You might think it would be impossible to tell one dog’s bark from another’s, but I bet you are able to pick out your mother’s call in a crowded room. Harvey’s bark has been embedded in Maggie’s brain. She is sure it is him.
“Mom!” she whispers, clutching her mother’s sleeve. “Listen.”
Three more short barks.
“It sounds like Harvey!” Maggie cries.
They pick up the pace and head in the direction the barks come from, calling for Harvey.
Chapter 35
Austin
I couldn’t tell what had spooked Harvey. He sniffed the air as if his life depended on it. His tail stuck straight up. His ears were pricked. He barked and barked, as if he were calling to someone. Finally, we got him moving again.
We headed straight down Broadway. “How are you doing?” I asked Mr. Pickering.
“Where’s the dog? he said.
“He’s right there with Mary Rose.” I turned the wheelchair a little so he could see Harvey pulling on his leash.
“Not that one. General. Where is he?”
I groped for an answer. “He—he’s not here.”
Mr. Pickering looked up at me, panic stricken.
I needed to say something to soften the blow. “He was a really great dog, though, wasn’t he?”
Mr. Pickering’s eyes were teary. I couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or his memories of General. I figured it was time to go back to Brayside. But Harvey kept barking and tangling himself in our legs.
“Harvey!” Mary Rose said sharply. “What in the world is wrong?” She turned to me. Harvey was still in the middle of the sidewalk. He refused to move, even with Mary Rose tugging hard on his leash.
Then I turned to check on Mr. Pickering. He was slumped over in his chair. My guts turned ice cold. There was something about the way he was leaning forward with his head dropped to the side. It didn’t look like he was asleep.
“Mary Rose!” I shouted. “Help!” She dropped Harvey’s leash and was beside me in a heartbeat.
A second later, from the corner of my eye, I saw Harvey racing away.
Chapter 36
Harvey
Maggie’s scent wafts up Harvey’s nose again. Every hair on his body bristles. He can feel Mary Rose tug on his leash, but he steels his legs and refuses to move.
He ignores Austin’s call as he holds onto the scent. But then the boy’s voice changes. The high-pitched, panicked shout raises Harvey’s hackles. He feels the tension slacken as Mary Rose drops his leash and rushes to Mr. Pickering.
Harvey could go now. Free from Mary Rose’s hold on his leash, he could run. He could follow his Maggie’s scent. He could find her.
But he doesn’t.
Austin shouts. Harvey knows that the commotion around Mr. Pickering means there is trouble. Just as he would alert his pack if he had one, Harvey tears down the sidewalk. He streaks across streets, dodging peoples’ legs. What took almost half an hour—with all the starts and stops—takes Harvey only a few minutes. When he arrives at Brayside’s front doors, he stands outside and barks. The noise echoes off the glass doors and brick walls, so instead of one little white dog calling for help, it sounds like many.
The doors glide open. “Harvey?” Phillip says. He steps onto the sidewalk and looks around for Austin. “What are you—”
“Come!” Harvey’s yip says. He knows he has to get back to his people. They need him. Austin needs him.
Harvey doesn’t wait to see if Phillip will follow. He just takes off. His legs fly over the pavement. He can hear Phillip puffing behind him and the jangle of his keys as he struggles to keep up.
Harvey races back to the old man. He smells his Maggie again. Her scent is strong, and he knows she must be nearby. He wants to stop and howl for her, let her know he is here. But dogs operate on instinct. Harvey’s instinct tells him to deliver Phillip to Mr. Pickering. As much as he wants to, he can’t stop for Maggie.
Chapter 37
Maggie
Maggie shouts for Harvey. Her voice is raspy now. She pauses at alleys and doorways, looking inside. Across the street, people are crowded around something. She can’t see what it is. Parked cars block her view.
“Harrr-veee!” she shouts.
She hasn’t heard him bark again. Maybe I did imagine it, she thinks with a heavy heart.
Nearby sirens blare. Across the street, Maggie sees a man running. In front of him is a blur of white.
“Harvey!” Maggie’s heart jumps to her throat. “Harvey!”
Maggie’s mother grabs her daughter’s jacket before she rushes blindly into traffic. Maggie points to the other side of the street.
“It’s him! Right there! He’s running with that man!” Maggie’s face is alight with excitement. Tears overflow her eyes. “I saw him!” It was only a glimpse, a flash of white. But Maggie knows.
It has to be Harvey.
Chapter 38
Austin
I stood helplessly beside Mr. Pickering as Mary Rose told me what to do. She had a 911 operator on the phone with her.
“Watch for the ambulance,” she said to me. “Wave them down so they know where we are.”
I was too scared to ask if he was alive, but I heard her tell the operator that his pulse was weak, so I knew he must be. All I could think about was that it was my fault if something happened to Mr. Pickering. He never would have been outside if it hadn’t been for me.
“Austin!” Grandpa shouted. I didn’t know how Grandpa figured out where we were, and I didn’t care. I was just glad he was there.
I could hear the sirens now. I ran into the middle of the street and waved my hands over my head as if I were flagging down an airplane. An ambulance pulled over. I stumbled out of the way and stood beside Grandpa.
“How did you know?” I asked. The paramedics pulled the layers of blankets off Mr. Pickering and lifted him out of the wheelchair and onto a gurney.
“Harvey showed up at Brayside. The way he was acting, I knew something had to be wrong.”
“Where is he?” I looked around, worried.
That’s when I heard a girl laughing.
“Well, I’ll be,” Grandpa muttered. Behind us, sitting on the sidewalk was a red-haired girl, about twelve. Harvey was jumping up and down with excitement and covering her face with kisses. In the same instant, Grandpa and I both knew. Harvey had found his owner.
I moved away from Grandpa and walked over to Mr. Pickering. The paramedics were trying to keep him alert, but he was slipping in and out of consciousness.
“It’s me, Mr. Pickering,” I said. “Austin.”
“Bertie,” he whispered.
“No, sir. Austin.” But then I saw that he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at the red-haired girl.
Mr. Pickering smiled. “They’re waiting for me,” he murmured, “so we can walk to Shell Creek.”
His eyes flared bright like a candle for a second, and then slowly burned out. His lids drooped.
He took one last breath that shuddered through him. And then he was peaceful.
Chapter 39
Maggie
Maggie clutches Harvey to her chest and digs her fingers into his fur. She is so focused on Harvey that she is oblivious to events going on around her. She doesn’t notice the man in blue coveralls approach her mother. She doesn’t notice that the boy with him is wiping away tears.
“Maggie,” her mother calls a few minutes later. “Come here.” Reluctantly, Maggie stands up, cradling Harvey in her arms. “This is Phillip and his grandson, Austin. They found Harvey.”
“He showed up outside of Brayside last week,” says the man. “Austin took him in.”
“Brayside?” Maggie’s mother asks. “The retirement home?”
Phillip nods. The boy looks at Maggie from und
er a shaggy fringe. She narrows her eyes at him. He doesn’t look like a dog thief, but she knows he must be. All he had to do was bring her dog to a vet or shelter, and they would have used the chip implanted in Harvey’s neck to find his home.
“We’re going to miss him,” Phillip says. “He’s become a fixture around Brayside. The residents love him.”
“I’m sorry I kept him,” Austin says. His voice is deeper than Maggie expected—hoarser. But then she realizes it’s because he’s holding back tears. “Do you think I could say goodbye to him? Before you leave?”
Maggie is tempted to say no—she really is. But Harvey is wiggling around in her arms, making it impossible to hold on to him. She puts him down on the sidewalk and keeps a firm grip on his leash as he darts to the boy.
Austin crouches down and holds Harvey’s face in his hands. He whispers something she can’t hear and then rubs the ruff around his neck. She always thought of Harvey as her dog, but seeing them together makes her realize that part of Harvey might belong to Austin too. The thought gives her a sharp pang.
Maggie bends down so she and Austin are eye level and only a few feet apart. Harvey licks Austin’s hand and returns to Maggie.
“He’s a really good dog,” Austin says. His words are filled with emotion and almost unintelligible. Despite the odds, Maggie has found Harvey and he is going home with her. Some of the bitterness she feels for Austin drains away.
“Thanks for looking after him.” It’s the most generous thing she can think of to say, considering the circumstances.
Austin’s cheeks flush—with guilt, she thinks. Or maybe it’s just that he is going to miss Harvey. She feels a rush of pity for him. She knows, just as well as he does, that dogs like Harvey are rare. Maybe one in a million.
“Austin,” his grandpa calls. “We should go back.”
Reluctantly, Austin stands up. “I help at Brayside after school every day, if you want to visit.” The offer is halfhearted, as if he already knows what her answer will be.
But Maggie surprises both of them by saying, “Yeah. Maybe.”
She knows how hard it was to lose Harvey for a week. She can’t imagine losing Harvey for a lifetime.
Chapter 40
Austin
After the ambulance left, and Maggie and her mother took Harvey, Grandpa and I walked back to Brayside. Mary Rose had gone ahead to let everyone know what happened. Watching her leave with the empty wheelchair made it hard to swallow.
“He’s in Heaven, right?” I asked Grandpa. It sounded like something a little kid might say, and I would have been embarrassed to ask anyone else.
“I like to think so.”
“Me too.” I wiped the tears off my cheeks.
“He lived a good life,” Grandpa said. “You were lucky you got to hear about it.”
“It was because of Harvey,” I said. “He got Mr. Pickering talking.”
Grandpa shook his head. “I think it was you, Austin. No point in talking if no one is there to listen.”
When we got back to Brayside, Mr. Santos, Mr. Singh, Miss Lin, Mrs. Luzzi, and Mrs. O’Brien were waiting for me. Mary Rose, Louise, and Artie were there too. But it was Mrs. O’Brien who held out her arms and let me quietly sob against her shoulder.
“I know, Austin,” she whispered. “I know.”
I let Grandpa handle the explaining, and when I was ready, I went to Mr. Pickering’s room. I raised my hand to knock on the door. When I realized I didn’t have to, because no one was there to answer, the ache in my chest grew.
His suite was just how he’d left it. The lunch tray Mary Rose had brought was waiting on the coffee table. The room still smelled like him. I looked behind me, expecting to see Harvey trot to the recliner. But he wasn’t here either.
So this was what it felt like to be lonely.
I sunk to the floor in front of the coffee table and pulled the wooden box toward me. It was made of polished wood, and the lid was slippery in my hands. Inside was a small pile of newspaper clippings—obituaries—and photos. I pulled a couple of the obituaries out and looked at the names. Nigel Pickering, one of the twins, was there. It was yellowed with age, almost thirty years old. Herbie Caldwell was there too, and I snorted with surprise when I read who his wife was—Sylvia Pickering, little Sylvia. I looked at the one on top. The strip of paper was still white and so long, it unfolded like an accordion.
The obituary was only a few weeks old. The photo was of a woman standing in front of an easel. Her hair was completely white and hung in a long braid over her shoulder. Even in the black and white photo, Bertie’s personality shone through.
The obituary read:
Roberta “Bertie” Dorothy Johnston (nee Gamache)
Born of humble beginnings on a farm in Saskatchewan, Bertie never let anything slow her down. Orphaned at a young age, she made her way west, first to Edmonton and then to Vancouver, where she earned a living as a housemaid and then as a waitress at a local coffee shop. She eventually took over ownership of the coffee shop and opened five more locations, all in downtown Vancouver. She married a customer, Stanley Johnston, and had two sons. Bertie loved life. She was an artist, a traveler, a music-lover, and a social butterfly. She retired to the West Coast and woke up every morning to a seaview. She is survived by her two sons, Walter—
I couldn’t read any more. My tears blurred so the letters swam together. She’d named her son after him.
“She forgave you,” I say out loud.
I hoped that wherever Mr. Pickering was, he could hear me.
Chapter 41
Harvey
Harvey, the little white dog who started this story, is back at home with his Maggie. He is perfectly content. The days he was away from Maggie are a foggy memory now.
But every so often, when they’re out for a walk, he’ll catch the scent of an old pair of leather slippers, and he’ll be reminded of a gnarled, trembling hand stroking his back. He will remember the musky, sweaty smell of the boy who cared for him. He will remember that he was happy there too. It was a place where he was loved.
And it was a place that, for a little while, he called home.
Acknowledgments
My first thanks go to my uncle, Wayne Pickering, who is the keeper of our family stories. After years of careful research, he has pieced together the history of the Pickerings, my grandpa’s family. When Harvey Comes Home was a wisp of a book, I sent him an email asking if he knew of any stories about my grandpa and dogs. He replied right away with a story about General, a three-legged dog who chased away horse thieves from my grandpa’s farm. This story became the centerpiece of Walter’s childhood memories. I can’t thank Uncle Wayne enough for remembering and sharing these treasures with me. He was also an early reader of Harvey Comes Home, and provided lots of historical notes and fact checking. That being said, any mistakes are my own.
In order to get the story of life in the prairies during the 1930s as accurate as possible, I relied on research. Two excellent books about this time period recommended by Wayne were Gerald Friesen’s The Canadian Prairies and Happyland by Curtis McManus. I also spent a winter break grilling my in-laws about life on their farms when they were kids. Thanks to William Rae Nelson and Arlene Nelson for sharing their memories with me.
My biggest thanks go to Ann Featherstone, editor extraordinaire. Without her vision and insights, Harvey Comes Home would have stayed lost. She saw something in the manuscript I sent to Pajama Press and helped craft this sweet book into something so much better. I am immensely proud of the result.
Everyone at Pajama Press has been a pleasure to work with. Thank you especially to Gail Winskill for her leadership, warmth, and expertise. The book came together thanks to Erin Alladin, John Rowntree, Laura Bowman, Lorena Gonzalez Guillen, and Rebecca Bender. And Harvey came to life thanks to Tara Anderson’s wonderful illustrations.
/> Finally, my little Westie (who was named Maggie) is still missed. Anyone who has loved a dog will understand the heartbreak of losing one. Harvey Comes Home is for her too.
About the Author and Illustrator
An author and elementary school teacher, Colleen Nelson earned her Bachelor of Education from the University of Manitoba in her hometown of Winnipeg. Her previous novels include Sadia, winner of the 2019 Ruth and Sylvia Schwartz Award, and Blood Brothers, selected as the 2018 McNally Robinson Book of the Year for Young People. Colleen writes daily in between appearances at hockey rinks and soccer fields in support of her two sports-loving sons.
A folk artist and award-winning illustrator who trained at the Ontario College of Art and Design, Tara Anderson is known for her lively and humorous illustrations of animals. Her books include Rhino Rumpus, the award-winning Nat the Cat Can Sleep Like That, and her new picture book Pumpkin Orange, Pumpkin Round, featuring a family of charming cats celebrating Halloween. Tara shares a farmhouse in Tweed, Ontario with her husband, her young daughter, and several cats.
Harvey Comes Home Page 13
