The Puzzled Heart

by Amanda Cross

  “What is it you really want from me, my dear?” Dorothy asked, sipping her own tea and savoring one of her own cookies. Kate had not felt up to trying one, afraid she might choke on it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My dear Kate, if you have had that adorable puppy for more than a week, I’ll eat my hat. You also don’t know anything at all about boarding dogs; you haven’t asked a single question, intelligent or not.”

  “I’m an observer,” Kate said, rather defensively.

  “I likewise. I don’t know where you got Banny, but I’m willing to bet this house against your car that she’s on loan. The question about her being in your lap as a big dog was cute, but, my dear, big dogs don’t try to sit in your lap, any more than big people do. Little dogs are a different matter. But even my Norwich terriers have too much dignity to jump into anyone’s lap, and they’re not that enamored of being picked up either. All that might have been explained away, but it’s clear you’re a nervous wreck, and that you think there’s some way I can help you. What is it? Do you want to leave Banny with me while you straighten out whatever mess landed you with her? I’ll need some sort of contract, but I’m willing. Or is it something else? How did you hear of me anyway?”

  Kate sat there, stroking Banny’s soft fur. She had, it seemed to her, only two choices. She could get up and leave, or she could begin some sort of approach to the truth. The woman already knew her name. Perhaps it would be worth trusting her a little. After all, to leave would accomplish nothing.

  “Let me help if I can,” Dorothy said. “I looked you up in Who’s Who before you came, assuming you’re who you say you are. I find it a useful reference in this business, so don’t look so surprised. You’d be amazed to learn how many people claim to be someone well-known when they arrive with a dog. Their motives are varied, but usually sordid. A few questions soon settle the matter. I’m ready to believe you’re who you say you are, though you’re not here for doggy reasons. What can I do for you?”

  “I came about your brother,” Kate said, feeling totally idiotic. She had never felt so powerless and devoid of personality in her life. It was a combination of despair, sorrow, anger, and helplessness, a wicked brew.

  “My brother? Kenneth, the college boy? That’s right, he’s still matriculating at the place where you teach. Why didn’t I think of that right off the bat? Kenneth’s a bit late to be a college boy, but then he’s always been backward about everything, a true mama’s boy. Is he a student of yours?”

  “No. I’ve never met him. He wrote a letter to the college newspaper.”

  “Ah, I see. Promulgating all the old family values and old-time morals, which mostly add up to supporting the rich, the male, and the white, though that’s probably not the right order. Look, did you agree with his letter?”

  “No. I thought it quite mad. But it did cause me a good bit of concern.”

  “My dear, of course it did. Ken is fifteen years younger than me, and thirteen years younger than my sister. He was an afterthought, and not a happy one, in my opinion. But he was male. My mother felt like Sarah: God had blessed her at last. My poor sister ended up in one of those cults where they tell you what to do and who to marry and what to think every minute of the day, exactly like home, I would have thought—but at least it wasn’t home. She had got in the habit of being told what to think, I guess, and couldn’t break it; I just got out. Our father died after Ken was born; I suspect he died of syphilis, except that no one seems to die of that anymore. Well, as you may gather, it’s not your basic happy family. Whether it represents true family values, I don’t know, but I suspect it does: general misery all around, unless you can join in the assurance that you are absolutely right about everything, no questions permitted. Tell me something about yourself.”

  “You know what’s in the reference book. All I can tell you of any importance that isn’t there is that I’ve acted, from time to time, as a detective. Purely amateur. But,” Kate added, more to herself than to Dorothy, “my skills in that area seem to have gone with my self-confidence.”

  “Kate, my dear,” Dorothy said, “you’re obviously in some kind of trouble, and what that trouble is is none of my business. On the other hand, you came out here to see me with a puppy you seem to have acquired in the last twenty-four hours, so I may be allowed to assume that you haven’t come about the dog. If it was primarily a kennel you wanted, there are others nearer the City—not as good, I admit, but adequate. Why did you come to me?”

  “I’ve had her a few days, actually,” Kate said, stroking Banny. “And I have to admit I’m hooked, although I don’t think I’m going to be allowed to keep her.” And to Kate’s embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Let me put it this way,” Dorothy said. “Either you’re the greatest actress since silent films, or you’re in deep trouble. Don’t tell me if you just need to wail, not that I won’t sympathize, but you’ll just end up hating me and yourself for so uncharacteristic—I’m guessing—a confidence. But if you came here for a purpose, why don’t we discuss what it is?”

  “It’s about your brother.”

  “Ken? You mean you do know him after all? Don’t tell me you’re involved in any way with Kenneth, unless he’s blackmailing you or trying to bully you into giving him a passing grade. Otherwise, I shall have misjudged you badly. Very badly.”

  There was a honking from outside. “Ah, the Carlisles, come for their bull terrier. And not a moment too soon, I assure you. That dog gives new meaning to the verb to chew. You just rest here, and think about what you have to say and if you want to say it. I’ll be back soon.”

  Dorothy went out of the kitchen door. Kate could hear voices in greeting, then a moment’s silence, and then human screams of welcome. Kate went to the window and saw a dog with black spots leaping up and down in joy, running to the man and woman who had come to pick him up, then back to Dorothy (quite a tribute that, Kate thought), then back to his owners. Kate saw Dorothy present the man with what was clearly a bill, since the man took out his wallet, extracted a check, and made it out, leaning on the fender of his car. Hands were shaken all around.

  When the man opened the front door of his car, the bull terrier leapt in and had to be dragged out and forced into the backseat. “I’ll sit with you, Doc,” the woman said, joining the dog in the backseat. Dorothy waved as the car pulled out.

  I am certainly learning something about the dog world I wouldn’t have dreamed of knowing a few days ago, Kate thought. I shall have to tell Reed. And then the panic in her gut returned.

  Dorothy came back in, pausing to place the check on a desk in the large kitchen. “Like so many dog owners, they are covered with guilt for undertaking any adventure that doesn’t include Doc. Between those people who acquire dogs and then simply dump them, and those who treat them better than most people treat their children, I don’t know which to condemn more. But at least this puts money in my pocket, and the dog doesn’t suffer. I hate to see dogs suffer. Speaking of suffering—mine—let’s take this little lady out now that she’s woken from her nap. Pees follow sleep in puppies. Remember that, at least as long as you have this one.”

  Kate carried Banny outside. The dog immediately confirmed Dorothy’s wisdom by squatting. Kate thought how nice it must be to know absolutely everything there was to know about one subject, even dogs. Literature, somehow, never lent itself to such assurance; detecting even less.

  Suddenly, Kate remembered Harriet’s telling her that she might well be followed everywhere. Had she been followed here? There was no sign of anyone, but if she had been seen entering this place, surely Dorothy’s mother and brother would be suspicious that she had picked this particular kennel. Might it not be best to keep the visit as purely doggy as possible? On the other hand, Kate mused, if she was followed and they knew she had met Dorothy Hedge, why not take the opportunity to get Dorothy on her side. After all, if Dorothy were secretly in cahoots with her family, while denying she had anything to do wi
th them, then she would know what was going on and would hardly need Kate to tell her. The only possible flaw in this reasoning would be if Reed’s kidnappers were not in any way connected with Dorothy’s family, if her family did not know of the kidnapping, and if Dorothy, secretly working with them, were to tell them the story, thus further endangering Reed. Somehow, this seemed too farfetched, even for Kate in her present mode of acute suspicion. She decided—not for the first time, she wryly told herself, but never wholly wrongly either—on trust.

  Still, one might ask a question or two. Suppose this woman said, “I’m not a feminist, but I believe in equal pay.” Would one want to trust someone capable of such an answer with help against a violently antifeminist group? No, Kate thought, probably not.

  “What do you think of feminism?” Kate asked. If Dorothy thought that question odd, she gave no sign.

  “What do I think of it? It saved my life, that’s what I think of it. If I hadn’t run into feminism when I did, I’d still be wondering why I felt my family to be so wrong when everyone else seemed to be on their side. Suddenly, everyone else didn’t seem to be on their side. All that I’d been feeling, it turned out, others had been feeling; it was deliverance. Judging from the bits about you in Who’s Who, I gather you’re something of a feminist yourself. Am I wrong?”

  “No,” Kate said. “You’re not wrong. I’m married, you see,” she began.

  “Yes,” Dorothy said, “that was in Who’s Who too.”

  “You see, my husband’s been kidnapped. I hate the word husband but not so much as I hate the word wife. Still—”

  “What do you mean, kidnapped?”

  “Just that: forced into a car, taken away, held with threats to kill him if I don’t within a few days write a piece, dramatic enough to be published, about why I am abandoning feminism forever. Therefore, I conclude that the kidnappers are right-wing types who loathe feminism, loathe and fear it.”

  “And you think Kenneth and Ma might be involved?”

  “I’ve no reason to think so, but it’s the only lead I’ve got. When I heard about you, I thought, well, it’s worth a try.”

  “Is that why you borrowed the cuddly puppy?”

  “No. That was for other reasons. But I have to tell you that someone may have followed me here. I didn’t see them, but then I wasn’t thinking of being followed; I should have been. I’m afraid my mental powers have not been exactly sharpened by all this.”

  “And why should they? I need time to think,” Dorothy said. “I don’t know how to find out if my family’s involved, since I haven’t talked to them in several years, but I’ll think of something. Meanwhile, let’s hope they followed you. If they did, they’ll probably be in touch with me, and then we’ll know who they are. I tell you what: you better leave Banny with me; that will give you a reason to come back. Let’s say you asked me to house-train her for you.”

  “Oh, no,” Kate cried, astonishing herself. “I can’t leave Banny. I need her for other reasons I can’t go into.”

  “And as a talisman and comfort. Okay. But it will make our communicating harder. I tell you what. Give me a day, and bring her back here Thursday evening. I should have something to report, or maybe nothing. If there’s nothing, your coming here won’t matter. If there’s something, at least we can talk here then, and arrange somehow to meet somewhere else. Is it a date?”

  “It’s a date,” Kate said, and with that she had to be content.

  Four

  BY the time Kate took leave of Dorothy Hedge, the traffic on the Taconic and the Saw Mill Parkway had thickened. At each of the traffic lights on the Saw Mill, Kate was forced to stop, waiting impatiently for the cars ahead of her to move as the signal turned green. The powers that be had, thank whatever politician was responsible for so sensible a decision (and of course one did not know whom to thank; one seemed only to know in such matters whom to blame), removed the tollbooth on the Saw Mill Parkway, eliminating the worst of the bottlenecks. But soon afterward came the Henry Hudson Bridge, and long, long lines of those without tokens or E-ZPass waiting to pay the toll.

  As Kate sat powerless in her car, she could feel her frustration rising. Banny, sensing her tenseness, awoke and licked Kate’s face. It’s the passivity of it, Kate thought, the powerlessness, the complete lack of control, the regimentation. Lines always did this to Kate, which was why she had long since got out of the habit of going to movies or patronizing the more fashionable restaurants. Enforced passivity.

  But what exactly had Kate been indulging in, ever since Reed was taken, but passivity? She had first gone into a trance, then rushed over to Leslie’s for comfort, then turned the whole thing over to Toni and Harriet. She had allowed herself to be given a dog—however appealing—and had used the dog for what action they had left her.

  Reed had been kidnapped, and it was time, it really was time, she thought as she edged the car forward, for her to begin to think for herself, perhaps to act for herself. She was so overwhelmed by this realization that she forgot to move forward, and the driver in back of her honked irritably. She felt better, stroking Banny, who went back to sleep. She would put her mind to the matter, her mind rather than her emotions or her fears. Surely, however, it would be wise to consult someone, to bounce ideas off someone. Yes, she decided, she would call Leslie and confer with her. And the hell, up to a point, with Toni and Harriet’s orders. She almost wished she had a phone in the car, an indulgence she had always considered the height of folly, necessary only for corporate lawyers and people who lived in California and spent a third of their life on one or another freeway.

  By the time Kate had made it through the tolls and on to the garage, had left the car and walked home with Banny, now attached to her leash and collar, and stopped frequently to have Banny admired, touched, and cooed over, she was altogether determined upon action. She did not yet know of what kind, but she was resolved upon abandoning her passive despair, which might be forgiven as an initial response, but which had gone on far too long.

  First Kate called Leslie to tell her she was feeling better, and that things were looking up a bit. “I’ve had it with sitting around, worrying, and doing nothing,” Kate said. “But I don’t want to go off half-cocked. What do you think?”

  Leslie agreed that it was about time Kate took charge of the situation, and said that she, Leslie, was damn glad to hear it. She reported that her grandsons had returned home, and that she was at Kate’s disposal anytime she was needed.

  “I just wanted a friend’s assurance that I hadn’t taken leave of my senses,” Kate said.

  “You’ve got it,” Leslie answered, “in spades.” Kate promised to call back soon, hung up, then immediately lifted the receiver and called Harriet and Toni.

  “I know you said not to call,” Kate explained to an outraged Harriet, “but that is an order I’ve decided not to obey. You are working for me, you and Toni, and I want to see you tonight. Here. I don’t care if someone is watching me, or if they see you visiting, or if they wonder whether you’re visiting as friends or detectives. We’ve got to talk. I’ll expect you here for a drink at six.” And Kate hung up amid howls of protest from Harriet. Six was less than an hour away, and Kate had some organized thinking to do.

  When Harriet arrived, looking fit to be tied, as they used to say in Kate’s youth and probably in Harriet’s, she announced that Toni was not coming, since she didn’t approve of this meeting. Harriet, it was always possible, might still be interpreted as a friend visiting in a difficult time. Kate had assembled the single malt Scotch, ice, and glasses, and was clearly prepared for action. She poured some Scotch and began talking.

  Harriet opened her mouth to protest, but only, Kate noticed, after she had got some whiskey into it. Kate held up a silencing hand. “Listen to me,” she said. “I’ve listened to you two for days, I’ve adopted a dog”—who, perhaps exhausted from her travels, was asleep in an armchair—“and now it’s my turn to talk.”

  Harriet knew when arg
ument would be futile and listening the only sensible response. She leaned back and assumed, with a sigh, a listening position.

  “I’ve been thinking, starting from the beginning and analyzing the situation anew. My first observation is that, however closely the student who wrote that antifeminist letter may be connected with the radical right, he is not the only male chauvinist student around. No doubt you remember the boys at Cornell who wrote in favor of silencing women and having a free ticket to rape—they wrote on e-mail I think, but the means of broadcasting are immaterial.” Harriet nodded that she did remember. “So,” Kate continued, “I began thinking of students who might have objected to my course, or might think this sort of caper as funny as rape, if you follow me.”

  “Closely,” Harriet said, sipping.

  “Here’s yet another example,” Kate said, picking up a clipping and waving it at Harriet, who watched unperturbed. “In a ‘Forum’ discussion, ‘Discouraging Hate Speech without Codes,’ in Academe, the magazine of the AAUP, the American Association of University Professors.” “I have heard of it,” Harriet interjected mildly; Kate ignored her. “Professor Susan Gubar reports the following: ‘What is to be done when I discover a note affixed to the office door threatening to disrupt a Women’s Studies symposium on sexual violence or, most malevolently, I find a burn mark up and down the same door? What do I do if a student protests the one lecture spent on women’s issues as “too much about feminism” by tearing the course pack up before the class? Or if one of my graduate students tells me she has received notes from a freshman who threatens to stalk her?’ I’m just reading you this,” Kate added, “so that you’ll see where I’m coming from.”

  “I’ve seen it long since,” Harriet said. “But remember, Gubar teaches in Bloomington, Indiana, where they’re a little less sophisticated.”

  “Exactly. They might not be sophisticated enough to think up a kidnapping scheme, but my students are; I just wanted to establish the facts in a general way.”