by Paula Munier
“Martinez was always full of stories.” He laughed. “But I interrupted you. Go ahead.” Mercy told the story as she had heard Martinez tell it more than once:
This bishop was an arrogant and ambitious man from Mexico City. He challenged elderly Father Pedro, the local priest, to a contest. Father Pedro was known as the wisest and humblest man in the Mezquital Valley, and people came from miles around to tell him their confessions and to hear his sermons at Mass every Sunday. The bishop was not pleased with the old priest’s growing popularity, which he saw as a threat to his growing power. This would be a duel of wits and wisdom worthy of King Solomon, the bishop promised. Everyone came to the village square on Saturday morning to watch Father Pedro take on the bishop.
“Ask me anything,” said the priest to the bishop. “Ask me forty questions, any questions you want, and I will address them all with one answer.”
The bishop smiled, thinking it would be very easy for him to make a fool of this old man. The priest listened very politely to the bishop as he posed forty of the most complicated questions anyone had ever heard in the Mezquital Valley.
“Well,” said the bishop, “what do you have to say?”
“I don’t know anything,” said Father Pedro.
Everyone started to laugh, and the bishop rode away on his fine horse, never to return.
Mercy looked at Hallett. “I don’t know anything.” She forced herself to smile. “I thought I did, but I was wrong.”
“I can see that your mind is made up.”
She rose to her feet. “You can pick him up tomorrow at the cabin.”
“I must say I’m surprised. But thank you.” Hallett stood up and offered her his hand.
She shook it gravely. “Ten o’clock.”
That would give her and Elvis some time together before he left for Missouri. To walk through the woods. To play with her and his Kong. To nap on the couch.
She blinked away tears, tipped her fingers to General Stark on the wall, and left without saying goodbye.
Because there was nothing good about it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The weather was practically balmy at forty degrees. The hardiest New Englanders would be out in shorts and T-shirts, cheering on the spring, but the chill of the past few frigid days seemed permanent to Mercy. She wore flannel-lined jeans, an oversized gray Army sweatshirt over a red Henley, and her last clean pair of Darn Tough socks, and still she shivered. Even inside the cabin, where she stared at the flames of the fire from her end of the long couch.
Elvis was on his side, enjoying his post-walk Kong, which she’d filled with peanut butter, the last in the succession of treats she’d bestowed on him. Sunny was across the room in Elvis’s bed, which she’d claimed as her own, with her own peanut-butter-filled Kong.
Both dogs were enjoying all Elvis’s favorite treats, a farewell feast. She knew she wouldn’t be able to bear looking at them once he’d gone, and she wasn’t packing them up for Hallett to give him later. Hallett could buy his own treats for Elvis. And he would; no doubt the Malinois would be showered with goodies in his new home. She’d get new ones—different ones—for Sunny.
Mercy had filled a duffel bag with the Belgian shepherd’s toys and the teal quilt from his end of the sofa. She thought that they would help him transition more easily to his new living situation, and, selfishly, help him remember her through her scent, if only for a little while. She didn’t want him to forget her completely, at least not right away.
She knew he’d never forgotten Martinez, and she hoped he never would. She had kept his memory alive for both of them—but who would do that now? She couldn’t see Hallett talking to Elvis about Martinez the way she did. She hadn’t seen him say anything much at all to the shepherd beyond the usual command and reward phrases. Maybe he just wasn’t a big talker.
Or maybe it was more than that. He’d admitted that he was one of those soldiers who’d acted out his anger and grief and then hit rock bottom and crawled his way out. Now he channeled his emotions into his work with vets. She hoped he’d have enough emotional energy left to give Elvis the attention he deserved. Say what he might about the dangers the dog may have encountered during his time with her, he couldn’t say that she hadn’t given everything she’d had to Elvis. Martinez’s Malinois had been her whole world.
It was only nine thirty in the morning but she was very tempted to pour herself a glass of Big Barn Red. She was jumping out of her skin. Only half an hour until she lost Elvis for good. She’d already tried yoga, so she defaulted to her old standby for stress. Shakespeare.
She unfurled herself from the couch and went to the wall of books that ran along one side of the great room. Her cousin Ed had custom-built the floor-to-ceiling shelves that held her cherished collection of books, many of which were Shakespeare or Shakespeare-related. She pulled out her beloved copy of the Oxford University Press’s 1996 hardcover edition of The Winter’s Tale. She sat back down on the sofa next to Elvis, and flipped to the speech by Cleomenes:
Sir, you have done enough, and have perform’d
A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make,
Which you have not redeem’d; indeed, paid down
More penitence than done trespass: at the last,
Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil;
With them forgive yourself.
She’d never forgive herself for what was about to happen, or her part in what had led to it. She closed the book and placed it neatly on the coffee table before her. She gave Elvis a good scratch between the ears, and another along his belly. He nuzzled her for more and she laughed. She could do worse than spend her last minutes with him like this.
Too soon, it was time. Mercy pulled her duck boots on over her stockinged feet, wrapped a scarf around her neck, and grabbed the bag. She whistled for the dogs.
Elvis and Sunny followed her outside. The mountains were shrouded in fog, the forest murky in the mist. The snow was melting again. Perching on the edge of her grandfather’s rocking chair, she watched as the canine pals scampered around the front garden, and then dashed down to the barn. She heard the truck start up her driveway, but she couldn’t bring herself to look. She kept her eyes on Elvis.
The shepherd raced up the hill from the barn, the retriever on his heels. She heard the truck door slam but still she didn’t look. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a huge blur of black fur bounce by her.
Susie Bear.
She spun around to find Troy walking through the arbor along the path that led past the flagpole and up to the porch.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hallett called me. Told me about Elvis.” Troy placed a hand on her shoulder. “He thought you might need a friend here when he came by.”
“That was presumptuous of him.” She crossed her arms. “You don’t have to stay.”
“Where’s Amy and the baby?”
“Amy’s at the college. Helena’s at day care.”
“So you’re alone.”
“Yes.”
Troy squeezed her shoulder. “I think we’ll stay.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. This was the sort of unexpected kindness that could bring her to tears if she wasn’t careful.
He stood back as the three dogs rushed up to her, tails wagging, falling all over each other to compete for hugs and head scratches. She pulled the scarf off her neck and tossed it onto the rocking chair. Squatting down, she let the dogs envelop her in wet kisses and damp fur. Their paws were dirty with snow and slush and mud, and now her jeans and her sweatshirt were, too. Not that she cared.
Elvis’s triangular ears perked. Susie Bear and Sunny’s long silky ears rose, too. The trio turned in unison as Hallett’s truck roared up the drive. Elvis stood by Mercy, his curlicue tail held high, on the edge of a wag. Sunny wagged her tail unreservedly. Susie Bear barked. A friendly bark, but a bark just the same. Mercy knew exactly how the big shaggy girl felt.
Hallett g
ot out of the truck, a bouquet of yellow tulips in his hand. He stopped to pet Sunny on his way, and she trailed him to the porch. Elvis greeted him with a nuzzle and lick, Susie Bear with a desultory sniff.
“Good morning,” he said, handing Mercy the flowers. “I don’t know if this is appropriate or not. But I wanted to bring something.”
“Thanks.” She placed the bouquet on the seat of the rocking chair by her scarf. Tulips had always been her favorite flowers, but she knew that from now on she’d always loathe the sight of them.
The dogs clamored around Hallett as he pulled doggie biscuits from his coat pocket and passed the treats around. They nibbled his fingers and he smiled.
Mercy fought the uncharitable urge to wipe that smile off his face. She picked up the duffel.
“I’ll take Susie Bear and Sunny inside.” Troy took the Newfie mutt and the golden retriever by their collars and guided them into the cabin, gently closing the door behind him.
She escorted Hallett down the porch steps and out to the flagpole, Elvis at her side.
“You know, he wasn’t perfect,” he said.
Mercy stared at him. “Who?”
“Martinez. He was a good soldier and a good guy but he wasn’t perfect.”
“Right.” She wasn’t about to stand here and let this guy talk trash about Martinez. Enough was enough. She held the duffel out to him. “This should be everything he needs.”
“Okay.” Hallett reached for the bag, his face solemn. Elvis stood between them, still as stone. They stood there, holding the duffel between them. The passing of the baton. The changing of the guard. The end of life as she knew it.
She released the bag and fell back. She tapped her chest with her palm. Elvis rose up on his back legs and placed his front paws on her chest. She wrapped her arms around the shepherd in a long hug. “Down,” she said, and he dropped to the ground. She waved her hand toward Hallett. “Go.”
“Come on, boy.” He walked back down the garden path toward his truck. Elvis trotted after him, then hesitated, turning to look back at Mercy, and tipped his nose in the air.
“Go on,” she said, more sternly this time.
The shepherd gave her another long look.
Hallett opened the door of his truck. “Come on, boy. Let’s go for a ride.”
Mercy smiled in spite of herself. Ride was one of Elvis’s favorite words. She waved her hand toward Hallett’s truck again.
Elvis sprinted the last couple of yards and then rocketed into the passenger seat.
“Good boy.” Hallett shut the door after him. He walked around the truck to the driver’s side. There he paused and raised his eyes to Mercy and the flag that flew above her. He saluted.
She saluted back.
He got into his truck, threw it in reverse, and backed expertly down the slushy driveway. She saw Elvis poke his nose out of the passenger window and heard him howl, just before the truck disappeared from sight.
She stood there for a moment, willing the truck back to her driveway. But that wouldn’t happen. The reality hit her as hard as a punch to her solar plexus. She leaned back against the flagpole, her spine hugging the cold metal, and slowly, slowly, slowly slid down to the ground.
She sat there at the base of the flagpole, legs crossed and eyes closed. She tried to breathe. Susie Bear bound over to her, settling at her feet and placing her big pumpkin head in her lap. Sunny curled up at her side, her muzzle tucked into Mercy’s left hip. Troy sank down to her right, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
“You’ll get your uniform dirty,” she said, curling the Newfie mutt’s long silky hair around her fingers.
“I always get my uniform dirty,” he said. “Occupational hazard.”
“I failed him.”
“You saved him.”
“I failed Elvis and I failed Martinez,” she repeated.
Troy didn’t say anything this time. He took her free hand and wrapped his fingers gently through hers. She tightened her grip. Clenching his hand as hard as she could.
And she cried.
* * *
THEY SAT THERE in the slush at the base of the flagpole. Neither said anything. Her tears spent, Mercy laid her head on his shoulder. The dogs didn’t move, content to stay as long as she and Troy stayed.
She closed her eyes again, trying to think happy thoughts about the dog she already missed so much it hurt. Falling into a daydream. Springtime. Hiking through the woods with Elvis. Sun dappling the pale green buds of the maples and sycamores and oaks. The shepherd running ahead on the trail, slipping out of view, then circling back to her when she called.
Elvis, she whispered.
There was a sudden shuffling all around her as she felt Sunny and Susie Bear scramble to their feet, startling her out of her reverie. She opened her eyes, and there he was.
Elvis. The smartest dog in the world, hurtling toward her. The Belgian shepherd skidded to a stop at her knees. She pulled him into her lap. Laughing. Crying. Hugging.
“Where did he come from?” She looked up at Troy.
“From the road. I saw him run up the hill, then cut across the lawn to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Me either.”
She heard the sound of a vehicle turning into the driveway and her heart sank. It was the red Toyota truck. Hallett’s truck. “It was too good to be true.”
“Let’s see what he has to say.”
They stood up and waited. The dogs lined up next to them, seated but alert.
Hallett got out of the truck. He strode toward them, carrying the duffel bag.
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “We only made it as far as Crossroads.”
“What do you mean?”
“I stopped for gas a couple of miles down the road.” He set the bag down on the ground. “As soon as I opened the door, Elvis pushed past me and jumped out of the truck and started running. Back to you.”
Sunny trotted over to greet Hallett, leaning against him and lifting her pretty golden head as he petted her. Elvis wagged his tail at him, but he didn’t move from Mercy’s side. Susie Bear ignored him.
“Out on Route 7?” Mercy couldn’t bear the thought of Elvis on that busy road.
“That’s a major thoroughfare,” said Troy. “He could have been hurt.”
“I know that.” Hallett ran his hand through his short hair. “I went after him on foot, but he was long gone. I figured he was on his way home, so I started back here in the truck. I found him, but when I pulled over, he refused to get in. I followed him the rest the way here, to make sure he got home safely.” He smiled a crooked smile. “And he did.”
“I’m so sorry.” Mercy held Elvis’s face in her hands. “What were you thinking?”
“He came back because he needs you,” said Hallett.
“I don’t think so.” Mercy frowned. “He came back because I need him, and he knows it.”
“Either way, you’re his mission now.” Hallett continued to stroke Sunny’s silky coat. The golden retriever stood by him, knowing that he was the one who needed comforting now.
“What about my dangerous lifestyle?” Mercy couldn’t dare hope that Elvis was truly home to stay. Surely Hallett wouldn’t give up so easily. But she kept one hand on the shepherd’s handsome head, just in case.
“Life is dangerous,” said Troy. “No matter where you live it.”
“True enough,” said Hallett. “We have our troubles in Missouri, too.”
“I don’t know what to say,” said Mercy.
“You know the bond you form with your fellow soldiers,” said Hallett. “That’s like the bond between dog handlers and their dogs. That’s the bond Elvis and I have. The strongest of bonds, formed on the battlefield.” He reached out and petted the shepherd’s handsome head. Elvis licked his hand, even as he leaned against Mercy. “But maybe the bonds you form with the people who help you come home from the war are just as strong.”
Mercy nodded. He
r bond with Elvis was proof of that.
“Working with vets,” Hallett went on, “I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. As a vet myself.”
Mercy held her breath, watching as he gave Elvis another good scratch between the ears and then removed his hand, letting it fall to his side.
Sunny nuzzled his fingers, and he smiled. “You’re the one who helped Elvis come home from the war.”
“He helped me.”
“Two-way street.” He looked at the shepherd, his stance poised but alert, his nose at her hip.
“Elvis just wants to be with you. You’re his person now.”
“Elvis has made his choice,” said Troy. “Honor it.”
She exhaled, realizing that Troy was right. She’d made the choice for Elvis, letting him go with Hallett, but Elvis had overturned her decision. No doubt about that. Hallett was honoring the shepherd’s choice, and she should, too.
“Thank you,” she told Hallett. “What will you do? What about the vets at your center?”
“We’ll be fine.”
“You need a dog.”
He shook his head. She felt so badly for him. If it were any dog on earth but Elvis …
“Seems to me you’ve got your dog right here.” Troy pointed to Sunny. “Sunny obviously likes you.”
Mercy smiled at the golden retriever. “Troy’s right. She’s always thrilled to see you. And she’s the most empathetic dog in the world. She’d be great with your veterans.”
“She’s a lovely girl,” said Hallett. “But I thought you were just keeping her for a friend.”
“She was Deputy Pitts’ dog. He asked me to take her because he knew he was dying and he was afraid his sister would get rid of her.”
“He was sure right about that,” said Troy.
“I think she was meant to go with you,” said Mercy. “I think Sunny is your dog.”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” he said. “I’ll think about it.” He gave Elvis one last salute. “Goodbye, boy.”
“Take care.” Mercy and Troy stood with Elvis and Susie Bear and watched Hallett walk back to his truck.