My expectations took a nosedive. He must have flunked Sled Pulling 101. Shit. I decided to move forward, so he was behind me. If he knew how to pull, me being in front of him might jog his memory. It was the trainer’s normal position. In front, with him between the sled/cistern and me, I slid my feet back and forth, pretending to walk, and called, “pull, pull,” and then bent to the task.
I strained and felt the line move. Without looking back, I pulled and yelled and pulled. I heard the heavy cover scraping across the edge. The grating sound was beautiful music to my ears. I kept yelling and pulling, so when the cover became lopsided, the heavy side slid over the edge, landed on the sand, and released all pressure from the rope. I hit the dirt lightheaded with success. Ivanhoe ran up and began licking my face.
I fended him off with my elbows and gave him his well-earned praise. I unwound his lead from my waist, replaced it, and unfastened the rope. When Ivanhoe was again tied to a tree, I coiled the rope and returned it to my backpack.
I pulled the flashlight out of my pocket and checked the time. Half past six. I had a few minutes of daylight left. I trudged wearily toward the well. This was the moment of truth. Is she, or isn’t she?
8
“Delivering the Goods”
October 2, Monday, 6:30 P.M.
Ileaned over the edge, making sure my body was not touching any part of the well. I wasn’t sure how strong the sides were and I didn’t want to put any pressure on them until I knew how stable they were. It wouldn’t be any fun if I discovered Amelia was down there, then knocked half the wall in on top of her.
The inside of the well was dark, and at first, even with the flashlight, I saw only algae-coated walls and dark water several feet down. The sun was behind me, but it was still bright enough to make my light’s beam look puny and ineffective. I leaned over and quartered the area. My eyes were slowly adjusting to the dim interior. I sensed movement and turned my light. Two bright green orbs were caught in its beam, and their color was reflected back to me.
“Amelia? Is that Amelia down there?”
I heard a plaintive, “Meow?”
“It is Amelia!” I answered, talking cat talk to assure her I wasn’t the enemy and deliverance was near.
“Amelia, you couldn’t prove your identity to me, you look like a drowned rat! Are you sure you’re Amelia?”
I wanted to keep her looking up, so I knew where she was. Without the reflection of her eyes, I would have trouble finding her again. She was about eight feet below, and the water seemed to be up to her neck. All I could see was a head. I hated to move the light, as she had been down there a lot of hours already, and I didn’t want her to think I was leaving, but I had to get the rope and decide how I was going to get her out.
I kicked the side gingerly with my foot and tried pushing the top rim with my hand. It felt solid. I heard a small splash and looked down, and couldn’t see her eyes. I finally found her with the light and sucked in a breath when I saw her struggling in the water. She was trying to get her body back on what she had been clinging to. I couldn’t see what it was because it was underwater.
She seemed to be moving in slow motion, but she finally dragged herself back up on her precarious perch. She wasn’t standing on the bottom, she was balancing on something to keep her head above water and not drown. I felt a lump in my throat when I wondered how many times she had slipped off and had to pull herself out of the water during yesterday afternoon, a long night, and most of today.
I still find it hard to think of man’s inhumanity to animals even when I’m staring it in the face. Did he know that she would find a way to survive, or had he merely tossed her in and covered her up? I say he, although there are females just as capable of cruelty as males.
I couldn’t come up with a way to lift her out. I got the rope and lowered it near her to measure the distance I would have to lower myself to the water. My estimate was close. It was seven and a half feet to Amelia’s head. I lowered the rope again and tried to hold it close to her face. I was talking nonsense to let her know I was trying to save her.
“Now, Amelia, grab the rope, and stick one paw inside of the loop and pass it over your shoulder, that’s right, now hold on tight and I’ll pull you out of there.”
All the natural oil on her skin was soaked away by now. Her long thick hair would be heavy. No wonder she was so slow in regaining her balance. I could try to place a slipknot over her head and pull her up, but I could crush her throat and/or garrote her in the process. Maybe if I could get it under her chin … Oh shit!
She had jerked her head to avoid the rope, and was back in the water, floundering. I watched anxiously until she slowly pulled herself back on her perch, while I was practicing my excuse for Miz Cancannon. You see, ma’am, I knocked her in the water by accident, and she drowned before I could save her.
I ran to the backpack and dug out the ground sheet for my sleeping bag. I pulled it out and started flapping it in the air to shake loose the folds. I jerked off my gloves and fumbled with the side straps that would add four inches of space on each side of my suit. The buckles were small and haste made my fingers clumsy. I had a feeling Amelia couldn’t survive more than one or two more dunkings.
I crammed the ground sheet into my suit, making a crude nest for Amelia, if I could get her into it. My belt would hold her from slipping below my waist, and the sheet, vinyl on one side and thin flannel on the other, was to protect my chest from being shredded by her claws. I zipped the suit up to hold the sheet in place.
I tied the rope to the closest tree and paced off the yards back to the well. Nine feet, I had enough. I doubled the rope and tied it around my waist and looped one side around my thigh. My body and arms were protected, but my face and head were vulnerable. I unrolled the three-inch Ace bandage and wound it around my neck, up my face, and around my head. I left slits for my mouth, nose, and eyes. I pulled on them gently to get more slack, and it just made the strips cling more tightly. It would have to do. If one of the Filipino searchers strolled by about now, I’d possibly give him pause, because I must look very strange.
I knew I could slide down easily enough, but getting back up was the problem, especially with a squirming cat. I rigged up the remaining rope, and hoped I had gotten it right, under the left thigh and over the right shoulder. I backed over the edge and started sliding down, rappelling, actually. The rescue attempt would have been child’s play if the walls weren’t covered with a thick coating of green growth. It was slick as owl’s shit, and I couldn’t get a purchase for my feet.
I had my small flashlight clenched in my teeth. The large one was in a waterproof pocket of my suit. I looked below and located Amelia. She wanted to run from me, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew she had a choice, the big hunk that smelled like a dog, or the water. She tried to duck her head to avoid my glove, but had to raise it quickly because it went under the water.
I held both ropes with my left hand and my right clamped around her collar in a death grip. I pulled her clear, and with water streaming off her like she was a sodden mop, I started cramming her into the front of my suit. She fought me tooth and nail with energy born of desperation.
I’d get a leg inside and zip an inch, only to have a paw appear to swipe at my face. Sweat was stinging my eyes and the rope was cutting into my thigh. I couldn’t talk to her, my teeth were clutching the flashlight. Her tail was impossible. Even soaked with water, she managed to slap it across my face numerous times.
She wanted to climb up on my head, and almost succeeded. I finally had to pop her on her nose and twist her tail to get her body parts inside the zipper. Her head was still out and she continued to strain upward. I was scared that she would notice that the Ace bandage around my throat had worked loose and my neck was a very close and inviting target. Her limbs were safely inside, but her teeth were only inches away. I could almost feel her jaws closing on my windpipe, the little vampire! I tucked in my chin and pushed on her nose the whole intense climb up th
e rope. I’d rather have a scar on my face than my jugular vein opened.
I clutched the top of the well casing, and pulled us up and over the edge, and then slumped on the ground. I hooked my left finger in her collar so she couldn’t wiggle free, and just sat there. My arm muscles were screaming abuse, and my back was throbbing. Amelia had calmed down. She had finally gotten the message that she was out of the cold water. She was warming up within the airless suit. I pulled off the Ace bandage and wiped my face, and then used a section to gently wipe hers. She flinched once and then closed her eyes. Her battle to survive was over. Defiance disappeared and exhaustion took over.
As I moved around packing the items I had used, I was poised to drop everything and grab her if she tried to wiggle free. I worried unnecessarily. She had fallen into a deep sleep, and her head was nestled into the hollow of my throat.
All during the rescue, Ivanhoe had whined and quivered and wanted to smell his prize. Before I donned my backpack, I put a hand towel in my pocket, and sat beside Ivanhoe to feed him several pieces of deer jerky. He gave Amelia several friendly licks on her head, which made him content. Amelia wasn’t aware of his display of affection; she was in the Land of Nod.
We headed back to the mansion. I was tired but the journey was all downhill, so my heart was light. I was proud of Ivanhoe. He had done exactly the opposite of what we had tried to train him to do, and had done it well. Some dogs are completely untrainable. They have the natural instinctual ability, but somehow they can’t or won’t conform to our training. If animals and humans had a common language and worked together, I believe we could civilize the planet.
It was half past seven when Ivanhoe and I strode across the cultivated lawn leading to the mansion. We passed several groups of three and four servants, standing or sitting under the trees near a nightlight. As I passed each group I held the hand towel to my chin, so it hung down and covered Amelia’s head. My shape under the rescue suit might have looked a little more chestier than when I left, but the bulge wasn’t obvious, and I didn’t believe they could tell that Amelia was snoring away on my chest. My hands held only Ivanhoe’s lead and the towel, and that is where they looked, before lowering their glances.
I wanted Mrs. C to know the details before everyone knew that Amelia was found. When I reached the front door, I took off my backpack and propped it against the wall before I rang the doorbell. The door was opened by another Filipino woman, only slightly younger than the one I saw earlier. I brushed past her and headed for the stairs. Celia entered the foyer from a hallway to my left. I reached the stairs before she could stop me. I sailed by her, wiping my mouth with the towel.
“I know the way,” I called over my shoulder, “stay here!”
“Did you find—” I turned at the landing, and that cut off her question. I made one wrong turn on the second floor and had to retrace some of my steps, but I succeeded in finding the correct door. I rapped twice, and walked in.
As I marched to Miz Cancannon’s desk, I saw two heads swivel around their chairs to stare at me, one blond and one brunette. Obviously, two of the nieces. I patted my chin with the towel, and I spoke to Miz Cancannon, ignoring the two women.
“I need to speak to you. Alone.”
I heard a startled gasp from behind me, but I didn’t react.
“Please wait in the library,” Miz Cancannon told them.
The blond woman stood, walked around the desk, and placed her hand on Miz Cancannon’s shoulder.
“It may be bad news, Aunt Alyce. I think we should stay.”
“Get out!” Miz Cancannon hissed at her, brushing the hand away. “At once!”
The blond’s jaw dropped, and she left without uttering another word. The brunette was right on her heels, and softly closed the door behind her.
I held a finger to my lips and tiptoed to the door. I jerked it open. They were just turning into the main hallway, and didn’t see me checking on them. I closed the door and returned to the desk, unzipping my rescue suit. I saw her eyes widen when she spotted Amelia. I pulled her limp form from the warm interior of my suit, wrapped the hand towel around her, and placed her in Miz Cancannon’s arms. Amelia didn’t stir a whisker.
“She’s wet and exhausted. She slept the entire trip back. I wanted to get her back to you and explain what I found before anyone knew she had been rescued.”
I glanced at Mrs. Cancannon, and tears were coursing down her checks as she held Amelia cradled in her arms. I walked over to the fireplace and stood with my back to her, staring up at a large portrait over the mantel. I didn’t recognize the name of the artist. It depicted a woman in a blue dress holding an ivory fan. I wasn’t admiring the picture, I was giving her privacy.
“Ms. Sidden, I’m fine now. Tell me what happened.”
I came back and sat down in front of her.
“I’m warning you, it’s brutal, so brace yourself.”
I described the cistern, and told her about Amelia having to climb back so often after falling off whatever she was clinging to in the cistern.
“It’s a galvanized water pipe, about three inches in diameter,” she said softly, remembering. “Papa had it put there with an extension coming up higher than the edge of the cistern when the well was dug. It was for a hand pump so we could have fresh cold water, when we went there for picnics. He preferred taking us there instead of the beach. We had a sandy play area, and he said he didn’t have to worry about us drowning while he was taking a nap. We had a large cabana there, and beds for all of us. A hurricane destroyed it in nineteen fifty-three. We were grown then, my two brothers and I, so he didn’t have it rebuilt.”
She gave me an intense look.
“Was there anything around to indicate who did this?”
“Nothing. The lid is rough cement and crushed shell. It wouldn’t take prints if you sent anyone out there to try. There are strong wind currents on the dune. It scoured the area clear of leaves, debris, and footprints. I don’t believe a woman could have opened and replaced the lid by herself. I’m a little stronger than the average female, I’ve tugged on leashes pulled by strong dogs for the past six years. If Ivanhoe hadn’t been available, I might have removed it eventually, or could easily have failed.”
“The dog helped you move it?” She sounded doubtful.
“All the dogs are trained to pull a rescue sled. It’s like a body bag with a smooth galvanized rubber bottom. I hook it to their harness when I have to move an injured person or a body out of the Okefenokee.”
“And your dog led you right to Amelia?”
“Yes’m. Miz Cancannon, you have an enemy who wants to hurt you. This first attempt has been thwarted. The hate could escalate, and you could become his next target. I wanted to warn you.”
“Thank you for bringing Amelia back safely. Here are your checks.” She held them out to me.
I took them from her, tore them in half, and put the pieces on her desk.
“Mail me a check for five hundred.”
“Can you afford this contemptuous gesture?” She had her haughty look firmly in place. She seemed amused.
“I’m still gouging you,” I said with a smile. “In Balsa City, I’d only ask for fifty.”
“The money is yours, take it!” she insisted.
“No, it’s not,” I said firmly. “Keep an eye on Amelia. This is where we part company. I won’t be back.”
“Not even if I ask Judge Dalby to call you?” She sounded full of herself, and back in complete control.
“Not even then,” I said with confidence.
This time I closed the door without making a sound.
9
“A Budding Acquaintance”
October 2, Monday, 8:30 P.M.
We were over the mainland, flying home. Ivanhoe was wedged between my knees and we both had our noses pressed against the window. I was watching the small points of light that signaled a house, or several houses in a clump, down below in the darkness. We passed over Highway 301, which I recog
nized by the yellow-hued vapor lights at the main intersections of connecting roads. Very light traffic, and long stretches of darkness with tiny red taillights going south, and white headlights heading north. A single light emitting a lonely tiny spark always drew my attention. I wondered who lived there and if they enjoyed the isolation or longed for crowded streets.
Most men in this part of the state were hunters. They made their living in a mill, a factory, or worked in timber for the large paper companies. Bored with their repetitive job routine, they would convince their spouses that pulling a trailer on a couple of acres in prime hunting territory was the best of all places to live, at least for them. They could shoot a deer on the way home from work, take long drives in their trucks on work-free stormy days, and have conversations on backwoods deserted roads with other hunters.
The trailers sprang up like mushrooms in the isolated locations. Suddenly the land was cleared, a single brave nightlight lit the ebony woods, a septic tank installed aboveground encased in tons of dirt because the water table was too high for burial, and a well was dug. A trailer would appear like magic.
Then the wife would discover that no other wives ever dropped in for a cup of coffee, and neighbors didn’t visit because there were no close neighbors, and she had to drive twenty miles for a loaf of bread and gasoline for her car. The only people she saw were her husband and kids. The Georgia Power meter reader and a propane gas truck driver came by once a month. Within six months to a year the trailer would disappear and the grass would grow tall.
If they were lucky they would sell the land to another hunter with dreams of living in paradise. A different trailer would appear, the grass would be cut, and the never-ending cycle would begin again. I believed the wives’ isolation wrecked more marriages in South Georgia than infidelity and money problems combined.
Rand startled me out of my reverie.
“What are you two looking at?
“I can’t speak for Ivanhoe, but I was reflecting on isolation and marriage.”
Ten Little Bloodhounds Page 6
