Solomon's Oak

by Jo-Ann Mapson

  Then she noticed Juniper’s boots. They were Dan’s Red Wings. Which meant she’d been in Glory’s closet to get them. Juniper had large feet, but surely his size-ten boots would swim on her. Probably while Glory was talking to the florist, Juniper had gone into her room, searching for boots. She rode up beside her to give her what for. But the girl had her eyes closed and was letting Piper lead the way. She was so scared she was trembling. Glory decided the talk could wait until after their ride.

  Dodge ran back and forth as they rode, checking in, then taking off at a dead run. He barked his head off, and Glory hoped that would tire him out enough that he’d sleep quietly in his kennel all night. Would Dodge ever be right for anyone? Kids made him hysterical, and excessive barking was the number two reason people left dogs at shelters. The first was failure to housebreak, and usually the owner’s fault, leaving a dog cooped up for nine hours at a time. For a long while Juniper and Glory rode without speaking, falling into the horses’ rhythm, the sun filtering through the oaks, nothing around them but the trees.

  “This must be what heaven’s like,” Juniper said. “I could stay here forever.”

  Glory had no idea what heaven could be like for anyone. All she knew was if heaven didn’t take dogs and horses, she wasn’t going. “It’d be great for a little while.”

  “Why not forever?”

  “The woods get cold at night, kiddo. And all kinds of creatures come out.”

  “We could wear jackets and gloves.”

  “Yes, if we could keep track of them. Speaking of, have you seen Caddy?”

  She shook her head no. “Whistle. He’ll come back. He always does.”

  Glory blew through her fingers, listened, and heard nothing. “We’ll give him a few more minutes, but then we need to head back. Our first traditional bride-and-groom wedding tomorrow. I’m excited, even if you aren’t.”

  “I’m excited about a piece of cake. Everything else is just like watching some boring old play I’ve seen a hundred times.” She pitched her voice high. “ ‘Do you?’ ‘I do, I do.’ What a bunch of b—”

  Glory pointed her finger at her. “Language.”

  “I was going to say bull pucky.”

  “Glad to hear it.” They rode a quarter mile more, to where the oaks thinned out and the road began. It was a good place to turn around because you had all those wonderful oak-filled miles to follow in the other direction. Glory whistled two, three times more, but no black-and-white bullet came flying through the trees. “Let’s stop our horses and listen,” she said.

  “It’s my fault,” Juniper said. “I should have kept better track of him. What if something happened? What if he’s hurt or someone took him home because he’s such a pretty dog? What if I never see him again?”

  “Caddy knows the woods. He’ll be back. Let’s keep the horses at a walk for a while, though.”

  As they rode, Juniper’s head turned from one side to the other, searching. Glory wasn’t concerned—yet. If he didn’t come home tonight, then she’d worry about a coyote or mountain lion encounter. There were worse ways for a dog to go, and that was how you had to look at it or you’d go nuts.

  Ten minutes later, he shot out of the trees, a dirty glove in his mouth.

  “He found it!” Juniper yelled. She jumped off Piper and ran to her dog. “Good boy! It’s my glove! It has the same tag and everything. Isn’t he the smartest dog ever?”

  “Smart dog,” Glory said. It looked as if the glove had been from here to the coast and back again. “Be sure to wash it when we get home. Home,” she said, and Dodge turned to follow Cadillac.

  “Wait for me!” Juniper said, and all by herself pulled herself into Piper’s saddle.

  As they drove across town, merging into traffic, stopping for traffic lights and Christmas-shopping pedestrians, Glory broached the subject casually. “I noticed you took Dan’s boots.”

  Juniper fiddled with the radio, trying to find a station that wasn’t playing rap, which Glory outlawed, not only because of the lyrics, but because it gave her a headache. Classic rock: There they had common ground. As Janis Joplin sang “Piece of My Heart,” Glory remembered Halle belting it out into her hairbrush as if it were a microphone when Halle was the same age as Juniper was now. It was an oldie back then, so what did that make it now? An eldie?

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Dan’s boots that were in my closet.”

  “So?”

  “Remember, we made a rule that you need to ask before you go into my bedroom? And for permission before taking something?”

  “But you had them in the box marked for Goodwill.”

  “True, but that doesn’t change anything. We made a rule, you broke it.”

  “But you told me to find boots! I went through the old-clothes box but there weren’t any in my size because I have elephant feet.”

  “Then you should have told me. And your feet aren’t that big.”

  “You were on the phone!”

  “For about five minutes. You could have asked me after I hung up.”

  “Maybe I did ask and you just don’t remember it.”

  Here we go, Glory thought. “Tell me the truth right now and that will be the end of it.”

  Juniper went silent while Glory drove down residential streets, looking for the library. Once she found the entrance, she dropped Juniper off and went in search of a parking place. Inside the library, she used what was probably the last public telephone on planet Earth to call Caroline.

  “It’s stupid stuff,” Glory told her. “Making up stories about her teachers praising her, and then I get the robo-call from the school that she isn’t turning in her homework. She takes a handful of change off my dresser, and then denies it. Today she took a pair of boots from my closet.”

  “Glory, I have to say that doesn’t sound like that big of an issue.”

  Glory hadn’t mentioned the Percocet because she knew that would result in Juniper’s being returned to the group home. Her rationale? As Lois said, she hadn’t taken the Percocet.

  “It sounds pretty normal to me,” Caroline continued. “You’ve been through all the standard foster-care stuff with boys. Juniper’s no different. She’s testing how far she can push the boundaries. We both know her issues go deeper than that, but an abandoned kid usually goes one of two ways. She idolizes her parent, won’t hear one bad thing said about him. Or she believes the reason he left is because she’s not good enough.”

  “Couldn’t there be a third alternative? Something easier to figure out?”

  Caroline laughed. “Glo, every foster kid I’ve ever known has a quirky view of the truth. And I don’t mean that Juniper’s experiences make up for lying. We both know she’s had a hell of a time and a long way to go. It’s just that lying is a tendency we see a lot. They ‘spin windies,’ as my cowpoke brother used to say. Maybe to imagine themselves as something better than they are. If I had to guess, I’d say that deep down, she believes her father left her because she could never measure up to Casey. Take that up with Lois and I bet you’ll find some answers. Meanwhile, keep it simple. Just state the obvious. Remind her she’s not to go into your room again without permission and walk away.”

  “Right,” Glory said, though she’d already tried that. “Hey, are you going to the Butterfly Creek Christmas party?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “What are you bringing?”

  “The biggest bottle of vino I can find and a corkscrew. What are you making?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Something.”

  “Well, if you need any suggestions, let me know. Your biscuits come to mind. Or cake. There ought to be a traditional Christmas cake.”

  “There’s stollen.”

  “That’s German.”

  “Marzipan?”

  “Italian. But I wouldn’t kick either one out of bed.”

  They said good-bye and Glory hung up the phone. Was she wigging out over a stupid pair of boots? She found a novel on the NEW ACQUISI
TIONS rack and sat down in one of the easy chairs the library had purchased circa 1980. The book was set in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and made her think of Joseph Vigil.

  “I’m sorry,” Juniper said when they got in the car to go. She reached down to unlace the boots.

  “Change when we get home,” Glory said, too tired to say more.

  “So is this my third strike?”

  “What?”

  “You know, like felons. The pills were strike one, the money I swear I didn’t steal was strike two, and now the boots are strike three, and when we get home, you’ll call Caroline?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  “Then follow the rules, Juniper. Don’t take things, and tell the truth. If you’re worried you’ve done something wrong, come talk to me. I don’t count mistakes like the penal system. I’d rather concentrate on what you’re doing right, which is almost everything.”

  “What I’m doing right? Really? You mean it?”

  Glory, determined to look on the bright side, clicked on the turn signal and drove out of the library parking lot and said, “Yes, really.”

  After McDonald’s drive-through for a Coke and fries, they stopped at the big-box electronics and appliances store to pick up Glory’s new camera. It cost enough money to make her knees knock as she stood at the counter waiting for help. She either had to learn to take better pictures or contract out that part of weddings, which meant putting money in someone else’s pocket. She also needed to upgrade her computer so it could run more sophisticated programs. If the business continued, the money she was spending here today would pay off. If not, there was always Craigslist. The salesperson who came to help her was probably sixteen years old, stocky, wore glasses, and walked splayfooted; therefore he was of no interest to Juniper.

  “I hate this place,” Juniper said, fidgeting, and knocking over a display of Word program discs. She straightened them up, sighed, and finally said, “This is boring. Can I go to the pet store and look at the parrots?”

  “Sure, go on. Be back in half an hour.” The clerk’s eyes gleamed when Glory told him everything she intended to buy. “Don’t get too excited,” she told him. “Before I write the check you have to show me how to use it all.”

  Thirty minutes later her head was spinning with instructions, but she was positive she could use the camera. She bought two backup batteries, a charger, an upgrade to her current program, and Photoshop for Dummies. She took the clerk’s card and the schedule for classes. After she wrote the enormous check and waited for phone approval, whatever that entailed, she found Juniper by the DVD section, looking at horror movies for sale. “Don’t those give you nightmares?”

  “They’re so fake.” Juniper put them back on the shelf and took one of Glory’s bags. “This is heavy.”

  “I’m going to need your help with everything. I’m also thinking I could increase your allowance because of that.”

  “Really? That’d be great.”

  Could she tell that Glory’s heart was going ninety miles an hour? That she had no idea if the allowance increase would help Juniper get over stealing? Maybe they were both acting.

  They drove home listening to NPR, both tired and hungry. “Does Terry Gross only interview authors of books about genocide and terrorism?” Juniper asked.

  “Those are important things more people need to know about,” Glory answered. “I’m sure she covers a range of subjects.”

  “Well, never when we’re driving places. Someone ought to tell her that not everyone wants to think about Rwanda driving home every night. How about talking to an author about regular people doing regular things?”

  “Send her an e-mail,” Glory suggested.

  “What’s the point? No one listens to people my age.”

  Glory patted Juniper’s shoulder. “I listen to you. I’m sorry if me reminding you about the boots contributed to that. Or is it something else you want to tell me?”

  Juniper didn’t answer.

  “I’ll feed the dogs,” Glory said, “so you can get started on poor, doomed Tess.”

  “It’s my night to make dinner. What are we having?”

  Glory laughed. “Macaroni and cheese, I guess. Any remarkable parrots at Petco?”

  “They’re all pretty great. I wish I could get an African grey. A baby I could teach to talk.”

  “You could. You’re good with animals.”

  “I’m not all that great. Ask Piper.”

  “Look at how much Cadillac loves you.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Juniper said, looking out the window at the streetlights and Christmas decorations. “Probably he thinks I’m Casey.”

  At home Glory needed the time it took to measure out dog food, vitamins, and additives to come to terms with Juniper’s remark. She’d immediately told Juniper she was wrong. That Cadillac had bonded with her that first night, not because Juniper was related to Casey. But deep down she had to admit he might remember Casey. Never raise your hand to a border collie because they never forget, Glory had read in a sheepherder’s book. Did that mean they remembered fear, or did they recall the actual trauma, the way a human would? Miracle of miracles, were Casey to come back, would Caddy dump Juniper to return to her? Caddy was smart, but some of Glory’s dogs in the past were big, dumb lunks, like Toyota, who wanted nothing more than food, a daily game of ball, and long walks where he could mark trees and roll in dead-animal stink. Others had affection to spare, like Dodge, who so desperately wanted that in return. Ford never did trust men. Glory had never hit any of them, although they tested her plenty by killing chickens and scratching doors to splinters.

  Smart ones such as Cadillac were always the most difficult to place because they needed variety in their days, lots of interaction, and challenging activities. She tried to match temperament to temperament with owners who understood that a bored, intelligent dog could become a destructive dog. Cadillac would still herd goats when asked, and he’d found Juniper’s glove, but he’d devoted himself to being Juniper’s companion. While she was at school, he spent his day waiting for the minute she’d walk in the door. If Glory was home, at three thirty P.M. he’d get up, stretch, go to the door, and ask to go out. Glory watched him from the kitchen window. When he caught sight of the bus, he started wagging his tail, and by the time Juniper came walking up the drive, his whole body shook with excitement. He was hers and that was all there was to it.

  He still ate his meals with Dodge. Dodge raced around the yard, the horses staked out their hay flakes, but Glory could tell that Cadillac considered himself beyond all that. In the grand scheme of life, saving death-row dogs from euthanasia was next to nothing, but when Glory placed one successfully, it felt like the most important thing she’d done.

  Across the way, the wind blew through the trees, and Glory pulled her collar up. She headed for the barn as a spattering rain started to fall. Because of the wedding, the tack, feed, and equipment had temporarily been relocated to Dan’s workshop. Five tables covered with white linen cloths stood in the place of sawhorses and saddles. In the center of each table she’d placed tall, mercury-glass hurricane lanterns with pale green candles that matched the poinsettias that would arrive tomorrow. A secondhand, red Oriental rug from the thrift store warmed the wood floor considerably and gave the place a threadbare, funky elegance. Earlier in the week, Juniper had helped her nail together a set of risers for the chapel, so that when the poinsettia plants were placed upon them, it would look as if the couple were standing in a winter garden. Flanking the flowers on both sides were potted, five-foot-tall fir trees she’d “rented” from the Christmas-tree lot. In two days she’d pack them into the truck and return them so they could be sold as Christmas trees. In the Thrifty Nickel, she’d found a used space heater to warm up the barn. Once she switched it on, it would be toasty in here, perfect for dancing and dining, and hopefully no gunplay.

  “Is it okay that I made us hot dogs and baked beans for dinner instead?�
�� Juniper said when Glory came to the table.

  “I love hot dogs,” she said, reaching for the pitcher and pouring water into their glasses. She sat down. Juniper’s library book sat beside her plate.

  “Okay if I read at the table?”

  “Not right now. First I want to talk about Christmas.”

  “That won’t take long,” Juniper said. “If it’s just us, it will be like a regular day, unless there’s a wedding. It’s not like we’re exchanging presents. Are we?”

  “I may have picked up a little something for you.”

  “But I don’t have anything for you! Will you take me shopping? Can we go to Target? I could shop while you’re working. Then maybe I could get you a halfway decent present. You should have told me.”

  “How about the used-book store instead? But you can’t spend over a couple of dollars.”

  “That’s not even the price of a decent paperback! I’ll need twenty at least. And how do I know what you like to read?”