Alien Species Intervention

by J. K. Accinni

  Completing the beating of the rug, she’d carried it back into the cabin. As she gathered up another rug for the woodpile, she’d heard a knock at the door. Opening it, she’d stepped out to the stoop to see a trapper holding up a bloodied, wriggling snow rabbit. The rabbit’s legs were horribly broken, evidence of a cruel steel trap. The trapper had offered the rabbit in exchange for some dinner and lodging in her brand new barn.

  Before she could respond, she’d felt the familiar pressure accompanied by the smell of sulfur. Glancing worriedly to the woodpile behind the trapper’s back, she saw Baby’s glorious tail at attention and the strange frightening membrane protruding. Before the trapper could question the sudden strange smell, his crippled rabbit had jumped from his arms and quickly scampered down the road. Netty had quickly shooed the trapper away with a gift of a golden raspberry pie.

  As soon as she’d seen him off down the road, she’d gathered Baby up in her overcoat and run to the cabin, quickly bolting it from the inside, her heart beating uncontrollably. She’d shaken her head at Baby. How to explain the danger and risk if Baby were not more careful displaying his more flamboyant talents?

  Her mind had flashed with rainbows and whispers. “I am Elder now, Sister. Such is my imperative.” Elder? Has Baby gotten old?

  “Baby, how old are you? Where are your parents, your mommy and daddy?”

  “No parents, only Brothers and Sisters. I do not know old. I will be always.”

  Baby’s cryptic comments had only befuddled her. No matter how she asked, she couldn’t get clarification. So, begging Baby to be more aware, she’d dropped the subject. She needed to get to the barn to milk the cows after collecting them from the fields.

  Netty’s new pride and joy was her fledgling herd of Jerseys. If four could be considered a herd. She had great hopes for spring calving. She would love to add butter, cheese and milk to her deliveries.

  Baby was an unexpected help at harvest time, but she could sure use some extra hands. It was clear she was spreading herself thin. Netty asked Baby to remain in the cabin while she milked the cows.

  She reached for her boots and overcoat. Bending down to put on the boots, she winced, feeling her tailbone ache as if it was badly bruised. Feels a bit worse, she thought, having first noticed the pain about a week ago. Straightening up, she buttoned her overcoat and prepared to tramp through the snow along the winding path that the herd had created by moving back and forth from the field to the barn.

  The cold felt particularly bitter. Netty thought she should have brought the herd in earlier, but she’d dawdled, trying to conserve the herd’s hay, stored safely in the new barn. The more they grazed under the snow, the longer the hay would last. As the little herd spotted her, they came running. They knew her appearance meant they were going back to their warm barn to be milked.

  As they ran ahead, Netty noticed a flicker of light through the trees. Was someone camping on her property? She didn’t mind as long as they passed through quickly. She had to wonder if they were gypsies. Now that the farm was becoming prosperous, she was bound to become a target for petty theft. Glancing back at the herd, she saw they’d disappeared from sight, well on their way back to the barn. Oh well, she thought. I better check this out.

  She absently regretted not bringing her Winchester with her. Shrugging to herself, she carefully made her way through four-foot snowdrifts to the woods on the other side of the field. Climbing the split-rail fence, she listened for voices, trying to get an idea of what she was up against. She found the silence ominous.

  Creeping ever so slowly, she got nearer and nearer until she realized the light was not from a fire, but a small kerosene lantern sitting on a rock. A horse snorted at her approach: very skittish, very skinny.

  As Netty approached the remains of a fire, she kneeled down to feel the burnt embers: cold. And very wet. She looked up and saw a fir tree standing over the fire. Who would be so foolish as to build a fire under a snow-laden tree?

  Standing, she silently surveyed the clearing, her eyes coming to rest on a large, dark lump in the snow. Cautiously, she approached the mound. She startled, suppressing a scream as the lump moved. It emitted a hack and a cough. It was a man; what appeared to be a solitary man. She could handle that. Gently, she poked him with her foot.

  “Hello there, sir.” Receiving no reply, she wondered if he was injured. Kneeling down, she took his arm and gently rolled him over. He was sick, that was for sure. She could see the fever: his cheeks flushed, his body shaking with chills, ice coating his dark mustache and beard. He appeared to be youngish, but all further examination would have to wait. If she left him out here, she doubted he and his horse would make it. Well, she thought, if I could cure little creatures as a child, why not a big one, now that I am a grown woman?

  Netty rose and slowly crept over to the mare. “Easy, girl, easy.” She slowly held out her hand displaying a piece of carrot from her overcoat, a cache she kept stored in her pockets for the cows. The mare crept forward and greedily snatched the carrot. Netty released her lead rope from the branch it was hitched to.

  She looked around for the mare’s tack, spotting her blanket but no saddle. How can that be? Locating the mare’s bridle was not easy either. For some reason, it lay in the stranger’s hands. Perhaps he tried to leave the woods before he got sick, she thought.

  She noticed the absence of a firearm. Who is this man? He surely wasn’t prepared to survive. Walking the mare over to the stranger, she ordered her to stay. Pulling the stranger into a sitting position, she grasped his hands and tried to pull him up to a standing position. She realized this wasn’t going to be easy. She had to make him stand so she could get him over the saddle blanket. She could then lead his mare to the cow path and back to her cabin.

  Fighting gamely, she finally got him upright, but couldn’t get the mare to hold still long enough to lean him against her side and boost him up. Once in his delirium he muttered the name Maggie. That must be his wife, she thought. She must be very worried. Netty was determined that Maggie would get her husband back in good condition. The thought of her being party to making another woman a widow upset her. Especially a woman as young as Maggie must be.

  Continuing her struggle, Netty soon realized she needed help. The closest farm was five miles away. She didn’t think the stranger would survive being exposed to the elements for the amount of time it would take her to bring back assistance. She decided to risk bringing Baby back to help her. It was the only way.

  By now, Netty was sweating with exertion, her clothes soaking wet. She worried about getting sick herself, something she couldn’t afford. Netty let her memory wander as she hurried down the cow path to the cabin. It was very odd, but she couldn’t recall having had so much as a sniffle since arriving at the farm. She’d frequently caught all manner of illnesses in the last decade. Being big and fat certainly hadn’t helped. Back then, even her heart had consistently had palpitations. Funny how she’d only just realized that the palpitations had stopped. It must be because she’d lost so much weight. She recognized that her muscles felt like rocks. That is what constant work does to you, she thought proudly as she reached the barn where the cows waited to be let inside.

  Bursting into the cabin, she called out to Baby.

  “Sister upset?” her mind queried.

  Grabbing one of her own sweaters, she quickly wrapped Baby up, explaining what she needed.

  “A Brother in the woods.” The whisper sounded curious. Grabbing Baby’s hand, she opened the cabin door. Baby stopped, disengaged himself from the sweater and slipped his tiny golden hand back into hers, whispering in her mind.

  “Come, Sister.”

  Mystified, Netty realized she’d never seen Baby outside in the snow for long. She accepted the fact that he didn’t feel the cold in quite the same way as she did. But it was night now, and freezing. Having no time left to ponder on the latest Baby surprise, she swept them over to the barn where the herd still waited. She let them in, sec
uring the door. They’d have to help themselves to the hay tonight. And milking would come much later than usual.

  Netty and Baby hurried back to the field, searching for the stranger. He was right where Netty had left him, his mare nuzzling his face. Netty looked at Baby expectantly. Nothing happened. She then took Baby’s glorious tail and held it up in the air; still nothing. Why does Baby not fix him? Looking into Baby’s swirling eyes for an answer, she felt pressure in her mind as the golden aura flashed and the whisper shouted.

  “It is forbidden.”

  Ouch. Netty felt shock and frustration, rubbing her forehead. Since when does a whisper shout? Thinking Baby must have his reasons, she decided she wouldn’t question why. That question would have to wait for a more opportune time. She would just care for the stranger the old fashioned way.

  This time, pulling him up on his feet was easier with Baby’s help. Baby held the mare’s reins as Netty soothed her and levered the stranger up across the saddle blanket. They slowly worked their way through the snow back to the cabin.

  Arriving safely, Netty slipped the stranger from the saddle blanket, asking Baby to take the mare to the barn and bed her down with the herd, making sure he fed and watered them all. That was a big responsibility for Baby as Netty had never asked him to do anything on his own without her being nearby. Glancing back toward the barn, she saw little Baby shuffling and bobbing along as he led the huge mare by her reins to the barn. What a sight, thought Netty, her heart swelling with laughter and affection.

  Grasping the stranger under his arms, she yanked him into the cabin a few inches at a time. Pulling him over to Baby’s straw mat, she laid him down carefully, noting the ice and snow were melting from his face. A nice face, she thought in passing.

  Pulling off his overcoat and shirt, she decided to remove everything. Quickly she took a towel and rubbed him down. His body trembled with chills. She modestly toweled around his manhood as Baby startled her, peering around her skirt.

  “Wet Brother on my bed, Sister,” her mind whispered.

  “Yes, Baby, this man is very sick. You must heal him. We can then send him home to his wife who misses him and is probably very worried.” No whisper came to her head.

  She covered the stranger with a blanket and put a pot on the fire to start a healing broth. While the broth simmered, she went to the barn to check on the livestock and do the milking.

  Entering the cabin after her chores, she quickly poured the fragrant broth into a bowl for the stranger. While it cooled, she took stock. He had no firearm, no money (she’d thoroughly inventoried his belongings) and few of the supplies that would normally be necessary to survive in this weather. She also discovered a huge swelling over his right ear. As she undressed him, she discovered that his left side sported a huge black and blue mark which she knew would be tender to the touch. She began to wonder if he’d been bushwhacked and robbed. If so, the fact that he lived showed he was well-favored by Lady Luck. Usually they would just shoot their victims and take everything.

  Noticing the broth was now cool, she carefully tried to spoon it into the man’s mouth. It was a toss-up as to what received the most: the man’s mouth or his neck. But his shivering seemed to have abated. She put the bowl aside, realizing he might be in better condition than she’d at first thought.

  Covering the man tightly, she went for another blanket, hearing him murmur, “Maggie,” as she tucked him in.

  As she watched him dozing more fitfully, she realized she must now take the time to pin down Baby. Tired of putting it off for so long, she prepared to formulate the questions. The appearance of the stranger had merely exacerbated her need to know. She glanced at Baby, who made himself comfortable on a rug in front of the fire, his mysterious tail glinting as it lay wrapped around his chubby abdomen. Sitting down next to him, she took a deep breath and asked, “Baby, where do you come from?”

  “Oolaha.” The whisper was casual.

  “Oolaha, what is Oolaha? Is that a name? The town near your woods?”

  “I do not understand, Sister,” the whispered aura stated.

  “I asked you where you came from. Where did your family live?”

  “Oolaha,” the whisper repeated.

  Netty, feeling frustrated, changed the subject. Taking Baby’s hands in hers, she looked directly into his amazing eyes. “Why do you not want to heal him?”

  Softly, hesitantly, the whisper said, “It is forbidden.”

  “Who has forbidden it?”

  “The Elders, the Womb.”

  “But you told me you were an Elder, Baby. And you healed me.”

  “A grave error, Sister.” The aura of golden colors in her mind flashed intermittently.

  “A mistake, Baby? I am a mistake?”

  “No, no,” the whisper protested. “Sister is my Sister! Sister will be my Sister forever. Just Baby and Sister, forever and forever and forever and forever and forever and forever,” the whisper sang, golden colors so bright her mind flinched.

  “Shush. There, there, Baby, it will be fine.” Netty could not follow what Baby had said, but it had clearly upset him. So she gave up. Baby filled her new life with such happiness, and she filled her own life with such hard satisfying work that she decided the mystery could wait. Checking on the stranger one last time, she scooped Baby into her arms and wearily went off to bed. As her eyes shut, she felt Baby cuddle up to her tummy, as always. Closing her eyes, her last thought echoed with praise and thanks to God for gifting her with such a precious creature: her confusing, beautiful Baby.

  The next morning, Netty rose quickly, instructing Baby to stay in the bedroom for today, trying to impress upon him the necessity for secrecy. She quickly lit the fireplace and started a kettle for hot water. Checking on the stranger, she saw he was still sleeping. Quietly, she tiptoed back to her bedroom to change. As she washed, she looked at herself in the mirror and indulged in a little daydreaming.

  The stranger’s handsomeness had woken some mighty strange feelings within her, even in his present condition. She realized he was probably married, but wondered how attractive a man might find her. Oh, silly, she thought. Laughing to herself, she dipped her washcloth in the water, wringing it out. She reached down to scrub her bottom as she wondered what to make for lunch.

  “Ow, my gosh.” Trembling, she reached behind her and felt something emerging from her tailbone. It was a lump the size of an apple. Fearfully, she pressed down on it, expecting it to burst. No, it felt solid but spongy and swollen. She felt some mild pain but, with the help of a hand mirror, she didn’t see any redness. Nervously, she worried about getting sick. She just couldn’t afford it; so much had to be done on the farm, even in winter. Only a minor miracle had helped her manage to accomplish this much on her own. Ruefully, she realized her good health might fail her, putting an end to her good fortune.

  Her mind now preoccupied, she said goodbye to Baby with a hug and returned to the other room to discover the stranger conscious and beginning to move. Turning his head toward the noise of her bedroom door shutting, he stared at her.

  “Hello. Who are you? Where am I?”

  Netty stood speechless as the stranger’s unwavering gaze invited an explanation. His eyes shot guileless ice-blue beacons at her, creating an unexpected moment of vulnerable intimacy. Transfixed and a bit flustered, she brought a chair to the straw bed and sat down before him.

  “My name is Netty Doyle. I found you in my field. You were unconscious and feverish so I brought you and your mare to my cabin. Your mare is in my barn. She is safe and well fed.” Netty shifted uncomfortably in her chair, the stranger’s gaze causing her to fidget. “I found very little at your camp site. Perhaps you could tell me who you are?”

  The stranger struggled to sit up. Blushing beet red, he turned to her. “Where are my clothes, madam?”

  Netty blanched, bounding to the other side of the fireplace to remove them from the rope line where she hung the laundry in the winter. Apologizing, she returned to the
stranger and set his clothes next to him on the bed. She dropped her eyes before addressing him again.

  “Who are you, sir?”

  The stranger smiled, a lazy grin belying the formal tone of his voice. “Forgive me, Mrs. Doyle, my manners are not normally so poor. I must thank you for rescuing me. My name is Wil. Wil Capaccino. My family hails from Boontown in Norris County.”

  Netty cringed visibly at the mention of Norris County. Mr. Capaccino seemed not to recognize her name. Doyle was a common Irish name, but Robert was well known throughout the county. With visible relief, she noticed Mr. Capaccino’s eyelids sinking. Within minutes, his soft snores resounded through the cabin.

  The morning passed quickly with Mr. Capaccino waking periodically to take some broth before falling back asleep. Netty itched to hear more from her accidental guest. She could tell from the cut of his clothes and the calluses on his strong hands that his living was forged by hard work. The manner of his speech showed him to be educated, but of the country classes. Just like her. It somehow made her feel more comfortable. She was not a huge judge of character, but she sensed an honesty and sweetness in him.

  Netty wondered how long it would take him to gain his strength. By the looks of his health, she thought he’d be up and on his way in a few days. Some of her gratifying meals were bound to help.

  Netty’s main concern centered around Baby. If he must stay cooped up in her bedroom for so long, he’d surely be getting hungry. He needed to get outside to eat. Thinking of Baby eating made her remember dinner. She would make her favorite bean stew with fresh butter milk biscuits. And, if they had enough flour left, she’d make an apple cobbler, just the way her mama had. After all, they didn’t have company for dinner very often. Well, never, actually. Smiling, she bustled around the kitchen until the sound of Mr. Capaccino’s voice drew her to his bedside.