Wandering Heart (9781101561362) (13 page)

Audrey was starting to understand the difference between cats and dogs. Not that she necessarily liked the dog, but the animal was amusing. She was also a lot of extra work that Audrey didn’t want or need.

When they finished breakfast, Audrey took the dishes to the sink and scraped off the crust of toast and egg. The dog sat right behind her, so close she could feel her panting on the back of her legs. “All right … here’s the scraps. I know I shouldn’t have given you any people food. That’s my own fault, right?”

Audrey scraped the leftovers into the dog’s bowl and received a quick lick on her hand in thanks.

She returned to the sink and finished the dishes. The kitchen floor had been much cleaner the past few days; she had to give the dog credit for that.

Audrey went out and got to work. She had a lot to do before taking the dog to the village center, and it was getting late. The dog followed her to the garden then lay down in a shady spot under a blueberry bush and watched Audrey work.

When Audrey finished in the garden, she washed her hands at the hose and the dog ran over to have a drink. Then they walked over to the barn to tend to the goats. Audrey let the herd out into the meadow to graze, and the dog chased them in all directions, causing a din of hysterical brays. But the dog was just playing, Audrey had realized after the first day. The goats could be so stuffy at times, and there was no harm done.

I wonder if I could train that dog to help me round them up and get them in the barn. I guess I could … if we wanted to keep her. Which we don’t.

Audrey didn’t know much about dogs, but this one was very nosey. She had to investigate everything: the goats’ food and water, the chickens in their henhouse, the old blanket where the cats curled up and slept.

While Audrey cleaned the goat stalls and put down fresh hay, the dog disappeared from view.
Probably taking another nap
, Audrey
thought. Then she heard an unholy racket—loud, hysterical hissing, the dog barking wildly, the chickens in an uproar, and the watering can being knocked across the yard. She ran out to see what had happened and saw the big orange tabby, Sophia, up on the roof of the henhouse, calmly stretching in the sun. The chickens were hopping about, flapping their wings, bereft of a few feathers, but otherwise unharmed. The dog, however, was running toward the house and dashed under the back porch.

The cat and dog had been circling each other warily for the past two days. Audrey guessed there had finally been a showdown—and Sophia had won, paws down. Audrey considered letting the dog pout and lick her wounds in private, but that solution didn’t sit well. After a few moments, she put down her rake and walked toward the house.

She called to the dog, but she didn’t come out. “Dog, come! Come on out. I have a treat for you,” she fibbed. Finally she got down on her hands and knees and looked under the porch. The dog was lying down, panting. A little bit of blood was trickling down from her muzzle.

Sophia had used her claws to make her point. Audrey suddenly felt sorry for the silly dog, who was probably only trying to play, the way she did with the goats.

Audrey went into the kitchen, got a piece of turkey from the fridge, and came out again. It only took an instant of waving the enticing treat under the steps, and the dog magically appeared.

“What happened to you? Let me see your nose. What did that bad cat do to you?” Audrey petted the dog as she fed her the turkey. Her nose had a big bloody scratch on one side. It must have hurt. Wasn’t a dog’s nose its most sensitive body part? Audrey brought the dog into the kitchen and gently cleaned the scratch with water then
dabbed on some antibiotic ointment. More turkey was required for this medical procedure.

“Good girl.” The dog just wagged her tail. “I have to finish my work and then I’ll take you to the village. Do you think you can stay out of trouble until then?”

The dog stared at her, and Audrey could have sworn she smiled. Audrey smiled back, then caught herself.

I really have to stop talking to this dog. I sound like a lunatic.

That was another reason the silly canine had to go.

L
ATER
that afternoon, Audrey fashioned a homemade leash from a piece of rope and led the dog to the passenger side of the pickup truck. She did not need to be asked twice to jump in and seemed delighted to be going for a ride. Maybe someone would recognize her in the village center. After all, everyone wound up in the General Store sooner or later, and Walter and Marion never forgot a face or a name—or a dog. Hopefully, the old couple who ran the store would remember who owned this dog.

In case that didn’t work, Audrey had made a flyer on her computer. It was pretty basic, but she had caught a good photo of the dog with her digital camera and put it together with their phone number. Who knew? Someone might see it today and the dog could be gone by tonight.

Audrey glanced over at her passenger, who was, of course, oblivious to Audrey’s mission. The dog rode with her big head hanging out the window, her tongue hanging down, and the breeze blowing through her fluffy ears.

Audrey had to smile. Whatever else you might say about their
canine houseguest, she sure knew how to enjoy the little things, like a truck ride.

When they reached the village center, the dog hopped down and followed Audrey without the slightest tug on the leash. “I can’t see how you got lost. You must have been well cared for by somebody,” Audrey told her. “Do you know where you are? Did your owner ever bring you here?”

The dog looked up at her attentively and panted.
Of course she couldn’t answer. She’d be home by now if she could,
Audrey reminded herself.

There was a narrow, shaded porch outside the store, where Audrey tied the dog’s leash to a post railing. Maybe Marion or Walter would come out and take a look. They would surely let her hang up a flyer or two.

“I’ll be right back. Stay right here and don’t get into any trouble,” Audrey told the dog. The dog seemed to understand. She sat down and watched Audrey walk away.

Audrey turned to enter the store and nearly walked right into a woman coming out, pushing a double stroller. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s all right. I just got this stroller. I’m not the best driver with it yet.”

Audrey smiled politely but her gaze was fixed on the babies. They were heart-wrenchingly cute. Twin girls dressed in pink and white polka dot one-piece outfits with matching hats. They were sleeping, side by side, their plump baby fists tucked up to their rosebud mouths.

Audrey stood staring at them, not even realizing she was blocking the woman’s way.

“How old are they?” she asked suddenly.

“Three months. Thank goodness I had them right before the
summer. I was miserable enough. Out to here,” the woman gestured, showing Audrey how far her pregnant belly had extended.

“Oh, I’ll bet.” Audrey tried to sound sympathetic but what she really wanted to say was,
What are you complaining about? I’d do anything to have a huge pregnant belly—shoveling snow barefoot in Antarctica the whole nine months.

“Well, it was definitely worth it,” she said instead. “Your babies are gorgeous. Good luck,” she added kindly.

“Thanks a lot. See you around.”

Audrey was about to help her down the steps with the stroller, but the woman deftly turned the vehicle around and steered it down a handicap ramp near the stairway. The babies were facing the storefront and Audrey caught one last glimpse of them before turning away.

Your time will come, don’t worry. Good things come to those who wait,
Audrey reminded herself. But somehow the soothing slogans did little to fill the empty place inside.

She walked into the General Store, focusing back on her errand. An overhead fan spun in lazy circles, wafting the warm air with its distinctive scent: a mixture of ripening fruit, soap powder, and pickles. The building was so old that the plank floor creaked as customers walked down the aisles. Walter and Marion seemed to carry a little of everything on the shelves, from penny nails to nail polish remover.

They were both behind the counter in their crisp white aprons. Walter was in the deli section, making a customer a big sandwich and Marion was standing staunchly at the register. She was helping another customer mail a package, since the store also doubled as the island’s post office. Audrey gathered up her items—a few peaches, a pint of blueberries, and laundry detergent—and brought them to the checkout spot.

“Hey, Audrey. How are you?” Marion greeted her as she began to tally up Audrey’s goods. “The sun finally came out again. I thought I’d never see it.”

“It’s hot but I’m not complaining. It’s so good to see some sunshine. When we had that big storm on Tuesday night, a dog wandered into the yard. It doesn’t have a tag or any ID. I was wondering if you or Walter might know who she belongs to.” Audrey showed the flyer to Marion. “Here’s her picture. She looks like a mix between a golden retriever and … oh, I don’t know, a pony?”

Marion put on her glasses and checked the photo. “Gee, she’s pretty. But she doesn’t look familiar. Maybe Walter would know.”

“She’s right outside. I brought her with me to show around,” Audrey explained. “Would you mind stepping out to take a look?”

“Sure, I love dogs … I’ll tell Walter, too.”

Marion walked out with Audrey, and Walter soon followed.

They both looked down at the dog, who had been lying in a shady spot but now stood up and greeted them with an eager expression, her tail wagging.

“She’s pretty. Nice dog,” Walter said, holding out his hand. The dog stepped over and licked his fingers. “Dogs always like me. I don’t know why,” he said proudly.

“She smells the cold cuts,” Marion reminded him.

“Do you recognize her at all?” Audrey asked.

The couple looked at the dog a moment or two longer then shook their heads. “Sorry,” Walter said. “Wait a minute. I’ll bring her out a scrap of bologna. She looks hungry.”

Marion laughed. “He can’t help it. We had three dogs when the kids were growing up. Now we’re down to a little Jack Russell. Spoiled rotten,” she confided.

Audrey nodded and smiled. She had hoped the Doyles would be
more help in finding the dog’s owner. She put up her flyer on the bulletin board inside the store and one on the porch near the entrance. The dog wolfed down her bologna scraps, and they headed across the street to Daisy Winkler’s Tearoom and Lending Library.

The Tearoom was a small cottage, painted pale yellow, with a violet door and gingerbread trim on the sloping eaves and porch. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, or perhaps, a child’s playhouse. But it seemed to suit its proprietor perfectly.

Audrey, with the dog alongside, opened the creaky wooden gate, then walked through the wild, untamed garden to the door. A small sign in a window read, “
Closed. So Sorry. Come Back & Have Tea With Me Soon!”

Audrey peered through a glass pane in the door anyway. She could see the small tables where tea and sweets and finger sandwiches were served, the walls lined with bookcases up to the ceiling. In another small room farther back, where there was a thrift shop, Audrey caught sight of Daisy’s shadowy form, carrying an armful of clothes.

Audrey pulled the chain on a brass bell that hung near the door. The tinkling sound hardly seemed loud enough to alert anyone, but she soon heard steps approaching.

Finally, Daisy appeared in the doorway. As usual, the tearoom proprietor looked as if Lewis Carroll, the author of
Alice in Wonderland
, had dressed her. Her hair was piled haphazardly on her head. A long chiffon sash wrapped around her forehead and trailed down her back. Several yellow pencils stuck out of her hair like strange ornaments. Audrey knew she used them to write and was so absentminded, she probably didn’t even know they were there.

Oblivious to the heat, Daisy wore one of her long dresses with a round neckline and full skirt, complemented by a neck full of beads,
an armful of jangling bracelets, and many rings, large and small, adorning her crooked fingers.

Daisy was the island’s very own self-proclaimed Emily Dickinson, though she was not a recluse, and Daisy’s many volumes of poetry were self-published. She had never married, dedicating herself to her writing and promoting the arts at her tearoom, a tiny cultural outpost.

It was a long shot that Daisy might recognize the dog, Audrey realized as soon as the woman appeared. In fact, even if she knew the dog, her memory was so vague, she might not remember who the owner was. But it was worth a try, Audrey thought.

“Hello, Daisy. I’m sorry to bother you. I hope I didn’t interrupt your writing.”

“No bother, dear. Come in, come in. Would you like some tea or a look around the shop? Maybe there’s a book you need.” Daisy motioned toward the tiny rooms of her cottage filled with books.

“Not today, thanks. I just stopped by to see if you recognize this dog. I’m trying to find her owner. She wandered into our yard Tuesday night, during the thunderstorm.”

Daisy peered down at the dog through her half glasses, then crouched to get a better look. She held the dog’s face in her hand and stared into her eyes so that they posed nose to nose. Audrey was glad the dog was so gentle. She hardly reacted but did look very puzzled.

“Oh, poor dear. Are you lost? What soulful eyes you have. Can you tell me where you belong, darling?” Daisy cooed.

Then she held her ear very close to the dog’s muzzle, listening. Audrey stood by, wide-eyed.
If this works, then I’ll really be worried.

Finally, Daisy stood up and shook her head. A pencil slipped out
from her hair, but she caught it. “Sorry, she didn’t say. But she is very content and likes you very much.”

“Well … thanks.” Audrey smiled awkwardly in answer.

“A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love yourself,” Daisy told her. “I’m not sure who said that. Someone named Josh Billings, I think. I do think it’s true.”

“Quite possibly,” Audrey replied, not knowing what else to say. She took out one of her flyers. “Would you mind hanging this in your shop? I’m hoping her owner will see it and call me.”