Charles Andrews picked me up out front in the buggy; my horse looked rested, bobbing his head energetically and even rolling his eyes a little to demonstrate he was back in the game. I politely but firmly declined Belle's offer of hoops and corsets but did allow for a couple of really full, stiff petticoats just to mollify her sensibilities. Charles appeared content from a night spent in his own bed and consuming his mother's superlative cooking; he assumed an officious pose as if he pretended that he'd not had a "mama" the night before who doted upon him and insisted he eat a second helping of stew and biscuits because he was looking "poorly". Overnight, he reverted to military man. Atlanta was not that large a town, so it only took a few minutes to find the Fulton County Jail, which was the logical location of Peter.
The raiders would not arrive in Atlanta for some weeks after being held prisoner elsewhere in horrible, humiliating conditions. I did recall reading about their incarceration, and the inhumane treatment was not warranted, no matter how seriously the South took assaults on her railroads. As we approached the jail, I gazed up at the neat, two story building built in a square, with ornamentation that obviously was designed to give it a regal, intimidating appearance. Well, I suppose jails and prisons aren't supposed to look particularly inviting. From Kipp's studies, we knew the prisoners were held on the second floor while the jailer and his family lived on the first floor. A crowded omnibus passed us, drawn by a couple of large draft horses who looked bored with the business of pulling people around all day long. It was clear that they would have preferred trotting across a green field where the tall grass swept past their knees and the fluff from dandelions drifted up to tickle their broad noses.
"It's heading to the Car Shed," Andrews remarked, nodding at the omnibus.
For the first time, I realized the irony that I was being accompanied by a man named Andrews, when another man named Andrews–the leader of the raiders—had been captured and would be brought to Atlanta, hanged–rather unsuccessfully, since he really strangled to death–and buried in an unmarked grave. It would have been interesting to meet James Andrews, a man of courage and conviction, but that was not to be. Of course, nothing could prevent me from one day returning to meet him before the entire train adventure unfolded, but I knew I wouldn't. Such self-indulgent behavior could lead to unhappy obsessions with humans, and there was no good solution to that problem except to avoid it in the first place.
Charles secured the horse while I waited for his courteous hand, knowing he'd be horrified if I catapulted from the buggy on my own. The lupines hopped down to the ground, which was nice and dry for a change. We'd only left Atlanta a few days ago when the rain was unceasing and the mud was pilling up in thick, rolled banks alongside the well travelled roads. Charles walked beside me; his gait was stiff and formal, telling me that he was nervous.
"He's worried if this isn't simple and easy that it will cause him conflict with Duncan. He has orders to return to his camp in Rome immediately upon getting you safely to your destination." Kipp chimed in.
We entered the front of the building; the inside was surprising cool and ample light filtered through the first floor windows. A man sat behind a desk; he had a copy of the Atlanta Intelligencer spread out on the scarred wood of the desk, which looked as if someone had taken to carving on the surface to offset boredom. It didn't require a talented telepath to immediately discern that the man, who was assigned as a screener of potential visitors, was unhappy in his vocation and used the opportunity to demonstrate his power and control by maliciously applying the rules.
"Yeah?" he asked, staring up at us with blood shot blue eyes. He'd been out carousing too late the previous night, only to tumble into his bed at four in the morning.
Andrew's neck began to redden in embarrassment over the man's rudeness to me as well as his insolent gaze. He'd not bother to stand, nod his head or even, might I say, kiss my foot. Of course, I was impervious to such slights and almost yawned. If this was the jailer's best, then he had just proved himself to be a rank amateur.
"We're here with a letter from Colonel Duncan who is in charge of our company training outside of Rome," Andrews began. "This young woman's brother was brought here in error, and this letter begs for an accommodation to release him."
"And his name?" The man still sat as if his butt was glued to the chair.
"Peter Keaton," I replied. I knew that using my feminine wiles would not work with this man, so I didn't try any tactics to gain his sympathy.
"Yeah, he's here, but he can't be released unless by the order of General Thorpe," the man said as he fingered the edges of the newspaper. He obviously was keen to continue reading and be done with our intrusion.
"Shall I convince him?" Kipp asked, chomping at the bit to implant a thought.
At that minute, several men dressed in military uniforms descended the stairs, nodding at us as they passed. Andrews glanced at the castle guard, raising his eyebrows.
"We have a number of military prisoners here," the door man remarked, "and General Thorpe is using our jail as a temporary holding place. He's deployed several guards to stay here around the clock since there have been rumors of these men's confederates planning to break them out of here." He shrugged his shoulders. "They're supposed to be on our side but are spies and deserters all. They'll be hanged," he said, shrugging his shoulders as if the matter was not worthy of his attention.
"But I have a letter from Colonel Duncan..." I began.
"And you can show me a letter from the Lord Almighty, but you'll still have to wait for General Thorpe," he responded. "He'll be here tomorrow." The man knew the disrespectful reference to a deity would really rile Andrews, which it did.
Since there was a number of guards coming and going, any intervention by Kipp immediately became complicated. He could implant a thought in one mind, but to try and do so in several minds and have all of them arrive at the same conclusion simultaneously would be almost impossible.
"Leave it, Kipp," I said to my partner. He'd moved next to me and was staring at the man behind the desk in his most intimidating manner. "And quit staring at him. He already doesn't like us."
"May I see my brother?" I asked.
The man rolled his eyes up in his head but after a minute pursed his lips and gave a shrill whistle. He was obviously too lazy to stand. A young man in a neat, clean uniform descended the stairs from the second floor. He was instructed to take me upstairs; Charles Andrews, not thinking it was appropriate for a lady to be ambling around a jail full of criminals, walked with me while Kipp and Elani followed behind.
The second floor was dim and light only came from small, box like apertures sunk in thick wooden planks high up along the walls. The smell of anxiety, fear, and unwashed bodies assaulted my nose and almost caused my eyes to burn. In a place such as that, open buckets became latrines as men were dehumanized and broken down to the most base level. The first cell to my right was home to about five men; the same was true for the one across from it. As we walked down the hallway that spliced the second floor, the men's heads went up with interest at our odd party but they remained silent. At the far end of the hallway, there were two more large cells. In the one on my left side, I saw a forlorn figure sitting on a metal frame, his head cradled in his hands. It was Peter! He'd been so miserable and preoccupied that he was not focused on his telepathy, and our arrival startled him; he jumped to his feet, his eyes opening wide at the sound of my voice. Elani barked with joy and dashed to the bars to lick his hands. There were numerous soldiers in the hallway, all armed. The men being held were obviously important and worthy of such protection. The guards saw I was with a military man and didn't rush to keep me from Peter.
"Oh, Petra, I didn't know if you could ever find me!" Peter exclaimed, forgetting in his surprise to call me Sam. "I'm so sorry I've put you through this." His dark eyes looked down to meet Elani's; she stared back, her tail wagging frantically. There was no time for regrets or recriminations.
"Peter, I'll te
ll you all about it one day, but right now we have to focus on getting you free. I have a letter from a Colonel Duncan who is asking for your release, and per the jailer, we are waiting on General Thorpe to arrive tomorrow and make disposition on cases." As I spoke I had an idea, one which gained Kipp's immediate approval.
"I'm going to the Car Shed and look for Murphy, the man who helped us get this far," I said. "If there is any way possible, I'll bring him back for the hearing tomorrow." My thought was that Murphy was a man of solid reputation, and that it wouldn't hurt things a bit to have his endorsement of facts since we'd ridden the pole car together and got to know one another. "Can I bring you anything?" I asked, looking carefully at Peter. He hadn't been deprived long enough to really feel it, but I knew the food must be horrendous. He had a large bruise on the left side of his face as well as a blackened right eye. Obviously, his captors had enjoyed roughing him up a little.
"No. If you bring decent food, it'll get stolen from me. I'm okay for another day or two, so let's hope I get free tomorrow." He looked dejected; his mop of dark hair fell lank across his forehead. I found I missed the cocky little sweep of bangs and was surprised to acknowledge my feelings of affection for him. Peter had become like a goofy, younger brother to me.
As we left the jail, I was monitoring Charles Andrews' thoughts and knew he was torn between doing the chivalrous thing and remaining with me or returning to Rome with his men as ordered. It was the decent thing to cut him free, and I was never concerned to be on my own, just me and Kipp.
"Charles," I began, as we paused under the shade of an enormous oak; its branches crowded a wooden sidewalk. "I can handle this situation, and I know you need to return to Rome. You are under no further obligation to me."
We'd said goodbyes to his mother that morning, and I had money for a hotel, thanks to the money laden collars that both lupines wore. The carriage and horse were mine, so I had transportation around town as needed. With gratitude, I watched the young man make his way towards the hotel where his men were staying. They'd probably all be gone within the hour.
"I really do wonder what happened to him and Belle?" Elani mused. "They were so kind to us."
"Atlanta will burn, and Belle will be forced to become a refugee," I replied. It was a fact, and we could be sentimental about the woman who'd cared for us like we were her own or accept the harsh fact that history was just that. Looking down at Kipp, I recalled the gentle tribe of prehistoric people with whom I'd lived when I met Kipp. There was no doubt in my mind that none of them survived their journey when they traveled away from their homeland. I recall the despair I felt as I watched their party make its way south; they were hopeful for a new life, but I knew they were headed towards disaster, and there was nothing I could do to save them. Having the knowledge of people's futures gives us time travelers an unfair and unpleasant advantage, one I don't relish at times.
"Let's go find Murphy," Kipp suggested, eager to prod us from our funks.
Chapter 24
The Car Shed was just as chaotic at noontime as it had been at four in the morning and maybe even a little more so. As I entered, the crowded rush of people hurrying to catch trains, depart trains, and deliver and retrieve merchandise was almost overwhelming. So many thoughts were swirling that I purposely limited my telepathy so as to not feel like I was spinning in a tight circle. A couple of finely dressed women passed, their broad skirts swaying from the rigid cage of hoops; delicate lace shawls covered their shoulders in the manner of current modesty. Unlike my braid which was tied with a ribbon supplied by Belle Andrews, the hair of the women was smoothed and twisted in neat side rolls before being contained primly in the back. A whiff of some sort of pretty, rose based perfume followed their passage. One of them looked back at me and sneered. My hoopless, sassy profile was definitely out of fashion.
"You are a trail blazing renegade," Kipp remarked, nudging his head up under my hand. "I think you need to come back wearing a miniskirt and go go boots."
"Go go boots?" I asked, wondering where on earth he got that fashion suggestion.
"Oh, there was some woman in Durham at the café where we were eating. She was reminiscing with a friend about when she was a teenager and got her first pair of white go go boots." Kipp looked up at me. "You know, kind of short boots, mid calf, that were all the rage in the sixties."
"Thank you, Mr. Professor. I lived though the sixties and had a pair, complete with pom poms hanging off the zipper." I ruffled his fur.
"Look!" Elani said, drawing our attention from silly chit chat.
On a far siding, the General stood, magnificent, beautiful and looking none the worse for wear. A familiar figure paced along next to her, stooping to inspect some piece of machinery associated with the left rear driving wheel. It was William Fuller! As I approached, he stood, turned, and a look of surprise crossed his face as he recognized our little party.
"Miss Keaton," he greeted me, removing his slouch hat. A rare smile crossed his usually stern and stoic features. As if on second thought after he allowed me that one familiarity, he compressed his lips tightly together. Fuller's black hair was combed straight back from a receding hairline to lightly brush the top of his collar. He was not dressed as he had before in his conductor's garb, but wore dungarees and a work shirt that was dotted with spots of oil and grease. "Just doing a final check on her," Fuller said, pointing at the engine. "She goes back on line tomorrow morning, bright and early." After a pause, he said, "I recognized your determined nature and knew you'd pursue your brother like a hound after a rabbit."
"Yes," I replied. "My brother is here in the Fulton County Jail, and I plan on securing his release."
"If anyone can do it, ma'am, I'm sure you can," he replied. His words were a compliment to my doggedness. Fuller could appreciate that quality since he was the man who would gain fame by chasing a stolen locomotive on foot.
"Do you know where Mr. Murphy might be?" I asked, looking around the large station. I'd had the fleeting thought of asking Fuller to help me tomorrow, but if the General was heading out, he'd be aboard and nothing would shake that.
"He's coming in on the Texas later this evening," Fuller replied. "I can get a message to him, ma'am, if you like."
"Yes, please. I'll be staying at Washington Hall," I said. "If you could ask him to meet me there in the lobby, after supper, I'd be grateful."
He agreed, and we left him to his business. I led the way, the lupines trailing carefully behind me. The wooden platforms were very crowded, and the lupines were anxious over having their paws trod upon by careless human feet. We passed a vendor who was selling some kind of meat and vegetable pies—savory innards crammed inside a sealed pastry pocket. Both lupines gave me the look, and I paused to purchase four of the pies, much to the delight of the vendor, an old woman with a creased face and a dowager's hump that consumed most of her upper back.
It was a relief to go outside and feel free of the press of rushing humanity. The hiss of engines, the thick smell of hot grease and oil as well as the occasional unwashed body was overwhelming. Outside, the weather was beautiful. The sky was an unblemished blue, with all semblance of rain having disappeared. The humidity was nonexistent, and I took a deep breath, feeling the inrush of clean, crisp air fill my lungs. Our little symbiont party paused under a tree where a wooden bench rested, a haven for travelers who'd had way too much fellowship within the confines of the oppressive Car Shed.
"You know, just when I think I've eaten the best thing ever, something else comes along," Kipp said, his eyes rolling in pleasure as he bit into the savory meat pie. "On this trip, I've discovered mashed potatoes, grits with lots of butter, fried okra and now this!" Elani nodded her pretty head. "And what have you had?" Kipp asked looking at me. "A glass of buttermilk; the smell of it is still caught in the back of my throat."
"Yeah," I replied, smiling. He was having fun poking at me, so I let him go on and on.
"I do miss French fries and early morning egg bacon and ch
eese biscuits at the Hardees in Durham," he said. "It'll be nice to get home and be in my own bed for a change."
"We are leaving tomorrow," I replied.
"Are you sure?" Elani asked.
"Yes. I will have it no other way. If General Thorpe won't release Peter, we will take him. And I don't care what rules we break to do so." In my mind, I was considering telling Kipp once again to insert a thought in the mind of Thorpe. Plan A would be to do things the up front, noninvasive way. Plan B would involve breaking rules and just getting the job done. I really didn't care which at that point. Neither did the lupines.
"Why does it matter so much that we stay true to the rules?" Elani asked.
"It's too easy to become corrupted," I replied. "And in any case, Kipp's ability to influence human thoughts is a little unique. We found, historically, that that ability existed in our species but seems to have been lost over time." I didn't add that I'd recently found that I could influence dreams. "We are still trying to figure out what to do with that unique skill in the context of our species and how we interface with humanity."
Since we had time to kill, we took our buggy and did a little sightseeing of early Atlanta. It was difficult to imagine this town in terms of what it would eventually become in just a little over a hundred years. For Elani, who was on her first big time shift, it was especially amazing. Late in the day, we made our way to Washington Hall and found the same surly desk clerk that had been there when Peter checked us in days before. As I walked towards the man, flanked by the lupines, I suddenly remembered that the last time he saw me I was dressed as a man; the moment required some quick thinking and a convenient lie. He obviously recognized the lupines... who wouldn't?
The Great Locomotive Chase, 1862 Page 25