by Bobbie Pyron
“I’ve had about all of this I can take.” I handed Miss Bettis the map of the trip from Harmony Gap to nashville I’d been working on and marched out to the playground. I picked up a perfectly good ball. “Hey, everybody!” I hollered in my loudest voice.
Hardly anybody glanced my way. I tried again. No one batted an eye.
“Here, Abby,” Miss Bettis called, holding out her special emergency whistle on a string.
I put that shiny whistle to my lips and blew with all my might. That got everybody’s attention.
“Who wants to play dodgeball?” I asked, holding up the ball.
They all looked at me like I was speaking in some kind of foreign tongue.
I tossed the ball back and forth, from one hand to another. “Come on, y’all. Let’s play. It’ll be fun. That’s what recess is for.”
“I remember playing that in elementary school,” Bree said, rolling her eyes and flipping her hair. “We’re too old to play dodgeball.”
Someone said, “Wasn’t there a movie called Dodgeball?”
And another person said, “Yeah, it was pretty funny.”
Then someone else said, “What’ll I do with my cell phone?”
Miss Bettis spoke up. “Everyone bring your cell phones and iPods over to me. I’ll take good care of them while you play.” She winked at me.
Finally, I had enough kids to make two teams. At first, they wanted to play boys against girls, but since most of the girls were in those skirts and boots, I decided to divide up the teams myself.
I drew a long line in the sand with the toe of my sneaker, and explained the rules. “Okay, each team takes a turn trying to hit someone on the other team with the ball. If a person gets hit, they have to go sit with Miss Bettis. The team getting the ball thrown at them can dodge the ball, but they can’t cross this line. The first team to get all the players out, wins.”
“And no hitting someone in the head with the ball,” Miss Bettis called from the sidelines.
I threw out the first ball, and right away conked Billy Ray Purdee in the shoulder. “You got to move to avoid the ball, Billy Ray,” I said. Billy Ray was kind of fat, so I decided to give him another chance. Pretty soon, everybody was getting into the spirit of things. The kids ran and laughed and yelled. It sounded like a real playground for the first time. Even Madison and some of the other girls had fun playing, once they stopped worrying so much about their hair.
When the bell rang, ending recess, everybody was kind of sad. Guys who’d never even said boo to each other slapped each other’s backs and said, “Great shot,” or “You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.” Courtney said, “Can we play again tomorrow, Abby?”
“Sure thing,” I said. “I know all kinds of other games too.”
Miss Bettis handed me back my map as we filed inside. “Good job, Abby,” she said. And I don’t think she was talking about my map.
The next day at recess, a whole bunch of kids wanted to play. They all gave Miss Bettis their cell phones and stuff as soon as we got outside. By the end of the week, I’d gotten them to play kickball, too. Even Bree.
I waited out front for Mama’s car after school on Friday. A whole gaggle of girls waited with me.
“Abby, please come with us to see the new movie at the mall tomorrow,” Courtney said. “It’s supposed to be so cool.”
“Yeah,” Bree said. “I love the theme song from the movie they play all the time on WKDF.”
I’d hardly ever gone to a big theater in a shopping mall. Olivia and I went to the Reel Time Theater in Harmony Gap. I was kind of curious. “I’ll ask Mama,” I said.
Just then, I heard a car horn blow. Mama waved from a line of cars. And right behind her truck was a shiny black limousine.
“Gotta go,” I said.
“Call me tonight,” Madison said.
I trotted out to Mama’s truck. I was so busy looking to see who would be picked up in a limo, I about ran smack into Cheyenne Rivers.
“Watch it, hillbilly,” she growled.
“S-sorry,” I stammered.
Then, just as it occurred to me she had called me the word I hated most, and I was about to tell her what a rude snot she was, she jerked open the back door of the limo and slid in.
Of course.
I hopped into Mama’s truck and slammed the door.
Mama glanced in the rearview mirror. “Who was that?”
“That’s that snotty ol’ Cheyenne Rivers,” I grumbled.
Mama shot me a look. “Watch your mouth, Abby.”
“She about ran me over getting to her car, Mama, and then she called me ‘hillbilly.’” Of all people, Mama knew how much I hated being called that.
Mama eased out into traffic. “One person being rude doesn’t give you permission to be rude too.”
I sighed. Mama would never understand.
Later that night, the phone rang. It was Madison. “Did you ask your mom about the movie?”
I’d totally forgotten. “I’ll call you back in just a minute,” I said.
Mama and Daddy sat at the kitchen table, going over bills. This never put them in the best mood.
“Mama,” I said, “could I go to a movie tomorrow afternoon?”
“Who with?” Mama asked, not looking up.
“Just some girls from school,” I said. “They want to see that new movie Tennessee Home.”
“Sure, you can go,” Mama said. She smiled at Daddy. “That’ll give me and your dad some time to ourselves.”
Daddy looked up from the mess of bills and smiled. “A few of the songs in that movie were recorded at our studio.”
“Really?” I said. Boy, wait until I told Bree, Madison, and Courtney about that. They’d never think I wasn’t cool again.
“Nothing but country bubblegum, if you ask me,” Daddy said, laughing. “But some of the guys were real nice.”
“But you might as well go too, Holly,” Daddy said, rubbing the back of his neck, not looking at Mama. “I got to be at the studio most of the day tomorrow. Again.”
I swear I saw tears in Mama’s eyes. “But why?” she asked. “I thought you were done with the demo.”
Daddy sighed. “Mr. Katz doesn’t like most of our songs. He wants us to record a bunch of new ones, ones he’s picked out.”
Big ol’ storm clouds gathered above Mama’s eyes. It didn’t take a weatherman to know thunder and lightning were on their way. I grabbed the phone, went back to my bedroom, and closed the door.
After I called Madison, I thought about emailing Olivia. But that meant going through the kitchen to get to Mama’s office where the computer was, and I could still hear Mama and Daddy arguing.
So, instead, I picked up my guitar and strummed the opening chords of “The Wayfaring Stranger.” I leaned my back against my pillows and sang:
I am a poor wayfaring stranger
Wandering through this world of woe.
Lookin’ for no sickness, toil, or danger
In that bright land to which I go.
I’m goin’ there to meet my mother.
She said she’d meet me when I come.
I’m only going over Jordan,
I’m only going to my home.
CHAPTER 28
Tam
As Tam grew stronger, as he lived again among the comforts and smells of humans, memories of another home flooded back. Memories of a farm in the green folds of the mountains to the south; of hands that were not this old woman’s, stroking him and loving him; of nights in the safety of a warm, soft bed, the music of a voice whispering to him in the dark; the memory of a name that was not Sam, but almost.
Tam had been with Ivy a little over a month when she first noticed it. He gladly accompanied her on daily chores and walked the property when the weather was good. He was content to lie at her feet as she ate her lunch and read. But every afternoon, as the sun’s shadows stretched long across the frozen ground, he grew restless.
He’d rise and trot to the door. He�
��d whine and look back at the old woman.
And every time, she would let him out. “Okay, Sam, go do your business.”
But Tam just stood on the porch, looking bewildered. As if, Ivy thought, he’d entered a room but couldn’t remember why.
After this occurred several days in a row, Ivy kept count of the time. Three fifteen, he’d rise, go to the front door, and whine. He’d jump up on the cedar chest beneath the tall living room window, jump down, and poke the door with his muzzle.
By three thirty, the pacing would start. Back and forth, back and forth, from door to window, something drove him.
And then, several minutes later, he would collapse at Ivy’s feet with a groan of disappointment.
Ivy would lift him into her ample lap and stroke him until he slept.
Light from the fireplace glowed on Tam’s deep red coat. Doc Pritchett appraised the dog stretched before the fireplace. “He’s a sheltie, all right,” he said. “Little on the small side, but a purebred, no doubt.”
Ivy nodded and smiled. “Amazing what a little love, a lot of food, and a bath will do. ’Course, modern medicine and a good doctor don’t hurt either.” They gazed at Tam in companionable silence; the only sound the fire crackling inside and the new storm outside.
Ivy sighed and shook her head. “I just don’t know, though….”
“What’s troubling you?”
“He’s as devoted a companion as I could ever wish for, just like you said he’d be. I couldn’t imagine life without him.”
“But?”
Her brow furrowed. “It just seems like his heart is somewhere else. Like a big part of him is looking for someone.”
The old vet fell silent.
“I’ve even worried sometimes when I let him out at night to do his business that he might run off.”
“Now, Ivy,” he said, “where in the world would he run off to, especially in the dead of winter?”
“I know I sound like a silly old fool,” she said, “but I just can’t shake the feeling he was on his way to somewhere, on a journey.” And then Ivy described Tam’s afternoon ritual.
Doc Pritchett stretched his legs in front of him. Tam jumped to his feet and moved into the shadows. “Dogs are creatures of habit, Ivy. Who knows what’s ingrained in that dog.” The vet shook his head. “I still maintain whoever had him doesn’t deserve him. You and I both know what terrible shape he was in. And even after all this time he still doesn’t trust me; I’d wager doesn’t even like me.”
“James…”
He waved away his hurt. “All I’m saying is I strongly suspect this little dog was abused and neglected by a man. If he was on his way to somewhere, it was to a better home. And he found it with you.”
Tam jumped into Ivy’s lap. She stroked the top of his fine head, gazed into his brown eyes.
“Ivy, he’s your dog now.”
“Some famous poet said April is the cruelest month, but I think February is worse,” Ivy said to Tam as they watched snow blow through the branches of the great pines. “Why, just last week, it was warm as a spring day.” She sighed and turned away from the window and the storm beyond.
It had been snowing or sleeting for the last three days, turning the roads and the steps treacherous. “If I can’t get out of this cabin soon,” Ivy said, “I think I’ll go stir-crazy.”
Tam whined in sympathy.
Ivy smiled and scratched him behind his ear. “Oh, don’t mind me, Sam. You’d think after living in these mountains over eighty years, I’d know about changeable weather by now.” She picked up her knitting, brushed her fingers across the soft rows of llama fleece. “Still, it seems the older I get the longer winter is.”
Tam ran his nose along the skein of llama wool in Ivy’s lap. Pictures flashed in his mind of a barn filled with wooly, long-necked creatures. He saw a woman pitching hay and mixing grain. He sniffed the wool again. He smelled old apple orchards, wood smoke, a girl’s sweet scent.
His heart filled. This was the scent of home.
Tam furrowed his brow, whined, and pawed Ivy’s leg.
“What is it, Sam?”
The phone rang. “Why hello, Randall, honey. It’s good to hear your voice.” And this time Ivy meant it. She got up to fix herself a cup of tea, letting her son’s deep voice warm her.
“Lord yes, honey,” she said. “It’s been snowing and blowing to beat the band. One minute it’s sleeting and the next it switches over to snow.” Tam watched her balance the phone against her ear as she lit the burner beneath the kettle.
Ivy took a dog biscuit out of a tin and handed it to Tam. “No, no, I don’t dare go out. I expect the roads are sheets of ice. I worry about my birds, though. I haven’t been able to feed them in days.”
The kettle whistled. A strong memory swept through Tam. A memory of another kitchen and dinner next to a stove and the love he had for a girl.
“I think the weatherman said this storm is supposed to move on south by the end of the week. I sure hope so. I’m about flat out of food.” Ivy poured boiling water over the tea bag.
“Why yes, honey, I’d love to have you come visit this weekend. I could do with a little human company.” Looking down apologetically at Tam, she said, “And I have a special friend I want you to meet.”
“Thank the good Lord that weatherman was right for once,” Ivy said, pulling on her boots. After two days, the storm had indeed moved on. Sun touched the tops of the trees on the far ridge for the first time in many days. Wrapping a scarf around her neck and stuffing the bag of bread crumbs in her coat pocket, Ivy said, “Come on, Sam. It’s time to see those mountains come alive.”
Snow crunched beneath Ivy’s boots as they walked slowly along the fence line. She squinted her eyes against the bright glare of sun on snow. “Lovely,” she murmured to Tam.
Leaning heavily on her walking stick, Ivy made her way down the gentle slope to the dogwood forest, Tam by her side. Chickadees flitted branch to branch, fluffing their feathers against the cold. The occasional flash of red announced the presence of a male cardinal or two. Ivy shook the bag of crumbs onto the snow. “Come here, my little babies,” she called. “Come get your treats!” The notch-tailed raven called from the high branches of an old pine. “There’s some for you too, old friend,” Ivy said with a laugh.
Tam followed a scent down toward the riverbank. Delicate, heart-shaped tracks filled his nose with deer. Three had passed this way just forty-five minutes before, his nose told him. They were hungry. One was old and sick. His nose told him that too. A dog’s keen sense of smell can read the story on earth and wind as clearly as any human can read a book.
Just as he began to stalk a snowshoe hare, Ivy called, “Sam! Sam! Come here, Sam!” The hare startled and ran. Tam sighed. He shook himself and trotted back up the bank to the old woman.
“Where’d you get to, boy?” Ivy said. “You gave me a little start.”
Tam walked close by her side as they made their way back to the cabin. There was some indefinable scent on the woman that worried the little sheltie.
“I got to get on back and make up my grocery list before the boy gets here. Lord, I got to clean up those breakfast dishes too. Randall will think I’ve got the Alzheimer’s if there’s dishes in the sink. And I’m going to get him to put that identification tag on your collar.”
Ivy stopped to catch her breath at the top of the pasture. She rubbed her shoulder. “Lord, Lord,” she said. “I’m getting old.” She gripped her walking stick and straightened her spine. “Nothing to do with age, Sam. Just been cooped up in that cabin too long. You and me got to get out more.”
As Ivy opened the front door, it hit her like a freight train.
She doubled over in pain and dropped her stick. “Sweet Jesus,” she gasped. Hot, searing pain shot up her arm, blazed across her chest. With steely determination, she straightened and pushed through the door. Out of habit, she pulled it closed behind her.
Her breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat pou
red down her face. Her world, the cabin, and all that she had known for more than eighty years fell away to one purpose: She must get to the telephone.
“Come on, old girl, you can do it,” she said aloud. She clutched chair backs and countertops and worked her way to the telephone. Just as she stretched her hand out, an iron fist squeezed down hard on her heart. Her legs gave way. She crumpled forward, slamming her head on the floor.
Tam barked frantically. Everything was wrong. The scent of fear and sickness filled the air. The woman smelled of blood and pain. Tam pawed her outstretched hand. She groaned. He licked the blood from her face, sniffed her breath. “Sam,” she breathed.
And then, all was silent. The clock ticked in the hallway, water dripped from the faucet in the kitchen sink. The wind sighed in the trees. The raven called from somewhere outside the house. Tam lay next to the old woman and rested his head on her hip, his brown eyes abrim with sorrow.
After some time, Tam heard tires crunch up the drive to the house. He knew that sound. He ran to the cedar chest, jumped up, and barked at the big truck. A man stepped out, ran up the porch steps. Tam barked and barked. The man knocked once, left a package by the door, waved to Tam, and ran back to the truck.
Tam whined as the truck pulled away. He went back to the woman, sniffed her face. Her breath came in tattered threads. Her eyelids fluttered. Tam pawed the front of her coat. She opened her eyes. “Good boy,” she said. And closed her eyes again.
More time passed. The slam of a car door woke Tam. He sat up and listened to the sound of heavy footsteps on the porch steps. A man. A big man. Tam growled low in his chest.
Ivy’s son picked up the package the UPS driver left. He pushed open the door and stomped the snow off his boots. “Mama, you got a package,” he called. Tam pushed closer into the woman’s side and growled louder.
Randall dropped the package. “Mama?” he called. His eyes swept the room. The fire was out, dishes were piled beside the sink, the lights were off, and there was the sound of a dog growling. His instinct as a policeman took over. He reached back through the open door, grabbed a piece of firewood from the stack on the porch, and walked slowly toward the kitchen.