A Face Without a Reflection

by Bowen, Linda Lee

  “Whoa,” I blurted in amazement. “How’d you do that?” I didn’t want to admit it, but I was a little bit jealous of how quickly he took to her, and I wanted to know her trick.

  “Well, I suppose I’ve known many dogs in my lifetime. One learns quickly how to handle them.”

  My mother smirked and shook her head mechanically while keeping her eyes on the dishes in the sink.

  “If your mother had suggested a different animal, I would never have allowed it. I’ve never had any interest in cats or rabbits or birds or, heaven forbid, those exotic rats that people seem to think are so cute these days. Disgusting creatures.”

  I wondered what exotic rats she was talking about when my mother turned toward me and whispered, “Ferrets.”

  “Oh,” I said with a nod of thanks.

  “But,” Mrs. Robbins said, “it was fate that brought you and that dog together. It’s almost uncanny when you think of it. I received a call out of the blue from my accountant, and he told me his otterhound was about to whelp. Frankly, the news of his dog could not have been of less interest to me. But I didn’t have a moment to react before he was ‘suggesting’ that I might like to take one of the mutts off his hands. I couldn’t believe my ears!

  “I was just about to ask him if he’d lost his mind when he said, ‘This is not a request, Myrtle. It’s an opportunity for you to wipe a very dirty slate clean.’

  “The nerve of that man!” she huffed. “As if I hadn’t already paid that debt a million times over.”

  Mrs. Robbins’ eyes narrowed as she continued to rant. “Stupid fool! I can’t imagine what made him think he could squeeze another drop of blood out of me over something that never concerned him in the first place.”

  “That’s enough, Myrtle,” my mother said firmly.

  Mrs. Robbins’ lips locked shut as she fixed her gaze squarely on my mother. I wanted to become invisible, as there was no telling in which direction things might turn. Lacking the ability to disappear, I sat down on the floor as quietly as possible, keeping myself out of the potential line of fire.

  Mrs. Robbins shifted her weight around in the chair, apparently searching for a more strategic position from which to strike. It seemed she had forgotten that Spirit was still on her lap, and he was thrust this way and that, tangled in the billows of her skirt. I felt very sorry for him; he clearly had no idea what was happening. He reminded me of a sailor adrift on a raft in stormy seas. I thought for a moment he was about to abandon ship when Mrs. Robbins wrapped her hands around him like a life preserver and pulled him to the safety of her bosom. She cleared her throat and looked down at the dog.

  “Well,” she began, “the pregnancy was quite unexpected and unappreciated. I can assure you of that much.”

  It was quiet for a moment. My mother turned from the dishes to cast a watchful eye on Myrtle, who was not yet finished with her story.

  “You see,” she said, shifting her attention to me, “Spirit’s mother, Molly, is a purebred blue fairy otterhound with a very impressive bloodline. Her mother earned her Grand Championship title before she had her first litter, and her father was Best in Show at the Spring Conformation just two years ago. The otterhound is an old British breed and very rare. There are only about four hundred in the United States today. My accountant was about to start breeding Molly when they discovered she was already pregnant. You can imagine how devastated the family was.”

  Mother turned back to her window as Mrs. Robbins looked down at Spirit, grave disappointment written all over her face.

  “And then to find out that the father was a common mongrel, of all things!” She expelled another loud huff from her lips, and she shook her head in seeming disgust. “It was quite a blow to everyone,” she said, far too seriously, and muttered, “Mmm…mmm…mmm.” She shook her head, apparently waiting for my mother to turn around.

  But Mother’s gaze was fixed on the path just outside the kitchen window that traveled over the small stream and through the alley of giant elms that led to the front gate and freedom from Lindenwood.

  Mrs. Robbins, who was not one to be ignored, cleared her throat several times until she began to cough while my mother waited until there was silence, never turning from the window.

  “As I understand it,” my mother said, “the father is a border collie, which makes Spirit half otterhound and half border collie.”

  “Ha! Border collies can hardly be considered a breed. They’re nothing more than tramps who run wherever they please. I suspect this one sneaked onto the property at night when no one knew he was prowling around. It’s the only way he would have gotten near such exquisite stock. Poor Molly! She’s ruined forever, of course, as are her owners. No serious breeder would consider her now.” Mrs. Robbins raised one eyebrow and stared at Spirit as if she were examining him for fleas.

  “Anyway, there are no pedigrees for mutts; I can assure you of that much. And that is what makes the fateful pregnancy a complete disaster.”

  Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, my mother turned slowly with eyes ablaze and faced her adversary. This time, it was Mrs. Robbins’ turn to be aloof, and she focused all her attention on pitying Molly’s poor owners while ignoring my mother’s gaze. As my eyes darted back and forth between the two, I suddenly knew I was the only one who could disarm the ticking bomb that was about to explode. My mother took a deep breath. I feared it was already too late to divert the inevitable.

  “What’s a pedigree?” I asked much too loudly.

  Mrs. Robbins looked at me as though I’d just walked into the room, and my mother stood guard; her hands planted squarely on her hips.

  “It’s an official ancestral chart that shows who is in the animal’s family tree to prove the line is pure and from good stock,” she said to me while trading stares with my mother. “But your dog doesn’t qualify, so it’s not something you need to concern yourself with.”

  My mother put down the kitchen towel she’d been holding in one hand as she stepped toward Mrs. Robbins. Her left cheek throbbed as she clenched her teeth. This was not a good sign. I held my breath, helpless against whatever was about to come. My eyes pleaded with my mom to stay calm, and I was hopeful when she glanced at me before standing in front of Mrs. Robbins.

  “It is nothing more than a piece of paper that is completely worthless to people who love their dogs just the way they are,” she said calmly. She wrapped her hands around Spirit’s belly and removed him from his snug spot on Mrs. Robbins’ lap. Then she lifted him above her head as his limp puppy legs dangled lifelessly in the air. She gave him a little shake, pulled him close, buried her face in his soft fur, and took a whiff of sweet puppy breath before giving him a kiss. “And that’s just the way we love you, little one!”

  Spirit’s ear hung over my mother’s nose as she nuzzled him. He looked like a beanbag dog as his legs dangled on either side of her hand. She passed him back to Mrs. Robbins, who was noticeably reluctant to receive the dog this time. I felt very sorry for him. They were treating Spirit more like a prop than a pup, and I hoped he wasn’t offended. The exchange was extremely awkward, and I was about to grab Spirit away from the two of them when Mrs. Robbins took the dog from my mother’s outstretched hand.

  “We thank you for permitting this perfect new addition to our little family, Myrtle,” she said.

  The two women traded icy stares. Mother turned away from her and walked back to her spot at the sink. Mrs. Robbins continued to glare at my mother’s back with her eyebrows raised and nostrils flared. Spirit looked quite uncomfortable as she held him in a suspended pose that kept his rear end from fully squatting into the soft ripples of her skirt. He must have sensed the tension between my mother and Mrs. Robbins, as he didn’t budge or make a single sound.

  The silence was making me sick to my stomach, and I thought I might throw up when my mother turned and said, “Spirit is our dog and our responsibility. So you have absolutely nothing to concern yourself with. My perfect daughter will ensure her equally
perfect pup will be loved and well cared for. You won’t even know he’s here.” She glanced at me for affirmation. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

  The room was spinning, and my heart was beating so loudly that it sounded as if drums were pounding in my head. All I wanted was for this awkwardness to be over. I couldn’t understand how everyone’s mood had changed so drastically, but I knew it was up to me to get things back in order.

  I looked at Mrs. Robbins with wide eyes and an assuring grin. “Oh yes, Mrs. Robbins, I’ll take very good care of him. I promise!”

  I waited for a sign that the spell had been broken, but Mrs. Robbins’ eyes remained fixed on my mother, who was standing her ground. I knew my mother had been rude, but I couldn’t tell if Mrs. Robbins was hurt, angry, or both. I didn’t want her to be anything but happy. I ran over to her and gave her a big hug around the neck. “Thank you so, so much for letting me have my wonderful Spirit,” I said, my words smothered in her shoulder. “I’ll take good care of him. And I’ll love him forever.”

  Mrs. Robbins loosened her grip on Spirit, and he slid happily into her lap. She patted my back with one hand as I held my pose.

  She finally said, “That’s quite enough, dear.”

  I stepped back with a goofy smile on my face. Her face remained hardened as she turned her attention to the dog, who had rolled just enough to get his belly rubbed.

  “Well, I suppose the good news is that you like him,” Mrs. Robbins said, still not cracking a smile. “It would be nothing less than a disaster otherwise. I can’t give a single thought to the ramifications of taking him back to my accountant, especially under the circumstances. Good heavens!”

  My mother’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed tightly as she threatened Mrs. Robbins with her gaze. I held on to my goofy smile for dear life but dared not look at either woman.

  “Anyway,” she said, “you really have nothing to thank me for. It was your mother’s idea, certainly not mine. I just happened to be obligated to my accountant at the time. That’s the way things sometimes go.”

  It wasn’t the positive response I was hoping for, but the ice seemed to have been broken. I was breathing a bit more easily.

  She added, “At any rate I’m sure Spirit will learn the rules quickly enough, and when he does, he will be welcome around the house.”

  By “around the house,” Mrs. Robbins meant the cottage we lived in and the sixty-five acres that surrounded it. I don’t believe her own very grand old home was included in this assessment, as she rarely welcomed humans into her residence, let alone a dog.

  Of course, there were more than enough places for him to roam without ever venturing near the main house. In addition to the cottage, there were two large barns, an old mill, a stable, and a carriage house that was situated above a four-car garage where three classic automobiles in mint condition were parked alongside Mother’s old Honda Civic. The carriage house, which was fully furnished, had never seen a single visitor, although it was maintained as though the occupants were expected to return at any moment. The same was true of the stable; hay was strewn about the stalls, and troughs were replenished with fresh water daily, just in case a few horses showed up. I asked my mother why Mrs. Robbins never had any visitors even though she had plenty of places where they could stay.

  She just said, “I don’t know, dear. It’s been this way since the day I moved in.”

  I was never very clear as to how all that came about, as my mother never discussed how she wound up at Lindenwood. But one day, when she’d gone into town to run errands, Mrs. Robbins told me that my grandparents were the poorest people in the town of Grace Falls, and quite possibly, the entire state of Pennsylvania. They struggled just to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads. She said they were older when my mother was born and were in poor health for years. My mother was ten years old when her parents died of pneumonia. Having never taken time to prepare a last will and testament, and without any known living relatives, their passing left my mother in a very desperate state, as she was immediately sent to the county orphanage. The whole town knew about my mother’s sad situation, and everyone felt very badly for her, but no one knew what to do. Several people from the church who were particularly concerned about her welfare called Mrs. Robbins and asked her to help. There was no other choice, of course, so Mrs. Robbins agreed. Without giving it a second thought, she plucked my mother from the hands of a dreadful fate and treated her as her own. After that, the entire town praised Mrs. Robbins for her altruism, and everyone was very happy for the little orphan who was now a princess.

  “Why hasn’t my mother told me any of this?” I asked. It was clear to me that Mrs. Robbins had been extraordinarily kind to my mother and that the story had a very happy ending.

  She said that perhaps talking about her parents made her very sad, since she lost them at such an early age. “Or,” she once suggested, “she might be painfully embarrassed by the fact that they were so devastatingly poor. I’m sure she’ll share this with you one day, in her own way, when she’s ready. But until she does, let’s keep this our little secret. After all, we don’t want to upset or embarrass her over things that are in the past now, do we?”

  I thought Mrs. Robbins made an excellent point, as I never wanted to hurt my mother in any way. But the much bigger reason for not telling her about my conversation with Mrs. Robbins was that I enjoyed keeping a secret. It made me feel important and, in this case, better connected to Mrs. Robbins than my mother was. Her relationship was one of a long-term employee, while mine felt like it was becoming more personal. I wondered if perhaps she could sense things about me that my mother had yet to discover or if she might be testing me to see if I could be trusted. Either way, I didn’t want to disappoint her. So I kept her story safe within.

  I believed that Mrs. Robbins had taken my mom in when she had nowhere else to go, and I wished she would be kinder toward her or at least more grateful. Especially on this day, when it seemed that everything we had we owed to Mrs. Robbins. And now we had her to thank for Spirit as well.

  “So,” Mrs. Robbins said after a moment, “today is your birthday!”

  I was smiling ear to ear, as I was certain a present was coming my way.

  “Yes, it is!”

  “Well, happy birthday, Lily,” she said as she slid the big box toward me.

  “Oh wow! Is that for me?” I pretended I had just noticed it, which made me feel a little foolish. But my mother laughed.

  “Yes, of course it is,” Mrs. Robbins said. “But it’s also for Spirit.”

  I tore off the ribbon and paper to expose a cardboard box that was heavily taped on the top and bottom. I tried to tear the tape but had no luck, so my mother grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer.

  “I’ve got it,” she said. And with one swipe, the top of the box was open.

  Inside was blue and yellow tissue paper that had been carefully crumpled to hide the contents underneath. I pulled all the paper out of the box and was surprised to find three more boxes that were also wrapped up and tied with ribbons and bows. By this time, Spirit had become tired of sitting on Mrs. Robbins’ lap and wanted to get in on the action. She lowered him onto the floor as he growled at the paper and then grabbed onto one of the ribbons and gave it a mighty shake. Mrs. Robbins took hold of the ribbon and played a game of tug-of-war with him. Mother and I laughed at his bravado. When he grew tired of the tugging game, he lunged at the paper and ripped it to pieces, flipping it up in the air and rolling over it.

  “Spirit,” I said, giggling, “you’re the funniest dog ever!”

  The boxes that were inside the big box were things that Spirit needed as a permanent resident of our household—two dog bowls, one for food and one for water; a collar with a leash already attached; a bag of Puppy Chow; and a poop scoop.

  “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Robbins! That was so thoughtful of you. I almost forgot that we had to feed him.”

  “And walk him,” my mother added.

>   “I’ll walk him every day.”

  Mrs. Robbins said there was another present in the big box, which turned out to be under even more blue and yellow tissue paper. I reached in and pulled out a beautiful quilted dog bed that Mrs. Robbins “paid a pretty dollar” to have made.

  “He’ll need a place to sleep that’s all his own,” she said.

  I was secretly hoping he could sleep with me, but I said cheerfully, “It’s beautiful, Mrs. Robbins. Thank you so, so much!”

  “You’re quite welcome. But, you know, this is Spirit’s first night away from his mother. Up until now he’s always slept by her side. It will take him a day or two to get used to sleeping alone.”

  “He could sleep in my bed,” I suggested quickly, thinking this was the perfect time to make the offer.

  My mother chuckled. “I’m afraid not, Lily,” she said. “Spirit needs to know that even when he’s alone, we will always come back. And he’ll be even happier to see you when he wakes up if he had a chance to miss you. How else will he be able to survive on the days when you’re in school?”

  That made sense to me. After all, I didn’t want him to ever be sad. And the thought of him happily greeting me after school was something I wanted very badly.

  “But isn’t he going to be lonely in his own bed without his mother or me beside him?”

  Mrs. Robbins was the one who was prepared for this question. “Not with this!”

  She reached in the box and pulled out one last gift. It was a small pillow that was made from the same quilted fabric as the dog bed, but it looked more like something that belonged to a doll.

  He’s never going to put his head on that, I thought. How would this new surprise solve Spirit’s sleeping problems?