Dapper Sasquatch and the Missing Kids
Stephanie Jo Gonzales
Chapter 1
The loveseat creaked and groaned like a washerwoman after a 12-hour shift. Dapper “DS” Sasquatch straightened as much of his furry 8‘7“ frame as the train’s dining car permitted, keeping knees bent and shoulders hunched lest he knock the top hat from his head. It wouldn’t do for a lady to see a gentleman without his top hat.
He folded the telegram, slipped it into his waistcoat, picked up his airmail bag, and looked around the dining car. Dark walnut paneling gave the car a cozy feel. Bronze chandeliers etched with tulips and dragonflies added elegance and whimsy. A murmur of conversation came from the ten tables bracketing the aisle. Three clockwork servers clicked and tocked refilling wine glasses and commenting on the weather. Red velvet curtains framed a yellow-green blur.
Train travel, DS thought, was the only truly civilized transportation. Horses and buggies ended with beetles, twigs, and dust mangled in his fur. While reminiscent of home, a gentleman was never to be seen with a beetle in one’s ear.
“Next stop Des Moines. 20-minute intermission,” called a porter.
“Well, this has been lovely. Truly a pleasure having coffee with you, Miss. I must beg your leave. Mail to deliver,” he said, his voice the guttural sound of two redwoods sprouting full grown.
Tipping his hat, DS turned to leave, bracing the chandelier above the table. Starting a fire merely because one wanted to stand upright was the height of rudeness.
“Wait please. Sir… my dear bigfoot, please,” she said. “My editor…”
DS stopped but did not turn back. “Miss, I am going to assume that you meant no disrespect and didn’t know that term is a slur,” he said in a voice so quiet the chandeliers vibrated. He nodded to the other diners. “Ladies, gentlemen, please forgive my outrage.” He walked down the aisle and turned out of sight.
***
DS gripped a ladder rung and bounded to the top of the car where he’d parked his airship, Ellie.
“Percy, my dear fellow. What’s the toll for this day’s lounging and five days of coal?” DS asked.
Percy, the chief coalman, crouched, oiling the airship, and waved off the question. “Are you headed east or west?” he asked.
“West,” said DS. “West again.” He handed Percy the missive from his second in command.
March 17, 1853
DS.
You mu<strong>S</strong>t deliver t<strong>H</strong>e enclosed to Portl<strong>A</strong>nd in the Oregon Territory by 3 in the after<strong>N</strong>oon on March 31st. Missin<strong>G</strong> t<strong>H</strong>is date forfeits your bounty <strong>A</strong>nd results in expuls<strong>I</strong>on from the Airborne Express.
Sara
“Your assistant loves her codes. Shanghai?” Percy returned the telegram, removed his cap, smeared coal dust and sweat from his black brow, and stood.
“I supposed I’ll discover what she means when I get to Portland.”
“And the copper thief?” asked Percy, shoving the hat into his back pocket. “Have they found ‘er yet?”
“Save a blurry image in the wanted poster,” he shrugged. “Is she ready?” DS opened the trunk and dropped his satchel in. Airmail, check. Food sack, check. Coal, check. He walked the perimeter of his flying machine, turning her propeller, opening, and closing the umbrella, flapping a wing.
“Yes. She’ll fly,” said Percy. “But she’s not in any kind of shape to face trouble.”
“Trouble? Meaning what, exactly, my dear Percy?”
“Well, that the air’s a less safe place than it was six months ago. On the ground, a sasquatch is a fearsome sight, but aloft you’re a mighty big target, and badly equipped to cope with gravity unaided.” Percy wiped grease off the hand pedals. “Keep an eye out for frogs.” He stopped and craned his neck to look DS in the eyes. “This is your last trip. Bring her in once you land, or I’ll send Wassel after you.” Percy stopped a moment. “How ya doing? Portland’s home.”
Dapper Sasquatch nodded, but his face had drawn tight. “Children by the dozens have vanished, Percy, all in one month.” He passed last week’s newspaper over. “Two from Georgia and Mississippi, and, well, Oregon seems the hardest hit.” A gentleman never cried, never in public, not even around their dearest friends, but weep? Yes, a gentleman could weep, and so tears darkened the fur at the edge of his deep brown eyes.
“Children?” muffled a tangle of white lace and dark blue fabric on the roof at the ladder’s edge.
“Miss?” DS asked.
His dining companion rolled onto her stomach with her feet toward the men. She pushed up onto her hands and knees and stood with her back to Percy and DS. She twisted, trying to free the skirt from her bustle, flashing her bloomers. Of all her clothes, only her high navy collar had remained in place through her stumble up the ladder and roof.
“Miss, are you eavesdropping?” DS asked.
“Not intentionally, no. No. Yes. It’s the job of a journalist to overhear. And it’s Ruby, please,” she said. “As I was saying, my editor requires a series on the life of an unseen. You, kind sir, are the only unseen I have seen.”
“Miss Ruby, then. I’m a tad large to be unseen. I truly must be going,” DS said.
“I mean your profession.” She followed him. “Airborne Expressors carry post throughout the country; and still go unnoticed, unobserved, and unknown. My editor requests access to this new breed of worker. He offers a handsome sum.”
Percy presented his arm and a slight bow. “Miss, this is not the place for ladies. Slipping again in your fine boots might lead to a fall over the side. Now the train isn’t moving, but a fall is still a fall,” he said.
She removed a notepad from the layers of her dress and stepped around the coal chief. “Is this your vehicle?” Ruby asked. “I haven’t seen anything like it.”
Three bronze wheels, a pedal and pulley system, a forest green settee grander than any at a fine hotel, copper pipes no wider than the bowl of a sugar spoon, a pump moist with dew, a brass burner, an immense umbrella, a cracked leather trunk, and a whalebone propeller; it was beyond imagination.
“How does it fly?” she asked.
“By a combination of coal and physical power. Ruby, I gave you a few lines to suffice your editor.” DS said. “I mean not rudeness, but I must be off.” DS clasped Percy’s shoulder. “Scant over 5 days, my friend. I’ll telegram when I land.”
*****
“Sir,” Ruby demurely looked up at Percy, “do you have any details on the missing children Mr. Sasquatch mentioned?”
“Sorry, miss,” Percy presented his arm. “The train is getting ready to leave. Your bags?”
“I can collect my bags.” Ruby pushed a card into his hand and climbed down the ladder. “Please message me if you learn anything. Did the children run away, were they taken, are they gathering somewhere? My paper, the Herald of the West, is tracking them. The more eyes we can get on them, the sooner they’ll be found. Please message me. I have a mobile telegram machine,” she called up.
The train wheels squealed, clockwork porters called out the final boarding, and parents chased after children running through the smoke on the platform. Ruby returned to the dining car.
Back at the corner table, she pulled a four-foot-long case from under the tablecloth. She sprung a brass leg from each corner and stood it up. The scratched leather lid flipped open to reveal a self-typing typewriter.
She spoke into a gramophone. “Boss, he only gave me a few lines. Mr. Sasquatch mentioned the missing children and Portland and then left on his flying machine. He appears to be friendly with the coalman, one Percy Ember.” She paused for the typewriter to catch up and gazed out the window. “Hmm. Boss, I’ll keep after the missing kids. In the meantime, I’ve included an introduction to Mr. Sasquatch. He promised to send reader responses to the Omaha branch when he could.”
*****
From the Airmail bag.
<strong>Herald of the West</strong>
<strong>Issue 3–March 1853</strong>
<strong>Dapper Sasquatch Interview</strong>
A dozen lives I have lived since I first took breath to the moaning of elk.
“Perhaps that is a bit highbrow,” said Dapper Sasquatch.
“You agreed to a few notes on your life,” defended journalist Ruby Grapher.
“True, true.” He stroked the fur on his chin. “Yet my beginnings are less grand
than yours. After all, my mother measured my growth on a sequoia tree.”
<strong>Ask Dapper Sasquatch–Reader Response</strong>
Muriel in Savannah, Mr. Sasquatch, why do you wear a top hat?
Because, fine lady, we are not animals. Civility, niceties, and kindness; these separate us from animals.
Of course, one could always say, “Eccentricity expresses one’s inner joy.”
Well met, DS.
<strong>WEATHER</strong>
Iowa–Des Moines River crests seven feet above its banks.
Alabama–Twelve-foot storm surge.
Florida–Seven-foot waves.
Georgia–Three windstorms.
<strong>WANTED</strong>
Copper Theft Emerald Theft Steel Theft
$50 Information $100 Information $50 Information
$750 Bounty, Alive $800 Bounty, Alive $750 Bounty, Alive
<strong>MISSING</strong>
February
New York State Oklahoma State Oregon Territory
Brown–M, Age 12 Tailor–M, Age 16 Blacken–F, Age 10
Miller–M, Age 13 Hind–M, Age 13 Bowler– F, Age 9
Castor–M, Age 9
Dirk–M, Age 11
Lark–M, Age 13
****
<strong>Annapolis, MD</strong>
My Darling, my Heart, Stephen
One hundred and seventy-three days since you left and still, I pine.
Clara, our boon, cares for the children as I sit by the window.
It was during one such afternoon that the house shook, and the windows rattled. Out the window was a Flying Frog. Oh my, how grand and terrible! Clara nearly fainted at seeing it.
It was green, oddly both alive and mechanical, 27 feet across, with three smoking cannons grafted onto its back. Clara and I joined the neighbors outside as its shadow dragged over the house.
Muslin, linen, or leather stretched ten feet on either side of its back and a lesser amount at the feet, making four flat wings. There wasn’t a balloon nor a propeller lifting it.
And then smoke descended.
Behind us, two clippers, a schooner, and an armored frigate burned orange in Chesapeake Bay. Men rushed the docks splitting into 2-man crews; one to paddle the rowboat and the other to pull sailors aboard.
The next morning’s paper listed 62 fallen with another 47 injured but saved.
Please send word. Do you fair well? Is land available in the Oregon Territory, or are you disappointed? I plead. Come, come home to me.
Your loving wife,
Hazel
* * *
Mother,
I write to you in haste and great concern.
Please calm your exploits. People begin to suspect. You’ve taken too many in too a short time. You are moving too quickly.
I retrieved the ruby from the Des Moines monastery. While not without difficulties, I secured it with no harm to the gentle monks inside.
I must confess, scaling walls in my dark traveling gown and starched blouse must’ve been a sight to see. Be that spider, ghoul, or intruder, I wonder? I am convinced no outsider saw me.
Most of all, the neckline chafes at me; these hot days with no moisture in the air and nary a drop of rain. I yearn for the sea to ease my discomfort. But I know my mission.
Mother, please be well and do try to calm yourself. Reports of missing children and stolen copper appear in the papers. Not one claims a connection. But I fear …
No, I shan’t think of it.
Mother, let me conclude with my love.
- Your Daughter
***
Chapter 2
A thundering boom woke Dapper Sasquatch somewhere over the Oregon Territory; east of the Willamette, based on the trees.
DS startled fully awake at the second Crack. Swoosh. Ribbit. Belch. Well now, flying while asleep may not have been the best idea, even with the auto pilot engaged, thought DS.
Four unremarkable days from Iowa to the Oregon Territory. Now, just one day from Portland and a living mechanical flying frog aimed three cannons at his vehicle.
“I suppose if a sasquatch can defy gravity and fly, so can a behemoth clockwork frog,” Dapper Sasquatch said. “Percy, you were right, again.”
Pungent gunpowder burned his nostrils. A cannon ball ripped through the umbrella. The wind whipped at his fur, and the trees grew larger.
Ellie dropped.
DS fussed with the back of the settee as the air tornadoed around him. A lavender cloth strung on horsehair twine released and ballooned, slowing his fall.
The frog dove, devouring 100 yards in one lumbering flying hop. Two stagecoaches wide, three long and another tall, the creature bore little resemblance to its river kin. Leather wings flapped and geared legs hopped to keep it aloft.
The next shot veered wide, but the blast spun Ellie and tangled the balloon.
DS searched the rotating and ever-rising landscape. Thirty miles to the west, he glimpsed a red mass above the evergreens. Gripping the settee against the force, he triggered a latch on the deck. Clicking and clacking, a tube lengthened, and plates spiraled out to reach three feet across to reveal a brass speaking trumpet.
While gentlemen never screech or scream, occasionally they do holler.
“PAUUUUUUUUUUL!”
Unsure if he was heard over the rushing wind, he hollered again.
“PAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUL!”
The earth quaked, quaked, and quaked again. The last one was a devastating thud that pulled the ground away from the trees. Evergreens, roots, and all hovered for the breath of a moment before the ground reached back up, hugging them close. Trees crashed, birds screamed, doe and buck scattered, scuttled, and rushed away.
The earth sighed, and the quiet resumed.
A solid cloud appeared beneath him. Is that a cloud? DS thought. Shaken and bonkered though his brain may be a long-ago memory surfaced of he and his sasquatch cousins bouncing on a, no, not a cloud.
“Ahh,” he sighed before slamming into a larger than large hand. Just as he expected, the red mass in the forest had been Paul’s stocking cap. Only a man of 23 feet could be seen so far away. And of all the men DS has met, only Paul Bunyan was so tall.
On occasion, gentlemen were known to shout out in joy. “Paul,” he smiled. “My dear friend. How are you this fine day?” DS pushed at the umbrella and hand pedals to stand. The settee tilted back to rest on the palm of Paul Bunyan’s mighty hand.
“My friend, so good you could drop in,” the giant chortled. “Next time, call ahead. I left Babe stomach side up and her parts strewn about.”
“Yes. Yes. Alas, not my doing.” DS stood and placed a hand atop his head. He surveyed the wreckage. Foot pedals in the coal compartment. Wings and umbrella shredded. The airmail bag was tangled around the speaker tube. DS walked the length of Paul’s hand.
“It’s alright, my friend. I have it. In fact, it alone was unharmed.” Paul passed the top hat over.
DS took it, inspected the top and the interior, ran his hand along the ribbon and the brim. Inside, he found one lone pine needle. “Not unharmed, but undamaged, true,” he said, showing Paul the pine needle.
“Dear friend, we need to discuss the meaning of the word unharmed at some further date. Shall I put you and Ellie down now? …or are you expecting more belongings to fall from the sky? You realize you’re littering in my forest.”
“Oh, yes, of course. … no, no more today. And when did the Oregon Territory frogs start flying? More importantly, who equipped them with cannons?” Dapper Sasquatch asked. “Sara sends me to Portland. I have one day to get there,” said DS. “Have you perchance heard of Shanghai?”
“Now DS, you know if the missives go missing, it’s only those codes that protect the information. You are not the only Expressor in your company.”
“Yes, yes. Forgive me. Frustration and a wee bit of nausea from my recent round the world seems to have gotten the better of me. To the task at hand, Shanghai?”
“Only from shanties about a land across the sea,” Paul said. “Where can I take you little cousin?”
***
Paul deposited DS at Multnomah Falls east of Portland along the Columbia River. Three dollars bought him travel aboard the steam paddleboat Fish or Be Fished.
He walked two decks, nodding to other passengers. He climbed the last set of stairs. The sasquatch looked over his shoulder. Not a soul. He was alone. DS removed his top hat and placed it on a spot of dry decking. Gentlemen never completed this next act in the company of others.
Dapper Sasquatch, the epitome of grace, style, and manners, stretched. He bent at the waist and touched the toes of his size 47 boots. He rolled his back as he rose. At the top, he stood on his toes, threw his arms to the sky and roared.
“Sir?” asked a young deckhand.
DS stopped, his mouth still open and hands in the sky, and looked over this shoulder. Gentlemen didn’t blush. It wasn’t seemly. Yet, if one could see beneath his heavy fur, one might’ve noticed the slightest pink cast to his cheeks.
He closed his mouth, dropped his arms, retrieved his top hat, and turned. He nodded to the deckhand and tipped his hat as he placed it on his head. “Yes?”
“Er. The captain requests your presence,” he said. “I can show you the way.”
“No. Thank you, little sir. I know the way.” DS took two steps and stopped. “Would you mind, young gentleman, not mentioning what you saw? I apologize for asking, but appearances must be kept, you understand.”
The deckhand nodded with eyes wide. Dapper Sasquatch had asked him for a personal favor. “Uh, of course, sir.”
With that, DS went to join the captain.
