Sound crackled and popped, and a high-pitched note blared from the microphone as Pastor Danny stepped up to the podium. Jack whined, and I covered my ears like everyone else. Just about the whole town turned out for the Fourth of July Family Festival.
“Happy Independence Day!” Pastor Danny said over the PA system. “Glen Myers is over there getting seconds on the ribs and I told my wife I’d better say the blessing.”
Laughter rose from the tables. “Better hurry!” said an older man standing near the buffet with a plate.
After the laughter died down, the pastor’s face took on a shine. “Before we say grace, I want to deliver some good news.” He smiled off to his side and gestured with his hand. A guy, college-age, got up and stood next to him. A few days’ whiskers covered his cheeks.
A shriek went up from the crowd, then everyone around us broke into applause. The guy bowed his head and pushed his hand against his eyes before looking up again.
The pastor stretched his arm across the guy’s shoulders. Then he faced us. “Folks, Mark Zimmerman is home safe from Vietnam!”
Shouts and whooping filled the air. Dad stood up and clapped, and so did several other men, and finally, everyone got to their feet. The pastor joined in, then motioned for people to sit down.
He leaned up to the microphone. “Mark, we are so happy to have you home. I know I’m speaking for your family, especially your mom, when I say a day didn’t pass without prayers being said for you.”
Mark shut his eyes and nodded.
“We’re proud of you. We love you. And we thank you for what you did in the name of this country.” The pastor stepped aside. “You want to give us a few words?”
Mark gripped both sides of the podium. Applause and victory shouts greeted him. He turned his back and pressed his hand against his eyes again. When he faced us, head down, silence fell in the tent.
“Thank you for …” His voice crumbled. I willed my strength to him. After a few moments, he picked up his head and looked at us straight on. “Thank you for welcoming me back. Thank you for being kind to my mom and dad while I was away. I can honestly say not every guy coming back from ’Nam comes back to a picnic.” He stared at us like he was going to say something else; instead, he broke down again.
A man and a lady rushed up. The lady was crying.
“Ah, Mom.” They hugged each other, and the father wrapped his arms around both of them.
Then the soldier squared himself up. “All right, no more tears. I’ve got a few people to thank; I hope you’re all here. Tyskos, the magazines you sent me got passed around till the pages fell out. Millie Thompson, best chocolate chip cookies ever, next to my mom’s. Pastor, ladies of the church, Mom and Dad, all your letters, all your prayers …”
“We love you, Mark!”
Looking out at all the people sitting in front of him, he didn’t seem to know where to go from there. He took a deep breath and glanced at the pastor.
Pastor Danny took the podium, gave the blessing, and then it was all the ribs, corn on the cob, and baked beans you could eat. Barbecue smoke drifted under the canopy, reminding you of how good it all tasted and making you want to eat more. I shared some ribs with Jack as Dad and I sat at a picnic table.
Something fluttered through the back of my hair. I swatted at it and kept eating. Again, a definite ruffle, then giggling. I reached back real quick and grabbed a little hand. “Gotcha!”
“Joshua!” CeeCee squealed. She whirled around and sat on the bench next to me.
Dad leaned backward. “Who’ve we got here?”
“I’m CeeCee!” She faced Dad with her pumpkin smile, swinging her legs back and forth. Then she bent under the table. “Hi, Jack!”
Jack sniffed and licked her hands. How could she be so cute and her brother be such a jerk?
“What are you up to?” I asked. And more important, “Is your brother here?”
“Yeah, he’s over there.” She pointed off in some direction.
I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, Mrs. Puchalski, and a couple of kids from Sunday school. One kid waved to me and I waved back. I didn’t see Prater. I put my head down when one of the mothers from the ice cream store walked by.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
She tipped her face up. “I have a dog, too.”
“What?” This was news to me. “I didn’t see a dog at your house.”
She dropped her shoulders exaggeratedly like I should know better. “Not a real dog—a doll dog. He’s pink. There’s Missy!” She popped off the bench and disappeared.
Other people brought their dogs—real ones—but Jack didn’t enjoy meeting them. He jerked himself away when they sniffed him, and he yapped at their snouts if they got too close to his face. I knew exactly how he felt.
My plate empty and my stomach full, I held my fingers under the table and Jack licked them clean. I gathered up his leash and turned to Dad. “I’m going to find Ray,” I said.
Jack and I wove through tables and clusters of people until I spotted him.
Ray smiled when he saw us and pointed at Jack. “Look at his mustache!” A ring of barbecue sauce framed Jack’s lips. We laughed and sat at an empty picnic table at the edge of the pavilion.
“Prater’s here,” I said. I wondered why he wasn’t hanging around Ray.
“Yeah, I know.” Ray kicked at the dirt. A black spider scurried off. “He’s mad at me.”
“Why?”
Ray shrugged his shoulders.
A truck hauled up and some kid and his mom got out.
“Jimmy Schwartz,” Ray said.
A couple of boys ran out to greet him and his face grew serious as he spoke to them. Whatever he said, it wasn’t good, judging by the shocked expressions he received in response. His mom split off to talk with the ladies. The boys stopped by us.
Jimmy had red hair and greenish freckles. He nodded to Ray. One of the other boys elbowed Jimmy and said, “Tell him what happened.”
I leaned forward. I saw Prater coming up out of the corner of my eye. The other boys acknowledged him with a nod as he sat at the picnic table across from us. I did not look at him.
“Some kind of fox or something broke into the chicken coop and killed a whole bunch of chickens,” Jimmy said.
He stepped over the bench and sat down, hunching his shoulders as he leaned on his elbows. “When we ran outside, most of the chickens were lying around bleeding. He ate a couple of them, too.” His face screwed up. “Dad had to kill the others; they were too hurt for living.”
“Were the chickens screeching?” Ray asked. “Is that why you ran outside?”
“No, we heard the trash cans banging around and—”
“Trash cans?” Prater asked and moved to our picnic table. My heart quickened. Trouble.
“Yeah, we heard them getting knocked down or something. Then we—”
Prater pointed at me. “His dog knocks down trash cans.”
They all turned in my direction and their eyes fell to Jack, who sat beside me.
“He didn’t knock down any trash cans,” I said. “Nobody actually saw him do that.”
“Yeah, and remember at the ice cream store?” Prater said, his voice getting louder. Other kids were gathering. “He killed that rabbit. We all saw him do that, even you,” he sneered.
My mouth went dry. Prater seemed to be enjoying this.
“I heard he chopped it right in half,” one kid said. A couple of other kids nodded.
“That’s not what happened,” I said. I stood up and gripped Jack’s leash.
“Jack didn’t do anything wrong,” Ray said. “Even cats hunt.”
“But that’s mice,” a girl said.
“Speaking of hunting,” Prater said. His eyes lit up with excitement and his mouth dropped open. Suddenly I knew what he was going to say. I stepped over the bench and backed away from the table.
“That dog is a hunter,” Prater said, then pointed at me. “He got a letter that says so. That dog is trained to bring meat to the table.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Jack didn’t do anything.”
“Of course you’d lie for him.”
“I’m not lying.” I couldn’t bear all those faces looking at me and Jack like we were criminals.
“Hey, Jimmy,” Prater yelled. “Why did you say it was a fox?”
Jimmy looked bewildered. “We saw these paw prints—”
Prater flashed me a triumphant grin.
I ducked away from the table, pulling Jack into the crowd. Ray called me, but I didn’t stop. Prater was the biggest idiot on the planet. He was trying to get everyone to gang up on me and Jack; that wasn’t fair. Ignoring Prater didn’t work because he was looking for a fight. I let myself say a cussword, but only loud enough for my own ears to hear. It didn’t make me feel better. The only thing that would make me feel better was getting out of here.