"I think you got into some Georgia red clay," I responded, trying to mimic the woman in the ad.
The men were stirring in response to nature's alarm clock, which began to crow again for good measure in case we missed the first call. It was obvious the rooster felt we'd overstayed our welcome and needed to move on. We knew the farmer would be in momentarily to begin milking the cow. Since we'd over burdened the barn with our horses, Andrews and one of the men led them out and begin the process of saddling as well as getting the buggy ready. Two other men drew the short straw and were given the assignment to muck out the barn so we wouldn't create more of a burden on our host. And then another was about to work on breakfast when the farmer's wife approached. She'd made a pan full of biscuits, which were piping hot, the fragrance preceding her arrival. On an overturned barrel, she laid out a nice spread of biscuits, fresh butter, homemade apple butter, and slices of fried ham.
"Sorry this isn't more," she said before Andrews stopped her.
"Ma'am, we are so grateful for your kindness."
I fixed Kipp and Elani both a couple of ham biscuits complete with butter, while I nibbled on a biscuit with some of the apple butter. The man who was assigned breakfast duty prepared a pot of coffee while the others worked with the animals. Since Andrews had ordered me to not exert myself, I occupied my time by attempting to brush the straw and debris from the faded blue cotton of my dress. Then, with Kipp and Elani working as spotters, I pulled straw from my hair and did my best to rebraid it into some semblance of tidy order.
"Will we make it to Atlanta today?" I asked Andrews as he passed by, nodding at me.
"Yes, ma'am." He smiled. "Or at least we should, unless we run into problems. It will be late, however."
I could feel his excitement growing over the opportunity to go home for a day. The other men looked forward to a night in a relatively large town, where they could drink, carouse and generally be irresponsible for a few hours. Kipp looked at me and winked, while pretending to be astonished at the lascivious content of their collective thoughts. The storm from the previous night had cleared the air and all humidity had evaporated. Except for the compromised roads, the trip should be fairly pleasant with mild temperatures and clear skies. Our party was underway within thirty minutes. I looked back, once, over my shoulder, and saw little Mary Alice waving good bye. She really wasn't concerned about the humans but hated to see the "dogs" leave.
"She needs a puppy," Kipp remarked.
We kept up a steady pace, only stopping periodically to rest the horses. Andrews ordered the men to dismount and walk, too, for brief periods. Riding for hours was difficult on horse and man, so the men did not object to stretching their legs and relieving the pressure on their backsides. Just after midday, one of the men who road point cantered towards us, his face bright with sheen from sweat; his horse was breathing a little harder from exertion. Andrews signaled for the others to halt as the soldier pulled the horse to a stop.
"There was a bridge up ahead that crossed a creek," the soldier said. "But it ain't there no more. Must have been washed away by the storms."
"How bad is the water?" Andrews asked.
"Pretty swole up, sir."
Andrews sent the men in either direction of the creek to find a crossing place that looked safe. While we waited, he pulled the carriage underneath the spreading boughs of a large oak that sat at the edge of a grove of old growth trees. The wind had picked up and cooled my face as well as the back of my neck. Overhead, the leaves rustled as they were tossed by the active movement of the air; the tree limbs groaned as they scraped against one another.
"Mind if we do some scouting, too?" Kipp asked.
"Knock yourself out," I replied, knowing the lupines were tired of riding for so long. I watched as they bounded out of sight.
Andrews was seeing to his horse, which seemed to have picked up a pebble in its front right hoof. While he scraped at the object with his knife, I hopped down and walked for a short distance. The sun shone down on my upturned face; it was nice to feel the warmth after having been waterlogged since my arrival to this time. My freckles, I knew, would pop out with vigor, but I cared not. Harrow had liked those spots of imperfection in his world of exquisitely coiffed, beautiful women. My big nose, freckles, and impertinent attitude had been my selling points to a human man who was unconventional, to say the least.
In a short while, the men began to return; only one, a private named Jones, had found a possible crossing place. As I listened to him discuss the plan of an alternate route with Andrews, Kipp and Elani returned, their tongues hanging out.
"The water looks pretty fast, no matter where we looked," Kipp announced, pausing to shake, his burnished coat darkened with water from the creek. Obviously he'd tested the currents in the creek.
I hoped the crossing was favorable and knew Andrews wouldn't make an attempt unless he thought the horses could manage. Kipp and Elani found a place a short distance upstream where a large tree had fallen across the stream, creating a natural bridge. They both assured me they would be careful and were off in a flash. By the time we got to the proposed crossing spot, Kipp and Elani were waiting on the other side, their tails wagging. The sun stayed true overhead, its rays filtering down through the heavy canopy of leaves. One shaft of light outlined Kipp, who stood with his head up, eyes fixed on me.
Half of the men went first, letting their horses find secure footing on the creek bed. The water came to the animals' bellies, but the horses, seasoned campaigners, didn't seem to mind. Andrews decided to lighten the load in the buggy, to lessen the chance the wheels might become stuck in the creek sediment. So, he mounted his horse and snapped a lead on my horse, which was dutifully pulling the buggy.
I still, to this day, don't recall exactly what happened. We were traveling along quite nicely when my horse decided, literally in midstream, that he cared not for rushing water that tickled the underside of his tummy. He began to bob his dark head up and down, ears flattened to his head. I couldn't see his face, but could hear him snorting in fear. No matter what Andrews did, the horse would not budge. Kipp told me later that a large piece of debris from a tree hit the side of the buggy, causing it to suddenly tip. I was unprepared for such and, with a cry, toppled into the river. I am actually a competent swimmer but immediately realized that the force of the water combined with the weight of my dress, which became sodden and heavy, was hampering me, and I could not use my legs at all for propulsion since they became entangled in the fabric. Fear gripped me as I struggled to keep my head above the surging water; I bobbed downstream like a helpless top. The sounds of the men crying out to me reached my ears, in and out, as I would go underwater, only to resurface, coughing and sputtering. I knew they would try and reach me; the question was would I last long enough?
"I'm coming!" Kipp called out.
"Don't, Kipp!" I shouted back at him.
But in my mind, I could see it unfold from my ever present vantage point in the back of his head. Without hesitation, he took a running start and leapt at least fifteen feet from the creek edge before landing in the water, roughly parallel to my erratic and uncontrolled course. He began paddling frantically, trying to reach me as well as keep his own head above water. In less than a minute, he was next to me, pushing up against my exhausted body. I felt I would go under at any second; the dress was pulling me down to my grave.
"Put your arm over my back!" Kipp commanded. The sound of Elani, barking hysterically, filled the air in echoes distorted by the rushing water.
"Save yourself!" I cried. "Leave me!"
"Never. If you go, I go with you, Petra. Always." Kipp shoved up hard against me, and I threw my numb arm over his broad back.
I think sometimes amazing feats occur simply because we know we cannot fail. It happens with humans and apparently with symbionts. Kipp knew failure was not an option, and somehow he managed to tow me towards shore, only releasing me when my feet touched earth. The men, of course, were there to help me
out of the water, and an amazed Andrews made certain Kipp was okay, too, as I sat, breathing heavily, my face covered by my dark hair which hung in damp tendrils.
"That was amazing, Miss Sam!" he said, staring at Kipp. "That's quite some dog you've got there."
I looked at Kipp and began to cry, almost uncontrollably. The men hovered uncomfortably, not sure how to deal with a weeping woman. They would have been amazed to discover the true reason I was crying. My love for Kipp had overwhelmed me; once again my partner had saved my life and his devotion to me, sometimes not deserved on my part, was beyond my capacity for words. Kipp sat close, quiet, his mind closed to me. He allowed me just to hold him close, his massive muzzle resting on my shoulder.
Chapter 23
Once again, I was a totally wet, muddy mess. And here I was, almost to Atlanta, riding in the buggy, with Andrews behind the reins. Staring at the back of the head of my horse, which was bobbing along in rhythm with his steps, I wondered if he felt any remorse over my condition. If he'd just gotten clear of the creek, I'd be dry and presentable. As it were, I looked like a drowned swamp rat. My dress was torn in the melee, one sleeve hanging by a thread. My underwear had crawled up and I tried, discretely, to shift on the hard seat of the buggy, to dislodge a wedgie that threatened to make me start to cry again. The horse suddenly shook his head, harness bits jangling, as if he was responding to my accusatory thoughts with a little sassy reply of his own.
"When we get to Atlanta," Andrews was saying, "the men will go to a hotel." He paused, and looked at me, his face reddening. The guilt he felt over what had happened was immense, and he was struggling with a way to repair the damage. "I'm gonna take you to my mama's house where she can help you get cleaned up and all," he said, delicately not mentioning all the layers and steps a lady might require for decent presentation.
I started to argue, but Kipp and Elani talked me out of it. All of us needed a good night of rest. I, in my current condition, would not be able to convince anyone of my sincerity or appear remotely as a respectable woman should in that day and age. Wearily, I nodded my head. Two hours later, Andrews pulled the buggy to a stop in front of a neat, brown brick dwelling that was located on a street lined with similar middle class homes. There was a tiny garden out front filled with spring flowers, most notable, yearly roses that grew in tight bunches, spilling over the white wooden fence and winding up an ornate iron trellis. The smell of the roses overflowed out into the street, mixing with the cloying, earthy odors of horses, manure and sweat that made up a busy thoroughfare. Honey bees hovered over the flowers, darting in and out as they went about their gathering of nectar. Butterflies, too, flew in unrehearsed patterns, lacking the organized work ethic of the bees, their colors flashing in competition with the flowers.
The sun was reaching the western horizon and soon would dip below visibility, ushering in twilight. The bees would go home, as would the butterflies. The martins circling above would likewise seek safety, leaving only the night creatures, such as bats and owls, to begin to hunt. I'd always liked this time of day, just as I enjoyed sunrise. Dusk, as opposed to daybreak, seemed to be a moment when the earth held its breath, just for a second, before breathing a deep sigh of relief. There was something sobering and grounding about the earth's way of slowing down and reminding us of our need to regenerate.
Andrews helped me down while being mindful of my left shoulder which had become wrenched during my water adventure. Gritting my teeth, I smiled, not wanting to complain. But maybe some liniment would help.
"My mama has some liniment that really will help your sore shoulder," Andrews opined, startling me by reading my thoughts.
His mother was a short woman, comfortably round, perhaps in her late forties. Charles, my dutiful Lieutenant Andrews, was her baby; tears glistened in her eyes as she embraced him on the front porch. She darted a glance at me and immediately nabbed polite control over her startled expression at my appearance.
"I'm Belle Andrews," she announced with her soft southern drawl as she lifted up a flour sprinkled apron to dry her hands.
"Mama, may I present Miss Samantha Keaton," Andrews said, with a slight bow and a serious voice. "I was accompanying Miss Sam here to Atlanta on the orders of the Colonel. We had a little accident north of town, and Miss Sam fell off in the water and hurt her shoulder." Andrews gestured to my left arm.
"Why, bless your heart, honey!" Belle exclaimed, her brows drawing together in worry. "You come on in here, and I'll get you a hot bath and find you something to wear." I followed her thoughts and recognized she would bring me clothing that had been left when her daughter married and moved to Valdosta.
"And, Mama, these are Miss Sam's dogs. Kipp saved her life by jumping in after her and pulling her to the edge of the water." Andrews sounded as if he was a proud father pointing out the athletic accomplishments of a son who ran the fastest or threw the farthest.
Belle Andrews stared at the two lupines, who did their best to look submissive and happy. They were about as much as mess as was I, but her kind heart won out over conventional sensibilities. Buddy, the house dog, had waggled his portly, short legged body out to the porch and was trying to engage the lupines, who responded in kind, leaving the poor dog completely confused.
"Charlie, you get to heating some water and take the doggies on the back porch and clean them up. Then, bring them on in to dry in front of the stove," she said, referencing the wood burning stove in the kitchen. Smiling, she looked at me. "I'll take Miss Sam to her room while I get the hip bath ready."
As always, I didn't like to be separated from my companions, but we were just talking about a temporary interval and a wall separating us. Kipp, knowing how much my shoulder was throbbing, nodded his head.
"It's good, Petra. Get a bath, wash your hair, and you'll feel better. We will, too, when we get our hair done," he concluded, trying to sound humorous.
I've had some physically pleasurable experiences, but that hot bath with Belle pouring warm water over my head while she scrubbed my hair with some lavender scented soap was a pinnacle in terms of happy, contented moments. After I was clean, she handed me a thick towel for drying, while she rubbed some sort of lotion into my shoulder. In about thirty seconds, it began to burn fiercely, and I felt my eyes water from the pungent smell. I didn't even bother to look at the white bottle and try to read the ingredients. The stuff probably contained turpentine or something equally toxic to flesh. I believe that the chemist who concocted it decided that one's mind would be diverted off of an organic pain by the fiery heat of the liquid which soaked into my skin like hot oil from a deep fryer.
"Are you hungry, baby?" Belle asked. Her forehead was wrinkled up in concern for me. I'd told her the story of Peter, and she was aggressively on my side.
"No, ma'am," I answered, keeping my best manners intact.
I followed her to the kitchen, wrapped up completely in a pretty, floral dressing gown that covered me from neck to feet. To my delight, the two lupines were drying in front of the wood burning stove, tails thumping at my entrance. A metal tray of golden biscuits lay on a table while a large, iron pot of what seemed to be beef stew sat warming on the stove top. I thought Kipp's eyes were gonna bug out of his big head.
Charlie, noticing the attentiveness of the lupines, retrieved a couple of large bowls and with the nodding approval of his mother, broke a couple of biscuits into each bowl and ladled large portions of the stew on top. The lupines wagged their tails faster and faster as he placed the bowls on the floor. It might have been a new record because both Kipp and Elani were finished in less than sixty seconds.
"Oh, Petra, you need to get in on this," Kipp said, breathing heavily in between bites.
I realized Mrs. Andrews would not let me sit quietly with no food–such behavior was not in her genetic makeup—so I agreed to have a couple of buttered biscuits, on top of which she poured some dark, thick syrup that was just shy of qualifying as blackstrap molasses.
The spare room was one w
here her two daughters had slept. The double bed that was almost too high off the ground for a comfortable ascent had been left neatly made up as if it was expecting a guest any moment. I noted that a couple of dolls, reminders of her daughters' childhoods, were perched on little chairs in a far corner. It was a sentimental touch that revealed Mrs. Andrews' character; however, those immobile porcelain faces staring at me from across the room left me feeling uneasy. My hostess saw me safely to my bed and turned down the oil lantern on a bedside table as she left the room. Kipp and Elani, who by then were clean and dry, carefully climbed up, making certain their toenails didn't rip or pull the fabric of the sheets. As much as possible, we wanted to not incommode Mrs. Andrews, who had revived us. Yes, I felt I could journey forward.
"Petra, I was terrified when you fell into the water," Elani said, her head across my abdomen; Kipp's stretched heavily across my chest, as usual.
"Me, too," I said, moving my hand to thread my fingers through her fur. At the base, I could still feel a tiny bit of dampness, but only in spots. If she'd been a cat, she might have purred in response to my caress. The liniment on my shoulder must have contained a second, unexpected level of fire, because the heat flared again, and I squirmed against the bedding, trying to diminish the burn.
"I don't think I could be as brave as Kipp," she added, her voice sounding a little plaintive in the back of my mind.
"But you are," Kipp remarked, turning slightly to look at her, "You were ready to jump in the box car with Peter, despite the danger. The notion of saving yourself never entered your mind."
"I hadn't thought of it like that," she answered. After a moment, she sighed deeply, the action making her entire body tremble.
It was quiet in the room unlike the modern day when televisions, radios and the like are constantly stimulating the senses what seems to be 24/7. The bedroom was on the back of the house, and only occasionally could I hear some noise from the street, but it was muffled and arrived as a gentle murmur. I got another whiff of lavender, which probably came from the sheets as well as my hair. The fragrant herb acted as a soporific, and between that scent and the syrupy biscuits in my stomach, sleep came with ease. I found I wasn't worried about the following day and whether or not we could find Peter. It was just nice to rest for a bit.
The Great Locomotive Chase, 1862 Page 24