Maya's Aura: Destroy the Tea Party Read online

  She finally came down from her state of brilliance, and pulled her aura back in and began to breathe normally again. When she opened her eyes she saw Nana sitting on a log watching her. "Nana," she scolded. "I've told you before that it, like, isn't safe to come near me when I am letting my aura fly free."

  "Oh tut, tut, tut, girl. I have an aura too." And before Maya could make the obvious comment about the huge difference in power, she said. "I just brought some old photos of this beach for you to see, you know, now that you are using it for yoga." She got up and hobbled down the shingle to her great granddaughter and handed her some photos.

  "Oh wow, like these must be way old. They aren't even from a digital camera, and they are in black and white." Maya thumbed quickly through the small stack of home made snaps. Then she backtracked a few. "Wait a minute, isn't that..."

  "Why yes, dear. He used to come and visit us on the island to get away from the press. Is that the one of him in the buff. He is standing right where you are sitting. Isn't he a dish. He was three years older than me, about the same age as your great grandfather. He would have been about 30 in that snap, and before he met Jacqueline. Once she was on the scene he never came back here."

  "Nana, you didn't, you know what with him, did you?" Maya asked. Her great grandmother had an aura, though much weaker than hers, but she had never used it for healing. She had just never thought of using it like that. She had only used it to make people feel good. Like a love potion. Like during sex.

  "Well of course dear. Why do you think he kept coming back."

  Maya almost choked holding back her laughter. Nana had been such a Bohemian when she was young. So unlike the rest of their family. Keeping a straight face, she pulled her blanket around her, rolled up her mat and followed Nana back to the old cottage. She must capture her crystal memories in words while they were still clear in her mind.

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  Boston went very quiet very quickly after the town meeting at Faneuil, and therefore so did the Anchor Coffee Shoppe. Boston seemed to be sitting on her haunches waiting to see what the governor would do about what happened at the town meeting. Everyone seemed to be staying home. Of course, much of this could have been due to the weather. The port was almost at a standstill due to the threat of gales.

  When people stayed home, shops did less business. Lydia, luckily, had many regular customers from the counting houses around the port and the market. The members of the politbureau had become regulars, but usually in groups of two or three. They only sought the privacy of the back meeting room in they were arguing, or did not trust the other ears in the shop.

  Samuel was now actively taking over the leadership from Jemmy. He often used the shop as his office, to the point that one day he arrived leading two men carrying a small but strong desk, which they put in the meeting room.

  Jemmy was certainly a regular. At first so that he could speak to, and assure other members, but then just to be away from Ruth, or just to be out for a ride with Jim in the cart. He was now showing the signs of withdrawal from the opium. He became cross quickly, and sometimes snapped answers to questions without his usual grace and manners. Jim was never far away from him, which suited Britta just fine.

  Gentlewomen were still stopping in to use the retirement room if they were caught short in the market. Lydia had no rule that they must make a purchase, but they usually did. They usually asked for Britta's chocolate drinks, which were now listed on the chalk board as "Britta's chocolate." Occasionally entire families would arrive with a woman in some distress, and any man with them would be dismayed at how quickly the cost of chocolate added up.

  Jemmy was trying to once again become a practicing lawyer. At one time he had been the sharpest lawyer in Boston, so smart that he had graduated from Harvard at just eighteen. Now he was taking it slowly. Besides looking into Lydia's problem, he was also doing some work for what Ruth slashed as "worthy lost causes."

  On the day that he brought Lydia's papers to sign to give him powers of attorney to investigate the hold-up in the settlement of her will, he was not brought by Jim, but by the Dutchman, Daniel. While Jemmy walked Lydia through the papers, Daniel approached Britta.

  "Mrs. Varren has known me since I was a professional fighter. She has asked me to teach you how to defend yourself."

  "Here, now?" asked Britta. She had just sat down to take it easy after the midday rush.

  "If you are not busy, now vould be good." He looked around the shop. "I think in the meeting room vould be better."

  By the time he had pushed chairs and tables out of the way in the meeting room he had an audience of Lydia, Jon, and Jemmy.

  "Madam, do you vant the same lesson?" he asked Lydia. Lydia pointed to her belly and shook her head.

  He had Britta stand facing him, and then he started to show her something, and pulled back, and then started again, and stopped again. "I cannot," he said.

  "You cannot teach fighting?" asked Britta.

  "Hah, not dat. I teach fighting many times, but always to young men, like him," he said pointing to Jon. "I don't know how to start vith a voman. I must give this some thought. I come back in a few days after I practice vith my vife."

  Britta was amazed, not that he could not teach her, but that he had a wife. "But you can teach Jon now?"

  "Of course."

  "Then please do so. Until I am taught, he is my defense." She pulled Jon up and pushed him towards Daniel, and sat in his place to watch.

  Jemmy and Lydia left the room. Jemmy looked very tired and Lydia was leading him.

  After an hour, the men were still at it in the meeting room, but Britta had left at the sound of the door's bell. She had decided that the jabbing and wrestling holds that Jon was learning were of no use to her. She was neither strong enough nor heavy enough.

  There was no sign of Lydia and Jemmy so she ran the shop by herself. As it got busier, Lydia finally came downstairs to help. She came into the galley to pick up the serving tray that Britta had been building. "Where is Jemmy?" Britta asked.

  "He was feeling strange, and Jim was not here, so I took him upstairs and made him a pipe. He is sleeping peacefully on my bed now, but I had to struggle with his demon to calm him. I worry for him. From his whispers as he fell asleep I gathered that he talks to God. He was asking his Lord to strike him dead with lightning rather than to take his sanity from him. I begin to fear he has already lost it."

  Britta looked at Lydia. She was flushed and rumpled. Her clothes were askew and her hair untidy and her eyes looked strange. She pulled and tucked at the woman’s clothes to neaten her as a good hand maiden should do, and then used her fingers to get her hair back under control. She smelled the acrid poppy smoke on her breath and another smell. Perhaps from something she mixed with the opium. When Lydia was tidy again she touched her cheek softly and asked, "Where is Robby?"

  "Upstairs having a nap with Jemmy. Like the other day with Jim. There is a certain symmetry to this. The good news is that Jemmy has promised to look into the will for me," she smiled and fluttered her eyelashes mischievously at having someone else’s husband sleeping in her bed. She picked up the tray and swirled off towards the tables as if in a dream or deep in thought.

  Britta walked up beside her and lifted the tray out of her hands. "You shared the pipe with him, didn't you? Go and sit down at the ladies table and play hostess to the women. I will get you a coffee." More and more Britta resented how hard she had to work, while Lydia would use any excuse to shirk the work.

  * * * * *

  Three days later, Britta was again standing in front of Daniel in the meeting room. When he had given Jon his lesson, they had taken off their jackets and shirts. "Should I take off the bodice?" she asked.

  "No, vhy? When you need to defend yourself you will be fully clothed unless you are in bed, so leave the clothes on. Oh I see. You vere jesting with me, ah, because I tried to search you at Mrs. Warren's house. I have already apologized for that."
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  Lydia cleared her throat. Britta had asked not to be left alone with Daniel so she had come to watch. Jon was minding the shop, while Jemmy was reading the folder of papers he had retrieved from her lawyer's office.

  "With the help of my vife I think I have created a good way for you, for any voman, to defend herself. You just learn only ten things. None are difficult. They all have one purpose. To allow you to run away, and to allow you to run faster than your attacker. Repeat that to yourself over and over. Never lose focus of that aim whenever you must defend yourself."

  He nodded to her. "Repeat it. I need to slow him down and then run away." She did, four times.

  "First, shoes. Whenever you think you may meet danger, you must wear shoes with stiff heavy soles. Boots would be best. And you must be able to run in them. Do you have such shoes?"

  "If not I will buy her some," said Lydia. Robby was being endlessly cute walking around the room underneath the tables.

  "Men have long arms. You must stay out of their reach. Your legs are longer than their arms. Your feet are more solid than your hands. Use your feet. Kick out. With a good kick, heavy soles hurt."

  "I know this already. I have sacked men before with my knee."

  "Don't interrupt. You are best not to sack him. You see, so long as you are weak and kicking and biting and screaming like a girl, he will not get angry. Sack him and two things will happen. He will get angry and do you great harm, and after he has hurt you he will feel such pain he will be sick. Too bad for you. You did not get away and now you are hurt."

  He was thoughtful for a moment collecting his words. "Screaming is good. Loud and high. It may bring help. It may scare him away. It may make him nervous so he makes mistake. Remember though, that at night in the street, people may be afraid to help you. Scream the word 'fire', over and over. People are terrified of how quickly fires spread in these buildings. Many will come if you scream 'fire'.

  Instead of sacking him, you kick him in the shin. It is best." He pointed to the range on his leg. "Here. It is easy target and a girly thing to do. With heavy soles, the pain is instant and crippling, and he cannot run and you are still out of reach. Good for you. You get way without being hurt, and he cannot run after you. Also he is not angry at you, he is angry vith himself. This is good."

  "So now I show you how to kick the shin against all kinds of attacks. First I must roll newspaper and put in my socks. I want you to kick me for practice until your aim is good without thinking. But please, please slow your foot before it hits my shin."

  Lydia watched Britta kick his shins while he stood in front of her, to each side of her, behind her, from a crouch, and from where she was lying on her back. They practiced and practiced.

  "You must not miss the leg, even if you miss the shin. If you kick low, you get his ankle. High you get his knee cap. They are not so good for instant pain, but will slow his running." He pointed to the best places, and she practiced some more.

  "This is good, this is good. Already you are much safer."

  He looked at Lydia. "Do we have time for more?" Lydia waved him on.

  "If a man comes behind you and hugs you, like this. Excuse me. I will only hug your waist. Most men will want to hug you higher. You stomp on his foot with your heel. Easy, yes. With narrow woman’s heels even better. Stomp heel down and twist your foot to grind the top of his foot. This is good. He is in pain, but not angry, and he cannot run fast. But if he doesn't let go of the hug, what do you do?"

  He went over to the table and brought back a very long hat pin with a large carved end. "You need a sharp weapon. One that you will always have with you, and better if it is girly. A hat pin like this is best. A hardened quill is good. Any kind of knife, of course, but a knife may make him angry." He reached up over her breast and undid the cheap broach that she wore because it glittered. "This too is good. Anything sharp that you can scratch or jab hard into his hands so he leaves go of you. Good for you. You are not hurt. He is not angry. You can run, and he cannot."

  "I have more dirty tricks that allow you to run away, but you have had enough for the first practice. Before we run out of time, I want to show you some bad things, dangerous things. Don't use these unless there is no other way. You use these when he is very dangerous."

  He showed her how to clobber a nose with her forehead or the back of her head. How to use the base of her open hand to push a nose upwards and in so that it goes into the brain between the eyes. How to push in eyeballs with her thumbs and thumbnails. How to pound with a cupped hand over both ears at the same time to burst his ears. How to jab thumbs and thumbnails into the soft place beneath the ears. Finally he showed her how to put her hands around a man's neck like a lover, and find the soft place at the base of the skull so that she could jab the hat pin into that soft place and jag it back and forth.

  Britta was amazed as she practiced them. She had the strength to do all of these things, even to a powerful man. She said as much to Lydia.

  "Ha, you think this vill be easy? No. To do these things you must first give up so that he relaxes and loosens his grip. All of these things need him to be relaxed. Off guard. Not expecting. Have you ever tried to give up when you are fighting and scared? It is not easy. He may be expecting trickery, so you must not give him any hint of what you are about to do. It must be a surprise. And once you begin, you must finish with all your strength. No holding back, no fear. It is not easy."

  "Whose man are you?" asked Lydia, "for you are a very dangerous man."

  "Ja, I am very dangerous. Mrs. Warren hired me years ago after Jemmy was attacked. Some men he exposed in a newspaper, they ambushed him outside the British Coffee House and beat his head with their canes."

  "Well, thank you, Daniel," said Britta straightening her smock and brushing out the wrinkles. "I feel much safer now."

  "No," he barked. "You are never safe. You are so beautiful, so young, so fresh. You are never safe. I know four brothels on this harbor that would pay me fifty pounds sterling for you, no questions asked." He held his hand up to stop her from replying.

  "Do not be upset by what I am about to do," he said to Lydia. "I must show her how vulnerable she is." He turned to Britta, bent down and grabbed two handfuls of her smock, pulling it up and over her head taking her arms with it. Twisting and holding the smock and trapping her arms above her head with one hand, he stooped and threw her over his shoulders like a sack of turnips. "You are helpless and on your vay to a brothel. That took me five seconds."

  Britta tried to kick, but one of his arms was holding her legs tight. She could not see, she was disoriented. She was afraid of falling. Her arms were tangled. She felt exposed. When she tried to scream he bumped his shoulder into her upper belly and she could do nothing but gasp for breath. She was panicking. Then he stood her on her feet and pulled her smock back down.

  "Are you all right? Not too shaken?" he asked.

  She balanced herself by holding onto his arm while she gasped for breath. "I get the message," she gasped. She looked at Lydia, and at the strange smile on her face.

  Lydia grabbed Robby the next time he ran by, and lifted him with her as she stood. "How much would these brothels pay for me?"

  He looked at her. "You are very pretty, but you have already had a baby. They would pay nothing for you, but they may let you work there for a share. Their rich customers want fresh girls, tight girls."

  "I feel insulted," said Lydia, losing her smile. "You could have so easily have lied to save my feelings."

  "Sorry, I am not good at feelings. So my wife always says. Sorry." He turned to Britta, and handed her the wickedly long hat pin by the thick end. "You may have this. A gift from me. Well, actually from my wife."

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  MAYA'S AURA - Destroy the Tea Party by Skye Smith

  Chapter 7 - Lydia is betrayed

  Britta watched in silence. Lydia had tears welling up in her eyes. Jemmy had been reading to her from legal papers for almost an hour. He
did not have good news for her.

  "I am almost sure that your husband's lawyer is acting in the best interest of your step-daughter. The will states that the estate is Robby's, with you as his trustee, but that the bank account is hers. The bank account is considerable, and for some reason is has been growing quickly recently. I have identified why."

  Britta came close to listen, and Jemmy stopped talking and asked Lydia, "Do you want her to hear?" Lydia nodded her consent. Britta sat beside Lydia so that she could comfort her.

  "The court appointed trustee has the task of continuing with the business. No change to that business can happen without your knowledge and permission, so for instance he could not sell the land. However he can sell anything or buy anything that continues business as usual. He has been selling livestock and putting the funds from the sale into the bank, which I assume is an attempt to transfer wealth from your share to your step daughter. Some of the deposits were huge. As if he had sold a very large herd."

  "The women and children!" Lydia cried out. "He has sold the women and children. The bastard."

  "You mean to tell me that your husband was a slaver?"

  "He and his father. They bred slaves, good slaves, educated slaves. Robert was trying to find a way out of the slaver business." She wept. "Now this bastard has sold them as a herd. It means they will now be doing plantation work in Rhode Island. They have lost their best chance to be free."

  "That is heart-breaking," said Jemmy. He noticed that Britta was holding herself tight and her hands were in fists. "Yet if the regular business of the estate was to breed and sell slaves, then he has not broken his trust. We can petition for the money to remain yours, as the timing of the division of the estate would be from the time of your husband's death, but I cannot see the courts reversing the sale."

  Britta reached across the papers and held Lydia's hand. "Are all lawyers so evil?" she asked.

  "Only the rich ones and the ones trying to get rich," replied Jemmy. "I know of this particular lawyer. He is a slave owner himself. It may be that he has made some side profit from the sale. I will make more inquiries, but we must not confront him until those inquiries are complete. We do not want him or the trustee to know that we are suspicious."