Chapter Fourteen

It had gotten harder and harder to keep Turk in the yard once he got over grieving for Papa. Emmanuel even tried tying him to a tree in the backyard, but he bit through the rope and went on one of his adventures.

When Turk came home one day at supper time, Mama noticed that his black and white coat was matted with mud. She didn’t know what he had been into, but she knew it wasn’t good. She wasn’t surprised when a new neighbor from up the road stopped by to tell her to keep her dog at home.

“That dog’s been after my hogs’ food,” Mr. Johnson yelled at Mama through the front door without even getting down off his wagon. “If I see him on my property again, I’m going to shoot him.”

Emmanuel planned to buy stronger rope for tying Turk up in the yard on his next trip to town. But just two days later, Mama was getting supper ready when she heard a gunshot, followed by Albertine screaming at the top of her lungs.

Her heart was in her throat as she ran to the front porch. The family only owned one gun, and Emmanuel always kept it locked up. What could have happened? Then she remembered the neighbor’s threat.

When she came out onto the porch, she saw the neighbor’s wagon going down the lane. Then she saw Turk lying at the bottom of the stairs, right at Albertine’s feet, in a pool of blood.

As sad as it would have been for Turk to die on the spot, it might have been better for him and easier for the family if he had. Instead, he lingered for days. Mama dressed the wound in his shoulder where the bullet had passed clean through, and Adele and Albertine took turns sleeping next to him at night. The third day, Mama called a family meeting.

“This is hard for me to say,” Mama began. “But I think we all know Turk is in a lot of pain. He isn’t even lifting his head anymore. He just lies there and whimpers. We love him too much to see him go on like this.”

“Do you want me to put him out of his misery, Mama?” Emmanuel asked with a lump in his throat.

“That would be too painful for you, but it has to be done,” Mama said to Emmanuel. “Go fetch Uncle Theodore and ask him to do it for us.”

Elisa thought she would never be able to stop crying. First Papa, and now Turk. She and Cecile wanted to comfort Albertine and Adele as they cuddled with them in their room, but they couldn’t control their own sobbing. It wasn’t long before they heard another gunshot, and Elisa knew Turk would never run through the woods with her again.

Never did a dog have a funeral like Turk’s. Cousin Albert built a walnut coffin for him from some of his woodworking scraps. Albertine and Adele wove roses and ivy into a blanket for the top of the coffin. Emmanuel dug a hole under an apple tree in the backyard, and Cousin Albert lowered the coffin into it. Then the family gathered around for Turk’s funeral.

Mama began the service by reading a verse from 1 Thessalonians. “ ‘In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.’ ” Then Mama prayed, “Lord, we are sad to lose our faithful dog, Turk. But we remember to give You thanks for him, and for all the joy he brought to us.

“We are also thankful that Albertine was not hurt when Turk was shot, Lord,” Mama continued. “That would have been a grief so hard for us to bear. Through all our losses, we know that Your grace is sufficient for us, and we give You thanks.”

Next it was time for Elisa to play the accordion and lead everyone in the singing of a hymn for Turk. Her stiff elbow made it hard to play, but she wanted to do it for Turk.

“Let’s all sing ‘Fairest Lord Jesus,’ ” Elisa said as she played the introductory notes. “It talks about meadows and woodlands—two of the places Turk so loved to explore.”

After the hymn, the children took turns shoveling dirt on top of the coffin and saying good-bye to Turk, the best dog ever.

*  *  *

That night when Elisa crawled into bed she thought back on the day and on the funeral for Turk. The heavy, familiar feelings of grief came over her again. How much she would miss seeing Turk running through the fall leaves. How strange it would be not to find him curled up by the fireplace in the kitchen next winter.

But when she thought about the service, it was the image of her mother that wouldn’t leave her mind. Mama, standing straight and tall by Turk’s grave. Mama, knowing just the Scripture verse to read and just the words to pray to bring comfort to the hearts of her grieving children.

I don’t remember Mama being so strong before, Elisa thought. How has she had the strength to run the farm without Papa? Besides that, she didn’t even hesitate when she had to pull my dislocated arm back into place. And she nursed me back to health without ever once saying, “I told you to be careful showing off on that pony.” And now, when Turk got shot, it was Mama who made the hard decision to put him out of his misery—and Mama who presided at his funeral just as capably as Papa would have done it.

Certainly I don’t have Mama’s courage, Elisa thought. Cecile and I screamed and ran all the way home because we saw a bat! Another night, I slept in my high-button shoes and clothes because there had been a bat in the attic. Mama wouldn’t be afraid of a bat. I’m sure of that.

The next morning, Elisa was up with the sun. Something told her she needed to get started as early as possible with the rest of her life—life without Papa and Turk.

When she came into the kitchen she saw that her mother was already up for the day too. The coffee was boiling in a kettle hanging over the open fire. Mama was sitting at the kitchen table, her open Bible in front of her.

“You’re up bright and early this morning,” she said when Elisa came in and joined her at the table. “I’ll fix you an early-bird breakfast!”

Elisa watched her mother as she cracked some eggs into a bowl and scrambled them. The sun was just beginning to come in the window and Mama’s dark hair shone in the sun’s rays. Her hair was pulled straight back into a bun, as it almost always was. Mama seemed trimmer than she had been in Pernambuco. She still looked younger than her forty-two years, in spite of how hard the last year had been on her.

“You’re very pensive this morning, daughter,” Mama said when she served Elisa her breakfast of scrambled eggs, saucisson, and biscuits. “Are you thinking about Turk?”

“Actually, Mama, I’ve been thinking about you,” Elisa said. “We never would have made it through these last months without you, but I know you hurt inside too. How have you been able to do everything you’ve done for us?”

“The answer to your question, as well as to any other question you’ll ever have, is right here,” Mama said as she patted her open Bible. “Just this morning I was reading in Nehemiah, and I came across the verse where Nehemiah says to his people, ‘The joy of the Lord is your strength.’ That’s where I get my strength too, Elisa.

“There have been many days when I just wanted to stay in bed and pull the covers over my head, but my love for all of you, and my trust in the Lord, gave me the courage to put my feet on the floor and get up. I hope you’ll always remember that. No matter what happens, the Lord will see you through it if you ask Him to.”

“Do you think Turk is in heaven with Papa?” Elisa asked.

“The Bible doesn’t say whether animals go to heaven, but it’s comforting to think of those two being together again, isn’t it? I woke up thinking about that this morning myself.”

Just then Adele and Albertine came into the kitchen still in their nightclothes. They both tried to climb into Mama’s lap at once.

“You girls are getting too big to be lap babies!” Mama said as she struggled not to drop either one of them onto the floor.

“We heard you talking about Turk,” Adele said while rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Bertie thinks we should plant some pansies on his grave, because pansies stand for thoughts—and we’ll always think about Turk.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, girls,” Mama said. “And pansies should grow happily in the shade of the apple tree. I’ll ask Cousin Albert to get some pansy seeds when he goes to the seed store tomorrow.”

When Elisa went on her walk in the woods later that day, she couldn’t help thinking about Turk. He had just started going with her on her walks again before he was shot. She kept glancing off the trail, expecting to see him emerging from behind a tree at any minute.

Elisa knew that what Turk did was wrong. She also realized that they were all responsible for not keeping him in the yard. But still, she couldn’t help but think that Mr. Johnson had been extremely mean to shoot the family’s dog. Especially to do it right in front of Albertine, with no regard for her safety or her feelings.

“Lord, I understand that we must forgive if we are to be forgiven,” Elisa prayed aloud as she walked. “But it’s just so hard at times. Please help me to love my enemies, even Mr. Johnson, who shot Turk. And as You say, to do good to them that hate us.”

When she reached the point where the trail opened up into a meadow, Elisa was greeted by a host of late summer wildflowers in bloom. Walking through waist-deep goldenrod, purple asters, and Queen Anne’s lace, she thought the hot summer sun or the goldenrod was making her eyes water. Then she realized that the beauty of the meadow had touched her very soul, and she was crying.

The farther she walked, the harder she cried. She cried for Papa, and for her crooked arm that still hurt whenever there was a change in the weather, and she cried for Turk.

Back on the cool woodsy trail again, she noticed a jack-in-the-pulpit poking its head up from among the forest ferns. Of all the flowers, that was the one she picked to take home, because just seeing it made her smile again. It really did look like a preacher standing in a pulpit—a preacher much thinner than Reverent Chavannes.

*  *  *

When Elisa returned to the house and went up to the room she shared with Cecile, she noticed clothes were lying on both beds.

“Mama wants us to try on our school dresses from last year so she knows what we’ll need for next year,” Cecile said.

Elisa sat on her bed and watched her sister pull the blue calico dress Mama had made for her down over her head. Cecile lifted her arms and moved them back and forth. Clearly the dress was too tight across the bust. Any jealousy Elisa felt over her sister developing a bustline before she did eased when she saw the blue dress added to the two already on her bed.

“Mama said she would hem those dresses for you,” Cecile said. “You need to try yours on to see what gets passed to Albertine.”

Both girls were soon running around the bedroom in their bloomers and camisoles, trying on dresses and enjoying the opportunity to take long looks in the looking glass without feeling too vain. After all, they needed to assess each dress carefully.

“How are you two doing in here?” Mama said at last. “Goodness, me. I have my work cut out for me, don’t I?” she said when she saw the three dresses to be hemmed lying on Elisa’s bed.

“Mama, I hardly have anything for fall and winter that still fits.” Cecile exclaimed. “What am I going to wear to school?”

“I thought that might be the case, dear,” Mama said. “But I don’t need as many dresses as I did when your father was alive because I don’t go out as often. My closet is a good place for us to start rebuilding your wardrobe.”

“These two are for Albertine,” Elisa said. “They are way up above my ankles. Will you be making any new dresses this fall, Mama?”

“I’ve ordered the fabric,” Mama said. “A bolt of gold percale that Cousin Albert will pick up when he goes to town tomorrow. But the first dress I make is going to be for Adele. With three older sisters she’s never had anything but hand-me-downs. I want her to have a brand new dress for her first day of school.”

*  *  *

That night as she was getting ready for bed, Elisa saw the jack-in-the-pulpit she had brought in from her walk still lying on the bedside table where she put it when she began trying on dresses. She pressed it between two pages of her journal. On the next page she wrote: “Taken from the woods on my first walk after Turk’s death. I will miss you, my silly, furry friend.”