Harvey Holds His Own

by Colleen Nelson

  For a moment, Maggie thinks he’s reading her mind and his words are meant for her. But he’s looking at Mrs. Fradette. “It was Norm’s,” he finishes.

  “Was it?” Mrs. Fradette lets her question sit between them. “Of course,” Austin says confidently. Maggie doesn’t answer. She knows why Mrs. Fradette would blame herself. Before she got Harvey, her parents had told her over and over again that a dog was a “big responsibility” and now she finally understands what they meant.

  It’s not the walking and feeding and picking up poop. It’s moments like these. Moments when she wishes she could turn back time and she can’t. That is what responsibility is. It’s knowing you might have to shoulder a burden you never asked to carry.

  “What did you do?” Maggie asks, her voice thick.

  “I needed to know if it was Norm.”

  Maggie nods. She would expect nothing less from Mrs. Fradette.

  “I found him at his dad’s office. Norm’s face flushed bright pink the moment I walked in. His piggy eyes screwed up with guilt. He knew why I was there. ‘Norm Lacroix! You good-for-nothing. They took away my deer!’

  “Mr. Lacroix came out of the back room and shot daggers at me. ‘What are you doing here?’

  “‘They took away my deer,’ I said again.

  “Lacroix laughed. ‘Your deer? That’s what all this is about?’ I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face so badly.” It’s been over seventy years, but Mrs. Fradette balls her hands into fists as she talks. “‘You’re as crazy as your grandpa,’ Lacroix muttered.

  “‘Pépère isn’t crazy!’ I was ready to storm across the room and do who knows what to him.

  “‘He’s crazy for letting you work in that garage! Crazy for keeping a wild animal!’ Lacroix said. Norm stood behind him and didn’t say anything. His silence made me just as mad. He knew Peggy wasn’t wild. He’d seen her in the field.

  “I narrowed my eyes and pointed at Norm. ‘If anything happens to her—’ I started.

  “Norm’s father laughed. ‘I don’t think you should be making threats.’ His meaning was clear.

  “Angry tears stung my eyes. They were cruel, but I was powerless. For the first time in my life, I knew what it felt like to get beat.

  “‘You better run along,’ Lacroix said. ‘And don’t come near my son again.’

  “I stumbled out of their office, bleary-eyed with tears, and ran home. Peggy might have been wild, and me too maybe, but they were the beasts.

  “Something in me changed after that. Losing Peggy haunted me. Where was she? How was she surviving? I’d taken her in, cared for her, but now she was defenseless. Maybe it would have been better if I’d followed Pépère’s advice and left her in the ditch to let nature take its course.

  “I started having nightmares about the day she was taken. As soon as I fell asleep, I saw Peggy’s terrified eyes and heard her wails for help. In the dreams, Norm was holding me back, keeping me from going to her.

  “At the garage, I was distracted. I tried to make sense of why that man had come to our house and it always came back to one thing: if I’d said yes to Norm’s invitation to the dance, Peggy would still be here.

  “When I said as much to Alphonse, he put down his wrench and looked at me. The bolts on the car he was working on were rusted and he’d been swearing a blue streak under his breath for the last hour. ‘And what about when he asked you out again? You would have kept saying yes to something you didn’t want to do?’

  “‘It would have saved Peggy,’ I said miserably.

  “‘And cost you something else. There’s no winning with people like them, because they have nothing to lose.’

  “Pépère had said, ‘A man like him needs to leave feeling like he’s won.’ And winning was all that mattered to Norm and his father. They were wrong to do what they did. They’d hurt an innocent animal, and caused me pain beyond anything I’d experienced before. But they’d never know any of that because you can only hurt if you love.”

  Mrs. Fradette squeezes Maggie’s hand. “I know how scared you are right now. Loving something always comes with a risk; that’s what makes it so special. Harvey knows you love him, Margaret. I promise.”

  Maggie’s chin trembles at Mrs. Fradette’s words. She didn’t realize how much she needed to hear them until just now.

  Chapter 52

  Harvey

  Harvey lies on a table on his stomach, silent and still. There is a tube in his mouth giving him oxygen and the drugs that will keep him unconscious until the surgery is over. An IV needle in one leg provides pain relief. He has a blue sheet covering his body. Only his head and the spot where the raccoon attacked are exposed.

  A machine beeps in the room, tracking Harvey’s heartbeat and blood pressure. The vet’s assistant keeps an eye on it as she passes instruments to Dr. Parker, a specialist in canine spinal repair.

  Her eyes flash to a number on the bottom of the screen. Harvey’s temperature plummets. “Dr. Parker,” she says, and gestures with her eyes to the screen. “He’s going hypothermic.”

  She watches as the numbers steadily decrease. There is a flurry of activity as she and Dr. Parker jump into action. Harvey can’t hear the commotion or the call for a heating device that will warm him up. He isn’t aware that Dr. Parker picks up the pace of the surgery. Losing this Westie on the operating table is not an option. He’s seen the girl in the hallway who refuses to leave even for a moment. She reminds him of his own daughter. He can’t imagine going into the hallway and saying anything other than The surgery was a success.

  “Stay with me, Harvey,” he mutters, snipping a thread. “Someone out there needs you.”

  Harvey shouldn’t be able to hear the doctor. He shouldn’t be conscious of anything as he lies on the table. But from the black emptiness in which he floats, he feels a pull.

  A tug.

  His Maggie needs him. He can’t let her down.

  Chapter 53

  Austin

  Listening to Mrs. Fradette reminds me of sitting with Mr. Pickering. I get a flash of missing him, but it fades when Mrs. Fradette starts talking again.

  “Pépère had been trying to pull me out of my slump by giving me more challenging tasks at the garage. I liked welding, the hiss of the flame and the way it magically healed broken things. I’d graduated from working on hubcaps to axle rods. When I brought something to Pépère, he’d inspect it, nod with approval, and ask if I’d checked for sparks.

  “I always did, looking up every now and then to scan for them. This one day, about a month after Peggy had been taken, Pépère called quitting time. I pulled the goggles off my head and looked at the car driving by. It was a beautiful new Plymouth. Alphonse and I stopped and stared, wondering who the lucky owners were.

  “It only took a second for me to see that in the passenger seat was none other than Norm Lacroix. I’d done my best to put him out of my mind, but seeing him sitting there so smug made my blood boil. Alphonse turned away and snorted with disgust. I stomped around the garage, tossing tools onto shelves, sure they’d driven past our garage to gloat.

  “‘Check for sparks?’ Pépère asked as he pulled down the garage doors.

  “I nodded, even though I knew I hadn’t. All I could think about was how unfair it was that people like the Lacroix family got a new car. I stomped home ahead of Pépère and stuck to myself for the rest of the night, happy to wallow in missing Peggy and wishing bad thoughts on every member of the Lacroix family. The wish came true, but not in the way I expected.

  “What happened next I only know because Pépère told me. He got woken in the night by Henri standing on his chest. It gave him such a fright because the cat had never done that before. He pushed Henri off and tried to go back to sleep, but Henri would have none of it. He persisted, meowing and using Pépère’s arm as a scratching post until Pépère got out of bed. Th
at’s when he smelled it. Smoke.

  “He ran to the window. ‘Fire!’ he yelled, loud enough to wake our house, and probably Aunt Cecile’s. By that time, flames were licking at the roof of the garage. Pépère raced out of the house in his pajamas. Mémère followed behind with boots for him to put on. I wasn’t far behind, and in my nightgown. ‘Call the operator,’ Pépère yelled to me. I ran back inside, my hands trembling as I dialed O. The nearest fire truck was in Ste. Rose and made up of volunteers who had to be roused from their beds. I knew that by the time it arrived, there’d be nothing of the garage left to save.

  “But it wasn’t the garage we were worried about; it was the house.

  “The fire made the whole sky glow orange. It was as bright as daytime. Its heat scalded our skin even from where we were standing. Aunt Cecile, Uncle Joe, and the boys arrived with buckets filled with water from the stream. Pépère yelled at them to stop. Throwing water on burning gasoline would only spread the fire. ‘Get back! It’s too dangerous!’

  “The words hadn’t left his mouth before an explosion ripped through the back wall of the garage. Sparks and flames shot out. Nothing was going to put out that blaze. Pépère stared in shock. Mémère muttered prayers in French, her hand at her throat. Alphonse sobbed, watching the fire grow.

  “Fear at what had started the fire crawled up my throat. Pépère had asked if I’d checked for sparks. I’d lied and said yes, but the truth was, I’d been preoccupied by Norm and his new car. A spark could have landed on a pile of rags and smoldered, finally catching and making its way to a can of motor oil, or maybe the welding cylinders, or the basin of gasoline we used for washing up. Had the blaze been my fault?

  “As if in answer, there was another explosion and part of the roof fell with a crackling thud. We jumped back. Sparks flew, the wind carrying them toward the house. Alphonse and Uncle Joe ran to get a ladder and climbed onto the roof of my grandparents’ house, stamping out any spark that landed. By the time we heard the fire truck’s siren, the garage was gone, but the house was still standing.

  “When dawn broke, we were soot covered and weak with shock. I didn’t want to move, but Aunt Cecile dragged me away. ‘There’s nothing to be done now,’ she said. I crawled back into bed, smelling of smoke and staining the sheets with my grimy skin. As tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined a spark flying from my welding torch like demon spit.

  “The next morning, I watched Pépère and the fire inspector survey the damage. The loss of the garage was a heavy blow to Pépère. They picked through the smoldering debris. The fire inspector shook his head at the destruction. What would Pépère do when he discovered I was the cause of the fire?

  “We were all put to work salvaging what we could from the garage. The cars we’d been working on and the ones in the attached shed were just blackened shells. My guilt was compounded. I’d cost some families the only vehicle they had. Pépère was as hollowed out as the garage. His life had been reduced to a pile of rubble and my heart ached for him. The inspector had promised a report by Monday and as that day crept closer, my fear of what would be in the report grew.

  “How could I stay? How could I look out at the empty lot where the garage had once been? Or see the lines etched in Pépère’s face, knowing I’d caused them?

  “Lying in bed on Sunday night, I tossed and turned. I couldn’t stay and wait for the inspector to tell him what I already knew.

  “I still had the unused portion of my return ticket to Winnipeg. The realization of what I had to do sat in my stomach like a rock. I didn’t sleep a wink and snuck out before dawn with my few belongings stuffed into a suitcase. I’d left a note on my pillow thanking Mémère and Pépère for everything and confessing my guilt. There really weren’t words to explain how sorry I was. When the garage had gone up in smoke, so had my dream of being a mechanic.”

  I look over at Maggie. She slumps in her chair. “Please tell me you didn’t leave,” she mumbles. With Harvey hurt, I don’t think Maggie can handle a sad ending to Mrs. Fradette’s story. But I know from Mr. Pickering that sometimes stories don’t end the way you want them to.

  “I went to the station,” Mrs. Fradette says. “And sat on a bench waiting. Right on schedule, the train chugged into the station. My feet were leaden as I walked across the platform. Gripping the handle of my suitcase tighter, I willed myself not to turn around. The fire was my fault and letting go of my dream was the consequence. It was a hard lesson to learn at twelve.”

  “No,” Maggie murmurs.

  Mrs. Fradette pauses. She reaches over and covers Maggie’s hand with her own. “It was time to board. I looked back once, saying goodbye to Laurier, and that was when I saw it.”

  “Saw what?” I whisper.

  “A deer. It leaped over the tracks and stood watching me.” “Peggy!” Maggie says.

  “I didn’t know for sure,” Mrs. Fradette continues. “She wasn’t a fawn anymore. She was fully grown, but the way she looked at me, well—” Mrs. Fradette breaks off, her meaning clear. “Could it be? I wondered. I was holding up the line watching the deer. My heart hammered in my chest because if it was Peggy, I couldn’t board the train without saying goodbye.

  “‘Ticket?’ the station agent asked, holding out his hand. I hesitated. The woman behind me huffed with impatience. I held out the paper ticket, damp from my sweaty palm. He was about to take it when I snatched it back.”

  Maggie and I both let out a sigh of relief.

  “I left my spot in line and walked across the platform, then jumped down to the gravel. I didn’t want to scare her away, so I walked slowly, one hand outstretched. She was so much bigger than when she’d left me. Her coat was all brown now, with a white underbelly. She bent her head and took a few steps closer. ‘Peggy?’ I whispered. She didn’t move, so I sat down on the ground, cross-legged, like I used to on the veranda. She took a few steps closer and sniffed the air. Then, slowly, she leaned forward and curled her front legs under her and sank down. She rested her head on my knee and I knew it was Peggy.”

  “She found you?” Maggie says.

  Mrs. Fradette nods. “The train whistle blew and the conductor yelled, ‘All aboard!’, but I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t even move. It felt like a miracle that she’d found me when I needed her the most.

  “The train chugged out of the station as Pépère came racing onto the platform yelling my name. ‘Josephine!’ he shouted, and slapped at a post when he realized the train had left and he was too late.

  “I waited a breath, still scared of what he’d do, but knowing I’d missed my chance to leave. I was going to have to face the consequences, whatever they were. ‘Pépère,’ I said.

  “He looked over and blinked like he couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘Josephine!’ He jumped off the platform and came to me, stopping a few feet short, his face filled with wonder at the sight of me and the deer. ‘It can’t be.’

  “‘It is. It has to be. She found me.’ I stroked the space between her eyes, down to her nose. She closed her eyes, content.

  “Pépère looked at my suitcase. If he was at the station it meant he’d found my note. He knew why I was leaving.

  “‘You didn’t cause the fire, Josephine.’

  “I stared at him, sure I hadn’t heard right. ‘But the welding torch…I didn’t check for sparks.’

  “Pépère shook his head. ‘It started outside, at the back. From a cigarette most likely.’

  “A face flashed in my mind. ‘Norm Lacroix!’ I said.

  “Pépère gave a reluctant nod. ‘Maybe.’

  “‘He should go to jail!’ That boy had caused nothing but trouble. He’d cost me Peggy, and his carelessness had cost Pépère everything!

  “Pépère was resigned when he said, ‘He probably won’t. He’s a Lacroix.’ Which was French for ‘Could buy his way out of punishment.’

 
“‘It wasn’t my fault,’ I said with a sigh, not quite believing it. Of course, the truth about the cause of the fire didn’t change the fact that the garage was gone.

  “‘We’ve got our work cut out for us rebuilding. I can’t have you running away.’

  “‘I wasn’t running—’ I started, but the look on Pépère’s face stopped the lie before it left my lips. ‘I was worried you’d hate me,’ I confessed.

  “I realized how cowardly it sounded and hung my head in shame. Pépère lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. ‘Anyone can handle an easy road. It’s driving the rough ones that makes us who we are.’”

  Mrs. Fradette gets quiet for a minute, lost in her memory.

  “I’ve never forgotten that lesson. He was a wise man, my pépère.” Her voice is soft when she continues. “We sat in the field by the station for a long time. I didn’t want to get up because it would mean breaking the spell with Peggy, who’d fallen asleep with her head on my lap. I think it might have been the only moment of peace Pépère had had in days.

  “Eventually, though, Peggy stood up. As gentle as she was, she was still a wild thing. She belonged to the forests and the fields, free. ‘Bye, Peggy,’ I whispered. In my heart, I thanked her for coming back, for saving me. Pépère and I watched as she walked toward the forest and leaped back across the tracks. In an instant she’d disappeared in the trees. That was the last time I saw her,” Mrs. Fradette says.

  When she’s done, no one talks. Maggie lets out a long, shaky breath. I glance at Mrs. Fradette. She’s still holding Maggie’s hand. I’m so caught up in thinking about Peggy and Mrs. Fradette’s story that I don’t notice the vet until he clears his throat. “Maggie? I have news.”