Amazing Grace (10 page)

My stomach felt like it had a big rock in it and couldn't hold one bite. I squeezed down a couple bites of egg and biscuit.

I wanted to search for Spot, but today was wash day. Instead, I helped Mom pull up buckets of water from the well just outside Grandma's kitchen. One end of the rope wrapped around a metal pulley above the well, and the other end looped into a double knot around the bucket handle. I lowered the bucket into the well and pulled on the rope to lift out a full bucket of water. I poured the water into another bucket that Mom carried to the front porch, where Grandma kept her washing machine and tubs. As the clothes washed, I filled the tubs with water so we could rinse the clothes and send each piece through the wringers on top of the washer. The wringers looked like two short, fat broomsticks that rolled toward each other. Mom guided each dripping-wet piece of clothing into the front of the wringer and caught it on the backside. The wringer squeezed the water out of the clothes. Sometimes Mom pushed the items through twice to press out as much water as possible.

I carried the wrung-out pieces to Grandma, who was waiting beside the clothesline in the backyard. She hung each piece with wooden clothespins. When the wind picked up speed, the pants and shirts flapped as if they were dancing.

Johnny didn't want to miss out on anything, so he stood under the clothesline and flapped his arms and legs like a rubber chicken. Water dripped on him and onto the ground. “It's raining,” he yelled to Mrs. Sizemore, who was walking up the path beside Grandma's house.

Mrs. Sizemore laughed at Johnny's antics and yelled back, “The drizzle may be from the rain dance you're performing. Good show.”

Johnny notched up his act by flapping, twisting and falling onto the damp dirt.

“Johnny, you're a mess,” Mom said. “Move away from the wet clothes.”

I looked at my brother. He was a mess all right, a dirty mess from head to toe.

Grandma and I finished hanging the last of the clothes. I carried the rinse water to my pumpkin patch and poured it around my vines. A few minutes later, as Mom led Johnny into the house to give him a bath, I headed out to look for my sweet mutt.

I walked up and down the streets and asked each neighbor if they had seen Spot. No one had seen him today. Two hours later, I ended up back at Grandma's. I checked out back. Spot's food was still in his bowl, untouched.

I walked into the house as Mom and Grandma set the table for supper. The fried chicken and soup beans smelled delicious, along with the corn bread. I still didn't feel like eating. All I wanted to do was look for Spot.

“Has anyone seen Spot?” Grandma asked.

“No,” I answered, “not since yesterday.”

I nibbled at my food. I guess Mom could tell how upset I was because she said, “After we clean the kitchen, I'll go with you, and we'll search some more.”

“I'll go too,” Johnny said. “I've got two good eyes. I can spot Spot if he is anywhere close. Hey, did you hear what I said? I can spot Spot.”

Johnny jabbered on about his clever remark that came out of his mouth purely by chance. But I was glad for any help I could get as I looked for my sweet mutt.

After we finished eating, Grandma said, “You three scoot on out of here and find Spot. I'll clean the kitchen.”

Mom, Johnny and I headed up the road. We looked over the hillside toward the river. I didn't want to think that Spot could have been hit by a car and thrown into the water. We didn't see Spot. No one else had either.

We turned and walked in the other direction, down the road. As we passed Mr. Wick's house, he walked through his yard and called out, “Are you still looking for that mutt of yours?”

I told him I was. “I thought Spot might have come to visit Moonglow,” I said. Ever since the mule plowed our garden, Spot had trotted over the field and to the barn to see Moonglow at least once a day.

“Nope, haven't seen him.” Mr. Wick shook his head as if he couldn't believe that we would waste our time looking for a dog. He turned and walked back up on his porch.

We kept on looking, and I yelled, “Spot! Spot!” every ten or fifteen steps.

“Think he might be in the garden?” Johnny asked. “He spends a lot of time in your pumpkin patch.”

I didn't think much of Johnny's idea, but I didn't have a better one, so we turned and headed back to Grandma's house. We walked through my rainbow victory garden, looking around each plant. No Spot. We wandered over to the pumpkin vines that covered the entire ground. No Spot.

We traipsed over the hill behind Grandma's house, looking behind every tree, shrub and log. No Spot. The red glow of the sky faded into dusk and forced us to stop searching. By the time we reached Grandma's porch, I called out one last time, “Spot! Spot!”

He would have run to me, for sure, if he could. That fact meant that either he wasn't able to walk or he was too far away to hear. Either way spelled danger.

Chapter 15

My Worst Fears

I was too fidgety to play checkers with Johnny and too sad to write a letter about Spot to Daddy. Besides that, Daddy missed us the same way we missed him and didn't need to hear anything to make him sadder. Instead, I sat on the settee and listened to the wireless, along with Grandma. When the newsman talked about a battle, a chill shivered down my spine. Enough scary news for me. I jumped up and ran out the door to check on my sweet mutt. No Spot.

A little while later, Mom called to Johnny and me to get ready for bed. I walked to my room, pulled on my pajamas and then peeped out the window to see if Spot had come back home. I tapped on the glass panes. If he had been out there, he would have plopped his paws on the windowsill and yipped a loud one. He didn't plop, and he didn't yip. No Spot.

Mom walked into the bedroom, leading Johnny by the hand. She helped him into his pajamas. As we each curled up in our beds, Mom told us about the time she and Daddy visited her Uncle Bob in Louisville for the weekend.

“The year was 1936,” she said. “Grace, you were a tiny thing, only three years old.”

I could tell by the tone of Mom's voice, all dreamy and sweet, that she enjoyed remembering the weekend. “It was the first Saturday in May,” she said. “Uncle Bob surprised us with tickets to the Kentucky Derby.”

“You got tickets for a hat?” Johnny asked.

“A derby is a hat like your daddy wears when he gets dressed up,” Mom explained. “The Kentucky Derby is a horse race in Louisville. I bought a fancy hat for the occasion, red with yellow feathers. Your daddy wore his brown derby. He looked quite handsome, I must admit.” Mom's smile widened. “I packed a picnic lunch, and we watched races all day long. The last race was the one everyone had been waiting on. The horses were lining up. I held a racing form in my hands and looked at each Thoroughbred as they paraded by on the way to the starting gate.”

“Why were you waiting on the last race?” I asked.

“Because the best race is the Derby,” Mom explained. “The finest three-year-old Thoroughbred horses run for the roses.”

“Run for the roses?” I was full of questions.

“The Kentucky Derby is also called ‘The Run for the Roses,'” Mom answered. “After the race, a beautiful blanket of red roses, hanging almost to the ground, is draped over the winning horse's neck, and the jockey is given a bouquet of roses. Anyway, your daddy and I were trying to decide which horse to cheer for. We checked them out as they walked by. I saw this big horse, Bold Venture. He was restless, twisting his body like he wanted to run, so I picked him.”

“What horse did Daddy pick?” Johnny asked.

“Your daddy picked a horse named Granville,” Mom answered. “He said he was a good judge of horseflesh and Bold Venture had better stay out of Granville's path as Granville bolted to the finish line. He predicted that Granville would run past Bold Venture like he was standing still.”

“Who won?” Johnny wanted to know.

“The bugler played ‘Call to the Post,'” Mom said. “The gate opened, and the horses shot out. Bold Venture got off to a slow start. He was caught in close quarters with other horses on the track. I screamed, ‘Go Bold Venture!'”

“Who won?” Johnny asked again.

Mom looked at Johnny and ruffled his hair. “Your daddy told me to yell louder, that my horse needed all the help it could get. I kept screaming. Bold Venture's jockey steered him to the outside, away from the other horses.”

“Where was Granville?” I asked.

“Granville was still caught in the group of horses running the track and not making a lot of progress either,” Mom answered. “But he did manage to throw off his jockey.”

“Granville didn't have a rider?” I couldn't imagine a horse in the Kentucky Derby with no jockey.

Mom laughed. “That's right. Bold Venture was one strong horse. His jockey kept him on the outside where he had room to run. The farther he ran, the faster he traveled. He traveled to sixth place. He passed a horse and moved to fifth. I cheered him on, screaming, jumping and clapping my hands. Bold Venture hit fourth place. I screamed louder. Everyone around us screamed and cheered, too, for their picks. I watched Bold Venture move into third place, still on the outside. He was giving it all he had when he took second place. At last, Bold Venture grabbed the lead, and I screamed like a mad woman. When my horse crossed the finish line first, most of the cheering stopped, except for those of us cheering for Bold Venture, of course.”

“Your horse won?” Johnny asked with wide eyes.

“My horse won,” Mom answered, smiling as she remembered the day. “I was jumping, shouting and shaking my racing form when I noticed your daddy still had his eye on the race. His horse hadn't crossed the finish line. Poor Granville finished last. I looked at your daddy and said, ‘Good judge of horseflesh, huh?' He laughed and called me a showoff.”

“Where was I while you were at the Kentucky Derby?” Johnny asked.

“You weren't born yet,” Mom answered. “Grace Ann stayed with Uncle Bob and Aunt Lucy for the day.”

“Shucks,” Johnny grumbled. “I miss all the fun.” Mom suggested that when Daddy made it back home, we could all go to the Derby together.

“Yep,” Johnny said. “I'll pick Bold Venture so I'll be sure to win.”

“Bold Venture won't be running again, Johnny,” I said. “The race is for three-year-old horses. That was eight years ago, so Bold Venture is eleven now. He and I are the same age.”

“Then I'll get Mom to help me pick a winner,” Johnny said. “She's a good judge of horseflesh.”

Mom may have been in the mood to talk, or maybe she was simply trying to cheer me up before I went to sleep. Either way, she enjoyed remembering her time with Daddy. So did I. She kissed us goodnight and told me to try not to worry. “Spot might be home by morning,” she said.

“Mom, do you think we'll get a letter from Daddy soon?” I whispered low.

“Soon,” she answered as she turned off the light and walked to her bedroom.

I heard Johnny's soft snores almost immediately. I couldn't go to sleep. All I could think about was my sweet mutt. I waited a few minutes and eased out of bed. I slipped to the kitchen and opened the door. The full moon glowed like a beacon, shining a dim light over the backyard. Dark shadows hovered.

I stuck my head out the door and saw Spot! I dashed across the yard barefoot and called in a low voice, “Spot, you sweet mutt, you're home!” But it wasn't Spot. A raccoon nibbled on the food I had set out early that morning. When the coon saw me, it scampered away up the hillside.

Spot had left either last night or this morning. Even though that was a long time to be missing, I willed myself to think positive thoughts. Spot would come back home. I imagined him trotting up the road and into Grandma's yard. I imagined him running in circles and yipping at anyone who passed by. I imagined him understanding every word I said. But I refused to imagine anything bad happening to him.

I walked back into the house and crawled into bed. “Think positive thoughts.” Grandma's words swirled through my mind. “Have gumption.” I closed my eyes and tried to relax. Still, sleep was like the wind: I couldn't grasp it.

Sometime during the night, a bark woke me. I sat up in bed and listened. Not Spot's bark; too high pitched. It sounded like a smaller dog. I peeped out my window. With the light of the full moon, I saw the half-eaten food in the bowl. Spot hadn't been home, and the raccoon hadn't returned.

I tossed and turned until daybreak; then I changed out of my pajamas and put on my pants and shirt.

“You're up bright and early,” Grandma said. “Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes.”

I hurried out the back door to check on my sweet mutt. I yelled, “Spot, Spot, come here boy!” But he was nowhere to be found.

Chapter 16

A Dark Day

I tried to think positive, to have gumption, but I had to face the fact that Spot had never left home before, not on his own. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. His food dish was the same as the coon had left it. The water bowl was the same. My tummy was the same—all knotted and queasy.