32Thank you for the comments. They're always a welcome surprise!
I welcome constructive criticism.
As always, grammar (& historical) mistakes are mine.
End notes are optional reading.
WARNING - Because of the era, racial biases/stereotypes are part of the story. I won't use Extreme racial slurs common to the period (some are still in use).
Trigger Warning: This chapter contains a death. I depict the death as it is commonly seen in TV dramas or movies.
This chapter also addresses Jake's POV on the regular raping of Black female slaves. Jake was 'teased' by no less than Phil twice in the show, and his being bi-racial and not fitting in did bother him. (As a caveat, I didn't get the impression in the show that 'Dad' Puckerman raped Jake's mom. It seemed to me he was just a charming man Jake's mom fell for. If you disagree–that's fair.)
This chapter took longer than expected. These things happen in life. Thank you for sticking with the story throughout this lengthy delay.
Chapter 16 - Bitter Yet Sugary
An invisible heat radiated from the forge where Jake once heated iron to sharpen miners' tools, and Tony fashioned horseshoes. Shane pumped the bellows, injecting air into the flame, which intensified with each burst of oxygen. Combined with oxygen, wood sparked a prehistoric process forming charcoal, which, when heated, melted earth's ores. It mesmerized Brittany. The fire crackled and snapped, producing incredible shades of red, orange and yellow, which eventually reduced to an intense white-to-blue heat at the base of the flame. "Looks good, Mr. Elliott. Get ready," Shane barked, checking a piece of iron as a temperature gauge.
Elliott filled the crucible with silver scraps from damaged jewelry he'd collected, slipped on thick leather gloves, and took the large tongs from Shane to grip the crucible. "Move back, Brittany," He stepped toward the fire, embedding the ceramic pot up to the rim as sparks flew upward from the hot charcoal-gray shards. Brittany watched as the pieces above the crucible's lip melted into a molten silver ore. Elliott added more scraps. Both stared with fascination as they retreated. A smile appeared on her face, recalling the memorable phrase from Oz. "Look what you've done! I'm melting, melting. Ohhhhh, what a world, what a world." Brittany didn't miss the irony as a shiver ran down her spine.
Behind them, Tony readied the molds. Two wood frames packed with damp river sand, with four indentations made from wax candles pressed into each side, formed the mold. The tricky part was flipping one side onto another in alignment, creating the silver cylinders. Tony took a breath. With a gentle flip, he lifted one side and lowered it, covering the mirror image mold. He used his hands to feel the wooden frames' alignment and eyed the bracket holes aligned, locking the two sides with a nut and bolting through the holes. Happy with his work, he sat the mold up and placed it on the ground. "Molds are ready when you are, Mr. Elliott."
The assayer quirked a smile, "Me? I thought Shane would do the honors."
The sizeable Black man whipped his head around. "Not me, boss. This here is Miss Brittany's idea. She got it all planned out on that drawing of hers."
"You expect Miss Brittany to pour molten metal?"
"No, Tony, I don't. I just got these boots! Not gonna pour hot ore into some small hole, and it hit my new boots. Hard to find boots that fit these elephant feet of mine."
"It's fine, Shane. I'll do it." Elliott said. With tongs, he grasped the crucible, lifting the mug. Elliot paused as Tony moved back to safety. "Here we go." He tipped the crucible, watching the liquified silver pour into the hole, bubbling up and over, forming a stream down one side. Then drained the mug into the second hole until it overflowed. "Now we wait. "
"Wait for what?" Shane asked.
Tony popped the cork from his bottle of whiskey, took a swig, and said. "For it to cool down, fool." Brittany took a swig from the offered bottle and passed it on.
Brittany couldn't help but wonder about their lives and their stories. "So, where are y'all from?" Shane and Tony were freemen from Philadelphia. Both gave up job opportunities to move west, where they intended to stay. San Francisco appealed to Elliott. Elliott, a trained chemist from Albany, came by sea via the Tehuantepec Route across Mexico. After thirty minutes, Elliott unscrewed the bolts and lifted the top half of the mold, where two silver ingots rested. Elliott removed one with his gloved hand to examine it. " Have either of you used an extruder?"
"Nope, I don't know what it is. But I can try," Shane said.
Tony rose to his feet and walked over to a crate, sorting through his dies, yanking a plate with many conical holes of various diameters, and showing it to Shane. "It's like squeezing out intestines, except you stretch the ore through holes to make it smaller. How small do you need, Miss Brittany?"
Brittany wrinkled her nose, scrunching her eyes closed, to work out the math. "0.6426 mm or 0.0253 inches or as a fraction 1/16th in diameter."
Tony raised an eyebrow, holding up his die to examine the holes. "One long sewin' needle. That's what you want?"
Aphasia stayed with Marshall Campion until the morning. Sleeping in and debating her moral responsibility when awake. She looked after his bandaged head while he lay on his bed. When his meals arrived, she fed him the mushed-up dinner and breakfast from the dining room. Mashed eggs, peas, carrots, beef broth and strained berries. With each serving, she added a few drops of laudanum. With each drink she poured for him, she gave him more laudanum. She mixed laudanum with his whiskey when he cried like a baby, and when he woke from his stupor, she gave the Marshall another drink. When he needed to piss, she rolled him onto his side, held his penis, and gave him another drink for the pain. She breathed in his ear with each act of kindness. "I'll make you feel better, baby."
Now he lay limp, not moving, not a twitch as two flies hovered above him. The empty bottle of laudanum the Doc left and the bottle she brought over was empty. She reached down, grabbed the Marshall's wrist like Doc did, and closed her eyes to detect the faint beat between her fingers. Aphasia looked out the window to China Garden. The Chinese whores used opium. She could purchase more from them. If the Sheriff asked around, Aphasia didn't want her name associated with the Chinese opium den. Bad for business with Miss April. She ripped strips from her petticoat, tying his wrists to the headboard, then grabbed her skirt, pulled it up, and straddled the Marshall's chest. She touched the Marshall's mouth to sense his faint breath. Aphasia pulled the pillow beneath his head, covering his face. He fought a weak fight. With her weight on his chest, a restricted airway and the bottles of laudanum and whiskey he consumed were too much for him to fight.
To Aphasia, it seemed like an eternity, waiting for the miserable man to die. She needed to ensure he passed to live his everlasting life in hell. Her arm's muscles quivered when she surrendered and removed the pillow from his face. Her heart pounded as relief crossed her face, but she didn't suffer anguish or guilt and wouldn't cry tears over an evil gone from her community. Aphasia's French colleagues labeled the Marshall a terroriste, creating fear and uncertainty in her town. Maybe Peter would excuse her for breaking a commandment when she met him at the pearly gates. She wouldn't apologize, so be it if she rotted in hell with the Marshall.
She untied his arms from the headboard, laying them over the bedding at his side, slipped the pillow beneath his bandaged head, and closed his lifeless eyes. Aphasia rolled up the strips torn from her petticoat to stuff them in her handbag and her empty bottle of laudanum. She tipped the whiskey bottle over, letting the last of the amber liquid drip onto the mud-stained rug and the glass she dropped next to the bed. Then she straightened her dress. In the mirror, Aphasia tidied her hair and placed her bonnet on, the hairpins to secure it. She left the room to go downstairs. In the back, she smiled at the hotel's French-Canadian cook. She asked him to check in on the Marshall. She needed to get back to work. Aphasia walked back to the bordello with her head held high.
Brittany strolled from the hotel with her cloth sack, containing her needle-thin coiled wire and rubbers bought from Miss April's. The Rancho's supply-filled wagons, parked in front, blocked her view. Next to the wagons, on their horses, were Ana's mercenaries, their rifle butts resting on their thighs, the muzzle end pointed skyward. On the walkway, Blaine was next to Kurt, who clasped a paper list on a board as they double-checked the order in the wagons. Seeing them together triggered vivid recollections of their college days, filled with countless moments of singing, dancing, hand-holding, cuddling, and hosting potlucks. She recognized Kurt desired a romantic interest in Blaine. Blaine seemed oblivious to Kurt's puppy dog enthusiasm. Dani's suggestion of Sebastian's apartment made Brittany suspect Blaine's interest. She thought he was interested in a bicorn hat, but Blaine's smooth charm and gentlemanly manners masked his genuine desires. Blaine possessed qualities that appealed to both genders in his future self, but he was most proud of Kurt and the family they built. In their minds, they were the perfect picture of a gay family. She could only foresee the future, not orchestrate matches. Seeing Kurt so lost, stepping through his life without someone to love, pained her.
"Miss Brittany, I'll take your belongins and put them behind me," Boaz said from the jockey box. "Keep'em safe for you."
Brittany gave the heavy bag to Boaz. She grabbed the sideboard, placed her foot on the wheel hub, and lifted herself to reach out an arm to embrace Boaz in a hug. Brittany grinned at the young boy. The noticeable shock on the Black boy's face made her smile. She ignored the snorts of disapproval from the offended whites who witnessed the exchange. "Seeing you makes me happy, and I don't care what others think."
"Scandalous."
Brittany heard the stranger's opinion and reacted. "What? Don't you hug people you care about?"
"I do, Miss. My family, just not in public."
Blaine's nape hair rose as Grande's hackles rose to trouble. He saw the affectionate display, and it annoyed him that someone said something. Yet the stranger didn't know Brittany. He did. She was his guest, and he needed to protect her. "He's right, Brittany. There is a certain… uh… propriety we follow in polite society,"
"Celebrating the release of a wrongfully imprisoned person of color is important. If they don't like it, they can shove it up there…"
A gentle hand grasped Brittany's arm. She looked at Boaz with fear in his eyes. "It's okay, Miss Brittany. Don't go making trouble for yourself."
"I think we have everything, Kurt." Blaine glanced at the merchant next to him, then to the armed vaqueros, "Boaz and Phil, Jose, and Nilo will go with you. " Then, in Spanish, he said, "Stay alert" as he watched the Black man climb into the jockey box with his younger kin beside him. Blaine didn't expect any difficulty. But the Marshall's arrival and now his recent injuries caused a stir among the town's Southern supporters and racists. "Brittany, I need to make one more stop at the bank. Why don't you return to the hotel, and I'll meet you and Ana there?"
Ana was in her hotel room, hoping to see her inamorata, Dani, before she left. The Patent Office paperwork for Pacifico, brought back from San Francisco by Finn's regular mail run, now covered the table. She wasn't sure which was easier to read, the paperwork or Dani. Her education wasn't up to Blaine's. She never attended college or clerked for a lawyer. Her father focused on educating his only child on running the rancho. Ana was a natural at handling the large enterprise, particularly since the miners arrived. Rancho Pacifico turned a profit. California's government stole much of the profit for their land taxes. Ana needed to find a balance between the money going out for gold mining and not selling any of her land to keep the state happy with their legal thievery.
Dani was a unique problem altogether. She loved Dani as a lover, a friend, a reliable companion, and a trusted confidant. They comforted each other when their parents passed. Ana took care of Dani when Rancho San Eligio was carved up and sold to pay gambling debts and taxes. They shared memories of dances, jokes, days exploring, and their secret intimate moments together. Now she questioned their relationship. Brittany was beautiful, smart, funny, spontaneous, confident, and a free spirit. She made Ana feel more alive and free. She wanted Brittany. Brittany's real life was freer than Ana ever expected her to be. Would she respond or brush her away? She didn't know, nor did she want to. Blaine's words "a secret, back to her future. No matter what your heart or curiosity desires." Ana wondered what Brittany would tell her wife when she made it home. Would Brittany casually mention Ana? Or an unspoken memory. A familiar voice broke her thoughts: "Ana, it's me."
Dani walked to the table, the papers still spread out. "What are these?"
"The Patent Land Claim," Ana said as she moved to the opposite side of where Dani stood. "Sit down, please."
"You summoned me. I'm here. What do you want?"
The indignation in Dani's voice and the idea Ana summoned her stung, "I didn't order you. I wanted to see you, to talk."
"To tell me, Brittany, is taking my place in your life?" she said with her arms crossed. "Want her? Let me know. I'll leave.."
"She's married. She can't take your place."
"To a man who isn't here. A man she never discusses or anticipates seeing. A man who never writes. She doesn't write to. Sounds dead, locked up, or imaginary to me. The way she talks and acts imaginary is my bet."
"Brittany isn't staying. That's not her plan; she wants to go home."
"With whose money? She doesn't work. She's not a miner. From what I see, you're supporting her." Dani shrugged. "Purchase a ticket out of here."
"Dani, you're acting like a petulant, sullen, jealous child who is not getting attention. You have no idea of Brittany's story. Where she comes from or what brought her here. I do. She is going home. I can promise you that."
Aggravated at being summoned, then chastised for her feelings and her suspicion that Ana was lying, she abruptly stood. "I've seen how you act around her. Neither of you are innocent." She went to the door and opened it, pausing.
"Dani, please stay and listen to me."
"I can't."
"No way I'm letting Miss Cedes walk into this house lookin' like this." Phil stood in the center of the Mayordomo's house, surveying his home. "Boaz, go fetch a bucket of water. No. Make that two. One for you. One for me."
With a scowl etched on his face, Boaz grumbled under his breath, "Mr. Blaine promised I'd be a vaquero, not a house servant."
"You won't be anything if Miss Cedes and Azimio come home to this dustpan."
"That you Phil bossin' folks around?"
Phil grinned. "Jake!" he said as he grasped his friend's hand and threw an arm around his shoulders. "Great to see you, brother," slapping Jake's shoulder.
Boaz joined the hug, wrapping his arms around both men. "I missed you."
As they broke their embrace, warmly amused by their shared affection."Same for both of you," Jake said
"How about Cedes? Jane? Azimio? Osias?"
"On their way home. Should be here tomorrow." Not forgetting his manners, Jake strutted over to the stove. "Either of you hungry? I don't have a lot. Miss Esperanza sent meat and beans to roll up in flatbread," lifting a lid from a pot. "Might have some leftover coffee, too."
"Yeah, that'd be fine. Nice to share a meal with someone who isn't Boaz." Phil's eyes briefly met the boy's eyes, who drifted to the doorway, appearing indifferent to his assigned chore.
"You didn't enjoy eatin' with me?"
"Carrying water buckets might change my mind," Gruffly Phil said. "Do as you're told."
Boaz's shoulders slumped, and a frown crossed his face. "Don't know why I gotta work while you sit with Jake. Not like I didn't miss him." He said, slinking out the door.
Jake set the plate on the table, and Phil wrapped the tortilla around the mixture, licking bits of sauce off his fingers and biting into the burrito. "This is good."
"How was it in jail?"
Phil snickered softly. "It wasn't bad, to be honest. Boring as hell during the day. Nights are where the excitement is. Bringing in the drunks to sleep it off. I played a hand or two of poker and won a couple hundred dollars off more sober miners. Chinamen would stop in before dark, and we'd play that Mah Jong game. Lost a couple of hundred to them. Thinks they took advantage of me." He set his tortilla down and scooped the beans that had dripped onto the plate back into the flatbread. "I don't recommend the McCarthy's cabbage dish; that was nasty. But the town cooks treated us well. Miss April sent over a bottle of whiskey every other day. I shared with Rick and the Sheriff or whoever stopped by to talk. The flour sack holds the last full bottle." Indicating the sack by the door. Taking a sip of bitter, lukewarm coffee, "None of us can leave the ranch unless we get a signed note from Mr. Anderson or Dona Lopez; they're our owners now."
Jake nodded, rubbing beneath his bottom lip. "What I was told, too. They're unsure if old man Goolsby will agree. If he responds at all."
"My guess is he takes the money and replaces us with young boys he can whip into shape and a couple of young girls to make more babies. He'll figure he's making a profit on our money."
Despite his tendency to conform, Jake was aware of his true origin as a child of rape by a white man. He couldn't do anything about it. The stench of knowing remained. His California family never mentioned it, but he sat around this very table, a picture of beautiful blackness and his lighter skin stood out. Cedes told him it wasn't that important. He felt loved and belonged, and no one cared about his skin tone. Yet it did matter. Fear of violation by owners, kinsmen, visitors or overseers dominated Black women's lives. "I hate him! I hate the Bible that justifies it and the government that allows it!" Jake slammed his fist on the table hard enough to make Phil's plate jump and coffee splash over the cup. "Ain't fair."
"Woah, where did that come from?"
Shaking his bowed head, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Too much time alone, thinking. We were so close, and now we're back where we started." He paused to filter the hate from his heart and replace it with an expected prophecy. "I can only hope what Miss Brittany says about the war comes true. I'll fight, even if it's my last act. "
"We'll go back together then." Phil slid the plate forward, exchanging it with the coffee cup. His brother's words echoed in his heart, and he admired his strength in sharing his feelings, but knew he couldn't change the past. "How is Miss Brittany's time machine coming along? She spent some time with Shane and Tony at their shop last night."
"She showed me a map of what she called a wiring diagram on her picture tool. Looked like a snake's nest. Anyway, she thinks she's got a broken wire or a pair of shorts. And probably what she was doing with Shane and Tony cos the wire she needs is like a fine necklace chain. She talked at length about needing silver wire. It couldn't be gold or copper because silver has all this strangeness of conductivity, impedance, clarity and harmonics. She about put me to sleep."
Phil grinned with enjoyment, thinking maybe jail wasn't so bad. "But she's teachin' you something."
"God knows if I can ever use it or even remember it."
2022
A group of diners exited the restaurant as Artie rolled up to the door. A man in a business suit held the door open for Artie, prompting a grateful "Thanks" as he wheeled into the restaurant. In front of him, he heard the familiar, squealing voice of the girl he tried to woo in high school. "Hey, Sugar."
"Hi Artie, I thought you'd forgotten me."
"How could I? You texted me seven times this morning to remind me."
"You were always late when we dated, remember?" she said, hopping on his lap, an arm around his neck as her bag hit his nose. "Now roll me over to our table."
He took a minute to adjust his glasses, knitting his brow to glare at his uninvited passenger. "You were always late, Sugar." He pushed the wheels with his gloved hands. "Did we date?" he followed the hostess to a table for two.
"Of course we did, silly! Don't you remember my Valentine's Day party?" Sugar slid off Artie's lap while the hostess moved the extra chair to accommodate the wheelchair.
"No. I watched you with Rory all night. I went solo.
Sugar tilted her head, looking off into space, then grinned as she sat across from her lunch guest. "Oh! You might be right. Tina dated Mike, Santana dated Brittany, Joe dated Quinn, and Kitty wasn't yet there. You were a Valentine's Day downer, Artie."
After reviewing the menu for a few minutes, they ordered Artie a burger with iced tea and Sugar an espresso martini.
Handing the menu to the teenage boy with a radiant red nose zit. "You're not eating?"
"No, I dined earlier with my visionary, Tao Chi Spiritual Wolf Woman. I needed her advice about Ahmed's proposal."
"And what did she say?"
A sigh escaped Sugar's lip, and she took a breath before divulging her reading. "Even though he's the eighth son of a multi-billionaire oil investor, he won't inherit a single Riyal if he marries a non-Muslim woman, and I just can't do poor."
"Wow, that's sad," Artie said as his expectation of Sugar picking up the tab evaporated. "So, what else is new? I mean, you rarely invite me to lunch or anything else."
"Don't worry about Ahmed. He'll be fine. The good news is I'm flying to Monaco tonight for the weekend."
"Monaco? Wow! You have friends there?"
"No, my dad has a business acquaintance we're meeting up with, and then I'm off to Dubai to meet up with Ahmed on our business deal." They paused the conversation so the waitress could set down their drinks. "We call it a business deal, our romance." Sugar took a sip from her drink. "I have to call it off. Tao Chi says I'm too much of a free spirit to be tied down. Even in business."
Artie removed the paper off the end of his straw, "Oh, well, I'm sorry to hear that. You deserve… ah… a companion to share your life with. I know when Tina and I got back together…"
"That's nice of you, Artie, but Felipe is waiting for me in Rio. I'm flying there after Dubai."
"Oh, OK. You have another man in the wings."
"Felipe is non-binary and prefers using they/them pronouns. You know, like Sam."
Artie sipped through his straw as a sudden gush of air rumbled from his lungs, and the iced tea passed through his nose. He grabbed his napkin to cover his face with a cough. He said, "Sam? Our Sam is binary? Since when? He has mentioned nothing to me."
"Not our Sam silly Sam Smith, the singer. Are you ok?" She saw Artie nod. "Anyway, enough about me. I asked you to lunch to discuss Brittany's time machine. I'd ask her, but she's not answering her texts, and Santana, well, she not so politely told me to fuck off after the fiftieth text. You know, Artie, she really needs to control her anger issues and show some respect."
"Time machine? You know about the time machine?"
"I've known about her plans since high school."
"Since when? I mean…it's top secret?"
"Didn't you see the picture JBI hung on the bulletin board? One where he superimposed a picture of Brittany over one of Santana on his computer, and it looked like me. After the janitor clued us in, we started the rumor about me being her and Santana's love child from the future."
"I don't remember that. Which bulletin board?"
"In the boy's locker room. Coach Beiste made him take it down after Azimio defaced it."
"Still, don't remember it."
"Oh! That's right. You didn't enter the boy's locker room. You were lucky, Artie, excused from gym class." A small sigh escaped from Sugar's lips. "I could only wish. They wouldn't excuse me even after my dad offered to build a new state-of-the-art athletic complex for the school. Principal Figgins said the school had enough toilet paper."
"I went into the boy's locker room for phys ed classes. I lifted weights with Finn, Sam, Mike and Blaine." The waitress set his meal down, and both shook their heads. They needed nothing. Artie squeezed ketchup on the bun and fries before biting into the burger. As he chewed, he contemplated what Sugar wanted. Science wasn't her thing. She paid Wes Fahey to tutor her in math. Used a relationship with the drummer to get him to complete her MS application class. The bassist got conned into doing her biology homework, and the blonde guitarist for accounting. Not to forget, Dottie wrote her senior year history research paper and received credit in English as a combined class assignment. Principal Figgins gave her a passing grade in family and consumer sciences after she caused a fire in class. Not once, but three times. He got his insider info from Lauren Zizes. All three fires were intentional. Unless she … "So, Sugar, why are you interested in Brittany's time machine?"
She waved her hand as if to dismiss such an obvious question before realizing he was clueless. "As you know, Artie, I've become a successful travel influencer. But your brand must always expand to succeed in business, especially as a hot young influencer. Like G.E. with light bulbs or the mouse with entertainment."
"I still don't understand, Sugar; why do you need the time machine?"
"I want to start future trends. Isn't it a wonderful idea? To be the first to start a travel trend, food trend, wine trend, or," her eyes became round orbs "fashion! I could be an influencing trendsetter like the Kardashians. Think of my bazillion followers. I'd have brands lining up for my sponsorship. A TV show like Housewives. The money I'd make." Staring dreamily upwards, she thought of her success, then turned back to Artie. "Does Brittany have a spare time machine I could borrow for a quick trip?"
Notes:
16 gauge wire is used in low-voltage wiring, such as PC power cords, external monitors, printer cables, LED lighting, speaker wire, necklace, and bracelet wire.
Quote from 'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz' by L. Frank Baum. Published 1900.
Abuse of opioids has a long history in the US. Doctors knew of opioid addiction but saw it as a quick fix for pain, and formalized medical training was in its infancy. Forty years later, in the 1890s, governments regulated drugs, and medical schools taught about opioid abuse.
PDA between friends wasn't acceptable in this era. Hence, no bro hugs or friend hugs, and Brittany was more of a spontaneous hugger, unlike Rachel, who would tell someone she would hug them—a Rachel trait I found endearing.
Had to get Sugar into the story. :-)