Dragonwell Dead

18

Theodosia shook her head to indicate she had no idea what was going on. Things had gone from benign to bedlam in a matter of seconds. They’d been digging up an orchid, taking care with the root ball, congratulating themselves on their good fortune. And suddenly they were under siege. The entire scenario was utterly bizarre.

“Keep paddling,” Theodosia encouraged Drayton. But she could see from the set of his shoulders that he was flag-ging now, and she knew it was up to her to keep them moving forward.

For several minutes Theodosia was only aware of her own ragged breathing and the burning sensation between her shoulder blades as she dug her paddle, feathered it, dug and feathered again, then switched sides and repeated her motions.

Drayton was leaning forward now, breathing heavily, his paddle resting across the gunnels of the canoe. He lifted his head slowly, seemed to spot something up ahead, then called out to her, “There appear to be some rapids ahead!”

“Good,” Theodosia muttered as they tucked right into the current and their speed increased dramatically. She knew hitting a little white water was definitely a lucky break. The fast-moving stream would carry them along swiftly. So they’d hopefully be out of range of whoever had been shooting at them.

Clunk!

The right side of the canoe slammed into a rock. Wobbling slightly, they caromed away and promptly slammed into an even larger rock on the opposite side.

Using her paddle as rudder, Theodosia bent hard into the task, trying to steer them around rocks and boulders as the riverbank flashed by. The little stream that had started out as their savior was rapidly turning into a swiftly moving river that carried them helplessly along.

If only I could maneuver us toward the bank, she thought. We’ve made enough distance that we should be safe now.

But no matter what technique she tried, Theodosia wasn’t able to head them over to the bank. They were caught in the middle and moving too swiftly.

“What are we going to do now?” cried Drayton. He’d picked up his paddle again and was dipping it helplessly. “Will we be stopping soon?”

“Just hang on,” said Theodosia gamely. She knew Drayton was terrified, could read it on his face and see it in the way he’d stiffened his shoulders. “We’ll be okay,” she yelled at him.

She in no way reassured him.

“This feels like a scene out of Deliverance!” Drayton cried, twisting in his seat to glance back at her again.

“I hope not,” prayed Theodosia. Sweat streamed into her eyes and she took a quick moment to wipe it away. When she again glanced at the river ahead, Theodosia couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Just a thin, blue line.

Swirling rapids around them, a thin, blue line ahead, and then . . . nothing!

“Waterfall!” came Drayton’s sudden, terrified cry. But it was far too late to do anything about it. Too late to fight harder for shelter on the rocky banks. The canoe was held fast by the current and heading directly toward that fast-approaching, terrifying edge. An edge that appeared to have nothing beyond it!

“Hang on!” screamed Theodosia as they slipped closer to the top of the waterfall. “Brace yourself with your legs!”

The canoe seemed to hesitate for a moment on the edge of what appeared to be a twenty foot vertical shoot. Then slowly, inexorably, the bow of the canoe tilted out over the falls, and they pitched forward with a jolt. There was a loud whooshing sound and then they were caught up in the mad rush of their downward plunge.

“Hang on!” Theodosia screamed again as they plum-meted headlong down a steep curtain of water, gaining momentum as they dropped. Water drummed on her head and poured down the back of her camp shirt. A loud roar filled her ears. Once, Theodosia had gone on the White Water Falls ride at Carowinds park over near Rock Hill. This plunge almost replicated that terrifying experience, except there was no underwater track to keep them headed straight, no friendly employee to offer a helping hand at the end of the ride. This was a horrible, excruciating freefall into a swirling cauldron of water below.

As the bow of the canoe sliced into the whirlpool’s roiling spume, the canoe began to spin. Theodosia could see Drayton clutching the gunnels, his knuckles white with fear. Then slowly, inexorably, Drayton pitched overboard and disappeared into a terrible swirl of white foam.

“Oh no,” moaned Theodosia. Knowing Drayton could barely swim a stroke, she drew a deep breath and, without hesitation, dove in after him.

It was like being inside a washing machine. Currents and eddies pulled at her from every direction. Spun her around, tumbled and tugged her, and slammed her hard against underwater rocks and boulders.

Theodosia floundered gracelessly in the pool, grabbing, kicking, coming up for a quick gasp of air, then diving down repeatedly.

Where was Drayton?

Heartsick, Theodosia searched underwater for him, fighting the current, fearing the worst. She was almost ready to give up when one flailing hand suddenly brushed against fabric.

Drayton?

She pinched hard, pretty sure she’d grabbed on to his jacket, then extended her other arm out and found more fabric. Pulling Drayton toward her, she wrapped both arms about him and began to kick. Kicked desperately until her legs began to feel like jelly. And just when she was about to despair, just when she didn’t have another molecule of air left inside her lungs, their heads popped above water.

Theodosia gasped for a breath of air, then yelled, “Kick!”

Now they were both kicking like mad and, amazingly, moving away from the pocket of foam and swirling water into slightly more calm waters. Theodosia wrapped her left arm around Drayton’s shoulders and paddled frantically with her right arm. At the same time she managed a tired but fairly decent scissors kick with her legs.

Finally, tiredly, painfully, they pulled themselves out of the river and up onto a series of flat, dry rocks.

“You okay?” Theodosia gasped. The back of Dayton’s jacket was still twisted in her hands. She had to force herself to release him.

Drayton nodded his head even as he tried to scuttle farther up onto the flat rocks. His breathing was shallow and he seemed dangerously close to hyperventilating. “I... thought...” One hand pawed at the air as he struggled to catch his breath. “... I thought I was a goner.”

Theodosia flopped over onto her back, stared up at sunlight and green foliage so bright it almost made her nauseous. “I thought we were both goners,” she finally managed.

“Someone was shooting at us?” he said. “Why?”

“Don’t know,” said Theodosia.

“It felt like that last shot parted my hair,” said Drayton. He coughed, patted himself nervously as if to make sure he was still in one piece.

Theodosia sat up and untucked her sodden blouse, then tied it loosely at her waist. “I think someone did follow us,” she told him. “And that those shots were fired as a threat.”

“What kind of threat?” asked Drayton as he pulled off a shoe, dumped out a stream of water.

“Warning us not to snoop. To mind our own business.”

“You mean because of our investigation into the Mark Congdon thing,” said Drayton.

“Gotta be,” said Theodosia. “And because we’ve been skeptical about the fire, too.”

“But we’re not even close,” wailed Drayton. “Sure, we’ve got suppositions and suspects, but nothing concrete.”

“I’m guessing,” said Theodosia, “that we’ve got more pieces than we think we do.” She quickly told Drayton about the fire marshal’s direct line of questioning and how Angie’s sister had come after her last night like a rabid dog. Had left her standing in the lobby of the Bogard Inn feeling stupid and guilty and still clutching Mark’s box of junk.

“The fact remains,” said Drayton, after he’d listened to all Theodosia had said, “we didn’t cause any of those events to happen. We’re only peripherally involved. Bystanders, really.”

“Somehow we’ve touched on something, an important clue,” said Theodosia. “We just haven’t been able to put two and two together.” She shook her head, frustrated, still shaken from their escape and headlong plunge, feeling more than a little angry. “I don’t know . . .”

They sat for a few minutes, pondering their harrowing escape from the river, wringing out clothes, examining their various bumps and bruises. Then Drayton pulled himself into a seated position. “Where’s the canoe?” he asked in a funny, high-pitched voice.

Theodosia waved an arm. “Gone. Probably still shooting down the river like a runaway bobsled.” The image of Parker’s silver canoe sluicing through the rapids all by itself, the notion that they were finally safe after being shot at, then plunging down a twenty-foot waterfall, caused her to choke out a strangled laugh.

Drayton wobbled his head toward her. “You can’t seriously see humor in any of this, can you?”

Theodosia lifted her shoulders and rotated them, trying to loosen the knot of tension in the back of her neck. “Look at it this way,” she said. “You’ve been hankering for a little break.”

“A break in my routine,” Drayton shot back somewhat crossly. “Not my neck.” He stood up, dripping water. “You know what?” he said.

“What?”

“This jacket is definitely not waterproof.”

Amazingly enough, they located the canoe some fifty yards down stream. It had hung up on a fallen tree and remained securely wedged there.

“We’re in luck,” announced Theodosia. “We’ve also got paddles, baskets, your hat, and a plastic thermos of tea. Everything’s a little bedraggled but still functional, I guess.”

“But how on earth are we going to get out of here?” asked Drayton. He gazed upstream at the pounding waterfall. It looked majestic, but lethal. “We certainly can’t go back the same way we came.”

Theodosia’s brain was finally beginning to fire again on all eight cylinders. “First we’ll wade in and get the canoe and stuff,” she suggested. “We’re already wet so what’s another dunking? We can probably just kind of walk it across the river to this bank. See . . . the stream isn’t that deep here and the current slows way down.”

“Then what?” said Drayton. “I hope you don’t expect us to carry the canoe out of here. Or make a portage, as they say in voyageur-speak. It could be miles back to where we started.”

Clambering up the rocks and onto solid ground, Theodosia pushed through clumps of horse nettle and ventured a few yards into the woods.

“Whoa,” said Drayton, scrambling after her. “Kindly wait for me.”

He found her, hands on hips, studying the ground.

“We’re in luck,” she told him.

Drayton cocked an eyebrow. “We could use some.”

“There was a road here at one time. See?” Theodosia pointed at two muddy ruts that were still faintly visible through the high grass. “All we have to do is follow this trail out, find the Jeep, then drive back here and pick up the canoe.”

“Oh, that’s all, is it?” said Drayton. “You make it sound like a wonderful romp in the park. Pardon me while I fetch my umbrella and picnic hamper.”

Theodosia turned toward Drayton with sympathetic eyes. “Tell you what, why don’t you hold down the fort right here. I’ll jog back and try to locate the Jeep. Then I’ll drive back here and pick up you and the canoe.”

“Not on your life,” said Drayton, squaring his shoulders. “After all we’ve been through today, we’re sticking together!”

After the dousing they’d experienced, it felt almost pleasant to wander along the old trail with the sun shining down on their backs. Birds twittered in the trees, the scenery was nothing if not spectacular, and their clothes and lightweight baskets dried out with every step they took.

“Nobody would believe what we’ve just been through,” said Drayton. “A veritable comedy of errors.” He thought for a moment. “Or maybe a tragedy of errors, if there is such a thing.”

“Whatever you choose to call it,” said Theodosia. “None of this was any fault of our own.” Then she reconsidered her words. “Almost any fault,” she added.

“Yipes!” exclaimed Drayton, suddenly jumping back and grabbing her arm in a viselike grip.

“What?”

“Snake,” he said in a low voice.

Theodosia stood stock-still for a few seconds, then finally worked up the courage to peer down at the ground. “Uh... where?”

No quick motions for Drayton; he kept his arms clamped tight against his body. “Right where that tall grass is parting slightly,” he told her in hushed tones.

“Did you see any markings?” Theodosia asked nervously. She hadn’t seen the creature, but that didn’t mean the snake wasn’t nearby, ready to pounce or coil or whatever it was snakes got in their head to do.

“There were brownish bands. Yes, I’m quite sure they were a chestnut-olive shade,” said Drayton. “Or maybe dun-colored. Or umber.”

“Easy, Drayton,” said Theodosia in a low voice. “We’re trying to identify a snake, not pick a paint sample.”

Drayton nodded tightly. “Right. Of course.” He was obviously nervous and his teeth were just this side of chattering.

“What about the nose?” asked Theodosia. “Pointy or blunt-nosed?”

“What’s the difference again?”

“Pointy is nonvenomous and . . .”

“Blunt-nosed is the bad guy,” finished Drayton.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

Drayton turned slightly to face her. “While we’ve been standing here like frightened ninnies, pondering its coloration and physiognomy, Mr. Snake has slithered off on his merry way. Leaving us to wonder just what his intentions might have been.”

“Whew,” said Theodosia. She made a broad gesture of wiping her brow, like a cartoon character would. “Freaky.”

“Terrifying,” agreed Drayton.

They continued their trudge down the trail. What had been woods and a little bit of meadowland had now turned more forested and swampy.

“Getting boggy,” said Theodosia as her shoes squished unpleasantly in the mud.

“I hope we don’t lose this trail,” worried Drayton.

“As long as we keep the sun at our back we should be okay,” replied Theodosia as frogs and katydids chirped at them, unseen.

“Do you have your trusty compass?”

“Uh . . . no,” responded Theodosia. “I think it flew out of my shirt pocket when we went through that final spin cy-cle.” She knew she was lucky to have the clothes on her back. And luckier still that she’d left her car keys behind, tucked under the floor mat of her Jeep.

“Good heavens,” exclaimed Drayton. He stopped, took a hesitant step, frowned, then halted again.

Nervous about the possibility of another snake sighting, Theodosia glanced about, wondering what had suddenly caught Drayton’s eye.

“Do you see what I see?” asked Drayton.

Theodosia let down her guard a bit as she continued to glance about tiredly. “No snakes in sight,” she told him. “But I do see mud, tupelo trees, slimy water, more slimy water, and, if I’m not mistaken, maybe a modicum of quick-sand to top things off and make us really feel welcome.”

“No,” said Drayton, his voice suddenly trembling with excitement. “Over there. Look!”

Theodosia’s eyes followed Drayton’s finger as he pointed toward a stand of straggly willow saplings. And there, growing out of a little copse of green was a pure-white flower.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

Drayton nodded tightly. The rare Platanthera integrilabia. The monkey-face orchid.”

“Well, I’ll be,” said Theodosia.

“Pass me the collecting basket, quick,” said Drayton. “I’ve got to hurry,” he mumbled as he stumbled rapidly toward it.

“It’s not going to walk away,” laughed Theodosia.

“It better not, after all we’ve been through,” said Drayton. “Do we still have a few balls of that moss to help hold the moisture in?”

“Talk about a lucky save,” said Theodosia. She watched as Drayton gently freed the little orchid, then placed it in a basket and packed moss around it.

Fifteen minutes later the sketchy trail they’d been following turned into a bona fide path.

“Look,” exclaimed Drayton, putting a hand up to his brow, “if my old eyes don’t deceive me, that’s the farmyard we started from.”

“And there’s my Jeep,” said Theodosia, spotting her little red vehicle hunkered down next to the stream where she’d left it. She was glad to see nothing had happened to it.

“And there’s Mr. Avery Walker,” added Drayton. “Think we should mention something to him about the gunshots? Or stop and make a report to the police or sheriff?”

“I’m not sure exactly what we’d report,” said Theodosia. “We never actually saw anyone, so it would be tough to give any sort of meaningful description.”

They walked up to Mr. Walker, who peered at them curiously from under a battered straw hat.

“We have returned,” Drayton announced tiredly but cheerily. “And with a rather fine orchid at that.”

Avery Walker slid his straw hat off his head and gaped at them with pale blue eyes that conveyed shocked surprise.

“My lordy,” he said. “You poor folks look like you’ve been lost in these woods for a week!”