Out to Canaan (233 page)

Barnabas would stay at Meadowgate for a couple of weeks, recovering. The leg would mend; it was a clean break. But the chest wound, apparently caused by the violent assault of the chassis when the vehicle ran over him, would take longer, and could even open the door to pneumonia.

Bottom line, it would be a while before Barnabas would go jogging with his master.

The rector went into the surgery, where Hal had made a comfortable bed on the floor, and looked at Barnabas sleeping, his chest swaddled in bandages, his left leg stiff in the splint. He watched for his breathing, then knelt and put his hand on his forepaws, which were curled together peacefully.

He wept, tasting the salt in his mouth.

Afterward, they sat in Hal's office, drinking Marge Owen's iced tea, trying to reconstruct the chain of events.

He supposed he had fallen asleep in the chair in the bedroom, with Barnabas lying at his feet. When Barnabas heard Dooley go downstairs, he followed, and at the moment Dooley opened the front door to look for Tommy, Barnabas saw a squirrel on the lawn.

“I didn't even know he was standin' there,” said Dooley, “and then he was through the door so fast I couldn't have stopped him.” Dooley, sitting bare-chested in his jeans and tennis shoes, dropped his head.

“Don't blame yourself,” said Father Tim. “A dog is a dog. He saw the squirrel and did what dogs do. It could have happened with me just as easily.”

“Right,” said Hal. “The issue isn't that you opened the door, it's that you saved his life.”

“I agree,” said Lace, her amber eyes intense.

“I don't want to go back to school,” said Dooley. “I want to stay here and look after Barn.”

Hal leaned against the wall, lighting his pipe. “You can trust me to do that, pal. I'll even give you a report once a week. How's that?”

“No kidding? You will?”

“You bet. Leave me your new phone number at school. Just write it on the wall over there, everybody else does.”

“What I don't understand,” said Lace, “is why the person who hit 'im didn't stop.”

Dooley shrugged. “It happened so fast . . . . I saw Barnabas run after the squirrel, and then the car . . . I don't know what kind of car it was. Maybe brown, I think it was brown.”

Father Tim phoned Cynthia, who was frantic. A neighbor across the street told her Barnabas had been hurt and the preacher had taken him to the hospital. Harley reported he'd seen his truck roaring up Main Street, but didn't have any idea what was going on.

“He's going to be fine, Timothy,” said Hal. “I'll watch him carefully for any signs of pneumonia. You know we love Barnabas like family. We won't let him suffer.”

Marge nodded. “It's true, Tim. And Blake and Rebecca and I will also look after him.”

Still, he felt like a heel for leaving his dog.

Blake Eddistoe walked into the yard with them and shook hands with Dooley. “Well done,” he said.

At the truck, Dooley suddenly turned and said, “You ought to let me drive.”

When it came to persistence, the kid was a regular Churchill. He tossed him the keys.

Dooley's eyes grew bigger. “You mean it?”

“All the way to the highway.”

Dooley, now wearing one of Hal's shirts, opened the driver's door. “Get in,” he said to Lace. “You can ride in th' middle.”

He was glad the Meadowgate road to the highway seemed a little longer than he remembered, glad for the boy's sake. He wished the road could go all the way to Canada before it reached the highway.

He was home and in the shower before it hit him.

Today, for the first time, Dooley Barlowe had called him “Dad.”

Driving to Virginia, part of Miss Sadie's letter ran through his mind.

 . . .
the money is his when he reaches the age of twenty-one. (I am old-fashioned and believe that eighteen is far too young to receive an inheritance.)

I have put one and a quarter million dollars where it will grow,
and have made provisions to complete his preparatory education. When he is eighteen, the income from the trust will help send him through college.

I am depending on you never to mention this to him until he is old enough to bear it with dignity. I am also depending on you to stick with him, Father, through thick and thin, just as you've done all along.

The question of sticking with Dooley had been answered nearly four years ago; he was in for the long haul. The question of when the boy might bear such information with dignity was another matter.

In truth, if he'd ever seen dignity, he'd seen it yesterday in the street. Dooley had acted with the utmost precision, wisdom, and grace.

Even so, something cautioned him about speaking of the inheritance. Soon before they reached the school, he knew the answer, and the answer was, “Wait.”

“Buddy?”

“Yes, sir?”

“When you come home at Christmas, I'll loan you the keys to the Buick.”

Ah, the bright hope that leapt into the boy's face . . . .

“There's only one problem.”

The bright hope dimmed.

“You'll have to do your driving on back roads, and I'll have to ride in the backseat.”

Dooley munched one of the cookies Lace had sent along. “OK,” he said, grinning, “but try and hunker down so nobody can see you.”

He rang Buddy Benfield to ask when the contract would be signed. “Whenever Ron gets back,” said the junior warden, clearly uncomfortable to be talking to a man who would soon be evicted.

“Timothy.”

His wife was sitting on the back stoop, having her morning coffee and looking determined about something.

“I want you to call Father Douglas to lead the service for you on Sunday.”

“Whatever for?” he asked.

“Because you're exhausted.”

She didn't argue, she didn't nag. She just stated the fact, and looked at him with her cornflower-blue eyes, meaning business.

“All right,” he said.

She was clearly surprised. “I suppose I should quit while I'm ahead . . .”

“Probably.”

“ . . . but I'd also like you to plan to sleep late on Sunday morning. None of that padding around in your slippers at five a.m., like a Christmas elf.”

“Keep talking,” he said.

“You mean you'll actually
do
it?”

“Whatever you say,” he assured her. “Just don't ask me to go to any beaches wearing a bikini.”

What had Velma done to herself? She was sporting some gaudy garland of colored paper around her neck, and earrings that appeared to be small bananas. He wouldn't say so, but it looked like she'd dressed herself out of Emma Newland's closet.

“What's that?” he asked.

“A lei. Didn't you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“She's goin' on that cruise with Winnie!” said Percy, looking relieved. “Sailin' over th' deep blue sea to five ports, an' eatin' eight meals a day, includin' a midnight buffet!”

“No kidding! That's perfect! Fantastic!”

Velma put her hands over her head and wiggled her hips, which wasn't a pretty sight.

“Course, I don't know if they do the hula in St. Thomas.”

“I don't think they do,” said the rector. “I believe that's more of a limbo kind of place.”

“Stand still,” said J.C. “I'll take your picture.” He raised the Nikon and banged off four shots of Velma standing at the cash register. “Won't be front page, but I think I can work it in next to ‘Home Gardenin' Tips.' ”

Coot Hendrick put in his two cents' worth from the counter. “You ought to have waited and took a snap of Winnie standin' next to Velma.”

“You got to jump on news where you find it,” said J.C. “I'm headin' to th' booth, I'm starved!”

“
You're
starved?” said Coot. “I've done had to eat a table leg to keep my strength.” He despaired that Velma would ever get back to work and bring his regular order of Breakfast Number One with a fountain Pepsi.

Mule looked worried. “How's Barnabas?”