by Lynn Austin
Meanwhile, Winky woke up from his nap and decided to attach himself to me. Every time I took a step he was tangled underfoot. He had to be the ugliest dog I had ever seen, with stumpy legs and splayed feet and a tail like a stubby thumb. His short, white fur bunched in lumpy rolls in some places and wrinkled like a cheap suit of clothing in others. He had a bulldog’s body but his head was all wrong. Instead of a smashed-in face, he had a regular dog’s long tapered snout—and his tongue didn’t seem to fit inside it so his jaw hung open most of the time, lolling and slobbering. Or if he did manage to close his snout, the tip of his pink tongue stuck out like a rude child’s.
Winky was blind in one eye, and his good eye kept winking all the time, like it had a mind of its own. Every time I took a step, that one-eyed dog stepped with me, grinning foolishly and winking at me as if we’d just shared a private joke.
Next my kitchen towels started disappearing. I always kept one hung on a hook near the sink, but when I reached for it to dry my hands, it was gone. I took out a clean one and hung it there, but by the time I’d finished setting the table for supper, it was missing, too. I found them both behind the stove where the orange cat, Arabella, had dragged them. I watched her for a moment as she pawed and nosed the cloth around until it was just so, and it was clear that she was making a nest for herself back there. I groaned.
‘‘Is there any chance that Arabella might be about to give us a litter of kittens?’’ I asked Aunt Batty during supper.
‘‘Not a chance, Toots. She just thinks she’s going to. I figure it’s quite impossible.’’ Aunt Batty blushed so fiercely I decided not to pursue it. I just hoped she was right. Things had turned crazy enough around here without a litter of kittens thrown in.
Afterward, when the boys and I started bundling up to do our chores, their mittens were missing, too. My frustration mounted as we searched and searched. I had neither the time nor the patience for this nonsense.
‘‘You boys know you’re supposed to hang your wet mittens here by the stove to dry,’’ I scolded.
‘‘But I didhang them there,’’ Jimmy insisted. ‘‘Honest, I did.’’
‘‘Then why aren’t they there? Mittens don’t just sprout wings and fly away, do they?’’
‘‘Here they are!’’ Luke suddenly shouted. He pointed to Arabella’s nest behind the stove and I couldn’t believe my eyes. The cat lay sprawled on her side like a nursing mother with the mittens snuggled up against her like babies. I lost my temper.
‘‘You stupid cat!’’ I yelled. ‘‘Those are mittens, not kittens!’’
Aunt Batty patted my shoulder. ‘‘You won’t convince her, Toots. Arabella is a little hard-of-hearing, you know. The two words sound the same to her.’’
‘‘Well, she isn’t blind! Can’t she see they’re not kittens?’’
Aunt Batty smiled faintly. ‘‘We all see what we want to see. And Arabella, bless her soul, longs to be a mother.’’
When I came back inside after my chores I found the other cat, who was half the size of a lion, all sprawled out on my rocking chair in the parlor, smug as you please, as if she owned it. When I tried to move her so I could sit down for a few minutes’ rest, she hissed at me.
‘‘That Queen Esther can be just as mean as a snake sometimes,’’ Aunt Batty explained as she shooed the cat off my chair. She lowered her voice to a stage whisper and added, ‘‘It’s because she knows Arabella is prettier than she is.’’
Frankly, I couldn’t see much beauty in either one of them, fat as they were. And as I said, Winky was no prize, either. He sat drooling on Aunt Batty’s feet all evening, watching her knit.
‘‘Where did you find him?’’ I finally asked.
‘‘Oh, Winky found me. He arrived at my door early one morning like an angel sent from heaven. I kept a flock of chickens at the time, and I needed a good watchdog to chase away the foxes and the raccoons. We’ve been good friends ever since.’’
‘‘What kind of a dog is he?’’ Jimmy asked.
‘‘Winky is a hunting dog.’’
I nearly laughed out loud. All the hunting dogs I’d seen were sleek, long-legged, graceful creatures, not fat lumpy things that waddled around on splayed feet with their tongues sticking out. I pictured the deer falling over dead from hysterics at the sight of him.
‘‘That’s how he lost his eye,’’ Aunt Batty explained. ‘‘In a hunting accident.’’
‘‘Couldn’t you find it again?’’ Becky asked.
‘‘Oh, it didn’t fall out like a marble, Toots. He lost the use of it. He’s blind in that eye.’’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘‘He doesn’t like to talk about it.’’ Winky rested his muzzle on Aunt Batty’s foot, as if he understood that we were talking about him. She bent to pat his head. ‘‘He’s a good dog, my Winky.’’
‘‘What was his name before the accident?’’ I asked.
‘‘Oh, he was always called Winky.’’ Aunt Batty got a far-away look on her face. ‘‘Sort of prophetic, don’t you think?’’
I nodded, wondering how long it would be before I was as crazy as she and her pets were.
I got the kids to bed and Aunt Batty settled in Becky’s room and the fires dampened for the night before returning to Mr. Harper’s room one last time. I admit I felt scared to go in there. He’d been doing so poorly all day I thought he surely must be about to die. It’s hard taking care of someone who’s gravely ill because your natural instinct is to nurse him back to health, and when he gets worse and dies you feel like it’s all your fault. Maybe you should’ve done something differently, maybe you could’ve done something more.
I took a deep breath, telling myself not to get too attached to him, then went into his room. He was burning up with fever and so delirious he was out of his mind. I knew he’d reached a crisis point—tonight he would either live or die. I bathed him in cold rags until he shivered, then wrapped a bed sheet tightly around him so he’d stop thrashing. Most of his words made no sense, but when he started crying ‘‘Father...Father, I’m sorry....’’ it sent chills up my spine. I didn’t know if he was calling for his daddy or for his heavenly Father. It made me think about my own daddy, and I wondered if he ever thought about me.
Then Mr. Harper began to weep, and it was such a brokendown sort of weeping that I sat on the edge of the bed and took him into my arms and held him until he stopped. ‘‘Forgive me, Father,’’ he said over and over as he clung to me. ‘‘Please, please forgive me....’’
That’s how it went for most of the night. I changed the dressings on his leg, using up an entire bottle of iodine, and tried to keep him cool. He needed a doctor, no question about it, but I couldn’t drive anywhere in all this snow. I felt helpless. It was just like when Sam died all over again, except there hadn’t been any snow when Sam had gotten sick and nothing but Frank Wyatt’s stubbornness to keep me from driving to town to fetch the doctor. I’d finally walked all the way into Deer Springs to get help for Sam, but it was too late.
I couldn’t do anything else for Mr. Harper, either, but I wanted him to know that someone cared, that he wasn’t all alone. It must be a terrible thing to die all alone and unloved like my father-inlaw had. I pulled a chair close, held Mr. Harper’s burning hand, stroked his brow, and dropped water onto his tongue with a spoon. I talked to him about my own life, and I cried for Sam all over again because taking care of Mr. Harper brought it all back— how Sam had suffered so horribly, how he never should have died.
Then a miracle happened. Way past midnight, Mr. Harper’s fever finally broke. He stopped moaning and thrashing and fell peacefully asleep. I needed some sleep, too, but as I crawled into my own bed early that morning, I couldn’t stop my tears.
I had stepped off the train in Deer Springs ten years ago because I’d wanted to take control of my life, to find the home and the family I’d longed for. But now my life had veered wildly off course like a team of runaway horses, and I no longer held the reins in my hands. I thought abou
t praying, then said aloud, ‘‘No. I’m not asking for any more angels. They’re too much work!’’
I’d been waiting for God to send someone to help me for months now, but I guessed He must be hard-of-hearing. I was all alone, isolated from town, holed up with snow piled to the windowsills— and yet I didn’t want the snow to melt because I had no idea in the world how I would run Wyatt Orchards all by myself come springtime. I had a houseful of people to tend—three grieving kids, a dying hobo, and a crazy old lady with her lunatic pets— yet I still felt like I was all alone.
As I lay in the darkness, feeling sorrier and sorrier for myself, wishing I had someone to keep me company, I heard the click of a dog’s toenails on the wooden floor. The ticking sound moved up the hallway, into my bedroom, across my floor. I peered over the edge of the bed. Winky stood in a pool of moonlight, slobbering and grinning up at me. It was the last straw.
‘‘You don’t belong up here!’’ I said in an angry whisper. I waved my arms at him. ‘‘Go on, go back downstairs!’’
I didn’t think that fat old thing could jump, but that’s exactly what he did—jumped right up onto my bed.
‘‘No! Bad dog! Get off!’’
Winky lay down beside me where Sam used to sleep and rested his head on my knee. There was something about the weight of his stubby little body, the warmth of him, that was oddly comforting. I didn’t really want him to go.
‘‘All right, then,’’ I said sternly. ‘‘But just for tonight.’’
He lifted his head to look at me and winked.
CHAPTER THREE
Iwoke up the next morning to the aroma of coffee. Sunlight streamed through my bedroom window like it was noon. I leaped out of bed when I realized why—I’d overslept!
How could I have done such a stupid thing? I got dressed as fast as I could. I had kids to tend to, chores to do. I raced past the other bedrooms and saw that my kids were already up and gone. Who knew what mischief they were into by now?
I hurried downstairs, then stopped short in the kitchen doorway. Aunt Batty stood at the stove singing ‘‘Amazing Grace’’ and flipping pancakes. She wore a homemade yellow sweater that was nearly as bright as the sunshine outside. All three kids sat at the table wolfing down pancakes smothered in apple butter as fast as she could flip them. Even Becky was eating, her mouth crammed so full that her cheeks puffed out. The milk pails were full of milk, the egg basket was full of eggs, the coal scuttle was full of coal, and both stoves were fired up and heating the house. I ran my hand through my sleep-tousled hair and sank onto a chair, feeling numb.
‘‘You should have called me. I didn’t realize it was so late...Imust have forgotten to set my alarm.’’
Aunt Batty grinned. ‘‘You didn’t forget, Toots. I sneaked in and turned it off. Winky told me you needed your rest.’’
‘‘But the chores—’’
‘‘All done.’’ Aunt Batty set a plate of pancakes in front of me. ‘‘I’ll get you some coffee to go with those.’’
‘‘We all helped with the chores, Mama, so you could sleep,’’ Jimmy said. The kids were real proud of the gift they had given me. I felt dizzy with the surprise of it all.
‘‘Thank you. But listen, Aunt Batty, you don’t have to do chores—’’
‘‘Nonsense! Of course I do. As I explained to Winky and the girls this morning, it shows very poor manners to accept someone’s hospitality and not do your fair share of the work.’’
As if to prove Aunt Batty’s words, Queen Esther waddled out of my pantry with a dead mouse dangling from her teeth, its tail trailing across my floor. I’d known for some time that I had a mouse or two living in my pantry, nibbling on anything they pleased, but even though I’d set several traps, I hadn’t caught a single one.
Esther crossed the kitchen and dropped her prize at my feet, smirking up at me as if to say, ‘‘There. That’s how it’s done.’’ Then she turned her back, tail in the air, and strode into the parlor to take her morning nap on my chair.
‘‘Thank you,’’ I mumbled.
Seated beside me, Becky took one look at the dead mouse and scrambled to stand on her chair, screaming, ‘‘Eeee! A mouse! A mouse!’’ The boys laughed out loud at her—even Luke laughed— as she danced from foot to foot, wringing her hands.
Aunt Batty scooped up the mouse with a broom and dustpan, shaking her head in dismay. ‘‘That Queen Esther is a good little hunter, but she never cleans up after herself.’’ She carried the dustpan outside and set it on the porch, mouse and all. ‘‘Esther will be looking for that, come dinnertime,’’ she said as she closed the door again.
‘‘She eats mice?’’ Becky asked with a shiver.
‘‘Certainly, Toots. All cats do. But Esther eats more than her fair share of them, don’t you think? That’s why she’s so chubby.’’ She helped Becky climb down again and fed her a forkful of pancakes. ‘‘I’ll bet you can’t finish your breakfast before your mother finishes hers.’’
‘‘Yes, I can!’’
I watched in astonishment as Becky ate every scrap of food on her plate in record time. It occurred to me that I must still be dreaming.
I tasted the pancakes and understood right away why the kids wolfed them down. And the coffee was the best I’d tasted since the stock market crashed. It must have come from Aunt Batty’s house, since my coffee was mixed with chicory and tasted nowhere near this good.
All the while I ate I kept glancing at the spare room door, wondering what I’d find on the other side. Mr. Harper had seemed fine when I went to bed, but fevers could be tricky. He might be all better or he might be dead. I ate slowly, steeling myself for the worst.
When I finally got up the nerve to peek inside his room I was relieved to hear him snoring. I tiptoed to his bedside and laid my hand on his forehead. It still felt cool. Mr. Harper stirred at my touch, then opened his eyes and looked at me. I felt embarrassed, remembering how freely I’d talked to him last night, holding him in my arms and everything. I hoped he didn’t remember.
‘‘Hi,’’ I said shyly. ‘‘How you feeling?’’
‘‘Better than I have in a long time.’’ When he smiled he was an altogether different man from the sick one I’d been tending. His gaze unnerved me.
‘‘Think you could eat something?’’ I asked when I found my voice.
‘‘That coffee smells awfully good.’’
‘‘I’ll get you some.’’
‘‘Mrs. Wyatt, wait—’’ I paused near the door. ‘‘Listen,’’ he said, ‘‘I was wondering...Iknow I was out of my head last night. Was I saying things?’’
‘‘Don’t worry. Nothing made any sense.’’ I breathed a sigh of relief knowing he probably wouldn’t remember the things I’d said, either. But when I saw that he still had a worried look on his face, I tried to reassure him. ‘‘The only words I understood were when you called for your father. You scared me half to death because I figured you were about to die and you were calling on the heavenly Father, asking Him to forgive you.’’ I waited for him to smile again, but he closed his eyes and turned his head away.
‘‘I’ll take that coffee now, ma’am...If it’s not too much trouble.’’
I shut his door and returned to the kitchen. Aunt Batty was singing for all she was worth as she washed the breakfast dishes. ‘‘How’s that angel doing this morning?’’ she said when she’d finished the chorus.
‘‘He’s not an angel.’’ I started to explain, then gave up. ‘‘He’s much better. He’d like some coffee if there’s any left.’’
‘‘Is he hungry?’’ she asked. ‘‘I can fix him some pancakes, too.’’
For reasons I couldn’t explain, I suddenly felt shy about tending to Mr. Harper now that he was awake and aware of things. I handed the cup and saucer to Aunt Batty. ‘‘Why don’t you bring this to him and ask him yourself?’’
‘‘All right.’’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘‘The children told me all about him yesterday. We’ve bee
n praying for him.’’
A jolt of alarm rocked me. ‘‘I wish you hadn’t done that.’’
‘‘Why not? The Good Book says—’’
I grabbed Aunt Batty’s arm and hustled her into the pantry so the kids couldn’t hear us talking. ‘‘Listen,’’ I said in an angry whisper, ‘‘our experience with prayer hasn’t been ver y good. We prayed and prayed for their daddy to get better, and he died!’’
‘‘Oh, we didn’t pray that the angel would get better—only that God’s will would be done, and that we could accept it.’’
‘‘What’s the difference?’’ I said bitterly.
‘‘Oh, there’s a big diff—’’
I pushed past her into kitchen, not wanting to hear her reasoning. ‘‘Becky Jean, come dry these dishes. Boys, get ready for school.’’
‘‘It’s Saturday, Mama,’’ Jimmy said. He and Luke exchanged glances. I waslosing my mind.
Aunt Batty followed me out of the pantry and opened the door to Mr. Harper’s room, coffee cup in hand. She stopped short.
‘‘Goodness, you scared me!’’ she said. ‘‘You look just like a big old woolly bear lying in that bed! Now, why would you want to let your hair and beard get all shaggy like that?’’
I hurried into the room behind her, afraid she had offended him. ‘‘Mr. Harper has been sick with a fever, Aunt Batty. He can’t do much for himself.’’
‘‘Well, I could clean him up real nice, if you want me to. I took good care of Walter years ago, when he was bedridden. And then poor Papa, of course. Shaved them both clean as a whistle.’’
Even if I were dying I wouldn’t let crazy old Aunt Batty near me with a straight razor, but I didn’t know how to warn Mr. Harper. He looked from me to Aunt Batty in confusion, as if things were moving too fast for him to keep up.
‘‘Let’s wait until he’s feeling better,’’ I said quickly.