"I'm ready for Clue, if you are," Peter announced, a slight frown on his face. His thoughts of the General were serious, and my lightheartedness was obviously not appreciated. "That is, if you two are finished messing around."
We spread the board out on the floor. I claimed my favorite character, Professor Plum; Kipp gleefully chose Mr. Green, liking the sinister aspect of his persona. He even tried to act out the part by pulling his lips back to display his teeth while squinting his eyes half-closed. Kipp assumed his Sphinx pose, thoughts shuttered and guarded. Peter became Colonel Mustard and Elani, rather deliberately I thought, became Miss Scarlet. When playing any game with Kipp, he had to be on an honor system since he could peek at any of our thoughts and then evaporate like an early morning mist without our having known he'd been privy to any private musings. At one point when he was kicking all our butts, I stared at him, accusation written on my face.
"And, Kipp, how is it you seem to be so spot on with all of your accusations?"
"I'm just good, very good," he answered, smiling, his tongue lolling out.
"Does he cheat?" Peter asked, frustrated.
"He claims not to," I replied. "But how would you know?"
After we finished, I turned on the television, and we were fairly surprised to see an old John Wayne movie that was set during the Civil War, "Rio Lobo". Kipp almost danced in place with excitement since he had become a huge fan of westerns.
"You know," he said, "I think I'd like to time shift back and watch one of these old westerns being filmed."
"Yeah, you could get signed on as an extra," I remarked, poking a little fun at my buddy.
It wasn't long before Kipp had Peter and Elani rolling with laughter as he did his best impression of John Wayne walking with his short-stepped leaning walk across the room. Elani, with her infatuation of Kipp, had found a new, endearing side to his character–he could be silly and playful. I didn't think that revelation would help in his efforts to distance her emotionally from him. After Peter and Elani had retired to their room, Kipp and I climbed into bed. He assumed his usual place at my side, his muzzle stretched across my chest.
"I have to admit, this mentor gig is not as bad as I'd thought," Kipp remarked. "Maybe this should be our new focus going forward."
I listened to him prattle on, not in agreement, but willing to listen to his point of view. He was probably more of a natural teacher than was I. Kipp had the patience needed to work with the young lupines, staying late, adapting his style of instruction to their learning needs. I feared I lacked his best qualities–in fact, I know I did and still do–and wasn't sure I shared his enthusiasm for becoming a full time mentor. He obviously noted my thoughts were straying and pressed his jaw against my breastbone.
"But if you don't want to, Petra, we'll do whatever makes you happy," he said, turning his massive, auburn head so that his eyes stared into mine. The warmth from his furry pelt was radiating through the thin sheet; I put my hand up on his head, scratching between his ears.
"I'm not sure what I want, Kipp," I replied honestly. "Except, of course, to keep my bond with you."
"That's how I feel, too," he said, his body heaving with a huge, lupine sigh. "As long as we're together, life is good."
To be loved completely is a wonderful thing. I'm not sure, in retrospect, if it's common or rare, or if we just fail to recognize it when it hits us in the face. I tried to think of others who had loved me completely, without question. There had been a few in the past and were some in the present. I knew Philo was in that group, as well as an improbable Fitzhugh. He'd never say it, of course, but it was there, lurking like a drifting, pale wisp of fog hovering over a sandy marsh. And, my human love interest, Harrow, was able to stretch his imagination and accept the impossible, so great was his love for me. But none paralleled Kipp. Our complete attachment that followed the natural inclines of our species had taught me the true meaning of connectedness and trust. Without meaning to, I began to quietly cry.
Kipp pushed his head forward and began to gently bathe my face, cleaning away my tears with his raspy tongue. Sometimes words–or thoughts–were not needed, and that was one of those times.
Chapter 12
There is something about a graveyard in the winter–when the wind is harsh, the tree limbs bare, and the landscape rolls in empty waves–that echoes the loneliness of lost souls. The dead, withered grass was crisp from a heavy frost the night before. From the top limbs of a massive oak, a solitary crow cawed loudly, the sound echoing across the empty fields.
Due to the frigid cold, our small party had been the only one to visit the battlefield so far that day. We planned to stop as far away from the visitors' center as possible, so that Kipp and Elani could leave the heated confines of the SUV and explore with us. Dogs weren't allowed to roam freely on the fields, so we'd have to work around that unreasonable restriction.
"Why do humans build monuments?" Elani asked, as we passed the 35th Indiana marker.
Well, that was a good question, I thought. It had been done for a long time, if Stonehenge was any measure. And speaking of Stonehenge, there had been a symbiont visit to that particular piece of history but the outcome had been unsatisfactory. Hmm, I thought, before Kipp interrupted me.
"No way," Kipp began, cutting my hopeful musings short. "I've lived in primitive times and have no wish to go that far back in history again. Human sacrifices and stuff like that... uh uh."
"People need to memorialize other people and events. Human beings seem to need heroes for inspiration," Peter remarked. He drove the SUV slowly until we finally came to an area that seemed as good a choice as any. There was a barren hillside, sparse of trees, where a herd of whitetail deer clustered. The sun was beginning to burn off the frost and a soft, translucent gray mist rose above the grassy knoll. The deer raised their heads in unison, ears forward and alert; after a long pause, they ambled off, unhurried, making their way to the dense woods to the rear of the park before melting out of view.
We'd reached Viniard Field. Per the brochure, there was a skirmish on September 19th, 1863 that marked one of the bloodiest battles of the conflict. The Hans C. Heg monument, a large pyramid of cannon balls, caught my attention. This would be a good place to stop and attempt a time shift. Peter pulled the SUV to a halt, and, after checking around, we let Kipp and Elani free. They were grateful to be able to stretch their legs; a small wind was blowing and Kipp's dense pelt of fur was brushed back, making him look larger than in reality. I pulled my parka closer and noticed that even Peter took care to dress warmly. There were times I envied the lupines. Kipp's thoughts, however, became disturbed and anxious, in contrast to those of Elani, which were balanced and calm. Going to his side, I ran my hand down his back, smoothing his erect fur.
"What is it?" I asked, since his thoughts were too confused for me to pluck out one train to follow.
"You remember that sense I got in the cemetery back home?" As I nodded, he continued. "I'm getting it again, here and now." He turned slightly into the wind, his profile lost to me for a moment.
Peter and Elani were understandably curious, and I took a moment to describe what Kipp had experienced when we walked along the row of unknown soldiers' tombstones on that day we visited George's resting place. I knew they wanted more, but it was not my place to encourage their eavesdropping on Kipp's tangled web of thoughts. But after a moment, he seemed to have pushed down his anxiety and nodded his head. Tentatively we all entered into his thoughts, and I almost recoiled in horror and more than a little fear when I experienced what seemed to be a human figure walking towards us, his hands outstretched. As he drew closer, I could clearly see the visage of a boy—at most a young teenager—with a face that had been hit by gunfire and mangled almost beyond recognition. The place where his mouth should have been opened, and a gaping hole emerged; from that black hole in ghostly flesh, a shriek of despair sounded, echoing in my head. To this day, I've never been able to shake the way I felt in response to that sound.
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Peter and Elani were disturbed, too, and Peter reached out for my arm as I staggered towards a park bench, almost unable to stand any longer. Kipp turned to look at me, his expression one of pain and sorrow. Peter sat next to me and, after a moment's pause, put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him; a second later, both Elani and Kipp huddled close, and the four of us managed a symbiont group hug. Ahead, as we looked across the field, a covey of mourning doves flushed from the grass, their wings beating the air with a musical thumping sound that disturbed the stillness of the park. I welcomed the noise, anything that would keep me from hearing the reverberations of the specter's cry in my head.
"I'm sorry," Kipp began, "I tried to tell you..."
I leaned forward, pulling him against my chest. Burying my face in the fur on his neck, I inhaled and caught the scent of his wildness, that part of the lupine branch of the family tree that was different from the humanoid. Kipp had the instincts of a wild beast with the senses to match any creature alive. Elani did too, but carried hers in a much more ladylike package than did the massive Kipp.
"Fitzhugh assigned me to compile research once on a phenomenon such as we just encountered." Peter looked away from me as he watched the thin mist hovering over the grass fragment into wispy bits of nothing before surrendering to the rising sun, which had emerged from its hiding place behind the morning clouds. "I found instances where symbionts encountered inexplicable experiences surrounding battlefields or places of mass casualties, such as the eruption of Krakatoa." He glanced at Kipp, who was staring at a copse of trees that stood as silent guardians over the field. It was January, and before much longer the crocuses and daffodils would poke their stubborn heads through the hard soil to dot the landscape with vivid dashes of violet blue and yellow. This patch of earth, where so much death and pain had occurred, would erupt into a place of natural beauty, as it was meant to be in the eyes of God before man declared war upon one another. Peter reached over to gently stroke Kipp's head.
"Thank you, Kipp. I know that was hard on you, holding on to the moment so we could experience it so vividly." Peter sighed. "I'm glad our kind has avoided war and keeps our silliness to the boardrooms of Technicorps."
"Well, I'm not too sure that we've managed to contain our own foibles," I replied. "I've run into more than one of us who have been totally corrupted and fell into the pit of evil." Peter looked at me, curious for more, but I chose to stop there. He didn't need to know about Fitzhugh's nephew; nor did he require knowledge about at least two leaders of our collective who were self–serving and would have used Kipp and me to further their own political interests. If I'd learned anything from my 400 years, it was the need to try and keep some degree of humility.
Elani took the lead and stood, shaking herself hard. In the early morning sun, particles of dust and all the microscopic bits and pieces of the world around us flew into the air, surrounding her with a little halo. She touched noses with Kipp before turning to stare at first me, then Peter.
"We need to get on with the business that brought us here," she remarked, obviously ready to get to work.
"It's your call," I invited, thinking it was time for her to make a leadership decision. In the world of symbiont pairings, it was an equal partnership and neither humanoid nor lupine had dominion over the other.
Elani raised her head and oddly appeared as if she was testing the air for the scent of some wayward creature. With a funny little roll of her neck, she seemed to dispel the nagging tension between her shoulder blades. Overhead, a small flock of goldfinches, early for the season, flew in formation overhead, their yellow bodies making a bright splash of color against the blue sky.
"Let's go back seventy five years," Elani finally suggested. "The battlefield was turned over to the National Park Service in 1933. The monuments should be in place, and I think we'll arrive and see the cannonball monument to Heg just as we do right now."
We all agreed; it really mattered little, anyway, where we went as long as we made a successful jump. This would be our last practice run, and after this we would approach the Twelve and outline a more serious journey that would have specific destination targets to test our skills.
The Viniard Field remained empty of other visitors. The cold weather, which had discouraged idle travelers, would break as the sun rose higher in the sky to bring a modicum of warmth to the landscape. Standing, I walked over to a patch of dead grass and sat, my knees crossed. Kipp followed and lay next to me, his head across my knees. Peter and Elani copied us, and at my nod, they knew to take the lead, and we would follow.
It is impossible to really describe the feeling of a time shift. If one can combine exhilaration, anxiety, excitement, anticipation and lace it with a tiny dose of fear, then that is the best collection of words that come to mind. After an unfortunate spate of hard landings, it was gratifying and more than pleasant to open my eyes and discover I was still seated, my legs crossed, Kipp's massive head stretched across my knees. It was unusual to arrive in almost an identical position to that of the launch, and I met Kipp's self-satisfied expression with one of my own. Yes, that was pretty darn good. I thought, as he closed one eye in a wink of approval.
Peter and Elani were close by but seemed a little discombobulated. Peter was standing with his back to us, while Elani was sitting, turned towards us; her face wore the momentary confusion associated with having found oneself displaced by some seventy five years, if our journey was accurate. Happily, I located the pyramid of cannon balls some fifty yards distant and knew we were, at least, in the general vicinity. The landscape had the topographical differences one might expect. Some trees were no longer present; others had grown from the small saplings in sight to enormous oaks in the modern day park.
Not too far away, we spied a truck containing a couple of men who were puttering along an unpaved road–we'd driven our SUV along that same road which was now paved–their vehicle belching puffs of exhaust as it slowly rolled to a stop. The battered truck seemed to fit the profile of those manufactured in the mid thirties. My assumption was that we'd hit our planned target, and Elani's time shift had been successful. One of the men raised his head, and I saw him nudge the driver with a poke on his arm. The driver shoved the truck in gear, the noise loud and raspy in the quiet of the field. I stood and walked next to Peter.
"Are you okay?" I asked, putting my hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah, just a little dizzy," he replied with a wan smile.
"We have company," I said, pointing out the obvious.
The truck ground to a stop with brakes that squealed loudly enough to frighten off any lingering wildlife that might have been lurking nearby. Squinting slightly, I gazed up at the sun. It hovered directly overhead and thus indicated midday.
The men swung down from the truck and walked towards us; their appearance was that of workmen, both wearing worn overalls. From their collars, I could see the frayed red necklines that hinted at long johns, something that once was a fashionable necessity but had been lost in the modern age. Rather sad, I thoughts, since long underwear was an inherently practical garment. The weather was cold, the field barren, so it seemed we made a lateral shift, arriving in the same season from which we departed. All of that was good and spoke to Peter and Elani's precision.
"Can we help you folks?" the driver drawled, pulling his hat from his head in deference to me. His hair, which was wispy, barely covered the top of his head; his cheeks were chapped and reddened from the cold and wind that had no natural barriers in the largely open field.
"We were out walking and got lost," Peter said, smiling guilelessly. Yes, lying quickly and adeptly was a skill needed by any proficient traveler. With his brown eyes and mop of hair, Peter looked like little more than a kid, innocent and kind of helpless. He blinked his eyes a couple of times to hit home what a youngster he was.
Trying not to smirk, I surveyed our surroundings. Chickamauga was one of four military parks authorized following the Civil War. Chickamauga was t
he first and the largest. I'd been to Gettysburg but it had been many years ago. Chickamauga was dedicated in 1895 and actually the War Department had control over the military parks until the National Park Service took over in 1933.
"Sir, may I ask you a question?" Peter asked, continuing with his guiless manner.
"Sure, son," the older of the two answered.
"What year is it?"
The two men glanced at one another before the older man spat in the dirt, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He chewed tobacco and undoubtedly was nursing a chaw in his cheek pouch. The sweet, fragrant tang of the tobacco juice filled the frigid air.
"It's 1940," the man answered. "And son, you and your lady friend probably need to stay away from the spirits and find your way home."
I knew he meant liquor and explained to Kipp and Elani, much to their delight, that the men thought Peter and I had been out drinking moonshine or something along those lines. Why else would an oddly dressed woman and a young man be walking in circles, accompanied by two really big dogs on the grounds of a military park in the middle of the winter? Alcohol seemed to be the most reasonable explanation.
"Yes, sir!" Peter responded. Grabbing me by the hand, he began to pull me towards the rear of the park, hoping that the men would go about their business and forget us.
We didn't look back but heard the truck roar into action as the driver forced it into first gear, the gears grinding in protest. In less than five minutes, we'd reached a barrier of trees and disappeared; Peter sank down, breathing hard, somehow combining laughter with his gasping attempts to get control over his lungs. After he managed to calm himself and get centered, we effortlessly made the time shift forward to the present day with Elani leading and were gratified to find our vehicle sitting where we'd left it, unscathed, with the exception of a light coating of frost. We wouldn't find out until later that we were two days off our mark; fortunately, the management of the park had not become concerned over the parked SUV and had it towed. Our luck held in that there were no people in view who would stare, mouths gaping open at the sudden appearance of two humanoids and two enormous lupines. Peter fished the key to the SUV from his pocket; as he did so, he raised one dark eyebrow at me.
The Great Locomotive Chase, 1862 Page 12