Seasons of Her Life (70 page)

Her inner voice sent out a cautious warning. Stick your neck out, and they will chop off your head. But I can listen, I don't have to get involved. Friends are too precious to lose, she argued back. She's not your friend, she proved that. She was my friend. It won't kill me to meet her again, to have dinner. I can walk away afterward. Not you, Ruby, the voice continued, you jump in with both feet. You expect too much and then you can't handle it when people disappoint you. Think about Dixie.

No,
don't
think about Dixie. Do something. Don't leave time to think. First she would go to see Angus Webster. It had to do with something Andy had said when he came to the house several months ago.

“Who are the Semolina guys, Ma? I'll sign them up right now, pay them whatever they want. Jesus, I've never seen such work. Do you know how much this house would go for at home?”

Ruby said she had no idea.

“A half mil, easy. And twenty-five acres. What the hell did you say you paid for this?” He'd gaped at her, at a loss for words. “I have clients that would pay anything, anything, for a retreat like this.” He'd been bug-eyed at her pond as he pointed out ways to spruce up the area, taking away the brush, making it look more like nature had planned it to look.

“You made a mistake, though, Ma. You should have taken the whole hundred acres. If it's not too late, make an offer.”

She'd meant to do it, wanted to do it, and even planned on doing it a week or so after Andy left, but the shopper's channel, a good book, and her cozy kitchen had stopped her.

It was almost noon when Ruby shook Angus Webster's hand and started home. Andy was going to be so pleased. Finally, she'd done something right. What she would do with one hundred acres of timberland she had no idea, but if her son said she needed it, that was good enough for her.

If she hadn't been thinking about Andy, she would have paid more attention to the road. It finally dawned on her, at around twelve-thirty, that she'd taken the wrong turnoff.

The road was narrow with deep ditches filled with fire bushes on both sides. There was no way she could turn around until she came to a turnoff or a fork. She looked at her gas tank. Almost full. She breathed a sign of relief.

Five miles down the road, she saw a sign that said
ANIMAL SHELTER.
Ruby's eyebrows shot upward. She had an inspiration. She'd get a dog. Finally, she would have someone to share her life with, someone who would look at her with adoring eyes, someone who would love her unconditionally, someone whose tail would wag, someone who would listen but wouldn't answer back. Man's best friend. She knew what it took to be a best friend. It was other people who didn't understand. She'd train the dog. He'd come to love Neil Diamond and Chuck Mangione the way she did. She could even read aloud to him. She'd cook T-bone steaks for him, give him vitamins. Responsibility. The dog would force her to get up in the morning, force her to take care of him, force her to get out more.

Do it! her inner voice ordered. “Okay, this time you're on the money,” Ruby muttered. She steered the Rover over the steep rise and she coasted down the incline to a wide apron of gravel outside the shelter.

 

Arthur Bidwell, Biddy to the locals, watched the green Rover grind to a halt in a spurt of gravel. The ricocheting pebbles told him the driver of the car had made up her mind she wanted a pet. Those that couldn't make up their minds drove slowly, uncertain if they
really
wanted the responsibility of an animal.

Biddy resembled a gnome, but no one was sure exactly what Biddy was. A little person, four-six or so, that was certain. It was good that Biddy was little, the locals said, because he didn't intimidate his charges. He was as round as he was short.

The sheriff had said Biddy reminded him of a harvest moon. Biddy's face was round, his eyes were round, too, because of a thyroid condition, and his mouth was round, sort of a rosebud mouth that was constantly puckered, as though he were waiting to be kissed. Even his nose was round on the end, full and fleshy. His ears were funny, though, half-moons stuck close to his head.

Everyone loved Biddy, even though he was crochety and cantankerous. The town knew the critters were in good hands with him. They had no strays, no roaming packs anywhere. Agatha Penny had donated the money to build the shelter, and she had kept it going as well, sending checks once a month to Biddy for food, vet bills, his salary, and the salary of the boy with Down's syndrome who worked for him. It was an excellent arrangement and worked fine—until Agatha died.

Everyone in town had thought that Agatha had money to burn. It turned out she had barely enough to bury her once the house was sold to a slick real estate salesman from Harrisburg. Biddy and the animal shelter were left to fend for themselves.

Biddy did the best he could, going into Stroudsburg every Saturday afternoon to stand on street corners and beg for handouts. The two chimps, his constant companions, did tricks, though nothing strenuous because they were getting old. Sometimes he made enough to buy food for the week for all the animals. Sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he and Mikey ate dog food, too. Mikey was a castoff just like the animals they cared for.

He didn't mind eating dog or cat food, but he hated giving it to Mikey. He liked Mikey as much as he liked the animals.

Next week they were going to move into the shelter with the animals because the smart-ass real estate salesman who bought Agatha's property said he was tearing down the trailer and putting up a ga-zeeb-bo, whatever the hell a ga-zeeb-bo was. What that meant was the nine dogs, seven cats, fourteen rabbits, and ten other assorted creatures would have to move back into a space that was meant for twenty-five animals.

Biddy rubbed his chin as he watched Ruby Blue crunch her way over the gravel apron. He knew who she was. Everyone around these parts knew about her. A reck-loose, they said. Didn't like people. Must have been done dirty, Biddy decided. That he understood. He was a reck-loose himself; so was Mikey.

He'd found Mikey sleeping in a ditch six or seven years ago. It was after the Fireman's Carnival, which was the highlight of the year for country folks. The little guy, as Biddy thought of him, was dirty with stinky pants. Mikey couldn't talk right or walk right, either. The sheriff said he had Down's syndrome. The sheriff was a smart man, but not smart enough to find out who dumped Mikey in the ditch. The best he could come up with was that someone who'd come with the carnival had left Mikey behind. He'd tracked the Soja Carnival people through their booking agent, but all the carney people said there were no kids with their outfit. For a year the sheriff sent out notices and pictures of Mikey, but no one came forward to claim him.

Agatha Penny had offered to pay for Mikey's keep if Biddy wanted to take over the responsibility. Biddy didn't have to think twice. Mikey had been dumped, just like most of the animals he tended. Mikey was a stray. It didn't matter, Biddy told the sheriff, if the boy was in an animal shelter or a children's shelter as long as he was sheltered. The sheriff had made him put his hand on the Bible and swear to God he would do his best to take care of Mikey.

Biddy wasn't a learned man. In fact he'd only gone to the fourth grade, though he could read and write enough to get by. He'd been castoff, too, down in Delaware, by people who had been paid to take care of him. They
hadn't
taken care of him, though. They used the money to buy liquor and they played cards for money. He'd struck out on his own when he was eleven years old and worked at the racetrack until he found his way to Lords Valley, and he'd been here ever since.

Ruby eyed the paper sign pasted to the desk. Arthur Bidwell.

“Mr. Bidwell?” she said hesitantly.

Biddy nodded.

“I want a dog,” Ruby blurted out.

“Why?”

“Why? I just do. I always wanted a dog, but the time was never . . . right. Now it's right. Do you have any?”

“Yep, got a lot of dogs. What you got in mind?”

“Well . . . I don't know a lot about dogs. Maybe a girl dog. One that will ... you know,
love me
.”

Biddy's heart pounded in his chest. “A dog's a big responsibility, ma'am. They need a lot of care. You prepared to clean up messes, throw sticks, walk it? Dogs need a lot of exercise. You look to me like a real lady. You sure you can clean up a dog's mess?”

“I'm sure. Do you want my social security number, too?” Ruby asked fretfully.

“Yes, ma'am. I never give out animals until I'm sure they're going to get a good home. A lady like you, well, I'm not so sure. You'll be going off and doing things and leave the animal behind. Who's going to take care of it?”

“I'll do no such thing,” Ruby blustered. “I'm not going anywhere. I thought you wanted to get rid of these animals.”

“You thought wrong,” Biddy said huffily. “I don't want to get rid of any of them. I love them,” he said vehemently.

“I can love one, too. Now, what do you have?” Ruby said just as huffily.

“Might have one that will suit you. Mikey, fetch Sam,” he bellowed.

Mikey trotted out a gorgeous springer spaniel. Ruby watched as the boy dropped to his knees to rub the dog's belly. He was making strange sounds in the dog's ears. Ruby's eyes were questioning.

“The dog's hungry, ma'am. We don't have enough food to feed them. Mikey rubs their bellies so they'll forget how hungry they are.”

“No food? Isn't this a public . . . you know . . . doesn't the town pay you to care for the animals?”

“No, ma'am.” He told her then all about Agatha Penny. He showed her around the kennel, calling the animals by name. Like Mikey, he stopped to rub bellies.

“I don't know what's going to happen to all these animals.” He told her about the trailer and having to move. He told her about Mikey. He hated to see her cry, to know he was the one responsible for her tears.

Ruby couldn't write out the check fast enough. “If you take it to my bank in town, they'll cash it right away and you can buy food.”

Biddy told her how he hated giving Mikey dog food. Ruby added a zero to the check.

“I'll take the dog,” Ruby blubbered.

“Listen, Mrs. Blue, there's something I haven't told you. That dog, Sam, well, he would die without his buddies. Agatha raised them all together and she . . . they can't bear to be separated. When I first got them, they raised holy hell here until Mikey here figured out they had to be together. You can't separate them. It wouldn't be right,” Biddy pleaded.

“How many are there?” Ruby asked anxiously.

“Well, there's Fred. Fred's a girl, Sam is a boy. Then there's Doozie, he's a cat. Likes to fight. Charlotte is a parakeet and she sings. On command,” Biddy said proudly.

“What . . . what does she sing?” Ruby asked stupidly.

“Mostly the national anthem. Sometimes ‘Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer.' Gets a little loud at times. All you have to do is cover her cage. They loved Agatha Penny.”

Ruby's heart fluttered. “Does that mean they won't . . . maybe they're one-person animals. Maybe it isn't such a good idea . . . me taking someone else's pets. Maybe I should take a stray.”

“Nosiree, ma'am, these animals will love you the way they loved Agatha so long as you give them love back. They're
starved
for love,” Biddy said dramatically.

“Mikey, fetch the others,” he ordered.

Ruby dropped to her knees and rubbed Sam's belly the way she'd seen Mikey do. In a heartbeat she was hooked on the dog's sad brown eyes. He licked her face and she laughed.

Fred was a fluffball whose coat was matted and dirty. She held back, staying close to Mikey, who was rubbing her belly. She growled low in her throat when Ruby reached out to scratch her ears.

“She's just hungry. Once you feed her, she'll be all over you. Once you feed an animal, it belongs to you.”

The cat eyed her disdainfully as if to say, “Oh, sure, you're going to feed me. First I want to see the food. Then maybe I'll purr for you.”

The bird was fluttering wildly, feathers flying all over her cage. She wasn't singing. Ruby asked why.

“She's feeling strange. Once you put her in her space, a window is good, she'll sing her little heart out for you. I do have seed for her. Doesn't eat much.”

Ruby left the shelter with the two dogs, the cat, and the bird Biddy said would sing on command.

Once the animals were settled in the Rover, Biddy leaned in through the window. He had to ask; he couldn't let her drive away until he knew for certain. “Will you be taking over for Agatha?”

Ruby thought about it for thirty seconds. “Yes. Yes, I will, Mr. Bidwell. The first of every month, how does that sound?”

If she hadn't called him Mr. Bidwell, he wouldn't have believed her.

With eyes as wet as his dogs', he watched Ruby drive away. He put his arms around Mikey and said, “Tonight I'm going to make us hamburgers and macaroni and cheese. You take care of things, Mikey, and I'll be back in a little while with some food for all our friends. You just keep rubbing their bellies. We'll have a regular party.”

Mikey smiled, understanding perfectly.

 

Ruby drove away, the dogs hopping and jumping all over the seats. Doozie, in her cage, hissed and spit her displeasure. The bird was screeching something that sounded like “ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall . . .”

Had she been snookered? She doubted it. Nothing, not even paying Conrad Malas for his brownie recipe had given her this much pleasure.