thought.
Whether she'd wind up with indigestion from it remained to be
seen...
'Ah, Emmelina, good morning!' Rosa replied, as she sat sipping her
tea and browsing through a seed catalog.
Em poured her tea and took some fruit and a slice of cornbread,
sat beside Rosa. 'That time again, eh?'
Rosa sighed.'Ah, si...I'm trying to rotate the crops,' she rolled
her eyes, '...but we have little space for growing.
And don Diego always grows the same plants every year...I suppose
we'll just plant them in different areas then. He didn't give me
much to go on before he left...'
'Da--don Diego is gone?' Em wasn't prepared for this. So soon?
'Yes. He was up before anyone else. Gave me some cash and
instructions for running the house and garden, and away he went.
Again.' She smiled, turning the pages.
Emmelina chewed on her cornbread and this news. Well, old Daryl
couldn't win, could he? She smiled wryly, sipping her tea; either
she was bothered that he would show up, only to be equally
bothered by his disappearance. Perhaps more so...
She did so wish to ask him more about last evening's discussion.
'I see.' Well, seemed she was on her own again. Which was what
she'd wanted. Wasn't it? Of course it was...'I'll help you with
the garden. I'm hoping I'll be staying on awhile.'
'Excellent Emmelina! I was hoping so, too. We miss you here, you
know, when it's just Manuel and myself rattling about the place.'
Em smiled at her. 'I missed you both as well. Pankhurst is not my
home any longer...' She eyed the catalog, circling which seeds to
order. 'I suppose here will do as well as anywhere,' she looked at
Rosa,'and with you here, it's better than I have reason to hope
for.'
After breaking her fast, Em did some preliminary weeding and
digging in the garden, planning her planting, as well as her next
move. Daryl's revelations had set her to pondering...
she supposed that perhaps it wouldn't hurt to nose about in the
foothills awhile and see what she might turn up. The Sierra were
closer than the southeast, certainly.
Em paused to lean upon her hoe and wipe her brow a moment.
Diosa it was becoming warm! She knew it was even warmer in the
valley, but the foothills would be cooler than in Pankhurst. She
gazed eastward over the hilltops. Hmm. How to go about this... She
could take the train aways...but then what? She couldn't see
hiring a horse when she had Pancho.
Well, why not? He was hers as much as anyone's now. Alright, so
train back to Pankhurst, put Pancho in a cattle car, or however
animals were transported, she hoped he wouldn't be
squished in amongst a herd of bovines...but, whatever would get
him up to whatever jerk-water town would be closest to the
starting point for her investigations. Which would be, where
exactly?
She had maps, but she would need more information about the Welsh
in the mining towns. Ah, perhaps Bridget and Connor would know
more about Celtic brethern in the state... With that in mind, Em
put up her hoe and repaired indoors.
A visit with the Druids was in order.
. . . . .
Night already. Jack felt the dislocation of this rapid
transplantation from Northern California to Massachusetts in an
eyeblink. But the east coast was ahead of the west by a few
hours; by the time they'd left Crowley House, it was going on late
afternoon. It was some hours past sundown here at Daryl's
sprawling estate. The silence of evening was about them now.
Jack busied himself catching up on the business of running the
place with his caretakers then he and Yeats spent some time
settling in. 'We'll head to the lab and work on some
notions I've been working up as soon as Aleister can make it here,
I think...'
'That's fine, Jack...' Yeats sat with elbow bent, running a finger
along his chin in contemplation, seemingly only half-listening.
Jack thought this a good time for a pause in their activities and
thought to slip away and give Emmelina a call to let her know of
their whereabouts. 'I'll just be in the study awhile, then.'
Yeats nodded, not replying. Jack took himself off and closed the
door of the study behind him. Exhaling long and hard, he ran a
hand through his unruly locks and took phone in hand, dialing Em's
number. As it rang, he wished he had been able to simply timewalk
there to say goodbye, but that particular mode of transport had
been so inconsistant of late he feared winding up in Mexico or
worse.
'Diego Rivera's residence.' It was Rosa.
'Rosa? It's Jack, Van Horn. Is Emmelina about?' Darnit, she would
be out now...
'Oh, Jack, no, sorry, she is out at present. May I take a
message?'
Well, nothing for it, he supposed. 'Ah, yes...Rosa, please tell
her that we had to leave rather suddenly, Yeats and myself. Oh,
and let her know that Aleister has taken the horses up to Homer
and Jethro's for the time being; he will be joining us later.'Jack
hoped that Em would know they were in Massachusetts.
He didn't wish to say too much over the phone.
'O...kay...' Rosa answered. 'I wrote it all down then. Anything
else, Jack?'
Tell her I miss her already? Thought Jack, but no. 'No, that's
all. Thank you, Rosa. Goodbye.'
'Goodbye Jack.' Click. Connection severed.
Jack put the phone down. So quiet here. He felt cut off from the
world. He scratched his hair and sighed, sauntering in to the
kitchen where he made coffee for one. Whilst brewing, he betook
himself into the music room and found his old guitar case with
guitar making a slightly off-key greeting as he removed it and
began tuning.
Coffee ready, he took his cup and guitar, stopping briefly in the
parlor to add some brandy to cup, and headed out onto the veranda.
Too bad they had to leave Al behind, mused Jack, Yeats was in his
own world most of the time and not exactly any sort of real
company.
Noodling about, Jack wondered how Al was doing transporting the
herd to Homer's place. He thought of all the time he'd spent
there, missing the boys as well already. He had rather liked
playing Jethro's mandolin, he realized. Wondered if he could
locate Daryl's old mando he had hereabouts...
Meanwhile, however...duty calls. He wondered if Em would return
his phone call, he'd given her the number here... He ceased
playing a moment. No wind in trees, very few night noises here, he
realized. So quiet, dark...and lonely.
Jack sighed, took a hefty swallow of fortified coffee and
strumming a chord, began to softly sing an old Willie Nelson tune
in the evening's gathering chill:
I gotta get over you again
I gotta get over you again
I had my heart wide open
And you just walked right on back in
You can't imagine
Just how hard it's been
Now, I gotta get over you
I gotta get over you again
We never really had a chance
We never really had a chance at all
I was carrying more luggage
More than U-Haul truck could haul
And I had it all worked out
We'd only be the best of friends
Now, I gotta get over you
I gotta get over you again
Maybe I never really got over you at all
And I've been looking in the mirror
A lie, I didn't like at all
Supposed to be so easy like falling off a wall
And I started thinking
Thinking about things that might have been
Now, I gotta get over you
I gotta get over you again
And I gotta get over you
I gotta get over you again
. . . .
WATCH:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JaA46FByPHc
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