Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

"Fern, honey, can you show Henry all the police stuff inside number twelve? He can drive that back to town. I don't want him to turn on the siren by accident and pee his pants. Embarrassin'. You can drive number eight."

I couldn't wait to see what was going to happen. The rhythm I had set up, alternating sex and suspense, ought to keep the pages turning. I just hoped Fern's Jeep wouldn't get blown up. I stood up and went to the history department in the dining room to see how the research was coming along.

"It makes me so mad, the stuff that people recorded for posterity and the stuff they left out. The Chickahominy men wanted no part of the war. A few were conscripted, but mostly they slipped out into the woods and the swamps to avoid getting involved. One thing I heard a long time ago was that the Army of Northern Virginia had spies all over, but the Indians knew who they were and they kept telling Hempstead when to move his operation. Apparently he had his long timbers stashed in the woods, and he was working on some of the smaller pieces. Made it easy to pick up and move. I think the wild life reserve is now where those woods were, but it's hard to tell exactly.

"Here's another thing I've learned. The water level has risen, and it's a lot higher now than what it was during the Civil War. That means that a lot of what was dry land is now swamp, and a lot of what was swamp is now river. Oh, this is getting so frustrating! The more I find out, the more hopeless this all seems."

"Want a suggestion?"

"I'm open to anything. What do you have in mind?"

"When we get to the Chickahominy place, everybody will be watching us very closely. It's natural; I'm from out of town and they'll be suspicious. They probably don't get many strangers. Suppose that you concentrate on working up your family tree. What we need to find is information on Hempstead's wife, and she's your natural born many-greats grandmother, so she's a natural focus for the family research. Seems to me that moving away to New York and then moving back here after the war would be unusual enough to make her a local celebrity, and something will come up about her. Leave Hempstead out of it, with his lumber and sailing vessel and all. Information will crop on him all by itself, if you just concentrate hard on genealogy."

"That's a good idea. Do we take a boat there right off?"

"No. I think the local lore will tell us about places where they lived, out in the woods or wherever, and we can start to poke around those sites. We may not even need a boat at all. Or if we do, it can come later."

"You talk so easily about later, as if you expect this search to go on for a long time. I'd been hoping to make it more like a quick snatch and run."

"Look, if the money is there it's been there for 150 years. Anything that's resisted fortune hunters for that long won't be that easy to find. You might do well to consider this operation in four stages. First digging out every bit of information you can learn by asking questions and doing field research; then physically searching and finding where the hiding place is located; then getting the gold into your hands; and finally getting it from that location into a place where it's available to you and safe from everybody else. Not one of those four chores is simple, and not one will be easy. So expect this to take some time, probably months and maybe years. If that's not acceptable to you, then you'll have to find a better way to get rich."

"Well, I suppose you're right. I'm just a little disappointed, that's all. I guess I was expecting instant gratification."

"The only way a woman can make money that fast is prostitution. But even then you've gotta have a really good street corner."

"But what can I do in the meantime? So I dig through libraries and museums, and we go to Virginia and make nice with my relatives there, and try to track down people I find out about from all that schmoozing, and in between I have to go back to more libraries. How do I eat in the meantime?"

"Have you been starving since you've been here with me?"

"No, you've been real nice to me. But how long can I expect to sponge off you?"

"Well, we'll just have to see, won't we? It could go on for a very long time, and I've even heard of some people promising to keep it up until death do them part. What are you afraid of? Do I snore? Does my taste in interior decoration offend your sensitivities? Are you afraid that I'm a secret ax murderer? Do you have a boy friend that you're anxious to get back to? Are you itching to get away to have a sex change operation? What am I missing here?"

"No to all of those. Maybe I'm still afraid of loving you. You know, not a fear of you, but a fear of me, getting too dependent on someone. And along with that, a fear of becoming too vulnerable to being hurt. And a fear of not being in control, which is almost the same thing but not quite. As much as I like you and love you and admire you and am grateful to you, these fears are still there."

"Sure they are. They represent lessons you learned in your early years. Your mother died and your subconscious mind told you, 'You'd better never forget this!' That's important because the one person you always trust and listen to is yourself. So you've remembered all those things, and unless you can unchain yourself from them, you'll still be living according to those lessons till you die. You'll keep obeying those lessons, whether they're still pertinent to your present situation or not. And it's rare that things we learn when we're, oh say, ten or twelve, will still be exactly the rules we need to live by when we're thirty or forty or seventy. Mark Twain said it best. He said that we learn from experience, but sometimes we learn too much. He explained it with a cat that sits on a hot stove lid. That cat will never sit on a hot stove lid again, but it won't sit on a cold one, either. I guess it's up to you to decide whether you want to be a wise and charming young woman, or a cat with a half-assed education."

"You're right about all that. I remember when I was in graduate school, I expected to feel different when I got that diploma in my hand saying that I was a master of arts with a major concentration in history. That degree was supposed to make me a different person. And after the glow of excitement wore off, like in a week or two, I found out that I'm still that little Indian girl who has lost her mother and her home. When that hit me, I cried for an hour straight. Does that surprise you?"

"Oh, I guess I could act shocked and say yes, but really it doesn't. Been there, done that, too many times. I could offer you a way to try to get a different slant on the problem, but some people value that hurt, lost feeling and resent any attempts to meddle with it."

"Try me."

"Sit comfortably and close your eyes and try to picture that little Indian girl, pigtails and everything. Can you see her?"

"Wait, I'm trying. Yes, I see her now."

"What's she doing?"

"Oh, standing in the doorway of my aunt's house, the doorway leading from the kitchen to the back yard."

"What can you see in the yard?"

"There's a shed way back, for rakes and hoes and stuff like that. And there are a couple of chickens pecking in the yard."

"What is the little girl wearing?"

"A red dress and white socks and sneakers."

"How tall would you say she is?"

"Oh, I don't know. Taller than the kitchen sink."

"Is she taller than a light switch on the wall?"

"Yes, but only a little."

"Okay, so she's about four and a half feet or so. Now here's a really challenging thing to try to do. Not everyone can do it. You know what you look like now. I want you to visualize yourself as you are today, standing next to that little girl. Can you do it?"

"Mmmm. I'm trying. Oh, I lost the little girl. Mmmm. Now she's back. I can see sort of a shadow next to her, but, oh, no, come on, I've got her feet, wait, oh, there! I've got them both. Now what?"

"Suppose I told you to change clothes with the little girl. Could you do it?"

"Oh no, of course not. I'm head and shoulders over her. I'm way too big."

"Then what about just changing shoes with her? Will that work?"

"No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous!"

"Okay, now tell me in your own words, in as much detail as you want to, why you can't change clothes with her."

"Well, I'm too big and she's too small. I could never fit into her dress, or even her underwear. And I've got a very well developed, er, bust. My bra would go around her almost twice. She's just a child, and I'm a fully grown woman."

"All right. Now let the picture fade out. Just sit there and relax. Breathe deeply a few times. Let your heart rate go back to normal. That's it. Feeling relaxed now?"

"Yes. Sort of rested, in fact."

"While you're relaxing, tell me in your own words what you just learned."

"When I had the two of us side by side I could see that we're two different people. She was a sweet, cute, adorable little girl, and I'm a grownup. We live in two different worlds. I love her, and I feel sorry for her, but I can't even feel what it was like to be that little girl any more."

"Now close your eyes and silently repeat what you just said to me. Say it all, so your subconscious mind can hear it in your own voice and your own words. You can even say it out loud if that will help. And then just sit there for a few minutes and let a feeling of peace wash over you."

Chapter eleven

I kept writing, but I couldn't keep it up for more than an hour without stopping and taking a break with Suzy. I'm not sure why. I guess I felt that I needed her, and I hoped that she felt she needed me. Is that strange? We kept working until early afternoon before taking a lunch break. She looked a little alarmed about lunch. "There's nothing here to eat. I guess we'll have to put on some grownup clothes and go out for fast food or whatever."

"No we won't. One of the advantages to living in the middle of a big city is that I can call for help by telephone. Tell me what you'd like and I'll call the deli down the street and get it delivered to us."

And so it was. Oh, the pastrami tasted wonderful, and the spicy mustard had a touch of apple flavor in it. The rye bread was very tasty but too fresh, and it wanted to disintegrate in my hands, especially after I garnished the pastrami with some of the coleslaw. I leaned over the coffee table to avoid making a mess on the living room carpet. With a cold beer to wash it down, it was a banquet. And eating a meal while sitting side by side on the floor is the kind of rich experience that, if the word got out, could make dining room tables passe.

Suzy laid her head on my shoulder and sighed deeply. "Jack, I'm surprised that I can feel this comfortable with you after such a short time together. I can sit here and relax, like . . . I don't know. Like being with my family in the old days. Nothing to prove, no need to keep my defenses up, just being me. Maybe that's it. I'm able to be me, and I haven't been able to do that since high school. Hey, I think I'd forgotten how to be me, what it felt like to be me, what kind of person I really am, maybe even who I am. What kind of person am I, Jack?"

"You're a very nice person. Very feminine but far from helpless. Highly intelligent, but you have a feeling that if you are safe enough, you can relax and enjoy life more and not have to be thinking hard every minute. By your nature you're considerate. There was a time when you were too suspicious of everybody you met to be considerate. You felt you had to be tough and that made you feel wrong, as if you were being untrue to your core beliefs. And you don't want to be a loner any more. You want to settle down with someone you can trust and admire. Does any of that sound like someone you remember?"

"Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes!" Long pause. "Jack, could we take a break and go in the bedroom and lie on the bed together? Not for sex, for togetherness. I just want to lie next to you. I don't think I feel a need to wrap you up in my arms and cling to you this time. I just want you next to me, and have you stay there for as long as I need you to. Would you do that for me? Please?"

"What do you expect me to answer?"

"'Of course I will.'"

"Then that's just my answer, 'Of course I will.'"

We lay on the bed together, close enough for me to feel the warmth she radiated, but not touching, except for a little bit here and there. Suzy was quiet, so I was too. I didn't want to break the spell she had cast on herself as part of what I can describe best as a journey of self discovery. I was lying there, breathing in the scent of her, feeling her warmth, very much aware of her presence, her closeness, and hoping -- no, praying -- that as she found her place in the world there would be a place for me next to her. She stirred slightly and reached a hand over to me, as if blindly feeling to see if I were really there. I put my hand gently on hers, to let her know that I was willing to be a part of whatever she was going through. "Jack," she whispered, "Please be patient with me. All this is probably something I should have worked out years ago, but I was too scared. There were questions I was afraid to ask because I was afraid I might not like the answers. Have you ever felt like that?"

"Yes. It was very painful. Turned out that there was nothing to fear, but it took me a few years to find that out."

"Did you have help?"

"Yes, a very good shrink. Cost me a fortune. My publisher was so worried about his meal ticket that he paid for the first year of it."

"Should I go to a shrink?"

"If you think you should, then go. But you've got a lot more insight than I did, so maybe you can do it by yourself. You'll know what to do."

"Do you think I love you, or am I just fixating on you because you're a big, strong man who treats me well?"

"If I were a judge, I'd have to recuse myself from rendering that decision. I hope you love me, and I want you to love me, and I love having you with me, and I see you as exactly what I need, so there's no way I could give you an unbiased answer. Besides, only you can know whom you love and how much and why. Listen to your own mind. But I can tell you this: whether it's me or somebody else, don't be afraid to love. If you hold back, you're denying yourself one of God's greatest gifts."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Unreservedly. Just like you, I wondered about it a lot, but there was no denying the feeling. Consider me your devoted servant."

"Oh, I'm so glad." She turned on her side and snuggled up against me from shoulder to toes. I turned toward her and laid an arm across her, ending with my hand on the cheek of her butt. She wriggled when it landed there. Wriggled and giggled. "I've been aware of my looks forever. I guess I felt that I had enough problems without being ugly, so I studied myself in mirrors from the time I started growing tits, hoping the process would turn out all right. At some time, maybe in college, I had the thought that some day I'd wind up with a man, and I hoped that he would like my cute round ass and my big tits. I know you do, and I'm glad I have them for you to enjoy." She wriggled again to snuggle even tighter up to me and lie still, like a contented little kitten. "I had a lot of chances to have sex in college, but I didn't do it. Oh, a couple of times when I was buzzed on wine, but with different guys. It meant nothing to me. I had friends who talked about what guys did when they went out on dates. In fact, that's about all they ever talked about. Funny, mostly their experiences were unsatisfactory but they kept at it, like nymphomaniacs, because they thought it was their pathway to security. I used to think of the football player I told you about, and I figured the college guys I was hearing about could never measure up, so why bother?"

I suspected that she had been debating about telling me this, so I gave her a little kiss on the forehead as a symbol of approval.

"And just in case you're wondering, you're the best guy I've ever had sex with, and even better than any of the guys that the girls used to talk about."

"So I measure up? Oh, I didn't mean that literally, like in inches, but qualitatively, like doing things you like and making you feel good. Do I?"

"Yes, in every way. You're a considerate lover, and it's not just something you do to me for your pleasure. It's something we do together, as an expression of our feelings for each other, for our mutual pleasure. I know that love isn't the same as sex, but to me the two ought to go together. I'd never say that sex just for sex is a bad thing, but it's hollow. It doesn't have any lasting benefit. It doesn't mean anything."

"Does all that mean that you will be faithful to me, and not share your body with anybody else?"

"Oh, yes. Totally."

"Do you realize that I feel the same way?"

"Yes, even though we haven't talked about it, I'm sure you'll be faithful to me."

"Do you know what we just did?"

"Did? We've just been talking. We didn't do anything."

"Yes we did. It's something that goes way back. It's probably the oldest custom of mankind. In religion it's called a sacrament."

"You lost me there. What are you talking about?"

"Well, I don't want to scare you with the word, but we just married each other."

"No we didn't. There was no minister or priest, no license, bridesmaids, none of that."

"Don't need one. In the marriage ceremony, the ministers of the sacrament are the bride and groom. The essence of marriage is selecting a person to be your spouse, and promising that person exclusive rights to your body. That's all there is to it."

"What about all this fuss over homosexuals marrying?"

"It's a lot of ignorant people blowing off a lot of pent up emotional pressure over something they don't know the first thing about. In fact, two things. They know nothing about homosexuality, and nothing about what marriage is really about. But you'd never convince them of that. Go to one of these demonstrations and try to explain to some hothead that he or she doesn't know what marriage is all about, and see what happens. You'll get your head knocked off. Somebody said that you should never question a person's beliefs. I think it should be 'never question a person's ignorance'. And very often the two are synonymous."

"But get back to what you said about marriage. Are we really married now?"

"Yes, we are really. But there are a few caveats. First, we didn't have any witnesses, so we can't prove it. That pretty much means that if you wanted to back out, nobody could stop you. Second, the organized religions recognized thousands of years ago that if they could get hold of this marriage thing and control it, their hold on the populace would be solidified, so they got into the act. Third, politicians wanted to maintain records of was married to whom, and who was begat, mostly for reasons of taxation and raising armies, so they grabbed hold of it over the objections of the religious leaders. Did you know that a clergyman who presides over a wedding has to be licensed by the state? That sure tells you who's on top in that contest: political leaders one, religious leaders zero. Aside from laws and religious rules, folk customs developed around marriage, often consisting of the groom buying the wife from her family, or in other places the family paying the groom to take her off their hands. And then there were all those lovely laws about not marrying a person of a different race or religion or whatever, rooted in fear of anybody who's not exactly like me. So there are a lot of ways that society has taken something very simple and made a complicated mess of it. No wonder so many people get divorced."