Critters of Mossy Creek

by Deborah Smith

  I thought a minute about how lucky we were to have a healthy baby with what we’d just been through and how it was only right to share our good fortune by giving a home to two of God’s beautiful creatures.

  “We’ll name them Hope and Charity,” I said. “What else?”

  Mossy Creek Gazette

  Volume VII, No. Eight • Mossy Creek, Georgia

  Birth Announcement

  This week the stork dropped off a pink bundle of happiness at the Crane home. (Yes, storks deliver to cranes.) Mossy Creek Police Officer Sandy Bottoms Crane and Mossy Creek Gazette reporter Jess Crane are proud to welcome their first nestling, Faith Crane.

  Faith came a few weeks early, weighing in at only 5 lbs, 3 oz., but Doc Champion is taking good care of her down at Bigelow Regional. She’ll be in an incubator for awhile, but should be home inside a couple of weeks.

  Faith is said to have her mother’s curly hair and her father’s way with words. Jess swears she is already saying “wah” for “water.” Since “wah” is the only sound she makes so far, impartial observers are a little dubious.

  The Cranes plan to move into their new house next week with their bundle of joy. Joining them and Faith to complete the family are a mama kitty and her baby, who Sandy has named Hope and Charity.

  Congratulations, you two! And kudos for repopulating Mossy Creek with both a people baby and a kitty baby!

  The Mice that Roared

  Part Nine

  Win

  “I’m heading back to the bar.” Michael Conners extended his hand. “I’ve got to see what trouble Regina and Buddy have gotten O’Day’s into during the last two hours.”

  I laughed and shook his hand at the door to The Naked Bean & Buns. “Knowing those two, I guess you’d better. Thanks for coming.”

  Michael nodded and pulled on a baseball cap against the gentle spring rain falling outside. He only had a block to walk, since O’Day’s Pub was just up the square, next to town hall. “Restauranteurs need to stick together. I’m glad you’re running. I’ve had about all I can handle of Dwight.”

  “If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that sentiment tonight . . . well, I could finance my campaign.”

  “Charge ’em!” he said with a grin, then stepped into the night.

  I turned back into the nearly empty coffee shop and took a deep breath. It was half past nine. I’d made my big announcement at 7:30 sharp, but the crowd, which had been larger than I’d imagined it would be, had stuck around to encourage me and to visit.

  Across the shop, Ingrid was just coming back in. She’d gone upstairs an hour earlier to put little Matt to bed.

  Bob and Glinda followed on Ingrid’s heels. The two dogs had become bosom buddies, although Glinda had quickly disabused Bob of the notion that she had any romantic interest in him.

  Glinda had done a swift and thorough job of cleaning up the nest of mice that had been plaguing Jayne. Whether they’d been killed, decided to relocate or had been intimidated enough so they didn’t show their ugly faces anymore, they were no longer a problem.

  The Naked Bean & Buns’ Grand Opening last Saturday had been a rousing—and rodent-free—success.

  Spotting Jayne, Glinda ran over to her and poked her nose into Jayne’s leg, as if to say, I’m back. Jayne absently bent to pick her up, settled the tiny dog into the crook of her arm as if she’d been doing it for years, and went back to her conversation with Jess Crane, who was covering the “big news” for the Mossy Creek Gazette. The proud father was here alone tonight. Sandy and their daughter, Faith, were not supposed to be out and about much for a couple more weeks. But Sandy had sent me her blessing.

  I grinned, feeling proud of my role in Jayne’s conversion to the joys of dog ownership, and grabbed a sugar cookie off the tray Betty Halfacre was returning to the bakery side of the shop. “I haven’t had one of your delectables all night.”

  “Busy talking. You’re a politician now.” Betty didn’t talk much, but when she did, it was to the point. “Talking’s your job.”

  I winced. “Good grief. I’ve always thought that ‘politician’ is one of the dirtiest words in the English language.”

  She shrugged and moved on. “Your choice.”

  Yes, it was my choice, and I was more happy about it every day. I loved my adopted town of Mossy Creek, and I had lots of ideas on how to run things better. And since town council was as far as I planned to take my political career, I could avoid the label ‘politician,’ at least in my head.

  I moved across the room to another choice of mine, and discovered that Jayne and Jess weren’t discussing the town council but Faith, Jess and Sandy’s two-week old daughter who had just come home from the hospital.

  Jayne smiled at me as I joined them and made a comment that made it obvious she’d been by to see the newest citizen of Mossy Creek.

  I knew that, of course. I’d dropped by the Bean every day since I introduced Glinda to the Reynolds family. I’d always had a reason, of course, either to discuss tonight’s party or to see how Glinda was doing in her mouse hunt. The excuses were flimsy, and Jayne knew it. It was like our own private joke. I not only enjoyed the joke we shared, I enjoyed the fact that we shared it.

  I hadn’t asked her out yet. We’d both been too busy, what with the Grand Opening and tonight’s shindig. But I intended to remedy that as soon as we chased everyone off.

  That took another half hour. I helped with the clean-up, though Ingrid tried to shoo me away. Betty only regarded me with her black, knowing gaze.

  A little after ten, it was done. Jayne walked her three helpers to the door where we said our goodbyes.

  I lingered after Ingrid and Betty had disappeared down the street.

  Jayne looked tired, but regarded me patiently. “Is there something else?”

  I nodded and leaned against the door she held open. “Yes. Would you like to have supper Friday night?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I usually do have supper on Friday nights.”

  I chuckled. “Okay, Ms. Literal, would you care to dine with me on Friday night?”

  “You’re asking me on a date?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “It’s about time.”

  I chuckled again. “You’re right. It is.”

  “Were you chicken?” she asked.

  “No, just biding my time.”

  “Josie will be glad to hear that. She’s been angsting over it.”

  “I know. You’re not the only one Josie’s been haranguing.”

  “Good to know.”

  “You could’ve asked me, you know.”

  She shrugged. “I know. Josie pointed that out more than one time. I guess I’m a little too old-fashioned for that, especially for a first date.”

  I picked up her hand and caressed the back of it. “I kinda like old-fashioned girls.”

  “Then my chastity belt won’t throw you,” she said.

  “If you mean the kid asleep upstairs, then no. He won’t throw me. He’s growing on me.” I felt my voice lower. “You are, too.”

  Her breath caught, and I felt a tiny thrill that I could make her nervous.

  “So?” I asked.

  “So?”

  “Will you go on a date with me on Friday?”

  “Yes. Where? Oh my, if we go anywhere in town, we’ll be all over the Gazette next week.”

  “I thought we’d go eat fish down on Lake Lanier.”

  “Sounds good.”

  The conversation was complete, but I didn’t want to leave. “You said ‘yes’ awful quick.”

  “Oh, stop being so smug. Would you rather I vacillated? I can Southern Belle with the best of them, if that’s what you want. But I’d rather have an honest relationship.”

  “I insist on it. Honesty, that is.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Noted.”

  I gave her hand a squeeze, then let go. “Good night, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure. I’m rapidly becoming addicted to your mo
cha lattes.”

  “Good night, Win,“ she said softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I watched her lock the door behind me then cross the shop. She turned at the light switch beside the door to her apartment, smiled, then flicked the switch.

  “I’m rapidly becoming addicted to your smiles, too,” I told the darkness, then I turned toward home.

  “You think dogs will not be in heaven?

  I tell you, they will be there long before any of us.”

  —Robert Louis Stevenson

  The Heart Knows

  Possum lumbered off the paved two-lane outside of Mossy Creek and headed along the paved pathway that ran from the Blackshear Veterinary Clinic past the back porch of Ed Brady’s farmhouse. He stepped carefully, avoiding the tiny rocks that speared feet no longer calloused from running through pastures where generations of retired rams—the mascots of Mossy Creek High School back in the day, before the school burned down—had grown old, died and were not replaced—until now.

  Had Possum been human instead of canine, he would have applied for the job as mascot at the new high school. If heart had been the only requirement, he would have won, hands down. Make that paws down.

  But Possum wouldn’t apply. Like his master, Ed, he was too old.

  The new school was complete and would open in the fall. The band uniforms were new. The instruments polished to a lightning shine. But there was no ram ready to carry on tradition, at least not one in Ed’s pen.

  Possum paused, sat back on his haunches and took a deep breath.

  Nothing would be the same. Change came, like a thief, taking time and chewing it into airborne flecks of nothingness.

  Possum released his breath slowly. It was time for him to take up his self-appointed chores, beginning with rounding up Ed and leading him back to Magnolia Manor, where they both now lived.

  The nursing home was divided into three sections: Individual Apartments, Assisted Living, and Medicare patients who were primarily confined their rooms. The staff had long ago given up on keeping Possum outside or Ed inside.

  Miss Irene, the oldest resident of the Manor at age ninety-seven, had threatened to lead another protest march if Possum wasn’t allowed free run of the place. And though it was becoming more difficult each day, Possum made it his duty to spend a few minutes with every patient there. They looked for him, waited for him and made certain that Ed didn’t leave the Manor without his dog. Lately though, Ed had been leaving Possum behind. Possum couldn’t keep up with him.

  The erratic beat of his heart was becoming harder and harder for Possum to conceal. But he didn’t try to fool himself. His final rounds were coming to an end. Not today, but soon.

  His daily trek always allowed for a quick moment with Li HaiKui, Casey and Dr. Hank’s black-eyed little Chinese daughter. Right after naptime, Casey took Li HaiKui on an outing that passed the spot where Blackshear Clinic’s large-animal-recovery pasture joined the tip of Ed Brady’s land. Today was no exception.

  Though his canine eyesight was failing, even Possum could see LiLi’s face light up when she caught site of him.

  Possum made the effort to wag his tail and waited for Casey’s motorized scooter to reach his spot.

  Today, Dr. Hank walked with them. Casey had LiLi sitting in front of her, leaving the scooter’s large wire grocery basket vacant for Possum. The child was beautiful, quiet and gentle, never pulling at Possum’s ears or poking stubby fingers in his eyes. But she was too quiet, and though he was only a dog, Possum sensed that Casey was as concerned about LiLi as he was about Ed.

  There was a time when Possum would have dashed across the field, announcing the intruders with three short yips for play pals and an anxious howl for the unknown. Now, he walked slowly, his tail drooping as if he hadn’t the energy to hold it up.

  He reached the scooter and reared up, placing his feet gently against the metal braces on Casey’s legs. He stood very still, waiting for LiLi to giggle like other children did. Rippling his skin beneath her touch, he waited for some response. LiLi did nothing except draw tentative little circles on Possum’s head.

  Dr. Hank lifted Possum into the wire grocery basket attached to the front of the scooter. She had placed a small pillow on the bottom. Possum nestled in the padding and leaned toward LiLi.

  There was no touching. No peal of laughter. The doctors had found no reason for LiLi not to speak more than a few words. “She’ll talk when she gets ready. We just have to be patient,” they said, just like they said about Casey’s lifeless legs. But even Casey’s father, Dr. Champion, seemed less certain.

  Possum twisted around to lick the arm holding LiLi.

  Casey squeezed the dog and whispered, “I know, old boy. This is the cripple mobile. I have no working legs, LiLi doesn’t speak, and you’re fooling yourself about your abilities.” Casey cranked the electric motor and pulled onto the path. She’d give Possum a ride back to town today, as she did more and more often.

  “When will you know, Hank?” she asked.

  Hank said. “They’ll fax it to me. “I’d go with you, but I’m going to wait on the report.”

  “Have you seen Ed this afternoon?” Casey glanced at her watch. Ed managed the short trip to his old home every day, returning to Magnolia Manor at night. He still considered himself a working farmer.

  Hank shook his head. “Call me when you find Ed, and I’ll come pick you up.”

  Casey nodded and increased her speed.

  Ed wasn’t at the holding pen constructed for the new ram mascot arriving next week. Police Chief Royden and the city council had all agreed that even though the new stadium wouldn’t be ready for another year, the appearance of their mascot would build school spirit, and spirit was important since the new Mossy Creek football team would have to play its first season’s home games at the stadium of Mossy Creek’s biggest rival, Bigelow High.

  “Let’s look for Uncle Ed here,” Casey said, tousling her daughter’s hair as she came to a stop in front of Ed’s house. “I bet he went inside for a drink of water.”

  Possum managed to climb out of the basket with Casey hoisting his rump from behind. He lumbered into the house. But Ed wasn’t inside the cold, dark kitchen of the house where he and his Ellie had lived for so many years.

  Possum trudged back to Casey’s scooter, his heart thumping hard with worry.

  ooo

  By the time Casey returned Possum to town, a late afternoon wind picked up, ruffling the brown grass of the square’s still-dormant lawn. Soon the square would be green with new growth. Possum leaned his neck across LiLi’s knee and licked her leg good-bye. What would the little girl do when both he and Ed were gone? She couldn’t talk and made no effort to try. Stoic and wooden, she was content to sit wherever she was placed.

  “She’s happy,” everyone claimed.

  But Possum wasn’t certain.

  ooo

  That afternoon, not only could Ed not be found, but Miss Irene had disappeared as well. Since the two of them were notoriously independent, Casey didn’t call Chief Royden and launch a search. With Possum perched in the scooter’s basket, she prowled all the shops to confirm Ed and Miss Irene weren’t there, then finally drove her red scooter across her namesake, Casey’s Bridge, outside the library. She came to a halt beside Hank, who was leaning back against his battered old treatment van. He was holding a blue-edged sheet of paper, a faxed lab report. Hank rarely had the lab fax their findings. Today he had.

  “How bad is it?” she finally asked. She lowered her voice as if Possum might overhear. Possum, however, just kept gazing sadly at LiLi, who gently stroked his head.

  “Bad. All the results aren’t in yet, but the radiographs are pretty clear.” Hank glanced down at the file he was holding.

  Casey shifted LiLi Kui from one knee to the other. She hadn’t mentioned to anyone that she’d begun to feel an occasional twinge in her right leg when she tried to walk with her braces and crutches. Today the twinge was especially strong wher
e the two-year-old sat on her lap. Casey was afraid to voice the words: Was it possible she might regain some sensation in her paralyzed legs?

  “So?” Casey asked. “Are you going to tell me what it says, or do I have to put on my doctor’s greens and read the diagnosis myself?”

  Hank tapped the folder in the palm his hand. “Possum is an old, old fellow. We know that. He was full grown the first time he followed Ed home after Ed rounded up that old ram he boarded for the school.”

  “The last one? After the high school burned down?”

  “Yes. The last school mascot. That was twenty years ago.”

  “That ram was a legend.”

  Hank nodded. “Mayor Ida told Dad that the ram seemed to truly believe he was the last hope for the spirit of the Mossy Creek football team. As if he had to keep up the fight for our pride and independence. So once a month or so, he managed to open the pasture gate and let himself out. Possum would round him up and herd him back to Ed’s pasture.”

  Casey nodded. She’d been a girl then, a girl who still had an athlete’s body—before the wreck that took away any dream of competing in the Olympics. “Now, instead of a ram, Possum herds Ed back to Magnolia Manor in time for supper. It’s as if Possum realizes that Ed represents the last of his kind, too.” She glanced up at her husband. “How bad is it, Hank?”

  Reluctance thickened his voice as he said, “It’s bad. The big C, Casey. Don’t know how Possum’s managed to follow Ed around as long as he has.”

  Casey took a deep breath, nuzzling LiLi, who watched Possum intently. “I’ll tell you how. He’s stubborn. Just like Ed. Can you do anything for him?”

  “I can keep him from being in pain, but that’s about all. Ed’s going to have to stop striking off on his own. What’s going to happen to him when Possum isn’t around to find him?”

  Casey nodded. Everybody looked after Ed when cataracts almost blinded him. But now they couldn’t reason with him. “It isn’t his eyes. It’s his mind. More times not, Ed loses track of where he is, and Possum has to get him home. What are we going to do, Hank?”