Wonderland

by Barbara O'Connor

  Mr. Duffy looked up at her from under his bushy eyebrows and said, “I got nothing left in me to give a dog. Look at me. My fingers are all whomper-jawed with arthritis. I practically gotta stick my finger in a light socket every morning to start my heart pumping enough to get out of bed.”

  He took his baseball cap off and rubbed the top of his head. “Shoot,” he said, “even my old gray hair got the heck out of Dodge.” He lowered his head so Mavis could see how shiny and bald the top of it was.

  “Nope,” he said. “Ain’t no dog wanna spend a life with an old man crazy as a bullbat and ugly as a mud dauber. And if that ain’t enough, I’m so poor I can’t afford to pay attention. Nope. No dog for me.”

  Mavis stomped a foot and said a little louder than she’d meant to, “Well, that’s about the sorriest thing I ever heard. There’s all kinda dogs out there needing somebody to give ’em a home and love ’em. Dogs don’t care about bald heads or money or any of that stuff.”

  Mr. Duffy put his cap back on and picked up his clipboard. “Shoot, before you know it, Saint Peter’s name’s gonna be on this list, ’cause he’s coming to get me. Maybe I can be the keeper of the pearly gates.” He winked at Mavis. “Assuming I’m going to heaven, but that might be questionable.”

  Then he looked up at the ceiling and said, “Keep the coffee warm up there, Edna. I’ll be joining you soon.”

  “Who’s Edna?” Mavis asked.

  “My wife. So sweet she could give you a toothache. Been gone six years, three months, one week, two days, eight hours and”—he pulled out a pocket watch and squinted at it—“twenty-four minutes.”

  Then he told Mavis about Edna. The pound cake she made and the dresses she sewed and how she called him Mr. James Earl Duffy when she was mad, which wasn’t very often.

  “If I had a dollar for every time I met another gal as sweet as Edna, I’d be flat busted broke,” he said. “Now she’s up there in heaven with my precious old Queenie. The two of them left me down here lonely as a pine tree in a parking lot.”

  “That’s why you need another dog,” Mavis said. “Right, Rose?”

  But instead of helping her convince Mr. Duffy that he needed another dog, Rose sat there in a pool of pity, looking weepy-eyed and quivery-chinned.

  “Well, you two just beat all,” Mavis said.

  “Aw now, Mavis,” Mr. Duffy said. “Don’t go gettin’ your knickers in a knot. Truth of the matter is, this old sorry life of mine is all vines and no taters, and even my vines aren’t looking too good anymore. Ain’t a dog on this earth needs a pitiful geezer like me.”

  Rose sniffed and swiped at her cheeks while Mavis stomped around the gatehouse going on and on about how dogs make things better and they only want a little love and a piece of chicken once in a while.

  “A dog could put taters on your vines,” she said, trying her best to keep her irritation from making her holler.

  At that, Mr. Duffy began to laugh. It started as a weak smile that turned into a rattly chuckle that turned into a laugh that ended up as a wheezy cough.

  He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, pushed himself up out of his chair, and put his arm around Rose. “What you so down and out about, Rosie?” he said.

  Then, much to Mavis’s surprise, Rose stood up and began an honest-to-goodness rant.

  “I wish you wouldn’t talk about Saint Peter and the pearly gates,” Rose said in a loud, very un-Rose-like voice. “It scares me when you tell Edna to keep the coffee warm,” she went on.

  Mr. Duffy kind of stuttered, saying, “Well … but … I…”

  Then Rose plopped down into Mr. Duffy’s desk chair, crossed her arms, and stared at the floor. “I don’t even know what that vines-and-taters thing means, but I wish you wouldn’t say it,” she muttered.

  Mavis had an overwhelming urge to strut right over to Rose and give her a high five. But she stayed still while Mr. Duffy said he was sorry and called her “Rose Petal” and promised he wouldn’t tell Edna to keep the coffee warm anymore.

  And then a funny thing happened. The irritation that Mavis had felt earlier went marching out the door, and jealousy came slithering in, like a snake in the grass. It wrapped itself around her heart and gave it a squeeze when she saw what good friends Rose and Mr. Duffy were and how much they cared about each other’s feelings.

  But, Mavis being Mavis, she pushed that jealousy aside and said, “Y’all wanna play the bottle cap game?”

  HENRY

  The dog hadn’t run far when he stopped to rest among the pine trees.

  It felt great to run free, but now his hip was bothering him again.

  That hip that had been hurting for quite a while, making him limp sometimes.

  His fur was matted with burs, and his stomach was empty.

  After a while, he decided to return to the spot where the freckled arm had reached through the wrought-iron fence. Something about the memory of that soothing whisper drew him back.

  Now someone was crossing the green lawn on the other side of the fence, heading toward the woods.

  The dog crouched down low behind a tangle of wild shrubs.

  He stayed very, very still. He put his chin on the ground and breathed in the rich earthiness. He wanted to get closer to the fence, but he didn’t dare.

  What if this wasn’t the person with the soothing whisper?

  He could hear footsteps on the grass.

  He peered through the bushes.

  Someone put something on the ground and pushed it toward him, under a nearby rhododendron, and said, “Here you go, Henry.”

  That same someone with the freckled arm.

  A girl.

  Calling him Henry.

  His nose twitched.

  His mouth watered.

  Food.

  The girl had placed food right there on the ground near him.

  “Goodbye, Henry,” the girl whispered.

  He heard the soft steps on the lawn get fainter and fainter.

  He waited until there was only the sound of a wren singing in the trees above him, and then he walked slowly over to the rhododendron.

  There on the ground was a small plastic bowl filled to the brim with food.

  Chopped up hot dogs.

  A small piece of waffle.

  Part of a boiled egg.

  Little orange crackers shaped like fish.

  He had never seen food like this.

  He gobbled up every bite.

  Then he sat by the wrought-iron fence wishing that the freckled girl would come back and call him Henry again.

  He was feeling scared and lonely.

  If being Henry would bring the girl back to whisper to him and give him food, then he would be Henry.

  * * *

  That night it rained. A soft, quiet summer rain that rinsed the leaves and soaked the moss and weighed down the ferns …

  … and filled the plastic bowl with water for Henry.

  ROSE

  Rose heard a terrible thing.

  She heard her mother on the phone talking to Mrs. Owens, who lived next door. They were talking about Mr. Duffy.

  Rose was sure of it.

  This is what she heard her mother saying:

  “And then Lorraine Reese had to honk her horn three times to even get in!”

  “I know!”

  “He did?”

  “Charlotte’s bridal shower? Really?”

  “I totally agree.”

  Rose felt a little sick.

  Her mother and Mrs. Owens were on the board of the homeowners’ association for Magnolia Estates. They had complained about Mr. Duffy before, but lately it was getting worse. They said he was sleeping too much and forgetting things, like not calling the sprinkler repair company when he was supposed to.

  What if they fired Mr. Duffy?

  Rose felt a little sicker.

  She didn’t wait to hear the end of her mother’s conversation. She went outside and sat between Pete and Larry and watched Monroe Tucker spreading per
fect circles of dark brown mulch around the dogwood trees in the front yard. That familiar cloud of worry hung over her. The more she thought, the more she worried. And the more she worried, the darker and bigger the cloud became.

  It was bad enough that Mr. Duffy was so sad about Queenie. But now it seemed as if his sadness was making him old and forgetful.

  And if he was old and forgetful, he wouldn’t do a good job as gatekeeper for Magnolia Estates.

  And if he didn’t do a good job as gatekeeper, he would get fired.

  And if he got fired, Rose would miss him more than anything.

  She tried to imagine not having Mr. Duffy to visit every day, but she couldn’t. So she just sat there on the steps between Pete and Larry, watching Monroe Tucker spread mulch.

  Suddenly the whirring of a skateboard interrupted her gloomy thoughts. Mavis was speeding up the driveway toward her.

  “Hey,” Mavis said, jumping off the skateboard.

  “Hey.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Everything.”

  “Like what?”

  Rose told Mavis about her mother’s phone call. “What if he gets fired?” she said.

  “He won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  Mavis rode the skateboard around in a circle and said, “I just know. Let’s go have a club meeting.”

  So Rose followed Mavis down the driveway to the vacant lot across the street. They sat on the fallen pine tree, and Rose listened to Mavis explain what she called her “surefire plan.”

  “First,” Mavis said, “we find a dog.”

  “What for?”

  Mavis slapped her forehead and said, “For Mr. Duffy. Duh!”

  “But he doesn’t want a dog.”

  “He’s just saying that.”

  “Where would we find a dog?” Rose asked.

  “That’s easy,” Mavis said. “There’s dogs all over the place.”

  Rose was not too sure about Mavis’s surefire plan.

  “Then,” Mavis went on, “Mr. Duffy will be so happy with his new dog that he won’t be sad and forgetful. And everybody in Magnolia Estates will be happy, too.” She brushed the palms of her hands together. “Easy peasy,” she said, smiling a very satisfied smile.

  Rose wanted to believe that Mavis’s surefire plan was a good one.

  She really did.

  But a little doubt was stirring around inside her.

  Then, while she was trying to make the doubt go away, Amanda Simm suddenly appeared out of nowhere and said, “I know where there’s a dog.”

  MAVIS

  Mavis wasn’t sure whether to feel annoyed at Amanda for eavesdropping on their club meeting or excited to hear that she knew where there was a dog. So, Mavis being Mavis, she decided to feel annoyed first.

  “Dang, Amanda!” she said, jumping up from the pine log. “Don’t be so nosy. Right, Rose?”

  Rose stayed sitting on the log and looked down at her sandals. “Um, right,” she said, so timid and soft that Mavis started to feel annoyed at her, too.

  Amanda flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and said, “Fine. I guess I just won’t tell y’all about that dog after all.” Then she turned and started stalking away.

  “Wait!” Mavis called, running after her.

  Amanda stopped. She stood straight and stiff with her arms crossed and glared at Mavis.

  “Where’s the dog?” Mavis asked.

  “Why should I tell you?” Amanda said. “Since you think I’m so nosy.”

  Mavis concentrated very, very hard on not saying something mean to Amanda. She counted to ten in her head, took a deep breath, and said, “I forgot that sometimes being nosy is a good thing.”

  Amanda narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, um, it means that maybe being nosy can help someone, and me and Rose know someone who needs help. Right, Rose?”

  Rose nodded.

  “You’re talking about that crazy old Mr. Duffy, aren’t you?” Amanda said.

  Rose jumped up. “He’s not crazy!”

  “My mother says he is, and so does everybody else in Magnolia Estates.” Amanda flipped her ponytail again. “Even your mother,” she added.

  Rose’s face grew red, she stamped her foot, and she hollered at Amanda.

  “He is not crazy, and that’s mean. He’s sad because Queenie died, and you don’t even care!”

  While on the one hand Mavis was enjoying Rose’s outburst, on the other hand she wanted Amanda to tell her about the dog. So she stepped between the two of them and said, “Why don’t we just get Mr. Duffy a dog, and then things might get better?”

  Rose kept scowling at Amanda, and Amanda kept glaring at Rose, so Mavis said, “Come on, Amanda. Tell us about the dog.”

  Amanda finally stopped glaring at Rose and said, “Well, okay.”

  She went over to the pine log and sat down.

  “There’s this dog in the woods behind my house,” she said. “I can’t see him very well because he hides in the bushes. He’s white with a big brown spot on his side and has a skinny nose. I named him Henry.”

  Mavis’s shoulders slumped. If the dog hid in the bushes, he must not like people. That didn’t sound like a good dog for Mr. Duffy.

  “He won’t let me touch him,” Amanda went on. “I tried to a couple of days ago, but he ran off.”

  “Then for crying out loud, Amanda,” Mavis said, “if the dang dog ran off, how are we going to find him?”

  “He came back,” Amanda said, looking at Mavis with a satisfied smirk. “I put food out, and he came back and ate it. Then he ran off again. But I bet you anything he’s still in the woods.”

  Mavis let out an exasperated sigh. Then, before she could stop herself, she said, “But if he keeps running off, what good is that, you ding-dong?”

  Amanda jumped up from the log like her shorts were on fire and stormed across the vacant lot and up the middle of the road toward her house, hands clenched into fists and stiff arms pumping.

  Mavis looked at Rose. “Now what do we do?” she said.

  Rose shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have called her a ding-dong.”

  “Probably not.”

  “We should look for that dog,” Mavis said.

  “But Mr. Duffy doesn’t want another dog.”

  “I told you, he’s just saying that. I bet if we got him one, he’d love it.”

  Rose shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t really think so. Besides, that doesn’t sound like such a great dog.”

  “Maybe,” Mavis said. “But we should at least try.”

  Rose glanced up the road in the direction of Amanda’s house. “I don’t know,” she said again.

  “Come on, Rose, don’t be such a party pooper. Let’s find that dog.” Mavis wiggled her eyebrows up and down and gave Rose a little poke on the arm. “Come on, party pooper. Please?” She poked again. “Pretty please?”

  Finally, in a tiny little voice that Mavis could barely hear, Rose said, “Okay.”

  Mavis gave Rose a big, hearty hug and said, “You’re the best best friend I’ve ever had. We’ll look for that dog first thing tomorrow.”

  ROSE

  The next morning at breakfast, Rose’s mother told her father that Amanda Simm was taking diving lessons every afternoon at the Magnolia Estates swimming pool. Then she added, “Rose ought to be doing something like that.”

  Rose stared down at her raisin toast and said a little prayer in her head. Please don’t make me take diving lessons with Amanda.

  Her prayer was answered when her father looked irritated, because he was trying to read the newspaper. He jabbed a finger onto the paper to mark his spot and said, “Maybe Rose doesn’t want to take diving lessons, Cora.”

  Rose’s heart did a little somersault of gladness. She spread a blob of strawberry jam onto her toast and tried to be invisible.

  “Rose doesn’t want to do
anything,” her mother said, pouring another cup of coffee. “Except stay up there with that old man the livelong day,” she added. “She’s got no business there, and, quite frankly, neither does he. I think he sleeps more than he works.”

  Then she went on and on about Charlotte Prescott and that bridal shower and those ladies who couldn’t get through the gate. After that she made a list of all the problems in Magnolia Estates that could have been avoided if Mr. Duffy had done his job. Problems with the landscape company and a Sears delivery truck and the streetlights that needed to be repaired.

  Rose’s somersaulting heart began to tumble around inside her chest and then squeeze up tight. Her hands froze, one holding the knife, one holding the toast. She cut her eyes sideways and glanced at her father. Sometimes when her mother went off on a tangent like that, her father would say, “Oh, Cora, don’t be so dramatic.” Then he would wink at Rose, and she would wink back, like they shared a secret.

  But this time he just kept reading the newspaper like he hadn’t heard those mean words. Then he gave Rose a kiss on the top of her head and went off to work, and Rose finished her toast with an icy-cold silence hanging in the air.

  The silence was broken when Miss Jeeter came in and began gathering Mr. Tully’s breakfast dishes.

  “Please don’t stack them like that,” Mrs. Tully said. “Bone china chips very easily.”

  Rose watched Miss Jeeter lower her head and roll her eyes.

  “And remember,” Mrs. Tully said. “That china doesn’t go in the dishwasher.”

  Miss Jeeter pressed her lips into a thin, straight line. She put two of the plates back on the table so they wouldn’t be stacked and started toward the kitchen door with only one plate and a juice glass.

  “For heaven’s sake, Miss Jeeter,” Mrs. Tully said. “Use a tray. There are several in the pantry.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Miss Jeeter said in a way that Rose knew probably irked her mother.

  Sure enough, Mrs. Tully lifted an eyebrow and shot Miss Jeeter a look that zipped and zapped clear across the dining room and made Miss Jeeter toss her hair out of her eyes, lift her chin, and walk through the swinging kitchen door so fast that Rose felt a breeze blow across the table.