Maggie & Oliver or a Bone of One's Own

by Valerie Hobbs

  Was Maggie even Maggie? Or did her mother name her something else?

  And what about a father? Had she ever had a father?

  And why was Madame the one to take her in? Why not somebody sweet and nice, like the tiny duchess?

  Maggie watched as the duchess was helped into her carriage. The young man climbed in and sat beside her. The door was closed, and with a jangle of reins and a jingle of bells, off went the duchess.

  Sunday in the Park with Oliver

  In a small park, Maggie found a nice little bench set by a pond. A pair of mallards sailed past, eyeing her without seeming to, the way birds do. Overhead a flight of pigeons went on to someplace terribly important.

  Taking out her crust of bread, Maggie nibbled until just a bit of it was left. She put the bit into her sack where the locket gleamed and hid its secret.

  * * *

  On the far side of the pond, Oliver watched the ducks. How hard would it be, he wondered, to nab a duck? He had never tasted duck, but it couldn’t be worse than what he’d found in garbage cans.

  Yes, he’d stooped that low. What else could a starving dog do?

  Catching a duck meant going into the water again, getting Bertie’s handkerchief that wasn’t Bertie’s wet again, and this water looked none too clean. He sniffed it, took a little taste, and sneezed it right out.

  The ducks crossed the pond as if they were floating, not paddling furiously as they certainly were. That big, mean dog was up to no good.

  Oliver, his nose to the dead grass, made his way slowly around the pond. His stomach was grumbling loudly and, no matter what he promised, it wouldn’t shut up.

  And there was that girl. She was sitting on a bench swinging her legs. Beside her was a dirty little pouch. Was there food inside it? Was it worth the risk? Sniffing the air, Oliver edged closer.

  “Hey, Lucky!” cried the girl. She threw out her arms just the way Bertie did, as if he’d been gone forever and she was really happy to see him.

  Oliver stopped. Was it a trick? Where was the boy?

  The girl leaned forward and held out her hand. “Come here, Lucky. Come here, boy. I won’t hurt you.”

  Her voice had music in it. Oliver went a step closer. There was food in her pouch, he could smell it.

  “You’re hungry aren’t you, boy?”

  Oliver took another step.

  The girl reached into her pouch, looked at the bite of bread that came out of it, and offered it to Oliver.

  Oliver ran up and snatched it. One mash of his teeth, and the bread was gone.

  “I wish I had something more for you,” the girl said, “but I really don’t.” She turned the pouch inside out so that he could see. Something tiny and golden, like a bit of light, fell onto the ground.

  “Oh!” The girl dropped to her knees. She stuck her head under the bench.

  Couldn’t she see the golden thing was right there next to her foot? Oliver went over and nosed it.

  “You found it! You lovely dog!” The girl picked up the golden thing. Then she opened it and showed Oliver what was inside. “It’s my mother,” she said. “I think.” She put the golden thing back inside the empty pouch and put the pouch in her pocket.

  She reached for Oliver, and Oliver backed away.

  “It’s all right, boy,” she said. “I would never hurt you.” Her eyes had such sweetness in them.

  He took a step toward the girl, then another. One more, and she was patting his head, smoothing her hand down his back. Oliver shivered with delight.

  “What’s that you’ve got?” she said.

  Kneeling beside Oliver, Maggie examined the lady’s handkerchief around his neck. It was crumpled and dirty. Still, Maggie could see by the handkerchief’s tiny stitches, its delicate blue flowers, that it had once been fine.

  Whose dog was this? His mistress, no doubt, the lady who had owned the handkerchief. But when Maggie stood up to leave, the dog stayed beside her, and when she walked along the narrow paths of the park, he followed.

  She didn’t mind. It was good to have company.

  Hunger made her light-headed, and it wasn’t long before Maggie was sitting again, this time on a flat rock, the dog stretched out beside her. The sun, breaking through the sky’s gray clouds, warmed them both, and they fell softly into sleep.

  Maggie, weak with hunger, dreamed about Hannah’s bread pudding, sprinkled with cinnamon and bursting with raisins.

  Oliver dreamed about a meaty bone dripping grease.

  The sun, unable to help, hid its face behind the clouds.

  Maggie shivered and slid down off her cold rock to snuggle beside Oliver, who thought, for just a whiff of a second, that Bertie had come home.

  I’m Not Lucky

  Oliver awoke first. The girl lay beside him. She was breathing. At least, he thought she was. He gave her face a nice wet lick to make sure.

  Maggie sputtered awake. She sat up, wiping dog spit off her face with her sleeve. “Hi, Lucky,” she said, and patted his nose. She stood and began to brush the leaves off her coat and socks. Oliver gave himself a nice all-over shake.

  Church bells near and far began to toll the time. Maggie knew it was early Monday morning, but she counted anyway. One, two, three, four.… no one had told her when to come to work, wasn’t that odd? Five, six, seven.

  She hurried out of the park and headed toward Fortune and Down, the dog at her heels.

  She was in luck. As she rounded the corner, the factory’s door was pushed open and the women began filing in.

  Oliver watched the girl go up the steps and into the big building.

  At the door, she turned and waved. “Bye, Lucky,” she said.

  His name was Oliver. Why didn’t she know that? Lucky wasn’t such a bad name, but it wasn’t his name. As grouchy as his poor stomach, Oliver loped off in search of something to eat. Anything, at this point, with feathers or fins or, better yet, bones.

  Oliver could feel his energy fading, falling behind him like a shadow. Even Henrietta, with all her beauty, could not compete with the hollow feeling that had dug a place inside him and would not leave. He must find food, and soon.

  He made his slow way down to the harbor, but all the fishing boats were gone. An old black dog with its ribs showing shuffled through fish bones and mussel shells littered along the shore. It was a sad sight, and Oliver turned away.

  Under the bridge, he dug up his bone and gave it a lick, but it brought him no joy. He left the bone behind, unburied. Maybe the old black dog would find some comfort in it.

  Oliver looked out over the water, which ended in a flat, straight line. A boat with some cloth that caught the wind made its way straight toward that line. Oliver watched until the boat was out of sight, somewhere on the other side. Could Bertie be there? In that world beyond the line? Was it a better world? If so, why hadn’t she taken Oliver with her?

  Why had she left him behind? Here was the terrible question that Oliver had kept hidden from himself, just as he’d once hidden his bone. Bertie loved him, he was certain of that. She had fed him from her hand, pampered and petted him, bathed and walked him, read him stories from her little black book.

  He couldn’t understand the stories, but never mind. She did all the things a human does for a child. He had been her child.

  And still, she left him. Without so much as a final pat, a teary good-bye.

  And that is when Oliver knew, deep in the place in which the truest things are known, that he would never see Bertie again. Bertie was no longer in this world. Where she had gone, he might never know, but Bertie was not coming back, and he was never going to find her.

  Partners

  By midday break, the ache in Maggie’s back was almost worse than the one that gnawed at her empty stomach. While the others took their break, she sat at her table holding her locket, opening and closing her hand to look at it all over again, each time a surprise.

  When the others returned, she slipped the locket into her pouch and got back to work
.

  At seven, when the final bell rang, she laid her head on her table and closed her eyes.

  “No sleeping on the job, you!”

  Maggie bolted upright, but it was only Daniel Durch playing a dumb joke.

  “You got no place to go, do you?” he said, his arms crossed over his skinny chest.

  “Go away,” she said.

  “Come along, Danny!” called his sister from the door.

  “I know where you can get something to eat,” he said.

  “Danny, you heard me!”

  “You’d better go,” said Maggie.

  “Don’t mind her,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the door. “She ain’t even going home. She’s going to a party.”

  His sister left, arm in arm with another of the sewing girls.

  “Come on,” said Daniel. He motioned with his head. “I’m not foolin’. I know where there’s food and plenty of it.”

  Maggie got up and put on her coat.

  Oliver, who had gone three empty times to Henrietta’s, was waiting by the back door for the girl he’d met at the pond, but when he saw her come out with the rock-throwing boy, he bolted off down the street.

  “There goes your dog,” said Daniel. “Good thing. I’d have beaned him.”

  Maggie scowled. “You are not a nice person.”

  “But what’s it matter? I know where supper is.”

  Maggie’s mouth watered at the mere mention of food. “Where?”

  “You have to work for it. It’s not free.”

  “All right,” she said. “I don’t mind. But if we find Lucky, you are not to throw any rocks.”

  “Deal,” said Daniel.

  Maggie followed Daniel down winding, cobbled streets, dark except for a bright window now and again. Tall brick buildings were pushed up against the street, leaving only a narrow, dimly lit walkway. Maggie splashed into one of the many puddles along the curb and got her boots soaked. A man dressed in rags wandered past on bare feet, muttering to himself.

  Daniel strode ahead as if nothing could scare him, but when he turned into an alley, Maggie hesitated.

  “Come on!” called Daniel over his shoulder. “The food will be gone if we don’t get there fast.”

  A skinny black dog with yellow eyes slunk past Maggie. Behind her a voice bellowed, “Out! I said. Get out!” A door slammed. A woman with wild hair scurried down the alley wrapped in a blanket.

  Maggie ran ahead to catch up with Daniel.

  “It’s right down here,” he said. “I’ll do the talking if there’s any to be done.”

  They came to the one door in the alley that was brightly lit, the back door of a dinner house. Kitchen sounds mixed with talk, and laughter erupted with the light. Daniel ducked his head in and out of the doorway. “The coast is clear,” he said. “See what’s in there,” he said, nodding his head toward a wooden bin. “I’ll keep watch.”

  In where? Maggie’s eyes widened. Could he mean the garbage?

  “Hurry up!” he said. “What are you waiting for? You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, are you?”

  Maggie’s mouth opened, then it shut. Her stomach tried in vain to move her feet.

  “Big baby!” said Daniel when it was clear that Maggie wasn’t about to do what he wanted. “You watch the door. I’ll do the dirty work. This time.”

  But Maggie could not keep watch. Her eyes were glued to Daniel with his hands down inside the garbage. She watched him toss out a bone to which a hunk of meat was attached. “That one’s for me,” he said. “I’ll find you one.”

  Maggie wanted to stop him, but her stomach wouldn’t let her. Her stomach had no morals at all. It wanted Maggie to run right over and grab some meat for herself, and when Daniel tossed out another bone, that is exactly what she did. Then the two ran off down the alley like hungry, happy dogs.

  Well, one happy dog and one not so happy.

  They came to a bridge, an arched span black against a starry night sky. When they’d gone halfway across, Daniel stopped. Leaning his elbows on the rail, he tore off a chunk of meat with his teeth and began to chew. “I like to watch the boats at night,” he said. Only it came out “Ilimptptowacbosneye” because his mouth was full. “I’m going to stow away on one of them boats and go to Australia,” he said.

  Maggie stared at her bone. She thought about Lucky. She would save the bone for him. But first she had to eat some of the meat. She had to, or she would starve to death.

  It was awful, the thought of starving to death. Worse than the thought of chewing meat that somebody else had chewed on first.

  She took a little nibble, then a bite, her stomach urging her on. She stopped when she was not quite full.

  “What’re you doing with that?” said Daniel, as Maggie tucked the bone inside her pouch.

  “Saving it for Lucky,” she said.

  “For the stupid dog?” he said. “Here, let me have that!” He grabbed the pouch from Maggie and turned it upside down. Out fell the bone along with Maggie’s locket. She dove for the locket, but Daniel came up with it first.

  “Holy Mother!” he said, with a low whistle. “We can get a good penny for this!”

  “It’s mine!” cried Maggie, making a lunge for the locket that Daniel held over his head. “Give it to me!”

  Daniel swung the chain back and forth, dangerously near the open water. “If we’re going to be partners, you can’t hold out on me,” said Daniel.

  “Please give it to me,” said Maggie, hopping up to grab the locket that was just beyond her reach. “It was my mother’s.”

  Daniel peered at the tiny gold heart. Then he tried opening it, but it slipped from his greasy fingers back onto the bridge.

  This time, Maggie was quick.

  “It’s mine,” she said, snatching up the locket. “You’re not to touch it again.”

  Daniel sniffed. “Well, I guess that means we ain’t partners, then. Too bad.”

  Maggie’s head, as usual, filled right up with questions. “Why?”

  “’Cause I know where the treasure is.”

  “What treasure?”

  “You don’t know?” he said. “You don’t know about the treasure? Where you been livin’? On the moon?” He chuckled at his own joke.

  “You don’t know about any treasure,” said Maggie.

  “Oh, no?”

  She bit her lip to stop the rest of the questions pushing to come out. Was it in a chest? Were there jewels? Did it come from a pirate ship?

  “If you know where there’s treasure, why don’t you just go and get it?”

  “I need help,” he said. “I need somebody littler than me.”

  “Why?”

  “Just because,” he said. “You with me or not?”

  Maggie thought, but not for long. Daniel knew things she didn’t, about the city, about where to find food, even if it was out of a garbage can. Maybe he didn’t really know where there was treasure, but he knew a lot about how to survive on your own, and she could learn from him.

  “Will you help me find Lucky?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “And will you promise not to hurt him? Ever?”

  “Promise cross my heart,” he said.

  “Then all right,” said Maggie. “We’re partners.”

  And they shook on it.

  Rats!

  The setting sun frowned on Oliver, who was about to dump a garbage can. It was an ordinary tin can, dented and abused like all the others he had seen, with a handle on the lid and two on the side. It reeked with rot.

  Why Oliver had chosen this one was anybody’s guess. Did his stomach order his feet to stop? Was his better self sleeping on the job? Did he simply forget his manners?

  If Bertie could see him now, her eyes would cloud over. She would say, “Oh, Oliver. I am so disappointed in you.” And Oliver would slink away, knowing he had let her down.

  But Bertie was not here and could not see him. His other self, the one whose job it was to simply be a dog
, to romp and play and have a grand old time, stepped up to have a talk with him. “Oliver,” it said, “go for it.”

  Still, Oliver who liked to be clean, who reveled in bubble baths, hesitated.

  Clean and hungry or dirty and full? In the end it wasn’t so hard to decide.

  Oliver sniffed all around the dented can. He pushed a paw against it. He pushed with two paws. Then he took a running start and leapt upon the can, which toppled and rolled and clattered, spewing garbage and one dizzy dog into the street.

  Out of a house came a man, flailing his arms and yelling. Oliver scrambled to his feet and dashed away.

  Did no one have sympathy for a starving dog?

  As the sun disappeared and the great hand of darkness descended, Oliver slunk along in downhearted misery. Was this to be his life now? A life of skulking and begging? Of growing ever more despondent until at last he cared for nothing at all, not even food?

  And then, in what he might have called his darkest hour, a light appeared. It shone from a doorway down a narrow alley, between two brick buildings that leaned toward each other whispering secrets.

  He stopped and sniffed. The heady smell of cooking food danced toward him, crooked its fingers, and led him in.

  Oliver inched through the darkness, keeping low, his eyes and ears and even his tail on full alert.

  Stopping in the shadows near the lighted doorway, he watched a man emerge. The man wore a tall white hat, and his white coat was painted with streaks of red and brown. In his hand was a sack that to Oliver smelled delectable. The man carried the sack to the garbage cans lined against the wall like muddied soldiers. Off came the lid of the first can and down went the sack.

  The lid closed with a clang.

  Oliver waited. He waited until his stomach pinched and howled and demanded immediate action. Then he crept toward the can on feet as light as a cat’s. His nose twitched. Even as his brain said “stop!” his stomach urged him on and his mouth watered in readiness.

  He had learned one good lesson: if he dumped the can as before, out would come that man to chase him away. What to do? He sniffed the can. He circled it, thinking. Then he stood on his back feet, rested his front paws on the lid, and clamped the handle with his teeth. He gave the handle a tug. The can rattled, and Oliver scurried back into the shadows.