Kandude, Morton, and Cardoshia drove down out of the hills together, stopping at a small county campground where they started a fire and decided to spend the night.
Cardoshia, who had spoken but a few words since regaining her senses, still appeared somewhat dazed. The two men gave her some cheese and peanut butter sandwich crackers and bottled water and sat quietly by. After a while, Cardoshia took a deep breath and, staring into the fire, told her story.
“After the Bulgarians were blown to smithereens, Squire K couldn’t very well let us leave the ranch. Nor was it clear he ever intended to, for as the Old Woman had observed, he was quite infatuated with me and was clearly a law unto himself. Initially, he treated me with outward respect, and did not touch me, although I caught him staring through my clothes with voracious eyes whenever he thought I would not notice.”
“The Squire gave me a wardrobe of long floral and polka dot dresses and suggested that I take charge of the household. Like the women servants and kitchen staff, I was given several old-fashioned aprons to complement my attire. Unlike the staff, however, I was provided with stylish high heels. It was clear the suggestions and appointments were not optional.
The Squire did not include me in discussions of the Freemen’s philosophy or plans. I did, however, preside over dinner with the Squire like a consort. When he retired to his library, I made sure he was supplied with bourbon and cigars. At the end of the day, I made sure his boots and favorite guns were laid out by the side table in the great room. The Freemen, especially Foreman Ruger, watched me like hawks. The staff kept their distance, though Maria was very kind to me.”
“My dear friend the Old Woman was sequestered in what they called the Carriage House, where Squire K’s father also had an apartment. We spoke whenever we could, but were largely kept apart, for fear, I suppose that the Old Woman might exert inexpedient influence over me. She too rapidly seemed to morph into a traditional frontier matron in appearance, though in our brief interactions she would give me a knowing glance and touch my arm with a gesture meaning that we needed to bide our time. I worry greatly about her.”
“The Squire led Bible readings each evening after dinner, often quoting Scripture at great length from memory. I was expected to be reverent and attentive. Indeed, I soon discovered that if I were not exquisitely demure and diligent, the Squire would be visibly displeased. As time went on, Squire K became increasingly critical and controlling. One night he said that the time was soon coming for a betrothal ceremony. He gave me several religious and domestic arts books to read and said something about being Sealed for Eternity. This sounded a lot like some kind of bondage, and not the fun kind. This made me miss my OnlyFans career. I knew I had to do something.”
“Then came the visit from the good Reverend Bedwards and his Tent Revival. All but the guards who were on duty attended the services, which were bucketloads more fun than Presbyterianism. Squire K and the soldiers enjoyed the fire and brimstone but were less enthusiastic about the snakes.
The next morning as they were packing up, I noticed a large empty wooden box and climbed in, pulling the cover into place over me. Unfortunately, one of the Reverend’s sons, without looking inside, dropped a bundle of snakes in with me and latched down the lid. When the sons opened the box the next night, I was basically catatonic. The snakes were snuggled up in my warm lap. As it happened, the Reverend and his wife and sons turned out to be kind and gracious people. But I had retreated to a dark place I can’t describe. I hardly remember the times that followed until I suddenly recognized you, Kandude.”
Kandude and Morton realized that Cardoshia was lucky to be alive, let alone coherent. Kandude thought it a miracle of some kind indeed that he and Cardoshia had been restored to one another, and he entertained consideration that Professor B had been right after all.
The next morning, having filled Cardoshia in on his acquaintance with Tanemahuta but omitting any reference to Changrilalaland, he dug up the burner phone purchased on the advice of Elliot in Idaho, and rang the only number in the memory. Tanemahuta answered on the third ring. Happy to learn that Kandude had found his beloved, Tanemahuta told Kandude that the Old Woman was safe and that they were together. They no longer had the other Subaru, but they could make their way to a Flying Q near Ft. Worth if Kandude was able to meet them there.
The three travelers immediately; headed west. Cardoshia was searching for good road tunes and was forced to try AM at one stretch. On the first station that popped up, the announcer breathlessly welcomed listeners to Liberty Night. The announcer introduced the special guest speaker, the founder and President of Burning Point, Chucky Berzirk.
Chucky Berzirk started by warning mothers to never let their daughters get prescriptions for birth control medication because it makes them angry and bitter and causes them to vote for Donkeycrats. He warned that American universities were oases of left-wing fascism. He said that parents should not send their children to any university except Freedom University in the sacred city of Lynchtree, except that a small number of fundamentalist Christian colleges would be acceptable, if far inferior, second choices. He reminded listeners that Freedom University had online admissions officers standing by 24/7 with exclusive discounts for Liberty Night listeners.
Mr. Berzirk further cautioned about flying on planes with Black pilots, who are given those critical jobs as a sop to DEI instead of hiring smarter and more competent White pilots. Likewise, he warned that one should never get medical care from Black lesbian doctors, who were infiltrating the medical profession. Finally, he warned that Haitian migrants were infiltrating White neighborhoods, snatching people’s dogs and cats, barbequing them in savory Caribbean spices, and eating them with savage relish.
“On the contrary, dear Kandude,” responded Morton. “Chucky Berzirk is a wildly popular right-wing propagandist with millions of followers. He came to our campus when I was teaching at a small college in Missouri on a 3-month contract. He spews out this kind of spurious effluent without the benefit of fact or erudition – indeed, he is a high school graduate who lectures academia, politicians, the clergy and the masses pretending to be a savant of theology and political science. Many students and professors, and especially the school administrators, lapped it all up like starving bloodhounds swilling beef-bacon stew from a trough. A week after his visit, they terminated my contact because I mentioned the Civil War, which made some White students feel bad,” Morton added.
“This is what we have come to,” said the lugubrious Morton. “There reigns a collective repudiation of intellectual or moral discipline in favor of moronic tropes that feed the basest instincts of the angry mob. Podcasts and social media platforms like X create an infinitude of open mikes for ludicrous conspiracies, groundless claims and accusations, and grotesquely false corruptions of science, history, and news. Worst of all, those who know better, and therefore bear responsibility for upholding higher standards, plunge willingly into the cesspit for money, fame and power. It is a stampede of intoxicated, principle-free lemmings.”
Late in the evening, the travelers arrived at the Flying Q near Ft. Worth where they had a warm reunion and mutual introductions. They sat together in the all-night truck stop café to bring one another up to date.
Late in the evening, the travelers arrived at the Flying Q near Ft. Worth where they had a warm reunion and mutual introductions. They sat together in the all-night truck stop café to bring one another up to date.
CHAPTER XXII. THE OLD WOMAN’S DELICATE PREDICAMENT AT FREEMAN RANCH