by B. K. Parent
On the eighth day since Da had disappeared, the painting, packing, and repacking was done. My mother’s clothes had been altered to fit me and were packed in the homewagon’s cupboards. Nana and I had divided the last of the winter stores and packed my share. Carz had brought home several small birds and several large rabbits, and Nana had dried the meat to make jerky. The supplies were small and would not last for a long journey but would supplement what Carz and I could find along the way. If I sold any of my wares, I could buy supplies in the villages or towns I stopped in. Now I only hoped I could remember all the skills that Mother and Da had tried to teach me when we were traveling, for my survival would depend on it. It was not just the unknown that worried me, but all of the hazards of living on the road that were keeping me awake at night.
Chapter Seven
A storm brewing off the coast was threatening rain when I awoke the next morning. I was glad all the gathering, altering, and packing were done. Only three things were left on my list: talk to Thomas about how I could leave the village with no one the wiser, make a decision about Da’s journals, and ask Nana about pilcher cream.
I was torn about what to do about the journals, for they had a lot more information in them than the map I had found in the puzzle box about markets and places to stay overnight as well as where to find good pasture for the horses, names of fair merchants to deal with, and other useful information. It was the cryptic writing in the margins and other indecipherable notations that concerned me. Da’s note had said I should not take anything that was Mother’s or his and I had thought about that. At first glance, I thought he meant I should not take any of Mother’s woven goods which we used to sell or any of the goods from the smithy that he had made. After finding the journals, I began to wonder if the admonition not to take anything of my parents also applied to the journals. Nana came over, sat down beside me, and I told her of my dilemma.
“I have an idea,” Nana responded. “Why don’t you create your own journal and copy the information that anyone could see into it? Wait here a minute.” She hurried out of the kitchen and returned moments later with several leather bound journals, one old by the looks of it and one fairly new. Nana handed me the one bound with a leather strap that had a faded brown, scuffed leather cover. “I had forgotten I had this one,” she said. “It’s one of the first ones I kept concerning plants, herbs and their uses, plus simple remedies. It will be a good reference for you when selling my wares, of which I’ll expect a good accounting when you get home here,” Nana said with mock sternness.
The other journal had a soft green leather cover and empty pages. I knew what a gift this was. Getting paper goods here in our little village was a chancy proposition. Not many traders came our way and paper goods were not big sellers. Sometimes an order could be sent with one of the trawler captains, but it could take months, if ever, for them to return with what had been requested. Nana used the journals to write down her recipes for liniments and other herbal concoctions. I knew she had a few empty journals put away and was moved that she would be willing to give one up to me. I hugged her and went to get pen and ink. The rest of the long day was spent bent over Da’s two journals copying information from each into the new green journal. I had had to light a lamp because the sky just kept getting darker and darker.
By evening, I had finished copying Da’s journals. While the information was several years out of date, I thought it would still prove useful. If Da had left by boat from the cavern in the cove, did he leave the journals in the small cave on purpose, or had he forgotten that they were there? Would he need them, or should I put them back where I had found them? Were they what the strangers had been looking for, and if so, why would Da not have taken them with him, or did he think they were safer here? These questions were still going around and around in my head as I lay down to sleep.
The storm continued to threaten when I awoke the tenth day following Da’s disappearance. The morning came and went and still there was no sign of him. By mid-afternoon, I could put off going into the village no longer, and so it was with reluctant steps that I traveled the path to the inn.
As I entered the pub, Thomas spotted me right away and said in a loud voice, “So you’ve come back to see the filly, have you? I was just goin’ to check on her and you can help me make sure the stables are battened down with this storm comin’. Got to get that done this afternoon. I hope the storm holds off so I don’t have to go out late this night and check on Aunt Heddy’s place. You know she’s gettin’ on in years and can’t take care of that place all by herself. Would’ve sent one of the young’ns, but they’re helpin’ their Ma with the tillin’ of the garden this day and we need to get that done before the earth gets too soaked again. No use plantin’ this day though. The seed would just get washed away. Besides, your Nana says it’s best to plant on a full moon day. Don’t know why, but since we started followin’ her advice, our crop has been more plentiful.”
All of this was said while he finished drying mugs and washing the top of the bar. Once he had hung his towel up, he motioned for me to follow him, and we walked to the stables.
“There’s a big storm comin’, which could be a good thing for us and fits in with my plan,” Thomas said.
“How so?”
“Did you notice who was in the pub when you came in?” he asked.
It was then that I remembered that there had been a group of fishers and farmers gathered around one of the big round tables near the big fireplace, hot drinks clutched in their hands.
“If you want everybody knowin’ yer business, that’s the group to tell it to,” Thomas suggested and then nodded as my face must have shown my understanding. “Here’s what I have in mind,” Thomas said, as he lowered his voice, and in a whisper told me how he was going to sneak me out of town.
Waiting was hard. After leaving Thomas back at the pub, after a conversation heard by all the interested parties about how the filly had grown and a thank you for the soup bones, which was the excuse I had given for coming into the village, I had gone back to the cottage to wait for nightfall, to wait for Da, to wait for this waking nightmare to be over.
When I got back, I greased the wheels on the homewagon so that they would not squeak. Unfortunately, the only grease I had available was bacon grease. I remarked to Nana that now I would have to worry while I was trying to leave town quietly that every dog, not to mention a number of cats, from the village would come charging after me thinking I was a savory meal on wheels. That had brought a smile to her lips as did my question to her about pilcher cream.
“Oh, it’s some silly nonsense, sort of a joke really, among some of your parents’ friends that they would casually bandy about in quiet conversation. Thought we herbalists ought to be able to make a one-for-all ailments cream, so the emergency kits could be very small and take up less room in the homewagon, thus leaving more room for more ‘important’ items like food. Come to think of it, it was never a term I heard among others who gathered and made medicines and creams out of herbs and medicinal plants. Just those few of your parents’ closest rover friends. I never thought about that before. I wonder if it was some sort of recognition signal or code?”
I spent the rest of the afternoon helping Nana with anything she might need done before I left. I also made a trip down into the tunnels and put Da’s journals back where I had found them. Something told me that having them along was not the right thing to do.
Dinner was a silent affair, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I looked across the table at Nana and was struck with how much I wished she were coming with me. Nana was such a comfort to be with, calm and wise, strong and determined. I did not fear leaving her here for she could well look after herself, the cottage, and our land. I feared not having her with me. She might be short in stature, a bit round in figure, gray haired and really not so old, but she was as fierce as a mother bear and as soft as a down-filled pillow.
A hug from Nana could fix all sorts of ills, and I really could have used one at that moment.
All too soon it was time to head out to the stable to begin to hitch up the horses. Thomas’ plan called for me to take the road from our place to the back side of the village and wait at the crossroads where our path met the main road. He would have his wagon hitched up and ready to head out. Just south of the junction of the main road and our path was the trail that led out to his Aunt Heddy’s place. Thomas proposed that he would drive his wagon out to his Aunt Heddy’s place under the excuse of checking on her, and I would swing in behind. Hopefully it would also be raining at that point so few, if any, folk would be about. If they heard a wagon pass by, they would think it was Thomas.
When it was almost time to leave, Nana and I set about tying cloth on the metal parts of the harness to muffle the sound of the tack on the horses as much as we could, and I tied soft pads of leather on each hoof to muffle the sound of their hoofs hitting the roadway. While we were doing this, a loud clap of thunder sounded almost on top of us and the pounding of rain on the stable roof echoed like we were inside a drum. The force and fury of the storm fortunately lasted only a short while, and then the high winds died down. While rain continued to fall, it was no longer a driving rain.
The leave taking could not be put off any longer. No last minute reprieve with Da appearing in the open door to the stable announcing he was home and all was well. No, it was time to go. With great reluctance, I turned to Nana who swept me into a very hard swift hug. She kissed my cheek and then told me to be safe and come home soon. I could not think of anything to say other than to tell her I loved her and I would be back with Da, luck willing. I climbed up onto the driver’s bench, called Carz to jump up, pulled down my wide brimmed hat, and pulled up the collar of my waterproof cloak. I was as ready as I was ever going to be, so I shook the reins to start the horses moving. Flick looked back over his shoulder with a questioning look, as if to ask if I were jesting. Did I really want him to go out into this rain? No, I really did not, but it was time.
The homewagon slowly began to move forward through the dark, wet night, and as we turned the bend, I glanced back to the cottage. Nana was silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by the glow from the lamps. She waved. I waved back, but I am not sure she could see me, for at that moment the rain began to fall harder. Carz made an impatient sound and pawed at the door behind me, indicating he wanted into the homewagon and out of the rain, so I opened the door just enough for him to slip inside. Then I was sitting on the driver’s bench all alone, and for just a moment, was frozen in place by the idea that I was heading off, away from my friends and family, with so little knowledge of either where I was going or how to really be a rover on my own. If it were not for Da’s note saying I should do this, and that he would try to find me, I would not have been sitting on the driver’s bench trying to see my way through the rain to a clandestine meeting with Thomas on a stormy night.
Since I did not think I could live with myself if I were cowardly and turned back, I drove to the meeting place. I pulled up next to the windbreak on the side of the road and waited in darkness, since I had not lit the lanterns on the front of the homewagon. The rain began to slack off a little, and thankfully the wind died down a bit more, for it was a cold night and I was beginning to chill. I wanted to go inside the homewagon to get a warm wool sweater to put on beneath my cloak, but I was afraid I would not see or hear Thomas. So I waited, shivering either from cold or fear. I am not sure which.
It was probably not as long as I imagined when I first heard the sound of a wagon approaching. Soon I could make out the light of a single lantern and hoped it was Thomas. As I waited for the wagon to get closer, I tried in vain to think of ways I could explain why I was out here in the homewagon on the side of the road, if the wagon coming towards me was not Thomas’. Thank goodness I did not have to come up with an excuse, for my brain was about as soggy as the air around me. When the wagon passed where I waited, I saw the man driving it was Thomas. He made a slight gesture with his hand signaling me to follow him, and so I did. We both hoped that the storm would wash away, or at least blur, the horse and wagon tracks enough to make it unclear that two wagons had been on the road. Thomas returning from his Aunt Heddy’s back to the village would further confuse anyone who might pay attention to the traffic on this small roadway.
Just before we reached Aunt Heddy’s place, Thomas pulled his wagon and horses over to the side of the road and motioned for me to pull ahead of him. Climbing down from his wagon, he then walked about twenty paces ahead of me and opened a gate leading into an open field, gesturing me to turn in there. Thomas then walked back to his wagon and continued down the road to the barn at Aunt Heddy’s place. I could hear the dogs barking and hear Thomas’ voice carry over the field admonishing them to hush. A light came on in the small cottage and spilled out of the doorway when the door was opened. I could see a figure in the doorway, and then Thomas must have been talking to his aunt about coming out to check things out due to the storm. The door closed, and shortly after that, the light went out. Thomas had told me he thought his aunt would be easy to convince to go back to bed once she knew it was just him on the property.
Thomas then walked back to me and climbed on board. “I think the next little way will be rough, but this old homewagon should be able to handle the way we need to take now. There is an old road runnin’ through this field that is now just two wagon ruts, but still passable. Uncle Alden used it to get out to his beehives that he kept on the far edge of his property. I have kept it clear of brush and trees over the last few years, and my oldest son has taken over the task of beekeeper for Aunt Heddy. She still brews the best mead from that honey and is teachin’ my son the craft. Let me take over the reins. Once we get past the hives, the old road continues and will connect up with the main road south of the village. You should be clear to continue without meetin’ up with anyone you know this night. I’ll take the short cut on the footpath from the hives back to Aunt Heddy’s, and after a quick check of the property, head home. This rain should cover most of the sounds of our passin’. I wish you luck, lass. Hope your Da meets up with you soon, and you’re both back here before the trees in the orchards bloom.”
With that said, Thomas flicked the reins, and the horses started their slow crossing of the field. I could barely make out the wagon ruts in the flashes of lighting, but Thomas seemed to have no trouble navigating the way. In time we came up a small rise to where the beehives were set and Thomas stopped the homewagon.
“The way from here is pretty easy to follow. See those trees on that next small knoll? Turn left there and follow the tree line. Look for a break in the trees. It’ll be a narrow openin’, but your homewagon should clear it easily. ’Bout half way, the old road will take a slight dip. A shallow creek runs there, and you’ll have to cross it. I don’t think this rain will have raised the water level too much to make it impassible, but be careful. Once you’re past the creek, the road will go up just slightly, then even out, and take you to the main road. Trust your instincts. You may want to lead the horses once you turn into the trees. Take care of yourself now,” Thomas admonished as he squeezed my shoulder reassuringly, climbed down from the homewagon, and headed back to his aunt’s.
I took a very deep breath and then started the horses forward. It was slow going for I did not know the way as well as Thomas did, and the lightening flashes were fewer now. I safely reached the tree line and followed it as Thomas had instructed, but I almost missed the opening in the trees. What a kidder Thomas must be if he thought the homewagon was going to fit down that narrow passage. I took his advice, climbed down off the homewagon, went to the front of the horses, and clipped on their lead ropes. Once the homewagon was turned, I made sure the wheels were aligned with the ruts and started forward. It was like walking in a tunnel. I could hear branches and brush scraping against the sides and roof of the homewagon. Good thing I
had not wanted to have the homewagon look shiny new for this passage through the trees was going to do some serious damage to the paint job. Between the rain falling harder now, the scratching and scraping of tree branches, and the rush of water in the creek just ahead, I wondered why I had bothered to muffle the tack and the horses’ hooves. If anybody was nearby listening, they would not fail to hear us.
Fortune favored us when we reached the creek for it had not risen to the point of being impassable. It had risen high enough to flow over the tops of my boots, causing the water to pour inside, and add a squishing sound to the sounds we were already making as I led the team up out of the creek. By the time we reached the main road, I was soaked, tired, and fairly miserable. While I felt an urgency to get headed south, I also knew I needed to take the time to change into dry socks and a warm sweater. It would not do to get this far and then be laid low with a bad sniffle and a cold. All too soon the grey of early morning would be here, and I needed to be much farther south before that happened.
Chapter Eight
The steady rain continued on through the night, but the lightning and thunder had ceased, and the roads, while beginning to turn to mud, were still passable. With the coming of dawn, I knew I needed to find a place to pull off the road and out of sight for the day. I was still too close to the village to take a chance on traveling by day. The land was not flat here nor was it full of high hills, but rather low rolling hills. It was also more prairie-like than forested, and so, my hopes of finding a place to stop for the day in some type of cover was beginning to feel rather slim. As the soft gray of dawn was just beginning, I spotted what looked to be a much taller hill ahead. I could tell the horses were tiring and felt sorry for them. They were no more used to traveling all night than I was. I knew how sore my hind-end had become from sitting hunched in the rain most of the night. The homewagon had an overhang which kept much of the rain off, but not all, and I had not taken time to rig the side curtains. I was glad of that for they surely would have been in shreds after the narrow passage through the trees.
