The Purpose of Miss Shepley

Chapter Seventeen (part II)

Hours passed, and miles passed; I dozed off and woke again, sweating, to a sun high and bright and hot. The mule still plodded along, her head down, her feet dragging. Bram slouched on the bench, looking every bit as weary.

"You awake, again?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder. "Hand me another apple, will you?"

"Where are we?" I searched through his things til I found a basket of apples and plums and eggs.

"About five miles out of Riverton."

"That's another two hours...?"

"Yeah, hour and a half, maybe, but I'm going to stop soon. This poor beast needs some rest."

I offered him his choice of two apples: a large green one or a smaller pink one. He reached for the green one and knocked them both out of my hands.

"Do you mean you or the mule?"

Bram grunted a laugh. "Doesn't matter. It's true either way."

I gave him the green apple, this time planting it firmly in his open palm. I let go only after I felt his fingers grasp it.

We drove on another mile or so -- a hot, dusty, miserable mile -- and then Bram pulled the cart off the road, steering the mule down between oaks and willows and alders. We came to a stop in a clearing only slightly larger than the cart and the mule.

"We'll camp here tonight," Bram said. He set the brake and eased himself off the bench.

"Can't we rest and press on? We're almost there."

"We could..." He shrugged. "Wouldn't get there much before dark, though, and sleepin' in the country is free."

I considered the sad state of my purse for the scantest moment. "Camp, it is, then."

"We'll need some water." Bram nodded toward a glazed jug stowed beside my hip. "There's a good swimming spot at the creek, if you wanna wash up a little. It'll be cold, though."

"Cold sounds lovely right now."

Bram pointed to a faint path leading northward. "Creek's that way."

"Ach, I know that..."

I climbed down from the cart, taking the jug with me. Behind me, Bram patted the mule's rump, cooing sweet words to her -- There's a good girl... That's enough for one day, eh?

The path led through trees and brambles and muggy pockets of shade where tendrils of deliciously cool air reached up my skirts, and then it more or less ended in the creek, sloping gently downward til it was simply under the water.

I peeled off all my clothes, draping them over the branch of a young oak, and then I picked my way round roots and branches. The brush was thick underfoot; trees and blackberries grew all the way to the water's edge.

The Grassbeck ran slow and deep here -- a good swimming spot, indeed, though evidently not a much-used one. Mine were the only footprints in the mud, aside from deer and otters.

I took a few hesitating steps into the cold, cold water, sending little fish and water boatmen darting away from my shadow. The creek bed was silty, and soft muck squelched up between my toes. It was a truly foul sensation, but it made me giggle, all the same.

I inched in deeper, watching the silt swirl in little muddy maelstroms round my ankles. They spun slower and slower til each speck of glinting dirt seemed to hang in the water, and then I dragged my toes through the muck and stirred them up again.

There was a loud splash, then -- something large crashing into the water some ways down the creek behind me. It startled me, and my head snapped round just as a man emerged from under the water. He climbed to his feet, huffing and puffing, wiping wet strands of black hair out of his eyes. I squawked and curled round myself, slapping one hand over the mark on my breast and trying to preserve something of my modesty the best I could with the other.