The Lady And The….

Once the dust of the departing stagecoach had settled, and the flurry of excitement it had aroused died away, the shaggy dog behind the livery stable heaved a massive sigh and levered himself to his feet. The Ponderosa’s supply wagon, on which he had ridden into town that morning, stood in plain view only a few blocks away, but the dog turned his back on it to amble in the other direction. For one thing, the wagon’s massive driver—the dog’s temporary caregiver—was still cooling himself off with a beer in the saloon, where the dog couldn’t attract his attention. For another, the dog wasn’t ready to give up and go back to the ranch just yet.

Not that there was anything so very wrong with staying at the Ponderosa, where the big one waited on him hand and foot with exemplary attentiveness, and the others were at least respectful. Even the black-haired one, so aloof and unsympathetic at first sniff, had unearthed a rubber ball and spent half a morning proving how well he understood what “a ball” could provide as social entertainment for those of the canine persuasion. It had been almost a return to puppyhood, perhaps for both of them. Remembering how the man had blushed and hidden the ball behind his back when the youngest of the family had discovered them, the dog let his tongue hang out just far enough for a pant of revisited amusement.

Still, amiable as they all might be, they weren’t Obie, and it wasn’t home. However ridiculous to admit for a dog of his age and abilities, he was lonely and homesick…and restless.

The sound of laughing children in the nearby schoolyard drew his attention. His session with the black-haired one had reminded him of the fun to be had with such little, active people; his gait speeded up fractionally as he drew nearer to them. On the other hand, they would have no respect for his dignity, wisdom, and occasionally achy joints, and it would never do to be seen sporting in such a public place; he had a reputation to maintain. Tempting, all the same. It had been so long since he’d dealt with a whole group of people, and groups of people were much more interesting than ones and twos. There was quite a group at the Ponderosa, of course, but they weren’t really good subjects for the dog’s private research into the practical applications of Machiavellian theory.  Now, that bunch of outlaws who’d pestered Obie so much…but they’d been gone for some time. No hope of seeing them again, he supposed.

Indeed, a quick survey of his surroundings revealed no signs of the scruffy trio, only an older woman, sitting very upright in the exact center of a park bench overlooking the schoolyard, gazing at the children with an expression of mingled loneliness and regret. Deciding that she looked like he felt, the dog abandoned all thoughts of bounding into the schoolyard. Instead, he padded over to the bench and settled himself beside her. After a moment, he cautiously ventured to rest his head on her lap.

XxXxXxX

It seemed poor Suzi Miller had “run into a bedpost” again, the woman thought. Probably trying to protect her mother; with all Alf Miller’s faults, he wasn’t one for child-beating. And at least they were still letting her come to school—even with the black eye. Perhaps the last talk she’d had with the Millers had done some good after all.

But Anton-with-the-unpronounceable-last-name was thinner than ever. Did that new teacher ever notice how little always was in the boy’s lunch pail? Did he care?

Probably not. Once again, the woman wondered why she’d been in such a hurry to relinquish her position here. Of course, she’d always known that married women did not work outside the home, but she had assumed that, once she had a man for whom to care, she’d be very happy to give up any other obligations. Well, and she had—these children weren’t mere obligations. Even the  rowdiest boys like Joe Cartwright or the most empty-headed and idle of the girls had only been…challenges. Trials, perhaps even, but certainly not obligations.

Children of her own might ease her regrets, but even in her most romantic fancies the woman hadn’t strayed that far from what was probable. She was old to be carrying a child at all; older still to be doing so for the first time. Not that she wasn’t trying anyway, now she had the opportunity, but she wasn’t going to tempt fate by daydreaming about the patter of little feet. You never knew when that might get cut short, anyway.

Look at little Timmy…no, Willy. The boy had been Willy.

She’d known him only a few days, several years ago—that was why she’d almost forgotten his name. She didn’t like making excuses for such a lapse of memory, but in this case it was simple if unpalatable truth. It was also, perhaps, why she hadn’t been sure at the time that he was truly unwell, instead of just playing along with some scheme of Little Joe Cartwright’s. But there had been something about Little Joe’s anxiety that spoke of real fear, and when she’d glanced out of the corners of her eyes at Mitch and Sara, who were more trustable (or less gifted at acting), Mitch had looked confused and Sara almost as concerned as her friend. Hoping she wasn’t making a fool of herself, she’d had Little Joe and Seth Pruitt help her carry Willy to the nearest doctor’s office. Dr. Martin, at least, had seemed to think her anxiety anything but foolish, even after the boy’s hastily-summoned mother dismissed her son’s pains as a stomach-ache caused by eating green apples and insisted on taking him home.

He’d never returned to school.

It turned out he’d died later that evening of what Dr. Martin had identified as “an inflammatory process of the right iliac fossa—in layman’s terms, an ulcerated appendix.” The doctor had even complimented her on recognizing the seriousness of her pupil’s condition. When she’d admitted that Little Joe had been the one to insist Willy needed help, Dr. Martin had managed a sad little smile. “I believe he thought his friend had colic—several horses have died of colic at the Ponderosa lately, and I understand he’s been very upset about that.” The momentary amusement vanished as he went on, “All the same, I remain very impressed by your conscientiousness.”

“There’s more to teaching than wiping runny noses and hearing recitations, Doctor.”

“I can see that,” Dr. Martin had answered, and from then on her reports to the Virginia City School Board were invariably endorsed by at least two sympathetic and supportive members, rather than just one.

Back then, of course, she hadn’t been thinking about the future, or the Board. She’d made her way back to her desk in the schoolhouse, rested her head in her hands, and suddenly begun to cry—not even noticing that one of her students was still in the schoolroom with her.

“Don’t cry, Miss Jones,” Joe Cartwright had said kindly. “It wasn’t your fault. Pa says—” but then he’d decided not to continue repeating Ben Cartwright’s undoubtedly pungent observation. Instead he’d patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, rather like she was patting the head on her lap now, and gone away. And suddenly she’d been sure that Little Joe Cartwright was going to turn out just fine. She still thought so, even though he had yet to outgrow his tendencies to idleness and mischief….

Gradually she became aware of what, precisely, was nestled against her as she patted it. Under other circumstances, she might have screeched and recoiled on discovering that she’d allowed a hairy, damp-smelling dog to drool on her second-best dress, but for the moment she was far too dispirited to care.

XxXxXxX

Recess was over, the dog noticed; the children were going in. As the schoolhouse door closed with a bang behind them, large warm drops began to moisten his fur. The dog flicked one ear in protest, but the deluge didn’t stop.

Meanwhile, a big-boned man with a face the dog didn’t recognize—though his odor was vaguely familiar—was advancing towards them both, humming under his breath. The dog, being well versed in gathering information without appearing to do so, gave him a quick once-over out of the corner of one eye, decided the man was, at the least, mostly harmless, and returned his attention to the weeping female.

The hummer came quietly up behind the back of the bench, changing his tune to a cheerful whistle. When the woman still didn’t look up, he finally broke into a resonant chorus of “Early One Morning.”

“Hank!” And without paying any more attention to her furry comforter, the woman leapt to her feet and flung her arms around the new arrival. “You naughty, naughty man for frightening me so! And where have you been all this time? I’d almost decided you’ve abandoned me!”

“I’ve been getting a little something to celebrate our anniversary…a little patch of land the far side of Sun Mountain. We’re going to have a ranch of our own, just the way you’ve been egging me on about. The Cartwrights are even going to sponsor me into the Cattlemen’s Association!”

Hank swung the woman around so vigorously her feet couldn’t touch the ground, and the dog had to scramble in a most undignified manner to keep his paws safe from the man’s boots. When he set her down, gentle as if handling a china doll, they went off together, still chattering at each other, the woman downright draped over the arm the man was providing for her support.

XxXxXxX

There were plenty of lessons to be learned from this brief encounter, the dog reflected. Don’t be afraid to seek out unfamiliar situations, for example.

Likewise, if you want a job done right, do it yourself….

The dog rose stiffly to his feet, revolving fresh plans in his mind. It would be best to act quickly, he decided; otherwise, judging by the way the hairs along his back were starting to crackle and twist, he might get trapped outside during the unusual summer thunderstorm that was beginning to brew.