Friday Fiction: The Flood (Part One)

 

Chapter Seven: The Flood

 

     "Have you filled up your pottles?" asked Thornbriar.

"Just about," the bear called back to his friend from where he crouched half-hidden in the undergrowth of thick, tangled bushes with only the big brown hump of his back showing.

     A pottle is a kind of thick round leather bottle with a cork lid.  A pottle will hold about two quarts of whatever you put into it, and what the elf and the bear had been putting in their pottles all morning were dewberries.  They had started out before five o'clock that morning and tramped far afield to get to where the dewberries grew, and now, at almost eleven, Thornbriar was topping off the last of his pottles with a final handful of the delicious, raspberry-like fruit.

     He picked a few last leaves and a bug or two out of the berries, then plugged the cork. 

     "That's the last of mine,” he announced.  "Meet me at the tree when you're done."

     "Almost finished," said Bear.

     Thornbriar walked to the spreading oak tree where they had set their loads of berries.  With satisfaction, he plunked down his last jar where all the other pottles sat like a clutch of brown eggs in the shade of the tree.  He rubbed his hands together in glee as he thought of the dewberry jelly, wine, and hot dewberry cobbler that they would prepare in the next few days.  He sat back in a comfortable corner between two spreading tree roots and pulled nearer to him the picnic basket they had packed that morning.  He began to rummage around in it.

     Outside the shade of the tree, it was blazingly hot.  As far as the eye could see were fallow fields, divided by hedges, with gigantic trees dotted here and there like oases in the desert.  Grasshoppers ticked through the high grass and bees tumbled from flower to flower.  At the bottom of the field, with a quiet chuckle and murmur of water over stone, flowed a large stream which was almost a young river.

     Bear came panting into the shady shelter of the tree's wide limbs, dust shaking out of his fur with every ponderous step.  He collapsed next to his friend, fanning himself and puffing and blowing as if he had just escaped some great danger.  He flung his last pottle down with the others as if abandoning an anchor that had almost dragged him down.

     "Woof, it's hot," he panted, tongue lolling.  "Did you save any food for me?"

     "I haven't even started," replied the elf, pretending to be offended.  "I think that we both need first is a cold glass of lemonade."

     "Then hurry up and pour us some before I die of thirst," said Bear, in a mock piteous tone.  "Just a drop and I'll get back to work.  I promise I will, governor."

     "Don't be such an ass, you lazy old thing," laughed the elf, pouring out a huge glass from a sweating gallon jar.  He passed it to the bear.  "Here."

     Bear took it in both paws and greedily stuck his nose in, gulping the tart, yellow lemonade in large drafts, until the glass was empty.  He sighed with satisfaction.  "That hit the spot," he said, licking his whiskers and holding his glass out for more.  "I may live yet."

     The next half-hour was devoted to the emptying of the picnic basket.  There were sandwiches of many kinds, from simple butter and jelly to deliciously squashy bacon, lettuce, and tomato.  There were pickles and salted nuts, deviled eggs and oatmeal cookies, and more cold lemonade and root beer in a tinny jug to wash it all down.  When the last crumb and drop had been devoured, the two friends sat back stuffed, feeling less inclined than ever to heft their load of berries and leave the shelter of the friendly tree.

     "I guess," said Thornbriar, stifling a yawn.  "I guess we'd better get going soon."

     "Yes, I suppose so," said Bear drowsily, a moment later.  "What time do you think it is?"

     There was no answer.  Thornbriar was asleep beneath the wide brim of his blue hat; his breath whistling in and out of his long, pointed nose.  Bear waited idly for an answer, not noticing that his friend slumbered.  In a moment, he too nodded off; softly rumbling several tones deeper than the drone of the busy honeybees that still moved dreamily through the heavy, hot air.

                   ***********

     Bear was deep in a dream about chasing a butter-and-honey sandwich as big as a barn door.  He had caught the sandwich and was beginning to eat it, when it seemed he was surrounded by a gentle whisper of soft applause, like many hands clapping.  He looked around but could see nothing.  The applause grew louder and louder, and suddenly he felt something cold and wet plunk directly onto his nose.

     With a snort and a jerk, he was awake.  But the clapping sound was still all around him.  It was a muddled second before he realized that the sound was rain, pattering on the myriad leaves above him.  The old tree was so high and thick that only the occasional drop found its way to the ground beneath.

     The bear reached over and nudged Thornbriar.  "Hey, wake up," he said.  "Wake up!  It's starting to rain."

     The elf started up in alarm, rubbing his eyes.  "What the--" he cried, springing to his feet.  "Oh, great," he said.  "Just great."

     The two friends looked at the rain.  It was falling in a silver curtain all outside the perimeter of the tree and was so thick that the nearest trees and hedges were only blurry shapes.  The sky was uniformly dark grey, as if an iron bowl had been clapped down over the earth.  From far away, came the deep, warning brool of summer thunder.

     "We'll never get the berries home through this,” said Thornbriar.  "We'll just have to wait here until it lets up."

     "I don't know,” said Bear thoughtfully.  "It looks like its setting in to stay for a while."

     The elf hauled out his pocket watch and popped the lid.

     "It's a quarter past three," he announced.  "If it hasn't let up by five, we’ll head for home and do our best, rain or no rain."

     "Agreed,” said Bear.

     The next hour or so was spent in little scraps of conversation; the elf tidying up the picnic basket over and over again while Bear hummed the same three tunes, both of them cautiously keeping an eye on the endlessly falling rain.  As it grew later and later, it got darker and darker, and the clouds showed no sign of moving on.

     At almost five o’clock, there was finally a lull in the rain.  It didn't actually stop, but it was reduced to a few drops driven by a high, freshening wind.

     "I guess it's now or never,” said Thornbriar.  "We'll have to make a dash for home."

     "Right," said Bear resolutely, hitching up his pottles.  "Are you ready?"

     The elf grabbed his own load of berries.  "Let's go."

     They started at a fast pace and struck out for the valley pass.  It was hard going, because the paths had all been churned into squelching mud by the pounding rain, and the extra burden of the heavy pottles slowed them down.  As they hurried along as best they could, they saw ahead of them a frowning wall of black clouds rushing inexorably over the low hills, quivering with lightning and sweeping the country beneath it with a torrent of falling water.

     "We'll never make it,” gasped Bear.  "When that hits us, we won't be able to see.  And there are streams flooding all around us.  One false step..."

     "I know, I know," said Thornbriar.  He desperately looked around, then pointed.  "Look!  Isn't that a house over there?"

     Far off to their left, they could just see the wet glint of a slate roof on one of the low foothills.

     "Looks like an old shepherd's hut,” said the bear.  "It ought to be abandoned at this time of year."

     "I think we can just make it,” said the elf, turning from the muddy path and setting out towards the hut.  "We can wait out the storm there, if we must."

     The pair hurried through the wet, whipping weeds and tall grasses, running with determination and fear.  Every now and then, Thornbriar cast an anxious glance up at the lowering storm front to gauge its progress.

     They had reached the foot of the hill and started to climb when the rain struck, as suddenly and fiercely as a wave.  They groped blindly uphill the last few yards.

     Thornbriar had nearly run into the hut before he finally saw it; its gray, rough stones almost invisible in the slanting rain.  He dashed the water out of his eyes and located a door.

     "This way!" he yelled, and Bear nodded blindly, following his friend's voice.  The elf felt his way along the wall until he reached the door, then, finding it by feel alone, he grabbed and turned the latch.

     The door burst open, and Thornbriar lurched inside.  The bear followed a few seconds later; water streaming from his fur onto the bare slate floor almost as if he were a small rain cloud himself.  He threw his pottles down and shut the door against the howling wind.

     "Brrr," he shivered, automatically shaking himself like a dog and scattering water everywhere, including onto the elf, who had just removed his hat and cleared the water from his eyes.

     "Hey!" he said.

     "Sorry,” said Bear, thumping down onto a dry spot on the floor.

     "It doesn't matter, I guess," said the elf.  "I can't really get any wetter, I suppose."

     "It sure is dark in here,” said Bear, straining his eyes around the hut.  "Can you see anything?"

     "Hang on," said Thornbriar.  Elves have good darksight, but in the last, dying light of the heavily overcast sky which glinted feebly through the window,  even Thornbriar had a difficult time making anything out.  After a moment, he managed to get a match and candle stub from his tinderbox (which, mercifully, was still dry) and struck a light.

     By its slowly growing glow, the two friends could make out the interior of the little hut.  It was only one room, maybe twenty feet by twenty feet.  The walls were mortared stone, with one window covered with a semi-transparent, horn board.  The roof and floor were fitted slate, and opposite the door was a rough chimney, a pile of wood, and little else, except for a few hooks on the wall. 

     "At least we can get a fire going and dry out,” said Thornbriar cheerfully.

     He walked over and stuck the candle on the mantlepiece and began piling the wood onto the grate.  After a few touchy moments, he got a fire going, and its rosy glow soon filled the little room.  The elf took from one of his pockets a reel of fishing line and strung it from hook to hook on the wall, so that it hung near the fire.  Then he placed his wet clothes along it to dry them out.

     Outside the rain still fell steadily, and the wind howled down the chimney.  Blasts of lightning shattered the air and sent rumbles of thunder that the two friends could feel even in the stones of their temporary shelter.

     Eventually, as clothes and fur dried, they began to relax and feel that they had well escaped the ferocity of the storm.  They began to talk and tell stories and reminisce about old times.  Thornbriar lit his pipe, and Bear consumed one of the pottles of berries.

     It was past three in the morning before the worst of the thunder finally seemed to be over, and they lay down to sleep.  Bear instantly dropped off, but Thornbriar lay a long time with his head propped against the warm, furry flank of his gently snoring friend, gazing up at the roof, while outside the rain fell on, quietly but steadily.

Notes

This chapter of Elf & Bear has a long and storied history. It began as a playing when John and I were on the swings and was originally a story about Charlie Brown and Linus at camp and the flood which they escaped. Looking back, it may have been (unconsciously)influenced by the climactic flood in Baked Beans for Breakfast, though I could swear I had forgotten it at the time. The more conscious influence was our epic escape from camping and the rain and tornado that trapped us down by the river. The idea of 'The Flood' was also the inspiration for an entire proposed book in the Fellowfeel series, The Sundering Flood (shades of William Morris!).  

That country area where we camped was also the inspiration for the dewberry picking. Dewberries are " ... closely related to the blackberries. They are small trailing (rather than upright or high-arching) brambles with aggregate fruits, reminiscent of the raspberry, but are usually purple to black instead of red. The plants do not have upright canes like some other species, but have stems that trail along the ground, putting forth new roots along the length of the stem. The stems are covered with fine spines or stickers. Around March and April, the plants start to grow white flowers that develop into small green berries. The tiny green berries grow red and then a deep purple-blue as they ripen. When the berries are ripe, they are tender and difficult to pick in any quantity without squashing them. The berries are sweet and often less seedy than blackberries." - Wikipedia. They are a seasonal and regional delight, and the fruit is usually gone by May. They are gathered with many a bramble sting and with stained fingers, so they tend to be a hard-won, ephemeral pleasure. Dewberry jelly is the preferred method of preservation.