Ann Cristy (Helen Mittermeyer)

by Tread Softly (lit)

  "About a month ago my brother-in-law, Ted, came to the house and said he wanted to take Max overnight because he was keeping some valuables in the house. I didn't want the dog to go, but I didn't feel that I could refuse because Ted had given us the dog. When Max was returned to us on Sunday, he was badly marked with some really deep slashes. Ted said that someone had tried to break into his house. I didn't believe him because Ted always lies, but I didn't say anything. Twice more he borrowed the dog. This past time he didn't return him." Ruth Proctor sobbed. "I think Max is dead. Jerry wants me to tell the police, but I don't want to get my brother-in-law in trouble if he isn't breaking the law. He has a record, you see. I just don't know what to do." She wiped her eyes with a crumpled tissue. "Mrs. Dens­more, my son is in misery."

  "Where does your brother-in-law live, Ruth? I'll go with you tomorrow and we'll ask him where the dog is." Cady knew she was sticking her neck way out and that Rafe would be angry with her, but at the moment all she could see was a young boy's face, hurt and miserable without his dog.

  She made up her mind that she would tell Rafe before she accompanied Mrs. Proctor, and she arranged to meet the woman the next day. But somehow there never seemed to be an opportune moment to talk with him.

  That evening she and Rafe attended a formal fund raiser. They were both so tired when they returned home that they fell into bed. The next morning Cady found a note from Rafe telling her that he had let her sleep while he went to a meeting at campaign headquarters. Cady left a note telling Rafe where she was going and why. Then she called down to the desk and ordered a rented car. As an added precaution she left the address where she and Ruth Proctor hoped to find the dog.

  When she picked up Ruth Proctor, the woman was nervous, but Cady felt confident that she was doing some­thing that would not shame her husband and at the same time would help a young boy.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "My brother-in-law is a bully, Mrs. Densmore, but he doesn't want trouble with the law. He went to prison a few years back and it almost killed him." Ruth Proctor spoke in a rather shaken voice as she and Cady sat in the parked car on a seedy residential street. "That house used to belong to my mother-in-law, and when she owned it this street was beautifully kept up. Her house looked the best of them." She shrugged. "Streets change. Some­times the people that move in don't care about the prop­erty. That's what happened to this street. My husband was sure that Ted would change if we let him have his mother's house. He didn't." Ruth Proctor stopped speak­ing in the nervous way she had when a car came down the street and several men alighted from the vehicle. They went around the garage of the house toward the back. "There's an old barn out in back," Ruth whispered. "The property stretches all the way to the next street. Mrs. Densmore, I've changed my mind. I don't think it would be a good idea to go in there. We should call the police. Even if we go in the back way..." Her voice trailed off.

  Cady nodded. "Right, but we can't leave to call them. Let's take a look at the barn and see if they have pit dogs there. If they do, we'll go into your brother-in-law's house and call the police."

  Ruth Proctor looked horrified. "What if someone sees us?"

  "Didn't you say that you knew a way onto the property that wasn't used very often?" Cady asked the skeptical woman. "If we use that, no one will see us."

  "Yes, through old Mr. Schuler's orchard. Gerald, my husband, and I used to go there when we wanted to be alone. There's a hole in the fence, then a path that will take us right to the back door of the barn. But that was years ago..."

  "We'll try that. Maybe we'll find Max in the barn."

  Ruth pressed her lips together and nodded.

  They turned the car around and went down another street that had a cement and coal company on it and a large empty lot. Ruth Proctor pointed to a narrow dirt drive that led through the vacant lot. Cady drove until she came to a high mesh fence.

  It took a few minutes to find the break in the fence. Cady blessed the jeans she was wearing as the torn wire, then the brambles and burrs along the path, pulled at her. The orchard was overgrown with weeds, but there were some nice-size apples on the trees. The women looked at each other, then ran the short distance from the orchard to the barn.

  Cady tried the door. It stuck, then opened partially. She decided not to try to force a larger opening in case it would make a sound. She listened for a moment, with Ruth Proctor pressed at her back. She could hear the sounds of men laughing, followed by a brief silence. One man spoke. Then there was an awful din of growling, snarling, tearing, pain-filled shrieks. Cady could feel her stomach rise into her throat as she imagined the agony of the yowling animals. She turned to face Ruth and whispered close to her ear, "Go to the house. Call the police. Those dogs are being killed. Hurry!" Ruth Proctor gave a quick nod and scurried away.

  Cady squeezed through the narrow opening, snagging her long-sleeved pullover on the splintered wood. Her nostrils distended, assaulted by the smells of blood and excrement. She stood still in the murky area, adjusting her eyes to the dimness. She saw three dogs in pens, all of them scarred, one lying on its side, bleeding from several gashes, its breathing harsh. At first none of them moved when they saw her. Then the dog nearest to her— the biggest one—rose to his feet and leaned against the mesh, his short tail waving slowly back and forth, a low sound emanating from his throat.

  "Easy, boy. I'm not going to hurt you," Cady said softly. She looked into those sad eyes again, the proud white snout marred by a jagged scar not yet healed. "In fact," she whispered, feeling anger rise in her, "I'm going to free you."

  The cage wasn't locked, but she tried to be careful lest she make a noise. She released the three dogs, but only the big one followed her as she made her way toward the front of the barn where the shouting of the men and the snarling and growling of the dogs was becoming more frenzied. She pushed back a tattered curtain and saw the men and the pit terriers. All seemed to be foaming from the mouth. Blood was everywhere.

  One of the dogs was flagging and the men were yell­ing, "Kill, Blanco, kill!"

  Horror held Cady for tense moments; then she looked around for some way to stop the fight. She saw a large hose of the type used by firefighters coiled on the floor just in front of her. The hose was attached to a huge spigot, which Cady surmised acted as the shutoff valve. Next to the spigot a key dangled from a nail on the wall— doubtless the key to the spigot. Without a second thought Cady reached for the key and inserted it, turning it easily. She felt the rush of water at her feet and strained to aim and hold the nozzle of the hose. A few of the spectators were turning her way, but it seemed to Cady they were looking in slow motion as the water erupted from the nozzle. She felt as though she were on the back of a wild steer. She aimed the hose into the crowd, but it had a life of its own and sprayed everywhere. She closed her eyes and hung on to the exploding snake in her hand, knowing she couldn't hold it long because the power was too much for her. She felt the dog at the back of her legs, but she could hear nothing except the roars of the men and the pulsating bellow of the water.

  Next thing she knew she was on the ground next to the dog, lying in odorous mud, an angry, very wet man standing above her with the key in his hand. Cady gave a quick glance toward the arena where the dogs had been fighting. Both animals were lying on their sides, tongues lolling, bodies heaving as they fought for air. Fresh blood oozed from several deep cuts.

  "Who the hell are you? And what the hell are you doing in my barn?" The man, whom Cady assumed was Ted Proctor, brandished the key like a weapon.

  Cady swallowed once, deciding to brazen it out, hop­ing that Ruth had gotten to a phone. "That's my dog in there. It was stolen from me." She looked back at the white dog behind her, which was pressed close to her back. The terrier wasn't looking at her; he was looking up at the man. "And this is my dog as well. See, he knows me," Cady lied. "The police have been called and you're going to be arrested." Cady tried to sit erect in the goo but only succeeded in covering herself more compl
etely with mud. The white dog was getting browner.

  One of the other men was standing nearby and heard the conversation. He was soaked and leaning forward, trying to shake some of the excess water from his body. "Damn it, Ted, I don't want no trouble with the cops. And you didn't say nothin' about no dames, either. I'm gettin' outta here. Otis, you comin' with me?"

  "Yeah, Harry, I'm comin'. Wait till I pour the water outta my wallet. I got a good mind to punch that broad." The scowling Otis squished toward Cady, his feet making a sucking sound as he tried to make his way through the mud.

  "Just hold it right there, buddy. You're not punching anyone." Rafe's voice was harsh, his body thrusting for­ward as he moved in from the front door of the barn.

  Cady recognized the two men just behind him as cam­paign aides. She stared goggle-eyed at her husband. He was all denim-clad menace, his eyes a leaping green fire. This must be the look that his political foes described as Rafe's street-fighter stare, Cady mused, unable to look away from the man she loved. He must have read her note, she thought. How fast he'd gotten here! Oh, Lord, Rafe, please be careful.

  "What the hell is going on here, Ted?" another man whined. "I don't like all these people. You said this was going to be private, just a few friends. I don't like it."

  "Shut up, Frankie," Ted muttered. "They got no right on my property."

  Cady felt immobilized as she continued to watch Rafe. The glitter in his eye held hard amusement. He was poised on the balls of his feet, a slight upward curve to his lips. She wanted to speak to him, but the words stuck in her throat.

  "If this is your broad, take her and get outta here while you can still walk." Ted brandished the key in his hand, waving it toward Cady's head.

  Rafe's face seemed to take on a yellow cast as he looked from the key to Cady. "Cady, come here." His voice was hoarse.

  Cady struggled to rise, slipping in the stickiness. "We have to get Max, too, Rafe," she panted, almost erect.

  "Wait a minute here." Ted hooked the key around Cady's arm, jerking her back into the mud. "What's this about—" he started to ask.

  With an angry snarl Rafe launched himself through the air at Ted, who was looking down at Cady.

  As Ted looked up, hearing the threatening rage in Rafe's yell, he attempted to bring the steel key up to protect himself.

  Cady threw herself upward, latching onto Ted's arm so that he couldn't bring the key into position.

  Ted swore. The dog behind Cady whined, then growled. The other men began shouting and milling about. Rafe hit Ted chest high, flinging him into the mud along­side Cady.

  Cady was almost blinded by the mud, but when she saw the man called Frankie try to come to Ted's aid, she picked up a handful of mud and threw it straight into his face and yelled, "Get him, boy," to the dog.

  "You lousy bitch," Frankie squealed, then he howled as the bull terrier landed on him with a ferocious snarl.

  There was no way to tell friend from foe when the police whistle sounded. Ruth Proctor was screaming, "Mrs. Densmore, Mrs. Densmore, where are you? Oh, help, help, someone, we have to find Mrs. Densmore." Her voice was shrill and bordering on hysteria. Cady knew that even if she screamed back, the other woman might not hear her. The din was ear shattering.

  Cady was struggling to her feet when she saw Frankie tear himself away from the dog and try to make a break for the back door. Without thinking Cady launched her­self at his back, hearing her husband's voice in her ears.

  "Cady—don't—uuuuuhhh!" The breath left Rafe's lungs as he was pummeled backward.

  Cady looked over her shoulder at Rafe as she lay astride Frankie's back. The bull terrier had now posi­tioned himself at Frankie's head, his growls and snapping jaws keeping the prone Frankie immobile.

  "Damn it, lady, get offa me. Aaagh, I got mud in my mouth..."

  A policeman leaned down and lifted Cady from Fran­kie's back. "Here you are, ma'am. Stay right here and let me take care of this fellow for you. Easy, now, dog. Take it easy." Though the policeman spoke in soft tones, his face had a don't-mess-with-me look as he dragged Frankie to his feet.

  Before long the police had restored order, and Ted and two of his friends were being led in handcuffs to police cars.

  Cady patted the dog whose head was pressed against her leg and tried to wave to Ruth Proctor as the noise lessened gradually.

  Finally Rafe managed to introduce himself to the po­lice. As Rafe helped her to her feet, Cady could see the incredulous looks on the faces of the two officers, but she was too busy trying to reassure the crying Ruth Proc­tor to say anything. Rafe could handle it.

  As the police led some of the men away, Cady told them she wanted to speak to Ted. "Where's Max?" she confronted him. "Have you killed him?"

  "Naw, don't be stupid," Ted rasped, then stepped closer to the policeman as Rafe made for him again.

  "Watch your mouth when you speak to my wife," Rafe ordered in a menacing tone. "Now where's this Max?"

  Before Ted could respond, Ruth Proctor let out a groan and knelt beside one of the dogs, cradling the dirty, bloodstained animal to her.

  "Hey, Ruth, for God's sake be proud of him. He's the best fighter I ever had," Ted asserted. Ruth laid the dog's head on her jacket, then rose to her feet, walking toward her brother-in-law.

  "Don't you ever come near me or Jerry again, Ted Proctor." She lifted her arm and smacked him full force in the face, rocking him back on his heels. "And don't you ever come near my dog again, either."

  "Good for you, Ruth," Cady applauded as the officers led Ted away.

  Before long Rafe and his aides had arranged with the police for the care of the dogs and assured Ruth Proctor that Max would be taken to the best veterinarian possible. Since there were no known owners for the other dogs, the police told Rafe they would contact the SPCA.

  Cady took hold of Rafe's arm as they walked to the car. "You shouldn't have done that—fought that man, I mean," she whispered, swallowing. "Your spine... your operation..." She bit down on her lip. "I didn't think there would be any fighting."

  Rafe leaned down to kiss her. "I've had tougher work­outs with the twins. Don't worry." He looked past her at the dog Cady had insisted that she would keep, watch­ing as the animal followed her docilely into the taxi. "What are you going to do with him, Cady?" Rafe asked as he tried to wipe some of the caking mud from her face. "I hope you know we'll have to face a barrage of reporters when we return to the hotel. You're not looking your best, Mrs. Densmore." He chuckled.

  "You don't look that good yourself, Senator." Cady stilled his hand on her face. "Will this hurt your cam­paign, Rafe? Will it damage you in any way?"

  "I doubt it—might even help. In the past there have been exposes about illegal dogfights in this city and peo­ple have been very angry about it. Don't worry, love; I'm not."

  "Then to answer your question about the dog, I'm going to keep him. If a real owner is found, I'll return him, of course, but the police seemed to think the animals could have been stolen when they were pups or even purchased by some of the men who were arrested. The officers didn't think any of the men would admit to own­ership because of legal repercussions related to dog fighting." Cady took a breath and smiled at the dog that sat on the floor of the car, looking up at her. "I'm going to call him Hobo."

  The trip back to the hotel seemed to take mere min­utes. When she saw the battery of cameras, Cady was glad the overwrought Ruth Proctor had been taken home by the police. She blinked at the flash of lights as the cameramen moved in.

  Rafe promised to answer all their questions if they would just give him and his wife a chance to wash and change clothes. A press conference was hurriedly called by Rafe's aide, and all at once Cady had another schedule to meet.

  * * *

  Cady was sure she would never be able to get used to the blinding effect of the television lights. She was in awe of the panache with which her husband handled the press conference. Suddenly Cady realized that all eyes were on her. Since
she had been concentrating on Rafe, she hadn't heard the question. Her eyes beseeched Rafe, and he repeated the question in low tones, calming her at once.

  "How did I find out about this? Good question. There are many public spirited citizens who come forth with information, especially to my husband. They know that Rafe is a man of honor—"

  "Yes, Mrs. Densmore, we are all aware of the opinion you have of your husband," a woman with a ginger-color frizz of hair stated, making the others laugh, including Rafe. "But the woman came to you. Doesn't that make you a potent figure in your husband's campaign and in his political life?"

  "I'd like to answer that, Cady, if you don't mind," Rafe interjected, giving her a reassuring smile. Then he looked directly into one of the television cameras. "My wife, Cady Densmore, is the most potent factor in my political life as well as my private life. Cady's integrity and her innate dignity are prime forces in all I do. I'm very proud of her."

  Cady didn't hear much more of the conference. She was too wrapped up in Rafe's glowing words of praise for her. She hugged them and turned them over in her mind, feeling as gleeful as a child at Christmas. Rafe cared for her. She would make that caring grow into love.

  Rafe finished the conference by vowing that he in­tended to do all he could to eradicate various types of injustice and to protect the vulnerable—whether they were the elderly, children, or animals—from victimi­zation.

  Cady applauded along with everyone else, relieved that he looked so fit.

  Back in their suite, she thought that Rafe would want to rest awhile, but to her surprise he followed her into her room.

  "We both need a rest after that wild time today, but I'd like to speak to you, Cady. So if you don't mind, I'll lie down on your bed." He yawned as he yanked the tie from around his neck. "I'm always glad when a cam­paign is over. Then I can go back to wearing sport shirts." He sighed and threw himself backward on the king-size bed, waving his hand at her to come join him.

  When she sat down, he reached up and began lifting the sweater over her head and unzipping her skirt. "You can't be relaxed wrapped up in all that clothing. Shall I take off your panty hose?" Rafe laughed when she red­dened and said that she could do it. He pulled her under the quilted cover and hugged her close to his body. "Now, as for putting yourself in danger as you did this morn­ing—don't ever do that again. I almost had a heart attack when I saw that creep Ted Proctor standing over you. Cady, you know I want your help in everything, but I don't want you in danger. Clear?"