"It does matter to many people, Kipp. And I can't tell you what to think. All I know is that our beliefs are a guidebook on how to treat one another with compassion. If there is judgment, I think it will be based upon that."
What better place to muse about ethereal matters than in a graveyard? All of those beings had already left earth and crossed to the world of that which was unseen and not of the flesh. Kipp walked a step ahead of me and paused; his body became stiff, his hair rising in a strip from his neck to his tail. One of his forelegs bent up, almost like a pointer who was signaling a bird hidden in a darkening thicket.
"I just felt something I've never felt before," he said. "In that row of headstones, there is the sense of humans who are still here; I can almost read their thoughts, but they are jumbled and chaotic."
I walked closer to the plain, white markers, which were on the backside of the sloping hill and recognized the line signaled the graves of unknown Civil War soldiers. The sight was not an uncommon one in older cemeteries and had always been sad to me. In past times, a mother, perhaps, may have received the message that her son fell somewhere, his body to never be brought home.
Kipp was clearly anxious but after a moment of settling his thoughts, he moved slowly closer to the line. He paused once, and his body stiffened again.
"Something or someone just moved through my body," he said. "I can almost smell him but not quite."
"I think you are detecting apparitions–ghosts–of men who died in battle." This new Kipp development would be something to share with Fitzhugh. "How does it feel to you?"
"Sad, frightening, unstable..." Kipp began to reel off the words. "There's not enough of it to indicate all of these men are still present," he said, his nose following the long double line. Just a few..." his thoughts trailed off again. "One in particular stands out to me. I think he was very young, no more than a boy." Kipp turned to me, his eyes rounded with emotion. "He wants to go home, Petra. He misses his mother."
"Let's go, Kipp." I knew he was getting lost in the odd experience, and it was taking an emotional toll.
Retracing out steps, we rounded the hilltop, and, as we left, I once again touched the granite headstone of George's resting place with my hand in a mute goodbye, and, after a brief warm up, we began to jog again, our steps slow at first, but picking up with time. I think we were both ready to get home and leave that sad place.
Chapter 10
To say that Fitzhugh was curious would have been an understatement. He knew that there were instances of such phenomenon experienced by Kipp in our recorded history, but the documentation of those moments was rare.
"It's probably due to Kipp's superior telepathic skills that are more developed than are ours," he remarked. "Kipp, at some point, I'd like to interview you and record this."
Kipp nodded his head. He and Juno, with Lily in the mix, were lying in front of the fireplace. This winter threatened to be cold, and the Farmer's Almanac prediction was not far off. We'd already had one thin snowfall that coated the land like a threadbare wool blanket as well as a few icy mornings that caused me to slow my comings and goings. Outside, a brisk wind howled as it skirted along the sides of the house, causing the storm door to rattle restlessly in its frame.
"We are supposed to go with Peter to Chickamauga," I said. "I'm wondering if we should cancel that."
"Why? Because of me?" Kipp asked. Lily managed to climb on his back and had her feline arms stretched on either side of his neck, while her head rested on top of his, her little face wedged between his large, upright ears.
"Well, duh, yes," I replied, sticking out my tongue at him. "There's no need to have you subjected to such an experience. Remember, we were in a small cemetery, and Chickamauga will be filled with disturbances far beyond what you felt here."
Fitzhugh listened to us bicker back and forth, his chair angled so that he could enjoy the warmth from the fire. He did not weigh in with an opinion but occasionally would close his eyes in thought.
"What do you think?" I finally asked him.
"I think it is Kipp's decision," he replied. "I trust him to pull back from anything unpleasant or intolerable."
I began to mutter that I trusted him, too. Irritated at all of them, except maybe Juno and, oddly enough, Lily–who was usually a predictable source of chaos—I rose and went to the kitchen to fix a pot of tea. The sound of Fitzhugh's worn scuffs scrubbing against the wood floors echoed softly in the hallway before he entered the room. Wordlessly, he crossed and unexpectedly came to stand behind me.
"I know how to do it," I said, feeling grumpy without knowing why.
"I know you do, Petra." His voice was gentle and filled with an unusual level of approval. Unexpectedly, his hands found my shoulders, which he squeezed. "Thank you for making tea," he added.
I guess he understood the depth of my love for Kipp and the resulting protectiveness with which I regarded my bonded partner. I didn't like to see Kipp hurt in any fashion, even in the pursuit of knowledge. Maybe that's a flaw in humans as well as symbionts. Growth, after all, comes from pain, and we are enhanced as result of the experience.
* * *
"I want a Christmas tree," Kipp declared, his nose pressed against the frosty passenger side window of my car. We were riding along the familiar route home after having been to the market. It was a cold, dark day and several houses, although the holiday was still a couple of weeks away, prominently displayed trees in their front windows. The lights appeared blurry through windows made damp and foggy through condensation and gave the appearance of cozy, festive warmth in contrast to the bleak conditions outside.
My husband I had been married in a church and enjoyed observing Christmas for the spiritual nature of the day as well as its secular beauty. Since Kipp had been with me, we really hadn't marked the day in any special manner. In my attic, in some dark, cobweb coated corner, there was a large box of decorations. They would be, by now, considered vintage in nature. Armed with a flashlight, since I knew the box was in an unlit area, I pulled down the creaking, metal stairway, and began my ascent. Kipp hovered anxiously at the base, along with Fitzhugh, who had his arms crossed at his chest. He'd wanted to accompany me but I firmly declined. All I needed was for the old symbiont to have a heart attack in my attic. I hadn't been up there in years, and I mean years. Against a far wall was George's crib. I'd not had the heart to dispose of it after his death. Kipp followed my thoughts and felt my hard swallow as I pushed on.
"I'm sorry," he began, feeling my pain.
"It's okay, Kipp. Just old memories..." I replied, stiffening my shoulders. The box of decorations was in front of me, and I managed to lift it without too much struggle. Maneuvering it down the staircase was not easy, but I backed out, using the stairs to brace and catch the box as it thumped gently down the cross steps until it was safely in the hallway.
"Let me see one!" Kipp demanded, prancing across the floor, his toenails clicking with excitement.
I opened the box and after rummaging in some tissue paper, found a lovely red sphere, a perfect glass globe that caught the light in the hallway. Holding it up, I enjoyed seeing the glow of excitement and pleasure in Kipp's eyes. A short time later, Kipp, Fitzhugh and I took off in my small car to a tree lot I'd seen when I went to the market. The timing was right to have a live tree so that it wouldn't linger too long and become dry. I'd found an old tree stand in the bottom of the box from the attic that was well used and heavy as a cast iron tub, unlike the flimsy modern ones.
Kipp hopped out to help me search, while Fitzhugh stayed in the car with the motor running so that he could enjoy the manufactured heat. I let Kipp select the tree, after giving him size parameters. No, we did not need that eight foot monster that cost as much as five pairs of running shoes. Finally, he found a pretty, nicely formed little fir that was maybe five feet tall. I could manage it, which was critical, since Kipp couldn't help. After money changed hands and the salesman tied it to the roof of my car, we returned home. As we
drove up, I could see Juno and Lily peering out, their noses pressed against the large, center window in the front room. Yes, this had all the hallmarks of enjoyment, and the lupines were acting like small children, almost clapping their paws with excitement.
After a vigorous debate between Fitzhugh and Kipp as to the proper height and trajectory for maximum window display, I managed to get the tree settled on a low table and secured the base of the tree into the holder. I'd had concerns about the wiring of the lights in the box which, like the ornaments, were vintage items. So I'd stopped by the home improvement store and picked up a pack of multicolor LEDs which looked pretty and soft on the display.
Fitzhugh prepared a pot of hot cocoa and found a Christmas movie on TCM. Actually, it was one of my favorites, "White Christmas". Kipp barked and chased me around the room as I tried to emulate Vera Ellen's dancing, failing miserably in my efforts; Fitzhugh had the good sense to not pretend to be Danny Kaye. At some point, Lily had enough of Kipp's howling and Juno's high-pitched, enthusiastic choruses and managed a slinking crawl through the house to hide away in the back of the closet in my bedroom. So that's what it took to get rid of the little monster, I thought with satisfaction—dance poorly while stringing Christmas lights.
Fitzhugh sat close by and handed me the ornaments, one by one, with care as if he was holding irreplaceable treasures. Kipp and Juno argued over where each ornament should go and debated over which was the loveliest. Kipp found a favorite of mine lurking at the bottom of the box. It was a mercury glass—almost translucent—silver globe with glitter that had been applied in the design of a snowflake. His eyes crossed as he tried to inspect it too closely.
"That's the prettiest thing I've ever seen," he stated matter-of-factly. "Why can't I see a real snowflake?"
We had a robust discussion on things not seen, and I treated him to a series of snowflakes made of paper I cut with a pair of kitchen scissors. With string and tape, I hung the fake flakes from the door frames so that they would sway gently with the slightest breath of air. After we'd finished–and the day was growing darker as evening arrived–the four of us dashed outside, braving the temperature, to look at our pretty front window.
"We have the best tree on the street," Kipp said, nodding his head with satisfaction.
"It's not a competition," I replied, ruffling his fur while silently agreeing. Yes, our little tree with its old glass ornaments stood out amongst so many others with a modern twist of plastic decorations or large silky bows. A frigid breeze hit the back of my neck, and I herded the others back indoors.
"And it will be your job," I said to Kipp, "to keep Lily from climbing the tree and breaking the ornaments." She'd been driven off earlier by my dancing, but I spied her little triangular face staring at the tree, captivated, her eyes almost crossed with delight, from across the room where she skulked—thinking she was invisible—beneath my wing chair.
"I'm on it, chief," Kipp replied. He would, in his way, try to implant a thought into Lily's feline brain that the tree was off limits. A minute later his head turned and lifted, as he cocked it to one side like a big dog fascinated by a squeaky toy. "Philo's coming," he announced, darting over to the front door, tail wagging.
Philo didn't bother to knock, since he could clearly see all the festivities in the front room. As he entered, a current of cold air followed him, causing the flames in the fireplace to dance in the updraft that made a little whoosh of fire up the chimney; the paper snowflakes twisted and turned on their string tethers. I took his coat; his lips, which felt like ice cubes, brushed my cheek.
"Get by the fire, and I'll get you some hot cocoa," I ordered.
He and the others were discussing the merits of holiday celebrations, including trees, when I came back. Not only did I bring cocoa, but also there was a plate of cookies. No, they were not homemade but were those that one sees at the holiday... a large tin full of different kind of cookies allegedly from Belgium. Kipp, not unexpectedly, was engaged in an opposing view and paused momentarily to sample a butter cookie.
"I just don't see the reason to spend so much time and money to decorate a house for what is, essentially, a religious day," Philo was saying. "If you want to honor the day, do it quietly."
"But don't you think all of the festivities, the decorations, the shopping for a gift for someone... those things help build the energy for the day, and make it even more special?" Kipp asked. "Combining the secular beauty with the meaning of the day just builds the excitement," he concluded. My Kipp loved a good debate.
"Well, I guess it's a personal choice," Philo concluded diplomatically. "And your tree is particularly lovely," he added graciously.
His last comment seemed to mollify Kipp, who was getting a bit huffy. After all, he'd helped with the tree selection as well as the decoration and had a significant emotional investment in the final product.
Philo, with his mug of cocoa in hand, sat with us as we gathered around the fire. Juno and Kipp settled on the floor as close as possible to the flames without actually risking the danger of being ignited. Lily pushed in between them and curled up, her head resting on Kipp's right front paw. I knew it wouldn't take long for Fitzhugh to give voice what had been on his mind, and it came quickly.
"So how is Margaret Shelton coming along in my library?" he asked, avoiding eye contact with Philo as he delicately took a sip of his chocolate. With a napkin, Fitzhugh dabbed at his mustache to remove any clinging droplets. "Has she managed not to muck it up too badly?"
The reference to the library being his was not made without thought. Fitzhugh had put a large portion of his life into the collections held there and, in many ways, the stories were like his family, children which needed nurturing and care.
"She seems to be adjusting," Philo answered. "Of course, when you return, she will take less of a leadership role and will assist you," he added carefully.
I knew Philo very well, and he wouldn't say things just to soothe someone's angst or create cheer. If he told Fitzhugh his position was secure, then it was. Obviously, Fitzhugh knew the same of Philo because he dropped the subject and relaxed in his chair.
Christmas arrived, and although I had not done so for many years since my house had been empty save for Tula, who did not observe holidays, I'd gone shopping, thinking it would be fun to have presents under the tree for all the creatures who happened to be stirring under my roof. So early that morning, before Fitzhugh or Juno awakened, I tried to slip from bed without disturbing Kipp. Of course, that endeavor was a miserable failure as it was a physical and telepathic impossibility.
"Where are you going?" he asked, putting his paw on my shoulder to push me back down against the mattress.
"None of your beeswax," I answered. "Close your mind and don't pry," I added.
I felt his mind leave mine; since this was an unusual occurrence, I took note of the novel feeling. Odd, I felt empty and alone without his constant presence in the back of my head, offering a running commentary on events as well as the assurance of his love and constancy. Mildly anxious, I almost called for him to come back but managed to control the outburst and continued on my way, tippy toeing down the narrow hallway from my room to the living room. Fitzhugh's door was closed, and I carefully stepped over the one squeaky floorboard that I knew like a stubborn key stuck on a piano.
Entering the living room, I was content to note that some stubborn embers still glowed in the fireplace. Igniting a roaring fire would take little effort, so, before I did anything else, I added a couple of small pieces of wood from my stack and used the iron poker to stir the embers. A soft meow startled me; I turned to see Lily curled up in my favorite chair, her mouth yawning wide open, eyes blinking sleepily at me. She'd obviously spent the night enjoying the fireplace. Crossing over, I gave her a little pat on the head, watching her twist her head as I scratched under her chin. The sound of purring almost filled the room; her soft fur radiated the warmth of the fireplace to my cold fingers.
There was a small ha
ll closet at the front door entrance; I opened the door and pushed aside some coats to pull out several wrapped boxes. These I carefully placed beneath the tree, feeling an excited burst of delight at being able to have a surprise waiting for my little family. That done, I was in the kitchen preparing coffee when Fitzhugh trudged in, his old plaid flannel robe cinched around his narrow waist; his hair stood erect in an untidy shock like the comb on a rooster. Juno trailed after him, her tail wagging. Bending down, I gave her a kiss on top of her old noggin before opening the back door. Kipp zoomed in at that moment, and both lupines disappeared out the back door to take their morning constitutional.
I think Fitzhugh and I had lived together too long at that moment, because the morning was filled with queries as to the quality of sleep, was one feeling rested, and questions about general health and well being. Bored with the inane chit chat, I hurried him to get his coffee; Kipp and Juno had returned, so I herded them all into the living room with a childish glee.
I actually don't think Juno had ever received a Christmas present, and I knew Kipp hadn't. They acted like kids, looking at me and then looking at their boxes as if to ask permission to just rip into the containers. I had to help, since furry paws weren't made for such, but the looks on their faces were priceless. For Juno, I'd ordered a fleece dog jacket with her name embroidered on the collar area.
"I know this weather is tough on you, so I thought this might help," I said, hoping she liked it. I'd debated over the color for weeks before deciding upon a nice turquoise blue with a brown contrast trim. Pink seemed too little girlie for the aged Juno.
"Oh, Petra! It's beautiful," she said, her dark eyes turning to me. "Thank you so much."
Kipp, ever the gentleman, waited for her before we opened his box. I knew he would not wear a jacket, so I'd gone another route.
"What is this?" he asked, looking at the box which held a flat, silvery object.
The Great Locomotive Chase, 1862 Page 10