Dragonwell Dead, page 16
part #8 of A Tea Shop Mystery Series
Another twelve miles of rough road brought them to a small farm. According to Drayton’s map, this was supposed to be their start point.
“Since this is private land,” said Drayton, climbing out of the Jeep, “I have to go clear it with the owner. That was Tommy’s advice anyway.”
“Okay,” said Theodosia. Squinting, she watched Drayton approach a small white clapboard house that was badly in need of paint. A barn stood behind it, but Theodosia could spot no animals nor see any planted fields. If this was some kind of farm, she had no clue what they actually raised.
The good news, however, was that there was a small, meandering stream some forty yards away from where she was parked. The land sloped gently down, with a minimum of underbrush, so she figured she could drive her Jeep right down. Then, all they had to do was slide the canoe off the roof and toss it in the water.
Drayton came hustling back, looking pleased with himself. “I paid the landowner twenty dollars to let us launch the canoe and another thirty for any plants we might collect.”
“It sounds like a deal,” said Theodosia.
“I thought so, too,” said Drayton. “But the fellow, a Mr. Avery Walker, seemed to think we wouldn’t find many plants. That he pretty much got the better of us.”
“In that case,” said Theodosia unfastening the bungee cords. “We’ll just have to prove him wrong.
They leveraged the canoe off the Jeep and into the water. A skim of green parted as the canoe sluiced through. Dragonflies buzzed about pleasantly.
“You jump in first,” Theodosia told Drayton. “You can be the bow man while I take the stern.” She climbed onto the back end of the canoe, stabilizing the craft for Drayton. “Stay low.”
“You realize I haven’t been in a canoe since summer camp,” said Drayton, as he clambered toward his end. “And I’m not about to tell you when that was.” He eased himself down tentatively, then picked up a paddle and stared at it, as though trying to figure out which end to use.
“Paddling a canoe is a lot like riding a bike,” Theodosia told Drayton as she tossed in his collecting baskets, then pushed off from the grassy bank. “You never forget the basics.”
“But the consequences are significantly different,” said Dayton. “If you fall off a bike you get a scraped knee or, at worst, a banged-up elbow. Fall out of a canoe and you drown.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Theodosia assured him.
They paddled along, Drayton splashing away happily in the bow of the canoe.
“Feather the paddle,” Theodosia advised him. “Like this.” She held the flat blade of the paddle perpendicular to the water to make it more aerodynamic.
Drayton turned to watch her execute a few strokes, then caught on instantly. “Ah,” he said. “I see. Less wind resistance.”
As they continued to paddle along, the stream widened out considerably. Now it was more of a pond punctuated with stands of reeds. Carolina wrens flitted about, stands of tupelo and gum lined the banks. The occasional heron skimmed down to grab a shimmering little bream for lunch.
“What if we should run into an alligator?” asked Drayton.
“I think gator habitats are a lot farther south than this,” mused Theodosia. “Down closer to Savannah where the water’s considerably warmer.”
“And snakes?” asked Drayton.
Theodosia stared straight ahead. “Let’s not get into that.”
“Oh, oh,” said Drayton, as they rounded a bend and dozens of little inlets and tertiary streams came into view. “Now what?”
“This time I did bring a compass,” said Theodosia. “Plus you’ve got your map.”
“That was just to get us to the launch site,” said Drayton.
“No X marks the spot for exotic orchids?”
“Sorry, no,” said Drayton. They paddled some more. “So what do you think, just keep going straight?”
“For now,” replied Theodosia. “Depending on what kind of plant life we encounter.”
“Or don’t,” said Drayton.
But as the sun rose higher and stands of bog rose began to appear, luck was with them. And it wasn’t long before Drayton’s keen eyes spotted bright blooms through draperies of green vegetation.
“Can we edge in closer to the bank?” he asked. “I’m awfully sure that’s a Showy Orchis.”
Theodosia maneuvered the canoe in closer. The water had again narrowed to a stream with a fairly strong current. It made paddling easy, but pulling over a little trickier.
“Yes,” came Drayton’s excited voice. “It’s definitely a Showy Orchis.”
That’s good?” asked Theodosia as she drove the canoe into the muddy bank where the bow made a dull thud and then stuck fast.
“A fairly common variety,” said Drayton. “But still a beauty.” He stepped carefully from the canoe, then leaned down and grasped the bow, pulling it up onto the bank a bit more so Theodosia could hop out without getting her feet wet.
“And you’re going to collect it?” asked Theodosia. Drayton was tromping around, looking extremely pleased.
“Oh, absolutely. If only to display in the tea shop.”
Theodosia’s eyes searched the area for more orchids. It was damp and shady here, with stalks of puttyroot, too. Probably conducive, she decided, to native plant life. “Look at all this moss,” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it gorgeous?” At her feet were large lumps of bright green moss.
“Cushion moss,” said Drayton. “Technically Leucobryum.”
Loosening a clump with her hand, she scooped it up and hefted it gently. “It’s like a big, fuzzy Christmas tree ornament.”
“Very whimsical,” agreed Drayton. “We should definitely collect some of the moss.”
“Can’t you just see these moss goobers as centerpieces at the tea shop?” asked Theodosia, still charmed by the balls of moss. “Four or five in a wicker basket, maybe surrounding a small bouquet of violets?”
“Or tucked into pots with some of my Japanese bonsai,” said Drayton. “To lend the feeling of a Zen garden.”
“What a great place,” declared Theodosia. “Your friend with the map was right on. Hey, can I use one of your collecting baskets?” Theodosia had already grabbed one and had it half filled with moss.
“Feel free,” said Drayton, plunging his trowel into the soil for about the fourth time. “While I try to disengage this rather large root ball from the soil.”
Straining, Drayton bent into his task again. “Tough,” he said.
“Want me to help?”
Drayton wiped at his face. “Maybe grab that other trowel and give me a hand.”
“Sure,” said Theodosia. “No problem.”
But as they both bent forward, a loud pop split the air.
Drayton’s head popped up like a startled gopher. “Huh? What?”
“Get down!” hissed Theodosia, clawing frantically at his sleeve. She knew there was only one thing in the whole world that made a loud, instantly identifiable report like that.
“What’s wrong?” asked Drayton, still trying to straighten up for a look around.
“Get down, get down!” hissed Theodosia. “I think someone just took a shot at us!”
“They took a . . . what?” exclaimed Drayton. “Good heavens, is it hunting season?”
“C’mon,” urged Theodosia, grabbing wildly for collecting baskets and equipment. “Back into the canoe!”
The canoe lurched wildly from side to side as Theodosia scrambled in first, hurling her daypack and baskets into the center. Drayton got his feet soaked as he pushed off fast then hefted himself in, shoving his paddle into the sandy bottom of the stream.
Settled onto her seat, trying to stay low, Theodosia struggled to swing the canoe around. She knew if she could get them out of the area, maybe slip down one of the smaller tributary streams, that would afford them some cover.
“What now?” asked Drayton, fear evident in his voice.
“Paddle!” came Theodosia’s terse instruction as she headed them away from the bank. “Paddle now and paddle hard!”
Another shot zinged over their heads as the two of them dug in, paddling like crazy, trying to put some distance between themselves and the gunman.
“Holy smokes!” gasped Drayton. He was leaning low, his strokes coming frantically. And already breathing hard.
Theodosia dug deeper, worried at Drayton’s ability to maintain this frantic pace. Drayton wasn’t a young man and Theodosia had no idea how heart-healthy he was.
As they splashed frantically downstream, Theodosia caught sight of a faster-moving, burbling stream that split off to the left. They could veer off into that channel, she decided, or take their chances and keep heading down the main stream.
“Which way?” screamed Drayton.
Theodosia snuck a quick glance over her shoulder. The right river bank was flatter and a lot more open, certainly more conducive for a gunman to run alongside and track them. But if they took the left stream, they’d be plunged into dense undergrowth which would, hopefully, slow their pursuer and afford them some cover.
“Head for that left fork,” Theodosia shouted at Drayton. “Switch your paddle over to the right side and dig in like crazy.” She drove her own paddle deep into the current, using it as a rudder to execute a sharp turn.
Then they were moving along, caught up in the current, hopefully being carried away from the gunman.
Drayton ventured a quick look back at Theodosia. His face was drawn and tense, filled with bewilderment. “Was someone shooting at us?” he gasped.
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 flagging 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 plummeted 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.
