talk on.
He turned his head to gaze at her. "You know," he
said thoughtfully, "I'll bet if your husband had come back from Korea a cripple or an amputee, you would've stood by him. You strike me as the kind who'd stick by a guy, no matter what."
"Thank you," she said, touched by his compliment. "I would've stood by Robert, and I would've been glad to get him back no matter what."
He nodded quietly. "Yep, I'll just bet you would.**
Their eyes met. Melanie, feeling imcomfortable, knelt and clapped her hands for Butch, who was off in the distance happily chasing a butterfly. He romped towards her, landing square upon her, but this time she was caught off balance and toppled backwards.
Laughing, she turned to share this moment with Cale, but her laughter faded as she saw him rolling towards the house, determination in every slap of his hands against the wheels. She got to her feet, feeling sad. Cale was a difficult guy to figure out, but then she couldn't crawl inside of him and know what made him tick. She reasoned it must be a terrible thing to find yourself suddenly immobile, crippled in the prime of life and at the begin-mng of an exciting career.
Butch tagged beside her as she walked towards the house. It was midaftemoon, and she wondered if Aunt Addie would like tea and some sugar cookies. She would go and see, she decided, and Butch would go along; maybe his zest for life would cheer up Addie.
The first thing Melanie noticed when she entered the house was the darkness. Earlier, after cleaning the downstairs, she had opened all drapes, and the sunshine had streamed through, filling the rooms with a glow of promise and good days to come. She hurried from window to window to open the drapes once again. Only Mark would have closed them, and she would say something to him about that. To shut out sunshine was to shut out happiness, she reasoned.
Butch nosed about while Melanie filled the room with light, and when she started up the steps, he bounded up ahead of her. Suddenly, at the very top step, he froze, and a low, ominous growl bubbled from deep in his throat. Goose bumps prickled Melanie's skin as she watched the hair on Butch's back stand up instantly.
She leaned down and whispered to him, "What is it,
boy?" Ahead loomed the darkened hallway, each door along both sides closed tightly.
Butch moved forward, sniffing the faded carpeting, and Melanie stayed close behind. All of a sudden he leaped ahead and turned sharply to the left. By the time Melanie could catch up with him, Butch was scratching and whining at the doorway of the sealed room—^Uncle Bartley's room.
"No, Butch, no!" Melanie grabbed his collar and tried to pull him away. He was not a large dog, but in his fury he was stronger than Melanie. He was barking loudly now, and his front paws were flailing at the air. When his barking changed to an annoyed howl, Melanie loosened her grasp on his collar for a split second, and he charged away from her and began digging furiously at the door, his nails raking the wood.
"What's going on out here?" A voice cut into the darkness as the hallway became flooded with light. Melanie saw Mark coming towards her, an angry scowl on his face. He seemed to come out of nowhere, for she had not heard a door open or close. "Get that dog out of here," he snapped.
"I can't," Melanie said helplessly. "I'm sorry, Mark. There's something about that room. Maybe he smells the mustiness or something. After almost fifteen years, I imagine it's pretty rank in there."
Mark's face grew red with anger, and he moved forward swiftly, sending his foot viciously into the dog's side. Immediately, Butch rolled into a whimpering, frightened ball of fluff, crying in pain.
"How dare you kick my dog like that?" Melanie cried, throwing herself to her knees beside the moaning dog. "He didn't mean any harm, he—"
Butch suddenly let out a loud, pain-filled yap, drowning out her voice of protest. From down the hall, the sharp ringing of a
He turned his head to gaze at her. "You know," he
said thoughtfully, "I'll bet if your husband had come back from Korea a cripple or an amputee, you would've stood by him. You strike me as the kind who'd stick by a guy, no matter what."
"Thank you," she said, touched by his compliment. "I would've stood by Robert, and I would've been glad to get him back no matter what."
He nodded quietly. "Yep, I'll just bet you would.**
Their eyes met. Melanie, feeling imcomfortable, knelt and clapped her hands for Butch, who was off in the distance happily chasing a butterfly. He romped towards her, landing square upon her, but this time she was caught off balance and toppled backwards.
Laughing, she turned to share this moment with Cale, but her laughter faded as she saw him rolling towards the house, determination in every slap of his hands against the wheels. She got to her feet, feeling sad. Cale was a difficult guy to figure out, but then she couldn't crawl inside of him and know what made him tick. She reasoned it must be a terrible thing to find yourself suddenly immobile, crippled in the prime of life and at the begin-mng of an exciting career.
Butch tagged beside her as she walked towards the house. It was midaftemoon, and she wondered if Aunt Addie would like tea and some sugar cookies. She would go and see, she decided, and Butch would go along; maybe his zest for life would cheer up Addie.
The first thing Melanie noticed when she entered the house was the darkness. Earlier, after cleaning the downstairs, she had opened all drapes, and the sunshine had streamed through, filling the rooms with a glow of promise and good days to come. She hurried from window to window to open the drapes once again. Only Mark would have closed them, and she would say something to him about that. To shut out sunshine was to shut out happiness, she reasoned.
Butch nosed about while Melanie filled the room with light, and when she started up the steps, he bounded up ahead of her. Suddenly, at the very top step, he froze, and a low, ominous growl bubbled from deep in his throat. Goose bumps prickled Melanie's skin as she watched the hair on Butch's back stand up instantly.
She leaned down and whispered to him, "What is it,
boy?" Ahead loomed the darkened hallway, each door along both sides closed tightly.
Butch moved forward, sniffing the faded carpeting, and Melanie stayed close behind. All of a sudden he leaped ahead and turned sharply to the left. By the time Melanie could catch up with him, Butch was scratching and whining at the doorway of the sealed room—^Uncle Bartley's room.
"No, Butch, no!" Melanie grabbed his collar and tried to pull him away. He was not a large dog, but in his fury he was stronger than Melanie. He was barking loudly now, and his front paws were flailing at the air. When his barking changed to an annoyed howl, Melanie loosened her grasp on his collar for a split second, and he charged away from her and began digging furiously at the door, his nails raking the wood.
"What's going on out here?" A voice cut into the darkness as the hallway became flooded with light. Melanie saw Mark coming towards her, an angry scowl on his face. He seemed to come out of nowhere, for she had not heard a door open or close. "Get that dog out of here," he snapped.
"I can't," Melanie said helplessly. "I'm sorry, Mark. There's something about that room. Maybe he smells the mustiness or something. After almost fifteen years, I imagine it's pretty rank in there."
Mark's face grew red with anger, and he moved forward swiftly, sending his foot viciously into the dog's side. Immediately, Butch rolled into a whimpering, frightened ball of fluff, crying in pain.
"How dare you kick my dog like that?" Melanie cried, throwing herself to her knees beside the moaning dog. "He didn't mean any harm, he—"
Butch suddenly let out a loud, pain-filled yap, drowning out her voice of protest. From down the hall, the sharp ringing of a
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