Image: Monicakuo

The morning sunlight from the east shone and glimmered on the river. It took until then for the Red Herring band to find China Doll. Despite a terrifying end she looked peaceful where she was found snared among roots and rocks. Her white chemise fluttered in the currents like an angel's robes and her hair swelled and furled like a black flag. Having being lifted from the water they laid her out on the bank.

"I'm sorry, Napoleon," Osprey said, his arm poorly wrapped. "I'm truly sorry."

Lazarus put his hand on his shoulder as they watched Napoleon staring down at China Doll, supporting himself on a branch for a crutch. Finally he approached his friend. "It's time."

Napoleon turned to him slowly, his eyes swollen and red. When two of his men stepped forward to carry China Doll to the grave they had dug he stopped them. "I'll do it." After they had stepped back he took China Doll up in his arms, cradling her as though she were sleeping.

He wrapped her in his own red cloak, folding her hands over her chest as he laid her in the ground. She looked as though she were merely sleeping and would wake up any moment and wonder where she was.

Lazarus stood back as the first pile of dirt was thrown in and then the next. He felt his conscious tearing like parchment. He had promised China Doll he would not tell Napoleon that she was expecting but now his friend would never know he was also a father. Once the hole was filled and over flowing the team brought in stones which they piled strong and high to keep out wild animals.

Lastly Napoleon stuck his sword in the ground at the head of the grave. He touched his belt where one of her katana swords now rested. He would fight with her without her. He slowly closed his eyes as his band began to sing the words to The Picture on the Wall.

Reaching into his pocket Napoleon took out his watch and opened it. Adjacent the ticking face was a photograph of his beloved with him and Andre. He hadn't wanted the session but Ting Ting had insisted, having never had a photograph took. He closed the pocket watch and pressed it to his lips. As the last verses of the song finished he turned back to his band. They were all waiting silently, their cloaks rising and falling in the breeze. Grabbing the hilt of the katana he thrust the blade into the air. "Justice!" he shouted and the other men did the same, waving their weapons in the name of the fallen.

/

Beatrice raised her arm to shield her eyes from the flying snow. She yelped as she stumbled in the knee deep coverage as she tried to keep sight of Tennessee and move forward. The ferocious wind struck the exposed flesh of her face, striking her nose and whipping her cheeks. She stumbled and fell on all fours. Her scarf, being pulled in the wind, felt like a vice had been clamped around her neck and at the other end of it someone was pulling trying to throw her off the mountain.

A black form appeared through the snow and Tennessee reached down his hand helping her up. "Come on, I think there's a crag we can hide in." Together they made their way through the guardian storm, obeying its warning not to trespass on the mountain.

Once inside the small cave Tennessee pulled his scarf down from over his mouth and face. He immediately set to work piling rocks and snow at the entrance to keep out the cold squall.

"Can't we start a fire?" Beatrice asked. "If we leave the top open?"

Tennessee continued to pack snow around the entrance. "Not in here we can't," he said then pointed up. "You see that? If it heats up too much it could come down on top of us and squash us flat."

Beatrice looked up at the ceiling of the cave then stooped down to help Tennessee pack the entrance. Once they had it covered they cleared the cave floor of snow then spread out their blankets. Beatrice clapped her hands together and rubbed her arms.

"My fingers are so cold," she said. "I can barely feel them."

"Here," Tennessee said pulling off his mittens. "Take mine."

"But what will you wear?"

"My gloves will do," Tennessee said, gesturing for her to take the mittens.

Beatrice took the black mittens and slipped them on over hers. "These are nice, thank you." she said.

"It's alpaca," Tennessee said, "It's warmer than sheep's wool."

Beatrice tucked her hands under her chin. "How did you get something like that?"

"Trade," Tennessee said. "You learn how to bargain well when you live like I do. You don't really ever use money and offer your services if you need to travel far, on a train for example."

"I imagine it would be hard to do that being colored," Beatrice said. "I wouldn't dare try it, being a woman also."

"You'd be surprised what you are capable of," Tennessee said. "Look at you now, climbing a mountain."

"Oh yes!" Beatrice said sarcastically. "And with a messenger boy of all people," she smiled and Tennessee couldn't help but to smile too. "How soon do you think we will reach the top of the mountain?"

Tennessee looked to their makeshift doorway and shook his head. "There is no telling with a storm like that. We may face more before we get to the top."

Beatrice bit her lip. "Do you think we'll find the guardians and the mercies at the top like the map said?"

Tennessee tucked his hands into his coat. "I don't know," he admitted. "But a mountain summit is quite a sight. At least the journey won't be for nothing."

Beatrice nodded her head and sighed. What if there was nothing when they reached the top? Maybe someone had already been there before them and taken everything. Maybe they had the wrong mountain, the wrong place. Her thoughts plagued her as the cold winds blew and they plagued her at night, keeping her from sleep.

/

The chime of her spoon against the teacup broke the silence as Samantha sat with Elizabeth Winters. The old woman enjoyed having young socialites in her presence. Most of them talked too much and this was how she found out what was going on in the town. Who had married who, who had lied, who had cheated, who had been born... These such things gave her power as all knowledge was.

Samantha gently sipped her tea, careful not to spill any of it on her dark green Moorish style coat, brand new from the east. It was made with hardy wool and quickly became one of her favorite coats with a beret to match. Normally she would have removed it indoors but Mrs. Winters' house was frigid even for the time of year.

"That should warm you," Mrs. Winters said. "I beg your pardon but I am not much for fireplaces. All that soot and you can never know if swifts of some other creature has nested there."

"I am fine, ma'am," Samantha said though this was far from true. "I've been in colder houses. The house holder is entitled to their fancy."

Mrs. Winters smiled. "My, you are easy to placate." She lifted a delicate hand and rang a silver bell at the center of the table.

"It's very lovely," Samantha said after it was rang. "I've never seen such gleaming silver."

"It's platinum, darling," Mrs. Winters said as a maid stepped into the room. "Bring the petite fours and macroons, please."

The maid dipped in a curtsey and left the room.

"Have you heard form Ladybird at all?" Samantha asked then took a sip of her tea.

"My granddaughters seem to have all agreed to keep me from their business," Mrs. Winters said. "I'd rather not speak of them." She smiled as the maid came back into the room with the treats.

"Yes, ma'am," Samantha said then brightened up as the colorful treats were placed on the table. "Petite fours and macroons. My favorite! How did you know?"

Mrs. Winters smiled. "Women such as myself know these things." She pushed the tray closer to Samantha. "Help yourself."

Samantha put two of each treat on a saucer then proceeded to eat them. "I'm sorry my mother couldn't make it today," she said. "She didn't tell me what was keeping her in. The weather I suppose."

"Oh, I must have not mentioned that I only invited you today," Mrs. Winters said, refilling Samantha's teacup. "I thought that since you will soon be married and moved away, that I'd better get to know my young neighbor whilst I can."

Samantha frowned, treat in hand.

Mrs. Winters smiled. "I told you, I just know such things," she said. "You and Silas Candlewood can barely keep your eyes off each other on Sundays. Has he given you a ring yet?"

Timidly Samantha held her hand across the table then drew it back after Mrs. Winters had examined it.

"Nice, but one must wonder how a school master can afford such luxuries."

"It was his mothers."

"I'm not talking about the ring, dear, I'm talking about a wife," Mrs. Winters said. "Especially one so high born as yourself. You are used to ringing for maids, riding in coaches and trotting about on pedigreed horses. Silas Candlewood owns nothing but an old dray. Can you adjust to this?"

Samantha took another sip of her tea. "I'm marrying Silas not a horse."

Mrs. Winters gave a thin smile and sipped her tea. "How is your brother?"

"Matthew is in New York with our aunt," Samantha said. "Father could no longer stand his behavior." She turned to eating her treats.

Mrs. Winters chuckled. "You are such a polite girl," she said. "You have much regard for your family and your privacy."

Samantha stopped eating and stared at the old woman.

"You see," Mrs. Winters said, clearing her throat. "I know that your father has disinherited your brother and named you heiress of his fortune and estate. I know you won't want for a thing for the rest of your life. So why do you want to marry such low class."

"I love him."

"This is foolish, my dear," Mrs. Winters said. "A man like Silas Candlewood does not belong in our society, it will be the death of him and you will have yourself to blame. I gave my son a similar warning and he disobeyed me and now he and his wife are dead and their daughters have gone wild."

"They have not gone wild," Samantha said. "They have gone to follow the map their father left for them. He has something special for them and for them alone. He loved his daughters very much and would suffer the loss of his whole world for them as any real loving parent would do. They do not favor, they do not beguile and they are not partial. Partiality leads to jealousy."

"The slippery slope," Mrs. Winters said calmly though a fire was burning inside her. It was bad enough Mr. Hurston had so much influence in the better part of the Yewtree business but to share it also with low class like Candlewood was beyond her range of acceptance.

"Thank you for inviting me to tea," Samantha was suddenly saying to her. "But I really must be going."

Mrs. Winter bid her farewell then rang for the maid to show her out. After the young woman had gone she looked over at the tray of petite fours and macroons. The amount she had eaten had been enough.

As Samantha sat in the rocky coach she felt a wave of heat come over her. She took off her beret and opened her coat to cool her head. Her stomach felt like a boiling pot of water. She opened the window and was hit with a blast of cold air.

The sound of the horses' hooves, the coach wheels, and the chime of rolling leaves pounded a terrible symphony in her head. Then it came, an overwhelming nausea. "Stop the coach!" before the horses had halted Samantha was out, swinging on the door and dropping to the ground. She ran to the bushes that boarded the fence of a grand estate. Her stomach heaved but nothing came up.

"Are you all right, Miss Hurston?" the coachman asked as he helped her balance.

Samantha took two steps toward him then the world around her went black.