Dedication
For my husband, Bob—
always my first reader
And for my father, Philo (1902–2004)—
who danced
—P.M.
Contents
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
About the Author
Author’s Note
Also by Patricia MacLachlan
Back Ads
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
* * *
His name is John, my little brother. John Jacob Witting, after my papa and grandfather. But Papa and Mama call him Jack. Jack calls himself Doggie. He calls a lot of people Doggie.
“Doggie wants milk,” he says at the dinner table.
When Mama ignores him, he says, “Please . . . Doggie says please.”
He can run now, so Mama has to chase after him.
Around the house . . .
Out to the barn . . .
And into the meadow . . .
He’s so little that he can get lost in the fields of corn.
Every day I hurry home from school to see him. I never expected to like him. Or to love him.
“I will never love this horrible new baby,” I told my sister, Anna. “I won’t speak to the baby ever, either.”
But I was wrong.
Maybe I am under a spell like in a fairy tale. Maybe someone somewhere has cursed me.
I can’t help it.
I love him.
* * *
1
Spring. School was hard in the spring. Even fourth grade was hard. The windows of the small school were open and the sweet smell of new grass blew in. I couldn’t pay attention. Neither could Ian or Min or Grace. Will was half asleep, and Isabel looked out the window. There were only six of us in school, from first grade to fifth. Mr. Willet read out loud to us, but no one seemed to hear. One of the horses whinnied outside and we all looked out the window. Finally Mr. Willet put down his book and looked out the window, too.
“Let’s go home,” he said softly.
Ian, the youngest of everyone, only six, clapped his hands, making Mr. Willet laugh.
“Go home, go on home,” he said, still laughing. “We’ll try again on Monday.”
I gathered my books and helped Ian with his. I made sure he got home every day. Today I’d ridden Molly, and I gave Ian a leg up. We rode together, Ian’s arms around my waist.
“Caleb and I used to ride home from school just like this,” I said.
“Caleb’s big now,” said Ian.
“Yes. He’s big. Away at school.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Yes. I miss Caleb.”
“Does he tease you?” asked Ian.
“Yes, Caleb has always teased me.”
“I tease my little sister every single day,” said Ian.
I heard him yawn behind me, and I turned and wrapped a long scarf behind him and tied it in front of my waist. Sometimes Ian fell asleep on the way home. I didn’t want him falling off Molly.
“Lily loves me even if I tease her,” said Ian matter-of-factly.
“Yes.”
“Let’s do twosies,” said Ian.
“Okay. Two times two is . . . ?”
“Four.”
“Two times three is . . . ?”
“Six.”
Ian laid his head against my back and Molly walked slowly down the road to his house.
“Two times four?”
Ian didn’t answer. I smiled. He’d fallen asleep, his breath warm on my back.
Way off in the fields, meadowlarks flew and the smell of prairie spring followed us home.
“Cassie! Cassie!”
Jack ran out of the barn, Papa and our dog Lottie following him. His pale hair was long and curly around his face. Mama once said he looked like an angel. Grandfather said most times he didn’t act like one.
The surprise was that Jack did act like an angel around Grandfather. He never frowned at Grandfather. He never showed Grandfather his temper. Every evening he sat on Grandfather’s lap and made him tell a story, made him sing. From the very beginning, Grandfather had been Jack’s favorite.
Papa lifted Jack up to sit with me on Molly. Jack leaned down and kissed Molly on her neck, and we went into the barn.
“Doggie,” said Jack.
I smiled.
“Horse,” I said to him. “Molly’s a horse.”
Jack turned and frowned his fierce frown at me.
“Doggie,” said Jack, making me laugh.
I kissed the top of his head. It was warm and sweet smelling.
“All right,” I said. “Doggie.”
“Horse,” said Jack, smiling back at me.
“A joke!” I cried. “You made a joke, Jack.”
I got off Molly and reached up and slid Jack down beside me.
“Doggie,” whispered Jack.
I laughed and took his hand. We walked out of the cool, dark barn into the light. He jumped up and down beside me as we walked.
His hand was tiny and warm in my hand.
2
We ate stew for dinner—Grandfather, Mama, Papa, Jack and I, Jack in his wooden high chair.
“You came home early today, Cassie,” Mama said.
I nodded.
“Spring came in the window,” I said.
“Now, there’s a poem,” said Mama, smiling at me.
“Mr. Willet said that he couldn’t pay attention, either. So we all came home.”
“And Ian?” asked Mama.
“Fell asleep in the middle of twosies,” I said.
“There’s a poem again,” said Grandfather.
“Doggie wants stew, please,” said Jack.
Everyone laughed.
“That’s a nice ‘please,’ little Doggie,” said Papa, spooning some stew into Jack’s bowl.
Papa took a letter out of his jacket pocket.
“I forgot, Sarah. This came today from your brother.”
Mama grinned.
“The aunts and William! I invited them to Anna’s wedding.”
Quickly, Mama opened the letter.
“Old women in the house. That’s all we need,” grumped Grandfather.
“That from an old man, of course,” said Papa.
“They’re coming! All of them!” said Mama. “Except for Meg. Meg can’t come.”
Meg was William’s wife.
Mama’s eyes filled with tears.
Papa got up and put his arms around her.
“I know,” he said softly. “It’s been a long, long time.”
“Where will they stay?” I asked.
“In the barn,” whispered Grandfather. “We’ll throw down some blankets.”
“We’ll make room,” said Papa. “Harriet and Mattie and Lou can stay in Caleb’s room. That’s something to think about.”
“I’ll stay in the barn,” said Grandfather in a strong voice.
“Doggie stay in barn,” said Jack.
Grandfather reached over and took Jack’s hand.
“You bet,” he said.
It was dark outside. Mama was sewing, the light of the lamp falling across a white dress. The dogs sat nearby, Lottie at her feet, Nick by the wood stove.
“What are you doing?”
Mama looked up.
“I’m sewing my old wedding dress. For Anna.”
I nodded.
“Why do people get married?” I asked.
“They love each other. They want to spend their lives together.
”
“I don’t love anyone for marrying,” I said. “Except for Lottie and Nick. Do you think I could marry a dog?”
Mama smiled.
“That would be nice,” she said. “They are always glad to see you. Always forgiving if you speak sharply to them. They love you no matter what.”
She bit off a piece of thread.
“I think marrying a dog would be splendid.”
“Me, too.”
Mama and I smiled at each other.
“You’re happy that the aunts are coming?”
“And my brother, William.”
“I don’t remember him,” I said.
Mama shook her head.
“You weren’t born, Cassie. But you’ll like him, Cass. He’s wonderful.” She stood and held up the white satin dress. “Wonderful.” She looked at me and grinned.
“Like a dog.”
* * *
It is my wedding, and I am in my long white dress. There are many, many people there. The sun is overhead and a breeze blows my veil. I am beautiful.
Everyone turns to watch Papa walk me down through the garden. Everyone smiles. Mama is there, and Jack, who is quite tall. And Caleb, home from school. And Anna. I can’t see Grandfather. Where is he?
At the end of our walk is my wonderful, tall husband-to-be. He is black and white, with a long feathered tail. He wags it. He is beautiful. We will live happily ever after.
* * *
It bothered me that Grandfather was not at my wedding.
“Where were you?” I asked him when I read my journal to him.
Grandfather looked a little sad, but he smiled.
“I was in the barn,” he whispered.
3
The days grew warmer and now it was light long into the evening. Mama and Papa and Anna planned the wedding. Anna had come from her room in town with pictures and lists.
And Jack began to talk and act like Grandfather. He called Grandfather “Boppa,” his own private name for Grandfather. He tried to walk like him, with his hands behind his back. Once Anna and I saw them both walking to the barn this way, Jack just behind Grandfather.
“Peas in a pod,” said Anna.
Jack began to say everything Grandfather said.
“Yep,” said Grandfather.
“Yep,” said Jack.
“You bet.”
“You bet!”
When Grandfather slept on the daybed, Jack lay down beside him, watching him closely. Jack lay back with his hands across his chest and tried to snore.
Papa came in from the barn and smiled at them.
“Jack is a very small Grandfather,” I said to Papa.
“He sounds like John more and more every day,” Mama said. “Pretty soon he’ll start being stubborn and cranky.”
And he did.
Anna and Justin came to dinner. They would be married soon, and there was talk of flowers and food and music.
“Eat your beans, Jack,” said Mama, pointing to his plate.
“Doggie no beans,” said Jack, frowning.
“They’re good, Jack,” said Justin.
“No,” said Jack.
Grandfather dropped his fork on the floor.
“Drat,” he said.
“I’d like you to eat some beans, Jack,” repeated Mama.
Jack climbed down out of his chair.
“Drat, drat, drat,” he yelled.
Everyone was quiet.
Grandfather finally spoke.
“That sounded . . . a little bit . . . like . . .”
“You, Boppa,” said Papa.
Grandfather sighed and stood up.
“I guess I’m the one who should take care of this,” he said.
He took Jack’s hand and they went outside.
Mama bit her lip. Papa stared at his plate. Suddenly, Mama began to laugh. We laughed, too.
“Poor John,” said Mama. “This is a very hard job. Keeping Jack in line behind him.”
“Huge,” said Anna.
“Nearly impossible,” said Justin.
And they began to laugh all over again.
A long time later, Grandfather and Jack came back. They were very quiet. They sat next to each other at the table where Mama and Papa and Anna and Justin were drinking coffee.
Grandfather poked Jack gently.
Jack looked up at Grandfather.
“Doggie sorry,” said Jack.
Grandfather poked Jack again.
“Jack sorry,” said Jack, using his name for the first time.
Grandfather sat back.
“That’s very good,” he said, pleased with himself.
“Drat,” whispered Jack.
The aunts were coming by train. In seven days. Mama’s brother, William, would come after.
“Two weeks of aunts,” said Papa. “That’s a lot of aunts.”
“They’ll help,” said Mama.
“Oh, I know that,” said Papa, laughing. “They may take over.”
“I remember the aunts,” said Anna. “Papa made all of us leave here when the land dried up.”
“He stayed here all alone, while we were in beautiful green Maine with the aunts,” said Mama. “By the ocean that stretched out like the prairie. Where it rained all the time, while Papa waited and waited for rain.”
“How far does the ocean stretch out?” I asked.
“As far as you can see.”
“Just like the prairie here,” I said.
“Just like here,” said Anna, smiling.
“Then, when it finally rained, Papa came to surprise us. And the aunts loved him.”
“And I loved the aunts, too,” said Papa.
“And then we came home,” said Anna.
“And I was born,” I said.
“You were.”
Anna put on the wedding veil that Mama had pressed. She looked at herself in the mirror.
“You look beautiful,” said Mama.
Anna turned.
“I remember when you wore this, Sarah.”
Mama smiled. “You were a little girl when I married your papa. And now look at you.”
“Maybe I’ll wear the dress and veil when I marry my dog,” I said.
Anna laughed and put the veil on my head.
I stared at myself in the mirror. Anna saw my look.
“There is something about a veil, Cassie. It is like a spell cast over you. It makes you beautiful no matter how young or old or plain you think you are.”
* * *
My husband dog licks my cheek and whispers, “You have never been more beautiful. You’re more beautiful than a pot roast.”
* * *
We washed the floors in Caleb’s and Anna’s rooms. We moved three beds into Caleb’s bedroom for the aunts. We straightened and dusted and painted a table and bookcase blue.
“Blue looks nice in this room,” I said.
“All this trouble for old girls,” said Grandfather.
“You’d better be careful,” warned Papa. “Your small friend repeats everything.”
Grandfather straightened and looked around, alarmed.
“I have to watch myself all the time,” he muttered.
“He loves you,” said Papa.
“Well, I’ve had just about enough of his love,” Grandfather complained.
Then he looked at Papa.
“That’s not so.”
“I know,” said Papa.
4
A surprise. Papa had gone off to town early on Zeke, the dapple-gray horse. Mama and I were baking bread when we heard the sound of a motor outside. Mama looked out the window.
“Oh my,” she said. “Oh my!”
She ran out, leaving the door open behind her. I took Jack’s hand and we followed her. Grandfather was coming out of the barn. He stopped suddenly and stared.
Zeke was tied to the back of a car. Papa untied him and took him to the paddock.
“A car! It’s beautiful, Jacob,” said Mama.
The car was a shiny
dark gray with silver trim. It had soft seats.
Mama smiled. “You did this for the wedding, didn’t you?”
Papa nodded. “And for the aunts,” he said.
He looked proud, but when Papa talked about it he sounded like Grandfather.
“It may be beautiful,” he grumped, “but I’ll take Zeke any day. Zeke eats and takes me places and waits. He’s an old friend. He’s loyal. I don’t see anything loyal about this car. It doesn’t love me.”
Grandfather peered in the windows.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” he said.
Grandfather opened a door and got inside. He put his hands on the wheel for a moment, then rolled down the window.
“Maybe something so beautiful doesn’t have to be loyal,” he said to Papa.
Papa folded back the engine cover and looked inside. He shook his head.
“Too many parts,” he said. “Zeke’s beautiful. And loyal. Aren’t you, Zeke?” he called.
At the sound of his name, Zeke looked over his shoulder at Papa. Then he went back to eating grass.
“And Zeke loves me,” said Papa. “This car doesn’t love me.”
“Zeke,” whispered Jack.
We rode to town the next day. Grandfather had to see Dr. Sam, Justin’s father. We would buy food and supplies for the aunts.
Grandfather sat in front, next to Papa, because his legs were too long for the backseat. Mama and Jack and I sat in back, Jack on my lap, looking out the window.
“Bye-bye, Zeke,” called Jack, making Grandfather laugh.
“The aunts will love this, Jacob,” said Mama. “You can pick them up at the train in style.”
“Better than three old women on a dapple-gray horse,” said Grandfather.
Papa looked back over his shoulder at Jack, who sat quietly, looking at the prairie pass by.
“Zeke could handle it,” he said softly to Grandfather.
“Not sure the aunts could,” whispered Grandfather.
It was quiet in the car, except for the motor running. There was no sound of big wagon wheels turning, or wind whipping around our heads, or rain soaking us if it rained. Or worse, snow in winter. It was so quiet that Jack fell asleep long before we crossed over the railroad tracks and got into town.
Grandfather's Dance Page 1