Choir of Angels, page 38
“You don’t seem yourself. Are you feeling well?”
“I’m fine, Ms. Jensen. Can I go outside now?”
“All right. Oh, and thank your mother for the cookies she sent me.”
“I will,” Carter promised.
As he hurried onto the playground, Carter noticed that his teacher was still watching him. No sooner was he outside with his friends than he saw Rusty. Carter could hardly breathe, he was so excited.
Rusty saw Carter, too, and even though one of the third-grade girls was offering him a cracker, the dog shot across the schoolyard. Carter knelt down to greet his friend. Rusty licked his face and seemed as happy to see Carter as Carter was to see him. Carter dug inside his pocket for a meatball he’d managed to smuggle out of the refrigerator early that morning. Rusty gobbled it up and looked to Carter for more.
“I’m sorry,” Carter told him, and then because he was so ecstatic, he wrapped his arms around the dog. He didn’t care that Rusty was filthy or that the sleeves of his winter jacket came away all muddy. His mother would be upset, but even her displeasure was worth the enjoyment Carter received from this special dog.
“We can’t let Mr. Nicholson see you,” Carter warned, then ran over to where his friends were playing.
Rusty followed Carter wherever he went. When Mr. Nicholson stepped into the yard, the stray quickly and quietly disappeared, just as if he understood.
Carter turned around and looked for him, but Rusty was nowhere in sight. Then he saw that the dog had gone into the trees that separated the schoolyard from the nearby houses.
“Good boy,” Carter whispered. Rusty was no dummy. He knew who his friends were—and his enemies.
At lunchtime, Carter only ate his apple. The rest he saved for Rusty. Once again the mutt gobbled the food and gazed up at Carter with bright, shining eyes that revealed his gratitude.
Carter petted Rusty’s head, although his hand got really dirty. What would happen to the dog over the holidays, when there was no one at the school? Who’d feed Rusty then? Who’d watch out for him? Carter already knew the answer. No one. After today, school was over for the year, and the yard would remain empty until the first week of January. Rusty could starve by then.
Holding the dog’s muddy face between his hands, Carter peered into his deep brown eyes. Disregarding what his father had said, Carter whispered, “Rusty, listen, I need you to follow me home.”
The dog blinked and stared back at him intently.
“I take bus number seven. Follow that bus, okay?”
Rusty cocked his head to one side.
Carter didn’t know what more he could do. Disconsolate, he tried to accept that the dog wouldn’t understand him, no matter how many times he repeated the information. After today, when the bus delivered Carter to his home, it was unlikely he’d ever see Rusty again. Carter couldn’t bear to have that happen, but he had to prepare himself for disappointment.
Because it was the last day before winter break, school was dismissed an hour early. While Carter lined up with his friends for bus number seven, he scanned the area for Rusty. Again the dog was nowhere to be seen, and once again Carter’s heart fell.
“You wanna come to my house and play video games?” Timmy asked, plopping down on the seat next to Carter.
“No, thanks.”
His friend seemed dejected.
“Can I come on Monday?” Carter asked.
“Sure.” Timmy perked up right away. “I’ll show you all my presents under the tree.”
“Okay.” Carter tried to smile but it was hard. He was glad that his friend was getting lots of gifts. He wanted gifts, too—stacks and stacks of them. But Carter would give up every single one for Rusty.
God had answered his prayer, Carter told himself, struggling to believe. Rusty would find him. God had sent Rusty to that schoolyard and now God would figure out a way to bring him to Carter’s house.
The bus stopped, and Cameron and Isaiah got off and ran to their home at the end of the street. Their house was the biggest and nicest in the neighborhood.
The next stop was for Carter and Bailey’s block. Grabbing his backpack, Carter felt his heart beating hard. He hoped with all his might that Rusty would find his way. Bus number seven. He’d told Rusty to follow bus number seven. Carter knew it would be a miracle if the dog had understood him, but God was in charge of miracles, and He’d already worked one. If He could do one miracle and send him a dog, then God should be able to accomplish two.
When the doors of the bus opened, Carter stepped down and looked in both directions. Rusty wasn’t there. His heart felt about as heavy as...as a two-ton truck.
“Move,” Bailey said, coming down the steps and shoving him in the back.
“Hey,” Carter complained.
“You’re blocking the exit,” Bailey informed him in that prim tattletale voice she sometimes used.
Carter got completely off the bus then and started slowly down the sidewalk to their house. Bailey walked beside him.
“I saw you with that dog on the playground again,” his sister said, matching her steps to his. She held her backpack with both hands, leaning into the cold wind.
“You’re not gonna tell Mom and Dad, are you?”
“No. He’s a nice dog.”
Carter nodded. “He’s smart, too.” But not smart enough to follow bus seven. Not smart enough to know that winter break had begun and there’d be no one at the school to feed him or play with him or anything else. Sooner or later, he’d be picked up by Animal Control.
“You should wash off your coat before Mom sees it,” his sister warned.
Carter had forgotten about the mud on his sleeves. “I will. You go in the house first, all right?”
“Okay.”
True to her word, Bailey went into the house and while she distracted their mother, Carter removed his coat in their bedroom, then entered the kitchen.
“Ms. Jensen thanked you for the cookies,” Carter told his mother.
She was folding towels fresh from the dryer on the kitchen table and nodded absently. “Your father’s working late this evening,” she said. “He’s getting overtime pay, and that’s good.”
“Oh.”
“He said we should have dinner without him.”
“Can we have macaroni and cheese out of a box?” Carter asked. That was one of his favorites, and he knew it must not cost very much because his mother never objected when he asked for it.
“Okay,” she said.
“I wanted hot dogs,” Bailey whined.
His mother smiled. “We’ll have both.”
While his sister helped their mother put away the towels, Carter loped into the bathroom for a clean washcloth and soaked it. Then he wrung it out and took it into the bedroom where he’d put his coat. He wiped off the sleeves. The washcloth got muddy, but his coat looked a lot better.
“Mom said we could watch television,” Bailey said, coming into the room.
Since his sister would choose sissy programs, Carter wasn’t interested.
“I’m gonna go read.”
That was an activity his parents always approved of. The only reason he decided on it now was that he didn’t feel like doing anything else. He didn’t want to visit his friends or watch television or even play with his toys. He just wanted to forget Rusty. Apparently God only did one miracle at a time. Carter had been wrong.
Slumping down on the floor, he opened his book, but he could hardly concentrate on the story. About fifteen minutes later, his sister barreled into the bedroom. “Carter, come and look!”
“At what?”
“Just come,” she insisted, annoying him with every word.
“Oh, all right,” he muttered.
She led him to the living room, where the television was situated. She pointed out the front window.
There was Rusty, walking up and down the sidewalk, looking this way and that.
Carter nearly screamed with happiness. “It’s Rusty!”
“I know.” His sister’s eyes were huge.
Without bothering to get his coat, Carter burst out the door. “Rusty!” he cried. “Rusty.”
As soon as the dog heard Carter, he turned and bolted toward him. Carter dared not hug him now because his mother would see all the mud. But how could she be angry? God had sent them this dog. Carter had proof that Rusty was the answer to his prayer.
“This way, boy,” Carter said and led him to the back of the house. Because their mother had told them their dad would be late, Carter put Rusty in the garage. By the time he’d finished, his teeth were chattering with cold and excitement.
“Are you going to tell Mom?” Bailey asked, meeting him in the hallway.
“Not yet.” A plan was taking shape in Carter’s mind. “If Mom asks where I am, tell her I’m taking a bath.”
“Are you?” Bailey wanted to know.
“No.” He shouldn’t have to spell everything out to his sister. “I’m going to give Rusty one. When he’s all cleaned up, Mom will see what a good dog he is and talk Dad into letting me keep him.”
Bailey’s eyes widened and she nodded conspiratorially.
Carter filled the bathtub with warm water and then at an opportune moment, went into the garage and scooped up Rusty. He was heavier than Carter had thought but it was important that he not leave dog tracks on the floor. Once inside the house, Carter glanced around to make sure his mother wasn’t looking. Then he hurried down the hall to the bathroom and shut the door with his foot. He gently set the dog in the bath, then turned quickly to lock the door.
It didn’t take Carter long to make a startling discovery about Rusty. When he did, tears sprang to his eyes. Beneath all the caked mud and dirt, Rusty had auburn-colored fur. This really was the dog God had sent. He was perfect in every way.
Rusty loved the water. He stood still while Carter lathered him with the shampoo their mother had bought for him and Bailey. Then he rinsed him off with the cup that was by the sink. Rusty didn’t bark even once. Using the towel still warm from the dryer, Carter had just lifted Rusty out of the tub to dry him when Rusty began to shake himself like crazy, spraying water in every direction.
“Rusty!” Carter protested, raising his hands to his face to wipe off the water.
“Carter,” his mother called from the other side of the bathroom door. “Who’s in there with you?”
He wanted to lie and answer no one, but he remembered what his stomach had felt like when he’d lied. “A friend,” Carter called back. That was true. Rusty was his friend.
“What are you doing in there?”
“Ah...”
The door handle twisted and then his mother called again. “Carter, unlock the door this minute!”
Carter bit his lip as Rusty gazed back at him trustingly. “Okay, boy,” he whispered. “It’s showtime.”
Carter unlatched the bathroom door and opened it for his mother. She stood there, hands on her hips. The moment she saw Rusty, her eyes went soft—and then immediately went hard again.
“Oh, Carter, a dog.”
“But this is my dog, Rusty. God sent him.”
“Carter...” His mother was almost crying. “Look at the bathtub. It’s filthy.” Sure enough, there was dirt on the bottom of the tub and the ring around the sides was pretty bad, too.
“I’ll clean it up,” Carter promised. He would’ve done so earlier, but his mother had interrupted him.
“He’s a really good dog, Mom,” Carter felt obliged to tell her.
“I’m sure he is, honey. It’s just that I don’t know what we’re going to tell your father.”
Carter looked at Rusty and then at the worried expression on his mother’s face. He didn’t know what they’d tell his dad, either.
12
Harry woke with a start. His eyes flew open as panic overtook him. He gasped for air, unable to get his breath. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t breathe. The pain intensified, suffocating him.
Blindly reaching for the small bottle he kept at his bedside, he popped a nitro pill under his tongue and waited. This had happened before in the early hours of the morning. It felt as though he was immersed in water and couldn’t get any air.
Could this be his time?
It almost seemed that God intended to take him right then and there. Quelling the panic, Harry surrendered his life to God and then all at once, the ache lessened and his lungs filled with glorious air. The relief was instantaneous. He dragged in a second deep breath and realized he’d had a narrow escape yet again.
Wide awake now, Harry watched the jerky movements of the second hand on the old-fashioned alarm clock by his bedside. Rosalie had a clock radio, but he continued to use the one he’d always had. It needed winding every couple of days, but had served him well through the years and he could see no reason to change. The ticking was a familiar comfort.
Two minutes passed and he was still breathing normally.
His close call reminded him that he wouldn’t be around for Rosalie much longer; naturally he wanted to get her settled before he left her. She was determined to spend Christmas in this old house. Harry couldn’t deny his wife that. But while he sympathized with her feelings, Harry didn’t have that kind of time. His fear was that when he was gone, Rosalie would just keep putting off the move. Harry couldn’t let that happen.
First thing after New Year’s, he’d make the arrangements, he decided, praying God would give him that long.
Harry sat up in bed.
“Harry?” Rosalie was instantly awake. The slightest movement on his part seemed to alert her. Similarly, when their girls were small, she’d wakened at the tiniest sound. Harry had never understood it because his wife was usually a sound sleeper. Not when their daughters were young, though, and not with him now.
He’d disturbed her sleep far too many times. After the full day they’d had touring the assisted-living complex Rosalie was exhausted, and Harry didn’t want to interrupt her rest tonight.
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he whispered.
Her eyes drifted closed and she went back to sleep. Harry lay very still and listened to the regular cadence of her breathing. Twice his own went shallow and then regained an even consistency.
It went without saying that God had granted him yet another reprieve. Death would come. Not now, but soon—sooner than he would’ve liked.
When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to fall asleep immediately, Harry slowly shifted the covers aside. He might as well empty his bladder, which he needed to do two or three times a night. Darn nuisance it was, but that was another symptom of age and his body’s growing demands.
Once he’d finished, he started back to bed and remembered that he’d left his walker in the other room. Since he hated having to use the contraption, he sometimes forgot it. He knew he was in trouble; the short trip to the bathroom had depleted his strength and without the walker, he couldn’t manage even the few steps back to his bed. Weak as he was, he leaned his shoulder against the wall, considering his options. There weren’t any. He needed help and he needed it now.
“Rosalie,” he called. His voice was barely a whisper. As soon as he’d reassured her that he was all right, she’d gone back to sleep. So much for the highly sensitized hearing he’d credited her with a few minutes earlier.
Despite all his resolve, all his determination, Harry began to slide toward the floor. Rosalie wasn’t strong enough to help him up. If he fell, he’d stay that way until morning. If he survived until morning....
* * *
“Is this it?” Mercy cried, wringing her hands. “Is Harry going to die now?” She needed direction. Her initial response was to hold him upright, to help him. Angels routinely made physical appearances on earth, but it was important to go through the proper channels, to get permission first. She didn’t have time for that. She’d certainly bent the rules on occasion, but she couldn’t risk interfering with God’s plan for Harry.
“Gabriel,” she shouted helplessly toward the heavens. “I don’t know what to do.”
A second later, the archangel was at her side.
“Is it Harry’s time to come to heaven?” She pleaded for an answer before daring to take matters into her own hands.
The archangel seemed strangely calm; Mercy was anything but. She hovered close to Harry, anxious to do what she could, awaiting word from Gabriel.
She could tell that Harry’s strength was draining away. As she watched, the old man’s eyes widened and he placed one hand over his heart.
“Gabriel,” Mercy shouted. “Do something.” Hurriedly she revised her request. “Can I help Harry?” And because she’d come to genuinely love this old man, she added, “Please.”
Gabriel nodded. “Take him back to bed.”
“Thank you,” Mercy whispered, greatly relieved.
* * *
Harry’s eyes widened again. Only this time it wasn’t his heart that worried him. Standing directly in front of him in plain view was a woman dressed in white. A woman with...wings. An angel? She regarded him with a gentle, loving look.
“I could use some help here,” he said. In other circumstances Harry might think he’d died. The continuing ache in his chest told him otherwise. The pain intensified with every beat of his heart.
The beautiful angel stepped toward him and silently slipped her arm around his waist. She didn’t seem to have any trouble handling his bulk. The next thing Harry knew, he was in bed and his rescuer was gone. Vanished. She’d disappeared as quickly as she’d come.
Grateful to have averted a catastrophe, or what had seemed like one a few minutes ago, Harry tried to figure out what had just happened. The angel might’ve been a figment of his imagination except for one thing. He’d been slumped against the wall with no strength left, no ability to stand upright. His walker rested next to his chest of drawers, where it had been all along. But now he was safely tucked into bed, next to Rosalie.
