“Well, I’ll tell you. I’d find a branch with a V in it, peel the bark off, and let the wood dry out. Then I’d take a sealer ring from Ma’s canning supplies and use a square piece of cloth for the pouch, where I could put a rock. I made some for my brothers and Bertie, and we spent plenty of time shooting at squirrels, birds, rabbits, and gophers. Especially gophers, since those danged things drove us crazy. They dug holes all over the field and ruined our crop. My pa promised us a penny for every gopher tail we brought him. We kept our slingshots and a few rocks in our pockets at all times. We thought of ourselves as a gang, like the outlaws who had pistols in their holsters.
“So this one day, Bertie and I were walking to town. I got Ma’s list crinkling in the pocket of my pants. The deerflies bit at my ankles, since my pants were too short. The walk to town was dry and dusty. I wished I could have hitched Victor to the wagon and drove him to town instead, since I was old enough. But Pa needed the horse out on the field.
“Bertie kicked a rock my way and I returned it. We passed the time in silence like that, the rock bouncing back and forth between us. I had still never been to Bertie’s house, though I knew where it was. Ma’s comment about Bertie being ‘poor as dirt’ had got me thinking. I only ever saw her in the same ragged dress, which hit well above her knees. I could see the scrapes and bruises that covered her legs. Her leather shoes had holes in them. She was clean, though.Her skin was scrubbed and her hair was always brushed and braided.
“My brothers and I avoided our weekly bath, staying outside till Ma gave up on us and used the bath water for laundry instead. We spent most of the summer in the creek anyway, but I dreaded winter when escaping the bath wasn’t so easy. My skin itched from November to March with the lye soap Ma made us wash with.
“‘What does your ma do?’” I asked Bertie. “‘When your pa’s gone threshing?’
“‘Don’t know,’ came her reply.
“‘What do you mean?’
“Bertie shrugged. ‘Don’t have one.’
“‘Where’d she go?’
“‘Died when I was a baby.’
“‘Who does all the cooking and washing?’ The answer came to me even as the question left my lips.
“‘I do.’ We fell back to silence till Bertie said, ‘Who’s that?’ On the road ahead were two boys, one bigger than the other. They’d found a wheel with two broken spokes. They were rolling it between them. Even from this far away, I could hear a nasty laugh I recognized, and stopped walking.
“‘Let’s duck into the bushes and take a different way into town,’ I said. Bertie looked at me like I was crazy. Thickets of gnarled shrubs lined each side of the road. I wanted to believe they’d be thick enough to conceal us from him.
“‘There is no different way. We’re almost there.’
“‘That’s Herbie Caldwell,’ I said, as if that would explain things. ‘The other one is Davey Elliot.’
“By now, the boys had spotted us and were rolling the wheel in our direction, chasing it with a stick. Bertie bent down and picked up the rock we’d been kicking between us and put it in the pocket of her dress. ‘Come on,’ she said. I had no choice but to follow her.
“You see, Herbie had never liked me and I wasn’t sure why. I was scrawny and no match for him physically, but every chance he got, he would pick on me. Sometimes, Amy ran to get the teacher at recess when the beatings got especially bad, but most of the time, he could pin me against a wall behind the school and get in a good punch to the gut before anyone noticed.
“I hadn’t seen Herbie all summer, and my heart beat hard as we walked toward him and Davey. Now that Davey had moved to town, the two of them were thick as thieves. Davey was the same age as the twins and didn’t used to be so bad. But as we got close, I could see the same sneer on Davey’s face as on Herbie’s.
“‘Walt!’ Herbie cackled. ‘Got yerself a girlfriend?’
“I ignored Herbie, intending to plough through the boys and continue our walk to town. Bertie had other ideas.
“‘I’m Bertie.’ She stopped and stared him right in the eye.
“Herbie narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Who says I wanted to know?’
“Bertie shrugged, although she didn’t drop her gaze. But she was so slight compared to Herbie’s bulk. The two boys moved to the center of the path, blocking our way. If I’d been by myself, I’d have turned tail and run. I might not have been strong, but at least I could outrun Herbie, and probably Davey too. General had gone into the bush, but I figured soon as he heard our voices, he’d come bounding out to find us. Bertie continued walking as if the boys weren’t there. Balling up my fists, I went with her, steeling myself for a beating.
“‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Herbie said.
“Bertie looked right at Herbie. ‘To Hackett’s. Want to come?’
“I’d never wanted to belt Bertie before, but at that moment I could have socked her.
“‘We don’t go around with wimps.’
“‘Me neither.’ She took a step to the right to get past Herbie. He moved to block her. She went the other way and so did he. Watching him mess with her was like taunting a wild cat.
“Her eyes narrowed. ‘You better move out of the way, if you know what’s good for you.’
“This threat sent Herbie into a fit of laughter. ‘Oh, yeah? You and what army? Look at Walt. He’s so scared of me, he’s gonna wet his pants.’
“‘He feels sorry for you, you big lug. You’re dumb as a post and got no hope for nothing ’round here. Not like Walter. He’s goin’ places, ain’t you?’ She paused to look at me—but not long enough to let me get a word in. ‘Bet your folks ain’t got two nickels to rub together right now. And here you are picking a fight with us who never even bothered you. Ain’t you got anything better to do?’ Bertie’s rapid-fire mouth was too much for Herbie. Whatever she thought she’d accomplish by yakking his ear off, it didn’t work. I saw his fists go up and he ran at me like a railway car.
“His punch got me in the shoulder, and I hit the ground with a thud, gasping for breath. Then he was on top of me, going for softer parts, aiming for my kidneys and stomach. Davey, that little weasel, yelled, ‘Yeah! Get him!’ from the sidelines. I closed my eyes, trying to protect myself and push him off at the same time. Let me tell you, I was hurting something bad.
“All of a sudden, I heard a crack, which I thought came from some part of me. But then Herbie’s weight fell off me. He writhed on the ground and squealed in pain. I crawled away and staggered to my feet. Bertie stood ready, slingshot loaded. She glared at Davey, daring him to do anything about it.
“‘Pick on someone your own size,’ she spat at Herbie. She must have hit him in the ribs, because he was holding his side and wailing. Davey ran to his friend, crouching over him.
“I whistled for General, and he came bounding out of the woods. ‘Lotta good you are.’ I shook my head at him. My insides felt like they were gonna split in two, but I forced myself to keep pace with Bertie as she turned toward town. She didn’t run but walked real quick, elbows flying out on either side of her, braids bouncing off her shoulders. We didn’t stop till we reached the front steps of Hackett’s.
“‘That Herbie’s something else,’ Bertie said as droplets of sweat dripped down her temples.
“I was glad the walk had left me red-faced so she couldn’t see the blush that rose up my neck at the thought of her saving my hide back there.
“When we went inside the store, I gave Mr. Hackett the list Ma had written out for him.
“‘And two strings of licorice and some of those lemon drops, please.’
Mr. Hackett had a face so red and shiny it looked like it wanted to explode. He and his wife lived in the back of the store and had no children. In the winter when Pa was working in the bush, he’d welcome Ma to the store with some cake and tea.
“‘Y
ou brought some muscle to help you with all this,’ he said jokingly as he looked over at Bertie. Little did he know how right he was.
“Bertie grinned and stuffed the candy in her pocket.
“‘Thanks, Mr. Hackett,’ I said, and swung the bag of flour over my shoulder. Pa could carry 100 pounds home from the store, but Ma had taken pity on me and only ordered twenty. Even that much would make my knees tremble by the time I got home. Bertie carried another bag with cornstarch and salt. At least sucking on a lemon drop helped ease the weight some. The bell on the door jingled as we made our way back out into the heat of the day.
“‘Thanks for the candy. My gran used to buy me those.’
“‘You got a gran?’ I wondered why she didn’t live with her, instead of in the shack with her pa.
“‘Yeah. She’s dead now.’
“‘That why you moved here?’ I asked as we walked back down the dirt road. I kept an eye out for Herbie, but he was nowhere to be seen. For all his big talk, he was a coward when the beating went the other way.
“‘She couldn’t take care of me when she got sick. Pa had to come back and get me. She died after I left.’
“‘My granddad died too. It’s his farm we’re on. Well, he bought it and dug the pond. Then Pa bought more land. Granddad used to live with us.’
“Memories of my granddad were hazy by then, but I remembered sitting on his knee when I was little, and his pipe smoke filling the house.
“‘Bet you were glad to be back with your pa,’ I said, trying to find some silver lining. Bertie just looked at me, and the curtain of toughness fell away.
“For a second, I thought she might cry. Her nostrils flared a little as she held that emotion in and jutted out her chin. ‘Not really.’
“‘Why not?’
“Her eyes strayed to a bruise on her arm. I didn’t say anything else. I’d thought all the bruises on her were from climbing trees and playing kickball with me and the twins. Shows you how much I knew about life back then. Couldn’t imagine a father doing that to his girl.
“‘That ain’t right,’ I said finally.
“Bertie didn’t say anything back, just stared at the ground. The sack of flour on my skinny back made it hard to do anything but concentrate on keeping one foot in front of the other.
“We were almost at the house when Bertie set down her bag of groceries. ‘It’s not his fault, you know. He never asked to have me with him. He’s doing the best he can.’ I gave her a solemn nod. She hesitated. By now, the bag of flour felt like it was breaking my bones. But I could tell whatever she had to say was important, so I tried my best to wait patiently, sweat trickling down my back.
“‘You’re the best friend I ever had,’ she blurted.
“I stood stock-still while Bertie tore off away from the house, her braids and the skirt of her dress flying behind her.
“‘It’s about time!’ Ma called from inside. All the windows were open. I lugged the flour the last few yards to the front porch and set it down with a relieved thud. ‘Where’s Bertie going?’
“‘Home, I guess.’
“‘Made her some lunch.’
“‘She’ll be back.’
“And of course she was.” Mr. Pickering paused. “You know, we never mentioned her declaration of friendship again, or what her pa was doing to her; but it sat between us like an anchor. No matter how bad the winds were that swept across the prairie or how dark the dust clouds were that gathered on the horizon, we knew we had each other.”
When Mr. Pickering was done speaking, he looked exhausted. I never knew an old person could talk so much at one time.
“Mr. Pickering?” I said softly. But his eyelids were getting lower and I could hear his breathing deepen. “Come on, Harvey,” I whispered, and went to the door. Harvey got up reluctantly, like he was trying to choose between me and Mr. Pickering. “We’ll come back,” I promised.
Look at me, negotiating with a dog, I thought. But the deal must have sounded okay to Harvey, because he jumped down from the recliner as silent as a ninja. Mr. Pickering didn’t even stir.
Chapter 17
Maggie
If you have ever lost a dog, you will understand how Maggie’s body shakes when her mother tells her the truth about Harvey. For a moment, she is speechless with shock, and then a horrible sob erupts, the likes of which her mother has never heard come from her daughter.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” she consoles her, but Maggie pushes her mother away.
“This is your fault!” Maggie shouts, racing to her room. “Harvey would never have been lost if we hadn’t gone away!”
Slamming her door, Maggie throws herself onto her bed and lets loose gut-wrenching sobs that stain her pillow with tears. Losing Harvey is the worst thing that has ever happened to her.
An hour or so later, Maggie stomps downstairs and shoves a piece of paper into her mother’s face. “We need to hang these up.” It is a Lost Dog poster, and Harvey’s sweet little face stares back at them. Below the photo is Maggie’s mother’s cell number.
Maggie’s mother is in the middle of making lunch for the twins. The two little girls are already in their booster seats, eager for food.
“Where?” her mother asks.
“Everywhere. Anywhere. I don’t care. I just want Harvey back!” Maggie’s voice borders on hysteria. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes sting from crying. Her mother’s face softens.
“Okay,” she agrees, ignoring the racket from the twins. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll email the poster to your dad. He can print off a hundred copies at work. The twins can sleep in the car, and we’ll put up the posters wherever you want. You’ll need tape and a stapler.”
Maggie exhales with relief. Maggie’s mother rubs her daughter’s shoulders and then pulls her in for a hug.
“Go send the poster to Dad and I’ll get the twins ready,” Maggie’s mother says. With a plan in place, Maggie forces herself to think positively. If something bad had happened to Harvey, she would feel it in her bones—she’s sure of it.
After sending a copy of the poster to her father, she makes a list of all the places she wants to hang them. She quickly realizes that a hundred posters is a lot. But she doesn’t care. Even if it takes all day, she will paper the city with pictures of Harvey until he is found.
Chapter 18
Austin
As soon as I walked through the sliding doors at Brayside, Harvey bounded over. His tail was wagging so fast, all I could see was a blur.
Mary Rose was bustling around the counter. “Any word from his owner?”
“Not yet,” I said, bending down to pat Harvey so I could avoid looking at her. I was sure Mary Rose would be able to tell if I was lying.
“Makes you wonder if something happened to his owner. Who wouldn’t want him back? He’s the sweetest thing.” Then she added in a baby-talk voice, “Aren’t you? Are you the sweetest?” Harvey moved toward her and sat, enjoying the attention while I stored my backpack and jacket in a locker.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Mary Rose said. “Mr. Pickering was asking when you were coming today.” Mary Rose’s voice was full of disbelief. “Said he had a story to tell you.”
“Really?”
Mary Rose arched an eyebrow. “What’s that all about?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Not sure.” But as soon as I turned away from Mary Rose, with Harvey at my heels, I smirked a little.
I wanted to get to Mr. Pickering’s room before Grandpa could find me and give me a chore to do. I wasn’t fast enough to escape Mr. Santos, though. He’d probably been waiting for me.
“Social media bird. Seven letters.”
“Twitter.” I answered so fast that even I was starting to think I was a crossword genius.
“Ha!” Mr. Santos said, and went back into his room to fi
nish the puzzle.
As usual, it took Mr. Pickering a while to answer my knock. I pressed my ear to the door and listened. What if one day, he didn’t come to the door? After all, he was ninety-six. I breathed a sigh of relief when the doorknob turned.
Harvey trotted in when the door opened and waited beside the recliner until Mr. Pickering settled himself down. Then he hopped up to join Mr. Pickering. Lots of residents at Brayside liked to ask me questions about my school or family, but Mr. Pickering didn’t even say hello.
As soon as I was sitting on the couch, he turned to me. “Ever see a dust storm?” The way he said it made me wonder if he’d been thinking about it all day.
I shook my head. “Don’t even know what one is.”
“Like a blizzard, but instead of snow, it’s sand and dirt stirred up from the ground. Summer of 1931 was the first year we had them. There’s no way to describe what seeing that cloud on the horizon felt like. Stretching up from the ground to the sky like a mountain moving. There was nowhere to hide because the dust could get inside of anything—locked trunks, bags of flour, beds. It was like the land we’d lived off was attacking us. The storms would last for days. We’d be holed up in the house with wet rags over our mouths and noses to help us breathe.
“As soon as the field workers spotted the dust clouds, they would raise the alarm. We’d race to find safety in the house or the barn. Even the outhouse was better than being caught outside when a dust storm hit. Let me tell you, the sand and grit that got stuck up your nose and in your ears could suffocate a man.
“Everyone thought the dry summer of ’33 would be the end of it, but ’34 was even worse. I was eleven that year. The walk into town was like crossing a desert. On either side of the road, the fields were empty. The winds blew away the topsoil. No one was getting a crop that year. Farmers lined up in town for relief. Bags of potatoes, carrots, turnips, fuel, and clothing were shipped in from all over the country. Even Mr. Hackett was feeling the pinch. His shelves lay empty. No point in buying goods no one could afford.
Harvey Comes Home Page 5
