Authors: Gloria Repp
“You wouldn’t happen to have a small scale you could sell me?”
“How small?”
“Ounces, up to maybe three or four pounds. I’m supposed to weigh my flour.”
“I’ve got an old one I used for weighing letters before we went digital.”
He searched under the counter and found it. Dusty, but she could read the numbers, and it worked fine. “Perfect. How much?”
“It’s used. Take it.”
“I’ll pay you in . . . cookies? Or would you rather have a pie?”
“I like pies, but you’ve got enough to do.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Plain old blueberry, I’ve got to admit.”
“Done.” She glanced at the handwritten signs all around them. “And I’d be glad to make some more signs for you.”
He began to protest, and she said, “It’s only a fair trade for the professional protection I’m getting.” She leaned down to Hey-You, and he lifted his nose to hers. “You want to come home with me today?”
His feathery tail moved slowly from side to side, and she straightened up. “Thank you again, Timothy. He’s good company.”
She slept well and awoke early. Today, another try for the French bread. She had made baguettes again last night, and they’d risen correctly, but they’d been too dry.
This time, the whole process seemed to go more smoothly, and the caramel-colored crust looked inviting. After she wrote out the criteria for Timothy, she and Hey-You could take a walk.
She offered him one of the failed baguettes, and he carried it in his mouth for a long time. He liked to race, she discovered, and he usually won. For almost an hour, they hiked along a stream that was the color of root beer.
Before turning back, she paused to look down the stream with its overhanging trees. Such a marvel, these so-called Barrens: serene and mysterious and lovely, with a vibrant undercurrent of life. What did they remind her of? Bach, that was it. Adagio. Oboe and violins.
She called to the dog and he followed obediently, but as they neared the Manor, he streaked ahead of her.
Jude was sitting on the porch steps with something wrapped in his jacket. Hey-You danced up to him, but the boy sent him off with a quick command. Closer now, Madeleine could see a tawny head, smeared with blood. A cat?
Jude looked up, his dark eyes worried. “I think some dog got it. Can we take it to Timothy?”
She nodded, concealing her reluctance. Take a bloody cat into the store? How did she get herself into situations like this? But she had planned to go over with the baguettes, anyway.
She collected the bread and her purse, and then opened the car door for Jude. Hey-You jumped into the back seat, panting with excitement.
As she drove, Jude told her how he’d found the cat beside a river. “I figure it swam across and collapsed,” he said. “It’s pretty beat-up.”
They parked in front of Timothy’s store, and Jude said abruptly, “I’ll take the bread and Hey-You.” He handed her the bundled cat.
Did he think she’d be a better spokesman? It might not matter, though. The cat looked as if it had died on the way.
Timothy’s store was crowded with Saturday-morning customers, and she felt their stares as she walked in with an armful of fur wrapped in a dusty jacket. Beside her, Jude marched with his chin up as if he expected a fight, and Hey-You preceded them both, looking delighted.
Timothy glanced up from a customer and nodded toward the storeroom. Jude darted ahead to push the swinging doors open, and Bria, coming out, gave them a startled glance. Madeleine heard Timothy ask her to take over the cash register.
He was beside them a minute later. “Over here.” He led them to a laundry nook, saying “Put it on the counter.” He didn’t seem surprised. Did Jude often pick up vagrants?
Under florescent lights, the cat looked more pitiful than ever. It was large, but so thin that its ribs showed through the spotted fur. Blood streaked its neck and back and clotted along one leg.
Jude said, “The doctor?”
“He’s here somewhere,” Timothy said. “I’ll go see.”
Jude picked pine needles out of the cat’s fur and arranged its sprawled limbs into a sleeping position. He put a hand on the finely molded head and then took it away, as if he weren’t sure he should do that.
He looked so anxious that she had to say something. “It’s nice that you have a vet around. I’m sure he’ll—”
“He’s not a vet.”
Timothy came back through the door, followed by Nathan Parnell. He was carrying his cell phone and looked hurried. “You’ve got a
what
back here?”
Of course he’d think the whole thing ludicrous.
He caught sight of her, nodded, pocketed his phone, and went to the sink. While he washed his hands, he asked, “Where’d you find it?” and Jude told him.
The doctor put a hand on the cat’s chest, and after a minute, he nodded. “Still breathing, that’s good.” He gently parted the bloody fur on its ribs and neck, and took his time examining the torn leg.
“Another abandoned pet. This one’s young, but it’s in bad shape.” He glanced at Jude, and she sensed his compassion for the boy. “It probably won’t last through the night.”
His cell phone rang. Before answering, he said, “If it lives, keep it warm. Plenty of liquids.”
He spoke into the phone. “Give her some oxygen. I’m coming.”
He and Timothy left, and Jude huddled over the cat’s body. Should she try to discourage him? No. She could at least match the two men in their kindness.
She ran water into the sink, dampened a handful of paper towels, and started wiping blood off the cat’s face. After watching for a minute, Jude did the same.
Timothy must have returned because he spoke from behind them. “I’d suggest feeding it with an eye dropper. Something warm and sweet.” He reached supplies down from a cupboard. “Here’s some honey and a bottle of disinfectant for those cuts. Help yourself to a box and rags.”
She picked up her bag of bread from where Jude had set it on the washing machine. “This is the latest attempt,” she said. “I put a check-list inside, for when you have time.”
He smiled. “I’ll look forward to it.”
They cleaned up the cat as well as they could, and Madeleine dribbled warm water with honey into its mouth. It swallowed, and she gave it some more.
Yellow eyes blinked open. It moved its legs.
“No.” Jude said. “Stay down.” He put a hand on its head and the cat grew still, its thin sides heaving. Soon after, its eyes closed.
Jude spoke into one of the elegantly-pointed ears. “You cannot die,” he said, sounding both dubious and hopeful. “Just sleep.”
He glanced at her. “Now what?”
She’d been wondering that herself. “Put it in a box with some rags, like Timothy said. Then you can take it home with you.”
He seemed to age before her eyes. “Can’t.”
“Why not?” But she could guess.
“My mother . . . she wouldn’t . . . you saw—” He swallowed and added more firmly, “Lockie would eat it alive.”
“You could make him stay away like you did with Hey-You.”
He shook his head. “Lockie was my father’s dog, and he doesn’t obey unless he feels like it.”
His unspoken hope floated between them, and she couldn’t bear to puncture it. “I guess Aunt Lin won’t mind. Let’s take it to the Manor.”
He drew a quick breath and she added, “For a few days anyway.” But Jude might not have heard. He was stroking the cat’s downy head, whispering into its ear, telling it the good news.
At the Manor, they put the box on the kitchen table, and Jude studied the cat as if the disheveled bundle of fur were the most fascinating thing he’d seen. “Look at that tail,” he said. “What do you think happened?”
“I’ve never seen one like it.” The tail was a mere stub, tipped with a black stripe and a white tuft. This was no ordinary house cat.
They gave it a little more to drink, and it opened its eyes.
“Look!” Jude said. “Let’s try some milk with honey.”
The cat accepted a dozen or so drops of milk, struggled into a sitting position, then sank back down again.
“You know what?” Jude said. “Doc didn’t sound very hopeful, but I’m going to pray for this cat.” He spoke with confidence. “Do you ever pray?”
She tucked the rags around it more securely. “Sometimes.”
“Timothy says that a person who is a child of God can pray to His heavenly Father any time, any place.”
He gave her a hesitant glance. “Are you a child of God?”
Perhaps realizing that he had asked a personal question, he hurried on, “I am. Because of Christ—the Lord Jesus Christ.” He said the name as if he were announcing an eastern potentate.
He glanced out the window and the glow on his face vanished. “What’s Kent coming here for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Smithereens!” Madeleine expected him to make some excuse about leaving, but he didn’t. He waited, watching the Bronco park, his face set in lines that were much too grim for a fourteen-year-old.
Madeleine opened the back door, thinking to get rid of their visitor quickly, but Kent brushed past her into the hall. “Hey, little elf! I’m glad I caught you.” He flourished an envelope. “I brought these over.”
He took a stride into the kitchen and halted. “What’re you doing here?”
Jude lifted his chin, his dark eyes challenging the man who towered over him. “I am helping Mrs. Burke with our cat.”
“Your cat?” Kent stepped to the side of the box. “Looks half-dead to me.” The cat, scrawny and bloodstained, huddled into a corner of the box.
“He’s in bad shape,” Madeleine said, “but he’ll make it, I think. What did you want?”
Kent looked at Jude. “Mrs. Burke and I have some personal matters to discuss. You can leave now. I’ll help her with the cat.”
Jude stiffened at the man’s rudeness, but before he could answer, Madeleine said, “No. Jude will stay.”
She put a hand on the cat’s chest to check its breathing. “He’s better now. I think we’re making progress, Jude.”
“I’ve got photos from Widow Bentley's Attic, the ones you wanted.” Kent sounded sulky. “But since you’re so busy, perhaps I should come another time.”
“Yes.” Why had she ever thought this man was charming?
She gave him a dismissive glance. “Jude and I have to get quite a bit done before Aunt Lin comes back.”
Too mousy. Why did she put up with this?
He started for the door, and she followed him out onto the porch.
(
Do you ever pray?)
Lord, please help me.
She felt the
muscles of her throat move in a convulsive swallow. “Kent!”
He turned, and at the look on his face, she wanted to shrink back against the railing. But she said, “I don’t like it when you drop in on me. Please phone the next time, or I will not open the door.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you say, elfin princess. You’re sure cute when you get mad.” He laughed and marched off to the car, swinging his arms .
Jude was bending over the box, feeding the cat again. He looked up with a lopsided grin. “I prayed for you. I hope you told him off.”
She tried to laugh. “Sort of. But it didn’t seem to faze him.”
Jude nodded. “He’s after you.”
“Don’t say that.” She opened a cupboard door at random. “How would you like to do some baking before you go? Something to welcome my aunt back tomorrow?”
“Sure. Did she like our carrot cake?”
“She loved it.”
The cat stirred, and he continued with the feeding. “Maybe chocolate this time?”
“Good idea,” Madeleine said. “We could make a torte.”
“What’s that?”
“A rich chocolate cake. You cut it into thin layers and put nuts and butter-cream frosting in between.”
He grinned. “Go for it!”
Dusk had fallen by the time Jude left for home with half of the torte. Madeleine fed the cat again and carried his box into her bedroom.
He’d slept off and on during the last few hours, and now he could sit up by himself. He licked at his injured leg, taking a long time at it, and when he was finished, he fixed his yellow eyes upon her.
“What do you need?” she said.
Her phone rang, and the cat stared at it, flattening his ears.
It was Jude. “My family liked that torte,” he said, “especially Mom. There’s something about chocolate that’s good for her. She didn’t lock—” His voice jiggled, breaking off in mid-sentence as if someone had punched him on the shoulder. “How’s the cat doing?”
“Mostly sleeping, but he took some more milk and even groomed himself a bit.”
Jude’s voice was less sure now. “I’m going to church tomorrow, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”
Our little group that meets on Sunday mornings.
“Mrs. Burke? I didn’t mean to . . . I mean, if you don’t want to go, that’s okay, I just thought . . .”
“Thank you for asking, Jude. I’ve got the cat in my room. Do you think it would be all right to leave him?” (You’re stalling, Madeleine.)