“She spat. ‘That’s not what I want. I want him gone. He up and left me, no word for months! I’d be dead too, if it hadn’t been for you and your ma. Last thing he deserves is a Christian burial.’
“I’d been to a few funerals by that time, and I knew that burials were for the people still living more than the people who’d died. There’s some type of ending that happens when a coffin shuts. Bertie needed that, same as anyone. She had to say her piece to her pa, or she’d live with it forever.
“I grabbed her elbow and held on when she tried to shy away from me. ‘What are you doing?’ she growled.
“‘Come on,’ I said, dragging her toward the door.
“‘Let go of me!’ She swatted at me with her free arm. Her shout sent birds fluttering from the bushes. General whined.
“I stopped and looked at her. ‘You got to let go of him. All the bad feelings stewing inside of you, they’re gonna get worse unless you let them out.’
“She stopped struggling. ‘I can’t go in there.’
“‘I’ll be right beside you,’ I said, and nudged the door open with my shoe. It creaked and banged against the wall. The smell was even worse inside—like rotting, putrid sludge. We were close enough to his body that I could see the maggots writhing on his skin, feasting.
“‘Tell him. Tell him everything you want to say.’ Bertie stood there, mute. ‘Okay, I’ll start.’ I faced her pa. “You’re a worthless human being. You never deserved a daughter as strong and smart and fearless as the one you got. Maybe it was all your carousing ways that made her so brave. But you lived like a coward and you died like one too. Bertie’s right. This is what you deserve.’ Hearing the words come out of my mouth, I knew they were the right ones to say. I turned to Bertie.
“She blinked and didn’t say anything at first—just stared at what was left of her father. For a second, I thought she wasn’t going to say anything. The defiant Bertie had drifted away. In her place was a scared, sad girl who wouldn’t be able to shake this image of her pa for as long as she lived.
“I shouldn’t have dragged her in here, I thought.
“When she finally spoke, her words were thick and raspy and not what I expected. They came from somewhere deep inside of her. ‘I would have loved you.’ She stared at him for another few seconds, then tore out of the shack like it was on fire.
“General had had the sense to stay outside. As soon as Bertie took off, he bounded through the brush beside her.
‘“Bertie!’ I shouted. ‘Come back!’ I had half a mind to let her run; she had General with her to keep her safe. She’d find her way home when she was ready.
“In the end, I did go after her. Couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the farm by myself, not knowing where she was. I chased her and General through the bush, their shapes darting back and forth across my line of vision. Branches and sticks poked and jabbed me, scratching my face. With all my trappings, I was slower than she was. It wasn’t long before I lost sight of her and General.
“Then a scream pierced the air.
“‘Bertie!’ I shouted. ‘You okay?’
“There was a ferocious growl. I stopped where I was, listening.
“General’s bark reminded me of the day the bandits had shown up. It gave me chills. I ran closer, pulling the shotgun around and holding it against my chest.
“‘Get away!’ Bertie shouted. A branch scratched me across the cheek and drew blood. I flinched at the sting of it and crouched low, trying to see through the underbrush. I spotted Bertie standing a little farther ahead, waving a branch in front of her. General’s bark was loud, constant, and desperate.
“Three mangy dogs fanned out in front of Bertie. They looked half starved, which I knew made them even more dangerous. In response to a silent signal, they all took a step closer. Bertie backed up closer to me and waved the branch at their snouts. If she lunged too close, one could snap its jaws around her arm and haul her down. General, as strong as he was, was no match for the three of them.
“My fingers trembled as I held the gun in front of me. Sweat dripped into my eyes. I couldn’t steady the shotgun on my shoulder—it kept slipping. Couldn’t get a clear shot of the dogs either—I was afraid I could hit Bertie or General. I aimed the gun up to the sky and fired a warning shot. The dogs backed away, but didn’t run. They were too desperate to be scared.
“My fingers fumbled as I dug a bullet out of my pocket and reloaded the shotgun. It slipped from my fingers onto the tinder-dry leaves on the ground. I glanced up from the gun. The dogs were moving closer.
“‘Get away!’ Bertie shouted again and stomped on the ground. She had backed up until she was against a tree with nowhere else to go. I got another bullet in and adjusted the rifle on my shoulder. I trained my sights on the middle dog.
“My finger was on the trigger when one of the dogs snarled and dove for General. The other two advanced on Bertie. She kicked and whacked at them with the branch. Now I couldn’t risk shooting Bertie.
“‘Bertie!’ I shouted. I was about to fire another warning shot when suddenly General twisted away from his attacker. He threw himself in front of Bertie. All three dogs turned away from Bertie and went after General.
“Bertie shrieked, beating at them with her stick. With a battle cry, I held out the butt of the gun and charged, swinging at the dogs. General was on his side, struggling to stand. The dogs could taste blood. They went after General, greedily tearing into his flesh. The sound of their yelps and bloodthirsty growls made me frantic.
“‘No!’ I hammered at the dogs with the butt of the shotgun like a man possessed. I kicked and slammed them, catching one in the head. Another’s legs buckled and he limped off into the bush. Bertie whacked one across the middle and he whimpered and backed away.
“Bertie and I stood, muscles tensed. We looked around the thicket, nerves taut, as we prepared for another attack. But the last dog turned and ran. Soon we heard the dogs bark from a distance. They’d left, for now.
“General lay at my feet. I dropped to my knees. His exposed side was a bloody, pulpy mess. His fur was torn away and his innards were exposed. His breath came in short gasps.
“‘No, no, no!’ Bertie cried, and went down on shaky legs beside him. We watched helplessly as his blood seeped into the ground.
“‘General,’ I choked out. He wasn’t going to last long. I stroked his head, rubbing between his ears. Bertie ran her hand gently up and down his back.
“The dogs had ripped him apart. My heart broke to watch him suffer.
“And then I knew I’d have to finish what they hadn’t.
“I didn’t want to do it. But I had to. I wanted to make General better. I wanted him to know how much I loved him.
“Bertie knew what I was thinking. ‘You have to do it,’ she whispered. ‘He’s hurting.’
“I’m sorry,” I said. Tears filled my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. I put my lips against his fur and inhaled his scent, filling my body with one last breath of him.
“Bertie and I stood. ‘Back up,’ I said, and held the butt of the gun against my shoulder. Killing deer, rabbits, and squirrels is nothing like killing something you love. The pull of the trigger took an eternity. When the hammer came down at last, a flock of birds exploded into the sky.
“His body jolted once, and then he lay still.
“Bertie and I sat beside General all afternoon. I didn’t want the dogs to come back to take away another piece of him. Neither of us said a word. I was sick of it all—death and suffering, seeing people I loved get hurt. Anger filled me. I didn’t know how to get rid of it.
“Finally, Bertie stood. General was gone. His body was stiff—like every other dead thing I’d seen in my thirteen years. Like Bertie’s pa. Like I would be one day too.
“It hit me then, how useless all of it is. The fighting against something that’s gonna happen no matter wha
t.
“‘I’m sorry.’ Bertie’s voice was thick. ‘I’m sorry for everything.’
“‘Wasn’t your fault,’ I said, but I couldn’t look at her.
“‘It was.’ She turned and started walking back home. I bent down and rested my head on General’s. I wanted to hug him one more time, feel his warmth against my chest, and let him know he meant the world to me. But his scent was gone. Already his body was starting to rot in the heat.
“‘Goodbye,’ I murmured.”
Mr. Pickering stopped and sighed.
I knew this had happened more than eighty years ago. I knew General would be long gone now anyway. But my eyes burned with tears. I didn’t want General to be dead.
“Things weren’t the same between me and Bertie after that. It wasn’t just her. I changed too. Couldn’t stand the thought of being around the farm without General. School felt like a place for little kids now, so I stopped going. I guess I moved into myself, sort of. I shrank away from the rest of the world.
“It was my idea to go into the bush with Pa that fall. There was nothing left for me on the farm, and Nigel and Millard were old enough to look after things. Pa agreed, knowing I’d make good money with him. The twins weren’t sad to see me go, but I expect my ma was—though she didn’t say it. Bertie didn’t come outside to see me off. She was sore at me for leaving her, so we never said a proper goodbye.
“I sent letters home. Ma wrote to tell me Bertie’d taken to sleeping in the barn, like I used to. Ma didn’t think it was right for a girl to sleep out there, but she couldn’t chain Bertie up in the house either.
“By the time I came home with Pa in the spring, Bertie had gone. She’d left one day with a change of clothes and a bit of food. Ma was beside herself. She had Reggie and Mr. Hackett and everyone else she could think of look for Bertie. But it was like she’d disappeared into thin air.”
Mr. Pickering’s hand went to his chest again. I wiped away the tears that I couldn’t hold back anymore. “You found her, though, right?”
Mr. Pickering shook his head. “Never heard from her again. Never knew what happened to her till I read her obituary in the paper.” His eyes fell on a shiny wooden box on the coffee table. “I cut it out and saved it. You can read it if you like.”
There was a knock at the door, and Harvey let out a half-hearted woof. But he didn’t seem interested in leaving his spot on the recliner.
“You should get it.” Mr. Pickering said to me. “It might be Ma.”
Mary Rose was at the door. Harvey jumped down from the recliner and came over to greet her.
“You crying?” she asked, peering into my face.
“We were talking about his dog, General—”
“Ma? Is that you?” Mr. Pickering called from his chair.
Mary Rose looked at me, her eyes beetle-black and narrowed.
“Mr. Pickering, it’s Mary Rose.” She bustled past me and into the room. “Feeling okay, Mr. Pickering?” she asked him.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Mr. Pickering looked at her like she was an intruder. It reminded me of the man I used to think he was—a grumpy old guy who hated everyone. Mary Rose didn’t answer, but scolded me with her eyes.
Harvey left my side and headed back to the recliner, putting his paws up on Mr. Pickering’s lap. With a trembling hand, the old man reached down to rub the spot between Harvey’s ears.
“I should have gone looking for Bertie,” he said. He stared at me. “But Ma always said she was a wild thing. So I let her go.”
“What’s he talking about?” Mary Rose whispered.
“His best friend when he was a kid.” My voice was thick.
“I never should have let her go,” he mumbled. Then his head was in his hands and he sobbed quietly.
I couldn’t just let Mr. Pickering sit there crying, so I went to his recliner and crouched down beside it. I held his hand. It was knotted with veins, the skin loose and translucent.
“There was nothing you could have done,” I said. “It was a long time ago. Bertie would have forgiven you.”
“Do you think so?” he asked.
“Yeah. She would have. I know it.” That seemed to give him some peace. He rested his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, but he didn’t let go of my hand. A minute later he was breathing heavily.
“Austin?” Mary Rose murmured. “What’s going on?”
It was hard to put it all into words. I could feel the gears in my brain grinding slowly as I searched for a way to explain it all to Mary Rose. Finally, I said, “He’s trying to let go.”
Mary Rose put a hand on my shoulder. “You want to stay with him till he wakes up?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, and gently pulled my fingers out of Mr. Pickering’s grip. He stirred a little.
“Goodbye, Bertie,” he said in his sleep.
Chapter 32
Harvey
Harvey can’t settle. He has tried to find the spot beside Mr. Pickering that he usually lies in, but it doesn’t feel right. The old man’s body is tense, as if he’s waiting for something.
Harvey is on edge. He knows he must stay close, alert for whatever danger is coming.
Harvey tries to get Austin’s attention. He nudges the boy’s leg with his nose as if to say, Can’t you feel it?
Mr. Pickering’s scent is fading. His heart is weakening, each beat fainter than the last. Harvey stares at Austin, willing him to understand.
“What is it, Harvey?” Austin asks.
Of course, Harvey can’t explain what he senses is coming for the old man. But if he could, the fate of our story and the lives of Austin, Mr. Pickering, and Maggie would take a very different turn.
Chapter 33
Austin
Harvey kept sniffing around the recliner, jumping up and then back down. He stared at me with his head tilted, as if he were trying to tell me something.
Mr. Pickering slipped in and out of sleep, until he finally jolted upright, fully awake. He looked so confused, I braced myself for the awkwardness of explaining who I was again. But then his face changed.
“They’re moving me upstairs, aren’t they?” Mr. Pickering said.
I nodded.
Mr. Pickering sighed. He looked frail. “When?”
“Soon, probably. Your heart—”
Mr. Pickering waved a hand and snorted. “My heart.” His voice caught, as if he were going to cry. I was still sitting on the floor by his chair where Mary Rose left me. I wished I could do something.
“Austin,” he said, “I’d like to go for a walk.”
I thought he meant down the hallway, so I nodded. That was good news, right? I figured that if he had enough energy to leave his suite, maybe he wasn’t feeling as bad as I thought.
“Okay!” I said, and stood up, ready to help him out of the recliner.
But then he threw me for a loop by saying, “Outside.”
“Outside,” I repeated.
“Yes. Outside.”
As soon as Harvey heard the word “outside,” he raced to the door and started pawing it.
“When they ship me up to the second floor, that could be it,” Mr. Pickering said gruffly. “I’d like to breathe fresh air one more time.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Pickering,” I said.
“You can bundle me up in a wheelchair. Other people go out for walks. We don’t need to go far.” He staggered out of the recliner and I reached out to grab him. His weight on my arm felt solid.
As soon as I opened the door, Harvey shot out and raced to the front desk, where we kept his leash. Mr. Pickering shuffled beside me.
“Good to see you up and about, Mr. Pickering,” Mary Rose said, but she shot me a look that said, Have you lost your mind?
“We’re taking Harvey out.”
“Now?” Mary
Rose asked. It was late afternoon and already getting dark.
“Spent my whole life outside,” Mr. Pickering growled. “Sure as heck not going to let this place tell me what I can and can’t do.” I almost laughed to hear Mr. Pickering’s crankiness return.
Mary Rose didn’t look too sold on the plan, but at last she said, “Then I guess we’re all going.” She went back to his suite and dug out a winter jacket. When she brought it to him, I could see a layer of dust on the shoulders from hanging in the closet for so long. We set him up in a wheelchair and piled blankets on top, tucking them around his legs to keep him warm.
I didn’t think he liked all the fuss. He stared straight ahead, his lips pressed tight together till we were done. Then Mary Rose and I put on our jackets. Harvey was circling like crazy, excited by all the activity and the promise of outside. Finally, I was ready to push Mr. Pickering’s wheelchair through the sliding-glass doors and into the chilly November afternoon.
“Not too far,” Mary Rose reminded me as we started down the street. I leaned over to check on Mr. Pickering. He was so loaded up with blankets that only his nose and mouth peeked out.
Harvey dragged Mary Rose to the first tree we came to and lifted his leg. But before he could pee, he put his leg down again. He froze and sniffed the air.
Mary Rose shook her head.“I guess he’s picked up the scent of something.” She yanked on the leash. “Come on, Harvey.”
But Harvey wouldn’t budge.
Chapter 34
Maggie
Maggie and her mother find a parking spot on Broadway, a terrific feat for the middle of a work day. The sidewalks are clogged with people, and at first Maggie is too timid to shout out Harvey’s name.
But after a couple of hours, she no longer cares. Her voice rings out in a stretched-out two syllable call that echoes in her head as she walks.
“Harrr-veee!”
When she hears the first bark, it is so faint that she wonders if she has imagined it. But then it comes again, barely audible over the street noise.
Harvey Comes Home Page 12
