The Emerald Mound, Natchez Trace, Mississippi

                 

Previously, Sam Bradford had hired ShadowMan to torch the New Orleans townhouse of Ella Mae Quicksilver and her gifted, six-fingered daughter. But the two psychics escaped and fled to Mississippi. ShadowMan took up the chase.

          Standing in the chilly evening air, Sam surveyed the ruined townhouse. The French Quarter Committee wanted the structure rebuilt which Sam would assist and solicit funds, make a hefty donation.

          But what puzzled Sam was the reverent crowd that had gathered at the fire. What was it about the burning townhouse? Or was it the two women who were thought to be inside that attracted the crowd? If so, why?

           Sam scraped at the rubble with his foot as he saw a glimmer reflecting the late sun. It was the bronze plaque bearing the townhouse number, 437. As he stared at the plaque, his Sunday school lessons floated through his mind. Three was a divine number and four was a perfect number. Four plus three equaled seven, the number was featured in Revelations: seven trumpets, seven dooms.

            The night of the fire Averil Jean had seen the danger, warned her mother and the two had escaped just as the townhouse burst into flames. They fled north along the Mississippi River, stopping to rent a modest farm house at the Emerald Mound, a Natchez Indian site where the tribal leaders, Great Sun and Tattooed Serpent, performed sacrificial rituals.           

            ShadowMan, also gifted, was soon on their trail, hiking the ancient Natchez Trace. The assassin felt a connection with the two females and he sensed it was Averil he could read. What was it about the girl?

            Late one afternoon Ella Mae was standing at the kitchen window, having prepared her secret Indian recipe for pan-fried bread. Outside walking down the dirt road toward the mound was a slender, tall man, dressed in black. Ella’s eyes widened and she clutched her throat, holding her breath. In the dusty haze she swore it was the man from Roswell, the visitor who came, stayed a spell, and fathered Averil. Without explanation, one morning the stranger told her he had to go, but promised he would return. Then he left, walked down the dirt road and vanished.

 Ella ran outside to the front path and put her hand to her eyes, watching as the man studied the Emerald Mound’s historical marker. He looked her way, gazed and then smiled at Ella, who started out of the gate. Her heart fluttered; had the father of her daughter returned?

 Averil came to the screen door and saw her mother walking toward the stranger in the road. She called out, but Ella waved for Averil to stay put. As the two closed, Shadowman raised his eyebrows, seeing for the first time the lovely Indian woman with high cheek bones and dark, intelligent eyes. He hesitated as Ella held out her arms and came to him. But then the woman abruptly stopped and her cheeks flushed.

 “I’m sorry.” She said in confusion. “I thought you were someone else.”

 The two stood a few yards apart, staring at each other. Ella was embarrassed at her mistake, her wanton display of emotion. In her soul she always believed her one love would someday come back.

 The two turned as the screen door squeaked and then slammed shut. Averil was standing on the porch dressed in a blue, cotton dress, with arms akimbo.

 ShadowMan took a step backward as he stared at the raven-haired girl, who locked eyes and glared at him. She radiated a powerful aura…or was it a trick of the afternoon light?

 “Invite him to dinner, Mom.” Averil called, breaking the standoff. “Tell him we are having my stew and your fry bread.”

 Ella looked at the man who had gone pale, but relaxed at Averil’s invitation and he smiled at the smitten woman.

 “I’m a historian. Staying at the Eola Hotel in town and I’d be pleased to join you. It would be a treat to see the Mound in the evening light…there are so many stories about the rituals I can share.”

 They agreed he would return at six. In exchange for the meal, he would relate the complicated history of the Emerald Mound and the Natchez Tribe. Ella stood and watched as the man turned and walked back down the dirt road. His walk, his stride was so like Roswell.

 When she returned to the porch, Ella started to speak excitedly about their evening guest, but Averil quieted her mother with a sharp look. She took Ella’s hand, whispered in her mother’s ear, and marched her back into the house. 

At six that night, the stranger came down the dirt road. He paused at the gate, taking in the isolation of the house. He would enjoy his meal, share a few Natchez stories, and then take care of business.
           ShadowMan tapped politely on the screen door, and then called out softly, his voice echoing through the house. But there was no response. He sniffed the air and the aromas made him lick his lips. A combination of bakery-like scents, combined with a spicy tang floated from the house.
           He tapped again, then opened the door and stepped into the small entryway. To his right was a sitting room; to the left was the dining room, with a 4-chair dining set.
           Only one place was set at the table.

 

The Mystics, 437 Rue Toulouse, French Quarter, Louisiana

 



Previously, Ella Mae and her daughter, Averil Jean, stopped at the Myrtles Plantation in Alexandria, Louisiana where they met the nefarious Beau Raspberry. During their stay, Averil Jean encountered a lady in white, who had been murdered by her husband, Sam Bradford. The apparition urged Averil to seek justice for her in New Orleans.

          

           Sam Bradford left his New Orleans office to wander and think. Inexplicably, he found himself ringing the doorbell of 437 Rue Toulouse, a rundown townhouse in the French Quarter that advertised a Seer. To Sam’s surprise, a young girl with raven hair and blue-gray eyes opened the door.

           "We have been waiting for you." The girl announced mysteriously.

  She took Sam’s wrist in a strong grip and pulled him into the foyer. Sam noticed she had an extra finger on both hands, a six-fingered girl. Appalachia?

 He let himself be steered into a shadowy front room where a woman of 40 or so sat at a round table. The attractive mystic nodded for Sam to have a seat where a cup of tea steamed. They had been waiting for Sam.

He scrutinized the black haired woman who stared at him silently. She was of American Indian blood, dark with high cheekbones, slender and striking, perhaps royalty. Without a word, the woman took his hands and held them tightly and then let out a breath.

“You drowned your late wife, Alice Lacount." She said laconically.

Sam gasped and his blood ran cold as he pulled back his hands. How could this crackpot know?

“But no matter, we will come to that later. For now, we are here to help with a different message." The Seer told him with an enigmatic smile, taking Sam’s hands again.

 The odd girl sitting off to the side chirped. "Sell. Sell everything now!"

Sam looked at her as if she was deranged. But the girl persisted. “Sell now. Buy back in a year. Believe me!”

The woman rubbed her hands and looked at him with her dark eyes: " Five dollars, please."

Sam was filled with a sudden dread, a yearning to flee, so he paid and hurried back to his office. Nonsense, he thought. The market had fallen, but the Dow Jones average was still high. He laughed the townhouse session off and poured himself a glass of bourbon. His elegant office looked out over the French Quarter which was coming alive as the darkness took hold.

But he tugged at his collar, restless. He wondered what had made him stop at that pink, neglected townhouse. What about the woman and the strange young girl with the wolf eyes? His spine tingled as he recalled the woman saying she knew he had drowned his wife, the wealthy Alice Lacount.

Soberly, he nodded his head. He had drowned Alice in a staged boat accident to escape her haranguing, but also to inherit her money. Sam had loved running Alice’s Myrtles Plantation, but when the servants began to talk about the ghost, a woman in white, he knew it was time to move to New Orleans. With a sigh, Sam decided to call it a night and go upstairs. His day had been tiring and the encounter with the Seers had unsettled him.

Oddly, the next morning when Sam got to the office he called his broker and told him to sell his stock market holdings. Afterwards he gulped a coffee and chewed on beignets as his stomach turned. What was going on?

A few days later, the market collapsed, this time dramatically. The great recession was on. But Sam’s money was safe, half in a solid bank, the remainder in gold. He owed preserving his fortune to the crazy psychic and the weird girl. Why on earth did they help him?

Sam paced the floor in his office. The Seer knew Sam had taken Alice behind Myrtles to the Cane River that fateful night and cleverly arranged the boating accident. Something had to be done about the psychics.

A friend arranged a meeting for Sam in a cafe that was around the corner from Rue Toulouse. There he met a tall, thin man, his face hidden in the shadows. Sam explained his problem, the psychics at the townhouse. To Sam’s surprise, the man said he had heard of the two women, the mother a princess, her daughter otherworldly. He would be pleased to take care of them.  Perhaps a fire.

The Seer’s townhouse burned one night and when fire engines rushed to Rue Toulouse, the firemen were surprised to find a large crowd on the street watching the blaze. Men stood sadly and women sobbed, wringing their hands, young children wept. Who was inside the townhouse?

Once the fire was extinguished the firemen searched the ruins with dread, expecting to find dead bodies. The crowd continued their watch; many were on their knees, heads bowed.

Given the crowd’s strange reverence, the fire captain arrived and counseled with the fire team. He stood on the steps of the burned building and announced through a bullhorn that no one had been inside the destroyed building.

There was a cheer from the crowd. “Halleluiah,” some shouted.

“Praise God” rang out from the multitude, which maintained a vigil throughout the night, then dissipated in the morning light.

Standing in a doorway was a tall thin man, who watched the crowd. So the mystic and her strange daughter had slipped away. He would hunt them, find the pair and bury them deep. 

There was still work to be done.



The Myrtles Plantation, Alexandria, Louisiana

 
Previously, Ella Mae departed Nocona, Texas traveling to Natchitoches, Louisiana. Her daughter, Averil Jean, enrolled in the sixth grade at the Hanna School. A mysterious woman in white instructed Averil and her mother to visit the Myrtles Plantation, a place of evil with a need for justice.
           Leaving Natchitoches early on a winter morning, Ella Mae and her gifted daughter drove along Route 40, a two-lane black top rutted by recent rains. They arrived early afternoon in the sleepy city of Alexandria and Averil Jean directed her mother to the imposing Myrtles Plantation, a structure of antebellum architecture, featuring a 100 foot white-columned portico and set among towering oak trees that lined the drive.
            Ella Mae stopped the car and put her hand to her throat, never having seen such a beautiful structure. She dutifully followed the signs to the service entrance and told Averil to stay in the car while she went to the door.
            Ringing the bell, Ella waited with fluttering in her stomach. What were they doing in such a grand setting? She asked herself.
            Fortunately, the handsome estate manager, Beau Raspberry, opened the door, his eyes widening as he saw the comely Ella Mae. There was something about the woman before him. She was obviously of Indian descent, graceful with flowing black hair, a chiseled face, aquiline nose, and dark eyes that telegraphed intelligence.
            Beau’s mind raced as the woman told him she was looking for work. There was the Myrtles Thanksgiving open house in a week and his assistant had taken ill. He was in desperate need of an intelligent helper and the alluring Ella seemed to fit the bill.
           Ella and Averil were quickly settled in the back section of the house, formerly the head butler’s quarters. Beau put Ella to work on the party preparations, while Averil attended the plantation school.
           One evening while Beau was directing a practice run, Averil wandered behind the house, coming to rest at the dock that overlooked the slow moving Cane River. She sat and closed her eyes, suddenly hearing music, a slow tempo waltz that drifted on the crisp fall evening. To her amazement, the dining room French doors flew open and two people emerged, a portly gentleman carrying a picnic basket, accompanied by a lovely, blond lady in white.
           Averil watched as they walked to the beach beside the pier and climbed into a teak rowboat, casting off and moving upriver, then drifting with the languid current. The woman sat in the back and bent over to pour champagne and serve canapés when the man suddenly grabbed her feet and flung her backwards over the stern. He then stood, taking an oar and swatting the struggling woman who was tangled in her elaborate gown. In a few seconds, the woman in white sank.

The man than rocked the boat until it flipped over and he tumbled into the water. He surfaced and laboriously swam to shore where he pulled himself up on the beach, then collapsed. Moments later a servant appeared on the porch, scanned the river for the couple, and saw the man prostrate in the sand, quickly sounding sounded the alarm.

Averil opened her eyes and understood all…the woman was Alice Lacount and her husband, Sam Bradford, had murdered her, feigning the boat tragedy. Alice was the woman in white, the woman crying out for justice that she had met at the Hanna School. Averil now knew it would soon be time to move on and find the nefarious Sam Bradford.

Back in the mansion, after the practice and Beau Raspberry had gone to his quarters, Mae retreated to the kitchen with Chloe, who led the kitchen brigade. She and Ella had become friends and Chloe had confided that at one time she had been close to Beau. Chloe had rebelled when Beau took up with a younger servant, but Beau put her in her place by slicing off her right ear, which explained the head wrap she wore. It was Beau’s retaliation for Chloe listening at the door when he was dallying with his new desire.

Once alone in the kitchen, Chloe revealed that she was a mixture, a blend of Hoodoo and Voodoo royalty. Not only did she worship the Grand Zombie, the snake god, but she also had the ability to conjure. As such, she recognized the royalty in Ella Mae, but was puzzled by Averil Jean, Ella Mae’s daughter who cast an aura and had six fingers on each hand.

Ella explained that she was descended from a Yavapai-Apache princess, and that Averil‘s father came from far, far away and Ella motioned to the night stars, recalling the dark stranger who had wooed her when she lived in Roswell, New Mexico.

The two women agreed that Beau was evil and they must rein him in. Chloe said she was biding her time, but would soon extract sweet revenge.  Ella told Chloe to be patient, that she would arrange a setting for the lascivious Beau Raspberry after the annual affair.

Two weeks after the successful open house, Beau Raspberry made his move, always a feint to disarm the new quarry. He invited Ella Mae to join him at the caretaker’s small house located in the woods, a brisk walk from the manor. The pretense was to consider refurbishing. Ella eagerly agreed and that evening they walked to the cottage, pausing at the front door, which Beau unlocked.  Anticipation ran through Beau to his bones, but when he looked down at Ella’s shining face, he suddenly felt a chill and doubt.

“Maybe now is not the right time.” The hesitant Beau said.

“This is the perfect time.” Ella replied and pushed him into the dark cottage.

         
 Later that night when all was quiet and clouds were scudding across the three-quarter moon, Ella took Chloe to the caretaker’s cottage. The two of them paused as Ella turned the key and opened the door. Chloe gasped as she saw in the faint light Beau tied to a chair in the middle of the room, his clothes neatly piled on the floor. Ella handed Chloe a Bartlow hunter’s knife with a gleaming 6” blade and a honey stag bone handle, just right for gutting.

As Ella walked away the clouds obscured the moon and the night creatures were silent. Even the old owl in the oaks was quiet. That was when the shrill screaming started and Ella knew it was time to move on.

Averil had been importuning her mother to travel to New Orleans where there was someone who needed to be called to account.

The two left early the next morning.

 

The Haunted Hanna School, Natchitoches Parish, Louisiana

Previously, Ella Mae Quicksilver and her daughter, Averil Jean, saved Freddie James, a notorious card shark, from a mob lynching in Nocona, Texas. A few nights later Averil saw her star and they headed to Louisiana.

 Early one fall morning, as they drove through the Red River Town of Natchitoches, Louisiana, Averil suddenly awakened and gave her mother instructions to the west side of the town by the river.           
      On a quiet tree-lined street Averil pointed to a large Victorian house with a “rooms for rent” sign. They parked and went to the door, welcomed by a tall, severe gray-haired lady who offered quarters on the second floor. The landlady, Ethel Moore, was the cook at the nearby Hanna School and in need of an assistant, offering the job to Ella Mae.
      Averil Jean was accepted at Hanna in the sixth grade, being placed in Mr. Hennery’s class, who quickly took to the bright, pretty child. The other children welcomed Averil, but kept their distance, sensing her difference, wary of their new classmate .
       All went well for a few weeks, but then Mr. Hennery began keeping Averil after class to bring her up to speed. He was intrigued by the raven haired girl, with the heart-shaped face, high cheekbones and cupid lips.
       One afternoon he closed the door and went to Averil’s seat, taking her hand. Mr. Hennery was medium height, balding with watery eyes and large lips. He stood there looking down at his pupil with a wicked look on his glistening face. Averil fixed the teacher with her green eyes.
        Mr. Hennery felt a tingling as he stared at the girl’s strange countenance, which seemed to emit an amber aura. Then suddenly a blinding beam shot from the girl to him, radiating throughout his body and searing him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Mr. Hennery wanted to run, but was rooted. He breathed in and out, gasping. His eyes widened as his lips puckered and he expelled his malevolence into the quiet classroom. He watched the dark cloud float out of the windows into the afternoon quiet.
        Regaining his composure and without a word, Mr. Hennery turned away and left the class room. He was pale and shaking, but he felt a tremendous relief, as if a terrible and heavy load had been lifted from his back. No longer would he need to seek, to keep the girls after class.
       Averil Jean watched Mr. Hennery go. She knew he would no longer trouble the vulnerable children in his class. Quite the opposite, he would offer his hand in sincere help.
       Suddenly she was aware of a presence in the empty classroom and turned to see a woman in white standing in the back. She was quite lovely with blond hair and blue eyes, the belle of the ball fit nicely.
       “You and your mother need to move on to Myrtles. Fix the wrong there, and then bring me justice.” The woman said.
       That night Averil Jean went to her mother and told her it was time to move. Ella Mae never argued, never questioned, and by the end of the week they were on their way to the Myrtles Plantation in Alexandria, Louisiana.
        Of note, Mr. Hennery went on to become Louisiana’s teacher of the year.
        Regrettably, the repeated appearance of a woman in white hovering in the halls at Hanna terrified the children and unnerved the teachers. The Parish was forced to abandon the school.
        Natchitoches has offered attractive terms to the real estate community for the redevelopment of Hanna School. But so far, there are no takers.   
 

The Nocona Boot Contract, Nocona, Texas

Previously, a stranger visited Ella Mae Quicksilver in Roswell, New Mexico.  Months later Ella Mae gave birth to a green-eyed, six-fingered girl, Averil Jean Quicksilver. One night when Averil was six years old, she pointed to a twinkling night star to the east. “There,” Averil said and Ella Mae knew it was a signal to continue her journey.

After crossing the dry and dusty Texas Panhandle on an early summer evening, Ella Mae sought  refuge in the small town of Nocona, Texas. On Main Street she found a quaint bungalow advertising rooms. She knocked on the door, but no answer. Little Averil had wandered over to the small “Trading Post” next to the house and gone inside. The little girl called out to her mother for help. Ella ran to the shop and was startled to see a thin woman balanced on a stool, a rope around her neck, the end tied to a sturdy beam. Averil was balancing the stool and whispering to the distraught figure.
     “Not now. We have plans for you.” Averil said to the woman as she regained her footing on the stool. Ella Mae helped her down and they went to her bungalow where Ella  made tea and asked for a room.
      In the morning over coffee, Peggy Ann explained she had lost her husband and daughter to the deadly flu. She had proved immune and survived. Peggy had put stock in working at the town's boot factory, but that day Nocona, long famous for making cowboy boots,  had lost a critical new contract. Peggy Ann spiraled into depression, losing her last hope as she was to have a position in the plant. Thus, the rope over the beam in her closed Trading Post, another bitter disappointment.
      Ella Mae thought to move on, but her daughter, Averil, insisted they stay for awhile. There was nothing in the sky Averil Jean told her mother. And besides, she related, there was work to be done in Nocona.
      Days later Freddie James drifted into town on a stormy summer night. He sought refuge in the Misty Times Saloon, where Peggy Ann helped out in the evenings.
      Peggy Ann introduced Freddie to the boys who were playing cards. Freddie joined the game and soon cleaned out the circle. The boys were uncommonly drunk as they were still depressed from the news that the U.S. Army had awarded their new boot contract to a firm in Minnesota. Nocona Boot had been banking on the business to revive the small Texas town.
      It was the mid-1930s and Europe was stirring, so there was a modest effort to upgrade the U.S. Army. Boots were a first step. The loss of the contract hit the town hard and Freddie, a natural card sharp, found the besotted boys easy pickings, which added to their woes. Tempers flared when Freddie pushed back, gathered his stack and announced, “time to go".
      The boys hustled Freddie outside, lassoed him and tied him to the back of a truck that had been bought in anticipation of the boot contract. They planned to drag Freddie to the town line. Peggy Ann ran out and pleaded to let Freddie go.
      Hearing the commotion in the street, Ella Mae and Averil peeked out of their door. As the truck dragged Freddie past them, he tripped in a pothole and fell, hitting his head on the curb. The boys and Peggy Ann looked on in horror as Freddie slowly raised himself.         

       Gathering around Freddie, their faces were flushed and voices slurred, the boys were convinced they were delivering the grifter panhandle justice, seeing themselves as judge and jury.

        Peggy Ann tried again to reason with them, bring with to their senses. But the bad news, the ensuing drink, and Freddie’s sleight of hand fueled their fury. The boys headed back to the truck intending to resume their dragging.  Before Ella Mae could react, Averil slipped out from behind her mother and went quickly to Freddie’s side.
       The drunken men paused and gaped at the little girl with the six digits, a thumb and five fingers, not sure if it was a blessing or a curse. They watched silently as little  Averil bent and undid the chain, freeing Freddie who rubbed his head and blinked at the quiet crowd. Without a word ,but a nod to Averil, Freddie shook off his chains and ran down Main Street, vanishing into the dark.
       Staring angrily at the little girl,  they were startled by her sudden strange glow, and the compelling look in her glittering green eyes struck them mute.           

      “The Good News is coming and you will profit.” Averil said to the boys, and then hid behind her mother.

      The next day a shock. The Army informed Nocona that the boot award to Minnesota had been reversed due to irregularities.  Nocona Boot was given the new contract. Could they produce 500,000 pairs the first year?       

       Peggy Ann was asked by plant management  to undertake public relations and liaison with the U. S. Army. The town was cautiously optimistic, perhaps their luck had turned.
       Ella Mae stayed on, sitting on the porch every night and watching the sky. One evening Averil said she could not sleep and joined her mother.
       “There it is.” Averil said from her mother’s lap. And Ella Mae nodded, seeing the star to the east. Time to go.
        In the Texas Panhandle, folks often make a pilgrimage to Nocona, Texas to visit the Trading Post which stands empty. It is an odd reminder of times gone by and the strange little girl who changed the town’s luck.

The 1927 Roswell Incident, Roswell, New Mexico

                       

Previously, Ella Mae Quicksilver divined in the stars that she should leave Heber-Overgaard, Arizona and go east to Roswell, New Mexico. Ella Mae’s car broke down in Magdalena, New Mexico where Jessie Long befriended her. But Jessie harbored a fearsome presence in the back of his house and Ella Mae quickly resumed her trip.

     Ella Mae arrived in Roswell and her “sense” took her to a small, oddly shaped stucco house for sale on the northwest side of Roswell. There she settled in, avoiding the curious neighbors. In 1927 Roswell was a farming and ranch town, blessed with the Union Pacific railroad and a salubrious climate.

     Small town rumors swirled about Ella Mae, including a scandalous story of the death of her parents in a shootout during a Colorado bank robbery. Stories spread that the newcomer traded at the bank in gold nuggets, supposedly from Arizona's Lost Dutchman Mine.

     On a warm evening Ella Mae was at her kitchen window and glanced out at the dirt road that ran past her white stucco house. To her surprise, a stranger was walking down the road and she expected the man to walk on by. She gasped as the man turned into her gate and headed up her walk. He glanced over at the window and Ella Mae‘s eyes widened as he reminded her of that movie throb, the one with the narrow face, jet black hair and obsidian eyes. Ella Mae had never seen a man so handsome.

     To Ella Mae’s shock the man walked right in the door, pausing to look at her. He was dressed in a white shirt, a chocolate tie and a black suit, reminding her of those evangelicals that go door to door.

     Inexplicably, the stranger moved in to the 2^nd bedroom. When Ella Mae asked about his suitcase, he waved her away. Blessed with striking Latin looks, the man spoke in a lilting voice that was almost a song. But he rarely spoke, even when they sat on the porch sipping tea in the cool evening.

     In the mornings after breakfast, he would walk down the road. The minute Ella Mae took her eyes off him and then looked back, he was gone. She had no idea where he went each day or what he did.

     One evening over a simple dinner, she asked where he came from. He stopped, eating, put his fork down and hesitated, then told her he came from far away, a very different place.

     “You mean Akron, Ohio? Where they make the automobile tires?” Ella Mae ventured.    

     The stranger made a face and went back to eating. She could assume he was not from Akron and her sense warned her not to pursue the subject further.

     Another time he mentioned he was a scout, surveying the Roswell area. And Ella Mae thought it must be for some business back East. Perhaps some kind of food processing, which would make sense with the railway coming through Roswell. But her intuition told her no logical response would be forthcoming and in her heart she did not want to drive him away.

     In the evenings, they would retire to their respective bedrooms. Ella Mae would pause and look at the handsome stranger. She was twenty, never had a boy friend,  never even held hands. The man would nod at her, his face passive, and then disappear into his room. Ella Mae would sigh, wondering.

     One night Ella Mae was in bed and she opened her eyes to see an angel standing beside her, holding out a hand with a glowing capsule. Ella Mae opened her mouth and the hand placed the capsule on her tongue.  She swallowed and suddenly felt a twinge, then a jolt, next a shock as if someone had jabbed her in the stomach.

     Ella Mae awoke with a start and was surprised to see the stranger standing at her side. He was looking down at her and for the first time there was a faint smile on his lips. Ella Mae was surprised to see an amber glow radiating from her body. Was she dreaming... a dream within a dream?

     The next morning over breakfast, she wanted to ask him if he had come to her room. But before she could speak, he announced he was leaving. His survey was complete. He thanked her for the hospitality and wished her well, saying that from time to time he would check in on her. That he would be back.

     Ella Mae wanted to protest, but his sharp look quieted her. He got up, nodded and went out the door. She sat at the table in confusion, then jumped and ran to the window. But, of course, the stranger was gone.

     A few months later Jessie Long phoned, liking to remain in contact and called from time to time. He mentioned he was going to Socorro, New Mexico and was thinking of driving on to Roswell. Would it be okay?

     For the first time, Ella Mae told Jessie about the stranger who had stayed with her a few weeks in the guest bedroom. Jessie was agitated, but she assured him this was just someone who was a friend and there was no romance between them.

     Jessie calmed down and confirmed he would drive over the next week. Ella Mae agreed and then added.

     “Just so you know, Jessie. I’m pregnant.”

 

Our Lady of the Mountain, Magdalena, New Mexico

Previously, Mary and Johnny Quicksilver were fatally ambushed in 1924 during an attempted Telluride bank robbery. Their precocious daughter, Ella Mae, successfully took over the antique and bake shop, Enchantment, in Heber-Overgaard, Arizona.

One summer evening Ella Mae Quicksilver was on her shop porch after a violent thunder storm crackled through the area. She stood gazing at the sky and saw a shooting star falling to the east. Suddenly a beam of light enveloped her, riveting her as if she were struck by lightning.

     Ella Mae fell back in her rocking chair. She knew it was a sign, a signal to move on. That week she sold her antique and bakery business, packed essentials such as her mother’s gold nuggets in her her 1926 Ford touring sedan and drove southeast through Showlow to U.S. Route 60.

     Just outside of Magdalena, New Mexico her car stalled and she coasted into the drive of a modest ranch set perpendicular to the two-lane road. It was early evening and she knocked on the door, which was opened by Jessie Long Mansell, a wiry, leather skinned rancher in overalls. Ella Mae explained her  touring car had broken down and asked for assistance.

     Jessie invited Ella Mae in and appraised his visitor, a slender young woman with high cheekbones, dark eyes and long black hair, clearly Indian blood, perhaps Apache. Jessie offered Ella Mae a room for the evening, saying he would look at her car in the morning.

     Over dinner, Jessie explained he lived alone in the front part of the ranch, saying the back portion was closed and Ella Mae should not venture there. He said he had lost his wife and children in an Indian raid a few years back, one of the last Mescalero Indian ventures into the area, which was now peaceful.

     Strangely, the young girl of Apache descent and the old rancher clicked, seemingly comfortable with each other. Ella Mae was bright and also had the “gift”. She sensed she would be safe with Jessie Long. Still, a black cloud seemed to hang over the homestead. There was something strange in the forbidden back of the house. Occasionally Ella Mae heard a snarling voice and scratching, perhaps a dog, a wolf?

     After dinner they sat on the front porch in rocking chairs  gazing at the Magdalena Mountain, the angelic face seemingly carved in the form of the biblical Magdalena, our Lady of the Mountain.

     Ella Mae told Jessie she was heading east and would stop in Roswell, as she had a dream that her future was there in that ranching and farming town. Jessie Long scoffed saying she was better off in Magdalena with its mining of gold and silver.

     Their discussion was interrupted by another car that swung into the drive and a tall, attractive redhead emerged along with the driver, a medium sized, dark-skinned man with a U-shaped face and a nasty turned down mouth.

     The surly looking man pulled a revolver while the redhead gazed at them with an evil smile. The man demanded Jessie Long’s gold and money. Ella Mae thought of her treasure, which she had secreted under the back seat of her touring sedan.

     Of course, Jessie protested the intrusion, saying there was no gold and little money. But the man waved him away, while the redhead went inside and rummaged through the house.

     After a few minutes, the woman emerged and shrugged with palms up, but noted the back half of the house was sealed. The man frowned and asked Jessie Long for the key. Jessie said a key was hanging on the wall, but added:  “You don’t want to go back there.”

     The man laughed,gave the revolver to the redhead and then he went to the back of the house and opened the door. There was a moment of quiet, then voices. The man shouted and shouted again, hoarser the second time. A few seconds of quiet followed, and then the man screamed.

     Ella Mae felt an icicle prick her heart. Jessie Long looked down at his shoes and sighed. The redhead went stiff, pointing her gun at the inside of the house, then back at her captives.

     It was if the man’s screaming went on for hours, but it was over in seconds and the three of them stood in the quiet. The night bird’s song stopped, even the owl in the cottonwood tree and the insects were shocked into silence.

     Without a word, the Redhead put the revolver in her bag and retreated to the car. She asked Jessie to crank the Model T, warning of the “kick back”. Jessie Long obliged her and the redhead screeched out of the drive, heading west into the black night.  Ella Mae was wide-eyed as Jessie returned to the porch. He paused at the steps and looking up at the ashen Ella Mae.

     “Don’t ask.” Was all Jessie Long said.