“What?” His eyes opened suddenly, his face momentarily confused.
“The good guys won.” I smiled. “You are welcome to the sofa,” I began.
“No, I have to get home.” His voice sounded empty.
I knew there was more and walked him out to his car, which only looked a notch better than my battered jalopy. There was a full moon and some bright object next to it that I could only surmise was one of the planets; for a brief moment, I despised my laziness, since it would have been simple to figure out that pretty, winking object, and I’d not bothered to name something worth of recognition. A few lightning bugs were flashing their tails among the low hanging branches of the trees. Philo leaned up against his car and stared up at the moon, not speaking for several seconds. His eyes met mine, caught in the shadows.
“Silas has been relocated from the west coast to the Alpharetta collective,” he began, sighing. “Vashti has announced her intent to separate from him, and he will no longer travel.” Philo paused for that to sink in, since the dissolution of the traveling symbiont bond was unusual and almost unheard of. “I’m trying to get her to come here and let me find her a new partner.” He smiled. “I always liked her, and in some ways, she is like a daughter to me.” Crossing his arms across his chest, he added, “She really has no other immediate family.”
“I like her, too.”
“But not Silas,” he remarked, the corners of his mouth turning down.
“We had a disagreement about ethics,” I replied. “You will need to ask him.”
“Oh, I did. I’m disappointed in him and also in Claire, who will go over the cliff with him rowing as fast as possible. The only one with any integrity is poor Vashti.” Extending his hand, he held still while a lighting bug rested upon his outstretched index finger, the flashing of its body illuminating Philo’s flesh in yellow strobes. Resting against the car, he crossed his long legs and gazed up at the night sky again. “I’ve known Claire since I was a youngster, and we’ve been married more years than I can count. Funny, though, as much as I’d like to say her exit leaves me empty, it doesn’t. We’ve been distant for so long that it feels, well, like nothing.”
“You sound depressed,” I remarked cautiously.
“Not really, Petra. I’m tired. But I’m ready to get untired,” he said, smiling faintly. “I have a good job, wonderful friends, and I’m ready to move forward.”
The lightning bug became interested in something other than Philo’s finger and took off, hovering, before beginning a zigzag pattern of flight, following its friends to a gathering place beneath the outstretched limbs of an oak tree. Philo pushed away from the car and pulled me into a familiar hug. Observers might wonder if he needed more than just friendship from me, but it had never been so and wasn’t then. I was a safe friend and happy to be just that. More would have been like getting intimate with my brother, and the yuk factor there was immense. Philo’s lips grazed the top of my head, and he ducked his tall body down into the front seat of the car. “See ya,” he said bravely.
Fitzhugh was waiting inside, clearly concerned. “Is he alright?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I replied.
We walked to the kitchen to let Kipp and Juno venture out to the back yard before retiring. Fitzhugh took a seat at the dinette while I camped out at the door.
“It is hard for us to terminate relationships,” Fitzhugh remarked. “Our genetic makeup almost mandates we stay connected to the end.”
“Two relationships will end with this—Vashti and Silas as well as Philo and Claire. Oh, and I think Vashti might come here, which would be nice. She could, at the beginning, live with Philo and that would give him some companionship. She’s a dear, wonderful lupine and will help him heal.”
“Glad to hear that,” Fitzhugh murmured.
“And while it’s just the two of us, what was that little stunt you pulled by barging into my head earlier today, Mr. Rules and Regulations?”
His face turned pink before he coughed delicately as he considered his reply. “You are a terrible influence upon me, you and Kipp both. Your freewheeling ways have corrupted me.”
I laughed. Outside, Kipp re-emerged from the darkness, politely escorting a slow-moving Juno back into the light. I hovered at the door, waiting for them. Kipp’s eyes caught mine through the glass as his tail wagged.
Later, in bed, I reflected upon the day. Symbionts, it seemed, share some things with humans. We have the ability to love, to have that love broken, grieve, and start over again. We also have the unfortunate ability to totally give up and not fight for things that matter. Philo would not be allowed to do the latter. Kipp’s muzzle pressed hard against my breast bone.
“Hey, turn the page,” he demanded.
“Where’s your stylus?” I asked, grumbling but not really minding. I held his Kindle as he scanned the page he was reading.
“Just being lazy,” he replied. “I’m trying to wrap my head around this book.”
I’d read most of the classics, including Wuthering Heights, and unlike many modern books, I found the nuances of language and cultural references caused me to focus more intensely. I figured humans struggled even more considering they hadn’t lived in those past times and I had!
“I mean, what’s with Cathy and Heathcliff? It was obvious she loved him but she married someone else. Why would she do that?” Kipp turned his face towards mine and was so close that his eyes almost crossed as he tried to focus on me.
“Love is complicated,” I replied, not feeling energetic enough to mount a dissertation.
“Not for me,” he huffed. “I love you, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Well, there are different types of love.” I wiggled my shoulders into the pillow to get more comfortable. It must have been close to midnight, and I had no idea why neither of us had already fallen asleep except there was no pressing need to be up at the crack of dawn. Outside, I heard the first drops of promised rain begin to strike the roof. The sound would serve to ease us off to the land of nod in no time.
“Kipp, you’ve never told me about your father,” I began, my tone tentative. We’d been dealing with Philo and his family issues of late, and I wondered if Kipp’s lack of a living family of origin was working on his heart.
He sighed and moved his heavy body closer to me. It was clear he’d lost interest in Heathcliff for the night—which was fine by me, since reading about the toxic type of love between the protagonists was fatiguing—and I put the Kindle on the side table. The rain began to fall in earnest, and rumbles of thunder began to roll from the skies, causing the base of the bedside lamp to tremble against the wood tabletop. Lily, who’d probably been napping in the front parlor room—whoops, that was a slip from old times, since no modern individual probably refers to a room as a parlor—hopped up at the end of the bed, her eyes glowing from the ambient light edged around the bathroom door. With a soft meow, she joined us, curling up against Kipp’s warmth. I guess the thunder drove her to seek safety in our nest versus her closet hidey hole. I rubbed my thumb against her little noggin as she tilted her head, allowing my caress to cover more square footage.
“My mama said that he went hunting for us shortly after I was born, and he never came back.” He glanced at me, his profile a shadow in the darkness. “The world was savage, full of danger…” He let his thoughts drift away, unfinished.
“What was he like?”
“Mama said I looked just like him,” Kipp replied. I could hear pride as well as yearning in his voice. “She said he was kind, noble and fearless to a fault.” He sighed. “Sometimes, I’d see her glance off into the distance, where the hills were hidden by the early morning fog, and I realized she was always waiting for him to return…maybe the fog would break and she’d see him in the distance. She seemed sad, I think.” His chest rose and fell again, as Lily gave a contented chirp and snuggled closer. “Petra?”
“Yes?”
“Is it normal that I have trouble remembering thing
s about my mother?”
“Yes, Kipp, it is. As time passes, we can’t recall the sound of someone’s voice or even the scent of their body. I used to love to press my nose against George’s body after his bath, inhaling that sweet, clean baby scent. I don’t know what that is like any more and can’t conjure it up, no matter how hard I try.”
As he fell quiet, I wondered how the wheels had come off the bus, and we had become mired in depressing talk of long lost loved ones and the experience of grief. After all, we’d started with an analysis of a classic tome and ended somewhere far distant from that perusal. Maybe he needed not to read the dark, dense classics, many of which spoke of sadness and desperation. I thought of The Good Earth and David Copperfield, trying not to clench my teeth.
“Kipp?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.
“I know. Me neither.”
“And you know, Philo will be okay,” I added. “He’s tough enough to withstand the hurt and loss.”
“Well, that may be true, but in any case, like Fitzhugh said, we’ll take care of him.”
Nine
“I really have no interest in this trip,” I began. It seemed I was saying that more and more frequently, as I paused to consider the limited alternatives. If I retired from traveling, then Kipp would have no partner, so that was out. And if I even broached the subject of trying to find him a new partner, he’d refuse, so that was equally a nonstarter. Besides, if I retired, they’d stick me in the library until I became as old and gray as Fitzhugh, and I’d die of boredom. At the fire flashing in Philo’s eyes at my words, I cleared my throat. “Sorry, that was hasty of me. Let me hear more about the proposal.”
Kipp’s eyes opened wide since hearing “sorry” from me in any form or fashion was far and few between. His large ears flattened as his sense of humor pushed forward. “I bet that was hard,” he smirked.
“Yeah, you’ll never know,” I replied, laughing softly, my words part of our private exchange.
Kipp and I had been called to Philo’s office, and there were no dewy-eyed, hopeful youngsters underfoot, waiting with bated breath on our decision. I did appreciate the fact he was talking to us, just us, before making any announcements or pushing us to do something we’d despise. I’d been in that office many times under the previous managers, usually to be corrected for something I’d done that was met with disapprobation. So one would think I hated that room, but the contrary was true. There was a wonderful set of windows overlooking the pretty garden, which was well kept but managed to maintain a natural, almost wild appeal. Since it was late summer, only the crape myrtles were in bloom, dusting the ground beneath the tulip poplar with discarded blossoms. On the far horizon, the afternoon clouds were gathering for the usual storm that seemed to take place every day at sunset as the sun was dropping from view.
“The trip proposal and research was done by Elani, who did an excellent job. And she and Peter didn’t ask for you to, uh, accompany them. But this is such a fragile time period that we cannot take any chance that their involvement will change history. Novices with only two consequential trips are usually assigned to something less complex, Petra. You know that.” Philo left the chair and perched on the side of his desk; almost idly, he began to gently swing his leg. It had been weeks since Claire left to join her baby boy, I thought sarcastically, in Alpharetta. On the floor near Kipp, our old friend Vashti relaxed, since she’d become the new companion to Philo. Her arrival had caused some discomfort for Elani, who was horrified to see Kipp’s affectionate demeanor towards her. I finally had to take Elani aside and privately reassure her that Kipp bore no romantic love for Vashti, and she was somewhat mollified.
I glanced at Vashti, who opened one brown eye at me and thumped her tail on the carpeted floor. It was not difficult to recall the first time I saw her in Whitechapel, chained to a post, bruised from abuse and harsh treatment, neglected and starved…her coat a tangled, filthy mess. Now, as the sun shone through the windows, the light rested on her mottled gray fur which had waves rippling through the thick hairs. It was nice to see her looking so good, her natural vitality restored. Since it was in the nature of the minds of curious beings to speculate, I wondered, for a brief moment, if Philo might reconsider his choice to have never traveled. There was the possibility that he and Vashti could forge the needed bond. True, the initiation of traveling was typically for the young, but there was no reason he couldn’t try. I had an even wilder, more hysterical thought. What if Philo and Vashti could bond, then Fitzhugh and Juno could, also? We could have four pairs of traveling symbionts creating havoc in the universe. Now we’re talking, I thought, enjoying the prospect of it all. Of course, such a notion was impossible, and I reigned in my wild musings.
It was with effort I returned my focus to the matter at hand. “So, in other words, President Lincoln must die on April 15, 1865,” I said, my voice flat.
“Yes, it must happen as it was meant to be.”
Odd, I’d never thought of it until that moment, but the doomed Titanic struck the iceberg on April 14, 1912, and she sank on April 15. Lincoln was shot on April 14, 1865 and died the following morning on April 15. To heck with the ides of March…the middle of April seemed a little more consequential. And so that I’d not forget—as if I could—the General was abducted on April 12, 1862. Yes, April was a happening month, historically speaking.
Kipp’s interest was immense, since he’d read multiple books about the Civil War period and the personalities of the day. I shared that interest, and it was sort of a specialty of mine, that era. I’d met the Union generals Grant, Sherman, and Hancock as well as the Confederates, Hood, Stonewall Jackson and Longstreet. Personally, I found Sherman to be the most fascinating. He’d been considered to be mentally unstable, and it was due to Grant’s belief in him that his career was resurrected. It led to a loyalty between the two that was remarkable. Besides, Sherman was a brilliant man and following the twists and turns of his brain had been a challenge. But he was a focused and ruthless combatant, as the residents of Georgia were to discover to their everlasting dismay. I thought Longstreet, who was pretty much hated in the South after he turned Republican and tried to mend fences after the war, was regarded unfairly by the people for whom he’d gone to battle. His competency and skills as a general were easily forgotten. He’d tried to get Lee to avoid Gettysburg but failed. When Lee got the battle fever raging hot, there was little one could do to make him take another path. I’d made previous trips to that period before Kipp entered my life and then we, along with Peter and Elani, made the trip to observe the abduction of the General as we followed along in pursuit on a swaying, charging Texas.
“You know, it could get a little awkward my hanging around Washington during that time period,” I began, trying not to whine. “Grant might recognize me.”
“And I’m certain, as clever as you are, you can figure out a solution to that minor problem,” Philo replied. With a sigh, he rose from his chair and went to the window overlooking the garden. I saw his mouth twitch in a smile, and for a fleeting moment, I thought of entering his thoughts naturally, as Kipp and I did constantly with one another, but held back. Fitzhugh managed to break protocol, but he was, at his age, blazing new trails. As well as I knew Philo, I wasn’t sure he was ready.
“There’s a couple of birds out there, beneath a shrub, having a territorial dispute,” Philo remarked, laughing. His posture relaxed as his shoulders dropped. “Humans and symbionts aren’t the only species who can’t manage to get along.”
“Do you mind if Kipp and I take Elani’s proposal and review it and then, maybe, get with Peter and Elani, since it is their trip? You realize that they might not want us tagging along,” I began, trying to keep my tone from sounding hopeful.
“I’ve already told them they can’t go alone. They are waiting on your decision.”
“Well thanks,” I said, feeling the heat rush to my face. “If we say no, we are in the proverbial
dog house. And if we say yes, we will be thrust into one of the most tragic and pivotal times in the history of the United States.”
“And I would think you, who likes to think of yourself as a historian, would love this opportunity,” Philo replied smoothly, his tone dismissive, signaling the conversation was at an end. Our closeness as friends didn’t seem to impede his authoritarian position as my manager.
The following morning, which was a Saturday, found me nursing a cup of coffee while sitting at my battered dinette table as the early sunrise was just starting to illuminate the kitchen. Kipp and I were planning a run before the day began to heat up, and I was enjoying the quiet. Juno had met us, restless after an interrupted night of sleep, and she and Kipp were out back, prowling. The dew was wet on the grass, and I smiled as I watched Juno pick her paws up high, fastidiously, to keep them from becoming soaked.
“You’re up early,” Fitzhugh commented as he walked behind me, giving my shoulder an affectionate squeeze as he passed. The water poured into the kettle as he began the morning tea ritual.
“Yeah, couldn’t sleep,” I replied, stifling a yawn.
“What’s bothering you?”
I sighed deeply. “Philo has Kipp and me looking at a time-shift.”
“And you are ambivalent?”
“It’s this trip that Elani has proposed to look into the Mary Surratt affair. We talked about it,” I added, trying to keep the irritability from my voice. Fitzhugh took his seat across from me, as he waited for the water to heat. “Can you imagine?” My eyes met his.
“I’ve always considered that had Lincoln lived, reconstruction would have been handled very differently,” Fitzhugh replied. “He wanted reconciliation, not punishment, and perhaps some of the antipathy that remained for countless generations would have been avoided, or, at least, lessened.” He smiled at me. “And history has been critical of Andrew Johnson for many reasons. In that day and time, a southern Democrat following in the footsteps of a Republican president made for a situation filled with potential pitfalls. Johnson found himself on the opposite side of the radical Republicans. We have to leave such moments in time for human historians since we can only speculate about the what ifs.
A Conspiracy to Murder, 1865 Page 9