His Secret Child

by Lee Tobin McClain

  “C’mere, come on, Brownie, I’ll give you a biscuit,” Fern coaxed, but the dog stayed down, emitting a low whine.

  “That’s not good. They said she needs to eat.” Fern frowned. “I wonder if it’s good for her to be right next to her puppy like this. Where she can see her, but not be with her. That would be hard.”

  No kidding. Carlo found himself identifying with the mama dog. “Is she feeding the pup?”

  “Apparently not.” Fern nodded toward the next kennel, where five or six puppies played and rolled and nipped each other. “I guess that mama dog over there is feeding all of them. And they say it’s better for a puppy to be with other pups, but I feel bad for poor Brownie.”

  “Mama Fern, look! The little one is hurt!” Mercedes’s voice sounded distressed.

  Both Fern and Carlo stepped over to where Mercedes knelt by the cage full of puppies. “Over there, Mama! Help him!”

  In the corner of the cage, a small brown-and-white-spotted puppy lay alone. Carlo felt his heart constricting, looking at Mercedes’s face, wondering if the little guy was dead and if so, how that would affect Mercedes. “Is there a flashlight?”

  “Mercedes, run get our flashlight from the desk,” Fern urged, kneeling to see the little dog. “He’s not moving,” she said to Carlo in a low voice.

  “Here, Mama!” Mercedes handed the flashlight to Fern and she shone it on the puppy. Its eyes were closed, its breathing rapid, but at least there was breathing.

  There were also a couple of open wounds on his side and back.

  “Oh, wow, I don’t know what to do,” Fern said. “That’s the one that doesn’t belong. It looks like either the mama dog or the other pups have turned on him.”

  As if on cue, the chocolate-colored dog began to whine from the next kennel.

  “Should we put him back with his mama?” Carlo asked.

  “I don’t know. Let me text the people who normally take care of them,” Fern said. “And meanwhile, I’ll get the others fed.”

  “I’ll stay and watch over him,” Mercedes offered.

  “Okay, that will be great. I think Carlo will stay with you and help. Right?” Fern gave him a stern, meaningful stare.

  “Um...okay.” Man, this diminutive, shy librarian had a spine of steel. There was no disagreeing with her.

  This time, Fern didn’t linger with each dog, but moved rapidly from kennel to kennel, letting dogs out into the runs if they’d go, pouring food from large canisters. Carlo marveled at how hard she was capable of working, and he handled the dogs two or three kennels to either side of the problem dogs, trying to lighten her load while also keeping an eye on Mercedes, making sure she wasn’t seeing something upsetting.

  When Mercedes cried out, he was glad he’d stuck close. He rushed back over in time to see one of the other puppies jump on top of the spotted pup and nip at it. “He’s hurting the little puppy,” Mercedes cried. “Stop him!”

  Carlo didn’t know if it was normal puppy play or something more aggressive, but he could see that the little guy wasn’t in any shape to play rough. “Step back, and I’ll pull him out,” he told Mercedes, and then he went in and picked up the puppy.

  “Oh, no, oh, no, is he okay?”

  “I don’t know.” He needed to keep Mercedes calm as well as help the pup. Which meant keeping her busy. “Can you find a towel we can wrap him in?”

  Fern was all the way down at the other end of the kennel, so Carlo got Mercedes to help him wrap the puppy in the towel she’d found. “We’ll be really careful,” he said, watching Mercedes. His daughter. Wow.

  “Mama Fern said kids can only touch a dog with two fingers, so you better hold him,” Mercedes told Carlo gravely.

  So he sat cross-legged on the floor and held the dog, and Mercedes petted the pup with two fingers, and somehow she ended up sitting in his lap, leaning her head against his chest and chattering every thought that came into her four-year-old brain.

  Just keep breathing, Carlo told himself.

  No matter what happened, he’d have these moments with his daughter to cherish forever. He could enjoy the fruity smell of her hair and the pink of her cheeks and the confiding, sweet tone of her voice. He could look at her dark eyes and realize that those came from Kath, but her strong chin probably came from his side of the family. He got a sudden memory of his sister, Angelica, when she was small, and realized that Mercedes had her flat cheekbones and cute nose.

  Fern came up behind them, a heavy bag of dog food in her arms, breathing hard. “Oh, man,” she said, “you took him out. Is he okay?”

  “I think he’s going to be.” Carlo looked up and tried to communicate with his eyes that he had no idea, but was putting a positive spin on things for Mercedes’s sake. He felt like a cad for just sitting here while she worked, but on the other hand, he could clearly see that Mercedes needed nurturing. So maybe this was how you managed it with two parents—you dumped gender stereotypes and played whichever role needed playing at the time.

  Fern was studying her phone. “They said to take him out if he’s being bullied, that sometimes the rest of the litter turns on a puppy.”

  The sad mama dog came up to the front of the cage and sniffed and whined her agitation.

  “Do you think she knows it’s hers?” Angelica asked.

  “Sure looks that way. What else did your friends say?”

  “Oh, they’re not my friends, they’re just people who help out here. I don’t...” She trailed off, waved a hand, leaving Carlo curious about what she’d been about to say. “Anyway, they said maybe we should take the mama and the pup up to the house, and see if she could still feed him some. Apparently, they just moved him over a day or two ago. She might still have her milk.”

  “We can have them at the house?” Mercedes jumped out of Carlo’s lap and threw her arms around Fern. “I always wanted a puppy! What’s his name, Mama Fern?”

  “I don’t think he has one yet.” Fern stroked Mercedes’s hair and there was such happiness and tenderness in her face that Carlo had to look away. “We’ll think of something to call him, at least for now.”

  “His name is Spots,” Mercedes announced. “’Cause he has spots!”

  “Makes sense to me.” Carlo got to his feet, bringing the pup with him. “If you carry the little one and I carry the mama...”

  “Can you? She’s huge.”

  He gave her a look and then opened the cage. “I can, unless she wants to walk. I don’t know how her health is.”

  “And you hafta carry me,” Mercedes reminded him.

  “That’s right.” He patted her messy hair as warmth spread through his chest.

  So they made their way back to the house in stages. Carlo carried the big dog while Mercedes and Fern worked in the kennel and watched the puppy. Then he went back to carry Mercedes while Fern brought the puppy and a bag of supplies.

  By the time they got settled in the house again, he was sweating and dizzy, but he kept it together and brought in a bunch of wood and built a fire. Made sure the mama and puppy were settled, along with Fern and Mercedes. And then he collapsed onto the sofa.

  He must have dozed off or even passed out, because Fern touched him and he jerked and then relaxed. Something in her touch was soothing.

  “You made yourself sick again, didn’t you?” she scolded. “I heated up more soup. Sit up and eat it.”

  Carlo couldn’t let her do this. Couldn’t let himself accept the caretaking, especially when he knew that his only shot at Mercedes was being superman here. If he couldn’t be superman, if he had to be weak, then he needed to hide it away. Along with his strange desire to reach up and touch Fern’s cheek. “I’ll just sleep it off in the den,” he growled, and slunk away from the vulnerability and the weakness and the worry.

  * * *

  Fern wa
tched him go, and the sense of rejection was enormous. Just like her to mess things up with Carlo. Of course he didn’t want to spend time around her. She’d come on too strong with the nurturing, but what was she supposed to do? She was more used to being around kids and animals than adults. Kids and animals loved being taken care of.

  A big manly man like Carlo was different, she supposed, and it was just her own awkwardness that had made her think she could take care of him, or that he’d want her to.

  “Mama? What are we gonna do now?”

  The plaintive voice pulled Fern out of her funk. It didn’t matter what some strange man thought of her. She squatted down beside Mercedes, who was sitting cross-legged petting the little puppy. “You’re doing just the right thing. I’m proud of you for being so gentle. You just keep doing that while I text the caretakers and find out what to do next.”

  Although Fern could see now that Brownie’s ribs showed, her demeanor was much happier. She wasn’t whining anymore, just licking her puppy as if to make up for the time apart.

  Minutes later Fern’s phone buzzed and she read the instructions, still sitting with her arm around Mercedes. “Okay, they say we’re supposed to get the mama dog something to eat. Even if she’s nursing, we should put some soft food nearby so she can eat whenever she needs to and get her milk back up.”

  “What’s the puppy doing?”

  Fern watched as the puppy nuzzled at the mama dog’s teats and took a deep breath. Okay, time for a new mothering challenge. “Mama dogs feed their pups from their bodies. The dog has a nipple like a baby bottle, and milk comes out of it.”

  “That’s silly! That’s not where milk comes from.”

  “Nope, but our milk comes from cows.”

  Mercedes’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t drink from a cow!”

  Fern chuckled. “No, but the cow gets milked by the farmer, and then the milk gets sent to the grocery store, and then we buy it and drink it.” She hesitated. “When you were a baby, you drank from your mama just like that little puppy.” She didn’t want to upset Mercedes, but the social worker had told her it was good to refer to her biological mother naturally, in conversation. That way, Mercedes would know that her mother and her experiences with her mother weren’t a taboo subject.

  “I drank from my mommy?” Mercedes asked wonderingly.

  “Yes, your mommy told me she breast-fed you for a whole year. She loved you so much.”

  “Yeah.” Mercedes looked thoughtful for a minute. “Hey, the puppy is biting the mommy!”

  Fern was watching, too. The puppy was obviously getting some sustenance, but even to her inexperienced eye, it looked like a struggle. “Tell you what, let’s get Brownie that food. Maybe she needs more to eat before she can feed her pup.” She sincerely hoped Brownie could feed the pup entirely, both because it was better for the little guy, and because she didn’t know exactly how they’d manage the frequent feedings a little puppy would need.

  “What will she eat?”

  “I guess she’ll eat Bull’s food.” Suddenly, Fern realized she hadn’t seen the old bulldog. “Where is Bull anyway?”

  “Mr. Carlo took him in the den. He said it was better if they didn’t meet yet, because they might fight.”

  “Okay.” She had to appreciate Carlo’s practical help. The man was just...capable, and it was a relief to have him here even though he made her uncomfortable.

  After Brownie had eaten and settled down with a big doggy sigh, her pup beside her, Fern and Mercedes played board games in front of the fire. Mercedes had a snack and took a short nap, and Fern seized the opportunity to work a little on her picture book.

  When Mercedes got up, she distracted her with half an hour of television so she could work a little more and finish her ideas. A small flash of guilt about that, but after all, it was a snow day and half an hour of TV wasn’t too bad. Mercedes normally went to day care while Fern worked, and she was used to structure and varied activities in her day.

  What else was she going to do with little Mercy? She put her paints away and then wandered into the kitchen. Outside the windows, the sun peeked through clouds on its way to a beautiful sunset, all pink and peachy and orange and purple. Snow was heaped high against the fence line and the barn. Trees raised spidery arms into the sky, and the beauty was breathtaking. Yes, she had to do a winter story soon just so she could capture some of this in her art.

  She daydreamed of Ezra Scott Keats and The Snowy Day. They didn’t own the picture book, but she’d checked it out several times from the library. She looked through Angelica’s various shelves of picture books and found that one, along with several others related to snow.

  She and Mercedes lay down by the fire for a little while, reading, but it was clearly not active enough for the little girl and she got fidgety. So Fern pulled out her big guns. “Want to bake cookies?”

  “Yeah!” Mercedes’s eyes glowed. “Can we really?”

  “Sure. Let’s go find all the ingredients. I’m sure Angelica has everything basic.” It was true; as the mother of a first-grader, Angelica kept her kitchen well stocked in chocolate chips.

  As they mixed together the dough, as she showed Mercedes what to do and let her help, Fern flashed back to one memorable day in her favorite foster home, where Granny Jentis had let two of the girls help her bake cookies. It had been just such a snowy day. They’d baked batch after batch of sugar cookies and Fern remembered the thrill of licking the spoon and of watching the sticky dough turn into delicious warm cookies.

  If she had her way, Mercedes would have many, many days like that: homey, family days.

  Sudden fear flashed through her. What if things didn’t work out? What if something happened in the adoption process and Mercedes couldn’t stay?

  She drew in a deep breath. Glanced over reflexively at the verse Angelica had hung on the kitchen wall: “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear.”

  Angelica was a good Christian. The whole family was. And the thought of enough love to rid yourself of fear was amazing.

  Fern didn’t have that. She wished she did, and she knew from church that many believers had such faith that fear was gone or greatly diminished. That would be wonderful. Now, with so much more than she’d ever had to lose, Fern wished fervently that she had that safe, loving, loved feeling.

  She didn’t. And with her background, she didn’t know if she ever would.

  But she loved Mercedes with all her heart, and all she could do was to focus on that love.

  They were pulling the first batch of cookies out of the oven when Carlo came in, rubbing his stubbly face. In his faded jeans and loose sweater, sleeves pushed up to reveal brawny forearms, he looked impossibly handsome, and Fern’s heart rate shot up just looking at him.

  Which was weird, because she never went mushy and boy-crazy like other women.

  “Smells great in here,” he said, sounding calmer and more cheerful than before. “What’s going on?”

  “We baked cookies!” Mercedes shouted, her voice joyous. “I never did it before, and Mama Fern says I’m really good at it.”

  “Hmm.” Carlo bent over the cookie tray Fern was holding, pretending to sniff the cookies. His nearness just about took Fern’s breath away, weirdly enough. “I’m not sure. Would you like me to be a cookie tester for you?”

  Fern whirled away and set the cookies down on a pot holder on the counter. “He’s trying to fool us, Mercy. He wants the first taste of a cookie, but you’re the one who gets that.”

  Mercedes studied him carefully. “He can try it,” she said finally. “I like him.”

  Carlo took a hot cookie, bit into it and licked the crumb off his lip. His eyes sparkled at Fern. “Hmm,” he said. “That was...” He knelt in front of Mercedes. “The very best cookie I ever tasted!”

  “I know, and
this is the very best day I ever had!” Mercedes’s eyes widened then. “Except I wish Mommy was here.”

  Fern squatted down and hugged the little girl. “Your mama would be so proud of you for all your hard work today,” she said.

  There was a yip from the corner, sounding as if one of the dogs was barking approval, and Carlo looked over. “How are they doing?”

  When they all went over to check, the puppy was nursing contentedly while the older dog lay on her side.

  “Mama Fern, she’s smiling!” Mercedes cried.

  “It looks that way. I think she’s happy to be with her pup.”

  Indignant yowling came from the room where Carlo had been sleeping. “Sounds like old Bull isn’t happy to be left out,” Carlo said.

  “Do you think we should put them together?”

  “Not yet, but maybe later tonight. Bull seems like a nice guy, but this is his territory and—”

  A loud pop interrupted him.

  All the lights went out.

  Chapter Five

  “Whoa!” Carlo tensed instantly and reached for the spot where he’d last seen Mercedes, but his hand brushed Fern’s hip instead and he jerked it back.

  “Mama!” Mercedes cried, and he sensed rather than saw Fern kneeling beside her.

  “Shh, sweets, it’s okay. Mama Fern’s here.” She directed her voice toward him. “What happened?”

  “Must be from the storm.” He had pretty good night vision and spatial memory, so he made his way across the room and opened the window shades.

  Sunset had turned the sky purple and orange and pink, but he couldn’t see any electrical lights outside, not even way in the distance where another farm was usually visible. The outage must be widespread.

  Behind him, Mercedes’s scared sniffling turned into a wail.

  “I’m right here, Mercy.” Fern’s voice was calm, even upbeat. “Looks as if we’re going to have a little adventure.”

  “I don’t like dark,” the child cried.