“No, Ida, I don’t want to form a posse to hunt for Dashiell. Not yet. But I’ll keep you informed. Thanks.”
I hung up the phone, then went to the window and stood for a long time. I checked Josie, who was fast asleep. Then I stretched out on my bed with all my clothes on.
Maybe you think I over-reacted. He was just a cat, after all, but he was the only real link to my life before my husband died. I knew some day he would tell me he didn’t want to go on living any longer, but I hoped when that time came, I could cradle him in my arms as he went. The thought of finding him dead or badly wounded, or even worse, not finding him at all, was too painful to contemplate.
I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, and on the way back, realized that the door to the back porch wasn’t quite latched. As I reached to shut it, a gust of wind thrust it against my chest.
I think I knew then. I rushed to Josie’s room. She wasn’t there. I checked the bathroom, called for her.
Oh, God! She’d climbed out of bed and gone out into the cold and the dark to find Dashiell! I rushed back to the porch door. Her little boots were gone. So was her yellow jacket.
What had I done?
I dialed nine-one-one and got Sandy. “Josie’s gone outside. I don’t know how long she’s been gone.” I didn’t wait for her answer. I slammed down the phone, picked up the flashlight from the kitchen table beside the back door, ran out onto the back porch and down the stairs into the yard without even stopping for a jacket.
The cold front had finally gone through. The temperature had dropped thirty degrees, and the wind hinted it would drop even more before morning, but there was no ice.
The night was inky. No moon. I screamed Josie’s name.
At the foot of the back steps I slipped in some mud, caught myself on the hand rail, dropped the flashlight and wrenched my shoulder. What did pain matter? If something happened to Josie . . .
How could I tell Marilee? How could I endure living?
My first thought was that she’d gone to the street. She knew she was never allowed in the front yard, but she’d disobeyed me once, and she’d heard me talking about Dashiell and cars.
I could barely breathe as I raced around the house to the street. My mouth had gone so dry I could barely whisper her name when I needed to shout it. My pulse raced, and my chest hurt so badly I thought I might be having a heart attack.
There’s a street light in front of my house. Between it and my flashlight, I saw that Josie was nowhere to be seen.
I ran back around the house and stumbled through the back yard, catching my hair on drooping branches, scraping my arms on twigs, calling Josie’s name, then God’s name, then her name again.
I sank onto my knees and covered my face with my icy hands. “Please, God, let me find her safe,” I wept, “Do whatever you like to me, but protect that child.”
In that instant the wind stilled.
In that moment, I heard a sound.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star . . .”
I ran, I slid, I catapulted down the hill. The gate to the walled garden stood open.
I wanted to shout to her, but I’d already frightened her. I slipped through the gate with the flashlight down by my side. “Josie?” I whispered. “Josie? Baby? It’s all right, sweetheart. Grammie’s here. Grammie’s not angry.”
I swung the flashlight around. At first I didn’t see her, then I saw a small, yellow bundle scrunched up tight under the wrought iron table.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Don’t scare them.”
My old knees had already taken a beating, but I got down on them again.
“Come on, baby, let’s go home. You’re going to freeze out here.”
“I found Dashiell, Grammie,” she said. “He’s all right.” She moved, and I saw that she had taken my afghan off the couch and dragged it with her. She held it across her knees. From under one corner a single malevolent eye peeked out at me.
“That’s wonderful, baby,” I said. Frankly, I wanted to wring Dashiell’s neck at that moment. I especially didn’t want him to run away into the night again.
I reached down and swept him into my arms very securely. He struggled indignantly. I was, after all, cold and muddy. “Oh, no you don’t, you old fool,” I said, and took a firmer grip.
“Come on, Josie, sweet pea, we have to get you warm and dry.”
“Them too.”
“Miz Caldwell?” I heard a voice from my back porch.
“Down here, Sandy!” I called. “I found Josie. We’re all right. Can you give me a hand?”
I heard her pelt down the hill toward us. She came into the garden and lit us up with her gigantic flashlight. I nearly let go of Dashiell. “Can you take this idiot cat?” I asked.
“Let me carry your granddaughter,” Sandy said.
“I can walk,” she protested. “I’m not a baby.”
“Of course you’re not, Miss Josie,” said Sandy, as she reached down for her. “But Amos would have my job if I didn’t see you safely home.”
“Don’t!” she snapped. “You’ll hurt them.”
That’s when the blanket rolled back. Sheltered in her lap were three tiny kittens.
“Dashiell found them, Grammie,” she said as Sandy carefully lifted Josie and her brood into her arms. “They don’t got no mommy.”
Well, if they did before, they certainly didn’t now. The mother cat would never find them by scent in this cold wind, and I knew wild mother cats had very little attachment to their offspring at the best of times.
Our little band struggled up the hill and into the kitchen. The minute the back door was firmly shut, I shoved Dashiell into the laundry room where his litter box and food dish were, and shut the door on him. He was cold and muddy, but at the moment, Josie was my greatest concern. He’d have to wait his turn.
She was shaking, and her jacket was muddy, as were her boots. The afghan was downright soggy. Her hair was a fright, and her hands were freezing. “Should we call an ambulance?” I asked Sandy. “Take her to the emergency room? She could be hypothermic.”
Josie, who still held the kittens inside her slicker, said, “I don’t want to go to no mergen room, Grammie. Me’n the babies aren’t very cold.”
Sandy grinned. “She doesn’t sound hypothermic to me, Miz Carpenter. She must not have been outside long. A hot bath ought to warm her up. How ‘bout I make us all some hot chocolate? You’re probably colder than she is.”
“The babies need milk too,” Josie said.
As if on cue, they began to mew in that tiny kitten way. I rolled my eyes at the deputy. They probably wouldn’t survive the night. How would I explain that to Josie?
The kittens had been sheltered from the worst of the rain. While Josie’s bath ran, I dried them with the hair dryer. They didn’t like the sound, but they enjoyed the warmth. I snuggled them down in a nest of towels on the bathroom floor while I got Josie into warm, dry jammies and her bunny slippers.
Then I remembered that I still had Dashiell to attend to.
By the time Josie and I came back into the kitchen, Sandy had cups of hot chocolate for both of us.
“Josie looks pretty good,” she said, and shook her head. “But you . . .”
“I’m fine,” I said, and meant it. When I opened the laundry room door, a bedraggled cat stalked out. He certainly wanted to punish me, but his need for comfort after his terrible ordeal overrode his huffiness, and he climbed into my arms before I got myself sat down good at the kitchen table. I rubbed him down with more towels, and laid my forehead against his broad head. “You old fool,” I whispered.
“He’s a daddy now,” Josie said happily. “He’s got three babies. My daddy doesn’t have but one.” Then she yawned. “I think I’ll go back to bed now,” she said. She handed her cup to the de
puty. “Thank you very much,” she said, as graciously as though she were a princess.
I followed her into her room and tucked her in.
“Will you look after the babies?” she asked.
I nodded, and hoped they’d live until I could get them to Hank’s vet clinic in the morning or at least find kitten formula for them. “Josie, what you did was very wrong.”
She wouldn’t look at me. “I didn’t mean to let Dashiell out.”
“No, I mean slipping out in the cold and the wind that way. You scared me half out of my wits.”
“I’m sorry, Grammie. I thought I’d find him and bring him back before you found out and then you wouldn’t be sad.”
“You could have been lost or hurt. I love Dashiell, but he’s a cat. You’re my grandbaby. I love you and I don’t want to lose you.”
We hugged. As she lay back down, she asked, “Do we got to tell Mommy and Daddy? They’ll be mad.”
Madder at me than at Josie. “Yes, I’m afraid we do. But we won’t make it seem too bad.”
As I left her, I heard “Twinkle, Twinkle, little star.” A moment later, she was asleep.
Sandy stood in the kitchen with her cell phone to one ear. She was saying, “Yeah, Chief, I’m just making sure you’re okay. When I left you had Andy Griffith re-runs on the TV in the break room. I know you only watch Andy Griffith when you need a real big mood picker-upper. Okay, okay, okay, I’m sorry I asked. Didn’t mean to pry. Well, yeah, okay, I did mean to pry, but . . . never mind. Catch you later, Chief. Over and out.” She snapped the cell phone shut and gazed at me wearily. “Miz Caldwell, you got any cherry cigarillos?” I shook my head. She sighed.
“What do I do about those kittens?” I asked. “I’m afraid cow’s milk will kill them.”
“Hank’s got little bottles of kitten and puppy formula at the clinic.”
“I can’t leave Josie.”
“Shoot, I’ll run over to his place and get you some. I need a nice, long, quiet drive right now.”
She returned after an hour with two six packs of kitten formula. The minute I opened the bathroom door, I heard the pitiful mews.
So did Dashiell. He came bounding into the bathroom, sat on the edge of the sink and glared at us while Sandy and I fed, cleaned, and snuggled the babies back in their nest. When I tried to shoo Dashiell out, he jumped down, walked into the middle of the nest and curled up protectively around his three charges. They scrabbled against his tummy and began to knead with tiny paws.
Sandy laughed. “You sure that’s a male cat you got there?”
“Well, he was,” I said. “Last time I checked. Neutered. You don’t think he’ll hurt them, do you?”
“I’d say he’s more likely to hurt you if you try to take him away from them.” She smiled down at them. “Two tabbies and a gray. Hard to tell the boys from the girls at this age.”
As I walked Sandy to the front door, she said, “You know, Miz Carpenter, I got to write this down on my report.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “I know.”
“I’ll just say you over-reacted when you found Josie out of bed, but she was never lost.” Sandy smiled up at me like a little blonde angel dressed in a uniform, a leather bomber jacket and a gun belt. “She wasn’t really lost for long. Otherwise she’d a-been colder.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, you’d best get yourself warmed up.”
I must look like a witch. I walked back to my bathroom. When I looked at the kittens and Dashiell, who was purring happily with his new family, I realized I was now the mother of not one, but four, cats.
Ida called back. I told her everything was fine, now.
“I don’t want any more cats wandering around my house and causing trouble,” I said.
“Well, then, you better pull up the catnip in your garden.”
“Catnip? I didn’t plant catnip. No way.”
“Oh, yes, you did. Take a look. Those brown, freeze-dried stalks by your bird bath? Last summer’s catnip. Premium nose candy for cats, Peggy. I noticed it when I stopped by the other afternoon.”
Suddenly I remembered the day Josie chose the seeds, and the extra packets she’d tossed in at the last moment. I had never really read the packets. I had simply torn them open, dumped them all into a bucket, and swished them around with the sand before we broadcast them.
No wonder poor Dashiell had been crazy. He’s had to watch all the neighborhood cats zone out on major cat drugs while he stayed indoors.
I would pull out all the catnip. Four cats are quite enough, thank you.
Four cats and one beloved granddaughter.
Nightfall: Eula Mae
Ida came to my house late that night. We sat in the living room sipping hot tea and nibbling on all sorts of baked goodies the Methodists sent over from their fundraiser. Well, Estelle and I nibble. Ida looks kinda sad for some reason and doesn’t eat anything. I point out roses in a vase, from Rick at the bank, and a box of candy from the tellers, and a CD of Lena Horne classics Mutt Bottoms gave me, as a thank-you from a fellow law officer. Catching criminals has a lot of perks.
“Well, General,” Ida says to me, “You sure know how to liven up a day.”
“When you don’t know how many days you have left, you have to make each one count, Colonel.”
“Well, you did indeed.”
“And look here,” I say. I pull back the lapel of my sweater and show her a shiny gold star with Mossy Creek Police Department on it. “Amos came by just a little bit ago. He says, ‘I’d like to present you with this honorary badge. This is for honor and valor and fearlessness. Even before you met the bank robber, you were willing to serve, and in my business, people like you are rare. It’s a pleasure to know you, Miz Eula.’”
I beam with pride. Ida nods. I notice she gets sadder-looking when I mention Amos. But I don’t pry. “There’s more, Miz Eula,” Ida says. “I believe you had a suggestion for a sign to post out back by the dumpster at the Piggly Wiggly?” She reaches into a big white plastic bag. “What do you think of this?” She holds it up.
If you have to share cigarettes, you shouldn’t be smoking.
And printed underneath that is this: Wisdom from Eula Mae Whit.
I smile at Ida. “I like this very much.”
“There’s more,” Ida says gently.
“I don’t know how much this old heart can take.”
“General,” Ida says to me, “You’ve been here longer than anybody. Your heart can handle this, I promise.”
“All right. What else,” I say, happy.
“I’d like to make this day, from now until forever, Eula Mae Whit Day in Mossy Creek. What do you think of that?”
I’m so overwhelmed, I reach for Estelle’s hand. Clara is across from me with her mouth hanging open. I guess that’s only appropriate after she’s eaten five cookies.
But she’s happy, I can tell.
“That’s a fine idea. A fine idea, indeed,” I say. I reach for the mayor’s hand, too. “I’m happy and humbled and excited that God left me here to experience this joyous day,” I add.
Everybody stares at me like they don’t believe they heard that.
I just smile bigger. When you’re a hundred-and-one, you get to change your mind about living and dying, whenever you please.
Nightfall: Linda and Hannah
“Daddy? You know Mrs. Longstreet is probably gonna fire me for bringin’ you down here to the library.”
Daddy harumphed. “Well, if she does she’s a durn fool. You’re a good worker, she oughta be glad to have you around.”
I felt my face go hot to my ears. I’d gotten better about talking to boys and people in general since I’d had what Miss Jasmine called “a self-esteem makeover.” But I still wasn’t used to my daddy
givin’ me compliments. Whatever Momma had done to him, it sure worked. I took Miss Jasmine’s rules to heart, like always saying “thank you” after receiving a compliment.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
It was his turn to flush, but he looked pleased just the same.
EARLIER, WHILE Momma and I got supper on the table, I’d told her all about the poetry-loving, book-moving ghost in the library. We were sitting down to eat when I mentioned about Mrs. Longstreet staying all night in the library by herself and how worried I was for her. Daddy didn’t say a word about it until we’d said grace and started passing food.
“There’s no call to be afraid of no ghost,” Daddy said as he spooned up some mashed potatoes. He pinned me with a sharp eye. “As long as you stay away from their haunts, like the graveyards and such.”
“But Daddy—”
“Pass the limas.”
I composed myself and tried to find the adult way to explain my fear. I’d watched Momma long enough to learn that sometimes you had to go after something from a different side.
“Hannah—Mrs. Longstreet—wouldn’t let me stay with her. Said I shouldn’t even ask you.”
Chewing, Daddy nodded. “She ought to call the police if she’s got trouble.”
“Oh, she can’t call the police and tell them she’s got a ghost, she could lose her job. And people might stop coming to the library at all.”
Then I switched sides. “I don’t really think there’s a ghost in the library. And I don’t think Mrs. Longstreet believes there is, either. But someone is moving those books, and she’s determined to find out who.” Just like Momma, I stopped and held out the bread basket to Daddy. He nodded again and took a biscuit.
“I’m afraid of her being all alone there, if something happens—like a book falling off the shelf or the lights flickerin’—she might scare herself into a heart seizure. I’m sure I would if I stayed there locked up all alone.”
Daddy stopped chewing and stared at me. Momma was watching me as well but the corners of her mouth were turned up slightly. “This chicken-fried steak is better than Mama’s All You Can Eat,” I said. She smiled then, knowing I was knee-deep in my persuading.
A Day in Mossy Creek Page 21