The Great Locomotive Chase, 1862

by T. L. B. Wood

  "Do you always travel with an entourage?" he asked.

  "Yes," I replied. "And they came in quite handy, too." I was ready to tell a story as I shamelessly manipulated this man's sensibilities in order to find Peter. "I was on the road in an isolated area when two men approached me and were planning on stealing my horse and buggy. Kipp jumped on one, knocking him to the ground while Elani jumped on the other." I paused, wide-eyed and somewhat breathless. "Then, I held them at gun point while I took their guns and we scared their horses off. The last I saw, they were walking towards Catoosa." I took a sip of my coffee. "My, this is good and fortifying after long days on the road with nothing hot to eat." Glancing at Duncan, I was happy to see his horrified expression.

  Leaning forward, he beckoned to the lupines, who dutifully did their dog routine and approached him. He scratched ears and thumped sides with vigor. He liked dogs, anyway, but was very impressed by my guardians.

  "What kind of dogs are these?" he asked.

  "Chinese red crested mastiffs," I answered, trying to keep a straight face.

  "Can't you come up with something new?" Kipp grumbled as Elani giggled.

  The next thing I knew, Duncan was barking orders at some young man. Those two highwaymen who were walking, somewhere north of Rome, were about to find themselves in deep trouble if they were found.

  "Lieutenant Forsyth was in charge of the detail that arrived from Catoosa, but I don't recall any prisoners," Duncan said, nodding at a fresh faced youth sitting at the edge of the group. The minute he stood, I knew he was the guilty party and that he had Peter's watch in his pocket. Kipp and Elani knew it, too, and it was with restraint that Elani didn't leap across the camp and give the man a serious chomp.

  "We did have a prisoner, sir," Forsyth stuttered, his face red, "but released him to a company of men traveling to Atlanta."

  "And why would you take such an action?" Duncan asked as I felt my heart drop. Peter wasn't here, which explained why Kipp, especially, had not gotten any pings on his symbiont radar. I'd thought it was just due to so many human minds clustered in one place as well as stress and fatigue. As the lieutenant muttered some inadequate reply, Duncan's face got redder, and Forsyth began to sweat. From the views of the other men, Duncan was not an unreasonable commander, but he was intolerant of many things, and he didn't care for Forsyth's free-wheeling decision making under the circumstances.

  "So the man we think to be this lady's brother is on his way to Atlanta?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir," Forsyth muttered, hoping the moment would end. His hand made its way to his neck, fumbling at his collar. He desperately wished he'd not fastened that top button that constricted his throat, but he'd been hoping to impress Duncan with his precise attire.

  It was dark now; from the woods that bordered the meadow crowded by men and horses, there was the scream of a wildcat, the sound of which made the hair stand up on my neck. A pattern of stars became visible in the sky overhead; I picked out Orion's belt, which was always an easy constellation to find. The moon, only a sliver of pale, glowing white, hovered in the blackness, while we waited for Duncan to make a decision.

  "I feel bad that this has happened, Miss Keaton, and it falls on me to make it right," Duncan said, turning that ruined face towards me in the flickering half light of the campfire around which we sat. "I will send a detail to accompany you to Atlanta, and they will assist you in finding your brother. Also, I'll write a letter that explains this was a mistake and to release him to you." He smiled and the ruined lips stretched awkwardly, distorting his features even more. "A man will escort you to town and help you locate lodgings for the night."

  The men rose, indicating the interview was at an end. I stood, too, beckoning for Elani and Kipp to follow me. However, Elani didn't move and was staring at Lieutenant Forsyth.

  "He has Peter's grandfather's watch, and I'm not leaving without it," she said.

  "I'm not sure how to get it back," I replied, wishing she'd let the issue drop.

  "I do," Kipp said.

  Kipp is a remarkably large lupine and projects intimidation with little to no effort. So when he walks toward a human—hackles up, teeth exposed, low growl reverberating—it's a sight to see. He turned towards Forsyth and began such a walk. The young man looked alarmed, and his hand instinctively went towards his sidearm.

  "Hold," Duncan said, ordering Forsyth to not pull his gun. "Miss Keaton, will you please call off your dog?" he asked.

  "Kipp knows there is something wrong, probably smells something, for him to act like this," I stuttered, desperately trying to play along with my partner.

  "So, Forsyth, what is it?" Duncan asked.

  It took Forsyth a full minute, during which Kipp kept up his threatening display, to finally pull the gold watch from his pants pocket. I didn't even want to visit Duncan's thoughts at that point and realized Forsyth was in some serious trouble. As far as Duncan was concerned, Forsyth was no better than the highwaymen who'd attempted to rob me. Duncan, after inspecting the watch closely, handed it to me, bowing over my hand.

  "Your brother's watch, ma'am."

  As we walked to town, accompanied by a sergeant who looked as if he'd just graduated from knee pants, I looked at Kipp, frowning slightly. "You might warn me next time you plan some stunt like that," I reprimanded my buddy.

  "We got the watch, so what are you whining about?" Kipp replied. He sauntered ahead, his large noggin tilted in a saucy manner. We'd reached the edge of Rome, and Kipp paused under a large lantern, where a flurry of moths darted back and forth, seeking the elusive light that drew them. Twisting his thick neck he looked back at me and slowly closed one eye. Kipp was, at times, a handful.

  Chapter 22

  Although I had absolutely no worries about traveling on my own with the two lupines for company, it was equally fine to ride along with a small squad of men. I'd not have to worry about highwaymen, and the men scouted ahead for potential issues. Fortunately, Duncan did not send along the disgraced Lieutenant Forsyth, since that man would probably hold a sizeable grudge against me and, even more so, Kipp. I'd retrieved my horse and buggy from the stable; the old stable worker was delighted to receive two pistols and one shotgun as a bonus. There was no need for me to carry those items since I'd have an armed entourage at my side.

  "I'm glad to see you rid of those things," Kipp remarked, as he rolled his shoulders a little. "I'm still not sure you know how to handle them." Elani vigorously nodded her head in agreement. I admit that I was a little deflated over their mutual lack of confidence in me. True, I was no Annie Oakley, but I could aim a shotgun and pull the trigger if needed.

  The distance to Atlanta was a little over fifty miles over roads that were left rutted and sloppy from the continuous rain. We were in luck, however, in that the rain remained in check for the present, as a bright sun hovered overhead. Our eyes continued to be entertained by the wildflowers that clustered in chaotic abandon along the road. Kipp and Elani, who shared my color discrimination vision, oohed and aahed as we drove along. The foliage on the trees seemed to thicken daily, and the lighter green of the oaks and poplars stood out from the deep, almost forbiddingly dark colors of the numerous, towering Georgia pines, which pushed up towards the sky with their impressively thick trunks; wild dogwoods, their white blooming flowers bobbing in the mild breeze, stubbornly competed for space amongst their larger cousins. A pleasant, garrulous young man sat next to me on the bench of the carriage, his horse tied behind. Two men rode in front of us, and two trialed behind. Obviously, Duncan was trying to right a wrong.

  "And how was it, ma'am, that your brother got himself kidnapped?" Lieutenant Andrews asked, cautious not to stare at me in what would have been considered ill-mannered behavior for the times.

  We chatted amiably to get to know one another the first day out, and we were now into the middle segment of the trip. Andrews was barely twenty and a graduate from a military academy–not West Point–but a smaller, state run school. His family was solidl
y middle-class and owned a general store in Atlanta. He was happy to get an opportunity to see them, if only for a brief time. I knew, from reading Duncan's thoughts, that he liked the young man and gave him this assignment to facilitate a home visit. Although the boy's back was straight and his face wore a determined, dutiful expression, he was just another homesick lad.

  "Tragic thing," Elani observed. "War tears families apart, and people who normally might not see themselves as combative become so out of need or conscription."

  The wheel of the buggy hit a deep rut; with the road conditions being compromised, it was difficult not to. As the vehicle lurched sideways, Andrews fell against my shoulder, his arm brushing mine. Red faced, he apologized and moved away from me on the seat, gaining a polite distance. Kipp almost lost his footing and shoved his head up between us.

  "Tell this amateur to watch himself or else I'll have to take matters into my own hands," he said. Baring his teeth, he showed a mouthful of ivory to the back of the unknowing young man's neck. I suppressed a giggle.

  "I'm sure your family misses you," I said, gently probing Andrews.

  "Oh, my mama sends me letters all the time," he laughed. "She worries if I have enough to eat and if my socks are dry and not full of holes." After a pause, he added, "She knits me new socks to wear; I've got more socks than any man in my company."

  "I wonder if he lived through the war or if he died in a battle?" Elani queried.

  "It would be something that could be researched," I responded. "But would you really want to know?"

  I made it a practice to avoid investigating what happened to people I'd met during a time shift–with the exception of Harrow—unless the arc of their lives was already known to me. Even though we were not to become personally involved with humans, it was impossible to not have some level of attachment after a connection had been made. The bureaucrats who thought up such rules had never travelled and had no idea of what they spoke. Fitzhugh and I made a computer search of my beloved William Harrow following my return from the last time shift. Doing so had oddly comforted me; viewing a sepia toned photograph of his remarkable face reproduced on the screen brought a rush of memories as well as emotions. My hand reached for my neck, where the delicate strand of pearls pooled like quicksilver in the hollow of my throat.

  "No, I guess not," Elani replied after she considered my query.

  Although Elani remained subdued, I could tell she was feeling more optimistic that we could locate Peter. If he had been taken to Atlanta, he was most likely in the Fulton County jail, which was located on the intersection of Fair and Fraser Streets per Mr. Professor, i. e., Kipp. Unless Peter was found to be a Union soldier in civilian clothes–a spy, worthy of hanging–he would be transported to a prison camp until evidence could be given to prove his innocence. The raiders wouldn't end up in Atlanta for a while, so the disposition of Peter would have to be managed without their corroborating statements that he was not a collaborator.

  We approached another small settlement, and Andrews pulled up my horse so that the animals could rest. A pack of dogs, excited over strangers, surged out from under the wooden rafters of a raised porch, eager to show us who owned the town. However, one sniff of Kipp and Elani sent them reeling back to their hideout, where they glowered at the odd newcomers. Kipp winked at me.

  "I guess they figured out who owns this," Kipp said, rolling his shoulder and lifting his head.

  "You really need to learn some new slang," I suggested, arching my eyebrow.

  There was a small eating establishment, but the owner took a firm stance and would not allow the lupines to enter, so I took my food and theirs and sat on the back porch, a place usually reserved for drifters. Andrews, who was horrified that I would do such a thing, brought his plate and sat with me.

  "It's really okay," I told him, squinting my eyes against the bright sun; I lacked a hat and the modern convenience of polarized sun glasses. "I just didn't want to leave them alone out here," I explained, not caring how silly I might seem.

  "Oh, I understand, ma'am," he replied, although he didn't. Andrews was just trying to be polite, and it wasn't a part of his makeup to tell me I was obviously a crazy woman. "I have a dog at home who sleeps on the floor next to my bed. Or at least he's supposed to. My mama won't allow him in the bed, but when she goes to sleep, he hops up anyway and lies on my feet. His name is Buddy," Andrews added.

  "I like this guy," Kipp said. "He's a rule breaker... a renegade... my kind of human. You know those tags on pillows that say don't tear off upon penalty of law? I bet he'd pull 'em off and never look back!"

  I tried to ignore Kipp, who seemed determined to make me break my concentration, as he and Elani finished off their bowls of what I might think of as mixed fare. The cook had piled chunks of meat in with butterbeans, cornbread, and fried okra. The latter was an interesting addition, and Kipp nosed it carefully before trying a piece, letting it rest on the back of his tongue to savor the full flavor.

  "Oh, my gosh!" he exclaimed, as the piece of okra skidded down his throat. "Why have you kept this from me?" Kipp asked, referring to the fried okra. "Do you know how to cook this stuff?"

  "Yes," I replied. "And I'll fix you some when we get home, if you just won't go on and on about it."

  We finished the meal and resumed our journey. At our rate of our progress, we would reach Atlanta the following afternoon. Later that day, dark clouds unexpectedly began to bunch up on the western horizon. Despite my assumption that the rain was gone for the immediate future, it appeared we were in for a storm and no one was particularly interested in getting soaked. Fortunately, we were passing an isolated farm and noted the farmer was leading his team of mules in from the field he'd just finished plowing. Andrews guided the buggy over to the man, who paused to run a sweat stained bandanna over his dirt caked face. His dungarees were torn and rudely patched, but his face was open and pleasant. Years of hard work outside had left him with lined, leathery skin; the dust seemed to cake like fine powder in the furrows of his flesh.

  Andrews asked if we might use the shelter of his barn for the night, and the man agreed, although he assured us he had no extra food or supplies for us. His thoughts reflected his embarrassment, but he was a poor man, barely scrabbling out a living for him and his family. A hoard of small children, all barefoot and tow-headed, clambered out on the front porch of a ramshackle cabin. At first, the farmer told them to give us wide berth, but finally he gave in to their curiosity, especially about Kipp and Elani.

  As Andrews and his men were unsaddling the horses and caring for the animals, one of the little girls was brave enough to come over to where I was resting–at the insistence of the gallant Andrews—on a pile of straw. The barn was much larger than the cabin in which the family lived. Despite its relative cleanliness, the barn interior reeked of the smell of manure and sweaty animals; Kipp wrinkled his nose.

  "Whew!" he said, blinking his eyes. "Kinda close in here."

  "What kinda dog is that?" the little girl asked, pointing at Elani, who was seated at my feet.

  "She's a Chinese mastiff," I replied, shortening the name since Kipp was obviously ready for something new. "Her name is Elani." After a pause, I added, "You can touch her if you want. She is very sweet and loves little girls to pat her head."

  The child opened her blue eyes wide and walked up to Elani, holding out one small hand. With wonder, she scratched Elani gently between her ears. "She's soft," the girl said, giggling.

  At that point her father walked in to see how we were getting along. He stared at the girl who was oblivious to him. After a moment, his expression softened. "Mary Alice has always had a fondness for the beasts of the earth," he said. "We had a dog that died last winter. She was real attached to him." He cleared his throat and added, "My wife just gave me the what for and told me I was rude to not offer food to you people." His face flushed red.

  Andrews quickly assured him that we had provisions, since it was very obvious there was little to nothing to
share in this home. He did, however, state that we would appreciate use of the well for fresh water.

  Mary Alice grasped her father's strong hand as they were called to supper. As they disappeared, a storm broke in earnest and rain began to pelt the roof of the barn. Over a long lifetime, I've slept in fine hotels and beautiful homes as well as on the dirt floors of caves. But that night, sleeping in fragrant hay while the rain beat on the tin roof of the barn, was one of the most memorable, in terms of comfort. The horses, in response to thunder, would whinny softly; occasionally, the mules would shift in their stalls, their heavy hooves thudding on the dirt. The men, with whom I travelled, fell into deep sleep, some snoring in rhythm with their breathing. Kipp and Elani were wedged on either side of me; their soft warmth and the rise and fall of their chests was reassuring. I knew I'd have to pluck straw from my hair the next day but didn't care. Sleep came as I drifted off into a dreamless state.

  The harsh crowing of a rooster awoke me; I sat up suddenly, momentarily disoriented as to where I was since the reality of lying in a pile of hay seemed a little atypical. Kipp walked towards me, followed by Elani. Both had obviously been outside for their morning constitutional. Their paws were damp and colored with reddish dirt collected from the rain softened earth. I looked at them and giggled.

  "What?" Kipp asked.

  The moment reminded me of a funny detergent commercial, maybe from the 70's. A distressed woman, with an exaggerated southern accent, was touting the benefits of either Tide or Cheer. As she held up a white t-shirt in dismay, she exclaimed "Jeff just gets into our Georgia red clay." Somehow, Georgia came out sounding like JawJah and clay was spoken as if it consisted of two syllables.