Who'll Pick Me? Read online

  Winkie decided she’d take one more look around the yard before she went back home. She’d promised to help her daddy in the dining room later today, after she and Lynn Ann worked on some flyers to hand out about the missing items. With the promise of rain and the sadness she felt in her heart at the arrival of the Lambs, Winkie felt working with her daddy would help keep her mind off her problems.

  * * * * *

  That evening, Winkie sat in the dining room and painted the trim on the baseboard. As she worked on the area under the window, she watched streams of water roll down the panes. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a rumble of thunder a few minutes later. The sky darkened as more clouds rolled in. All was quiet and still as the room dimmed.

  The day had progressed worse than she’d envisioned. For one thing, Lynn Ann had called to explain that she had to baby sit for the twins and couldn’t work on the flyers. Then the rain had begun earlier than the weatherman had predicted, so the Lambs had called to say they were leaving earlier than they’d planned and would be home in time for the afternoon feeding. Winkie wouldn’t need to care for Molly and her puppies anymore.

  And as far as the investigation went, in her heart Winkie knew they’d never find the missing things. She didn’t mind all that much about her tennis shoe. It was old and some of the rubber was torn from the sole. And while she wasn’t glad that her daddy’s hat was missing, she’d found so many at the Lost and Found that Mrs. Maples told her she could have one of those. There was one that was brand new; it still had the price tag on it.

  What she really felt bad about was Aunt Susan’s handkerchief. That could not be replaced. Something else that wouldn’t be replaced for a while was the trust that her aunt and daddy had in her. It would take a long time for her to prove to them that she was unlucky, not irresponsible.

  As Winkie continued to paint, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. When she turned to look, she didn’t see anything. She waited a few seconds and then resumed her work. Then she saw it again. The leaves on the bush right in front of the dining room window rustled. It wasn’t movement from the wind, and it wasn’t movement from the rain beating down. It was a motion like something was there. Winkie put her brush down and stared out the window to the spot where she’d noticed the shaking branches.

  She waited and waited, but nothing happened. Winkie picked up the brush, dipped it into the bucket, and then started painting. Winkie was alone. They’d eaten an early supper because Aunt Susan and her daddy were meeting with several of the members from the Bell Buckle Historical Society. They were helping them restore the house to what it was like when it was built.

  Winkie didn’t mind staying by herself, but sometimes she was a little scared. Like now when the house was dark and the only sounds came from the creaking walls and

  the —.

  Scratch. Scratch.

  Winkie sat up straight and listened. Was it just her imagination or had she really heard something?

  Scratch. Scratch.

  No doubt about it. There was something making a noise, and it didn’t sound like walls.

  Winkie stood. She had her daddy’s cell phone number if she needed to call him. Winkie waited. She listened. When she didn’t hear anything, she convinced herself that it was just the wind. She settled in once again at her spot and began painting.

  Cre-e-eak.

  Winkie threw down the brush and stood. No mistake this time. She had heard something. She’d heard the creaking of the back screened door. Maybe it was the burglar . . . here to get more things!

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Winkie tip-toed to the phone. Just as she reached out, two black eyes and one black nose peered around the door frame.

  “Squirt!” she shouted.

  Squirt shook the water from her fur and raced toward Winkie, carrying the little green stuffed frog clutched tightly in her mouth. She was covered in mud from the tip of her nose to the end of her tail. Four muddy paws had tracked red clay down the hall and into the dining room.

  Squirt ran to Winkie and barked.

  “Just look at you!” Winkie leaned over and picked her up. “I’ve got to get you dried off!”

  As she carried Squirt to the bathroom, she asked, “How in the world did you get here?”

  Then Winkie’s mind began to churn. How did Squirt get to her house?

  * * * * *

  Winkie wrapped Squirt in an old beach towel and sat down on the floor in the kitchen. Squirt was shivering from the drenching she’d gotten from her walk in the rain. Winkie wrapped her tighter and pulled the puppy closer into her chest. Squirt settled down, and with her boxy head curled in the crook of Winkie’s arm, she fell asleep. Soon little snores rumbled in her throat and puffs of air escaped from her nostrils.

  Winkie traced her finger along Squirt’s neck. She could feel the steady thump of the puppy’s heart against her thigh. Her eyes studied Squirt’s feet. Mud was caked on her paws and between her toes. Red clay stains covered her back and the top of her head. Winkie looked closer at one area. A patch of fur was missing. As Winkie cherished the moments with a sedate Squirt, she mulled over the events of the last week.

  As her thoughts tumbled around in random order, things began to fall into place. The jumble of information about the lost items started taking on new meaning and forming a new picture.

  “We’re home!” called Aunt Susan from the foyer.

  “Boy, it’s raining cats and dogs,” said Mr. Hardy. Winkie could hear her daddy stamping his feet on the mat.

  Aunt Susan walked into the kitchen and looked at Winkie with the puppy curled up asleep in her lap.

  “Well, speaking of cats and dogs . . .” said Aunt Susan. “Come in here, Joseph, and see what the rain brought in.”

  Mr. Hardy walked into the room and stood next to his sister. His face softened as a sad smile spread. “You know she belongs to someone else,” he said.

  Winkie nodded through a blur of tears.

  “Have you called the Lambs to let them know she’s here?” asked Aunt Susan.

  “Not yet,” answered Winkie. “Can I hold her just a little while longer before I have to take her back?”

  Her aunt nodded. “Take your time. I’ll call Julie and let her know that Squirt is safe.

  Looking at an Old Problem in a New Way

  The sun’s gentle rays reached through Winkie’s window and coaxed her eyes open. She bounded from under the covers. Long after she’d gone to bed, Winkie’s mind had churned, replaying the scenes where she’d lost the handkerchief, hat, and shoe. If her theory was correct, Winkie knew she’d solved the mystery of the vanishing items. No need to hand out flyers; no need for further investigation.

  Racing into the kitchen, she grabbed one of Aunt Susan’s homemade oatmeal bars from the plate.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” asked her daddy as he looked up from the morning paper.

  “I’ve got something I need to do first thing this morning.”

  “But you know we don’t skip our breakfast time together,” admonished Aunt Susan.

  Winkie’s face drooped. They always ate breakfast together. Unless it was something very important, her aunt insisted that this was the way a family celebrated God’s new day.

  Winkie cleared her throat. “Well, I think I’m on to something. And if I’m right,” she looked at Aunt Susan, “I’ll have your handkerchief.” Then she focused her eyes on her daddy. “Your hat.” Then she thumped her chest with a finger. “And my tennis shoe.”

  Her daddy arched his eyebrows. “And this can’t keep until after we eat?”

  “It could . . .” said Winkie. “But it’s important to me that I prove to you and Aunt Susan that I am trustworthy, and it wasn’t totally my fault that I’ve been losing things since we moved here.”

  Aunt Susan nodded. “We’ll give you another chance, dear.”

  “Where are you looking this time?” asked Mr. Hardy.

  “At the Lambs’ house,” she a
nswered.

  “But you’ve looked there a dozen times. What makes you think this time will be any different?” Doubt clouded her daddy’s words.

  “Because I’m looking with new eyes!” exclaimed Winkie.

  * * * * *

  Winkie’s feet couldn’t carry her fast enough. When she arrived at Mrs. Lamb’s front door, she knocked loudly, but no one answered. She knew the Lambs were awake because they always got up early, and when they woke up, Mrs. Lamb opened all the curtains so she and her husband could enjoy the morning light.

  Winkie knocked again. When no one opened the door, she ran around the side of the house to the back yard. The rain had ended somewhere in the night, leaving small puddles she had to hop over to reach the back gate. Water droplets clung to the hydrangea leaves. When Winkie arrived at the entrance of the chain-link fence, she saw Mrs. Lamb feeding the puppies while Mr. Lamb walked around the yard collecting branches and debris left from yesterday’s storm. Both were busy, their heads bowed low, but Squirt lifted her nose high in the air and sniffed. Her head jerked in Winkie’s direction.

  The puppy left her food dish and raced toward Winkie.

  Mrs. Lamb looked over to see what had captured Squirt’s attention. She raised her hand and waved Winkie in.

  Winkie opened the gate and was greeted by Squirt’s jiggling body and lapping tongue. She leaped into the air, her way of begging Winkie to pick her up.

  Mrs. Lamb walked up beside Winkie. “I can’t thank you enough, child, for caring for Molly and her babies for us. And for rescuing our little Squirt from that horrible weather last night.”

  “I loved doing it.” Then Winkie remembered her mission and she explained to Mrs. Lamb what had happened during the last week.

  “Well, of course . . . look anywhere you want,” said Mrs. Lamb.

  First Winkie walked along the fence, scrutinizing every place where dirt had been dug up. Then her eyes found the spot she was looking for.

  “Come here,” Winkie called to Mr. and Mrs. Lamb.

  They came over and looked down to where Winkie was pointing.

  “Do you think this hole looks big enough for a puppy to crawl through?” asked Winkie.

  Mr. Lamb bent down and examined the hole. He nodded. “As a matter of fact, I’d say for certain that a puppy has crawled under here.”

  “How do you know that for sure, Fred?” Mrs. Lamb asked her husband.

  Mr. Lamb reached down into the hole that was under the fence and pulled up a section of the metal. On it was a patch of white fur.

  He removed the hair and held it up to Winkie. “I’d say this belongs to our little night prowler.”

  Squirt spun around in circles and barked so loudly that Mrs. Lamb put her hands over her ears.

  Winkie remembered the section of hair that had been missing from Squirt’s back. “I can show you where this came from.” She leaned over and grabbed Squirt, holding her still, and then she pointed to the gap in her fur.

  “Now the question is,” began Mrs. Lamb. “Where are your missing things?”

  Winkie looked into Mrs. Lamb’s eyes. “Lynn Ann and I have looked over every inch of my porch and the area around it, the path I took between my house and yours, and we’ve combed every part of your backyard.” She paused to catch her breath. A wide smile spread across her face. “But there’s one place we never looked.”

  “Where?” Mr. and Mrs. Lamb asked in unison.

  “Under the laurel bushes!”

  Winkie ran to the hedge of laurel bushes, got down on her hands and knees, and crawled underneath. Within seconds she reappeared, backside first. When she turned around to face the Lambs, she held all the missing things in her hands.

  Squirt barked and ran toward Winkie. She tugged the shoe from Winkie’s grasp and raced out of reach.

  Winkie stood. “These are all the things that were missing,” she announced. “Now I can prove to Daddy and Aunt Susan that I wasn’t careless!”

  Mrs. Lamb smiled. “I know how responsible you are. You took care of Molly and her babies while we were away.” She placed an arm on Winkie’s shoulder. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather leave my precious dogs with than you.”

  Winkie could feel her chest puff with the compliment that Mrs. Lamb had given her. Even though she felt better in her heart about having found the items and proving she wasn’t irresponsible, it sure felt better having someone else say so!

  * * * * *

  “I’m so happy that everything is accounted for,” said Aunt Susan. “And after you explained what happened, it all makes perfect sense.”

  Last night when Squirt had shown up and then she’d discovered the patch of missing fur on the puppy’s back, Winkie’s mind went into full gear. She’d wanted to tell her aunt and daddy when they arrived home, but decided to wait until she’d had a chance to work out the details and then check them out this morning at the Lambs’ house.

  The day Winkie had gone to the Lambs’ house after Aunt Susan had placed the handkerchief in her pocket, she had fallen while trying to lug water to the trough. The way she figured it, either the handkerchief had fallen out of her pocket or one of the puppies had pulled it out. Either way Squirt had gotten a hold of it and taken it under the laurel bushes. Later, the puppy had escaped from the Lambs’ backyard by digging under the fence. She had followed Winkie’s scent to their bed and breakfast. There she’d stolen the hat and the shoe, and then she’d taken them back to the laurel bushes. The clues had been there all along; Winkie just hadn’t noticed them.

  First, Squirt had a great sense of smell. She’d rooted the cookies out of the tote bag the day she and Lynn Ann had met at Pioneer Square. Also, Squirt was always lifting her nose in the air when Winkie came to feed the puppies.

  Second, Squirt was always dirtier than all the other puppies. Winkie had thought she’d just played more. In truth, Squirt had been the one digging all the holes.

  And third, Winkie had seen Squirt going in and out of the laurel bushes. She just thought Squirt was going underneath to play.

  Mr. Hardy laughed. “Once you explained all the facts to us, everything made sense.” His face became serious. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

  Winkie’s mouth softened. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have believed me either.” She smiled. “After all, I have been an airhead for a long time now.” She hugged her daddy. “But I am trying to be better.”

  “I know you are,” he whispered into Winkie’s ear.

  Aunt Susan placed her arms around them both. “It’s a new life here. I say we all have a new beginning before us.”

  Winkie and her daddy nodded.

  “And to celebrate,” Aunt Susan announced. “I’ll create a new recipe for our breakfast menu.”

  Winkie and her daddy looked at each other.

  “Well,” Mr. Hardy spoke slowly. He didn’t want to hurt his sister’s feelings. “If we’re going to make new starts . . .”

  Winkie took Aunt Susan’s hand in hers. “Maybe you should stay with your delicious desserts . . .”

  “And follow the breakfast recipes exactly as they are,” added Mr. Hardy.

  Aunt Susan threw a hand over her chest. “What a relief! I was running out of ways to change the recipes.”

  “Sometimes it’s great to make changes,” said Mr. Hardy.

  “Like my new name,” said Winkie. “And sometimes it’s better to stay with what is tradition.”

  “Like my breakfasts?” asked Aunt Susan.

  “Like your breakfasts,” agreed Winkie and her daddy.

  Another Prayer Answered

  Winkie sat in the front porch swing and thought back to two days ago when she’d found the missing things. They’d all been dirty and smelled doggy. She hadn’t minded so much about her shoe. It was old and Winkie only wore that pair when she was doing jobs that needed junkie shoes anyway. Her daddy’s cap had been chewed and Squirt had pulled out the stitching that said “Atlanta Braves.” That turned out not to be a b
ig problem either. Winkie had gone back to Mrs. Maples at the Bell Buckle Courthouse and gotten the brand new Braves hat for him.

  When Winkie had first seen the handkerchief, her heart sank. Squirt hadn’t chewed it, but it was covered in dirt and smelled just awful. Aunt Susan had worked magic. She scrubbed and soaked and washed and bleached. When she’d finished, the handkerchief looked and smelled even better than it had the day Aunt Susan had loaned it to her.

  Winkie had learned two things. First, it was best not to borrow things. Second, if you did use something that belonged to someone else, it was a big responsibility and you needed to make special efforts to care for it while it was in your possession.

  But not everything had ended on a good note. Today Squirt was leaving to go with her new owner. The woman was driving over from North Carolina and would arrive sometime after lunch. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and her heart squeezed tightly in her chest, making her feel like something had pushed all the air from her lungs.

  “Room for one more on that swing?” asked Aunt Susan as she emerged from the front door.

  “Sure.” Winkie turned her face aside and brushed away the tears so her aunt wouldn’t notice she’d been crying.

  “You watching for Squirt?”

  Winkie nodded. “I just wanted to see her one more time.”

  “Why don’t we walk over to Julie’s and you can be with Squirt when she goes to her new owner,” suggested Aunt Susan.

  Winkie couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. “I can’t bear to watch her leave with someone else!” She buried her head into her aunt’s chest and sobbed harder.

  Aunt Susan patted her niece’s back. “Now, now. You might feel better if you see first hand who’ll be taking care of Squirt. Besides, maybe Squirt would like to see you.” Then Aunt Susan laughed. “Now that all the holes are patched up and she hasn’t been able to come and go as she used to.”

  Winkie gave a half-hearted laugh. She sniffed and gave in to her aunt’s suggestion. “I might feel better if I could meet the new owner. Maybe I could give her some tips on what Squirt likes.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Aunt Susan hugged Winkie. “Now, go wash your face so Mrs. Lamb won’t see you’ve been crying.”