Her mother picked her up at school, and gave Bobby a ride home, too.
“Call me after,” he whispered, before he got out of the car. “Tell me everything!”
Emily nodded.
Her mother seemed jittery, but just fixed her a snack of sliced apples and yoghurt, as though it was a perfectly typical afternoon.
“What if this spoils my tea?” Emily asked.
Her mother checked her expression to make sure she was kidding, and then smiled. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
After finishing her snack, Emily did the reading assignment for language arts, and then spent a few minutes brushing Zack. His fur was glossy and thick, and she thought he looked very handsome, indeed.
Just before she was going to leave, her father got home.
“Remember, send us a signal, if you need help,” he said. “One if by land, two if by sea.”
Right. Emily laughed, and snapped Zachary’s leash onto his collar.
“Cell phone?” her mother asked.
Emily nodded, and patted the pocket of her hoodie.
It was a fairly chilly day, with the sun bright in the autumn sky, and no clouds anywhere. Zack was in a good mood, and stopped to sniff a rock, and a telephone pole, and a blueberry bush, on the way.
Mrs. Griswold was sitting on the new wicker loveseat on her porch—since the old one had been smashed in the hurricane—waiting for them. Emily started up the front steps, but then stopped, when she realized that Mrs. Griswold was holding a cigarette.
Emily stared at her. “Wait. You smoke cigarettes?”
“No,” Mrs. Griswold said, and then looked down at her hand. “Well, not for many, many years. I found half a pack in a junk drawer in the kitchen.” She frowned. “It’s actually pretty stale. I could have done without it.”
Emily hung back. “I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to be anywhere near secondhand smoke.”
Mrs. Griswold laughed. “Your parents don’t miss a trick, do they?” She sighed, took one last puff on the cigarette, and then stubbed it out in the ashtray on the end table. Then, she picked up a magazine and waved it rapidly back and forth to blow the smoke away. “All right. The coast is clear.”
Emily nodded and walked up onto the porch, with Zack trailing along behind her. But, the coast—smoke—must not have been quite clear, because Zack sneezed and then looked at Mrs. Griswold reproachfully.
“My goodness,” Mrs. Griswold said wryly. “Even the dog is giving me a lecture.”
With good reason!
Emily sat down in a wicker rocking chair, and Zack sat next to her on the porch floor, his posture very straight.
“Well,” Mrs. Griswold said, and poured each of them a cup of tea.
“Thank you,” Emily said, and put a lot of sugar in her cup.
There was also a plate of cookies on the table, and Emily helped herself to one. Zack looked so mournful when he saw her bite into it, that she broke off a piece and handed it to him.
She and Mrs. Griswold sipped their tea. Emily didn’t like it much, but the sugar helped.
“You’re attuned to that dog in some unusual way,” Mrs. Griswold said. “Although I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
Again, with the “that dog” stuff. She must have looked annoyed, because Mrs. Griswold chuckled.
“Right,” she said. “I meant to say ‘Zachary.’ ”
Okay. That was much better. “Thank you,” Emily said. “He really prefers that, although he also likes me to call him ‘Zack.’ ”
Mrs. Griswold nodded. “Yes, I’m sure he does. But, my question is, how do you know that?”
Wouldn’t it be strange if Mrs. Griswold, of all people, was the first grown-up to figure it out? “I was guessing?” Emily said.
Mrs. Griswold frowned at her. “Don’t be one of those silly girls who makes everything she says sound like a question, even when it isn’t. It shows a lack of confidence.”
Well, she was only twelve. Sometimes, she didn’t necessarily feel confident.
Like, for example, in this particular situation.
“He’s my dog,” Emily said, making sure that her voice sounded calm and certain. “We spend a lot of time together, so I can probably sense a few things.”
Mrs. Griswold shook her head. “It’s more than that—I’ve watched the two of you together many times. You don’t always speak to him, but he instantly responds, anyway. I’ve found it quite uncanny.”
Oops. She must have slipped up a few times, because when she was in front of people, she tried to make a point of saying things aloud, to make it seem as though Zack was just really well-trained. “He’s my dog,” Emily said, again. “Weren’t you like, in tune with your dog?”
Mrs. Griswold raised her eyebrows. “Dog?”
“You know, Marigold,” Emily said. “Your Border collie.”
Now, Mrs. Griswold looked startled. “How could you possibly know about Marigold? That was years ago.”
Double oops. “Um, my parents told me you had a dog,” Emily said.
But, it was clear that Mrs. Griswold wasn’t buying that. “Have you been talking to my son?” she asked.
Not the question she had been expecting. Emily shook her head, but that wasn’t quite the truth. “I was in his store for a few minutes,” she said. “But it felt like it wasn’t any of my business, so I didn’t say anything. Bobby and I just bought sandpaper to use on the boat and then, we left.” She glanced at Mrs. Griswold. “Did you know he only lives over in Wiscasset?”
“We may not be in touch,” Mrs. Griswold said stiffly, “but obviously, I know where he lives.”
Okay. Whatever.
Mrs. Griswold picked up her tea, avoiding Emily’s eyes. “How—did he look?”
“Your son?” Emily asked, just to be sure.
Mrs. Griswold nodded. “His name’s Hank.”
“He seemed, you know, fine,” Emily said. “Bobby said we were building a boat, and he told us about a boat that he and, um, Mr. Griswold built. He had a picture and everything.”
Mrs. Griswold nodded a very stiff nod.
Then, Emily noticed that there was a gargoyle in the shape of an eagle perched up in the eaves of the porch, and another wooden gargoyle attached to the corner of the porch railing. That one was a wolf—or maybe a dog?—with wings. “Did you make those gargoyles?” she asked, pointing.
Mrs. Griswold moved her jaw. “Yes, I did,” she said.
“They’re really great,” Emily said. “How did you do it?”
Mrs. Griswold smiled wryly. “I chiseled away all of the wood that didn’t belong there.”
What a cool way of thinking about art! Drawing was different—it was more about adding everything that did belong on the page.
“Did Hank tell you about the movie?” Mrs. Griswold asked.
Emily looked at her blankly.
“My little buttercup has the sweetest smile,” Mrs. Griswold said.
Oh. Emily shook her head. “No. I mean, we were only in there for a minute, and—no.”
“But, there’s no other way you could have found out about that,” Mrs. Griswold said. “It was one of my husband’s favorites, and—” She stopped. “It was a private joke,” she said—whispered, really. “I doubt Hank ever even knew about it.”
If Emily had to make a guess, that was probably true. Zack came over and rested his head on her lap, and she automatically rubbed the back of his ears, which was his favorite place to be patted.
“I don’t believe any of that beyond-the-grave foolishness,” Mrs. Griswold said, her voice too loud. “It’s just wishful thinking.”
Emily shrugged, instead of saying anything.
“But, you’ve been in contact with Sam somehow,” Mrs. Griswold went on. “That’s the only other explanation.”
Yes.
But, should she admit it?
Mrs. Griswold leaned forward. “Please tell me. It means a great deal to me.”
It was scary to start, because i
t was going to sound so unbelievable. But, Emily took a deep breath. “We were watching the kayak races and Zack went over to a man who was standing near the bridge,” she said. “I thought he was just a regular person, so I was talking to him. Zack was being really friendly, so I figured he must be okay.”
Mrs. Griswold looked dubious—and uneasy, but she nodded.
“It all seemed kind of bizarre, when I thought about it,” Emily said. “So, I went back a couple of days later. And we saw him again, and then, it all started to make sense.” Was that the right word? “Well, not ‘sense,’ necessarily, but it was, you know, logical.”
“Is he all right?” Mrs. Griswold asked, her expression very intense.
Emily nodded. “Oh, yeah, definitely. He just says he has like, a task, and I was thinking, whoa, he’s been here for all those years? But, he said that time is different for him, and it didn’t feel that way. I don’t know how it works, though. He couldn’t really explain it.”
She had the sense that Mrs. Griswold wanted to run into the house to get away from this conversation—and if she hadn’t been stuck on a walker these days, maybe she would have.
“Um, we don’t have to talk about this,” Emily said. “I know it’s all really strange, and—”
Mrs. Griswold brushed that aside with an abrupt move of her hand. “Is he haunting the area, because he’s tormented?”
Emily shook her head. “He’s haunting the area because you’re tormented,” she said quietly.
Neither of them spoke for a minute, and Emily wasn’t sure whether the silence was awkward, or just thoughtful.
“He needs to be sure you’re okay, and know that the accident wasn’t your fault,” she said. “And that you’re like, letting the world back in, and all.”
“Sam uses ‘like’ and ‘and all’ and such now?” Mrs. Griswold asked.
Emily felt her face get hot. “No, I was just, you know, paraphrasing, and—”
“Kidding,” Mrs. Griswold said.
Right. Okay. “My parents don’t like it when I speak that way,” Emily said. “But, I always forget, and do it, anyway.”
Mrs. Griswold nodded, smiling slightly. Then, she looked more serious. “Does he—come into the house?”
Emily shook her head. “No. He was definite about that. If he comes near here, I don’t think he ever leaves the road out there. He said he doesn’t want to do anything that causes pain.”
“He wouldn’t,” Mrs. Griswold said, her eyes looking very bright. “He was a gentleman, and a gentle man.”
It certainly seemed that way.
Mrs. Griswold didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, and Emily looked out at the front yard, where new grass was starting to grow in the spot where the big tree had been before the hurricane blew it down.
“I don’t believe any of this for a minute, of course,” Mrs. Griswold said, sounding less certain than that sentence maybe sounded. “I recognize that you’re a kind child, and want to help a lonely old lady, but making up fanciful stories really doesn’t—”
Zack jumped to his feet, staring out at the yard. Then, he leaped off the porch and into the grass. Emily followed his gaze, and saw a golden shimmer near the rose bushes. She whistled sharply—to her delight, Aunt Martha had taught her how to do one of those piercing “stop everything!” whistles with her pinkies—and Zack instantly turned to look back at her.
She pictured Marigold, and Zack responded by barking at the gold shimmer. As Emily watched, the shimmer turned into golden mist, and slowly took form. Then, Marigold was standing there in the sunshine, wagging her tail.
Emily turned to grin at Mrs. Griswold. “Look! There she is!”
“I don’t see anything,” Mrs. Griswold said testily.
Oh. Emily whistled again, and motioned with her arm.
“Can you please stop making that infernal noise?” Mrs. Griswold asked.
Both dogs bounded up onto the porch.
Okay, Zack was the key. What was the word? She totally had it in her vocabulary—somewhere.
Conduit! That was it. He was the connection.
“Put your hand on Zack’s back for a minute,” Emily said.
Mrs. Griswold sniffed. “I’ll do no such thing.”
It was hard not to sigh. “Please?” Emily asked.
Mrs. Griswold rolled her eyes, but touched Zachary’s back.
Emily could sense that Zack was concentrating as hard as he could, so she did, too.
And it must have worked, because suddenly, Mrs. Griswold gasped and yanked her hand away.
“That’s—I can see Marigold,” she said, stuttering. “I—she—I can’t believe it.”
Marigold wagged her tail, and put her front paws up on Mrs. Griswold’s lap, and to Emily’s shock, Mrs. Griswold hugged her dog and began to cry.
“Will she stay here?” Mrs. Griswold asked Emily, still crying.
Marigold was already getting a little shimmery again, so Emily knew the answer. But, she didn’t have the heart to say so.
Marigold let Mrs. Griswold hug her for another moment, licked her face, and then sailed gracefully off the porch. She almost seemed to skim across the grass, and then she stopped out on the dirt road, looking up at something.
Emily saw the familiar mist, and then, Mr. Griswold was there, looking more shimmery than she had ever seen him.
Mrs. Griswold gasped. “Sam!”
Mr. Griswold smiled such a loving smile at his wife that Emily felt tears in her own eyes. He put his hand to his heart, and held it there. Then, he made a hugging motion with his arms, while Marigold wagged her tail joyfully back and forth.
“Sam,” Mrs. Griswold said softly. “Oh, Sam.”
He lifted one hand to his ear and held it there, making a motion with his other hand as though he might be using a telephone.
“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Griswold said through her tears.
Mr. Griswold did another pantomime of making a telephone call, and then pointed at her. Then, he reached down to pat Marigold, and Emily could see the same golden shimmer start to surround him, too. He winked, raised his hand as though he was saying good-bye—and then, they both disappeared in a small flash of bright gold light.
Mrs. Griswold kept weeping, and Emily stayed right where she was, not sure what to do, or say. Zack had trotted back up onto the porch, and Emily patted him, trying to think of a graceful way to leave.
Mrs. Griswold was the kind of person who had an old copper cowbell hanging on a rope by the front door, instead of a normal doorbell—and when it rang loudly, Emily ducked.
“It’s okay,” Mrs. Griswold said, smiling through her tears. “He’s just making a joke.” She laughed weakly. “He loved movies.”
Emily didn’t get the joke, but that was okay.
“He looks wonderful,” Mrs. Griswold said, with true wonder in her voice. “He looks radiant.”
That was a perfect description, so Emily nodded.
“I don’t understand any of this, but—” Mrs. Griswold shook her head as though she was trying to clear out some cobwebs. “You and the Percival boy are building a boat, correct?”
Emily nodded.
“You’ll need something special for the prow,” Mrs. Griswold said, and then reached over to pat Zack affectionately. “A dog, maybe?”
Definitely! “That would be—wow,” Emily said. “Thank you. I would love that.”
“I’ll need you to bring me a block of wood,” Mrs. Griswold said briskly, “when you can. I’m going to be laid up for quite some time, and—I like to keep my hands busy.”
Emily nodded eagerly. How neat would it be to have a gargoyle of Zack?
“Well,” Mrs. Griswold said, and picked up a portable telephone, which was on the end table. “I appreciate all of this more than you will ever know, but I need to be alone now. I have a long overdue phone call to make.”
Emily nodded, and got up from her chair. Zack followed her cheerfully down the steps.
“Hello, Han
k?” she heard Mrs. Griswold saying into the telephone, as they walked towards the front gate. “This is your mother.”
Emily grinned. Unless she was completely off-base, that sounded as though the task had been completed!
Zack was feeling very bouncy, so she let him jump over the gate before she opened it. She was feeling pretty bouncy herself, and if she weren’t twelve, and beyond cool, she maybe would have skipped.
They were about halfway home when Zack stopped. He was looking up at the sky, and Emily saw something drifting down towards them. They both watched curiously as the object floated very, very slowly in their direction. Finally, it wafted all the way down to the ground and landed right in front of them on the ground.
It was a feather.
A beautiful feather.
The colors didn’t look quite real—sunshiny yellow with flecks of scarlet and blue, and a bright white quill. Emily picked it up carefully, not wanting to damage it in any way.
She held the feather out to Zack, who sniffed it delicately, then barked.
“I think it’s a present,” she said.
Zack barked again, so enthusiastically that she decided that her guess must be right.
She let the feather rest on her palm, noticing how warm it felt. It really was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.
When they walked into their backyard, her parents were sitting out on the deck, drinking iced tea and reading. Her father saw them first, and lowered his book.
“Mama!” he said, with what might have been an attempt at a Southern accent. “Look who’s come back from the war!”
Emily and her mother both laughed.
“We were beginning to think that we might have to come down and rescue you,” he said.
“What did she want?” her mother asked curiously.
Emily sat down at the table, while Zack went over to his water dish and drank heavily—and noisily—for a long time.
“I think she wants to be a better neighbor,” Emily said.
Her parents waited expectantly.
“And—she likes Zack,” Emily said. “Since she used to have a dog. When’s supper?”
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