by Jane Gentry
Steve shut the trunk and put Sammy in the car.
“Time to leave,” he said. “If you want to see the boys before Lin puts them to bed.”
All the way to the farm, the only topic of conversation was Elijah Thomas and what had happened to him next. Steve grinned to himself. Cara would learn more about American history by digging into Elijah Thomas’s life than she’d ever learn in school, and she’d remember every bit of it. No doubt she’d put it in a book someday. She was at the moment writing a novel, having been inspired by the science fiction she’d read. And it was Steve’s unbiased opinion that she had the talent to be pretty good. Pretty damned good, in fact, he thought with satisfaction and considerable fatherly pride. A daughter to follow in his footsteps.
Lin’s house smelled of Christmas, and the scent of bay and evergreen, roasting turkeys and Virginia ham enveloped them as they went through the door.
The boys bounced wildly from wall to wall.
“Miggy’s having puppies!” shouted Sandy. “On the couch.”
All six children rocketed into the living room, where Miggy reclined on a Chinoiserie couch that was obviously an antique.
“Geez, Lin,” said Steve, as his sister got up to kiss them hello. “What’s that dog doing up there?”
“Do not call her ‘that dog,’” said Lin. “Not if you want to sleep here.”
Steve wasn’t intimidated. “Tom and I spent two weeks rebuilding that couch. And I know the fabric was forty dollars a yard.”
“Only thirty-eight,” said Lin, resuming her position beside Miggy. “Don’t exaggerate.”
“Can’t she sleep in your bed?” said Steve. “It’s not worth as much.”
“You guys didn’t actually think you were restoring this thing for me, did you?” asked Lin. “I thought I told you it was for Miggy to litter on.”
“What does Tom say about this?” said Steve, who seemed to think that his brother-in-law had some say in how the zoo was managed.
“Nothing,” said Lin. “He wants to sleep in my bed.”
“I decided I’d rather have Lin than the couch,” said Tom. “It came down to that. At least she let me put a tarp under all the activity.”
“Poor little Miggy,” Lin crooned. “These nasty horrible men just don’t understand. Love ‘em and leave ‘em, that’s all they do.”
“Demonstrably untrue, my darling,” said Tom.
Lin grinned up at him. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
Miggy gave another yip.
“Cara told me you have all these pups sold,” said Elizabeth, laughing at the circus. Steve came up behind her and put his arms around her waist, and she leaned comfortably against him.
Tom tugged at Lin’s blond mop. “Yeah. If she has six it will just about pay the vet bill.”
“You wait,” said Lin, with relish. “Miggy will get her championship at the National this year, and people will be standing in line for her babies.”
The first pup emerged.
“Eeuw!” chorused Melody and Cara. “Yuck.” They disappeared with the boys in tow.
Miggy finished with the first pup and turned to the second.
They were both sturdy, huge, black infants who bore no resemblance whatsoever to dogdom’s prime aristocrat, Champion Pierre’s Pappy Pass the Buck. The only evident trace of their poodle ancestry was a tiny spot of white at the end of each tail.
Lin scooped up the first baby and looked him over carefully.
“I thought you had Sammy cut,” she said to Steve.
“Well, I meant to,” said Steve, looking at Miggy and the two black pups. “Aw, gee, Lin, I’m sorry. Nuts.” But he was grinning broadly, along with the rest of the company.
“Yes. Nuts,” said Lin. “First I am going to cut off Sammy’s, and then I am going after yours.”
“Don’t do that!” said the new Mrs. Riker. “I’m not tired of him yet.”
“Looks like Pappy passed the buck, all right,” said Tom with a shocking lack of diplomacy.
“For a man whose wife is so focused on surgical deconstruction,” said Elizabeth to Tom, “you’re being awfully indiscreet.”
“I don’t have to worry,” said Tom, who had by then begun to laugh. “I’m one of her hobbies.”
“Don’t count on it,” said Lin, examining the second pup with dismay. “Damn. How am I going to explain this disaster to Pappy’s poppa and all the other expectant parents?”
Cara came back into the room. “How come they’re black?”
“Because Sammy’s their daddy,” said Lin with a sigh. “Want a puppy?”
“Two Sammys,” said Cara, thrilled. “Is there a girl?”
Tom let each of the boys pet the puppies, then he said, “Okay. All the excitement’s over.” He picked up Johnny, who had been rocking sleepily back and forth. “Come on, boys, it’s time for bed.”
He and Lin ushered their brood up the stairs. Steve and Elizabeth relaxed on the couch in the family room, enjoying a big fire and listening to the girls clanking around in the kitchen, looking for snacks.
“It would be really fun if you had a dog, too,” said Melody, offering peace.
“We could walk them together,” said Cara, grabbing the end of the olive branch.
“And you know what? Tomorrow, we could ride...” She stopped. “Do you hate all horses, or only some?”
“Just some,” said Cara cautiously. “The ones that bite.”
“Oh!” said Melody. “Aunt Lin’s horses never bite. They’re really well trained.” She hesitated. “There’s one named Caesar, who’s really black. He’d look good with your hair. You could ride him, if you want to. He doesn’t ever run if you don’t want him to.”
“I could let him run,” said Cara, unable to admit inexperience.
“It makes your legs strong,” Melody said. “Good for lacrosse. I’ve been practicing running for the game against the Linwoody guys.”
Cara giggled. “Did you know the boys have to wear our uniforms?” “Our kilts?“ said Melody, agape at the prospect of all those gangly male legs. “Really, they wear our kilts?“
Elizabeth, hearing all this, smiled and snuggled contentedly against Steve. He was warm and solid against her. His arms were tight and strong around her, and they were hers. Their days were filled with joy and laughter; their nights were filled with love; their future was filled with possibilities wonderful to contemplate.
The girls weren’t babies anymore, thought Elizabeth, listening to Johnny’s infant jabber wafting down the stairs. But there were babies yet to be.
* * * * *
ISBN: 978-1-4592-8815-7
No Kids or Dogs Allowed
Copyright © 1995 by Jane Malcolm
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