FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE (Part Two)

By Li

RATING: G
CHARACTERS: Tessa/QOS, Marta, references to Don Alvarado, Colonel Montoya, Don Alejandro, Don Horacio, all of whom belong to Fireworks and Paramount; Señor Indio, references to Tia Damona, and Señor O'Toole, who belong to Maril Swan. No harm is intended. No financial gain is expected.
SUMMARY: Tessa searches for the meaning of the mysterious message she has received concerning her father's death.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: The scenes from "Blindman's Buff" and "Fallen Angel", to which reference is made, belong to Maril Swan; the scene from "Deadly Repartee", to which allusion is made, belongs to JoLayne.

Extravagant bouquets of praise and thanks to Eliza, Jo, and brig for all the wonderfully helpful comments, suggestions, and encouragement they gave.

FEEDBACK: Yes, thank you.

~~~~~

A ray of sunlight shone through the window behind Marta's shoulders and fell on the carpet at Tessa's feet. Marta followed it to the center of the room. "Are you sure, Tessita?" She sounded skeptical. "Where did you find this?"

Marta took the ring from Tessa's open palm. She closed her fingers around it and felt the presence of the man who years ago had entrusted her with the care of his only child. 'Yes,' she said to herself, 'this ring has touched the hand of Don Alvarado.' She caught Tessa's gaze then remembered the vision. "And the glasses," she said aloud. "Who brought them to you?"

Tessa started to pace. "The Indian. You remember; the one who saved me from the snake bite." Tessa grasped her companion by the elbow and pulled her across the room to the sofa. "And look!" She took back the ring and pressed open the seal. Reaching the tips of her fingers into the hidden compartment, she pulled out a coil of parchment.

Marta caught her breath. She felt she had seen this all before. Tessa would unroll the tiny scroll and find it was covered in almost undecipherable script. She would go to the writing table for the magnifying glass then carry it, along with the scroll, to the light coming through the window. On the scroll would be writing that only Marta would recognize. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as these events unfolded before her eyes.

"Marta," Tessa called from the window, "what do you think this says?" She looked up, holding the tiny parchment. "I cannot make it out at all. The letters look so strange - like Greek - or Arabic."

Marta joined the younger woman at the window and reached for the scroll. Taking the magnifying glass in her other hand, she squinted at the miniature document. "This is written in Persian." She gazed out across the garden toward the hills in the distance. "Do you remember when you were a small child, when your family still lived in Spain, there was a very old man who lived on your estate? Your father spoke of him once when he returned to Madrid to visit. He said you used to love the stories the old man told."

"Yes, Marta," Tessa replied, her face softening. "I do remember him. He had a large beard and wore long robes and a funny hat - a turban," she corrected herself. "And often he would kneel with his head bowed down on a special rug he otherwise kept rolled in a beautiful cloth. He told me he was praying. Why do you mention him now?"

"That old man was an Islamic teacher - a Sufi. He was revered in Persia for his holiness. During the time he was traveling through Spain, the Inquisitors ordered the arrest of anyone who did not swear an allegiance to the Church. Your father offered him refuge. He took a great risk, but Don Alvarado believed in justice and he lived by his beliefs." Marta looked directly at Tessa and smiled. "Not unlike his daughter."

Tessa looked down and folded her hands together as a tear formed at the corner of her eye. Marta held up the tiny scroll and peered at it again. "Your father studied languages, no?"

"Yes. He loved to read poetry in the original tongue. He would recite the poems for Mama in the evenings." Tessa smiled at the memory of her father's voice rising above the chirping of the crickets as they sat in the arboretum, watching the sun set. She sighed. "I loved to listen to him." After a pause, she continued, "He also used to show me the books written in strange and beautiful scripts." Tessa reflected. Then straightening, she said, "In fact, one was very much like the writing on this scroll." She reached out for it.

"Did the old man give your father a book, querida?" Marta asked, handing the tiny parchment to Tessa.

"Do you think the scroll is only a clue to where the message is hidden - in a book?"

"Let's find out." Marta put her arm around Tessa's shoulders and the two women walked down the hall to the library.

The walls of the room Don Alvarado had called his sanctuary were covered with morocco- and cordovan-bound volumes in an array of earth tone colors. The very faint aroma of pipe tobacco still blended with the smell of leather and verbena. Tessa had altered nothing in this room since she and Marta had arrived in Alta California.

They scanned the shelves for the rounded, flowing script that looked more like scrollwork than letters of an alphabet. Tessa trailed her fingers over the books her father had so cherished - among them the works of Cervantes, Shakespeare, Voltaire, and Montaigne. Don Quixote had been one of her parents' favorites. Her mother had read aloud the story of the knight and his faithful companion who battled unceasingly against injustice. The two of them had played at tilting against make-believe windmills. Tessa smiled at another fond memory - the family production her mother had organized of Julius Cesar. "It is the bright day that brings forth the adder," she murmured. Tia Damona had played the part of Brutus so convincingly!

Suddenly she stopped. Next to The Rubaiyat and several other metaphysical works of Omar Khayyam was a slim volume tooled in gold with letters very much like those on the tiny scroll. "Marta," she called, pulling the book from the shelf. "Come quickly. I think I have found something."

Marta crossed the room to stand beside her friend. "Here," said Tessa handing her the book then opening out the tiny scroll. She held it up beside the spine of the book to compare the lettering. The characters not only appeared similar they were exactly the same! The two women exchanged a glance.

Tessa took the volume from Marta and opened it to the title page. "It is a collection of poetry by Jalal ad-Din Rumi." On the frontispiece, in her father's hand, was a dedication. She read aloud, "'Por mi amada Tessita - may you find here the answers you seek. Your adoring Papa. December 1816.' That was just weeks before he died, Marta!" She turned the pages. "But the book is written in Persian; I can't read it."

"Maybe you do not need to. Your father would not have left you a message he knew you couldn't understand," Marta said as she reached over and flipped a few more pages. She paused at an illustration of a rose bush. Something about it seemed odd. She looked closely. Around the original drawing, someone had sketched on one side the wall of a hacienda, and on the other a landscape with a spring in the foreground, from which small rivulets flowed in many directions. "Tessa, does anything about this picture look familiar to you?"

Tessa gazed intently at the page. Then she gasped. "This is our hacienda, Marta! This is the view from Mama's rose garden, except that we have no spring here." She pointed to the water in the picture. "Why would the picture show something which does not exist?"

"Perhaps it is not what it appears to be," Marta replied. The two women moved to the window, which looked out over the Doña's rose garden. In the meadow at the edge of the orchard, at the spot where the picture showed water springing from the ground, was a tree. Beside the tree was a bench where they had often sat to survey the vineyards below. "I wonder what lies beneath that bench."

Tessa started to speak. Then she laughed. "Papa has sent us on a treasure hunt. This is rather like looking for a glass bead in a jar of pickles!" She put a hand on her hip as she turned to face her companion. "We'd better take shovels."

"I think I will bring the divining rod Señor O'Toole left me." Marta raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. A hint of a smile crossed her lips, as she looked sideways at Tessa. "But first, we will have lunch. I brought some lovely apples back from town."

~~~~~~

"I don't think there is water here, querida," Marta said as she laid the divining rod on the sun-bleached slats of the wooden bench. The stick had shown a little activity as she had moved it back and forth over the ground near the roots of the tree, and it had jumped when she had passed it over the canteen they had brought from the house, but that was about all.

"Well, if it isn't water we are looking for, maybe it is something buried in the ground." Tessa picked up one of the shovels. She looked up at the sky, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun. It had moved toward the west and was now casting shadows that pointed toward the vineyards. "We still have a few more hours of daylight," she observed. "Where should we start?"

Marta had perched on the small stone boulder that sat facing the tree. She was studying the intricate strands of a spider web that stretched between the legs of the bench. She looked now at Tessa, then at the sun, then down at the shadow spreading away from the orange tree, which was in full blossom. The picture had shown such a shadow, she suddenly remembered. She frowned, trying to recall it exactly. She closed her eyes, and the picture appeared before her. The spring had risen at the border between dark and light. Her eyes flew open. On the ground where the spring should have been, Marta noticed the faint outline of a circle. She had not seen this earlier. Perhaps it was the perspective she gained from her current position. She moved over to the circle and squatted down to look more closely. There in the dirt was a circle of small shells. A perfect, white sand dollar, a tiny conch shell, and the abandoned home of a snail lay among the half-shells of mollusks. She lifted the conch shell to her ear and heard the roar of the ocean. "Here, I think," she said, placing the shell on the bench and reaching for the sand dollar. "In the middle of the circle."

The earth was firm initially, but as they continued to dig, the Alvarado women found it became looser, as though it had been recently turned. The hole was about three feet deep now, but their efforts had produced nothing other than a few earthworms. Tessa straightened her back and stretched. "I wish I had some idea of what we are looking for," she said.

"Ummm," was Marta's only reply.

Tessa wiped her forehead on her sleeve and returned to her task. As she bent over to lift another load of earth from the ground, she felt the shovel strike something solid. "We've found it!" she exclaimed.

Marta had heard the sound and looked up. "Whatever it is," she murmured as she dropped her shovel and kneeled beside the hole. She reached down to brush the dark soil from the top of what appeared to be a small, rough, wooden cask. Tessa loosened the earth around the barrel, and together the women lifted it from the ground. It was not heavy, but it was caked with soil. They brushed it off as well as they could. Then Tessa pried open the lid.

Inside was a wide-mouthed ceramic jar, sealed with beeswax. As Tessa peeled away the seal, Marta moved to sit beside her on the bench. Tessa removed the top from the jar to reveal a smaller box of dark mahogany, fitted with brass hinges and an intricate metal catch. She lifted the box. It was quite beautiful. She rubbed her hands together to remove the dirt before she opened the catch. Inside the box she found an envelope, and on the front, in her father's hand, was written her name, "Maria Teresa Alvarado." Carefully she extracted the letter from the box. "Oh, Marta, she said. "This is almost too much for one day."

"Here. Wipe your hands." Marta pulled a cloth from the pocket of her skirt and handed it to her young charge.

Tessa dusted as much as she could of the dirt from her hands. She felt torn between her wish not to soil the letter and her burning desire to see what it revealed. Her curiosity won. She pulled the letter from its envelope and spread the pages on her lap. She began to read:

My dear Tessa,
If you have found this letter, I will no longer be walking this earth, you will have returned to Alta California, and Colonel Luis Montoya will not have succeeded in taking our hacienda. In addition, you will have proved yourself as courageous and clever as I have always known you to be. Marta, I presume, will be with you and will have helped guide you to finding this message.
Regardless of what Montoya will claim, my death will not have been an accident. The man has been intent on confiscating the Alvarado land since he arrived in Santa Elena. He has extracted outrageous taxes from the Dons, more that we can pay without bartering our lands, claiming the assessments have been imposed by Monterey. I have learned that this is not so. Without the knowledge of the governor, Montoya has levied twice the amount required and has secretly kept the difference for himself.
As you will know, the governor has long been a friend of the Alvarado family. It was through him that your dear departed mother and I first came to Alta California. You were just a little girl then. Your mother had been distraught over the death of your older brother. Do you remember him? Perhaps not; you were so young. He died of the whooping cough during the terrible winter of 1800, when war ravaged our country. We feared that you might succumb, as well, but you were strong, and thanks to la Santisima Virgen, you survived.
The doctors prescribed "the waters" of the spas for your dear Mama, but traveling to France or Austria was dangerous then because of the fighting. The Sisters, in their kindness, said three Novenas for her, yet despite this your Mama did not improve. It was then that the Padres recommended she go on the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. I accompanied her on the sojourn, and during this time, your Mama received a call to journey to the New World to minister to the Native people, teaching them of the love of Our Lady. She had heard tales of horrible mistreatment of the natives, and she wanted to try to set that right. We had promised la Virgen that if your life was spared, we would do anything She asked.
So we conferred with Don José Joaquin de Arrilaga, who had just been appointed Governor of Los Californios, and our friend, Don Pablo Vicente de Solá, who as you know has long been interested in the New World and is now Governor of Alta California. Of course, we also consulted the crown and were given a land grant outside the small pueblo of Santa Elena. Thus we came to start the new life which has brought us much joy and delight but also great sorrow. All that we have created here is intended for you. We had hoped to have you and Antonio - and eventually your children, as well - in this land with us. But now your Mama is gone, and I ---
Montoya thinks he can get away with his little game, but he is badly mistaken - as long as I am alive. I am going to the pueblo in a few days to confront him about this outrage. Afterward I will travel to Monterey to inform the governor, Don Vicente. We shall see then the rewards that Montoya will reap! I will not fail --unless I am murdered. Montoya has already killed a Don here. He slew Don Horacio this past year in a duel. (You must speak to Don Miguel and Don Ricardo about this. Ask about Don Horaciao's legacy.) I will not let him provoke me to take up my sword against him; that would provide him with too easy an explanation for my death.
So, my little one, if you are reading this, know that Colonel Luis Montoya has killed your father in cold blood. You know now the reasons. If you present this letter to Governor Solá, I will be avenged. But take great care. Tell no one, save Marta, of your knowledge or your plans. Montoya is a dangerous man. I weep to think of you, my precious, darling child, alone, alone, all, all alone in the world and with such a heavy burden. No - not alone, really. Marta will be with you. She loves you as her own daughter and will not forsake you. Keep her close to your heart. I trust her with my life - and yours.
Remember to tell no one of this letter - not my brother Alejandro, not you betrothed Antonio, not your Tia Damona. This is of utmost importance - es muy importante que entiendas! Montoya is a man of extraordinary cunning and draws people unawares into his traps. Beware!
And now, mi angelita, mi querida Tessa, I must do what must be done. My destiny is in the hands of la Virgen. Be brave, mi corazon. I will always be with you in spirit. Trust in Our Lady. May She guide and protect you - and Marta.
Your devoted Papa,
Rafael Alvarado

Post script: Have you discovered the wine cellar? I have laid down many exceptional vintages there - many which have been with our family for generations. Guard them, and use them well."

Tessa lowered the letter. She leaned back against the bench and closed her eyes. The little songbirds were calling to each other in the orchard. She sniffed the gentle fragrance of the orange blossoms on the slight breeze. Her throat felt parched. She had read the letter aloud to Marta and had barely been able to finish. Her stomach felt knotted, and her heart was heaving. Then she felt Marta's hand on hers. She opened her eyes.

Her friend was looking at her with tears - and love - in her gaze. "He will be avenged," she said. Gently she took the letter from Tessa's grip, folded it, and replaced it first in the envelope then in the box. "We must put this with the wine." She closed the lid, and a small smile appeared at the corners of her mouth as she motioned to the gaping hole. "And we must restore the meadow. Then how about a glass of the fine oloroso and a nice warm bath?"

FIN

NOTES: This story was inspired by Trio Challenge #12: Fog, spectacles, a message. Several other challenges, however, worked their way into the action. They are listed below.

Trio Challenge # 13: A hairbrush, silver coin, seals.

Trio Challenge # 1: A rose, Don Quixote, and a jar of pickles.

Quote Challenge # 11: "'Tis the brighter day that brings forth the adder, and that craves wary walking." William Shakespeare

"It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking." Julius Cæsar: Act II. Scene I.

Trio Challenge # 2: A spider web, a sand dollar, and an apple.

Quote Challenge # 2: "alone, alone, all all alone."