Chapter 22 - Prescient Memory


In the philosophy of the later Bards all truth was expressed through the operations of Triads. In the Three, which they traced in every conceivable sphere of experience, they discovered the key to the understanding of the creation of the material Earth.

from:
The Three and The Seven
The Flaming Door
Eleanor C. Merry
.......

English Freemasonry eventually included among its members Major General Jeffery Amherst, who played a dominant role in the American Revolution and, along with the duke of Cumberland, would be infamously linked to the sacking of Havana on August 12, 1762, and to the speculation that the treasure seized there was deposited in existing vaults at Oak Island. (Nova Scotia)

... . ... . ...



Nil nisi clavid deest

- Nothing is wanting but the key -

Clavis ad thesaurum

- A key to a treasure -

Theca ubi res pretiosa deponitur

- A place where a precious thing is concealed -

........

The uprising over, Bonnie Prince Charlie had become a hunted figure. From the Isle of Skye, the Clan MacKinnon helped the prince make his way across the English Channel. For their part in aiding his escape, it is said that the clan received the prince's secret recipe for Drambuie.

William H. Mann
The Templar Meridians

........

"Good memories are lost jewels."

Paul Valery                                                                                                                                                                             
.......................

Emlyn was awake early.
Staying over at Nob Hill house, in her old room, already seemed odd to her. A feeling of displacement came over her, as though she shouldn't be here.
  'Not...my place,' she murmured, as she gazed out her upper storey window at the morning mist, obscuring the reticent sun.

Still, she felt obliged to do what she could for Daryl whilst his health was impaired.
  And so she was rather taken aback when she arrived downstairs to find Daryl up and about; indeed -- he was just shrugging into his overcoat in the foyer when she came upon the scene.

'Feeling better?' Em inquired, wondering: what now?

Daryl glanced her way as he reached for his hat. 'Ah. Yes, just so.' Hat on head, he wrapped a scarf about him as well. 'Seemed to have slept it off! I was just heading out. I'm off to see Conner.' He paused, hand on door knob. 'Ah...will you be staying long?'

'I...suppose not.' Well! So much for that! Em sighed.
'Your papers, books and violin are all in the parlor by the piano.'

'Yes,' Daryl glanced down. 'Eh, thank you, Emlyn. It was good of you to come. And to stay the night.' He looked at her, finally, and stepped over to her, taking her hand. 'I do appreciate your concern, Em. I will be fine now.'

Well, so it would seem. 'If you think so...'

'Yes.' Daryl dropped her hand and pulled his hat down low. 'Rosa is due to return today, and that will be a big help, for me and Manuel. So, if I do not see you when I return, and I cannot say when that would be, any road...I suppose this is farewell. For now.' He paused, then leaned over and bussed a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

'There is hot water for tea on the stove. Adieu, Em!'
And he was away-- !
 ...Shutting the door behind him.

'"Fin", as the films read at the end,' muttered Em, as she made a face at the door, and then turned toward the kitchen and promised hot water...

As she waited for tea to steep, she decided that there was no reason to stay on, really, and she found that she was rather glad she was now free to go...wherever.

'Indeed...where?' Em asked the empty room. Pouring a cup, she thought that now she was here, perhaps she would take advantage of being back on the left coast, and she might head up to visit Aleister, and maybe even Jethro, see if Jack was still there. Why not?

She would take the train to Pankhurst.
That would give her time to think about things, as they now stood.
  Em felt invigorated with this decision and packed a couple of apples, a fair slice of sharp cheddar and a bun, and, following Daryl's lead, stuffed all in her valise and taking her coat, made her exit, once more, away from Nob Hill House.
                                                                         

  ...............


Some hours later, Emlyn had decided to walk from the depot at Pankhurst, to Crowley House. A fair stretch of the legs, but she was tired of sitting from the train.

September, but the morning chill was long gone and Em was carrying her coat now, and thinking her valise shouldn't seem this heavy...
  At last, she spied Crowley Lane and thought she heard an approaching wagon.

Aleister Parsons was driving his Halflinger, Boreson, up the lane and Em quickened her pace, waving and calling to catch him up.
  'Aleister! Ahoy!' Em trotted up to meet him.

'What is this? It can't be...!' Al pulled up on the lines, halting his trusty Boreson. 'Emlyn! Egad you're a sight for these old eyes, indeed! Where did you come from, walking are you?'

Em gasped out a 'Hello, Aleister,' she leaned on the wagon catching her breath. 'I've just come from the train. Where are you off to?'

'Heading up the hill. To see Jack, and Jethro...Homer if he's around.' Al smiled down at her, offering a hand, 'Care to come?'

'That would be wonderful. I was just thinking about those fellows.' Em tossed her valise to Aleister who stowed it in the wagon and helped Emlyn up on the seat beside him.
  Em smiled. 'This is a serendipidous meeting, indeed.'
                                                                                

'Deja vu all over again.' Jack embraced Emlyn.
 She smiled up at Jack. Had it been so very long, then? He looked much changed. A bit heavier, and could that be wings of grey at his temples? He looked...much like Daryl now. Disconcerting, that.

'C'mere, Miss Nob Hill,' Jethro reached out an arm for her and swaddled her in a bear hug.
  'Jethro...so good to see you!' It was. She found she had missed Jethro more than Jack, cypher that he was, still. 'You're all looking well. Where is Homer?'

'Up in the apple orchard. With Sean,' answered Jethro.
'Let's go pay a visit.'

'I'll just be inside with Jack a few minutes,' Aleister told them, as he and Jack hefted a wooden crate. 'You two run along.'
                                                             

   .......

'Sean, now: who is he?' asked Em as she and Jethro strolled hand in hand uphill to the orchard. A cooling wind blew gently here in the shade and Emlyn felt her shoulders relax at last, taking in the rich smells of pine needles and warm grasses. It was good to leave the City life behind...


'You have been gone a while! Don't you recall the dowser who found our well and took you up to Mrs. Murphy's?'
Jethro levelled a quizzical look upon her.

'Sean Monroe!' Em did recall. 'Of course I remember him.
You know, I believe he and the redoubtable Mrs. Murphy may have had a wee...'

'-- Romance?' Jethro smiled crookedly. 'Aye. Perhaps they still do. You know I don't go in for such gossip.'

Em did an eyeroll. 'Since when.' This was indeed a fortunate turn of events...oddly, there did seem to be a pattern repeating. She should take note.

The orchard looked much improved with the advent of new well; leafier, and loaded with large fruit, much bigger than the small water-starved wee apples she had last seen there.

'So, the new well is still working...well?' she inquired.
  'It is.' Jethro offered her an apple. 'Sean has a nose for the springs. He's just here on, other business.'

Other business, with Homer, usually meant applejack.
'I thought you had busted up the still!'

Jethro halted. 'We did. And Homer is, much improved. He is healthy now. Lost some weight...but he's no longer bloated. Can get him to eat less of the lard.'
  

They resumed their walk. 'Jack and I have the biofuel business going strong. And with Woody keeping us supplied with used fryer oil, we have a goodly supply. Thinking of branching out more. Sean comes down to fetch more biofuel from us. And apples...'
   Jethro slowed his pace. 'Actually,' he whispered in her ear, 'we've moved the still to Aleister's barn. There is still good applejack available. But not to Homer.' He winked.

'"They never taste, who always drink"' Em quoth.
                                                                 

......

As Emlyn beheld the flaming hair and tall, slightly stooped form of the dowser, she recognised Sean Monroe at once. Homer, however...looked much older now. He had lost not a few pounds and his face seemed a bit sunken, lines deeper.
But he moved about easily, and appeared to have more energy than she remembered.

'Whoo cud thiss be?' Sean straightened a bit, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand. 'It's no the lassie I took up yon to the Murphy Hoose?'

'Emlyn!' Homer stood with hands on hips. 'Well! Howdy stranger!'
   Em opened arms wide and went to embrace Homer. 'Homer, you look fine! And, oh my...I can almost get my arms all the way round you now!'

Homer looked at Sean. 'That's near worth starvin' for, a young gal's arms about ya!' He eyed Em closely. 'So what brings you here now? We all thought you had dropped off the edge of the world.'

I did, Em nearly answered.
'Busy. Much, much too busy.' She took Homer's hand. 'And I am that weary of it all! You've no idea how fine it is to be here, among friends with countryside all round. The orchard looks gorgeous, Homer.'

'That it does!' He grabbed a bushel basket and thrust it at Em. 'Get to pickin', then!'

'Do I get to keep what I pick?' She eyed him with a half smile.
  'Naturally.' Homer regarded Sean. 'Why don't you take this lil gal back up the mountain with you when you go?'

'Do ye think I'll get her to come with? T'was you she had her arrms aboot.' Sean smiled a gap-toothed grin.

'What say you, Emlyn?' Jethro, hands in pockets, was enjoying the teasing Em always had at the hands of himself and The Boys. 'You can pay Sean for the ride with a bushel of apples. If you get "busy".'

Em hardly knew what to say. She put it down to sweet serendipity; before she even knew it herself, this was exactly what she wanted.
  'That would...be grand. If Sean doesn't mind.'

'I believe I can manage room in the waggon for ye,' Sean grinned, eyeing Homer and nodding.

......

Sean had decided they were to leave at first light the next day. Em didn't mind staying the night, in fact she had been looking forward to it.
  After a fine supper of freshly caught river trout, potatoes, greens and of course, apple pie, and much catching up between all, Emlyn slept better than she had in many a long moon.

And so, once more, with Sean's heavy horses hitched to his waggon and filled with biofuel, apples and other crates in the back, the two had set off just as the sun came up. A clear day, and Indian Summer was hanging on.
It would be warm, later.
                                                                   

 
The big Clydes kept up a good stride as they headed north and east into the foothills of the Sierra. By mid-day they could see the volcanic Sutter Buttes in the distance, discernible through the valley haze.

Sean wasn't much of a gabber, but he answered Emlyn's queries readily enough.
  'And Mrs. Murphy has kept a room for me, still?' Em had felt great anxiety about that...for the longest time, she'd kept hoping to be able to return.

'Aye, she has.' Sean sipped water from his shepherd's bag, offering some to Em. 'Eh, in a manner of speakin'. To be sure, she's had to do some shifting aboot of things here and there...so mayhap it won't be yer exact room, but 'a room' will still be there for ye.'

Emlyn exhaled with relief. 'I am so glad. You've no idea how often I have wished I could return! But, ah, well...fate intervened.' She hoped that fate would now have a different name: other than 'Daryl/Diego'.

Sean wisely kept his own counsel, saying nought on that enigmatic statement.
   'Weel, we're keepin' a good pace, here. Should be there by sundoon, methinks.'

So much crowded Emlyn's mind...fall soon, October and Samhain. She became anxious once more, wondering about the other two-thirds of the Triad.
  'And, Jeanne MacKinnon, and Shannon Fitzgerald? Are they still about? I recall Jeanne had a wee shop in town.'

A rusty chuckle erupted from some deeply hidden place within Sean. 'Oh, aye; an' it's wee Shannon's shop noo!
She took it over and has expanded sommat. Doing a fair business, so she is. And grows and seels the fresh flowers along wi' the dried and bottled hairbals an' sooch.'
 Fortunately, Em knew that 'hair balls' was Scots brogue for 'herbals'.
                                                                             

   'Oh, that sounds grand, Sean. I will look forward to seeing the new shop. Em paused but a beat.'And, Jeanne?'

Sean was nodding as he answered. 'Aye, she is still aboot. She is a marriet wumman noo, though.'

This was news Em had not forseen in her wild dreams, and very wild those were at times.

'Married! Ah, to Allyn, the musician? They were a couple when I left.'
  'To Allyn, noo...and a bit, weel, disappointed that young lad was, too. Noo, 'tis a grand man she found for herself, or he found her. 'Tis an older gent, and well-moneyed. Cam o'er fae the auld country. From Edinburgh, no less. Although he has holdings in the country,'tis said, around aboot Glenternie.'

Oh, my. Now what, wondered Emlyn. Was there still hope for the Triad, then? With herself gone so long, and now with Jeanne...married, to a a Fine Gentleman, it seemed.

'I see...' Em pondered this unexpected lacuna. Would Jeanne still hold Scotland's place in the Triad?
  'Who is this lucky Scotsman, then?'

'Eh, the mon goes by the name o'Kidd. Not sure o' much else aboot him; puts it aboot that he's an earl o'sorts. Ye'll haff to ask Mrs. Murphy. She knows all that goes on aboot Arcadia.'
   'Not "Malta"?' Em teased.
   'Noo. To most folk who haff lived there some whiles, 'tis always and shall be ever Arcadia, lass. Despite the postal office designation, ye ken.'


Emlyn certainly dinna know, now, just what to ken.
  She lapsed into silence as they journeyed on the last leg of their venture north. Well, it isn't so bad she told herself; Shannon and Jeanne were still about and well, that's the main thing, surely.

Still, she couldn't help but feel some trepidation as they turned east and began to head up into the hills and out of the valley.
  Some sort of earl, eh? With the last name of Kidd. Em wondered if he had a ship. The only Kidd she knew of was that American pirate, Captain Kidd.  
  And he, certainly, had been no nobleman.
                                                               

                                                   Captain Kidd in New York Harbor

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