Harvey Comes Home

by Colleen Nelson

  Copyright

  First published in Canada and the United States in 2019

  Text copyright © 2019 Colleen Nelson

  Illustration copyright © 2019 Tara Anderson

  This edition copyright © 2020 Pajama Press Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free 1.800.893.5777.

  www.pajamapress.ca info@pajamapress.ca

  The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for its publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Title: Harvey comes home / by Colleen Nelson ; illustrated by Tara Anderson.

  Names: Nelson, Colleen, author. | Anderson, Tara, illustrator.

  Description: First edition.

  Identifiers: Canadiana 20190050632 | ISBN 9781772780970 (hardcover)

  Classification: LCC PS8627.E555 H37 2019 | DDC jC813/.6—dc23

  Publisher Cataloging-in-Publication Data (U.S.)

  Names: Nelson, Colleen, author. | Anderson, Tara, illustrator.

  Title: Harvey Comes Home / Colleen Nelson.

  Description: Toronto, Ontario Canada : Pajama Press, 2019. | Summary: “A young boy volunteering at a retirement home finds a stray dog and notices that it revives decades-old memories for a bitter resident. The boy bonds with the resident as he listens to stories about growing up in Saskatchewan during the Great Depression. Thanks to his new friend and his canine companion, the elderly man is able to pass away peacefully, immersed in fond memories of his youth”— Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: ISBN 978-1-77278-097-0 (hardcover)

  Subjects: LCSH: Dogs -- Juvenile fiction. | Retirement communities – Juvenile fiction. | Depressions—1929—Canada – Juvenile fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Animals / Dogs. | JUVENILE FICTION / Historical / Canada / Post-Confederation (1867-) | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Themes / Adolescence & Coming of Age.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1N457Ha |DDC [F] – dc23

  Original art created with graphite pencil on Canson drawing paper

  Interior illustrations—Tara Anderson

  Cover design—Rebecca Bender

  Text design—Lorena Gonzalez Guillen

  Cover image—Oscar, running fast © Christopher Walker

  Manufactured by Friesens

  Printed in Canada

  Pajama Press Inc.

  181 Carlaw Ave. Suite 251 Toronto, Ontario Canada, M4M 2S1

  Distributed in Canada by UTP Distribution

  5201 Dufferin Street Toronto, Ontario Canada, M3H 5T8

  Distributed in the U.S. by Ingram Publisher Services

  1 Ingram Blvd. La Vergne, TN 37086, USA

  Dedication

  For Gordon and Marie Pickering

  –C.N.

  For Uncle Bruce

  –T.A.

  Chapter 1

  Harvey

  Harvey is a West Highland Terrier; a ratter with a white coat, extra shiny and clean because he was just groomed yesterday. He trots ahead of Maggie, feeling quite smart. He enjoys the chill of the early November air as it rustles against his skin.

  Tail held high, ears pricked and nose down low, Harvey follows the scent left by Rosie, another Westie who has been here recently. He lifts his leg and, with a little squirt, adds his scent to a lamppost.

  Maggie tugs at the leash, reminding him they are meant to be walking, but all the smells are too distracting. He could spend all day drinking them in at just one lamppost. Not like his yard, where everything is familiar. The only excitement is the squirrels that scamper and race through the treetops, taunting him.

  He loves and hates those squirrels. He can’t imagine his days without them. Like any good ratter, he watches for them. When he sees one invade his yard, he paws at the door and barks to be let out, desperate to chase it.

  So far, on this walk, there have been no squirrels, but the bright smells make up for it. They zip up his nose and into his brain.

  Harvey can’t see bright colors, but if he could, he would know that Maggie has the most beautiful color of hair. Like a hot metal poker, it glows red, orange, and copper, and curls at the ends. Maggie takes her hair for granted, even though it is the first thing people compliment her on. The hair is from her mother, but the slight build and lanky frame are both from her father. She has a smattering of freckles across her nose, and more appear in the summer. Her eyes are small, but sharp and quizzical, and teachers think of her as the quiet, studious type. Maggie is at an age when a uniform of tights and a long hoodie is worn daily. Her hair is most often tied up in a ponytail. She doesn’t care about clothes or boys, at least not yet. She is happiest at home with Harvey.

  Harvey never knows what the day will bring with Maggie. Some days she is at home with him and other days she leaves and comes back with a bag layered with so many smells. Harvey could sniff it all day and never catch all the scents. Maggie lugs that bag up to her room. She unzips it and sighs, then sits down to work, pencil scratching and papers flipping. Harvey is content to lie on her bed and watch, pleased that Maggie is home.

  But today, something is different. There is a lot of activity when he and Maggie return from their walk. Harvey lets Maggie unclip his leash. He waits by the door, trying to make sense of the hustle and bustle. He sees Maggie’s parents, walking with quick, rushed steps and speaking loudly to each other.

  The two little girls, twins, who often try to grab Harvey’s tail, are being jostled about. Harvey can tell something is going on. There are new smells at the front door, and Harvey goes to inspect them. Besides the usual scents of leather, wool, and outdoor grit, Harvey sniffs out three big things. They are lined up in a row and smell of the damp basement. He catches a whiff of the stuffed bunny from Maggie’s room—the one he’s not supposed to grab—locked inside one of the cases. What is it doing in there? he wonders. He paws at the case and sniffs intently, looking for other trapped scents. He is concentrating so hard that he doesn’t know Maggie is behind him until she reaches out and grabs him.

  She holds him close to her chest and whispers in his ear. “I love you so much, Harvs. I’m going to miss you!”

  Harvey hears the catch in her voice. He pokes his black nose into her face and sees that her eyes sparkle with tears. Harvey licks at her chin, desperate to make sense of all this.

  A car pulls up outside. He barks to let everyone know but gets an annoyed “Shush!” from Maggie’s father before he’s even finished. Harvey takes a few steps forward. Natural curiosity makes his tail point straight in the air as he waits for the door to open. When it does, a girl, taller than his Maggie, steps in. Voices rise with excitement and greeting. Joining the fray, Harvey runs up to welcome the girl, but is gently scolded to stay back.

  The new girl holds out her hand for him and crouches down. She’s wearing jeans with holes in the knees, so he can smell flowery lotion. He sniffs out her heavy leather boots—the kind of boots he’d love to gnaw on, but knows he can’t. Leather boots are his favorite. They hold scents, and the flavor explodes in his mouth, not to mention the sensation on his tongue. Like a good belly rub.

  “Hey, Harvey,” she says. He likes her voice. It’s soft and
encouraging. He noses closer, curious.

  “Harvey, this is Olivia. She’s going to look after you.” Maggie uses the same singsong voice he’s heard her use with the little girls. His Maggie wants him to like this girl. He’ll do anything for his Maggie, so he takes a polite sniff of her hand, likes the smells, and gives it an appreciative lick. The girl’s hand darts up to his head and rubs between his ears. Then she stands up. Harvey isn’t ready for the head scratch to be over. He steps closer to her and stands on his hind legs, reaching his front paws up her legs. His nails pull on the denim.

  “Harvey!” Maggie’s mother admonishes.

  He’s about to get down, but the girl shakes her head and says, “It’s okay.” And Harvey is rewarded with another head scratch. He likes this girl. There’s no jumping or fidgeting like some of Maggie’s other friends. Confident that she poses no threat, Harvey goes to Maggie, who sinks to the floor and gives him a cuddle.

  His Maggie. His eyes half-close with contentment.

  Maggie’s mother leads the girl into the house and chatters to her. He’s so comfortable on the tile floor beside Maggie that he almost misses the sound of another car in the driveway.

  “Taxi’s here,” Maggie calls out. But her voice is choked. Harvey turns to face her, tilting his head.

  There’s a rush to the door. Maggie’s father appears from his office and everyone collects together, waiting. Harvey’s skin prickles, just like it does when Maggie is sick. Something is going on, something different. Maggie holds him tightly against her chest. He can feel her heart beating and hear her sniffle.

  “We’re going on a trip, Harvey! Me, Mom, Dad, and the twins. You’re staying here with Olivia.”

  He senses trepidation in her voice and pricks his ears. She rubs his back thoughtfully as her father drags the suitcases outside. Another man helps him, and Harvey yelps, catching a quick whiff of new smells. And then there is more action. Maggie stands up. Jackets are handed out. Twins are wrangled. Maggie’s father comes back inside and shouts instructions. Harvey stands on his hind legs and stretches up to Maggie’s knees. He needs her attention.

  “Bye, Harvey,” she says. She zips her jacket and takes hold of the suitcase that has her favorite things trapped inside. Little wheels on the bottom make it roll across the floor.

  “Here, Harvey,” Olivia calls. He can smell a treat in the air. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn it, but he turns to the smell and sniffs it out. It crunches in his mouth. When he turns back, the door is shut and his Maggie has disappeared. Where is she?

  He races to the window in the front room that looks out over the driveway. He watches as the taxi departs, stuffed full with his Maggie and her family. He can see her staring back at him. She raises her hand to wave.

  And then his Maggie is gone.

  Chapter 2

  Austin

  Charlie, the manager at Brayside Retirement Villa, made it real clear to Grandpa that he wasn’t paying me. I could come to Brayside after school, no problem. But if Grandpa thought he’d found me a part-time job, the answer was no.

  I bet Grandpa just smiled at Charlie, like he always does, and walked away, whistling. Charlie thinks he runs Brayside, since he’s the manager, but without Grandpa, the whole place would fall apart. Grandpa’s been the custodian for over sixteen years. Not a thing goes on here that he doesn’t know about.

  Brayside is a home for old people. There are three floors, and by the time people are moved up to the third floor, they aren’t going anywhere else. Grandpa looks after all the floors, but he kept me busy on the first floor, where people still live independently. Thanks to my deal with Grandpa, I provided unpaid labor for the rest of the year.

  Well, technically, it wasn’t a deal. It was a punishment.

  I learned my lesson—honest! And I’m glad it was Grandpa who answered the phone the day the principal called. If Mom had found out I’d been caught with firecrackers in the boys’ bathroom, I’d have been scraping gum off the sidewalk or cleaning toilets with my toothbrush.

  When Grandpa asked me why I’d tried to light fireworks at school, I lied and told him it was a dare. The real reason was too embarrassing.

  But here it is: I thought I would make some friends. Stupid, right? I know that now, but at the time I thought kids would be impressed. It would set me apart, make me cool in my own way. But everything backfired, no pun intended, when the school custodian walked in and found the firecrackers, a lighter—and me. My first and only stunt was a fail. I spent the rest of the day in the principal’s office.

  It took hours of begging Grandpa not to tell Mom. My main argument was that she’d been through enough and didn’t need to know her kid was a screwup too. “You’re not a screwup,” Grandpa sighed. “You made a mistake.”

  “That’s not how Mom will see it.” I guess he figured I had a point, because instead of blabbing to Mom, we made an arrangement. It wouldn’t help me get any friends, but Grandpa was convinced an honest day’s work would keep me out of trouble. So, after school till six o’clock every Monday to Friday, he put me to work cleaning things that weren’t even dirty. Washing windows and dusting, usually. Both of those jobs meant I was standing still or moving slow, which made me easy to talk to. And man, do old people like to talk. Most of them, anyway.

  One guy, Mr. Pickering, never said two words since I’d started working at Brayside. To be honest, I was a little afraid of Mr. Pickering. He had a ring of scraggly white hair that circled his head. His face was craggy, like a mountain slope. He might have been tall once, but now he was all stooped and weathered, like an old falling-down house battered by wind and rain.

  I asked Grandpa how old he thought Mr. Pickering was. Grandpa tucked his screwdriver into the pocket of his blue coveralls and stood thinking. “He’s been here for fifteen years, or close to it. I’m gonna guess ninety-five or ninety-six. Oldest one on the floor, that’s for sure.”

  “Do you think he’ll live to be one hundred?” I did the math. If Mr. Pickering was ninety-six, that meant he was born in 1923. “He must’ve seen a lot.”

  “Bet he’d tell you, if you asked,” Grandpa said.

  I doubted that. Mr. Pickering was just one of those people who looked like he was happier to be left alone.

  Chapter 3

  Harvey

  Harvey can’t resist squirrels. The next morning, when Olivia lets him out back, he sees one race across the fence, and takes off after it. The squirrel scampers up to safety on the branch of a spruce tree. Harvey waits below, knowing there is nowhere for the squirrel to run except down the trunk. Harvey’s nose quivers at the scents of pinecones and sap that fill the air. His tail pokes straight up, alert, as he stares into the dark branches above.

  A bird distracts Harvey, and the squirrel seizes his opportunity. He races down the tree trunk and bolts for the fence a few yards away. Harvey tears after it, but the squirrel is faster. It makes it to the fence and races along the top. Usually, Harvey’s chase is stymied by the gate that keeps him trapped in the yard. But today, that is not the case. Olivia didn’t know to check the latch on the gate, and it has come loose. Harvey, in a blur of white, finds himself in the front yard and hot on the trail of the squirrel. In fact, Harvey chases the squirrel all the way to the end of Maggie’s street. The squirrel finally escapes by racing up a tree and jumping onto a roof, where it chatters maddeningly at Harvey from two stories up. Harvey barks at first, but now he is distracted by all the smells. Nose down, he engrosses himself in locating and isolating each one, sprinkling many with his own scent.

  He catches a whiff of putrid rubber and tar just before the blast of a horn sends him bolting out of the way. His heart beats wildly in his chest. Harvey knows that streets are dangerous ­places. The loud, rumbling beasts that chug up and down them are to be avoided. Harvey keeps running through yards and thickets of trees.

  A dog on his own does not g
o unnoticed. Harvey can hear voices shouting at him, but they’re not Maggie’s, and hers is the only voice that could make him turn around.

  Harvey runs until a bouquet of dog scents lures him to a forest path. He finds half a sandwich and gobbles it down. Nearby he sees a small culvert with some water at the bottom, and he takes a sniff and a drink of that too. The forest is alive with sounds and smells that lead him off the gravel path and onto one that is made of bark chips. Harvey walks along this path. His curiosity takes him farther and farther away from his home.

  Chapter 4

  Austin

  Because the old people all knew I belong to Grandpa, they were extra chatty. Some days it was hard to get anything done because of all the times I had to stop and talk with them. I complained to Grandpa about it after my first week.

  “What if it was me at Brayside?” he asked. “Would you talk to me?”

  “Yeah, but you’re my grandpa.” It was hard to imagine Grandpa ever getting old enough to live at a retirement villa.

  Grandpa looked me right in the eye and said, “They’re all someone’s grandpa or grandma too. Treat them how you’d want me treated, okay?”

  After that, I went out of my way to say hello to every old person who walked by. I listened when Miss Lin told me about the latest episode of Dateline. And I made sure to smile at all the right parts when I heard the story about Mrs. Gelman’s grandkids for the tenth time.

  That day, as I dusted the baseboards, Mrs. O’Brien asked, “How are you, Austin?” Mrs. O’Brien is one of my favorite old people at Brayside. She’s got a fluffy white cloud of hair and is always trying to feed me—which is fine by me.

  “Good, thanks.”

  “I baked blueberry muffins.” She smiled. I knew there’d be a package of muffins waiting for me at the reception desk when I left. Grandpa says he’s gained ten pounds off Mrs. O’Brien’s baking. She had heart problems a few years ago, but you wouldn’t know it. For an old person, she’s got a ton of energy.