Amazing Grace (11 page)

When I walked into the kitchen, Grandma, Mom and Johnny turned to look at me. My face must have answered their questions because they didn't even ask if Spot was back. I sat down at the table and forced myself to swallow a few bites. My mind wandered up and down the road and around the hillside, thinking about where Spot could be. Then I wondered what Daddy would do. He'd keep looking for Spot, of course. That's what I planned to do too.

As soon as we finished eating, Grandma said, “Grace Ann, you and your mom go look for Spot. Johnny and I will clean the kitchen.”

My sweet Grandma. I ran to her and stretched my arms in the biggest hug I could manage. Johnny whined that he wanted to join us.

“You stay here and watch for Spot,” Mom said. “Someone needs to do that job.”

Mom and I walked up the road, asking neighbors if they had seen Spot. No one had.

We turned and walked in the other direction and asked every neighbor. When we got to Mr. Wick's house, he stopped raking his yard and yelled, “Grace, did you find your mutt?”

“No, Mr. Wick,” I answered. “Still searching.”

He looked at me and started raking his grass again. I noticed he never said that Spot would come back home, the way he did yesterday.

“Mr. Wick has his own set of troubles, Gracie Girl,” Mom said in a low voice.

I looked in his window and saw a “son in service” flag. His flag was like the one Grandma had hanging in her front window: a blue star in the center of a white rectangle with a red border surrounding it. The flags were about twelve inches long and meant that a family member was in active service.

Mr. Wick worried about his son the same way I worried about Daddy and now Spot. I knew that every hour Spot was gone, he was more likely not to get back home. Think positive, I told myself.

We skipped the rainbow victory garden and pumpkin patch this morning and went straight to the hillside. “Spot!” I called out. Each time I called his name, we stopped in our tracks to listen. He never answered, not with a yip, a howl or with running paws.

We explored the hillside behind Grandma's house and followed footpaths. I called and called for Spot, but we found no sign of my sweet mutt. Mom pointed to tufts of hair that clung to a fence. We hurried over for a closer look. The tufts were too dark for Spot's blonde and brown hair. We found animal tracks, lots of them, but all the tracks seemed to be either too big or too small for Spot's paws. Spot liked to chase around the hills, so I knew his tracks should be here somewhere. As we neared a cliff, I saw tracks that looked like they could have been Spot's. We followed the tracks for a few steps, but leaves, plants and moss covered the ground. I called out to Spot, stopped to listen and called again. No Spot.

After about four hours of hunting, Mom said we had to go home. I wanted to keep looking, but I didn't know where to look, so we walked back down the hill.

By the time we got to Grandma's, we were hot and sweaty. I drank two tall glasses of water straight down and grabbed a couple molasses cookies.

“I'm sorry you didn't find Spot,” Grandma said as she patted my back.

Johnny walked over and leaned his head against me. “Sorry, Gracie. I watched for Spot. I checked his doghouse three times, but I didn't find him. I even yelled for him.”

Johnny could be the world's worst pest, but he had his good side too. I thanked him and dropped down in a chair at the kitchen table. I was tired and troubled.

A few minutes later, Mom called out, “Grace, Johnny, put on your good clothes and shoes. We're going to town. I've got a surprise for you.”

To town? Could the surprise be Spot? Maybe someone found him. Daddy? Maybe Daddy was coming home. I could hardly breathe. We hadn't been to town in a coon's age. I grabbed my pink pocketbook, snatched my black patent leather shoes out from under the bed and dashed toward the Hudson. Johnny was already in the backseat, waiting.

Johnny still had on his play clothes and scruffy old shoes. Mom and Grandma were busy and didn't notice. If they had, he would have had to go back into the house and change.

“Looking good, Johnny,” I said. I wrinkled my nose to let him know that I didn't mean a word I said.

“Hush up, Pumpkin Head,” he answered. My opinion didn't bother Johnny.

Mom stopped at the post office. I ran inside and walked back out empty handed. As I crawled in the Hudson, a train rumbled down the tracks.

“What's that?” Johnny asked as a train car passed with a cartoon of a bald man with a big nose peeping over a wall. The words “Kilroy was here” were scribbled below the nose.

“Soldiers draw that cartoon,” Mom explained. “Watch carefully, you might see more.”

Sure enough, Johnny pointed out two more Kilroy cartoons on train cars.

Mom drove down Winchester Avenue and pulled up at the Paramount Theater. “Here's your surprise,” Mom said as she handed Johnny and me each a quarter. “Watch the show. I'll be back to pick you up when it's over. Gracie Girl, you need to get your mind off your problems for a while.”

I slung open the car door and stepped out. Johnny darted past me.

I placed my quarter on the shelf at the ticket window. The man inside gave me back a nickel and a dime. Johnny did the same. Inside, the smell of popcorn made my mouth water. We handed over our money to a man behind a big counter and ordered two soda pops and two bags of popcorn. A door opened into a huge room filled with rows of seats. We walked all the way down to the first row. The theater was exciting, but I would rather have been searching for Spot. Johnny was so thrilled I didn't want to spoil his fun. As soon as we sat down, I whispered, “Look at that screen, Johnny. Big, huh?”

A man walked onto the stage and welcomed us. He said this theater had shown
Lassie Come Home
last summer when it was first released, but so many had asked to see it again, they were replaying it for our viewing pleasure. The audience applauded, and the man walked off the stage.

Johnny looked around to see if anyone from school was there. I did too. Carolyn and Janie sat three rows over. I walked over to ask them if they had seen Spot. They said they hadn't, but if they did they would let me know. I thanked them and returned to my seat as the lights dimmed. Music played, and a picture appeared on the screen.

I remembered seeing
Pinocchio
at this same theater, but this was Johnny's first trip. He sat there and stared at the screen.

The picture show kept reminding me of Spot because the story was about a lost dog. My tummy twisted and turned.

Johnny never made a peep the whole ninety minutes. He drank it all in—the lost dog on the screen, the actors talking, the music, the popcorn and soda pop, whispering in the audience, fancy ceiling and curtains, everything.

I sat there and cried. Lassie was lost, but she made it back home. If Lassie could, maybe Spot could too. I filled my mind with positive thoughts—
Spot is smart and knows his way around the area, and he'll want to get home, so he'll do his best to return
.

We walked out of the theater, and Mom picked us up. On the drive back to Grandma's, Johnny never stopped talking about the picture show. “Lassie came home,” Johnny told Mom. “Spot will too, don't you think?” We both looked at Mom for her answer.

“It's much too early to give up hope on Spot,” Mom said. “Remember, think positive. That's what Lassie did. She would have not made it back home if she had given up.”

When we pulled up at Grandma's, I dashed out back to check on Spot. He wasn't there. I jerked on my play clothes and searched until dark. No Spot.

Chapter 17

Rain and a Rattlesnake

I dozed a little, tossed a lot and stared wide-eyed into the dark most of the night. By morning, I was exhausted but more than ready to go searching for Spot.

Mom called Johnny and me to breakfast.

“Looks like rain,” Grandma said as she looked out the window. She poured herself another cup of tea and walked back to the table.

“Rain?” I said. Irritated, I wondered how we'd ever be able to search for him if it was raining. As the words gushed out of my mouth, raindrops tapped, then pounded, on Grandma's tin roof. “I'll wear my raincoat with the hood and my boots.”

“Gracie Girl, you can't go out in this downpour,” Mom said. Her voice was gentle as Spot's kiss, but I knew she wouldn't change her mind.

I cleaned the kitchen and was walking toward my room to make my bed when I heard Mom say, “Come in, Mr. Wick.”

I stopped to listen, but Mom, Mr. Wick and Grandma whispered, so I couldn't understand a word they were saying. Something must be wrong. When I dashed into the parlor, they turned and looked at me.

“Grace, Mr. Wick has some news for you,” Mom said.

My heart beat faster than a hummingbird's wings as I looked at Mr. Wick's serious face. “What?”

“Spot,” Mr. Wick answered. “I found him on the hillside behind my house. I went out early looking for blackberries. I heard something whimper. At first, I thought it was my imagination, so I kept on picking. I heard the whimper again, so I followed the sound. Sure as shooting, there was that mutt of yours, all curled up with a bad leg.”

“Where is Spot now?” I asked, trembling inside and out.

He pointed outside. “I brought him home in my wagon.”

I dashed out the door and looked around. Mr. Wick, Mom, Grandma and Johnny followed me out.

“Where's Spot?” I asked again frantically. “I don't see your wagon.”

“Follow me,” Mr. Wick said. He darted through the rain to Grandma's toolshed. Inside, Spot had curled up on a blanket. He didn't look like he had an ounce of life in him.

“Oh, no!” I cried. “Not my sweet Spot. No! No!” I couldn't catch my breath as tears blinded me.

“Grace,” Mr. Wick said as he reached out and touched my shoulder, “Spot's not dead. He's in a sound sleep. When I found him, his leg was all swelled up from a bite of some kind. Rattlesnake probably.”

I sat beside Spot, brushed a kiss on the top of his head and gently rubbed his shoulder. I looked at his leg bandaged in white. “But will he ever wake up?”

Mr. Wick explained that the injured dog needed sleep. When he had found him earlier that morning and noticed he was hurt, he hauled him to Doc Singleton's office, where he got medicine for poor Spot. Mr. Wick instructed, “Give him a pill three times a day until the medicine is used up.”

I looked at the medicine and dropped the bottle in my pocket. I didn't know what to say to Mr. Wick, the man who said he never did care for mutts.

“Your mutt is in bad shape, no doubt about that, but Doc says he will be fine,” Mr. Wick explained.

“I didn't know Doc Singleton treated animals,” Mom said.

“Oh, he doesn't,” Mr. Wick said with a laugh, “but I told him if he wanted the gallon of blackberries, he had better take in this patient of mine.”

Spot wiggled a little. I rubbed his shoulder, and he settled back to sleep. I looked at my sweet mutt; then I looked up at Mr. Wick. “Thank you for saving Spot,” I said quietly. I stood up and reached out my hand to shake. He ignored my hand and patted me on the shoulder.

“I never did care much for mutts until I met Spot,” Mr. Wick said. He bent over and patted Spot's head.

“What do we owe you, Mr. Wick?” I heard Grandma say. “You saved Spot's life.”

“Not a cent,” Mr. Wick answered. “I had to rescue such a fine specimen of a canine. Besides, he's Moonglow's best buddy. If Spot didn't walk over and talk with Moonglow every day, I'd have to.”

“Mr. Wick, you talk to your mule, don't you?” I asked. I'd seen him brush Moonglow, and I'd heard him talk to the mule.

“Well, yeah, I reckon I do at that,” he answered. “But I'd have to twice a day if not for Spot. I owe that mutt.”

Grandma walked into her house and came back out with an apple cake. “It's not much for all the trouble you went to for Spot, but we sure do thank you,” Grandma said as she handed the cake to Mr. Wick.