Jennie Kissed Me (16 page)

“A clearing? We’ll be soaked alive if we get out from under these branches,” Hubbard grinned.

The others heaved a universal sigh of relief that we were to rest at least. Right on top of it came a mighty crack of thunder. Belle reared up on her hind legs, leaving Mrs. Irvine sitting in the water cursing like a Tar while the nag bolted. Pans and pots rattled at Belle’s sides as she fled. But the swamp provided soft falling, and I knew Mrs. Irvine was not seriously hurt at least. Recovering the horse was more important.

The wretched animal cantered forward amidst the trees, showing us a bold swish of her tail as she fled with all of us who were still able-bodied in pursuit. She ran till she came to a stream, which she leapt across only to stumble in the bog on the other side. She rolled over on her back, whinnying fiercely. I felt in my bones we had crippled one of Marndale’s nags, to put the cap on this wretched day. On top of the rest the bag of food the animal was carrying was soaked. Water streamed from the oilskin bag.

Hubbard and his wife helped the wildly whinnying mare up and out of the mire. Her eyes rolled alarmingly, and her coat was dripping with black water and covered with bits of decaying vegetation. We were all in a similar state by the time Victoria and I went back and pulled Mrs. Irvine from the bog. I never felt so uncomfortable and bad-tempered in my life. Our shoes and stockings were squelching. Sodden skirts and petticoats flapped about our ankles, hampering every step.

“We’ve run aground now surely,” Mrs. Irvine declared.

“We should be so lucky as to have hit dry land! I hope you are carrying the tea, Hubbard,” I said through clenched teeth.

He was enjoying my disgrace thoroughly. “Aye, and a morsel of bread. My Meg’ll build us a bit of a fire. I’ll just shoot us a hare and skin her and we’ll eat.”

“That grizzly performance will hardly be conducive to eating.”

“I thought we was roughing it.”

“Bread and tea will do if that is all that remains of our food,” I said. Another ominous rattle of thunder sounded, but the rain did not penetrate our leafy roof.

“Nay, you call this roughing it?”

Victoria looked at me askance. “I thought we were to live at least partially off the land,” she reminded me.

“It is a little early for berries or fruit. On the seminary outing it was later in the year. There is obviously nothing to harvest here unless you wish to eat grass.”

“We could grab a handful of that there watercress from the stream,” Meg Hubbard suggested. We all went forward to the stream, where Meg lifted her skirt to form a basket and began snatching at little green leaves growing at the water’s edge. When I saw which plants she was harvesting, I joined her and pointed out to Victoria that watercress made a dainty sandwich.

“There are tadpoles here!” Victoria exclaimed.

“By all means catch them if you feel like eating tadpoles.”

“I’ll go forward a ways and find a dry spot for to build a fire,” Hubbard told us. “An arch like in the tall trees will keep us from lighting the entire forest. Lucky I kept the tinderbox dry. I know you would have warned me never to carry the tinderbox anywheres but next my heart wrapped up in oilskin if you’d thought of it, miss.” His sly eyes glinted maliciously beneath his misshapen hat.

“Mind you use only dry twigs for the fire,” I said, hoping to redeem my sagging reputation.

“You never mean water won’t burn!” he grinned.

“And set up a tarpaulin in case the rain breaks in earnest.”

He and Meg exchanged a snorting laugh, and he left. “You might want to pick a few mushrooms, miss,” she said to conciliate me after her husband had left. “I’m sure you’ll know which are safe to eat. Hubbard brought along a frying pan, so he can fry us up a batch.”

“I didn’t see any meadow mushrooms,” I said. “They are perfectly safe.”

“There’s campies growing hereabouts.”

“I expect you mean
agaricus campestris,
but it is very similar to the amanita, which is highly poisonous; we shan’t risk it.” She did not appear to know, and I did not inform her, that the
agaricus campestris
was, in fact, the meadow mushroom. I had not seen any, but no doubt Hubbard had.

“I can tell ‘em apart right enough.”

“I refuse to eat toadstools,” Mrs. Irvine said grandly.

She found a fallen branch and, using it as a cane, hobbled to where Hubbard was building his fire. The rain did not increase, and the ground beneath the tall trees was dry. We filled our hands with watercress and went after her. Meg made darting trips to the fireside carrying assorted roots and leaves, which she assured us were entirely edible; in fact quite tasty. On her last trip her lifted skirt was heavy with mushrooms.

We had come out to rough it, and I insisted that Victoria and I have a part in feeding the fire and preparing tea. I was not at all confident in the edibility of the meatless ragout Meg was stirring up in a pot over the fire, but I was determined those questionable mushrooms would not pass Victoria’s lips. When I saw Meg about to cut some of them into the ragout, I stopped her.

“Cook those separately, just in case. I don’t advise you to eat them either, Meg. Mushrooms can be very dangerous.”

“Not if you know what you’re about,” she sniffed. Her manner was unpleasantly saucy when Hubbard was nearby. She sliced the mushrooms into a frying pan with a spoonful of butter.

“They smell awfully good,” Victoria said, sniffing the air.

I ignored her hint. “Let us wash out our eating vessels. They’ll be filthy after falling in the bog.”

We took them to the stream and swished them around to remove the muddy water. Of course, we had nothing to dry them with, but time would take care of that. Meg was about to pour the water on the tea when we got back.

“Are you sure that water had come to the boil?” I asked sharply, to show I was still in charge.

“It’s just a-bubbling and a-hopping, miss,” she assured me, and emptied it on the leaves.

“Damme if that rain isn’t worsening,” Mrs. Irvine said, pulling her pelisse about her.

As she spoke heavy drops began to plop from the trees. They fell with a hiss on the fire but did not quite extinguish it. Hubbard busied himself making a roof for the fire with assorted lids and logs.

“The fire needs air to burn,” I told him.

“Aye, but she don’t need water, do she? I’m leaving a draft for the air to seep in.”

Wan tongues of orange continued to lick up through the charred logs and branches. Unappetizing chunks of root and unidentified leaves floated in our soup. The liquid was a mud brown color. Those mushrooms smelled better by the minute. I got the carving knife, wiped it on my skirt, hacked large pieces off a loaf of bread, and buttered them. Mrs. Irvine limped forward and grabbed one from my fingers. She wolfed it down as if she hadn’t seen food in a week. I spread the watercress on the others and made them into sandwiches. They bore very little resemblance to the dainty sandwiches served in polite saloons, but I was looking forward with lively impatience to eating them.

“The fire’s going out, Hubbard,” his wife announced in portentous accents.

“Is the soup ready?”

She pulled out a piece of root, vaguely carrot
-
like in shape, but brownish in color, and tried it. “It’s still tough,” she replied.

“If you can get your teeth around it, we’d best eat it before she’s cold.”

The rain was falling faster now, wetting our hats and shoulders. There was more smoke than heat from the meager fire. The smoke kept the winged insects at bay, so we removed our veils. The picture before me fell into dreadfully sharp focus. I could see the grime on Victoria’s face and gown. Beneath her sodden skirt, her lovely slippers were utterly destroyed. What would Marndale think when I brought her home in such a state? My mind wandered often to Marndale as I endured the vicissitudes of that wretched morning. My memories and thoughts for the future were of a piece with the present.

Mrs. Irvine, supported by the makeshift cane, stood as near the fire as the smoke allowed to dry her gown. Her face was pinched in pain. The Hubbards, who were so rough they wouldn’t mind being caught in a war or a hurricane, were grinning fiendishly.

“How is your ankle, Mrs. Irvine?” I asked.

“It hurts, but you need not call off the expedition on my account. On horseback I can carry on.”

“This is absurd. We’ll just eat a bite and go back home.”

A shiver convulsed Victoria, and she said, “That might be best. I fear these damp clothes might cause Mrs. Irvine a chill.” It was Victoria I was more worried about. Mrs. Irvine’s life at sea had inured her to hardship.

“We haven’t even built our raft yet, let alone try her on the pond,” Hubbard objected.

I turned to him. “Is the horse blanket—”

“Sopping wet,” he answered cheerfully.

“Do you know of a cave nearby where we might eat our lunch?”

“Would I of made a fire in the open if I knew of a handy cave? There’s none hereabouts. Ladle out the soup, Meg.”

The Hubbards began their repast with a plate of steaming mushrooms, which they ate with the watercress sandwiches. While they enjoyed this treat, the rest of us sipped at the revolting soup. The leaves, though foul and bitter-tasting, were at least chewable. The roots defied us all, so we settled for tea and bread, with bits of the greenery adding color but very little taste. When there was as much rain as tea in our cups, I announced it was time to leave.

“Nay, it would be best to wait till the rain lets up,” Hubbard said. “She won’t last long. Why pelt onwards when the sun will be shining in no time? A little ways forward there’s denser cover under the oaks and elms. Not a drop will come through to soak us. I’ll just squelch the fire,” he said, considering it settled.

“What fire?” Meg asked, but when he poured what remained of the water on it there was a fresh blast of smoke and ashes and some sizzling sound.

I didn’t argue with him. He knew what he was about, and I did not. That was the sum and total of it. I could see Mrs. Irvine was tired. We all were. Our damp clothing clung to our backs, warning of possible chills to follow. A rest in a drier spot till the sun came out seemed a good idea. Belle was brought forward, and Mrs. Irvine was assisted aboard with much huffing and puffing by Hubbard and myself. While this was going forth, Meg and Victoria gathered up our utensils and loaded them into their bag. The bag was hung over the mount, and we forged ahead. The horse moved at an awkward gait, but I blamed it on the uneven ground and her heavy load.

As the omniscient Hubbard had prophesied, a dry place was near at hand. The low-hanging branches made it ineligible for a fire, but for a resting spot it was ideal. We propped Mrs. Irvine against a tree, I volunteered my pelisse to cover her, and she said, “Wake me when it’s over,” just before she closed her eyes with a luxurious sigh.

“I’m going to shoot me a brace of hare for dinner,” Hubbard announced. He tossed his head in Meg’s direction, and she hopped to his side like a dutiful wife. “Your papa won’t mind, Lady Victoria?”

“Much you’d care if he did!” Meg snickered. He glared. She pulled in her chin and fell silent.

“You have my permission, Hubbard. You have been very helpful. I shall tell Papa you are an excellent guide,” Lady Victoria replied.

He blushed with pleasure and I with shame. Were it not for Hubbard, we would have been in even worse straits than we were. Soon the woods reverberated with shots. No doubt every bullet brought the life of an unwitting hare to an end. The shots disturbed Mrs. Irvine at first, but as the Hubbards moved farther away the sounds became fainter, till at last they were mere echoes.

The young regain their strength with such ease. Soon Lady Victoria said, “What shall we do now, Jennie? Shall we walk through the woods a little and explore? You can describe and name all the wildflowers for me.” She didn’t mention my knowing anything about birds or wildlife.

My legs complained mightily when I stood up on them. A sting on my heel warned me of an incipient blister, but this was my opportunity to redeem myself, and I was happy enough to strike out. “Will we be able to find our way back?” she asked.

“That’s what a compass is for.” I drew out my compass and explained its workings to her. It was a pleasant walk. I do know something about flowers even if you might not think it. I also explained to Victoria how one could judge the direction from the moss growing on the north side of the trees. We found mushrooms and pulled them apart to reveal the spores resting on the gills of the caps.

“They look like pepper,” she said.

“They are like a plant’s seeds. New mushrooms grow from these spores. A mushroom is an interesting thing, a parasite. It grows on dead vegetable matter. It springs up into showy prominence overnight, which is why parvenus are called mushrooms.”

The sky cleared as we made a leisurely stroll, stopping often to examine some piece of nature. An echo of Hubbard’s gun still occasionally rent the air. After an hour or so Victoria said, “I haven’t heard Hubbard shooting for a while now. Perhaps we ought to go back.”

“Yes, it is getting late, and we don’t want to be wandering in the woods after dark. We’ll go back and build a fire. And tomorrow we’ll go on to the pond and build our raft.”

We turned and began to retrace our steps. All the forest looked very much alike—trees and undergrowth. There was no stream to use as a landmark.

“Didn’t we pass this way five minutes ago?” Victoria asked after awhile.

“All the trees look alike.”

“I’m sure we passed this very spot. There, you see the picked flowers, where you were telling me about the stamens and pistils. Perhaps you ought to consult your compass, Jennie.”

“Yes, this will be a good time for a practical lesson. We came northeast, so we must return southwest. This way,” I said, setting off in the opposite direction to which we had been traveling. I was happy she had suggested the compass.

We proceeded swiftly now, with no stopping to examine nature. “We’re here again!” Victoria exclaimed after another ten minutes. Sure enough, there were the wilted and disassembled wild flowers at our feet.