Like acne on a teenager’s face, that festering situation with Mrs. Browne was bound to come to a head soon. I knew it had to be expunged and properly cleansed to prevent re-occurrence. Well come to a head it did, on a chilly, wet early autumn morning. It was a nasty, miserable bit of weather to tell the truth, the short of wet cold which sneaks into every crevice of your clothing and being. A misty fog rolled down the river valley basically raining on everything it touched; cold and clammy would be the appropriate description.

It wasn’t a dense fog however and visibility was adequate for our slow passage up-river. So everyone shook it off, grabbed some leftover bread and proceeded to break camp to get moving for the day. Amos packed our gear while I got the brazier and coffee going on the boat. The crew were making their morning ablutions and everything was proceeding in quiet misery. We all knew that the sooner we were underway the sooner this miserable morning would end. Even Brin knew the program, he made his ablutions, grabbed his current chew bone and occupied his favorite spot on the cargo house roof – promptly going right back to sleep.

Brin had our travelling routine down to a canine art form. When we stirred in the morning he got moving with us, he knew exactly what was going to happen. When I grabbed his blanket he would grab his current bone and follow along, he knew that wherever that blanket landed he was supposed to be. I found that him following me around strange towns with a big bone in his mouth made people much more comfortable with the big dog. So when I moved his blanket to his spot on the cargo house roof, Brin simply followed along, bone in mouth until I put the blanket in his ‘spot’. He stayed there until we were fully underway. He is a pretty smart dog, all things considered.

Sadly enough we weren’t destined for a standard clammy morning on that day. We had the Wicked Witch of New England along for the ride – accent included. The steamboat's boiler was just starting to come up to pressure and I had just put the coffee on the brazier; breakfast would be as soon as Amos got our gear stashed. It was Amos’s turn to cook breakfast, we alternated days for cooking on the road – whoever cooked dinner the night before made breakfast the next morning. I always made the coffee however, because Amos sucked at cooking coffee.

As it turned out my breakfast and coffee were going to be delayed today, not something that lifted my already wet and sour mood. A ruckus arose from the campsite, a high pitched ruckus with a snotty Boston accent. The fog muffled the sound so I couldn’t quite make out what was being said but it didn’t sound pleasant, I decided to cook coffee and smoke a cigarette, hoping beyond hope that the situation would quickly and peacefully resolve itself. Sadly this turned out to be the volcanic eruption the last few days had foreshadowed and the coffee wasn’t even ready yet.

I ran into a frustrated and angry Doc Browne upon climbing down the steep stairs from the roof deck, apparently things had not gone well during the Browne family meeting held out in the foggy camp. At that point my personal frustration with the situation passed the point of no return. I was only a few days from home and I just wanted to get back there as quickly and as quietly as I could. I had a contract deal with the good Doctor, no such obligation existed with his wife. As much as I hated to get involved in family affairs, this person's behavior was now affecting the entire crew and mission. It was no longer a simple domestic problem, this was a business problem. One that I was going to handle immediately.

“Doc, get your kids and your gear on board – Amos will see that they are fed.” My tone was all professional, this was now my problem not his.

I then turned to Sven, “Get the shore party on the beach, we will be casting off in a few minutes.” Sven didn’t even pause and started barking out orders to the crew as they prepared to push both the boat and the skiff off of the beach.

I joined the shore party in preparing to push off. More specifically I went to the skiff to make a little room at the bow, I had to removed two chairs (one a rocking chair) and managed to make the bow seat available. Anyone sitting there would be facing the backwards but comfort wasn’t my problem. I had one of the shore party take the chairs up to the roof deck and another hold the skiff out in the water just deep enough so it floated freely. With that I went to collect or abandon our wayward passenger.

Before I confronted her I stopped to look back and do one final check of the boats, the steamboat was off the beach being held by polemen and the skiff was being held by the tow ropes and steadied by the last of the shore party still on the beach. The fog was starting to dissipate and the sky above was clear and a promising blue, it was going to be a nice day.

With every piece set in place I heaved a sigh and turned to face the belligerent bitch who was making the start of my day difficult. Mrs. Browne was sitting on her bedroll stubbornly staring at me as I approached, I could see her winding herself up to deliver yet another tirade of venomous vitriol. I didn’t even let her get started, I used my ‘Dad’ voice on her and said, “We are leaving now, you may stay if you wish but we are going.”

With that I turned and walked away.