Chapter 13

Thursday, February 26, 1891

Dixie Yeats was spending the night with Ada and Jonathan Nicholson, and the children had been put to bed, when Beatrice invited Malik and Wren to enjoy dessert and participate in a discussion of Wren’s relationship in the family.

Over coffee and bread pudding, Beatrice said, “Yan and I thought it best to be sure of a basic premise: Is Wren an intimate member of our family or is she not.”

Peng added, “And by intimate, we are not referring to marital privileges, but rather to enjoying full knowledge of, and participation in, familial planning and activities, emotional involvement, and financial interests.”

Beatrice went on, “This would be opposed to her role as being one of a hired nanny or teacher.”

Malik said, “To me, it would be based on what Wren would prefer. I might assume she wants an intimate level of involvement, but, to be certain, I think we should hear that from her.”

Beatrice said, “He’s right, Wren. This is an unusual situation, so we had best take nothing for granted. What do you want?”

Wren looked at each of them. She said, “I feel like I belong here, with all of you. Were it to become necessary for me to leave, I would be devastated.”

Malik said, “Then I have a rather awkward consideration for you: Should you be receiving a salary for being part of the family? Doed not the fact that you are paid define you, to some degree, as an employee?”

The women were quiet and thoughtful. Finally Peng said, “To my way of thinking, the Master is correct.” She looked questioningly at the other two.

“I see his point,” Beatrice admitted. “But there might be a bigger problem.

“Consider that both Yan and I have sources of income from outside the family, whereas Wren does not.”

Malik looked puzzled. “What do you see as significant in that fact?”

Beatrice leaned her head to the side and shrugged. “I’m not sure.” Then she straightened up. “But maybe that it gives us an independence that Wren would not enjoy, without her own income.”

Malik said, “But only in a symbolic way. Keep in mind that neither you, nor Yan, nor I, for that matter, maintain accounts or cash stores that are exclusive to our own personal use, except as our non-personal business obligations may dictate. But the majority of our financial resources are available to you at your signature. Both of you even have access to our gold vaults at the banks. Our wealth is communally held, save for the title to the house in Wichita, which is still in my name -- and that’s only because I’ve never thought about it, before. Oh, and my business holdings with my brother, though changing that would be a real can of worms. Otherwise, our family earns its keep communally and each is trusted to spend our resources sensibly. When I wanted to use the gold as a guarantee for the colleges, we sat down together to discuss it. I don’t consider my salary from the railroad as my money, but the family’s. I had assumed you and Yan felt the same.”

Beatrice said, “Of course that’s how I see it. We’re in this together. As for Yan...”

“Master, I have pledged everything to you. I know that you view that as a family asset and that pleases me.”

Malik said, “But that doesn’t address the basic question: Does Wren’s salary stand against her fuller inclusion?”

Peng asked, “Wren, what do you do with your salary?” Wren was paid $45 a month, beyond her bed and board.

“I buy clothes and books, I send ten dollars a month to Pa and Aunt Tilly, I spend the rest on the children, toys, and treats. Oh, and a Christmas gift for everyone. I also have about three hundred dollars in my room.”

Malik said, “Beatrice, Yan, both of you buy clothes, and books, and toys, and gifts, too. And the money for that comes from our bank accounts, correct? Or do you have special set-aside funds?”

Beatrice said, “I like to carry at least ten dollars with me, and there is always at least twenty dollars in the kitchen drawer for groceries, but I draw money from the bank or sign a draft when I buy a dress or a coat.”

“I carry at least fifty dollars, Master, because I travel with you on business. Otherwise, I do the same as Beatrice.”

Malik added, “I carry a hundred dollars in my wallet for emergent expenses, and at least twenty dollars for incidentals: cabs, newspapers, restaurant tabs, theatre tickets, and the like.” He paused to look at his wife and his qie. “Does that arrangement make either of you feel, oh ... oppressed or disadvantaged?”

They agreed that it did not.

He said, “Then, outside of the money Wren is sending home, what is the difference, other than, as I said, the symbolism?”

“It’s not that simple, Master. Earning one’s own wages fosters a feeling of self-worth.”

“Is that from the Dawn of Justice Society?”

“Yes, Master. We studied people and why they behave the way they do.”

“I can see their point. But tell me, Yan: I assume you have been without employment from time to time. Did that harm your image of your own worth?”

“I am not a good example, Master. The philosophy to which I adhere suggests that human beings have no intrinsic value. My worth is purely a product of my own imagining.”

“But how can you say that, Yan?” Beatrice asked. “Surely a human being has standing based on her intelligence, if nothing else.”

“Mistress, you have ventured onto boggy ground. You have used terms in your question which would require us to clearly define what was meant by their use. It is, perhaps, a discussion for another time.”

“Yes, of course. Please excuse my digression.” After a momentary pause, she went on. “Allow me to address your question, Emil.”

“As you wish.”

“I take pride in being an architect. And not just an architect but, I hope, a good one. Were I to find myself unable to pursue that profession, I am sure I would feel compelled to seek some similar involvement.”

“Then let me ask you this, Beatrice. If, for some highly unlikely reason, a law were passed prohibiting architects from being paid for their work, would you give up the practice?”

“Oh, that is a difficult question. Let me think a moment.” She looked down at the table top, then off toward a sideboard. At last, looking at him, again, she said, “I wanted to be an architect since I was in my early teen years. But it was not money I thought about, it was buildings and their design. Were I not to be paid, I think I would pursue it as an avocation, likely to the same degree as I pursue it, now.”

“So, for you as an architect, it is more the sense of, oh, let’s call it accomplishment, less than the money.”

“Yes, if by accomplishment you mean the feeling of satisfaction I receive from taking something from my mind, to a drawn design, and finally to a three-dimensional structure.”

Nodding, he turned to Peng. “Yan, what does the Dawn of Justice Society say to that?”

“You hoist me on my own petard, Master. I did not define my terms. There are alternate forms of satisfaction that may substitute for wages. To be more purposeful, allow me to define wages as working to accomplish one’s own purposes, which then provides that sense of self-worth. For many, a monetary wage meets the purpose of livelihood, the support of oneself or a family.”

Malik turned to Wren. “And what is your assessment, as it applies to you, Wren?”

“I have been thinking of that,” the younger woman replied, “since you asked Beatrice about her work. I realize that my own desire is to raise children, my own, if possible, but the children of this family, in any event. It is knowing that I am personally fostering the growth, the, the, uh ... I want to say ‘wholeness’ of a child.”

“Overall development?” Malik asked.

“Well, yes, but more than that. What I mean are the, the ... the way that a child learns to deal with the world, learns to manage and to..., uh, direct himself or herself to behaviors and habits that will both protect but also encourage him or her to experience life fully.”

“And what if you continued to care for and teach the children but instead of wages you were put on the same footing as to money access as the rest of us?”

“I would regret only losing the money I send to Pa and Aunt Tilly.”

“That is readily addressed with a Christmas gift of one hundred fifty dollars each year. As to the other effects, Wren?”

After a thoughtful moment, she replied, “It would give me a fuller sense of belonging, Shadow.”

“Then, with everyone’s agreement, we will suspend your wage as of this coming Sunday, March first, and, in the interim, we shall have your name and signature added to our bank accounts.”

“I am in full accord, Emil,” Beatrice said.

Peng said, “As you wish, Master. Not only your pleasure, but the action, itself, pleases me.”

However, Wren sounded less certain. “Shadow, this change has swept me into feeling a terrible responsibility I had not anticipated. My access to the family’s accounts causes some uh, trepidation?”

Malik smiled. “Trepidation, is it? Well, I suppose that’s better than just being worried and fearful. Be assured though by two, no, make that three considerations.

“First, we will counsel you as to how, when, and where you might exercise this new prerogative. Second, the discomfort should diminish with the passage of time, certainly within a week or two. Finally, let us send your family a belated Christmas gift of one hundred dollars. You can add a note explaining your altered status in the family and the revised schedule of your support. We will allow the extra thirty dollars next Christmas to be, hopefully, a pleasant surprise.”

Beatrice said, “Perhaps we should send them four hundred and eighty dollars next Christmas, Emil. That amount would represent Wren’s monthly support from each of us.”

“I’m not so sure,” Wren said in response. “Pa is sensitive to taking unearned money. Even the support we children send is only accepted in small amounts or disguised in some fashion, as when Mockingbird furnished our classroom at the ranch or Cowboy bought breeding stock. Beyond that, Cowboy told me that the only money Pa and Uncle Scout ever accepted was the loan Shadow’s pa made to them when they started the ranch. Cowboy said that even though it was a business deal, Pa and Uncle Scout paid that loan off early just to get out from under the feeling of being beholden to someone.”

Beatrice chuckled and, nodding, said, “I can understand that. My Dad is the same way. Very well, I withdraw the suggestion. We’ll send one fifty and the extra thirty dollars can represent the Christmas wishes from the other three of us.”

“Are those arrangements satisfactory, Wren?” Malik asked.

“I’m not sure, Shadow. I think it might be better just to send the ten dollars every month. A hundred and fifty, or even a hundred and twenty, all at once, and not coming from me, personally, might be too much for Pa to accept.”

“When you put it that way, I see the problem. So, you’d just want to send the ten dollars monthly?”

“Uh-huh. I write a letter once a month and time it so it arrives in the Springs a couple days before the first Saturday, when they come to town, now. That way, what I write to them is still fresh news. I put a ten dollar bill in with the letter. I like to think of Pa using it to buy the groceries, and maybe some candy for the little ones.”

“That’s fine, Wren. It sounds like it gives you pleasure every month just to do it. And maybe you should keep the three hundred dollars you’ve saved for possible emergencies.”

“Emergencies? Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Uh, maybe Beatrice, Yan, and I go and visit your family at the ranch and we leave you here with the children -- and the house burns down. You’d have money to take care of things until we got back.”

“Except the money would be somewhere in whatever’s left of the burnt up house.”

“So we find a place to hide half of it in the stable. Does that work?”

“I like that idea -- except for being left here while you went to the ranch,” But she smiled, acknowledging Malik’s tongue-in-cheek example.

He said, “That would seem to take care of the business side of things. Now what have you in mind for the social?”

Beatrice said, “Allow me to preface this with a warning that this may prove to be a very open topic with some very intimate details. These may prove embarrassing to some or all of us, but Yan and I feel this sort of conversation is the only way to resolve these concerns.”

Malik noddrd his head. “I would expect no less from us. This is the time to speak frankly and honestly. Nor should we leave any unanswered questions on the table. So, if Wren is satisfied with that approach, then please proceed.”

Wren agreed. “Please go ahead, Beatrice. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everyone’s attention as we try to work things out.”

Peng said, “We come to the question of physical intimacy. We need to establish a starting position, so it is necessary that we each identify what we have and what we yearn for in a relationship with the others. I will begin, to set the pattern.

“I am more than satisfied with my relationship with my Master and Mistress. By submitting my life to my Master, I experience a depth of fulfillment and contentment that is better than any previous experience of my life. Moreover, I feel a closeness to both of them and feel that my love for them is returned. I enjoy intimate physical relations with both of them, which I find most enjoyable and a further sign of our mutual involvement.

“Overall, I am happy with my relationship with Wren. I see her as a sister concubine, an honored qie, but one to whom I do not submit. I would like to know her more intimately in physical encounters, to make love to her as I do with the Mistress. I would like her to share our bed.” Peng nodded to Beatrice.

Beatrice said, “I, too, am happy with the relations in this family, but for the exceptions with which we are dealing this evening. I enjoy submitting myself to my husband in our bedroom encounters, even now feeling aroused as I think of him commanding me, or commanding me to submit myself to Yan. I would like to share such experiences with Wren and would like her to share our bed. Except for that shortfall, I do love Wren and am happy to have her in our family.”

Peng said, “Wren, we think it would be best if you spoke next.”

The younger woman looked at each of them, but her eyes faltered when she looked at Malik. Looking back toward the two women, she said, “I have never been happier, not since I was a little girl, in any case. Caring for the children fills me with gladness every day. With all that we do, I have seen and enjoyed things I never even imagined. I feel loved, by each of you.”

She paused and shook her head. “And I would do nothing that might put it all at risk.”

Another pause, then a deep breath, and a quiet voice that grew in intensity: “But there is a deep yearning in me,” and now her head turned slowly toward Malik, “to be held in your arms, to feel your naked body pressing down upon mine, to be loved and bred by you, and to bear your children, Shadow.” She looked back at the two women. “I have heard your love-making, too, and have longed to join you in his bed, or even elsewhere.” She looked back at Malik. “When things are quiet, when I am alone, those are my desires.” Silence ensued.

Malik’s face had become flushed during Wren’s avowal. Now his voice was quiet, almost hoarse. Nodding slightly, he said, “Thank you, Wren. That you could say that certainly proves your love. That we could hear it affirms ours.”

Now his eyes took in Beatrice and Peng, too. “When this situation was brought to my attention, some weeks ago, I’m embarrassed to say, it caught me unaware. I should have been more attuned to your needs, Wren, and I apologize for my neglect.” To her intended reply, he said, “No, don’t say anything. Besides, this is my turn to speak, and you will have to accept how I feel, whether you agree with it or not, since those seem to be not only the rules for this discussion, but appear to be an actual fact of human personality.

“But, as I was saying, I was pushed off-balance when Beatrice brought this to my attention. And now I find myself a bit confused. My reaction here, this evening, is not quite the same as when I first heard of your feelings from Beatrice, nor is it quite as discomforting as when Yan flaunted you in front of me during her T’ai chi demonstrations.” His gaze dropped to the right, at the table top, and he appeared to search for his words. “I am not sure if my feelings have ... altered or if I was more ... reactive, maybe defensive, when I was first confronted with the situation.” Then he looked at Wren, again. “Or perhaps I have simply become more aware of the person you really are, rather than the one I imagined you to be.

“In any case, I now find myself still harboring feelings for you as I would for a younger sister, while at the same time entertaining an awareness of the vital, adult woman you actually are.” He shook his headslowly. “Quite frankly, I’m confused.” Still shaking his head, he added, “And uncertain.

“When I heard you speak of your desires, Wren, I admit to a feeling of arousal in myself. At that moment, I was fully prepared to grant your every wish. But now, only minutes later, I look around and the familiarity of this setting seems to engender the same fraternal feelings to which I am accustomed. Moreover, I feel a sense of guilt for being so aroused.” He exhaled through compressed lips. “I just don’t know.” He was shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know.” He looked around, helplessly.

Beatrice said, “But your reaction is noticeably softened from when we spoke, last month?”

“I reckon you could say that. Then, I was certain, now, I’m not.”

“Then I would like to make a proposal --”

“No, wait, Beatrice. In my present state of mind, I am unlikely to agree to any significant changes. I feel important things are at risk, and I am not willing to experiment with our family’s happiness. I do not suggest the matter is resolved, nor that I can be certain of my own feelings. But, at the moment, they are mired and muddled and forcing or manipulating the balance does not seem a worthy approach.” He looked down at the table top for a moment, then said, “I need to think about this.”

He looked up at Beatrice. “I’m going to walk down to the depot and sleep in the coach.” Seeing her distress, he said, “No, I’m not upset, at least not with you three. However, I find the situation upsetting and I want some time to reflect on it in the chill of a winter’s night, rather than amidst the seductive distractions in which I am immersed here.” He smiled reassuringly and patted her hand. “I’ll be back in time for breakfast.”

After good-night kisses, Malik donned his overcoat and a trapper-style sheepskin hat and set out on the just-short-of-mile walk down to the depot spur where the Manuela de Ortega was spotted. The streets in the Sundown Ridge neighborhoods were paved with manufactured cobbles and lined with curbing, with raised, four-foot wide sidewalks, also of cobbles, abutting the outside of the curbs. Jackson Street was finished in a similar fashion, so Malik’s progress followed paved walkways, even where the unpaved alleys accessed the streets.

Upon reaching the Manuela de Ortega, Malik built a fire in the parlor stove and, still in his overcoat, he sat in one of the club chairs, waiting while the heat spread from the stove, watching the flickering glow of the flames through the soot-smudged isinglass window. After a while, he removed his coat, poured a measure of the Spanish brandy into a snifter, and sat down again, to trim and light a Guardia Real. He sat there for another half hour, gazing blankly at the flame, rising once to stoke the coal fire. Eventually, he sighed, shaking his head. Then he rose, went to his stateroom, stripped to his small clothes, and turned in.

Just after eleven thirty, he was awakened by someone, a man, banging on the rear door of the coach, at the parlor end.

“Mister Malik, Mister Malik, wake up! Mister Malik, your house is on fire! Come, sir, come quickly!”

Malik rolled out of bed and, in the dark cabin, he pulled on his trousers and stepped into his shoes, then he rushed toward the rear door, grabbing his overcoat as he passed the rack, and his hat and gloves from atop a table.

The man at the door persisted in his cries of urgency and Malik called out, “Yes, I’m here. Stand back so I can open the door.”

The man complied and Malik pushed out onto the rear deck of the coach. He asked, “Have my family been evacuated?” as he turned to descend the steps.

It was then he felt the prodding of a hard object into his lower back and the ominous clicks of a revolver’s hammer being drawn back. Meanwhile, the man in front of him, now down on the steps, turned and, aiming a large pistol at Malik, said, “Hello, asshole.” In the dim light from the nearby depot platform, Malik made out the face of Mustachio, the Texas Ranger who’d tried to arrest him in Amarillo.