by Amanda Cross
“I’ll try. How do I stall my refutation of feminism?”
“We thought of you having a minor heart attack: nothing life-threatening, if properly cared for, but requiring two weeks at least in bed. Don’t start protesting. We abandoned that plan, not because we couldn’t overcome your protests if we had to, but because your not teaching for two weeks doesn’t send the right message. Anyhow, we need you here for consultations; we can’t come to your home, or Harriet might come as a friend offering consolation but not more than once or twice. No, we’re going to be simple and, to a degree, honest. You’re going to put an ad in the paper, since you don’t know how to get in touch with them, an ad saying: ‘Need a week at least to write what you require.’ Sign it Mrs. A. They’ll get it, and with any luck no one else will.”
“And at the end of the week?”
“We’ll either have Reed back or regroup. Now listen. I’ve got the ad ready for the papers where they’ll see it. They can’t very well object if they want your conversion to fundamentalist Christianity to be believable. We’ll also give Reed a chance to act on his own behalf.”
“How? He’s a prisoner.”
“True. But he’s not what they want, except insofar as he will work to influence you. It’s feminism they’re after, Kate, all the new laws about domestic violence, affirmative action, Title IX, choice, and let’s throw in evolution and the idea that God may not be a man who created this world and meant men to be at the center of it. If Reed can appear to become impressed enough by their arguments, he will be working from the inside. You still with me?”
“I’m listening,” Kate said. “You’re not suggesting that he is likely to become swayed by their arguments?”
“No, I’m not. Pay attention, Kate. We’re talking about a man you’ve been married to a lot of years. Are you asking me?”
“No,” Kate said, sounding unconvincing even to her own ears.
“While you’ll go on living your life, and supposedly pondering the article you’re going to write as they demand,” Toni went on, leaving in abeyance the question of Reed’s compliance, “Harriet and I are going to try to identify the group that’s taken Reed. That may not be as hard as you think, though it won’t be easy.”
“Where do you start?”
“We start, since we have to start somewhere, with a letter that appeared in the college newspaper damning feminists, multiculturalism, evolution, and the abandonment of family values. You may remember it caused quite a furor.”
“I do remember. I couldn’t imagine anyone being stupid enough to want to make it public. There was some question about why the paper published it, but freedom of speech always wins out as an ideal, and in this case it probably should have. When it’s racial slurs in an academic community, I’m not always so sure, but that’s another subject for a quieter time.”
“Right,” Toni said. “But I’m glad to see your mind grapple with something other than Reed’s disappearance.”
“Kidnapping. That’s what I can’t get over. Actually kidnapping a grown man to get even with a woman whose ideas you don’t much like.”
“Let’s not go round this again. Not now—okay, Kate? I’m off. You know what Garrison Keillor says every week on public radio: be well; do good work; stay in touch.” And Toni was gone, slouching out of the office in superb imitation of a student whose essay had not received the accolade she thought it deserved.
Harriet turned up that night at Kate’s apartment. “We are friends,” she explained. “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone, so life goes on, right, and your old friends come by to see you? Right? And though it’s supposed to look like it, this isn’t just a friendly visit. I want to tell you the next step. We’ll keep in touch, mostly through Toni-the-student, so don’t fret. That is, I know you can’t help fretting, but don’t fret about our keeping in touch. Any single malt on hand?”
Kate went to fetch it, but didn’t this time feel up to a drink for herself—a terrible symptom, but Harriet decided to ignore it. She herself took a grateful sip.
“We’ve looked into the background of the college student who wrote that letter to the paper. Always begin with the obvious. That’s the place to begin, if not to end. He turns out to be the dutiful son of a widow who thinks every law to help women, the poor, blacks, or anyone else other than the white male holy Christians of this world is the work of the devil. Satan figures rather largely in all this. (Have you read Elaine Pagels on the subject? Well, never mind that for now.) I’m finding this private detective business wonderful, but you do have to keep to the point and your mouth shut—hard tasks for longtime talkers like me. Where was I?” Harriet held out her glass. “And don’t ask if it’s all right to drink on the job. It isn’t, but I’m considering this a friendly visit. I shall breathe heavily at the doorman as I leave, convincing him that I’ve been having a nice, boozy time.”
Kate attempted a smile. “Go on,” she said, “about the family of the boy who wrote the letter.”
“As I say, spiritual pride is clearly not among what that family considers sin; they know they are always right. But we found out that one of the daughters got captured by a cult, and the other one has lived a life that is, I gather, unacceptable to Mama in every possible way. However, the son is his mother’s boy. Papa, by the way, was a minister who died some years ago of a coronary. I get whispers of the fact that his sexual tastes, which ran to the young and male, were not exactly according to the book, but that has all been hushed up. It goes a certain distance, though, together with the careers of the daughters, in explaining the righteousness of the mother and son. We may get around to cultivating the mother, who is trying to start a movement, which I might join. That may not lead anywhere, but who knows? Meanwhile, your ad goes in all possible journals and papers tomorrow. We shall await results. If you get any messages or communications of any sort, bring them to your office hour.”
“Suppose it’s not a day for my office hour?”
“I was coming to that. Patience, Kate; do try. You’re going to get a puppy. Just sit down and listen, please. A nearly three-month-old puppy greatly in need of training, not to mention shots and all the rest of the usual attentions from a vet. We’ve found you an excellent vet, by the way, nearby. We’ve also managed to get a young man who does occasional work for us hired as a desk clerk there. People always need competent help; Ovido is very good, and speaks Spanish. There’s a dog training center upstairs from the vet. When you go there, which is always on the days when you don’t go to the university, if you have a message, leave it with Ovido. He will recognize you and take whatever it is unobtrusively, while discussing your dog’s medication. Here’s the address.”
“And where is the dog?” Kate hardly dared ask. She realized that for the first time she felt her life to be completely out of her control. That she might have a dog foisted on her seemed as likely as anything else that had been happening.
“The kennel will deliver the dog tonight. You will take her around to be examined by the vet after she arrives. She is paper-trained, by the way, so put some paper down in the kitchen. She does like to walk, however. She’s going to be a very big dog—she’s a Saint Bernard, in fact—weighing between a hundred and fifty and two hundred pounds, so early training is essential while you can still lift her and pull her, in short, while you’re still stronger than she is.”
Kate looked both blank and stricken.
“Kate dear,” Harriet said, “I’m really worried. Talk to me. Ramble on. Quote things. Please, Kate, don’t stay in this zombie state. Say something. Reed will be back, I promise you. The dog’s name is Bancroft, by the way, because Anne Bancroft is a favorite actor of the kennel owner. Banny for short. She’s a very sweet dog; I’ve seen her. Quite adorable, you’ll see.”
“And what am I do to with her when she weighs two hundred pounds?”
“Oh, we’re just borrowing Banny. She’s far too valuable to give away or even sell. She’s wanted for shows and then for breeding. Now don
’t get too attached to her, because she’s just visiting. You do see, Kate, don’t you? We needed a place you could go regularly, quite innocently, where messages can be exchanged. Meanwhile Banny will learn how to sit, lie, stay, heel, and fetch, and no doubt many other wonderful tricks. She’s a present from me, by the way. But for God’s sake, for my sake, don’t let anything happen to her. That dog’s worth a bundle.”
Kate still looked stunned. “Harriet,” she slowly said, “do you really know what you’re doing?”
“We do, my dear, please try to believe that. We’ll have Reed back before you know it. Goodbye for now. And look out for Banny; the kennel will deliver her shortly. The doorman will bring her up.”
“I hope she doesn’t pee in the elevator,” Kate said.
“Ah,” Harriet said, “that’s more like it. Do have a drink,” she said, as she left. “I know Reed would want you to.”
Kate thought for a while, no coherent idea remaining in her mind for long. Time seemed to have lost its meaning; then the doorbell rang. There on the doormat stood the doorman with an adorable, furry thing with a wrinkled brow who looked as bewildered as did Kate. She took the leash.
“Here’s some food they left for him,” the doorman said. “I hope you enjoy him, ma’am. He’s going to be a mighty big dog.”
“It’s a she,” Kate said. “Thank you.”
Kate and Banny were alone. Banny looked around, then squatted and peed on the foyer floor.
After Kate had cleaned that up and laid paper down in the kitchen and showed the paper to Banny and put some water down, she went back into the living room. The puppy jumped up against her knees, and on an impulse Kate picked up the bundle of fur, hugging it, and weeping onto it. The puppy licked her face.
*See Amanda Cross, An Imperfect Spy
Three
KATE, in order to set up the ordinariness of her visits to the vet and training class, went there with Banny over the weekend. At least it was something to do. She could spot Ovido behind the desk, and, while paying for the vet’s examination of Banny, she chatted with him in a natural way so that, if she should have a message to leave, their conversation would not appear in any way different from her usual behavior.
Harriet and Toni were convinced she was being followed, and Kate had occasionally caught sight of someone who might well have been keeping her in sight. “Their main object is to frighten you,” Toni had said, “so they want you to know you’re being followed and hounded. But don’t underestimate them. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t do during your ordinary day.” (Toni forbore to mention, and Kate did not point out, that no day would ever be ordinary again.)
On Monday, when she had a scheduled office hour, Kate took with her a message that had arrived the previous evening from the group that had kidnapped Reed; she did not need to go the route of the vet this time. The message said that the ad had been seen, and that Kate had exactly one week—that is, until next Monday—to place her article, which would be expected to appear not many days thereafter. If not, Reed would die or be terribly wounded.
Inevitably, this last caused Kate some bad moments, despite Toni’s assurance that threats weren’t what mattered at this point. Getting Reed back was all that mattered. Meanwhile, Toni went on to say, encouragingly, that she and Harriet were keeping a close record of everything that happened. “We shall be in a position to prosecute when this is all over. Meanwhile, we want you to do something.”
“A cat this time?”
“Sarcasm is a nonproductive mode of communication,” Toni said with pedagogical hauteur. “Listen, I don’t want to stay longer than the other students and call attention to myself, so I won’t go into all that Harriet and I are doing. Here’s what we want you to do.”
Kate looked both frightened and eager, a combination hard to achieve and terrible to experience.
“Don’t look so appalled,” Toni said. “This is an interesting job. Harriet told you that one of the daughters leads what the mother and son consider an unacceptable life, and I’ve tracked her down. She doesn’t seem to see much of her mother and brother, but I think she’s not much in sympathy with them. She doesn’t know about Reed; you will have to meet her more or less accidentally, and using your own judgment, tell her as much as you want. My hunch is that she may be able to help us.”
“And how do I meet her?” Kate asked.
“Easy. She lives in Putnam County, where she runs a kennel and boards dogs. You and Banny will go and check it out. Here’s the address and phone number. You take it from there. But remember, if you have the least doubt, keep it a visit about boarding dogs.”
“Perhaps I should cut my class and office hour tomorrow and go to visit her.”
“Absolutely not. Don’t, whatever you do, change your normal habits. You can go after your class tomorrow. Call first to make sure she’ll be there and that a visit of inspection is welcome. And don’t forget to take Banny. When one questions dog owners, it’s ever so much more convincing if you have a dog.”
And so, the next day, after her class, Kate picked up the car from the garage and Banny from the apartment. She had called and been told she would be welcomed by the owner herself, Dorothy Hedge, daughter of the right-wing mother, sister of the son. “A Saint Bernard!” the owner had exclaimed. “What a brave woman you are. I raise Norwich terriers. They love big dogs; I suspect they think they’re big themselves. So come right along.”
Kate parked Banny in the backseat, but it soon became clear that Banny had no intention of staying there. She squeezed through the space between the two front seats and plopped herself in Kate’s lap. Kate pushed her onto the other front seat when they stopped for a light, and Banny tried putting just her head on Kate’s thigh, but that interfered with the gearshift. So she went back to Kate’s lap and flattened herself, more or less, under the steering wheel. It was far from a safe arrangement, but it had its comforts. Kate found herself talking to the dog, and checking the directions out with her.
Rather to her surprise, Kate found the right turn off the parkway, and after that it was just a matter of counting lights and then mailboxes. They pulled into Dorothy Hedge’s driveway, clearly marked with a sign (HEDGE KENNELS), to a cacophony of barks punctuated by a cheerful female voice shouting “Quiet, quiet, you beasts,” to no effect whatever.
As the owner of the voice approached them, Kate had the impression of someone enjoying herself in a ritual that had meaning only for the participants and was never meant to change immediate circumstances. Dorothy Hedge was a large, hearty woman, her booming voice natural, Kate felt, one that would be so even in a job that did not require it. She welcomed Kate with a vigorous handshake and Banny with some mild roughhouse. “Aren’t you adorable,” she said.
“I supposed that owners of dog kennels were rather restrained in their enthusiasm,” Kate said, smiling. “How nice to see someone so frankly happy about dogs.”
If Dorothy Hedge thought this a somewhat odd remark, she did not show it. “It’s easy to be boisterous around dogs,” she said. “They don’t have principles, only affections and canine opinions about sensible things. Did you want to see the boarding facilities? Not,” she added, “that I recommend boarding a dog this young, but doubtless you have your reasons. Around this way.”
Kate found the boarding arrangements quite impressive, and had no trouble saying so. Each boarding dog had a large outdoor cage, attached to a much smaller sheltered area, a sort of lean- to doghouse.
“Once they’re at home here, and unless they’re particularly unfriendly types, I let my dogs run together in that big fenced-in area there. But not this little girl, I think; she’s too likely to be bullied, or to feel frightened even if not bullied. Have you had her long?”
“No,” Kate said. “And I don’t plan to board her in the near future. But since I’m often called away suddenly, it seemed sensible to have all the arrangements in place for such an eventuality.”
“Very wise. Too many people think they can
dump dogs as though they were furniture or a package. The poor things get off their feed and mope. Now this little girl will have been here before, and she’ll know you and I have met and talked. That matters. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“I’d love one, thank you,” Kate said, happy to have been offered a chance for further conversation. Though how she was to get from dogs to this woman’s bigoted mother she could not imagine. She followed Dorothy Hedge around to the door, but hesitated, with Banny at her heels.
“Oh, bring the baby girl,” Dorothy said. “I just saw her do a wee-wee, so maybe we’re in luck. Anyway, if I had a dollar for every time I’d wiped up dog pee, I’d be a wealthy woman, I assure you. Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll make the tea.”
It was a large, country kind of kitchen, and Kate sat at the table, taking Banny onto her lap after the puppy kept jumping up against her. “I know it’s silly,” Kate said, “but I wonder, if she sits in my lap now, will she expect to when she weighs over a hundred and fifty pounds?”
“Take her to training class, my dear, as soon as possible. She’s got to learn to do what you say, and soon, before she’s bigger than you are.”
“We are enrolled in a training class,” Kate said, feeling as though, like Alice, she had become quite a different person altogether, discussing dogs this way, “but so far we’ve mainly been doing standing-up things.”
“Well, the command down will soon come into it. Enjoy her, my dear. There are few more utterly satisfying things than a puppy. And she’ll add a dozen years to your life.”
But will she add years to Reed’s life? Kate thought, but did not say. Dorothy, as she had asked Kate to call her, promising to call Kate Kate in exchange, poured the tea from a teapot around which was a knitted tea cozy. I have come to something out of Country Life, Kate thought, sipping her tea. Banny slept in her lap.