by Bobbie Pyron
She shook her head. “Lord only knows what all’s happened to this poor creature. I don’t want to cause him any more fear. Let’s just do it.” The vet sighed again and opened his leather medical bag.
An hour later, Tam was back in the leather chair before the fire, sleeping. Ivy and Doc Pritchett sat at the dining room table sipping tea.
“What do you think his chances are?” Ivy asked.
Blowing across the top of his cup to cool the hot tea, the vet said, “Pretty good, I think. That shot of antibiotic should go a long ways toward knocking out the infection. I’ll give him another at the end of the week.” Glancing in the direction of the chair, he said, “The main thing is to get some food into him. He hasn’t got a thing to him.”
Later, as the old man pulled on his coat and scarf, he looked down at Tam. “Hard to tell looking at him now, but he could be a Shetland sheepdog. Or at least part. If he is, he’ll make you a good companion. They’re smart as a whip and loyal as they come.”
“But why in the world would a dog like that be washed up half dead on the banks of the New River with a gunshot wound?”
Doc Pritchett reached down and stroked Tam’s side. “Who knows. From the looks of him, I’d say he hasn’t been someone’s dog in a long while. He’s seen some hard times.”
“Maybe I should take him in to town to see if anyone recognizes him or to see if he’s got one of those microchips. Someone could be looking for him right now,” Ivy said, not really believing it herself.
As if reading her mind, the vet shook his head. “Whoever would let a dog get in this kind of shape doesn’t deserve him. Besides,” he said, bending down and looking at Tam’s feet, “this dog has been traveling for many miles in rough terrain.”
“Why do you say that?” Ivy asked.
“Just look at his pads,” the old vet said, running his thumb over the crosshatched scars and tears on Tam’s pads. “They tell the whole story.”
CHAPTER 25
Abby
To: [email protected]
From: “Abby Whistler”
Date: Sat, January 23 10:32 am
Subject: Hey again from Nashville
Hey Olivia,
In English class Friday, Miss Bettis said we have to read a book that won the Newbery Award. I told her I don’t know what that is, and she took me to the school library and showed me where they’re all shelved. She said a couple of them were about dogs, and maybe I’d like to read one of those. So I brought home a book called Old Yeller. Have you read it? Do you think I’ll like it?
I’m bored. Mama FINALLY got a part-time job, but she has to work every other Saturday. This coffee shop where she’s working makes her work some nights and Saturdays. She never had to do that at Mr. Billy’s Feed and Seed back home. I don’t think Mama likes working at this place.
I did get invited to a party today. These girls I know at school—Madison, Bree, and Courtney—are having a makeover party. I’m not entirely sure what a makeover party is, but I think it involves a lot of goop on your face, swapping clothes, and doing all kinds of things to each other’s hair. When I got invited to that party, I got two big surprises: One was that I even got invited to a party and the other was I actually kind of wanted to go. But Mama needed the truck for work, and Daddy’s van (as usual) isn’t running right, so I couldn’t go. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I’m sad I couldn’t go.
Oh, Daddy just said he needs to go to the recording studio for a while and he wants me to go with him!
Your friend,
Abby Whistler
I skipped along beside Daddy as we walked to the recording studio. Daddy had his favorite guitar slung over his back, and I carried his mandolin.
The studio wasn’t far from our house. It was in a real famous area called Music Row. It kind of looked like a neighborhood, except most all the houses were actually recording studios. Only the really big studios, like Sony, were in fancy, official-looking buildings.
I liked Daddy’s recording studio. It was a happy-looking, purple wooden house with a nice porch on the front. It looked like a house made for music.
But inside, it didn’t look like anybody’s house. There was a receptionist’s desk when you first came in and a tiny little kitchen back behind the desk. The rest of the house was made up of soundproof rooms, the room where a guy sits behind this big instrument panel with all kinds of lights and switches, and offices. Everywhere, there were photographs of famous musicians who’ve recorded there.
The other guys in Daddy’s band—Tommy and Jeb Stuart, and Cue Ball—tuned their guitars and bass fiddle in one of those soundproof rooms.
“Hey, Half Pint,” Tommy Stuart said when we walked in. Tommy was always teasing me.
“Hey, Big Foot,” I said back. I called him Big Foot because of the fact he’s so hairy on his head and arms and legs.
“You going to help us out today?” Cue Ball asked. The lights in the studio shined something fierce off his bald head.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Daddy said, taking his mandolin from its case. “But for now, she’s going to sit over there in the corner and be real quiet, right, sugar?”
“Sure thing, Daddy.”
I hopped up on a stool over in the corner. I had a million and three questions about how all the things worked, but I zipped up my mouth instead.
“Okay, gentlemen, you ready?” a voice asked from the other side of a smoky glass wall.
Daddy looked at Jeb, Tommy, and Cue Ball. They all nodded. “We’re all set, Mike,” Daddy said.
Daddy tapped his toes three times and counted down real soft, “One, two, three, and…”
And just like always, the Clear Creek Boys carried me away. I forgot I was in this tiny little room in Nashville, Tennessee. As Daddy sang his own special version of “The Water Is Wide,” I felt like I was right back on our porch way up in Wild Cat Cove. My fingers itched, though, for my own guitar, and I wanted to raise my voice and sing along with them.
Then they did some old Irish songs that liked to spin me out of my seat. Daddy looked like a wild man with that fiddle. After that, they slowed it down with one of Jeb’s songs and then one of Daddy’s. I was in pure-tee heaven.
“That’s great,” the guy called from behind the glass wall. “Take a break.”
I jumped off the stool and ran over to Daddy. “Daddy, can I see what that guy is doing in that room?”
Daddy looked toward the glass. “Hey, Mike, is it okay if I bring my girl in?”
“Sure thing.”
I felt like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, seeing what all the Wizard really did behind that curtain.
Mike showed me how he could mix the music he recorded. He could bring out the voices if he wanted to and soften the fiddle. He could make the music sound sharp and clear as cut glass or rich and smoky like the mountains at dusk.
“How many more we need to do?” Daddy asked.
“Mr. Katz wants six cuts for the demo disk, so you need to do two more,” Mike said.
We headed back into the recording room. Daddy and the rest of the guys talked about what songs to do. “Let’s have some fun with these last two,” Tommy said. Tommy always wanted things to be fun, which was something I liked a lot about him.
“How about ‘Big Rock Candy Mountain’?” Cue Ball said. “That one’s fun.”
I wiggled on my stool. “I love that one, Daddy.”
Daddy looked over at me and grinned. “I know you do, peanut, so why don’t you grab my guitar and join us?”
I tell you, my jaw dropped straight down into my lap. “Really, Daddy?”
“Really and truly,” he said with a grin as wide as the world.
I held Daddy’s guitar like it was a newborn baby. I had never played it before. It was so much bigger than my little Gibson guitar.
Daddy tuned up his banjo, Jeb settled his fiddle on his shoulder, and Tommy would play the other guitar while Cue Ball played his bass fidd
le.
“Ready for us, Mike?” Daddy called.
And off we went, picking and singing and having a good time. With each stanza, we went faster and faster. By the time we came to the end, we all had a fit of giggles.
Then we decided to slow it down with a Meemaw favorite, “Down to the River to Pray.”
As I went down to the river to pray
Studyin’ about that good ol’ way
I imagined Meemaw there with us, playing her harpsichord or her dulcimer, her voice strong and clear as Clear Creek itself. I expected any minute to hear—
“Who the heck is that?”
My eyes flew open. Someone stood on the other side of the glass with Mike, squinting out at us.
“Uh-oh,” Jeb said. Everybody stopped playing and singing.
“Whistler,” a not-too-friendly voice boomed from behind the glass.
I saw Daddy swallow hard. “Yes, sir, Mr. Katz?”
“Do you have a new band member I don’t know about?”
Daddy ran his hand through his hair. “This is my daughter, Abby.” Motioning to the glass, Daddy said to me, “Abby, honey, say hey to our boss, Mr. Katz.”
I lifted a hand. “Hey, Mr. Katz. How are you?”
Silence.
I personally thought it was rude, him not coming out to introduce himself. Meemaw would accuse him of being raised in a barn. There was a long silence. Finally Mr. Katz said, “Whistler, meet me in my office.”
I mean to tell you, Daddy looked like a puppy that’d been caught peeing on the carpet. He slipped off his banjo, smoothed down his shirt, and gave us all a weak smile. “Wish me luck.”
To: [email protected]
From: “Abby Whistler”
Date: Saturday, Jan 23, 8:24 pm
Subject: Daddy
Hey,
Boy, did Daddy get in trouble today! He took me with him to the recording studio where he and the band are cutting a demo disk. Everything was going along just fine—I sat real quiet in the studio while they recorded their songs. I even got to see how the songs get mixed on the disk and stuff. It was really cool! Then Daddy had me play the guitar and sing on the last two songs. I tell you, Olivia, it was the most fun and the best I’d felt since we got to this city. I closed my eyes and pretended I was back on our porch in Wild Cat Cove. And then, all of a sudden, Daddy’s boss, the one who owns the studio, shows up and gets his underwear all in a knot because I was playing and singing on their demo. He called Daddy down to his office and everything! I felt so bad for him when he came back. He looked like how I felt when I failed that big history test last year. He was real quiet on the walk home. He didn’t sing or make jokes or anything. Later, I overheard him tell Mama that not only was Mr. Katz mad about me being on the disk, but he also didn’t like that we were playing old-timey, traditional stuff. “He wants us to play more modern, pop-type songs. Not traditional mountain songs.” Poor Daddy. He sounded so miserable when he said “mountain songs.” That’s what Daddy loves. Just like your grandpa.
Oh, thanks for warning me about that book Old Yeller. I do NOT want to read a book where the dog gets killed off in the end! Yes, let’s do read the same book. I’ll ask Miss Bettis to help me find a different book when I get to school on Monday.
I sure do miss you, Olivia.
Abby
P.S. I haven’t had any dreams about Tam for a long time. What do you think that means?
CHAPTER 26
Tam
Three weeks after finding Tam on the banks of the New River, Ivy couldn’t imagine life without him. She talked to him constantly, read sections of the newspaper aloud to him. She knew she could be mistaken, but it did seem to her he took a keen interest in the sports section. They sat together before the fire, her with her knitting, him with some new toy she tried to interest him in.
Ivy was just finishing reading the last of the sports page to Tam when the phone rang.
It was her daughter, Caroline.
“Yes, honey, I know I haven’t called in a while. I’ve been busy.” She nodded, then looked at Tam and rolled her eyes.
“I know you worry, honey, and I appreciate that, but I’m fine. Really.”
“Come up there this weekend? Well, I don’t think I can. Not right now.” Tam could hear what sounded like the chattering of an angry squirrel. He whined, his eyes searching Ivy’s face.
Ivy stroked Tam’s ears, then said, “It’s just I have a sick friend I’m taking care of. He can’t do much for himself right now. He’s been down for a while and—”
“Now, Caroline, I may be old, but I’m still perfectly capable of helping a friend in need.” Straightening her shoulders, Ivy said in a firm voice, “I will call you in a few days, honey. And then I’ll get up there when I can.”
“Honestly,” Ivy said, hanging up the phone and snapping open the paper. “Now where were we?”
A week passed. On an unusually warm day, Tam lay on the front porch, eyes closed, sun soothing his aching shoulder. One ear twitched at rustling in the dry grass of the pasture. In his dream, the coyote arced over the tall grass, ready to pounce. Tam barked his excitement for the hunt.
Ivy heard the muffled woofs coming from the sleeping sheltie. She watched his feet twitch, his tail thump. She smiled. “No telling what adventures you’re reliving in your dreams,” she said. Gently, she shook him awake.
Tam opened his eyes. For a moment he was confused by the hard wood beneath his body, the gentle hand on his side, the kind eyes. Where was the coyote and the deep woods and the taste of hot blood?
“Come on, boy,” Ivy said, standing up. “It’s time we went to town.” Catching the word come, he stood and followed the old woman to the car. A raven called to them from the branches of a dogwood tree as they pulled out of the drive, the sun glinting on its notched tail.
Tam watched the fields and trees race by the car with great interest. It had been a long time since he’d ridden inside a car, but he remembered that it almost always led somewhere exciting.
Ivy turned on the car radio, searching for a station. Tam tilted his head to one side when the sound of a fiddle and banjo leaped from the radio. Ivy smiled and stroked Tam’s back. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have a definite preference for bluegrass music.”
Their first stop was the Galax post office. She patted Tam’s head. “I got to run in and mail off my order for more yarn, boy. You guard the car.” Tam’s eyes never left the front door of the post office. He relaxed when she slid back in the front seat beside him. “Now to the bank,” she said.
At the drive-up window, something stirred in Tam’s memory as he watched the teller behind the glass. He licked his lips and pressed his nose to the window.
“When did you get you a dog, Mrs. Calhoun?” the girl asked as she counted out the dollar bills.
“He and I sort of found each other out in the woods a while back,” Ivy said.
The girl shook her head. “I’d be careful if I was you, Mrs. Calhoun, taking in stray dogs. My daddy says there’s coyotes up in the mountains, closer than you might think.”
Ivy sniffed. “He’s a Shetland sheepdog, Tiffany. Not a coyote.”
The metal tray slid toward the car window and opened. Ivy took the cash and a dog biscuit from the tray. She handed Tam the biscuit. “Thanks, Tiffany,” Ivy called as they pulled away.
Ivy watched Tam lick the last of the biscuit crumbs from the car seat. “Next stop is for you, boy,” she said. “It’s time to let you do some shopping.” Pulling into the parking lot in front of a store called Everything Dog, Ivy muttered, “Honestly, coyotes.
“Well, first thing I guess,” Ivy said, “is to get him a collar. What color do you think would look best on this handsome boy?” she said, looking down at Tam, nestled in her arms.
Prissy Spinks peered at him doubtfully over her glasses. “He’s an odd-looking little fellow, isn’t he? Kind of puny….”
Hugging Tam closer to her, Iv
y said, “He’s a Shetland sheepdog, Prissy. They are very smart and loyal.” Tam wagged his tail and sneezed in agreement.
Brightening, Prissy Spinks pulled a green-and-black-plaid collar from the rack. “Since Shetland sheepdogs are from Scotland, I think a plaid collar would suit him, don’t you?”
Next came a bright red leash, food and water bowls, more toys, rawhide chewies, and a fake sheepskin bed. Surveying the pile on the checkout counter, Ivy said, “What else? I feel like I’m forgetting something important….”
“What about an identification tag for his collar, Mrs. Calhoun?”
“Of course,” Ivy said, shaking her head. “How could I forget that?”
“I’ll just put the form you need to fill out right here in the bag with your receipt. You fill that on out and bring it in. I’ll mail it for you myself.”
“How long does it take to get the tag?” Ivy asked as Prissy Spinks loaded the packages in the trunk of her car.
“Only a couple of weeks, is all.”
That night, as Ivy filled out the form, a cold wind raced across the roof of the cabin, blowing down the chimney. “Okay, we’ll have them put the address and the phone number. But we need to put your name on the tag too. What’s your name? I need to call you something other than ‘boy.’”
Ivy watched Tam limp over to the front door then look back over his shoulder at her. Licking the end of her pencil, she said, “Sam. I think we’ll name you Sam. You’re a good secret keeper, just like that brother of mine was.”
Tam cocked his head to one side.
“Do you like that name, Sam?”
Something pulled deep in Tam’s heart.
CHAPTER 27
Abby
I sat next to Miss Bettis on the concrete steps, watching the kids standing around on the playground, not doing anything. They were all so busy texting and calling and listening to their own private music, nobody said word one to anyone else. And, of course, the Queen stood away from everybody in her black clothes, looking bored. it was downright ridiculous. Here it was, warm and sunny (for late January) and best of all, dry, and they all stood around like a bunch of antisocial sheep.