Rebecca & Heart

by Deanna K. Klingel

  Heart sniffs at a frayed section of the fabric cord. He whines, paces, and paws the cord lightly, not liking this new piece of equipment, either. I don’t like that Heart doesn’t like it. That bothers me. The jar begins to hiss and sputter. A cloud of damp steam spews from a funnel in the lid.

  The moist air from the vaporizer causes Baby’s hair to look wet and flat, but her coughing subsides and Baby finally sleeps.

  “A bloomin’ miracle!” proclaims Nurse. And finally we all fall asleep for the first time in a few nights.

  Heart is the first to awaken. It is still dark outside when he jumps off his old army blanket onto the floor and goes to the door, where he whines and paws, pacing impatiently. I hear him and so does Rebecca. She sits up in her bed. Heart barks and jumps at the door, knocking himself hard against it, over and over, whining. What is he doing, Why isn’t he sleeping?

  Rebecca looks out the window into the darkness and watches flickering reflections of red and orange lights on the window. Is that what Heart sees, I wonder? I fly to the window and rest on the glass to have a better look.

  Heart barks and paws the door frantically. He jumps onto the bed and pulls at her nightgown until Rebecca is out of the bed. She goes to the door and opens it. Smoke fills her room. It burns her eyes. She clutches Heart’s neck and her hand finds a voice. She coughs.

  Her hand says, ‘Hurry!’ I race in frantic figure eights through the smoke-filled air.

  Heart trots through the smoke with Rebecca stumbling, coughing beside him. With her burning eyes closed, she clutches his collar. Together they hurry to the nursery.

  Heart flies through the air, hits the nursery door broadside and the door flies open. The curtain and the closet are aglow with licking flames as smoke fills the room. I have to get out while I can still fly. Rebecca hears the baby cough and cry. She runs directly to the crib and snatches Baby out.

  “Hurry!” she says to Heart aloud, and reaches out to find him. She grabs his collar in one hand, and carries the baby under her arm with the other hand. Her eyes are burning; she can’t see, and she can’t breathe. I pause for a breather on the stair railing hoping to see them coming down soon.

  “Hurry!” she says with her aloud voice. Stumbling down the corridor, they arrive at the top of the staircase. I see them! I hop up and down with joy. With the smoke behind them, they hurry down the stairs, through the kitchen and out the back door. Rebecca runs to the lilac bush and lays the baby in Heart’s hollowed out space under the bush. She runs back to the steps, but Heart isn’t there. I watch from a branch on the lilac bush. Where has he gone? She sits down on the step and lets the confusion wash over her. Where is he?

  “Hurry!” she says softly. “Hurry,” her mind says silently. Her posture freezes.

  We hear the confusion of terrified voices, the roar of the fire, and the crash of things falling upstairs, shattering glass, and screams.

  “Hurry.” She rocks frantically on the step. Loud voices erupt in the kitchen behind her. Butler dashes out the pantry door. Cook calls and shouts names trying to locate everyone. Gardener runs hobbling, as best he can, past her with tools and bucket, shouting orders to no one in particular. I wish I could help in some way, but what can a fly on the wall do besides report on the action?

  The mother and the father stumble through the back door, moaning, coughing, and weeping. In their nightclothes, they fall over Rebecca on the stairs. Picking themselves up off the grass, the mother grabs Rebecca and screams, holding her tightly and crying hysterically with relief that she is safe. Rebecca’s body is rigid. She’s silent. Everyone gathers by the kitchen step and watches the raging inferno upstairs.

  I watch with Rebecca. Where can Heart be? We see leaves on the trees curling up outside the windows. We see smoke pouring out under the roof shingles. We watch ladders passing by, and neighbors carrying blankets. We see the town fire brigade arrive, bells clanging, men carrying buckets and shouting. But we don’t see Heart. I can’t move. Rebecca is still as a statue in the cemetery.

  Nurse is trying to comfort the mother. The mother hysterically pounds her fists against the tree. She stamps her feet and cries. Cook comes to check on Rebecca.

  “Are you all right, dear?” She checks Rebecca’s arms and face. “My goodness, you are singed. We must have the doctor take a look at you.”

  Rebecca looks at Cook. “Heart?” she asks.

  “We’ll find him, Rebecca. He’ll come home.” But Cook isn’t very convincing.

  The roof is mostly gone; the upstairs is a glowing pile of ash. But the well-built brick and stone house, with its heavy doors, has stood well against the fire.

  Dawn is beginning to break. It’s a dark and gloomy morning. Cold rain is beginning to fall. The fire brigade prepares to leave. The captain is talking to Cook, finishing up his report.

  “Your household is lucky at that,” he says. “I’d like to know the whole story, if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, like I said, we were all asleep when the fire broke out.” Cook begins to cry. “Oh, the poor wee one,” she sobs. “And the missus, she’ll never get over this loss.” Cook tries to collect herself and continues her interview with the fire chief.

  “It’s the dog – Rebecca’s dog – Heart – who’s saved us all. He clawed the doors, awakened us by barking, and led everyone to the stairs. He must’ve gotten Rebecca out as well; she wouldn’t have been able to get herself out. She freezes up when she’s frightened, you know. So, for him barking, pulling bedclothes, and clawing the doors, it seems we all got out safely, except for…” and she broke down sobbing again. “…except for the baby.”

  “Terribly sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he says kindly. “I’d heard you had the odd girl here. Me cousin is one, too. Take heart for it, Ma’am. Me auntie wasn’t fer puttin’ the boy into the institution like folks said she should do. She keeps him with her and teaches him herself and what do you think happened? He raises the roof at times, but he’s l’arnin’ to cope with life, he is. There’s hope for your girl. Again, I’m so sorry about the wee bairn.”

  Someone – I don’t see who – wraps a blanket around Rebecca, but she’s unaware. She stands at the corner of the house. She shivers, sucks her fingers, and hits her head against the rain gutter on the corner of the house.

  The mother is on the lawn crying fitfully, while neighbors cover her with dry blankets. A man I’ve not seen before shelters the mother with his umbrella. The father paces, wrings his hands, and moans.

  I listen to the rain and I know it’s turning to sleet. I shelter under the eave. Town folks move sympathetically around, trying to find ways to be helpful. They dole out blankets and umbrellas. Cook wraps a tea towel around her nose and enters the smoky kitchen to brew tea. Me? I just feel so useless, clinging beneath the porch overhang.

  “Where is this dog?” everyone wants to know when they hear how Heart sounded the alarm. But, no one has seen him.

  The fire brigade captain issues the official statement, telling that the dog is indeed a hero, and, unfortunately, has died a heroic death. It was certain he’d not made it out alive.

  The shivering crowd begins to thin out. The air smells putrid. The sleet is complicating the final procedures for the fire brigade.

  It’s complicating things for me, too. I can hardly get airborne. I have to get to a better shelter. I crawl into the wood pile where I can stay dry between the logs and still keep an eye on Rebecca.

  Rebecca looks up watching the smoke still hovering like a storm cloud over the blackened second story. She sees the father take the mother away in the motor car. She watches the brigade struggling, with cold hands, to put their equipment away. Ice clings to Rebecca’s hair and she shivers with cold.

  “That must’ve been quite a dog, that one, and he was a hero for sure,” remarks Clancy, the first fireman.

  “Not was,” said the second fireman. “He is a hero, man.”

  “Sure not,” argues Clancy. “He’s not made it out of that inferno
alive.” He nods toward the upstairs.

  “Sure and he did!” exclaims the second fireman. “I saw the bravery m’self. Came crashin’ through that dormer window up there and jumps down to the roof, he did. He jumps from the roof to the porch, my man, and then all the way to the ground, draggin’ a smolderin’ old army blanket, he was. Old gardener man beat the fire out of the blanket with his shovel, and the dog took off, draggin’ it behind. Seen it with me own eyes, I did. ‘Tis the God’s truth, ‘tis.”

  “Well, I’ll be. That’s a bit o’ good news, then, isn’t it?”

  I’ll say it is. Rebecca will be so happy. Wish I could be the one to tell her. Though I wonder where Heart has gone.

  The fire brigade packs the final bit of equipment as the daylight tries to win out over the gloom. They are anxious to be gone.

  Alone in the early light shivering in her blanket, Rebecca walks into the kitchen. I flutter my wings to warm up and quickly follow her inside.

  Cook embraces her. Rebecca stiffens, but she doesn’t pull away.

  “Poor child, poor cold, wet child,” Cook sobs, “and poor dead baby.” She sobs louder.

  “Baby,” says Rebecca. “Baby. B-A-B-Y. Hurry.” Rebecca turns toward the door.

  “Oh, no, child, you mustn’t go back outside. As terrible as the air smells in here, the outside elements are worse. You must stay in now and drink some hot tea. They’ll all be returning from hospital soon. It’ll be all right. Let me find you a biscuit.” She chatters and moves quickly about the kitchen, flustered, and nervously wiping her escaping tears.

  Cook is startled when Rebecca grabs the blanket that is wrapped around Cook’s shoulders. She tugs on it and looks Cook directly in the eyes.

  “Hurry. Baby. Hurry.” Astonished, Cook follows Rebecca out the door, into the rainy first light and across the slippery lawn where shards of ice cling to the blades of grass. She follows her to the lilac bush and watches her kneel down.

  “Baby,” she says. She’s greeted by a face full of cold icy fur, and Cook shrieks with delight.

  “Heart! It’s you old boy, and you’re alive! Praises be!” Rebecca hugs the cold, wet, icy neck. I bob up and down with joy flipping through the brittle lilac branches. Heart wags his tail, but doesn’t get up.

  “Oh, mercy,” says Cook, “he must’ve gotten himself injured.” She bends down to inspect him for injuries.

  Well, this fly on the wall can tell you truthfully, Cook tells the story of Heart’s heroics to anyone who will listen for the rest of her long life. I hear it so many times, I memorize it.

  “You won’t believe this,” she says. “Like a doubting Thomas, I wouldn’t have believed it myself, if I didn’t see it. But there he is. He’s stretched out over his old hollowed hole like a pot cover. Under him is his old army blanket, scorched it is, clean through it in places. Under the army blanket lays the sleeping baby, warm, safe, and sleeping soundly in the dirt. I tell you, I never saw the like. It was a miracle to behold.”

  And every time she tells this story, people say, “Praises be,” or “Glory be,” and “Thanks be to God,” instead of “the poor little soul.”

  The fire brigade comes by after they hear the story, and bestow a medal of honor on Heart calling him a Life-Saving Hero and honorary member of the town fire brigade. The photo of him wearing a fire hat and his medal around his neck, appears in the newspaper, which Butler cuts out and saves for Rebecca.

  Chapter 13

  Sisters

  The upstairs rooms are rebuilt and the roof put back on. Life goes on pretty much as usual for a while.

  Rebecca enjoys caring for Baby. The rest of the family calls her Carrie. Rebecca always calls her Baby.

  “It’s who you are,” I hear her whisper to the baby. “Youngest. Baby.”

  She plays with the baby’s building blocks and counts them for her. She stacks them in even numbers and divides them into equal sets by color. Baby thinks it’s funny when she knocks them down. Rebecca is learning to be forgiving, but she doesn’t think it’s funny. She prefers to see the blocks in order, rather than scattered. When the blocks scatter, Heart picks them up and returns the farthest ones to Rebecca. She gathers them in sets of fours or sixes, putting order into the chaotic blocks for Baby. The baby giggles and tosses them about. Rebecca hugs herself in frustration.

  Rebecca crawls on the floor with Baby, silently counting the floor boards or carpeting patterns. Baby laughs. When Baby sucks her thumb, Rebecca sucks her fingers, to be sociable; Heart licks his paws, since it seems the appropriate thing to do. Even I move my mouth parts, though no one would ever know that.

  Baby likes Heart. She grabs fistfuls of his long hair, bringing Rebecca to his rescue. She hates it when Baby grabs her hair, too. Heart tolerates the baby. She often smells and tastes like food, and because Rebecca likes her he tolerates her climbing on him. When Baby learns to stand, it’s with Heart for assistance. Rebecca picks Baby up, but if Baby grabs her hair or her face, she quickly puts her down and walks away with Heart, leaving Baby broken hearted without a playmate. Baby is learning if she wants to play she can’t grab or pull hair. I think Rebecca is a pretty good teacher, without even saying a word.

  Rebecca and Heart walk Baby in her pram up and down the street. People wave, but Rebecca doesn’t notice. Heart walks protectively beside both his girls.

  Rebecca and I certainly notice how big the baby is getting. She is more able and more capable of doing things for herself. One afternoon while Baby and Heart napped, the mother commented on this.

  “You can see, Rebecca, how Carrie is growing bigger. You are also growing up. You’re getting to be a young lady now. It’s time for you to learn to do some things for yourself, too. You could learn to comb and brush your own hair. Butler taught you to polish your own shoes and I see you do that quite well. Will you allow me to show you how to take care of your own hair?”

  Well, we’ve come a long way haven’t we? I remember when the head mistress sat on her to put her braids in. Oh, the wailing and flailing that day!

  A few evenings later when Baby is in bed, Rebecca brings the mother her silver comb and brush set. She sits down in front of the mother. She squeezes her eyes shut tightly, sure it’s going to hurt. She clenches her fists and holds her arms straight out. I sense her resolve to do this. I find that courageous, don’t you? To face head on something that terrifies one, is indeed heroic, I believe. But the mother brushes carefully, and hums a little song to her. Rebecca relaxes her hands. Heart comes out of hiding and lays his head across Rebecca’s lap. We can see her face relaxing, jaws no longer clenched. Rebecca’s eyes are open and focused on Heart for encouragement.

  Rebecca takes her fingers out of her mouth, takes the comb and brush in her hand, and the mother helps her get into the motion. It’s up and down. She can do this. Up and down. She rocks back and forth with the rhythm of the hair brush. Heart’s tail thumps, up and down. Even my green body gets caught up in the rhythm and pulses, up and down.

  The next day Rebecca sits with the baby. She brushes the baby’s hair; up and down, up and down.

  Later when Baby is put to bed Rebecca brings her doll and lays it beside Baby. The doll’s eyes closed, and so did Baby’s.

  “Two,” Rebecca says. “Two babies.”

  “You’re growing up nicely, Rebecca,” the mother says. Heart looks up at the mother and winks. I flick my wings in agreement.

  Chapter 14

  Picnic

  “The Ladies’ Auxiliary is having the annual spring picnic next Saturday. I think we shall all go.”

  “Oh, yes, Missus, I think Rebecca and Heart will have a fine time at the picnic,” agrees Butler.

  “So glad to see the winter behind us,” Cook said, passing through the kitchen. “I’m in the mood for a picnic. A good outing for the baby and Rebecca, too.”

  Picnic? Did someone say picnic? Even I could withstand another claustrophobic ride in the motor car to get to a picnic. Picnics are acres and acres of food an
d beverage, with no fly swatters and lots of air space.

  Saturday, the mother laid out a new summer dress and pinafore for Rebecca. She pins flowers in Rebecca’s hair. Rebecca sees them from the corner of her eye and yanks them out. Cook packs the picnic hamper, while I supervise from atop the pantry door. Butler hands Rebecca the red leash. She attaches it to Heart’s collar and drops the other end on the ground.

  We all parade to the Daimler Coupe, the family’s motor car. Butler has polished all the shiny chrome and waxed the body. It’s so shiny, when I land on it I can actually see myself reflected, like a top and a bottom of me, and all my eyes gleaming red. It’s a fine looking motor car. As soon as the door opens I buzz inside and hide myself against the black leather upholstery.

  During a bouncing jaunty ride into the countryside the father and the mother sing silly songs. Rebecca puts one hand over her ears and the fingers of the other hand into her mouth. We finally arrive at the picnic grounds, where I can see Rebecca is the only girl without flowers in her hair.

  Cook spreads the tablecloth under the shade of a large tree. From a hole in the crotch of a walnut tree, I breathe the fresh air and roast chicken drippings. I pace back and forth on the limb, awaiting the food.

  I don’t see it. How could I be so careless? In an instant I’m snagged. The sticky web clings to my feet and wings. I can’t get away. I buzz and tear at the web. I twist and turn. The harder I struggle, the stickier I get. Then I see her. Black furry legs. Yellow striped body. Large peering eyes. She opens her mouth. I freeze from fright. This is the end of me. I close some of my eyes and draw in my wings. I gulp what is surely my last breath.

  Suddenly a flash of fur races down the limb toward me. A loud bark and Heart’s big paws reach the crotch of the tree. The little squirrel zips past me, catching the web on his leg, tearing it apart. He leaps out of reach of Heart, who barks and barks. The squirrel’s leg drags the web for a ways, pulling me, dragging and bouncing, over the rough bark, but before long I feel the air circulating around my little body, and I know I’m free from the spider’s web. I sit for a moment or two to regain my composure, slow my heart rate, and iron out my wings. I feel so small and so fragile, I’m not sure I want to try to fly down. It’s then I see Heart’s head slightly above the branch. I take a quick hop and ride to the ground atop his ear. Heart finally gives up on the squirrel and returns to Rebecca’s side.