Angels in the Snow (4 page)

Claire awoke to something nudging her elbow. Startled from her deep and thankfully dreamless sleep, she looked over to see a pair of brown soulful eyes staring back at her. It took her a few seconds to remember last night’s visitor, but it was obvious that the dog was still there, now peering at her in what seemed a fairly urgent manner.

“Poor thing,” she muttered as she climbed from her bed. “I forgot all about you.” Pulling on her robe, she glanced at the clock. “My goodness, it’s after eight o’clock. I can’t believe I slept that long.” She reached down and patted the dog’s head. “I’ll bet you need to go out now, don’t you?” She went to open the door, noticing once again how the dog painfully limped just to cross the room.

“There you go, boy.” She waited as he slowly made his way through the threshold. “Now take it easy on that
leg.” She grabbed a few pieces of firewood then watched uneasily from the porch as the dog picked his way through what was now close to a foot of snow. Finally he relieved himself on a nearby tree. The weather seemed to be clearing up some with the promise of sunshine on the western horizon. The dog paused, sniffing the air, and Claire wondered if he might be thinking this break in the storm was a good time to return to his home. But it worried her to imagine him trying to make his way very far through the snow on that lame front leg. She knew he needed to give it a good rest.

But as if to show his good sense, the dog turned around and slowly limped back onto the porch. His tail wagged when he approached her, but once again he stopped at the door, as if waiting for another invitation to come inside.

“Come on in, boy. It’s freezing out here, and I’ll bet you’d like some breakfast.” His tail wagged faster, and he followed her back inside the house, watching with patient eyes as she laid more sticks on the embers and blew to encourage the flames. “How about a real breakfast this morning?” she said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out an untouched carton of eggs. She scrambled up several and even grated some Swiss cheese on top while the bread toasted and the coffee perked. Then she dished up a good portion of eggs along with some torn-up pieces of toast into the same earthenware bowl she had used last night, even taking a moment to blow on the eggs to help them cool.

“There you go, boy.” She set down the bowl. “Hope you don’t mind eating people food.” She dished up her
own breakfast, but by the time she sat down at the table, the dog had already licked his bowl clean. “Guess you like my cooking.”

Satisfied, the dog returned to his spot by the fire and carefully settled himself onto the makeshift towel bed, groaning just slightly as he licked the swollen joint that seemed to be troubling him.

After breakfast, Claire washed up the dishes to pass the time until nine when she could call Lucy at the store.

“Missing dog?” said the old woman. “You say you’re missing a dog?”

“No,” Claire corrected her. “I mean I have what must be a missing dog. He’s at my house right now, but he’s not mine.”

“Oh. A stray, you mean?”

“He’s a well-mannered dog. I’m guessing he ran away or got lost.”

“Any ID?”

“No, he doesn’t even have a collar.”

“Well, he’s probably a stray then.”

“But he’s an awfully nice dog, and he doesn’t look malnourished, although he’s got an injured leg. Have you heard of anyone who’s missing a dog?”

“Well, let’s see. Arlen Crandall lost his tabby cat ’bout a month back. But then that cat was as old as Methuselah, probably older than old Arlen himself.”

“Any dogs missing?”

“Not that I’ve heard of. When’d you find him?”

“Just last night. He showed up at my door during the snowstorm.”

“Lucky for him you took him in. It was pretty nasty last night—winds were up to forty miles an hour.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I heard him over the wind.”

“You say he’s got a hurt leg?”

“Yes. He’s limping, but I don’t see an open wound or any sign of infection. Still, the joint is pretty swollen. I wonder if I should try to get him to a vet.”

“Land sakes, no,” said Lucy. Claire could hear her munching on something as she talked. “Don’t waste good money on a vet for somebody else’s dog. Besides, it’s probably just a sprain, and ain’t nothing no vet can do for a sprain anyway.”

“I suppose. . . . Well, if anyone mentions a missing dog—he’s some kind of shepherd or collie mix, I think—will you have them call me?” Claire repeated her cell phone number twice to make sure Lucy got it right, then hung up.

“Looks like you’ll be hanging out with me for the time being,” she informed the dog as she began working her morning schedule. But he seemed content to watch her from his post by the fire.

Once again, she completed her tasks more quickly than usual, and it was only eleven when she decided she’d break her daily routine for the second time. “No reason not to take a walk early today,” she said as she glanced outside to see the sunlight breaking through. “Who knows, it could be snowing by two.” She reached for her coat, then remembering, she glanced over at her disabled canine houseguest. “Oh.” She frowned. “I’ll bet you’re not up for a walk, now, are you?” His tail thumped, but he didn’t move from the warmth of his spot by the fire.

“No, of course not.” She rehung her coat. “I forgot about your bad leg.” She sighed and looked around the small cabin until her eyes came to rest on the canvas from yesterday. She stood and stared at the back of it for several minutes. She’d purposely avoided it all morning, but now she hesitantly approached it. Perhaps she was ready to examine her work more closely now. Maybe she would understand what it was she’d been trying to accomplish yesterday. She stood in front of the painting, her arms folded across her chest, and just looked. For a long time, she stared into it, hoping to see something—anything at all. But all she saw was white—shades upon shades of white.

Finally, to give her eyes relief, she redirected her gaze out the window, studying the snow-covered pines glistening in the sunlight. A pleasant scene, like something you might see on a Christmas card, but nothing spectacular. Nothing worthy of actually painting into a landscape. But then again, what would it hurt to try? It wasn’t like she was doing much of anything else anyway. And so, once again, she arranged her paints on the pallet, some white and a bit of green and black. And then, with the scene out the window to guide her, she began to paint, carefully layering snow-covered trees to her blanket of white. She worked for several hours, but when she finally stopped, she felt disappointed. It was as if she’d become snow-blinded by her own creation, and for all she could tell it was simply layer after layer of unfeeling white. She turned from her work in frustration. “I
cannot
do this!” she exclaimed, throwing down her pallet knife in disgust.

She’d almost forgotten about her visitor and was startled to hear his tail now thump-thump-thumping against the floor. “Oh!” She looked over to see him sitting by the door. “I’m sorry. I’ll bet you need to go out again.” She reached for her coat and let him out, then went to the shed to fetch another load of firewood as she waited for him. But as she carried the wood back to the house, she noticed the dog had wandered over and sat down right next to the garage door.

“What is it, boy?” she called, stacking the firewood by her front door. “Don’t you want to come back inside now?”

The dog remained there as if waiting for something. She walked over to the garage and patted his head. “What’s up, boy? You think there’s something interesting in there? Something you need to see?” She lifted open the garage door and held out her hand. “See, boy, it’s just my Jeep.” The dog limped over to the Jeep and stood right by the door, wagging his tail like he wanted to get in and go somewhere. “You want to get in the Jeep?” she asked incredulously. He sat down right next to the door and waited.

She scratched her head. “Looks like you want to take a ride, boy. Maybe you think we’ll find your owners. Well, hang on while I go get my keys. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go down to the store and see if anyone’s been looking for you.”

Still, as she hurried back to the house to get her keys, she wasn’t entirely happy about the prospects of discovering this sweet dog’s owners. But suppressing these troubling thoughts, she helped load the injured dog into
the passenger’s seat and started the engine. She slowly plowed her way through the long driveway until she finally reached the unplowed road. “I thought Jeannie said they maintained this road year ’round,” she muttered, maneuvering the Jeep through the snow. “Good thing I’ve got four-wheel drive.” She smiled to herself as she remembered a few years back when Scott had picked out their new Jeep Cherokee. She had teased him over the unlikelihood that they’d ever actually need an off-road vehicle for their urban lifestyle in the Bay Area. “You just never know,” he’d said with a twinkle in his eye.

“You just never know,” she repeated as she glanced over at her well-mannered canine passenger. “Well, it sure looks like you’ve been in a car before.” She half expected him to start barking when they reached a particular crossroad, like perhaps he was going to direct her to his home. But he just sat quietly, happily gazing out the window as if he rode around with strangers all the time.

After about thirty minutes of slow going, they reached the store and Claire carefully unloaded the dog. He stayed right at her heels, following her up to the front door. It hadn’t even occurred to her until then that she didn’t have a leash for him. But then she wasn’t used to dogs or what to expect, and besides, this one almost seemed like he was leading her instead of the other way around. “Okay, you wait here, boy,” she instructed him. “I don’t know if Lucy likes dogs in her store or not.” Obediently, as though he understood, the dog sat down on the porch.

The little brass bell on the door jingled as Claire entered, and old Lucy looked up from behind the cash
register where she was reading a newspaper. “Hello there,” she called.

“Hi, Lucy. I thought I’d stop by to—”

“No one’s been in here today to complain ’bout a lost dog,” she said with a frown as she folded her paper. “Fact is, ain’t no one been in here today doing much of anything.”

“Oh.” Claire looked around the small but well-stocked store. “Well, I guess I might as well pick up a few things while I’m here then.”

Lucy looked up with what seemed somewhat skeptical interest. “You still thinking you’re gonna winter here?”

Claire nodded. “I—uh—I think so. Well, at least until Christmas.”

“And you sure you’re stocked up?”

“I think so.”

“
Think
so? Or
know
so?” Suddenly Lucy was rattling off a list of all kinds of things—everything from toilet paper to coffee to canned meat to candles. “Just in case the electricity goes out, you know. We lost power for near a week a few years back when a tree blew down and took out the power lines with it. Not only that but a body can run out of all sorts of things during a long stint of being snowed in up here. You newcomers just don’t understand what it takes to survive in the mountains when three feet of snow can fall within twenty-four hours.”

“But my friend told me that the roads get plowed here . . . eventually.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and laughed. “The key word being
eventually
. And unless you have a snowmobile or are ready to trek all day and night on snowshoes, you could
be stuck but good. And you might as well know right up front that I don’t make deliveries.”

“Well, maybe I should pick up some extra things then,” said Claire. “As well as some dog food and dog things.”

By the time Claire got out of the store, she’d spent more than a hundred dollars and wasn’t sure if she was being wise or had just been duped by a sharp old businesswoman. Whatever the case, she figured she or someone else would use the supplies . . . eventually. The dog was still waiting on the porch.

“Hey, boy,” she said as she opened a box of chew bones and gave him one. “You’re a good dog.” He quickly munched down the treat then followed her to the Jeep, watching while she loaded her supplies into the back. She paused to pull the new red collar from the top of the last box and bent down to slip it around the dog’s neck. “Just until we find your owners, and in case I need to leash you up—not that I expect to—you seem to stay pretty close as it is. And it doesn’t look like you’ll be ready for a walk any time soon.” Then she hoisted him back into the passenger seat. “Don’t you look handsome.” She stroked his smooth head and rearranged his collar so his tufts of ebony and honey colored fur hung neatly over it, then went around to the driver’s seat.

“No one’s called about you yet,” she told him as she drove away from the store. Then she smiled—actually smiled. “But that’s okay with me.”

It was just getting dusky when they reached the cabin, and she wondered where on earth the day had gone. More snow was beginning to fall as she carried her supplies inside. Then, remembering Lucy’s strong words of
warning, she decided to get a few more loads of firewood stacked on the porch before dark and even took time to chop some more kindling. As she worked—quickly, before the light faded—the dog stayed with her, limping back and forth between the house and the woodshed.

“You’re such a good companion,” she said as she finally stacked the last piece of wood by the door and brushed off her hands. “And I’ll bet you’re hungry now.” Claire paused to stomp the snow off her boots. “I know I am.” The realization of her statement hit her as she shook off her hat. “It’s true, I’m actually hungry!”