A Dog's Way Home (14 page)

“S
o anyway,” Madison said, as if the sun rose and set by the latest school gossip, “I heard that Robert Lee asked Savannah Stiles to go to the seventh-grade spring dance!” Bree and Courtney gasped.

I glanced toward the cafeteria door, wishing Cheyenne would hurry up and get here. “What's so bad about him asking her?”

They all exchanged their Abby-is-so-clueless look. “He was supposed to ask Kristen Pettigrew.”

Courtney nodded. “Yeah, everybody knows that.”

Finally, Cheyenne strode into the cafeteria. Her eyes found me at the table with the others. She raised one eyebrow and nodded over to the window.

I wadded up my paper sack and stood. “I'll see y'all out at recess.”

And just like every other day since Cheyenne and I had become friends, they looked on in disbelief as the little hillbilly went and ate lunch with the coolest girl in eighth grade, not to mention the whole school.

Cheyenne picked at her salad and fruit. Cheyenne Rivers was a vegetarian. She says she doesn't eat anything with a face. I had read about vegetarians before, but until I met Cheyenne, I'd never seen one.

“So what book does Olivia say we should read for our book club?” Cheyenne asked.

“She liked your suggestions best. She votes for
To Kill a Mockingbird
,” I said.

Cheyenne smiled. “Good. I've read it a bunch of times, but I think you'll like it. You and Scout have a lot in common.”

I'd told Cheyenne all about Olivia and me reading the same books together. Cheyenne thought that was a great idea, and now the three of us had our own online book club.

“They made a movie of it too,” Cheyenne said. “I have it at home. We can watch it when we're done with the book.”

The sun coming in the cafeteria windows tickled my hair and shoulders. It was the first sun we'd had all week.
I was itching to get outside at recess.

“How come you don't ever play kickball or four-square with us at recess?” I asked. “Other eighth graders do.” Our games at recess had gotten so popular, practically everybody played.

Cheyenne shrugged. A little bit of red crept up her face. “Why should I care about a stupid game?”

So you can bet, that afternoon, when I picked my team for dodgeball, I pointed at Cheyenne over to the side, leaning against a tree like she didn't care a thing in the world. “I pick Cheyenne Rivers,” I said real loud.

I'm here to tell you, you could've heard a pin drop on that playground. Half the kids looked at me like I was crazy, the other half watched Cheyenne to see what she'd do.

I was just as surprised as everyone else when she yawned, pushed herself off that tree, and said, “Sure, whatever.”

At first, everybody on my team stayed way out of her way, and nobody on the other team tried to hit her with the ball.

I blew Miss Bettis's shiny silver whistle and called a time-out. “Kyle,” I said, pointing to a seventh grader. “You and I are swapping sides.”

I blew the whistle again, grabbed the ball, and took solid aim. It was time to show them that Cheyenne Rivers was just like everybody else.

 

That night at supper (Harris Teeter fried chicken again, I am sorry to say), Mama said, “Your daddy's going to be gone six weeks on this tour with the band, so I'm going to need extra help from you.” Mama twisted and untwisted her long braid around her fingers like she does when she's extra unhappy with the world.

“Sure, Mama,” I said. “It's not like he's around that much anyway.”

Mama's face went white and her eyes got big as cat heads. Once again, I'd managed to stick my foot in my mouth.

“Oh my stars,” Mama breathed.

I turned around to see what she was looking at. “Great bucket of gravy,” I said.

There, in the living room, stood my daddy. At least, I think it was my daddy. Gone was the long, wild hair that had a life of its own; gone was the big red and silver beard he used to tickle my face. His hair was all short and slicked back. It looked like it'd never have a thought of its own again. And instead of his usual patched-up jeans or overalls, he wore fancy-stitched black pants, a cowboy shirt all tucked in, and a belt with a silver buckle as big as a hubcap.

My daddy had had a makeover.

“Ian,” my mother whispered, her hand covering her
mouth, “what happened to you?”

Daddy stuck his hands in the pockets of his fancy pants and stared down at his pointy-toed boots. “Mr. Katz,” he mumbled. “He said we have to project a ‘Nashville image' when we go out on tour. Not a Harmony Gap image.”

“Did you all have makeovers, Daddy?” I asked. Daddy winced and got all red in the face. Mama snorted behind her hand.

“Yes, sugar.” Daddy sighed. “We all did. Cue Ball and the Stuarts were not too happy, I can tell you.”

I cocked my head and studied Daddy. He looked an awful lot like Cheyenne's daddy. I'd seen pictures of him at her house.

I went and gave Daddy a big hug around his middle. “Don't feel too bad about it, Daddy. Mr. Randy Rivers dresses just like that and he's a millionaire.”

Daddy smiled down at me and smoothed the top of my head. “Thanks, peanut. Right now, though, I think I'd pay a million dollars to get my hair back. My neck is darned cold.”

 

The night before he left, Daddy came into my room. I was snuggled under my quilt reading.

He sat on the edge of the bed and tapped the back of my book. “
To Kill a Mockingbird
, huh? That's one of your Meemaw's favorite books.”

“Me and Olivia and Cheyenne Rivers are reading it for our online book club. Cheyenne said I'd like it because of Scout and me being a lot alike.”

Daddy laughed. “From what I remember about the story, I'd say she's right.”

Daddy picked at a thread in Meemaw's quilt. “I'm sorry I have to be gone so long, Abby.”

And do you know what? He sounded like he really was sorry.

“That's okay, Daddy,” I said. “You got to follow your north star, right?”

Daddy kind of laughed, but his eyes didn't. “I want you to look after your mama for me. She's not real happy about this.”

“But you've been on the road before,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but she always had her llamas before to keep her busy and Meemaw to help out. This is different. It's just going to be the two of you.”

I swallowed hard. I hadn't thought about that. It was a fact Mama loved those llamas more than just about anything.

He patted my cheek and smiled. “Don't worry, though. I'll call a bunch and send postcards. March will fly by and I'll be back before you even have time to miss me.”

I missed Daddy already. “I wish we could go with you,” I said. “Like old times.”

He pulled me to him. “Me too, honey. But just remember: Every night I'll be looking at that same big ol' moon as you and your mama are.”

I almost pointed out that it's hard to see the moon in the city, but I didn't. “I'll try to remember,” I said.

The next morning, after Daddy loaded the last of the instruments into his van, he grabbed me and Mama up in his strong arms and hugged us tight. “I will miss you girls more than you can ever know.”

Mama started to say something, then buried her face in his old canvas jacket. He tipped my face up and said, “Don't forget what I told you about the moon, Abby.”

“I won't, Daddy,” I said around a lump in my throat the size of China.

He kissed Mama for a long time, and then he was gone.

 

Mama wandered around the house the rest of the day like she needed a map to figure out where she was. She'd start one thing, then put it down. She sat and stared at her computer screen but didn't type a single thing. Finally, I said, “Mama, let's go to the Swishy Washy.”

The Swishy Washy was the Laundromat where we did the laundry every week. Mama maintained it was hard to feel bad when you said a name like Swishy Washy.

Mama stared out at the rain falling at the edge of our tiny porch. “I wonder if it's snowing at your
grandmother's?” she said. “I hope the llamas are getting enough to eat.”

I went over and stood next to Mama, resting my hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Mama,” I said. “Let's get out of this house.”

A
s the days passed, the wind shifted south, bringing the warmth from valleys four thousand feet below. Snow fell from burdened branches. The air filled with birdsong. Squirrels ran across the snow, tree to tree. Despite the frequent storms, the very fingertips of March touched the high mountains. The days were longer now, the sunlight stronger.

Every fiber of Tam's being wanted to be home. Spring meant time outdoors with the girl after long days indoors during the winter. Spring meant exploring along Clear Creek as the snow receded, revealing a symphony of new smells. Spring was waiting in a warm patch of sun on the front porch for his girl to come home from school. Time, the time was near for his girl. The fever of spring with the
girl drove Tam beyond exhaustion and hunger. His heart ached for his girl.

As Tam rounded a sharp curve in the road, he startled a large snowshoe hare nibbling the tiny green shoots of grass at the edge of the road. The hare froze at the sight of the dog, then bolted.

Tam shot forward. In two swift pounces, he grabbed the back paw of the hare. The sweet taste of blood filled his mouth.

Just as Tam was about to pin the hare with his front leg, a huge, feathered form streaked down from the sky. The bald eagle struck at the front of the rabbit. The bird beat his wide wings, lifting his prize upward.

Tam did not let go. This was his kill. He grabbed the meaty thigh of the hare and jerked back.

The eagle screamed in outrage, beat his wings harder.

Tam sank all his weight onto his back legs and shook his head back and forth. The tip of a wing raked Tam's face. He squeezed his eyes closed and pulled back harder.

The eagle screamed its frustration again and beat its wing across the bridge of Tam's muzzle. Pain exploded in his head.

The eagle released the rabbit, then rose above Tam and dove downward, talons outstretched.

Tam's eyes widened as the huge bird fell upon him. Razor-sharp talons raked his back, his hip. The force of
the eagle's blow rolled him end over end. The precious rabbit slipped from his mouth.

The eagle spotted the rabbit just beyond Tam's reach. He hopped and flapped toward the dog's kill.

But hunger quickened Tam's instincts. With a snarl, he charged the bird. He grabbed the hare around the middle and dashed for the deep forest, where the eagle could not follow.

With one last cry of outrage, the eagle rose above the forest and drifted away.

Tam hauled the dead rabbit up onto a large flat-topped boulder and collapsed in exhaustion and pain. He licked the oozing blood from the furrows left on his hip by the eagle. Then he turned his attention to his first meal in days.

As the sun rose high above the sea of gray mountains, Tam slept on the sun-warmed boulder. Bits of fluff and blood clung to his front paws and the edges of his mouth. Bloodstained snow and scattered bones were all the evidence left that the hare had ever lived.

 

A week later, spring fled the high mountains. A wild storm chased down from the north, roared across the high peaks and ridges, catching life unaware.

Tam had sensed a change coming the day before and had quickened his pace. Still, there was no predicting the
crack of thunder, the plummeting temperatures. Snow swept across the high country and the far ridges in thick curtains of white.

Tam left the open road and sought shelter in the forest. Ice and snow stung his eyes. His face turned white. The swirling storm bent trees low and stripped limbs.

A half mile off the downhill side of the Parkway, Tam found shelter in an old shed. The door was long since missing, one corner of the tin roof torn away. But inside it was dry.

He scratched out a bed among dried corn husks and feed sacks. He laid his head across his tired paws and watched the storm through the open doorway. Thunder bounced from one side of the range to the other. Tam squeezed his eyes closed and whimpered.

Tam had never understood the electric flashes that split the sky, the booming thunder that shook the earth beneath his feet. It was everywhere and nowhere. But the girl had always kept him safe until the thing went away.

As lightning lit the silvered winter woods and thunder cracked overhead, Tam burrowed as far beneath the feed sacks as he could, reduced to a trembling ball. The dog who had faced down bear, shotgun, and eagle, whose brave, loyal heart had carried him hundreds of miles in winter wilderness, cowered before the unseen, alone.

 

Seventy-four miles to the north, Ian Whistler stood in the Galax, Virginia, post office, watching the unexpected storm beyond the glass doors. He had just mailed the postcard he'd written to his family while he'd waited at the Galax garage for yet another repair to his old van. He was supposed to catch up with the Clear Creek Boys in Richmond. He was eager to get back on the road. But this storm just might force a change of plans, at least for the night.

A figure hurried up the steps of the post office, shoulders hunched against the blowing snow. His coat flapped around his legs. He clutched a sheaf of papers in one hand while the other clamped his hat to his head.

Abby's father pulled the door open for him. “Heck of a storm, isn't it?”

“Not fit for man nor beast,” the old man said. He took his wool hat from his head and beat the snow off against his leg. “But it's for a beast that I'm out in this weather.”

“How's that?” Ian Whistler asked.

“Missing dog,” Doc Pritchett said, holding up the flyers. “A good friend of mine's dog went missing a few weeks ago.”

“That's sad,” Abby's father said. “My little girl lost her dog back about five months ago. She's still tore up about it.”

The old vet turned his back and surveyed the
community bulletin board. Notices for garage sales, pot-luck dinners, and moving sales covered the board.

“People get mighty attached to their pets,” he said. He rearranged a few of the older notices. “My friend who lost this dog is recovering from a heart attack. I'm hoping if I put up some of these flyers for her, she'll stop worrying so much. But I have my doubts.”

Doc Pritchett pinned a flyer to the middle of the bulletin board. He heard a gasp from behind him.

“A
sheltie
?” Abby's father said. “You're looking for a sheltie?”

“Why, yes, that's what he is. You're familiar with shelties?”

Ian nodded. “Yes, sir. That's the kind of dog my little girl lost too. Back in the fall.”

“That's a shame. And a surprise too. They're normally loyal little dogs.”

Abby's father rubbed the back of his neck. “My wife and daughter were in an accident up on the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia. The dog was in the back of the truck in a crate and was thrown out. We never found him.”

“Did you put flyers up?”

“We did. Even had a photo of him and offered a reward. But it's been months and no word.”

Doc Pritchett glanced back at the flyers. “A photograph would certainly help. Unfortunately, my friend hadn't had
him that long, only a couple of months.”

“So he's a puppy?”

The vet put his hat back on and rewound his scarf. “No, an adult. She found him half dead on her property. No collar or anything. She nursed him back to health. He ran off when she had her heart attack. Haven't seen him since.”

Something nagged at the edge of Ian Whistler's mind. He was just about to ask what the sheltie looked like when the vet pushed open the door. “Well, I better get the rest of these put out. Don't want to be out on the roads any later than I have to.” A gust of wind blew snow across the floor. “You take care now.”

“You too, sir. And good luck finding your friend's dog.” He watched the older man hurry to his car, then turned back to the flyer. Goose bumps ran up his arms as he read:

MISSING:
MALE SHETLAND SHEEPDOG ABOUT
THREE YEARS OLD. MOSTLY RED IN
COLOR WITH WHITE PAWS, CHEST, AND
NECK. REWARD OFFERED. IF FOUND
PLEASE CALL IVY CALHOUN AT
276-555-2512

Abby's father shook his head. Galax had to be more than two hundred miles from where the accident had happened. No dog could survive a journey that far, especially in the winter. Still…he read the description again. He didn't know much about shelties, but he did know Tam's red coat was unusual.

He removed the pin from the bulletin board and took one of the flyers. He folded it and stuffed it in his coat pocket.

Blowing snow ticked against the glass doors of the post office. It was snowing harder now. Abby's father sighed as he climbed into his old van. Looked like he'd be spending the night in Galax.

He leaned closer to the windshield and scrubbed his sleeve across the frosted window. “Not fit for man nor beast,” he said aloud.