Looking for Me

by Beth Hoffman

  After she’d finished, she looked at me, her face reddened. “All right, now let’s finish up those pies.”

  Side by side we worked, but the air in the kitchen was tense. When Mama slid the pies into the oven, I stepped to the window. “I want that dog, Mama. If you’d seen his eyes—”

  She grabbed my arm and spun me around. “You put yourself in danger! What in God’s creation were you thinkin’?”

  “I had to—”

  Just then Daddy came in and hung his jacket on the coat tree. He sat at the table and let out a low groan. “We got any coffee, Franny?”

  Mama pulled a mug from the cupboard.

  “What did Jeb say?” I asked.

  Before he could answer, the back door swung open and Josh walked in. When he saw my face, he set down his schoolbooks. “What’s going on?”

  Daddy raked his fingers through his hair. “Sit down, son. Everybody, sit down.”

  Mama handed Daddy his coffee, and all of us took our places at the table. Daddy wrapped his thick fingers around the mug and calmly told Josh what had gone on. But the more he talked, the more my brother’s eyes darkened.

  Josh’s voice dropped low as he looked around the table. “Why are we sitting here? We’ve got to get the dog.”

  “Hold on, son. Jeb and Walt went down there to talk with him, and—”

  “Talk with him? Talk?”

  “Josh, simmer down. This has got to be handled by the law.”

  “The law?” my brother scoffed. “What law?”

  Mama reached over and pressed her hand on my brother’s arm. “Hush. Listen to your father.”

  Daddy’s tone left no room for argument, his words measured. “Josh, I’ve already told you, this is in Jeb’s hands. Now, you let it be. I told him we’d be happy to give the dog a nice home, and—”

  “You did?” Mama said, sounding none too pleased.

  I flashed her a look. “Don’t worry. If we get that poor dog, I’ll take him back to Charleston with me.”

  Daddy took a slow sip of his coffee, stood, and pushed his chair toward the table. “Last thing I knew, I was head of this family. I want you kids to promise me that you’ll stay away from that man and not go anywhere near the property. I don’t know who he is or what he might do. And just so I make myself clear, let me say this one last time: Jeb will handle things. All right?”

  I picked at my thumbnail and said, “Yessir.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Josh nod.

  But barely.

  NINETEEN

  On Thanksgiving morning, while Mama worked at the stove and Grammy set the table, I went outside to gather branches, leaves, and mums from the garden. Josh was down by the pond, standing close to the water’s edge with his hands shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket. After filling the basket with everything I needed to make a centerpiece, I walked down the slope and joined him.

  “Hey,” I said, giving him a gentle nudge with my elbow.

  He kept his eyes fixed on the water and didn’t respond. I looked to see what it was that had his attention, but all I saw was a brother and sister standing side by side, our reflections broken by the skittering of a lone water bug darting across the pond’s glassy surface.

  Josh removed a handkerchief from his pocket and unfolded the edges. “I found this caught in a thistle. It’s for you, Teddi.”

  I pinched the quill of a small gray feather tipped in vibrant blue. It was downy soft and less than an inch long. “It’s beautiful, and so tiny. I can’t believe you even saw it.”

  His eyes met mine. “I saw it because I’m awake.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He just kept looking at me, his face void of expression.

  “Tell me, Josh. What does that mean?”

  “A while ago I was hiking and stopped to take a rest at Angel Windows. I took you there several years ago, remember?”

  “The place where we found the fern fossil?”

  “Yeah. I was standing in the opening of a stone arch with my arms above my head. While I looked out over the valley and stretched my back, this strange current started traveling up my legs and went straight up my spine. It was like my whole body was getting rewired. Anyway, it’s hard to explain, but I’ve been awake ever since.”

  While I tried to absorb my brother’s words, he looked down at my hand. “Today I was walking through the upper field and thinking about you. That’s when I saw the feather.”

  “What were you thinking about me?”

  “How brave you are.”

  “Brave?”

  “When you tried to stop that son of a bitch from beating the dog. That was brave, Teddi. Not smart. But brave.” He turned and began walking up the knoll. I fell in line with his stride, the basket of flowers hanging from the crook of my arm.

  “That feather is from an indigo bunting. He left it for you.”

  I stepped over a tractor rut and took hold of my brother’s arm. “Why do you say that?”

  “Do you know what it means?”

  I shook my head.

  “Love travels long miles.”

  My brother picked up his pace and headed toward the barn, leaving me standing on the hillside with a feather in my hand and my mind spinning with questions.

  At two o’clock Mama set out a Thanksgiving feast. We all held hands around the linen-covered table while Grammy said grace. Following a simultaneous “Amen,” we began passing dishes and talking. Josh was quieter than usual, and several times I noticed his gaze drift toward the window. Beneath the table I tapped my foot on the toe of his boot and was glad when he finally gave me a tap in return. It was something we’d done since we were kids, one of those little things that probably meant more than either of us understood.

  Grammy and I took care of clearing the table and doing dishes while Mama and Daddy relaxed in the living room, he watching football on TV and she with her knitting. Josh put on his jacket and went for a walk, saying he’d be back within an hour.

  But he didn’t come back.

  After setting the table for dessert, I pulled on a heavy sweater and set out to find him. I walked through the barn and out into the field, calling his name again and again. When there was no answer, I gave up and went back inside the house. My brother loved dessert, so I knew he’d be home before long.

  As I stood at the counter and whipped a bowlful of cream for the pumpkin pie, I glanced out the window and saw Josh. All but hidden behind the tall weeds, he was walking along the far edge of the field. I switched off the mixer, rinsed the beaters, and dried my hands. When I looked out the window again, an ice pick of panic pierced my chest. I turned toward the door so fast that I knocked the bowl of whipped cream to the floor.

  “Daddy . . . Daddy . . . DADDY!” I flung open the back door with so much force that it slammed into the wall.

  Daddy’s voice boomed from behind me as I ran toward the field. “Teddi! What’s all the—”

  I skidded to a stop and turned to face him, but he was already looking beyond me. “Franny, get a blanket!”

  My brother had crossed the edge of the tractor path and walked into the backyard. The front of his yellow flannel shirt was covered in blood, his face gripped by a look of shock, his eyes bright with fury.

  Daddy came up by my side and grabbed hold of my shoulders. “Teddi, go in the house.”

  I buckled over at the waist and took in big gulps of air, and when I straightened up, Mama was spreading a blanket on the grass while Grammy scurried from the house with an armful of towels.

  Reverently, my brother went down on his knees and placed the bloody bundle on the blanket. Daddy leaned over and lifted my brother’s jacket from the dog’s body. Ignoring my father’s command, I stepped forward and knelt by his side.

  The dog never took his eyes off my brother as Josh gently smoothed his hand over his fl
ank. I leaned close and rested my hand on the dog’s shoulder while Grammy covered him with towels.

  Daddy looked at Mama. “Franny, hurry and call Doc Evans.”

  She took off for the house while I spoke to the battered dog. “Hang on, old boy. Hang on. We’ll take good care of you. Nothing bad will ever happen to you again.”

  Bubbles of blood formed on the dog’s nostrils.

  “We’ll call you Buddy,” I said through trembling lips. “And when you get all better, you can run through the fields and sleep in the sun.” I draped more towels over his body and leaned close to what was left of his ear. “Stay with us, Buddy. This is your last fight. Fight for your life . . .”

  The dog and my brother kept looking at each other. Josh took in a breath and slowly let it out. The dog did the same, and then his body stopped quivering. As one more bubble of blood formed on his nostrils, I watched the light go out of his eyes.

  Daddy hung his head and patted my brother’s shoulder. “He’s gone, son.”

  I couldn’t see anything for the flood of tears. Mama came up beside me and tried to get me to go inside the house, but I pushed her hand away. “I’m staying with Buddy. I don’t want him to be alone. And I can’t stand seeing him this way. We need to clean him up and get all this blood off.”

  Daddy’s voice spilled over my shoulders. “Teddi, we can’t clean him up till I call Jeb—”

  “No need, Henry,” Mama said softly. “I already did. He’ll be here directly.”

  Mama and Daddy set off for the house, their voices low. Grammy wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron and rested her hand on my head for a moment, then turned and followed them.

  “Josh,” I whispered, “is it okay with you that we name him Buddy?”

  He nodded, then rose to his feet and walked away.

  For several minutes I sat alone on the grass, quietly weeping as I smoothed my fingers across the top of the dog’s snout. “I’m so sorry they did this to you. Go to heaven, Buddy. You’ll have friends there waiting.” I closed my eyes and remembered the photo I’d once seen in the newspaper of dog ripped to pieces in a dogfight, but that paled in comparison to what had been done to Buddy.

  When I heard tires on gravel, I turned to see that Jeb had arrived. Before he could climb out of the patrol car, Doc Evans roared up in his veterinary truck. Moments later Daddy leaned down behind me and said, “Teddi, go in the house.”

  I shook my head. “I’m staying with Buddy.”

  Sliding his hands beneath my armpits, he pulled me to my feet. “Go on, now.”

  My eyes swept from Jeb to Doc Evans. Then Grammy took hold of my arm and led me away.

  While I stood at the kitchen sink and scrubbed blood from my hands, I watched Daddy, Jeb, and Doc Evans lean over Buddy’s body. Josh was nowhere in sight.

  I was so upset that I paced from the kitchen to the living room and back again. From the window I saw Doc Evans on his knees examining Buddy while Jeb flipped open a notepad and began writing. A few minutes later, Jeb got a camera from his car and started taking pictures. I squeezed my eyes closed for the pain of it.

  When I dared to look again, Daddy was coming across the lawn with Josh at his side. Jeb spoke to my brother for a long time, taking more notes and occasionally nodding.

  After Jeb and Doc Evans pulled out of the driveway, Daddy and Josh walked into the kitchen. My brother looked at me, his face flushed. “I dug a grave behind the barn.”

  “I’ll be ready in a minute,” I said, pulling a bucket from the broom closet.

  Mama planted her hands on her hips. “Teddi, what are you doing?”

  “We’re going to wash Buddy.”

  “Now, just let your brother wrap him up and—”

  “No! He can’t be buried covered in blood. He’s going to heaven clean.” I looked away and began filling the bucket with warm, soapy water while Josh went to collect an old bedspread. Then we went outside and began the unspeakable task of preparing Buddy for burial.

  Once we had him wrapped in the bedspread, Josh lifted him into his arms. Together we walked behind the barn. With Josh on one end and me on the other, we lowered the bundle into the grave. Just as Josh took a shovel and began covering Buddy’s body, Daddy appeared from the side of the barn with a shovel in his hands.

  None of us spoke.

  When Buddy had been buried and the mound of dirt tamped smooth, Daddy and Josh walked away while I stayed behind and said a prayer of good-bye before heading to the house. As I passed the barn, I heard Josh and Daddy talking. Stopping to listen, I stepped to the open doorway. Daddy was sitting on a wooden stool, scraping mud from the treads of his boots with a pocketknife. Josh was standing by the tractor.

  “Then you went down there after I told you to stay away. And you—”

  “I didn’t set foot on that bastard’s property until I saw the dog layin’ there all chewed up and bloody.”

  “What if he’d been home? Then what? Jeb says the guy’s flat-out crazy.”

  My brother’s voice shot up. “Then why didn’t he arrest the son of a bitch when he went there yesterday?”

  “Because he didn’t have grounds. Jeb thought he and Walt had scared the guy.”

  “Scared him? Yeah, they sure scared him all right. Scared him into using his dog for fighting bait!”

  Daddy closed his pocketknife and pushed it into his back pocket. “Jeb’s all torn up. He feels terrible, and—”

  “Not as terrible as that poor dead dog.”

  I stepped forward and cleared my throat. “It’s my fault. If I had—”

  “No, Teddi. You’re the only one who tried to do something!” Josh marched around the tractor, grabbed a logging chain from a hook on the wall, and headed toward the door.

  Daddy jumped to his feet. “Hold it right there. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  My brother turned, his eyes cold slits of blue. “Things like this have got to stop. Well, today’s the day, and I’m the person.”

  Daddy put a firm hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Now, son, you listen to me and listen good. You think I don’t have the same feelings as you? You think I don’t want to kick that man from here to kingdom come? I do! But I know better. Mad as I am, this has to be handled by the law.”

  Josh’s face went white as he shook the chain, the heavy clang of metal echoing through the barn. “See what leavin’ everything to the law did? Well, this time—”

  “Simmer down,” Daddy warned, grabbing hold of the loose end of chain.

  I stood, frozen, and watched the two most important men in my life holding firm to the chain between them, each clinging to his integrity and his own truth.

  Josh looked my father square in the eyes. “You’ve got that medal upstairs. A Bronze Star. You ran through enemy fire to save one of your buddies, you fought in the Battle of the Bulge. You’re an honest-to-God war hero. I admire you more than anyone I’ve ever known. But now you won’t even stand up and fight for what’s right in your own backyard, and I—”

  “ENOUGH!” Daddy roared, tightening the chain. “You know nothing of war. I saw things I can’t stand to think about. Boys your age with eyes sunk deep into their skulls, shoulders sticking up as sharp as the blades of my plow. All of ’em half dead. And let me tell you, son, those were the lucky ones.”

  The veins in Daddy’s neck throbbed as he pointed to his face. “I saw evil with my own eyes, and I smelled it with my own nose. I promised the Lord Almighty that if I was lucky enough to make it through the war and have kids, I’d do everything in my power to keep ’em safe.”

  Daddy gave the chain a firm tug, pulling Josh off balance. “So I give you all the freedom I’ve got to give, the chance to spend time in the woods studyin’ nature and animals, to have a real childhood. And this is what you want to do with it? Kill somebody and spend the rest of your life in jail? Now
, go in the house and get hold of yourself. What happened to that dog is bad, real bad. I’m all ripped up about it, too. But this isn’t war, son.”

  “You talk about the evils and slaughters of war, but what about the dog? What about what was done to him? How many dead dogs, decapitated birds, slaughtered foxes, and mutilated deer will it take for you and everybody else in this town to do something about it?” Josh’s chest heaved when he pointed toward the back of the barn. “That grave out there? That’s the result of evil, too!”

  My father opened his mouth, but no words came. Blotches of purple flared above his collar, and his voice dropped low when he said, “You need to get hold of yourself, Josh. And until you do, you’re grounded.”

  “You can’t ground me. I’m eighteen.”

  “As long as you live under my roof, you’ll abide by my rules.”

  For a long moment, Josh stared at my dad. Slowly he opened his fingers and let go of the chain, then he turned and walked toward the house.

  Daddy stood motionless as the chain dangled from his hand—clink, clink, clink—his eyes fixed on watching his son’s silent retreat. Though the light was dim, I could see exhaustion spread across his face. I turned on unsteady legs and left the barn, my stomach burning when I entered the house. Josh had already gone to his room and closed the door. After changing out of my bloodstained clothes and washing up, I flopped onto my bed and buried my face in the pillow.

  I woke hours later with a parched throat and a headache. The clock on my night table read 10:40. The house was dark and quiet, the unsettling kind of quiet that takes over after a damaging storm. I climbed out of bed and stepped into the hall. The door to my parents’ bedroom was halfway open. In the lamplight I could see Daddy sitting on the edge of the bed. He was in his pajamas, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees. In his hands he held his Bronze Star. Over and over he rubbed his thumb across its surface, his face so sad I couldn’t bear it. I was going to say something but changed my mind and quietly tiptoed to the bathroom to take some aspirin.