by Bobbie Pyron
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.
The next day, me and Daddy bumped along the red clay road that took us to Harmony Gap. Daddy hummed under his breath.
“Daddy,” I said, “we’ve been home for days now. When’re we going back up to Virginia to look for Tam?”
Daddy stopped humming and rubbed the back of his neck like he always does when he doesn’t know the answer to something. “I’m not exactly sure, peanut. Soon.”
“Mama promised,” I reminded him.
“I know she did,” Daddy said with a frown. “But you’ve both had doctor appointments and whatnot. Plus she’s had to go back to work, you know. She can’t just take off work whenever she feels like it.”
I thought my head would explode like a volcano. “She promised!”
Daddy shot me a look. “I know what was said, Abby. I was there too, remember? And what she said was we’d try our best to get back up there.”
“Doesn’t seem to me like there’s a whole heck of a lot of trying going on,” I muttered.
“Besides,” Daddy said, ignoring me, “you’ve been calling that ranger station every day at least once. They know to watch out for him.”
Daddy swung the truck into the parking space in front of the post office. “Let’s get these packages of yarn mailed off to your mama’s customers.” He scooped up a big stack of boxes labeled Whistler Farm Specialty Fibers.
Old Mr. McGruber was the only one behind the high wooden desk, which accounted for the line of people waiting to do their business. Mr. McGruber saw it as his God-given duty to ask after every customer’s health and their family’s health and all their animals’ health. And then he told them about his.
I sighed and shifted my weight on those crutches. Daddy smiled down at me and winked.
“Hey there, Abby.” A hand touched my shoulder.
Mr. Morgan’s kind eyes took in my banged-up head, crutches, and cast.
“Hey, Mr. Morgan,” I said. Me and Tam took our first agility class from him.
“I sure was sorry to hear about your accident,” he said, shaking his head. “And about Tam. He was a real special little dog.”
I stood up as straight as I could and looked him directly in the eye. “We’re heading back up there in the next day or two to get him.”
Mr. Morgan’s bushy black eyebrows pulled together. “Someone found him?”
Daddy shook his head.
“Not exactly yet,” I said. “But he’s up there waiting for me. I can feel it.”
Mr. Morgan and Daddy passed one of those looks between them.
“Well, I hope that’s true, Abby honey,” Mr. Morgan said, patting my shoulder.
At supper that night, I said, “Mama, are we going back up to Virginia this weekend to find Tam?”
Everyone stopped chewing. Daddy and Meemaw looked at Mama.
Mama set down her fork and ran her napkin across her lips. “Well, I hadn’t had time to think about it.”
“You promised, remember?” I said, not looking at Daddy.
Mama nodded. “Yes, I said we’d do our best to get back up there.” She looked at Daddy. “What do you think, Ian?”
Daddy frowned. “It’s a long ways back up to Virginia. Even if we made a three-day weekend of it, it’d mostly be driving.”
“It’s not that far,” I said. “We could be back up there in no time.”
Mama and Daddy looked at me like I’d grown two heads. “Abby honey, it’s well over four hundred miles from here to where y’all crashed on the Parkway,” Daddy said.
I about spit my peas across the table. “Four hundred miles? That can’t be right! We made it home in no time, and…”
“You slept most of the way back,” Mama pointed out.
I looked at Meemaw. She nodded.
“We’ve been calling the ranger station every day, though,” Mama said.
“It’s not the same,” I snapped.
“Abby,” Daddy warned.
“No, Abby’s right. It’s not the same,” Mama said.
I about fell out of my chair in pure astonishment.
“I did say we’d try our best to get back up there. I always keep my word.”
Daddy sighed. “All right. I reckon it won’t hurt to take a quick trip back up there. We’ll leave Friday and come back Sunday.”
“Can’t we come back Monday?” I asked.
“No, Abby. We’ve let you stay out of school this week, but you can’t afford to miss any more.”
I was sorely tempted to point out that until just a couple years ago, they homeschooled me. But Meemaw is forever reminding me you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. So instead I smiled sweet as coconut-cream pie and said, “Thank you, Mama. I just know we’ll find him this time.”
That was on Wednesday.
On Thursday Daddy’s van broke down in Asheville.
“I’m sorry, peanut,” Daddy said when he finally got a ride home that night. “I know you had your heart set on leaving tomorrow for Virginia, but we don’t have a way to get up there.”
“We have to, Daddy! Can’t we borrow a car or something?”
Daddy rubbed a greasy hand across his tired face. “I got to get our van fixed. Until your mama gets her new truck, we’re stuck.”
“But Daddy—”
“Enough buts,” he said. “I’m just as frustrated as you are. The band is scheduled to head out for a bunch of gigs next week. I need that van working.” He sighed a long, deep-down sigh. “Lord knows where the money’s going to come from to fix it.”
He pulled back the covers and patted the bed. “Maybe once your mama gets her new truck, y’all can make a trip back up. Until then, we’ll keep calling and praying.”
I burrowed down into the warm smell of Tam in my blankets. Ginseng the cat purred on the pillow next to me.
Fighting back an ocean of tears, I said, “I’ll never give up on finding Tam, Daddy. Never.”
CHAPTER 10
Tam
As the days passed, hunger as strong as his need for the girl drove Tam. The light step that had carried him for days and miles grew heavier. Still, at precisely three thirty every afternoon, the hunger to see his girl propelled him south along the Parkway.
Tam nosed a paper bag blown to the side of the road. All he found were two dried-up french fries and a shriveled piece of lettuce. He licked a smear of ketchup from the inside of the bag and moved on.
He watched squirrels and chipmunks stuff acorns and berries in their bulging cheeks. But the acorns were bitter, the berries tough and sour. He picked at whatever green grass he could find, but it wasn’t enough. Tam was starving.
On a cloudy late afternoon, a scent pulled Tam to a place where people had been. He nosed around the picnic tables dotting the meadow. He found a few crusts of bread and some potato chips, but as hard as he searched, he found nothing else. As dusk descended on the mountain, Tam scratched out a bed beneath a picnic table. Misery filled his stomach. A small brick bathroom squatted to the side of the parking lot. A flyer with Tam’s face flapped in the evening breeze.
A crash woke him. Peering through the light rain, Tam saw the black mask of a raccoon as he crawled across an overturned garbage can. The raccoon pried and pulled at the metal top with his humanlike hands, methodically working the edges of the lid. Then, bracing his powerful back legs against the bottom of the trash can, he tugged at the top edge until the top popped off.
Tam’s nose filled with the scent of food.
The raccoon dug through the garbage. He pulled out half-eaten sandwiches, apple cores, hot dog buns, fried chicken remains, and a carton of old potato salad. An empty soda can rolled down the parking lot.
Tam crept from under the picnic table and moved toward the garbage can and the wonderful smell of food. He knew about garbage. He had gotten in trouble more than once for tipping over the tall can in the kitchen. The old woman had scol
ded him and shut him outside. After the girl had called him “bad dog” in her angry voice, he’d never gotten into the garbage again.
But now Tam was starving. And as much as the memory of displeasing his girl held him back, the hunger clawing at his stomach pushed him forward.
The raccoon sorted busily through the trash. He didn’t hear Tam until he barked a friendly woof. Tam wagged his tail hopefully. He’d never met a raccoon before, but this one reminded him of the cats at home.
The raccoon hunched over his prize, growling and hissing. Sometimes the cats hissed too, but it was just part of the game they played. Tam wagged his tail again, took one step forward. The raccoon bristled. He pulled his lips back, flashing sharp, white teeth.
The sheltie barked, thrusting his head forward.
Quick as a flash, the raccoon raked his claws across Tam’s face, barely missing his eye. Tam smelled blood. This had never happened with the cats.
Tam retreated to his shelter under the picnic table, his sorrowful eyes abrim with misery.
After a time, the creature waddled off. Tam watched the garbage. Once he was certain the raccoon was not coming back, he returned to the can. All that remained were a few chicken bones, a watermelon rind, and half a hot dog bun. The memory of his girl’s voice saying “Bad dog, Tam!” faded with every bite he took.
It rained hard for two days. Autumnal winds stripped the last of the bright yellow leaves from the trees.
Tam pushed farther into the corner of the brick bathroom, watching wind blow sheets of rain past the doorway. What little garbage there had been in the cans, Tam had eaten. He licked a cut on his pad, then sighed. He slept as the day slipped from gray to black.
Headlights swung into the parking lot, settling just above Tam. Laughter and the slam of a car door startled him from sleep. Music throbbed from the car.
Tam sat up, nose sorting through the scents of rain, wet earth, sweet smoke, and people. Unsteady footsteps stumbled toward Tam. He whined uncertainly. Something about the car, the laughter, and the human coming toward him didn’t smell right. Still, people meant food. His instinct told him to run and hide before anyone saw him; his stomach told him to stay.
Too late, Tam decided to honor his instinct to run.
Just as he started to scoot around the doorway, long legs and big feet blocked his way. He scrambled to the corner.
“Holy crap!” a voice cried. “It’s a fox in here!” Legs and feet stumbled backward, tripped over a tree root, body sprawling. Hoots of laughter from the car, angry voice from the human on the wet ground.
Tam crouched, muscles tensed. Just as he was about to shoot through the doorway, a bottle exploded above his head. Foul-smelling liquid and glass rained down upon him.
The human pulled himself up off the ground. “Git, you no-good vermin!”
Tam cowered, looking frantically for a way out.
The man moved toward him, smelling of anger. For the first time in Tam’s life, he bared his teeth and growled at a human.
The man stopped just short of the doorway. Tam growled louder, warning him away.
“Why, you no-good chicken killer,” the human growled back. He grabbed a rock and hurled it at the dog. The stone ricocheted like gunshot off the brick wall. Tam yelped in alarm.
The man turned his back to Tam and called through the rain, “Hey, Beattie, you got your shotgun? I got me a fox cornered over here I need to take care of.”
When the human looked back, the bathroom was empty.
CHAPTER 11
Abby
As soon as school let out Monday afternoon, I went to the front office.
The secretary, Miss Peasly, sorted papers behind the counter. I cleared my throat.
Miss Peasly looked up and smiled. “Well, hi there, Abby. Did you have a good day at school?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The first lie.
“That’s nice, honey,” she said, picking up her papers.
I shifted my weight on my crutches. “Um…”
She looked up at me again. “Is there something you need, Abby?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I need a ride to the bus station.”
She took her glasses off and let them hang from strings against her big bosom. “Why in the world would you need a ride to the bus station?” she asked.
I swallowed. “I…I have a relative coming in on the bus this afternoon. From Virginia. I have to meet him there.” The second lie.
She puckered up her lips. “Why don’t your mama or daddy pick him up?”
My hands started to sweat, and my stomach itched. This lying was hard. “My mama’s going to meet us both there and carry us on back to the house. I’m—I’m just going to surprise her. I mean him.”
Miss Peasly studied me for a minute too long. I about melted in a puddle of relief when she said, “I guess I can do that. I have to go right by there on my way home.” She put the papers away in the file cabinet. “Give me just a minute and I’ll run you over there.”
I crutched over to the bench where kids usually sat when they were waiting to see the principal. Bad kids. I felt like a bad kid too, telling all those lies to a nice person like Miss Peasly.
I pulled the bus schedule I’d printed out on the school library printer from my backpack. I had to catch the three forty-five bus to Asheville if I had any hope of getting the bus up to Waynesboro, Virginia, tonight.
I glanced at the big clock on the wall. Right about now, the bus to my house would be pulling out of the school yard. I wished Miss Peasly would hurry up.
“Let’s go, sugar,” Miss Peasly said, swinging a big plastic purse over her shoulder.
I’m here to tell you, Miss Peasly is the slowest driver on God’s green earth. She drove with one arm hanging out the car window, waving to anybody and everybody, like we had all the time in the world. Which I surely did not.
“When do you get that cast off?” she asked me.
“Couple weeks,” I said. At which point, I would be back from Virginia with Tam.
“You settling into school okay this year? I know it’s been a hard adjustment after being homeschooled and all.”
I just shrugged. Then, remembering my manners, I said, “Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled over at me. “It must have been exciting traveling with your daddy’s band, the Clear Creek Boys.”
I’d never really thought about it being exciting or not. It was all I’d known since I was first born, traveling all over the place in our old camper van surrounded by music.
When I didn’t answer, she said, “I know your grandmamma was thankful when y’all moved in after your granddaddy died so unexpectedly. That place of hers way up in Wild Cat Cove is too isolated for a woman alone.”
Finally, the Greyhound bus station came into view.
Before she came to a full stop, I unbuckled my seat belt. “I surely do appreciate the ride,” I said. I swung open the car door, scooted my crutches out in front of me, and put on my pack.
I slammed the car door shut. Miss Peasly stretched across the car seat and looked at me like she was trying to think of what else to say. She opened that puckery mouth of hers. “Abby, are you sure—”
I waved. “Thanks again,” I called as I crutched as fast as I could into the bus station.
The bus station was practically empty. An old man in overalls slept sitting up on the bench by the Coke machine; a woman fussed with her cranky baby.
I marched as best I could up to the ticket window. An old man looked up from a paperback book.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
In my oldest voice, I said, “I’d like to purchase a ticket to Asheville, North Carolina.” I said it just like I bought bus tickets all the time.
He pushed his glasses up on his nose and leaned forward to get a better look at me. “You would, would you?”
I tried my best to look taller with those stupid crutches. “Yes, sir, I would. I got to go up and see my grandmamma. She’s sick.” This time, the lie sli
d off my tongue easy as hot butter.
He leaned out a little farther and looked around the room. “Anyone traveling with you, young lady?”
“No, sir,” I said. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. “But my granddaddy’ll meet my bus in Asheville.”
The clock in his office ticked. We looked at each other. Finally he sighed and said, “That’ll be forty dollars and sixty cents. Next bus is in fifteen minutes.”
I counted out some of the money I’d saved from our win at the agility competition. I surely hoped the rest would buy my bus ticket to Virginia.
After I got my ticket, I bought a Coke from the machine. Mama never let me have Cokes. She said they eat the enamel off your teeth. I figured she’d never know. Besides, I needed lots of brainpower to figure out just what I was going to do once I got to Virginia.
I sat on a bench away from the fussy baby and the snoring man. Fifteen minutes. I’d just make it out of town before Meemaw realized I wasn’t coming home.
I took a swallow of Coke. It burned my throat. Maybe Mama was right.
I set the Coke on the floor and unzipped my pack. Instead of all my schoolbooks, notebooks, and stuff, I had: a clean shirt, a clean pair of underwear, a whistle, a picture of Tam, my lucky baseball cap that said Shelties Rule!, the lunch Mama packed that I never ate, my old beat-up copy of The Secret Garden, which I must’ve read a million times, and my map-drawing sketch pad.
I glanced at the clock. Just two more minutes. Two more minutes and I’d be on my way to find Tam. I wasn’t exactly sure how it was all going to work when I got to Virginia, but I figured it would come to me.
I propped my sketch pad on my knees and studied the map I’d been working on since the accident. I’d drawn in the mountains, and the song Mama and I had been singing, and the winding, winding road, the long shadows of the late afternoon sun, and the deer they said had likely darted in front of the truck. It made me sick to think about it, but I had to draw in Tam and the screeching tires, the smell of burning rubber, shattering glass, how the trees must’ve somersaulted as he and the crate were thrown from the truck. My heart beat in my throat. Sweat popped out on my arms.
