The Great Locomotive Chase, 1862

by T. L. B. Wood

  "So, I'm excited to meet Fitzhugh," she began, pushing a mug of black coffee towards me. I noticed she took hers with cream and a teaspoon of sugar... exactly a flat, level teaspoon, not a grain more or less.

  "Well, I think he should be back by the end of the month, so you'll not have long to wait," I replied, taking a sip of the coffee which beat any espresso I'd ever had in terms of blackness and strength. My heart skipped a beat or two as the caffeine surged into my system.

  As we sat and chatted, I learned she came from a collective outside of Atlanta, which explained her soft accent and the occasionally dropped "r" to a degree. Usually, we stayed in one place long enough to pick up customs and mannerisms before moving on. Kind of like a dog picks up fleas, I thought, the picture unflattering in my mind.

  "This is a plum position," she went on to remark. "Fitzhugh will probably retire soon, and I hope I can move into his job permanently."

  I felt my back go up in alarm, and my lips pursed in disapproval. Why would she make such an assumption about Fitzhugh? She must have seen the unguarded expression on my face because she leaned forward and gently touched my forearm.

  "Philo told me, when he hired me, that this would be a position with advancement. So I naturally assumed," she said, allowing the sentence to drift off, unfinished.

  I took another sip of coffee which suddenly became bitter in my mouth. Kipp, from his vantage point four floors above me, was still in the back of my head, and I acknowledged his alarm at what I was being told. If there was some plan to retire Fitzhugh, they might as well go ahead and shoot him and put him out of his misery. The library was his life and what kept him vigorous. He was one of those symbionts, like many humans, who needed to work, and idleness and lack of purpose would destroy him.

  With effort, I managed to discuss the workings of the library with Margaret, who was not at fault in her wish for a better life and a job advancement. My issue was with Philo, and I'd be making a visit to his office again, later on that afternoon.

  "I'll meet you there after we finish for the day and before we go home," Kipp said.

  I could almost imagine him nodding his head firmly, the ruff of auburn fur circling his neck bristling with outrage. There was no stronger advocate than Kipp, who'd gone to my defense more times than I could recall. But for now, I needed to pay attention to the matter at hand. As it were, I had several ongoing translation projects and Margaret needed to be up to speed. She had a PhD in library science and obviously qualified but was still the new kid on the block.

  Chapter 9

  "So, what did you plan to do with Fitzhugh?" I asked, barely managing to keep the fury from my tone. I cared not for fighting with Philo, but he'd brought on this chain of events, and he was the only one who could address the issue.

  Philo and I had the closeness that forged trust but also allowed for combativeness when needed. We would forgive one another the occasional over the top lapses with memories of good times spent and shared love over many years. But I'd found, since he'd taken command at Technicorps, that my natural dislike of authority was coloring my ability to deal with him in a reasonable manner.

  "Yes, I'm glad you realize that," Kipp pointed out helpfully. "You don't like people telling you what to do." He was stretched out on his side, enjoying the carpeted surface of the floor in Philo's office.

  I sighed deeply and uncrossed my legs. Turning my head, I looked out the window which overlooked the garden; the sky was growing dark with a storm threatening on the horizon. Great, I thought, and I chose to walk to work today. It was obvious I missed the revised weather forecast.

  "Since I'm absolutely certain you and Kipp are having your usual exchange of thoughts without being courteous enough to loop me in, perhaps you'll tell me what's going on, Petra." Philo rose and came to sit on the side of his desk after pushing aside a tower of paper that threatened to topple over the edge and onto the floor. "And, yes, I could listen in but choose not to do so."

  I rolled my eyes at Kipp who stuck his tongue out at me in response. He was at my feet, his head twisted up so that his eyes were locked with mine. "Kipp says I'm stubborn and that I don't like authority." I finally muttered.

  "Gee, let me write that one down in case I forget," Philo said, his tone flat with sarcasm. After deliberately changing his attitude, he added, with a softer voice, "I know you care about Fitzhugh and that the two of you have grown close." He ignored the blaze that ignited in my eyes. "You need to trust me that I would never do anything to harm him."

  "So, why does Margaret think she will be promoted?" I asked.

  "Because the position calls for that. Actually it was no different for Peter, but he would have had to go back to school to acquire the necessary degrees, which Margaret already possesses."

  I muttered some response, not exactly happy but also not terribly distressed. Philo would not tell me a lie, so perhaps I'd not understood the situation. Kipp stretched over and nipped my foot, making me catch my breath as I felt his incisor nick my left big toe through the thin fabric of the running shoes I wore. He was getting a little too free with the teeth lately.

  "Need a ride home?" Philo asked. It was clear he wanted to get ahead of the storm.

  I declined, wanting to be alone. However, fate had another plan. Kipp and I finished the first mile towards home, when a sudden wind hit my back with an intensity that felt as if it would push me to the ground. Kipp turned and gave a defiant bark at the storm which was literally upon us. I could see the tree tops bent from the force of the winds, and roughly three blocks behind us, the rain began to fall in a sudden and dense downpour. Shrugging my shoulders, I smiled at Kipp, who never minded the weather. There was no way to outrun it, or so I thought. A moment later, a familiar vehicle approached—it was Peter and Elani. He didn't even ask as he threw open the passenger side door. I ushered Kipp into the back, where Elani literally pranced as she touched noses gently with him. She'd missed her friend... that much was evident from her behavior. Since we'd returned, I'd been occupied with Fitzhugh and the library while Kipp returned to his work. Our lessons with Peter and Elani were on hold until further notice.

  "Thanks," I said, almost wincing as the rain pummeled the vehicle, which rocked slightly against the wind. "We would have been soaked."

  Peter drove slowly, since the water was rapidly pooling on the road. As we passed a convenience store, I recalled Fitzhugh's request for milk, since he seemed to have developed a craving for boxed cereal. I ran in, timing my exit and entry with the waning intensity of rainfall, and managed to hop back inside the vehicle without introducing a mini deluge. As we rode along, I told Peter about my chat with Philo.

  "Oh, yeah, that assistant job was always meant to be an eventual replacement. But I was told that there was no time frame on it, and it would only be when Fitzhugh made the decision to quit and just act as an advisor." He looked over at me. Peter was wearing his dark rimmed glasses, and somehow they made him appear much older than his fifty so odd years.

  "I left a crock pot full of vegetable soup simmering this morning, Peter. Why don't you and Elani join us tonight?" I smiled. "It's Friday, and since I don't have to get up early tomorrow, Fitzhugh has challenged me to a Monopoly game. It will be him and Juno against me and Kipp. You and Elani can balance us out."

  I wasn't quite sure why the youngster had nothing to do on a Friday night but join us older folks for Monopoly, but I also had no desire to examine the fact I had no social life of my own. But in any case, the six of us found ourselves hovering around a low coffee table, Fitzhugh leaning in from his perch in my favorite wing chair. The dirty bowls from dinner rested in the kitchen sink, and the remainder of a jumbo box of Little Debbie oatmeal cakes sat forlornly on a vacant foot stool. I once again used my jaunty top hat but, even with Kipp's advice and consent, failed to gather any steam. It was Fitzhugh and Juno, the elder statesmen, who managed to use the little iron to flatten us all into submission.

  "Tea, anyone?" Fitzhugh asked, raising his
eyebrows at me. I recognized the signal and knew he wanted me to prepare and deliver a pot. Well, a little tea this late in the evening would probably do no harm since we were all too wired to sleep anyway.

  While I was busy preparing the brew, Fitzhugh and Kipp searched for a movie on TCM and were pleased to find "The Ten Commandments". I was mildly horrified, since that one was very long and made back when they had theatre intermissions so everyone could run to the bathroom. But, as I remarked, there was no work in the morning, and I didn't really care if the rest of them wanted to watch it.

  I think it was when Charlton Heston was sent out of Egypt by Yul Brynner that I fell asleep on the floor, my head resting on Kipp's warm and sturdy shoulder. Fitzhugh had stretched out on the sofa, and Peter and Elani were, like Kipp and me, enjoying the floor and a blanket. Lily managed to squirm her way next to my left ear and wedged herself in between Kipp and me. Actually, she served as a very nice cat hat, bringing warmth and soothing to my shoulder and neck. To my amazement, I awoke early the next morning to find everyone dozing, just as I'd left them the previous evening. The television was still on and halfway through "My Man Godfrey", one of my favorite comedies. Kipp stirred with me and raised his head to look around the room, simultaneously amused and pleased.

  "This was a good time," he remarked with satisfaction.

  I yawned in agreement before groaning at my body's response to the hard mattress upon which it had rested. In symbiont years, I was not even middle aged, not really, but my body creaked and protested like that of one of greatly advanced years. It was clear my usual routine had been disrupted, and my daily runs would begin again, that morning.

  "It's a pretty day, so let's go see George," Kipp suggested. He stood and was stretching to and fro. "Believe it or not, but I'm a little stiff, too. I think I've grown soft with sleeping on your nice bed at night. Before that, I was accustomed to the hard ground."

  "Don't blame your decline on me, my lad," I whispered into his upright ear before kissing the side of his furry face.

  Soundlessly, I crept into the kitchen to begin a pot of coffee and then padded back to my room at the rear of the house. As I gazed into the mirror in my bathroom, I noticed a large, bright red crease where my face had been mashed into a hard chair pillow at some point when I abandoned Kipp's soft fur. With the thought a hot shower would loosen up my muscles, I hopped in, while Kipp reclined on the rug on the tile floor.

  "Keep the water running, I'm next," he called out, thinking what a fine wit had he.

  I found my sweats and dressed in preparation for a run later that morning. I was a pretty speedy dresser and, other than some sunscreen slathered on my face, did little to prepare for the day. Even my hair lay in a tangle down my back in the same mussed braid I'd worn the previous day. By the time I walked to the kitchen, Peter had stirred and sat with his sleepy face at the dinette table; his eyes opened wider when the coffee timer sounded, and the smell of fresh brew filled the room. Elani darted over to greet me, her moist nose nuzzling my hand.

  "I need to get back in my routine," I commented, as he raised an eyebrow at my garb. Pouring him and me both cups of coffee, I set the mugs on the table and located the little creamer pitcher as well as some sugar for him.

  "Believe it or not, I don't know when I've had so much fun," Peter said.

  I guess it could have been a commentary on his lack of an outlet. But I agreed; it had been pleasant. At that moment, Juno came creaking in, her body stiff and a little wobbly. She shook off any assistance as I opened the back door for her to go into the yard. Kipp and Elani went with her, silent guardians on either side. Standing on the porch, I noticed the cool, damp freshness from the night's previous storm. A few small limbs had fallen, littering the grass which was brown and withered with the onset of winter. A group of geese flew overhead, their V-shaped formation filling the sky for a moment before they disappeared, honking noisily. The sun was low on the eastern horizon projecting a soft, pastel glow in the sky. Leaving the lupines to wander around the yard, I returned to Peter. From the living room, I could hear Fitzhugh's soft snoring as he lapsed into another stage of sleep.

  "I'll help with that mess," Peter said, gesturing at the kitchen counter where the dirty bowls and plates from the night before remained.

  "Thanks," I replied with a smile. "And I'm glad to let you."

  * * *

  Kipp trotted energetically at my side. The road we took to visit baby George was not the one most traveled, but it was filled with memories nonetheless. As we ran along, I recalled that William Harrow had fancied he might marry me and have children. Little did he know that I had been married, once, a long time ago and was the mother to a dear baby named George. By the time I left Harrow, he knew there was something inexplicable but thought I merely was an errant time traveler transported by a mechanical device of some unknown nature. I wonder what his reaction would have been if he'd understood I was of a different species, despite my deceptively familiar appearance. Would he have still loved me?

  "Yes, he would," Kipp replied confidently.

  "How would you know that?" I asked, while carefully navigating a particular stretch of pavement which was notoriously bruised and posed all types of hazards for unsuspecting runners.

  "I just go by his temperament," Kipp replied. "He was a broad-minded man, very much so for the times in which he lived."

  I sighed, content with the answer. Kipp might only be sputtering comforting nonsense, but it helped my feelings to nurse the notion that I would have been loved, no matter what. I guess humans feel the same way. All sentient beings harbor secret rooms in their inner selves and wonder, from time to time, if others knew what was held there, would they still be loveable. Symbionts had created secret rooms voluntarily although Kipp and I violated those boundaries on a daily basis.

  "That's my point," Kipp said, "I know all your faults, and I still love you."

  "Thanks, buddy," I said, giving him a mock salute before reaching up to adjust my baseball cap.

  We'd left Peter washing dishes, since he insisted, with Fitzhugh lurking nearby enjoying a pot of Earl Grey and a strawberry Pop Tart. Peter assured me he would work on breakfast and make certain Fitzhugh had some fresh fruit and oatmeal to finish off the pastry.

  "We used to be alone," I said, watching the man who approached us with a large mastiff on a leash. Out of courtesy, since I saw him eyeing us in return, Kipp and I crossed the road; the man had no wish to struggle with his dog who would demand a friendly and professional canine inspection of the equally massive Kipp. "And now our house seems full of others," I concluded. We passed the man and his companion and crossed back to resume our path.

  "Do you mind?" Kipp asked.

  "Not too much." As I answered, I realized I spoke the truth. Maybe I wasn't the loner I claimed myself to be.

  The tall grass in the field we passed had collapsed into a damp, matted mess; I missed the times when it stood proudly, rippling as would an ocean wave propelled by Nature's forces. The trees were pretty much naked, except for the few stubborn leaves that just insisted on clinging to the branches despite nature's death edict. A couple of trees were still cloaked in a large number of withered, brown leaves; I'd been told this was the signal of a dying tree, but I didn't know if that was true or just country legend.

  It felt good to be back in my routine, and as I ran, I felt the familiar pleasure sink in after I'd gone the first couple of miles. My legs felt strong and solid as my feet hit the payment with soft, little thuds. Kipp was so close to me that his fur brushed my leg as we ran in synch, our pacing identical despite the fact he could outrun me in speed as well as endurance. Our minds were in perfect symbiosis, too, and I felt the total completeness of my kind.

  We approached the cemetery and passed under the arching entrance that silently welcomed us as visitors. I was glad George was here, out in the country, where it was quiet and lonely. Graveyards should be lonely, I thought, occupied by the spirits of the departed and courted only
by the occasional living visitor. His resting place was near the crest of the hill; I often would stretch out in the grass, staring up at the sky, just lying next to him. The ground was rather damp, despite the cold temperatures, so I chose, instead, to let my hand rest on his granite marker before prowling about. Maybe there was something odd about me, but I'd always been fascinated by old cemeteries. In past times, people would devise creative and poetic inscriptions to mark their sentiments of their loved ones. Kipp ambled after me, pausing to read them, too, and would call me, excited, when he'd find one of interest.

  "Mattie Jo, beloved wife and daughter; I'll see you again in Heaven," Kipp read. He sat at that grave, his thoughts mired in contemplation. We'd talked of spiritual matters many times, and he usually had endless queries, a testament to his bright mind.

  "If most humans and symbionts, too, believe in a creator, how do you explain those who don't?" he asked.

  "I don't have an answer for that, Kipp." I crossed over to another very old headstone, the inscription almost unreadable after years of exposure to the elements. It was sad that the heartfelt last words were lost in time.

  "Maybe some people need demonstrable proof of a creator and an afterlife. Belief in both of those is a matter of faith, and there is nothing you can hold in your hands—or paws–and use your five senses to indicate the reality of it."

  I'd been raised to believe in a higher power, a creator, and found that to be a comforting belief. Kipp, coming from a primitive era with little exposure to such since he lost his mother so early, was working on his own beliefs. I knew, from our discussions, he had the most solid moral core of any symbiont I'd known, and definitely believed in right and wrong. He also believed in creation and a creator but from there, he was still working to figure it all out.

  "Humans have a lot of names for God," he remarked. "Do you think it matters?"