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Stories from the Verse
Multiverser: The Thirteenth Story
Chapter 30: Brown 374
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Takano 166
The picnic lunch was held at another body of water, this time a pond with a pasture of black and white cows nearby. The thick slices of home-baked bread, the pot roast and Swiss cheese inside along with an onion slice made it a true meal. Eating the last crumb, Derek leaned back, and closed his eyes waiting for Vashti to finish hers. She ate more daintily than he did, and was not so used to the notion of a sandwich. Finally done, they rose and went back to the road, and left the pond and the curious cows who had lined up along the fence to observe them behind.
Another mile farther on, with the soft chattering of insects all about them, and fields of low plants with wide leaves, they heard another car coming from behind them. Looking back, Derek wondered if he should hold out a thumb. The Model T rapidly approached, and he saw three young men in the car. One in the front seat was standing up, clutching his straw hat, and urging the driver on.
The car swerved their way, and the driver began to hit the horn repeatedly. Disgusted, Derek leapt to the other side of a small ditch, and turned back to catch Vashti. She leapt in time, and turned back and yelled some words in Persian at the car speeding off. Raucous laughter echoed back and answered her as the car kept on going.
Derek helped her back across, and Vashti muttered more words in Persian that he would not want to translate. Given her glowering face, he decided that now was not the time to question her choice of words. Instead, they set off again, walking, but this time more watchful.
Trekking on into the later afternoon, they took a break under a roadside oak tree. Wearily they rose and kept on walking. Toward nightfall they came to a patch of woods, and decided to make camp. This consisted of them finding a secluded spot fifty feet off the road. Derek and Vashti then searched for raspberries to eat, finding a couple handfuls each. It was enough to wet their whistle, but not enough for a true meal. Not having more, they drifted off to sleep as twilight descended, only to be awakened by the crash of thunder. A few minutes later the rain came. It was broken by the thick leaves and tall trees around them, but within twenty minutes they both were huddling together, and their clothes were soaked. An hour later the thunderboomer wandered off, leaving them to dry in the late night after midnight.
Shortly after dawn, the two rose, their clothes still damp.
“Not every bed is in a palace, my love,” Vashti said with an effort at an understanding smile. Derek nodded, accepting it. He wanted to give her so much. Sometimes he could not. It hurt a bit.
“Let’s get hiking then. We’ll warm up that way.” They did, and the day was more pleasant with lower temperatures and humidity than the previous days. Of course the temperature rose as it got closer to noon, so they were grateful to find a creek with water even though it had no trees for shade.
Another two miles or so, Derek was not sure, they went over a small hill. They were catching up to a slow-moving wagon pulled by a mule. Getting up to it, they saw a beaten down Black man with a much crushed floppy hat driving the wagon. He glanced their way, and his eyes widened. He pulled out a corncob pipe from his mouth.
“Well, I may not have seen everything after all. What you two doin’ on the Joliet Road?”
“Why do you call it that?” Derek asked.
“Mister, it’s the road to Joliet, unless of course, you’re in Joliet, and then it's the road to Welford. Welford Road, see?”
Derek nodded. It was named differently on the road map, but he could see why the locals spoke as they did.
“We’re heading to Joliet and hoping to pick up a steamship ride down the Mississippi.”
“Wow. It’s been years since I went down the Mighty Miss. Way back during the Great War. Went to Europe and everything.”
“Veteran?”
“Eh, I was a stevedore on the docks in France. Never heard a shot fired in anger. At the time, I felt bad about that, but then I heard all the stories about trench foot and charging into machine gun nests, and I decided I got the better part of the war. I got to see Paris, and didn’t come back with a fake leg. ” He breathed out. “Look, you seem like nice folk. I could give you a ride. If you pass a test, given by my wife, and have some money, you could even get some food from my wife.”
“We’ll take you up on the ride,” Derek said, wondering what the test was. He and Vashti climbed up on the front bench of the wagon next to the man who named himself Hiram Johnson.
As they rode, the trio chatted.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
