A Dog's Way Home (19 page)

I
didn't even say hey to Cheyenne when I called her Sunday night. “I need a favor, Cheyenne. A big favor.”

“What?”

“I need you to call my house after school tomorrow and tell Meemaw I'm going over to your house,” I said.

Cheyenne laughed. “Well, duh. We've only done that a million times. That's no big deal.”

I licked my lips. “And I need you to invite me to spend the night.”

Cheyenne's voice frowned. “you think your mom's going to let you spend the night on a school night? She never has before.”

I could just see her studying me through the phone
lines. “What are you up to, Abby Whistler?”

All in a great big rush, I said, “I got to get up to Craggy Gardens and find Tam
now
, Cheyenne. I had this terrible dream about him last night and he was trapped in this tunnel and he was almost dead and…” I couldn't choke out any more, remembering that awful dream.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I'm going up there myself. I'm leaving first thing in the morning.”

“And?”

I twisted the phone cord around and around my finger. “And Mama and Daddy don't know. But they don't believe me when I tell them this weekend will be too late!”

“But—”

“I've never asked you for anything, Cheyenne. But could you please, please cover for me so I can get a head start?”

“How in the world are you going to get all the way up there? It's not like you can drive,” she pointed out.

I licked my lips. “I'm going to hitchhike.”

I could've sworn I heard her jaw drop.

“But Abby, that's at least a three-or four-hour drive,” Cheyenne said in this exasperated voice. “And besides, who knows what kind of wacko might pick you up.”

“You're not going to talk me out of this,” I snapped.
“I've got to do this for Tam. Besides, you're the one who told me to trust myself.”

Cheyenne laughed. “I wasn't going to say don't do it. I was just going to say, why hitchhike when you can take a limo?”

L
ora Jean Graham was right. The next morning when she checked the trap, a possum crouched in the corner. She sighed. “This is hopeless.”

She let the possum loose and carried the trap back to the Visitor Center. She wasn't sure it was worth the trouble of baiting and setting it again. She had a feeling the fox was nowhere to be found. “Well,” she said, “three's the charm. I'll bait it extra good this time.”

She placed the trap just to the side of the opening of the rhododendron tunnel. She studied the variety of tracks leading in and out of the opening. She walked inside and looked up at the branches arching and embracing overhead.

She started to walk farther along the shaded path when she heard a car pull into the parking lot. Voices. She sighed, took one last look, and turned around. “Time to get back to work,” she said.

The ranger glanced at the computer screen as she stationed herself behind the desk. A tiny envelope flashed, indicating she'd received a new email. “Wonder who that's from,” she muttered as she clicked on the envelope. The image of a red and white dog with long fur, shining eyes, and a white star-shaped mark on its head shone from the screen. Below the photograph, the email read:
His name is Tam. He is microchipped. We appreciate your help. Holly Whistler

“He's a pretty little dog, I'll say that,” Lora Jean said as she gazed admiringly at the photograph of Tam. “Looks like one of those little collies.”

The front door swung open. A harried-looking mother and father followed a pack of four screaming, laughing children into the visitor center. “We wanna see some deers! Now!” one of the children demanded.

Lora Jean sighed and clicked out of her email. It was going to be one of those days.

 

For the first time in days, the sun shone strong and warm on the mountain. Butterflies swarmed the laurel and rhododendron. Birds sang and fluffed their feathers in the sun. A fox sunned itself on a warm rock and groomed its tail.

And for the first time in days, the sun's afternoon light found Tam. It pulled him from a fevered sleep and stirred a longing, a message, in his soul.

It was time. He must watch for his girl.

With every bit of strength and hope he had, Tam pulled himself to his feet. He took two steps toward the sunlight at the opening of the tunnel. There. If he could just get there, he could find her and everything would finally be as it should be.

He took several more steps. Fever swam through his small body. It meant nothing to Tam.

And then it happened: His muscles refused to carry him. His back legs quivered, then sank beneath him. He commanded them to rise. They refused.

Tam whined in frustration.

It was time! He tried to rise but fell.

A human watching this poor dog pull itself along, foot by foot, would wonder at its motivation. A human would surmise it was purely the instinct to survive that drove this dog. A human could not guess at the measure of love that beat in the little dog's true heart.

At last, Tam could go no farther. He was tired, so tired.

Tam lay on his side, panting. He groaned under the weight of his disappointment. He took one last look at the sunlight beyond and closed his eyes. He could do no more.

I
twisted around in the backseat of the limo and watched the tall, shiny buildings of nashville grow to the size of specks.

Cheyenne pulled the earbuds of her iPod out of her ears and said, “The cops aren't after us, Abby. Stop worrying.”

“I ain't worried,” I said. But I surely was. I worried I'd see Mama's truck or Daddy's van speeding up behind us, flashing lights and honking horns.

And I worried we wouldn't get to Tam in time.

I heard Mr. Richard mumble something from the front of the car about “fool idea” and “I reckon I'm the only one smart enough to be worried.”

I couldn't believe Mr. Richard had agreed to drive us
up there in secret. When I'd asked Cheyenne why he was doing this, she said, “He's the one who gave me Dusty. He loves her almost as much as I do.”

“So?” I'd said.

“So,” she said, “you saved her life, remember? Besides, he believes in your grandmother's Sight.”

I took the end of my braid out of my mouth. “Your parents are probably going to skin you alive,” I said.

Cheyenne yawned and propped a foot on the back of the driver's seat. “That's all right. I've been a good girl for too long. I need to keep them on their toes,” she said, winking.

We both stared out the windows as the long black car purred along the interstate, Harley's map between us.

“What about you, though?” she asked. “What do you think your folks will do when they find out you've run off?”

I rubbed Tam's collar between my fingers. “They got bigger fish to fry than me right now,” I said, and sighed.

That one eyebrow of Cheyenne's arched up. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, half of Daddy's band—Cue Ball and Jeb Stuart—left and went back to Harmony Gap. They said they'd had enough of Nashville ways and wanted to go back where they could be themselves.” Poor Daddy. He was fit to be tied.

I lowered my voice and whispered, “But the biggest thing is”—I glanced at the back of Mr. Richard's head—“Mama's
pregnant
!” I still couldn't believe it.

Cheyenne grinned. “Well, that certainly explains a lot.”

Before I could ask her what she meant, she asked, “What about your grandmother? Did she suspect you were going to look for Tam?”

I remembered Meemaw saying to me just before I fell asleep the night before, “Hurry, Abby.”

I blinked back tears. “She knows me pretty well, I reckon.”

 

The sky got darker the closer we got to the mountains. Mr. Richard turned on the heat. As we crossed into North Carolina, a big gust of wind about blew us off the road. Within seconds, sleet pelted the car.

“Look, Abby.” Cheyenne pointed to a green and white sign.

“Asheville, twenty-five miles,” I read out loud.

I leaned forward and said to Mr. Richard, “Just before we get to Asheville, we'll see signs for the Blue Ridge Parkway.”

“And then how far is it to this place we're going after that?” Mr. Richard asked.

I studied the map on my lap. “Looks like about another ten miles or so.”

“Lord, Lord,” Mr. Richard said as the wipers slapped at the snow building up on the windshield.

I closed my eyes and prayed for the snow to stop, for the car to go faster, for Tam to hang on.

T
am did not stir.

He did not stir as the animals around him hunted and were hunted. He did not stir as the young ones played under the watchful eyes of the adults, and the old ones dreamed of full bellies and warm summer sun.

He did not stir as wind and snow and cold lashed Craggy Gardens, bending the tops of the trees low and blanketing the new, green grass.

Instead, Tam dreamed his way through long streams of memory. He dreamed of drinking warm milk alongside his sisters, faces pressed into his mother's side. He dreamed of hot meals beside the stove and a soft bed. He dreamed of hunting with a young coyote, the taste
of hot blood and snap of bone. He dreamed of an old woman's soft voice and gentle hands.

But mostly he dreamed of his girl. He ran young and strong across meadows and through agility courses. He waited and watched. And when it was time, she came. He flew into her arms, covered her face with kisses. She cradled him in her arms and carried him over the mountains, across wide rivers, to a lush, green meadow, the
thump thump
of her heart filling his world.

T
he three of us stared at the sign on the gate, dumbfounded.

“I can't believe it,” Cheyenne cried for the third time. “How can the road be
closed
?” She poked her head out the car window. “I mean, give me a break! It's May third! It's just a little snow!”

Mr. Richard shook his head. “It's more than ‘just a little snow,' Miss Cheyenne.”

And it was true. The temperature must've dropped a zillion degrees. I'd guess there was already a good three inches of snow on the road, probably ice underneath.

I dropped my head in my hands and pressed hard against my eyeballs to keep from crying. It just wasn't fair.
Tam had come so far, and so had we.

I felt Cheyenne's hand on my back. “I'm sorry, Abby,” she said, sniffling. “We'll go up as soon as the weather clears and they open the road.”

But I wasn't listening to her. My brain was filling up with flashes, pictures of Tam. Tam swept away in a river, Tam cold and hungry and scared, Tam being shot at, Tam being chased by something big and black, Tam walking mile after mile after mile—all these pictures, clear as anything, flashing one after another. But always, Tam on his way home to me. And now it was time for me to bring him home.

I threw open the car door and bounded out into the snow. The wind about snatched me bald, but I didn't care.

“Time's a-wasting!” I called back to Cheyenne and Mr. Richard as I ducked under the gate across the road.

“But Abby!” Cheyenne hollered into the wind. “It's eight miles up to Craggy Gardens!”

“And Tam's come four hundred!” I yelled as I jogged up the road, slipping and sliding.

The snow stung my eyes and face. It seemed like, for every step I took, I slid two steps back. Over and over I prayed,
Please don't let me be too late.

I had no idea how far I ran up the Parkway in the snow. I kept putting one foot in front of the other, even after my feet were so wet and cold, I couldn't feel them.

I'd just jogged around a hairpin turn. The snow was blowing in my face so hard, I could hardly see. Next thing I knew, I was flying up in the air, then hitting the asphalt hard. I stood up and looked back. A tree limb lay in the road. I hadn't even seen it.

My hands were skinned from hitting the ground. “Gotta keep going,” I said through my chattering teeth.

I took one step forward and slid and skittered on a patch of ice. “No, no, no!” I cried into that putrid wind and snow. Every muscle in my body hurt. I heard Daddy's voice in my ear.
Never give up on your dream, Abby.
I heard Meemaw's voice say,
Hurry, Abby. Hurry.

I grabbed a branch and used it like a walking stick to keep me steady on the ice. I picked my way up the road a little ways, and was going along pretty good, all things considered, until—

Snap!
The stick broke and I toppled over into the snow. I tried to push myself up but slid back down to the ground again, landing hard on my wrist.

This time, I could not get up. “Please help me get to Tam,” I prayed right out loud. “I've got to get to him.”

And then, just like in a dream, I heard a sound. It was not the sound of wild wind screaming in the branches. It was not the sound of snow rattling the leaves.

Was it the sound of a car? I held my breath and listened as hard as my ears could hear.

No, not a car. A van.

I pushed myself upright and squinted into the storm. Daddy's old VW van crawled around that hairpin turn and pulled up beside me. The passenger window rolled down. Mama poked her head out. “Abigail Andrea Whistler, I don't know whether to hug you or strangle you.”

“I'm sorry, Mama,” I sobbed. “But—”

She pushed open the door. “But we got us a dog to find, so I reckon I'll have to decide that later.” She pulled me out of the snow and into the van. “You must've had wings to get this far in this snow.”

“Or a bucket-load of determination,” Meemaw said from the backseat.

And sitting right next to her was Cheyenne Rivers and Mr. Richard!

Mr. Richard smiled and touched the bill of his special driver cap. “Greetings, Miss Abby. Hope you don't mind, we hitched a ride with your folks.”

I about burst with happiness and thankfulness to see them. “No, sir,” was all I managed to get out.

None of us said another word as Daddy drove through the storm. Mama held me shivering against her warm body and wrapped a llama wool blanket around me. I tried not to lean too hard against the bump of her belly. I wasn't sure how I felt about a baby, but I didn't want to hurt whoever was in there.

Finally we pulled into the parking lot of the Craggy Gardens Visitor Center. There wasn't another car in sight. The Visitor Center was dark.

“Now what?” Cheyenne asked.

They all looked at me.

“We find him,” I said.

“Lord, Lord,” Mr. Richard said with a sigh.

I pushed open the door and stepped out.

And do you know what? In a blink, the sun came out, the snow tapered off, the wind settled. It was like someone flipped a switch.

“The best thing would be for us to fan out and start looking,” Daddy said.

“No,” Mama said. “We need to stick together. Someone could get lost.” And just like that, standing there in ankle-deep snow, they were off and arguing again.

“What do you think, Abby?” Cheyenne asked.

My heart sank. Now that we were here, I had no blessed idea. I looked to Meemaw. She nodded and said, “Trust your instincts, child.”

I closed my eyes and tried my level best to shut out the sound of Mama and Daddy arguing. I heard a crow call. I turned toward the sound. “This way,” I said.

“I kept seeing Tam trapped in a tunnel when I dreamed the last few nights,” I explained to Cheyenne as we followed the sound of the crow to a small meadow behind the center.

I looked around for any place Tam might be holed up in or trapped inside. There were a couple of picnic tables, a garbage can, and big rocks. At the far end of the meadow, rhododendron bushes grew tall, the tops of their snowy branches touching.

Just then, a big black crow sailed above my head, landing on the snow-covered branches. It raised its wings up and down and cawed.

All of a sudden it clicked. “A
tunnel
!” I said, grabbing Cheyenne's hand. “That crow is sitting on top of a tunnel!”

I cupped my hands around my mouth, filled my lungs with hope. “Tam! Come here, Tam!”