Chapter 16

Sunday, March 22, 1891

At supper that Sunday night, in Waypoint, Beatrice said, “I’ve been asked to serve on a committee to collect signatures to place a women’s suffrage issue on the state’s November ballot.”

Malik asked, “Do they need money?”

“A little now. More once the issue has been approved to be placed on the ballot.”

“Do you have the time to participate, keeping in mind that the need always tends to grow as things develop?”

“Since the Kanzona suspended the depots project, I have yet to receive any inquiries for new contracts. For that matter, we still need to resolve the question of office space. But, to answer your question, I’d anticipate being asked to go around the state and make some speeches, twist some arms. I might be gone several nights a month, maybe twelve or fifteen.”

“What about money?”

“More than money, we could use some legal services. We’re anticipating some resistance to putting the measure on the ballot. We expect some legal maneuvers will be made to obstruct it.”

Malik looked at her skeptically. “And no one in your organization is connected to a firm with better name recognition than Malik, Bream, Nicholson and Lewin?”

“Connected, yes. But with senior partners who oppose the measure.”

“Those senior partners wouldn’t happen to be the husbands of some of your committee members, would they?”

Beatrice grinned. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

Peng said, “I bet they’ve had some interesting suppertime conversations.”

Beatrice replied, “I’m quite certain they have, if they’re still talking at all.”

“Uh, what about my partners’ wives?” Malik asked.

“They’re all on board. Harriet Westcott, the judge’s wife, is on the steering committee with me.”

“Well, it’s all the same to me,” Malik said. “I mean, I’m certainly in favor and I have no reason, or, really, a right to object to your participation. You, Yan, and Wren can work out the logistics for our home. If we end up needing more help at home, we can ask Nate to get someone for us. He has both young women and men on his roster.”

Then he added, “As far as the money goes, how about we set aside three thousand? I’d suggest five hundred for the petition work and twenty-five hundred for the campaign, itself. But you work it out however you think best. I assume you have other donors?”

She nodded. “Unless our opponents put up an unexpectedly active opposition, I think we will have a more than adequate war chest for the campaign, even considering it’s an uphill battle. I’m actually more worried about legal shenanigans. What about the legal representation?” Beatrice asked.

Malik was thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Prepare a presentation, estimating what kind and how much help you think you’ll need. And don’t be ... Never mind. You know what you’re doing. Let me know when you’re ready to meet with us.”

(Sunday, March 22, 1891)

Wednesday, April 1, 1891

A few minutes after eleven o’clock Wednesday morning, the black candlestick phone on Malik’s desk jangled. He lifted the earpiece and, before he could say anything, Fang Delan’s voice conveyed, “Your brother is calling, Mister Malik.” Malik had told her to reserve the business formalities for those occasions on which he had visitors in his office.

“Thank you, Missus Fang. Please connect me.”

A series of clicks was followed by a hissing quiet and, “Emil? You there?”

“I expected to hear from you earlier, little brother. It’s nearly noon on Prima Aprilis and you haven’t tried any tricks yet.” Prima Aprilis -- April first, in Latin -- was a long-standing Polish tradition for what was known in some countries as April Fools’ Day. Their father, Valerian Malik, a known jokester, was gleefully merciless on April first.

Andy replied, “It’s April...? You’re not going to believe this, but I lost track of the date. But that’s neither here nor there. We have a problem, out at the ranch. Michael and Maddie Byrnes are here in my office. They came in on the morning stage. Can you meet with us, preferably in the Chen Niao? And bring Yan for security?”

‘You’re right, I don’t believe this,” Malik replied, laughing. “I wasn’t born yesterday, little brother. You’re going to have to do lots better than this.”

“Seriously, Emil. This is ... No, wait. Talk to Maddie.”

A moment later, “Emil, are you there?” Maddie Byrne’s melodic voice was distinctive. This time, the melody seemed flat.

“I hear you Maddie. If my brother’s roped you into some elaborate joke, just signal me. You can say something innocent, like, ‘Andy is a big dupa.’” (Polish, butt)

“I know what dupa means, Emil. But this isn’t a joke. Please come over here where we can talk in private.” Telephone connections required exchange operators to physically link the parties, plugging the appropriate cables into an exchange board with built-in connecting circuits. The exchange operator was also plugged into that circuit, albeit temporarily. Standard policy required the operator to disconnect after completing the circuit. But it was not unheard of for a bored or nosy operator to stay plugged in for whatever surreptitious titillation might be afforded by listening to conversations. As a result, telephone communication could not be guaranteed confidential. The problem was compounded on “party lines,” which had two or more homes or businesses sharing the same line, thus multiplying the opportunities to be overheard.

“All right, Maddie, on your say-so. We’ll come directly.”

Peng and Malik dressed in their street wear, including long, dark overcoats of a light, water-resistant woolen weave. Malik wore his homburg. Both carried concealed revolvers.

The walk to the Chen Niao was just short of three blocks, in overall distance, and took them about eight minutes, at a deliberate, though unhurried, pace.

At the Chen Niao, Malik clambered up the steps to the coach’s end platform, opened the unlocked door, and hence into the coach’s small reception office.

Peng also ascended to the platform, but then she climbed the first three rungs of the ladder that was a support structure of the end safety rail. That task was aided because Peng wore her usual divided-skirt trousers. She climbed just high enough to see the roof to ascertain no one was lurking there. She returned to the ground and began a patrol around the coach, varying her pattern, and occasionally re-checking the roof.

Malik had gone into the car’s parlor, where four small couches surrounded a low table. It was obvious from everyone’s demeanor that no practical joking was afoot.

Madeline “Maddie” Byrnes, an attractive, slightly plump, woman of thirty-three, was manager of ranch services. This included the commissary and the various children’s services: the traditional ranch school, shoes, winter coats, and special needs. Her husband, Michael, a lean man with blonde hair who sported no beard or mustache, was one year her senior and the ranch’s livestock manager. “Mike” was the son of one of the ranch’s original partners, Denis Byrnes, who, himself, was semi-retired and served as one of the ranch constables.

Before he sat down, Malik asked, “Are we likely to be here long enough to build a fire and make some coffee?”

“Forget the coffee for now, Emil,” Andy said. “I think Maddie’s anxious to get this out. I’ll get the fire.”

“That’s fine,” Malik said, a little defensively. “I just wanted folks to know there was that option.” He turned to Maddie and continued. “But you do look distraught, so why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”

Michael and Maddie sat beside one another, on the couch that backed against the windows. Her left hand was clasped in his right hand, which rested on his knee.

She said, “Late yesterday afternoon, Linda Alvarez and Francine Congreve came by my office in the services building.” An adobe building near the village plaza housed several offices and shops, including a barber, a women’s hairdresser, medical clinic, and the constables’ office. “Missus Alvarez told me that her ten-year-old son, Benito, had come home crying after mass on Sunday. He’s in the boys’ choir and they sang a high mass for Easter Sunday. Missus Alvarez said it took her forever to get him to tell her what had him so upset. He finally told her a confusing story about having Father Liam touch his privates and how he knew he had committed a mortal sin.” Father Liam was Liam Jones, pastor of the Ranch Home Roman Catholic parish. He was also the younger brother of Father Drew Jones, pastor of Waypoint’s St. Francis Xavier Church.

“What?” Malik exclaimed. “Touched his privates? You mean his genitals? That’s impossible. Father Liam’s a priest and the kindest man I know.”

Andy said, “Settle down, Emil. There’s more.”

“But was he saying Father Liam touched his penis?” Malik demanded.

“Not exactly, Emil,” Maddie said. “He claims Father Liam was stroking his own penis. He had exposed his own penis to Benito and wanted him to touch it. That’s when Benito ran off.”

“Oh, surely not. It’s all just some confused young boy’s--”

“Emil, there’s more,” Andy interrupted, again.

Malik shot his brother an annoyed look, but turned back to Maddie. “Sorry, Maddie. Go ahead.”

“Don’t worry about it, Emil. That was pretty much my initial reaction, too. In fact, that’s the way Missus Alvarez felt, too, so she and her husband went to talk to Father Liam on Monday.

“Father Liam was very understanding. He said that Benito was just starting to become aware of girls and he had asked Father Liam about the common physical reactions adolescent boys had when they thought about or encountered girls.”

Malik interrupted, “By ‘common physical reaction’ we’re talking about erections, right?”

“Asks the only college graduate in the room,” Andy said, laced with sarcasm. “Of course we’re talking about erections. We have to take into account how Catholic priests like to make everything to do with sex too dirty to talk about directly.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, again, Maddie.”

“It’s okay, Emil. So anyway, Father Liam explained that Benito asked if getting an erection -- though Father Liam apparently never used that word -- was a sin and Father Liam had explained the difference between a spontaneous erection or one that occurred through deliberately pursuing impure thoughts or from touching oneself. Father Liam said that the discussion caused Benito to have an erection and, embarrassed, he ran home before Liam could explain that it was an example of a spontaneous occurrence. He assured them there had been no exposure of anyone’s private parts. He was sure Benito was just confused and mortified over the episode.”

“I could see that. I remember what it was like, those first couple years,” Malik said.

Maddie nodded. “That was exactly what Father Liam mentioned to Mister and Missus Alvarez, reminding them of their own uncertainties at that age.”