head as if asking for divine help. The swirling snow hit his face while he expelled a deep frosty breath.
He looked at her and said flatly, “Jack died today, and Davy found him.”
“Oh dear.” No wonder her brother was so upset. He loved that old dog.
Tom bowed his head, vividly remembering Davy’s heart-wrenching denial. “I swear it broke my heart to see the little guy crying so hard, so like a fool, I tried to make things better. I told him maybe it was for the best, what with Jack being so old and arthritic. I never thought he’d think I meant I was glad Jack died.” He reached out and touched Beth’s arm. “Please, I can’t leave things the way they are.”
She nodded and opened the door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Come in. I’ll see if I can get him to come out of his room.”
Tom waited just inside, hat in hand while she went to speak to Davy. He could hear their muffled voices behind the closed bedroom door and then presently she returned alone. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. He just needs some time.”
He bowed his head and stared at the floor. “I wish I could go back and redo this afternoon, handle things differently.” He turned his hat in his big hands. “I should have prepared him some. It might have made it easier.”
“I’m sure he knew it was bound to happen soon. He just didn’t want to admit it, he loved Jack so. But now that I understand the situation, maybe I’ll be able to get somewhere with him.” She regretted judging Tom so harshly. He was well respected about the town and she’d seen no one else denigrate him because of his drunken state. And he couldn’t be all bad if he was concerned about the feelings of a little boy. Suddenly she felt obliged to add, “I’m sure he didn’t mean what he said.”
“I know.” Tom settled his hat back upon his head. He nodded at the stack of papers on the table, “I can see you’ve got work to do, so I won’t keep you any longer. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. And I’m really sorry about Jack. I know he meant a lot to you too.”
• • •
Tom tossed another log in the stove and closed the cast iron door, its clang resounding about the kitchen. It was his second evening without Jack. Resuming his place at the table, he lifted the glass globe off one lantern and set about trimming the wick, a mundane job, but at least one that occupied a few minutes of his time. The hours between supper and bedtime were long and lonesome. He missed talking to Jack and hearing his tail thump against the hardwood floor in reply.
Finished the wicks, he carried one lantern to the parlor and set it on the mantel. He tried reading, but he couldn’t concentrate. At loose ends, he decided to go to the barn where horses and the musty smell of hay always soothed him. He shrugged into his coat and opened the door.
Beth was standing there, hand raised to knock.
“Oh, hi,” he said, taken aback.
Without any preliminary small talk, she said, “Tom, I need your help.” Her voice was on the verge of breaking.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Davy.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No, he’s not hurt, but I’m worried about him. He’s barely eaten since Jack died and he just wants to stay in his room. Honestly, I don’t know what to do. I was hoping you’d talk to him.”
Tom’s jaw tightened. “Do you think it would do any good?”
“Maybe. It’s not only Jack he’s upset about. I think he feels bad about the things he said to you.”
“He shouldn’t.”
“Would you talk to him then?”
“I’ll try.”
It was a solemn, five-minute walk from Tom’s place to Beth’s. They spoke little and only then about Davy.
The moment they arrived, Bill grabbed his coat and took off like a scalded cat, giving some excuse that Tom didn’t believe. He hoped he’d at least get a better reception from the younger brother, but he wasn’t holding his breath. He rapped lightly on the bedroom door, and pushed it open.
The room was dim. He
He looked at her and said flatly, “Jack died today, and Davy found him.”
“Oh dear.” No wonder her brother was so upset. He loved that old dog.
Tom bowed his head, vividly remembering Davy’s heart-wrenching denial. “I swear it broke my heart to see the little guy crying so hard, so like a fool, I tried to make things better. I told him maybe it was for the best, what with Jack being so old and arthritic. I never thought he’d think I meant I was glad Jack died.” He reached out and touched Beth’s arm. “Please, I can’t leave things the way they are.”
She nodded and opened the door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Come in. I’ll see if I can get him to come out of his room.”
Tom waited just inside, hat in hand while she went to speak to Davy. He could hear their muffled voices behind the closed bedroom door and then presently she returned alone. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. He just needs some time.”
He bowed his head and stared at the floor. “I wish I could go back and redo this afternoon, handle things differently.” He turned his hat in his big hands. “I should have prepared him some. It might have made it easier.”
“I’m sure he knew it was bound to happen soon. He just didn’t want to admit it, he loved Jack so. But now that I understand the situation, maybe I’ll be able to get somewhere with him.” She regretted judging Tom so harshly. He was well respected about the town and she’d seen no one else denigrate him because of his drunken state. And he couldn’t be all bad if he was concerned about the feelings of a little boy. Suddenly she felt obliged to add, “I’m sure he didn’t mean what he said.”
“I know.” Tom settled his hat back upon his head. He nodded at the stack of papers on the table, “I can see you’ve got work to do, so I won’t keep you any longer. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. And I’m really sorry about Jack. I know he meant a lot to you too.”
• • •
Tom tossed another log in the stove and closed the cast iron door, its clang resounding about the kitchen. It was his second evening without Jack. Resuming his place at the table, he lifted the glass globe off one lantern and set about trimming the wick, a mundane job, but at least one that occupied a few minutes of his time. The hours between supper and bedtime were long and lonesome. He missed talking to Jack and hearing his tail thump against the hardwood floor in reply.
Finished the wicks, he carried one lantern to the parlor and set it on the mantel. He tried reading, but he couldn’t concentrate. At loose ends, he decided to go to the barn where horses and the musty smell of hay always soothed him. He shrugged into his coat and opened the door.
Beth was standing there, hand raised to knock.
“Oh, hi,” he said, taken aback.
Without any preliminary small talk, she said, “Tom, I need your help.” Her voice was on the verge of breaking.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Davy.”
“Is he hurt?”
“No, he’s not hurt, but I’m worried about him. He’s barely eaten since Jack died and he just wants to stay in his room. Honestly, I don’t know what to do. I was hoping you’d talk to him.”
Tom’s jaw tightened. “Do you think it would do any good?”
“Maybe. It’s not only Jack he’s upset about. I think he feels bad about the things he said to you.”
“He shouldn’t.”
“Would you talk to him then?”
“I’ll try.”
It was a solemn, five-minute walk from Tom’s place to Beth’s. They spoke little and only then about Davy.
The moment they arrived, Bill grabbed his coat and took off like a scalded cat, giving some excuse that Tom didn’t believe. He hoped he’d at least get a better reception from the younger brother, but he wasn’t holding his breath. He rapped lightly on the bedroom door, and pushed it open.
The room was dim. He
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