Sit! Stay! Speak!

by Annie England Noblin

  DEDICATION

  For all of my dear friends working in animal rescue,

  tirelessly devoting their lives to those without a voice.

  You are making a difference.

  You are making this world a better place.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Acknowledgments

  P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . . * About the Author

  About the Book

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER 1

  ADELAIDE ANDREWS STARED OUT THE LIVING ROOM WINDOW and into the yard across the street where an elderly man, who she could only assume was her new neighbor, was frolicking through the sprinkler in his underwear. He was at least eighty years old and was very spry for his age. Every time the water shot up into the air, so did the man’s legs. It was as if he were involved in some kind of synchronized sprinkler event in the Olympics.

  Nobody came to ask the man to go back inside. Nobody asked him to stop. Nobody offered him a towel or chased after him with a fistful of medications, which he’d clearly forgotten to take. When the sprinkler stopped several minutes later, so did the man. He didn’t even bother to shake himself off as he bounded up the steps and disappeared back inside the house.

  This wasn’t what Adelaide had in mind when she moved from Chicago to the Arkansas Delta. She’d left the midwestern city to escape insanity, not to move in next door to it.

  She turned back to the sea of boxes that covered her living room. She’d spent all day sorting and hadn’t even made a dent. She halfheartedly opened the box nearest her. Inside she found a hodgepodge of items, an indication that this had probably been one of the last boxes she’d packed up.

  Looking up from the box, Adelaide scanned the room. Her aunt Tilda had died and left the house to her almost six months ago, and it was obvious that it had been empty for entirely too long. Well, not empty, exactly. Aunt Tilda died in the middle of the night—a stroke, the coroner said. Clearly, from the look of the place, her aunt hadn’t planned on dying. When she said in her will that she wanted everything to go to Addie, she’d meant it. Not even the toilet paper had been disturbed since the day of the funeral. She’d had several calls from the only real estate agent in town to see what had been left to her, but Addie couldn’t bring herself to do it. Yes, the hardwood floors needed to be refinished. The walls needed to be repainted. The ceiling fans needed to be replaced, and all of this was just in the living room. She heard her aunt’s voice in her head. Someday this house will be yours, Addie. I hope you’ll take care of it like I have.

  Addie hadn’t really believed her. What twelve-year-old pays attention to those kinds of things, anyway? Fifteen years later, the words hovered above her like the dust collecting in the corners of the walls. She’d let her aunt down over these last few months. She’d let everyone down, it seemed.

  She sighed and pushed her blond hair off her neck, piling it high on top of her head. Her thoughts went back to Chicago. To Jonah. To what life had been like before she’d inherited a house that needed more work than she had money. Jonah would have liked this house, she thought. Addie knew that if he were here, they would have stayed in town after the funeral. Jonah would have picked through each piece of furniture, each knickknack. He would have asked for stories about each one, stories Addie had long forgotten.

  She rested her head against the coffee table. It had a glass top, something her aunt had brought all the way down here from Chicago. It wasn’t worth much, as far as Addie could tell, but her aunt loved it and stuck cards from relatives underneath the glass. Each time Aunt Tilda had a visitor, she’d tell them about whichever relative happened to be resting underneath that visitor’s coffee mug. Today there was no coffee, and there were no visitors. There was no Jonah. Addie let her hair fall back down onto her sticky neck and said out loud to no one, “I’ve got to get out of here for a while.”

  The Mississippi River in Eunice, Arkansas, looked nothing like it had when she’d crossed the bridge in Memphis. It was smaller, tranquil almost. Addie stood with her toes touching the water. She hadn’t been down to the levee since the last time she’d visited Eunice. Even this close to the water, it was hot outside. She found herself wishing she’d just stayed inside with all the unopened boxes and dusty furniture—at least there was air-conditioning.

  Gazing around, Addie realized that this was no longer the nice, clean picnic area that her aunt had taken her to during her childhood visits. The tables were overgrown with weeds, and there was an obvious odor of trash in the air. This place hadn’t been taken care of in a long time.

  Addie bent down to wash out her flip-flops when she heard a noise coming from behind her. She turned around to face a small wooded area. The noise grew louder. It sounded like a whimpering, but all she saw were bushes. She shoved her feet into her shoes and walked in the direction of the noise. She pushed her way into the first set of bushes, where a thin layer of trash covered the ground. Off to one side there was a large, black trash bag.

  The trash bag was moving.

  Addie crept closer to the bag. She bent down and touched the plastic. It had been tied in a tight knot. Digging her fingers into the plastic, Addie ripped the bag wide open. The object in the bag stirred, whimpering slightly. It lifted its head and tried to move, but failed. It was covered in blood and blood-soaked newspaper and dozens of crumpled packages of Marlboro Reds.

  Addie was looking at a dog.

  Shaken, she quickly ran back to her car and popped open the trunk, grabbing the blanket she kept for emergencies. Kneeling back in front of the trash bag, she gingerly moved the dog from the sweltering ground to the blanket. It made little effort to escape even though it was terrified.

  With the dog laid carefully in the front seat, Addie threw her car into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot, trying desperately to remember where she’d seen the sign for the town’s veterinary clinic. She knew it was on the main road, so she drove until she saw the redbrick Dixon Veterinary building on the horizon, praying that the dog would still be breathing by the time she got there.

  CHAPTER 2

  ADDIE BURST THROUGH THE DOORS OF THE DIXON VETERINARY Clinic, her arms wrapped around a blood-soaked blanket. “I need help, please!”

  The leggy woman at the front desk looked up from her cell phone and replied, “I’m sorry, but we’re closed.”

  “Please!” Addie nodded to the mass she was carrying. “This dog. It needs help.”

  “Ma’am, I . . .”
<
br />   “This dog is dying,” Addie hissed. “You show me where the vet is.”

  “Back this way. He’s back this way,” the woman replied, opening the doors to the back of the clinic.

  Addie followed her, trying not to clench the dog too tightly in her arms. She could still feel it breathing, but its breath was ragged. “I don’t know if he’s going to make it,” Addie continued. “I just found him like this. Who . . . who does this?”

  “Dr. Dixon!” The woman rapped heavily on a closed door. “Dr. Dixon, open up! It’s an emergency!”

  A small, wiry man with salt-and-pepper hair opened the door. “Wanda? What is it?”

  Addie didn’t wait for Wanda to answer. “I found this dog. He’s been . . . I don’t know . . . I think he’s dying.” She pushed past the man and laid the dog down on the table inside the room. “Please help him.”

  Dr. Dixon stepped over to the table and unwrapped the blanket. “Sweet Jesus. What happened here?”

  Addie stepped back from the table, taking a breath for what felt to her like the first time in minutes. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I was taking a walk. I heard a noise. I found him like this.”

  The vet’s hands hovered above the bloody mass in front of him. “He seems to be alive. I’ll take a look. Why don’t you have a seat in the waiting room, okay?”

  Addie opened her mouth to protest, but Wanda caught her elbow and whispered, “It’ll be okay, honey. Come on out here with me.”

  Addie nodded and followed the receptionist through the doors. As she left, she noticed another man standing at the back of the room, his eyes fixed on her. She hadn’t seen anyone else in the room until now. It occurred to her how she must look. What it all must look like.

  “I’m so sorry,” Addie apologized. “I didn’t mean to yell at you earlier.”

  Wanda smiled and sat down next to her. “It’s okay, honey. I know you were scared. I didn’t see what you had in your hands until it was too late. Otherwise I never would’ve tried to send you away.” She had a thick, southern drawl that put Addie at ease. She sounded like Aunt Tilda, even though she couldn’t have been much older than Addie. There were lines that formed around the corners of her eyes that contradicted the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “Where did you find that poor thing?”

  Addie swallowed. Her mouth felt very dry all of a sudden. “I was taking a walk over by the bridge . . . just outside of town . . . right before you get to the Mississippi line . . . you know, over by the casino?”

  Wanda raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow and replied, “What were you doing on that side of town? That’s no place to be alone, especially at night.”

  “I . . . I didn’t know,” Addie admitted. “I just moved here.”

  “How did you even know to get over there?”

  Addie looked up from her hands and at the woman sitting next to her. “My great-aunt was Tilda Andrews. I used to visit her in the summer. When I was a kid, that was where she took me to have picnics . . . of course, that was fifteen years ago . . .”

  “Oh, Miss Tilda!” Wanda exclaimed. “Of course! I should have known. I heard you moved into her old house. You must be Adelaide. I used to come out and take care of her cats once she got too old to come to the clinic.”

  “You’re that Wanda? Wanda Carter? Aunt Tilda used to talk about you all the time. She loved you.”

  Wanda clasped Addie’s hands in hers. “What a small world. I’m so glad to meet you, even if it is under these circumstances. We’ll have to be friends now, you know.”

  “I’m just here for a few months—long enough to get the house sold,” Addie replied.

  Wanda frowned for a second and then flashed Addie another smile. “Well, we can be friends until then!”

  The doors swung open and the man from the back of the examination room strode out. He looked in the women’s direction and said, “Miss Wanda, Doc says you can go on home. He says to tell you”—he nodded in Addie’s direction—“he’ll be out in just a few minutes.”

  “Is the dog okay?” Addie asked. She released Wanda’s hands. “Is he going to live?”

  “I think he’s going to make it.” The man gave her a lopsided smile. “But I’m not the doc, so don’t hold me to it.”

  Wanda stood up and brushed off her pale pink scrub pants. “I’ve got to get going, Addie.” She walked over to the reception desk and scribbled something down on a Post-it note. “Here’s my number. We’ll get together soon.”

  She hurried out the door, leaving Addie alone with the stranger who stood there silently, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. Addie watched him, unsure of what to say. He was tall, very tall, at least six foot four. He was what her mother would have called strapping. He had wheat-colored hair that fell just above his brow line, and a wide mouth that Addie assumed held perfectly straight teeth to match his perfectly straight posture. Even though he was looking at the floor, she could tell his eyes were blue. He was young, but older than she. Maybe thirty? She couldn’t tell just by looking at him.

  He reminded her of a farmer, like most of the men in Eunice. He was wearing work boots that were caked in mud, and his jeans and white T-shirt were also slightly dingy. He looked like he’d just come in from off a tractor somewhere, and Addie didn’t know why, but the image made her want to giggle.

  After what felt like hours, Addie mustered up enough courage to break the silence. “I didn’t see you standing in the room with Dr. Dixon. I’m sorry I interrupted you all. I was a bit frantic.”

  The man shrugged and replied, “It’s no big deal. We were just talking cattle.”

  “I’m glad he was still here,” Addie said. “I didn’t know where to take him. I just remembered seeing this place the day I got into town. I’m the only person on the planet without a GPS.”

  When he didn’t respond, Addie continued. “I’ve just been here a few days. My aunt died. She left me her house. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I haven’t been here since I was a kid. I just wanted to go for a walk. I didn’t know the camping grounds had turned into a trash dump.”

  His eyes snapped up to her and he replied, “You were down by the old campgrounds? What were you doing down there so late?”

  “It’s not safe at night,” Addie cut him off. “I know. I know.”

  “So you’re the one who moved into Miss Tilda’s place?” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Jasper. Jasper Floyd.”

  Addie stood up and moved toward him. His hand practically swallowed hers. “I’m Adelaide Andrews. I didn’t move here, exactly. I’m just sort of . . . passing through.”

  “I’ll have to tell my mother that I met you.”

  “Do I know your mother?”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t,” Jasper replied. “But she and her friends have been dying to know what’s been going on over at Tilda’s. The place had been sitting empty for so long people were beginning to talk.”

  “Talk about what?”

  Jasper adjusted the green Floyd Farms hat on his head and said, “You’re really not from here, huh?”

  There was an awkward pause and Addie breathed a sigh of relief when Dr. Dixon walked into the room.

  “I think your dog is going to live,” the veterinarian stated. “No broken bones, just a lot of blood. There were some cuts that required stitches, and some bite wounds. And I think he might have been shot.”

  “Shot?” Addie sputtered. “You think he was shot?”

  Dr. Dixon adjusted his wire-framed glasses and replied, “I don’t know. It was a clean exit. He’s going to lose an ear. But I don’t think there is any internal bleeding.”

  “But he’ll be okay?” Addie could barely speak. Her anger was bubbling.

  “In a couple of days you can take him home.”

  “He’s not my dog,” she admitted. “I found him. Down by the river.”

  “I figured as much,” Dr. Dixon replied. “He’s not the first I’ve seen. I can call animal control in the morning. But I sh
ould tell you—they’ll probably have me put him down. His care will be expensive. And he’s a pit bull on top of that.”

  “I don’t live here,” Addie continued. “I mean, I do. But not indefinitely.”

  Jasper and the veterinarian shared a look.

  Addie choked back a sob. “Please don’t call animal control. I’ll pay his bill. I’ll keep him.”

  “We can work that out when you come to pick him up.” Dr. Dixon smiled at her warmly. “It’s late, and there’s nothing more you can do for him tonight. Why don’t you go on home?”

  “Okay.” Addie felt her jeans pocket for her car keys. “Thank you so much.”

  The veterinarian waved her off. “It’s fine. Everything will be fine.”

  “I’ll check on him tomorrow, if that’s okay,” Addie replied.

  “Better give him a couple of days before he’s ready.”

  Addie nodded and turned toward Jasper. “It was nice to meet you, Jasper.”

  Before he could respond, Addie was out the door and into the muggy May night, leaving two bewildered men staring after her.

  CHAPTER 3

  EUNICE WAS A LITTLE TOWN OF TEN THOUSAND PEOPLE NESTLED deep within the heart of the Arkansas Delta. It was the kind of place where people worked, lived, and died generation after generation. It was the kind of place oblivious to the outside world. It was the kind of place Addie had come to in an attempt to escape, but she couldn’t shake the events of the previous evening.

  Groggy, she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. If she was going to be bringing a dog here, she’d have to get the house in order. There was a shed out back that she planned on cleaning out as well. Once she mustered up the energy. “At least I’ve got some motivation,” she said out loud to her empty house.

  The house was rather adorable. It sat on a large lot on a dead-end street. The neighbors had kept the yard work up after Aunt Tilda died last autumn. Addie guessed that was what Jasper had meant when he mentioned the house sitting empty, although she didn’t know why people would care. Her aunt had kept the house, a nineteenth-century bungalow, nice and neat. It was small, as bungalows usually are, but there was plenty of space for one person. The house had a steeply pitched roof covering a wide porch that Addie was in love with. As a child, she’d spent many summer nights playing on that porch. She pictured herself lounging there at night, maybe with a good book and a glass of wine. The living room was nice and large, and there were two bedrooms for Addie to choose from. Unlike the carpet that Addie was used to in the houses in Chicago, her aunt’s house had hardwood floors throughout, and she was still getting used to the creaking noise they made every time she walked. The kitchen overlooked the backyard, which had once held a beautiful garden.