Timeout
By: ChocolateEclar
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with the Mediator Series by Meg Cabot/Jenny Carroll, including Jesse (*cough*that's depressing*cough*), Suze, Paul, Father D, CeeCee, Adam, etc.
Claimer: I own Miss Evelyn "Eve" Gemma and the plot. (I still wish I owned Jesse instead of Eve.)
To someone: Thanks so much! ^__^
To Clavel: You're welcome to kick Paul. *grins* As for Jesse, he'll appear soon. I love him, but he sure hasn't had much screen time in this fanfic, no? Anyway, thanks for the review!
To BloodyRayne: Will do. ^_- Thanks for reviewing.
To Lizzie9: I'm glad you like this fanfic. I like yours as well. ^__^
Chapter 7: Californian Summer, 1850
"Caw!" yelled Tahemet.
"Shut it," I snapped over my shoulder at the raven perched on a tree branch. I was sitting beneath that very tree, mulling over my situation.
Or atleast I would've been if that damn bird would stop squawking.
Letting out one last screech, Tahemet ruffled her dark feathers and wrapped one wing over her face. Soon, she was definitely asleep. I wish I could've just fallen asleep and forgotten my troubles, but no such luck.
Sighing, I stared at the path downhill where Paul and the ladies had gone past just half an hour before. Atleast I thought it was a half hour. It was hard to tell being watch-less and all.
Where should I start? I wondered. I continued to stare out at my surroundings until I noticed something I recognized. The Mission! It was nestled down there looking newer. Its dome glinted in the sun, momentarily blinding me. So if the Mission was right over there that meant…I was about two miles from what would later be my home, but now was a sort of hotel.
I dragged myself to my feet – brushing sweat out of my eyes – and started down the hill to the road. The skirts were heavy and clung to my legs. I can't believe girls had to wear this much and more every single day. I would've be the one to change the fashion. Just think of what it would feel like to wear this…EVERY DAY! Ick. I'll pass.
************************************************************************
One mile later and it was a relief to see a wagon coming up behind me on the road. "You there! Miss!" called a male voice as the driver of the wagon slowed the horses. The carriage came up beside me, and a guy a few years my senior leaned out the window. "What is such a fair beauty wandering all by yourself, madam?" he asked.
"I'm going to the boarding house up the road," I answered, pushing a strand of hair out of my eyes.
"Why would you-" began the man before he was cut off by a "Hush, Gabriel" from a woman. She'd been sitting beside him the whole time but in complete shadow.
Now she bent towards the man and the window and said to me, "Do not pay a mind to my fiancé, madam. Please step inside our carriage. It's much too humid out in the blazing heat."
"If it's-" I began.
"Oh, of course it's fine," said the woman. She was atleast my age – if not older than me – with big green eyes – kind of like mine actually – and wavy red curls swept up in a bun. She smiled at me as her fiancé helped me get inside the wagon. I climbed in across from them and said, "I'm Susannah Simon."
"A Simon? Really?" queried the man, sitting beside his future bride. "My name's Gabriel Simon and this is Miss Angelina Torque. Soon to be Mrs. Simon of course," he added with a grin. "Do you suppose you and I are related?"
"I don't know," I answered with a shrug. Could these people be my ancestors? In that case, why are they in California? One way to find out… "Where are you all from?"
"Ah. We're from Boston," replied Angelina. "You don't look like you're from around here either."
"Brooklyn," I said. It was only a half lie. I had lived in Brooklyn most of my life anyway, but I bet they'd wonder where I lived if I told them I lived in Carmel.
"Ah. We're here to see my lord's parents. The wedding shall be here in a month you see," Angelina answered. "Why are you in Carmel-by-the-Sea, Miss Simon?"
"Just traveling," I lied. I knew after I said it that was probably not what ladies normally did around that time.
"All alone?" asked Gabriel.
I nodded. Traveling alone definitely wasn't common then.
************************************************************************
"Are you certain you'll be all right here, Miss Simon?" Angelina queried as Gabriel helped me down from the carriage. We'd arrived right in front of my future home. It looked pretty much the same, but newer and not so homey.
"Yes," I replied. "Thanks again for the ride."
"It was no trouble," said Gabriel, climbing back into the wagon.
"Miss Simon?" called Angelina as I turned to go inside the building.
"Yes?"
"Have you heard about the ball at the Henderson's manor this evening?"
"No," I answered.
"Ah. Well, it sounds like it could be enjoyable and all, so would you like to come with us? We can come get you in our carriage at dusk," Angelina said.
"Well," I began. Then it occurred to me Jesse could be there, so I said, "I guess that would be all right."
"Splendid. We'll be around to get you at dusk," said Angelina as the carriage horses began to trot away with the wagon behind it.
"Good day, Miss Simon!" called Gabriel.
I watched them go out of sight before turning towards the boarding house.
There was a boy peering curiously at me from the porch. I would've thought him pretty ordinary for the period of time with his messy brown hair, tanned skin, white shirt, red vest, and tan slacks, except, well, he was definitely dead.
Ever have one of those moments where you feel like screaming? Yeah, well, I could've screamed right there. Even one hundred and fifty years in the past I had to take care of ghosts? Sometimes I hate being me… But then Jesse makes it all worthwhile.
"Hey, kid!" I called out to him.
He looked pleased that I could see him. He smiled at me and questioned, "You a mediator then?" He had a slight Spanish accent. It was kind of like how Jesse speaks when he says "querida" or "Nombre de Dios."
"Yep," I replied, stepping towards him. He sat down on the steps leading up to the porch, and I plopped down beside him. My skirts covered my feet completely from view as I straightened them out. "What's your name?"
"Antonio Owen Perry," replied the kid. "Call me Owen."
It didn't surprise me in the least that another Spanish speaking Californian from a century and a half ago had a mostly English name. After all, Jesse's real first name was Hector of all things. Can you imagine? Hector!
"I'm Suze. Why don't you tell me why you're here," I said.
"Can you give this to Nita?" asked Owen, holding out a gold chain with a little round disk as a pendant. "I took it off my body, so it's the real thing," he added as I took the necklace and examined it. The pendant was gold with a cross surrounded by roses etched in it. On the back was written the name Juanita Rosita De Silva and one date: March 18th, 1834. The words Dios protege were written underneath.
"A De Silva?" I muttered.
"Yes," answered Owen. "She let me borrow this to remember her, and I just have to give it back. I promised her I would."
"To remember her?" I queried.
"I was moving to a ranch in Mexico with my family. But we were attacked by banditos on the way.
"Oh. What does this mean?" I asked, pointing to Dios protege.
"God protect," replied Owen. "Will you give it to her?"
"Sure, just answer one question."
"All right."
"Does Nita have a relative named Hector or Jesse?" I asked, slipping the necklace around my neck and tucking it under my clothes.
"Yes. That's her older brother. Her hermano mayor, as she calls him."
I stood up and said, "I'll give this to her as soon as I can."
"Gracias, Suze," said Owen. He stood up and grinned before dematerializing.
I walked inside the boarding house and gazed around. There was a big desk on the right of the foyer where a man with a huge dark mustache, slick black hair, and an embroidered coffee-colored suit sat reprimanding a teenager. The teen was probably a year younger than me with the same black hair as the man and the beginning fuzz of a mustache. They'd been verbally sparring in Spanish as I came near them, but now they looked up.
"Buenos días, senorita," said the boy with an elegant bow. "Me llamo Manuel De Pero."
"Umm… Hello. I'm Susannah Simon," I introduced myself. "I was wondering if a Hector De Silva was staying here."
"Yes, Senorita Simon," said the man, smiling at me from behind the desk. "He arrived this afternoon. He's not in at the moment though."
"Ah. Thank you. I'll be going then."
"Must you leave so soon, senorita?" purred Manuel.
Argh. Just what I need. A Spanish eighteenth century version of Paul…not. AHH!!
"Yes. I do," I said stonily before walking out the door.
Now where could I go? The party wasn't until nightfall, and it was far from that. The sun was too high in the sky. I sighed and glanced at the road, looking for some clue as to what I should do next.
My clue came in the form of a Spanish woman with long braids gathered on top of her head in a swirling bun. She stepped out of the hotel with five girls following her. They all looked quite alike except the two youngest girls had two long braids flapping in the wind, while another had one braid and the older two had their hair down. The oldest girl – it was obvious which one she was by her tall, lanky body and dark knowing eyes – was calling to the smallest girl who was peering up at a bird sitting in a tree. The bird – on closer inspection from me – was definitely Tahemet.
"Prisa, Carmen!" yelled the oldest girl. She had on several layers of dark petticoats under a red gown with black lacey frills.
"I'm coming!" called back the little girl, hurrying towards her sibling. She tugged on the hand of the woman with the upswept hair and asked, "Mami, where's Jesse and Papi?"
"They're probably down by the ocean," replied the woman in a thick Spanish accent, smiling at her youngest daughter. "They'll be back for the gathering soon enough, Carmen."
I knew then why I'd stopped to watch them. They were unquestionably Jesse's mother and five sisters.
They all looked so much like Jesse!
His mother's locks were the same dark color as his, as was the hair of Jesse's two oldest sisters. The younger three had dark brown hair and all six of them had the same inky eyes. Just as the letters I'd read from Jesse to Maria had said, the girls seemed to be between the ages of six and sixteen.
The wedding had to be coming up then for them all to be here and not at their ranch. But when was it then? And – more importantly – how long would I have to stay here in this land of frilly dresses and no jeans?
************************************************************************
A/N: Hopefully my two years of Spanish at school and my Spanish-English dictionary paid off. ^__^ I also did some research to figure out what I wanted to call Jesse's sisters. So far we've seen them all, but we only know the names of two: the oldest, Juanita (aka "Nita"), and the youngest, Carmen.
A/N 2: Some of the dialogue of this chapter is supposed to say yes in Spanish, but every time I uploaded it, the accented "i" would disappear, so I changed it to yes in English for now.
A/N 3: Next chapter expect to see Señor Jesse De Silva himself in his natural 1850 environment. And remember: REVIEW! ^__^ Adiós.