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.

When I walked into the kitchen, Grandma, Mom and Johnny turned to look at me. My face must have answered their questions because they didn’t even ask if Spot was back. I sat down at the table and forced myself to swallow a few bites. My mind wandered up and down the road and around the hillside, thinking about where Spot could be. Then I wondered what Daddy would do. He’d keep looking for Spot, of course. That’s what I planned to do too.

As soon as we finished eating, Grandma said, “Grace Ann, you and your mom go look for Spot. Johnny and I will clean the kitchen.”

My sweet Grandma. I ran to her and stretched my arms in the biggest hug I could manage. Johnny whined that he wanted to join us.

“You stay here and watch for Spot,” Mom said. “Someone needs to do that job.”

Mom and I walked up the road, asking neighbors if they had seen Spot. No one had.

We turned and walked in the other direction and asked every neighbor. When we got to Mr. Wick’s house, he stopped raking his yard and yelled, “Grace, did you find your mutt?”

“No, Mr. Wick,” I answered. “Still searching.”

He looked at me and started raking his grass again. I noticed he never said that Spot would come back home, the way he did yesterday.

“Mr. Wick has his own set of troubles, Gracie Girl,” Mom said in a low voice.

I looked in his window and saw a “son in service” flag. His flag was like the one Grandma had hanging in her front window: a blue star in the center of a white rectangle with a red border surrounding it. The flags were about twelve inches long and meant that a family member was in active service.

Mr. Wick worried about his son the same way I worried about Daddy and now Spot. I knew that every hour Spot was gone, he was more likely not to get back home. Think positive, I told myself.

We skipped the rainbow victory garden and pumpkin patch this morning and went straight to the hillside. “Spot!” I called out. Each time I called his name, we stopped in our tracks to listen. He never answered, not with a yip, a howl or with running paws.

We explored the hillside behind Grandma’s house and followed footpaths. I called and called for Spot, but we found no sign of my sweet mutt. Mom pointed to tufts of hair that clung to a fence. We hurried over for a closer look. The tufts were too dark for Spot’s blonde and brown hair. We found animal tracks, lots of them, but all the tracks seemed to be either too big or too small for Spot’s paws. Spot liked to chase around the hills, so I knew his tracks should be here somewhere. As we neared a cliff, I saw tracks that looked like they could have been Spot’s. We followed the tracks for a few steps, but leaves, plants and moss covered the ground. I called out to Spot, stopped to listen and called again. No Spot.

After about four hours of hunting, Mom said we had to go home. I wanted to keep looking, but I didn’t know where to look, so we walked back down the hill.

By the time we got to Grandma’s, we were hot and sweaty. I drank two tall glasses of water straight down and grabbed a couple molasses cookies.

“I’m sorry you didn’t find Spot,” Grandma said as she patted my back.

Johnny walked over and leaned his head against me. “Sorry, Gracie. I watched for Spot. I checked his doghouse three times, but I didn’t find him. I even yelled for him.”

Johnny could be the world’s worst pest, but he had his good side too. I thanked him and dropped down in a chair at the kitchen table. I was tired and troubled.

A few minutes later, Mom called out, “Grace, Johnny, put on your good clothes and shoes. We’re going to town. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

To town? Could the surprise be Spot? Maybe someone found him. Daddy? Maybe Daddy was coming home. I could hardly breathe. We hadn’t been to town in a coon’s age. I grabbed my pink pocketbook, snatched my black patent leather shoes out from under the bed and dashed toward the Hudson. Johnny was already in the backseat, waiting.

Johnny still had on his play clothes and scruffy old shoes. Mom and Grandma were busy and didn’t notice. If they had, he would have had to go back into the house and change.

“Looking good, Johnny,” I said. I wrinkled my nose to let him know that I didn’t mean a word I said.

“Hush up, Pumpkin Head,” he answered. My opinion didn’t bother Johnny.

Mom stopped at the post office. I ran inside and walked back out empty handed. As I crawled in the Hudson, a train rumbled down the tracks.

“What’s that?” Johnny asked as a train car passed with a cartoon of a bald man with a big nose peeping over a wall. The words “Kilroy was here” were scribbled below the nose.

“Soldiers draw that cartoon,” Mom explained. “Watch carefully, you might see more.”

Sure enough, Johnny pointed out two more Kilroy cartoons on train cars.

Mom drove down Winchester Avenue and pulled up at the Paramount Theater. “Here’s your surprise,” Mom said as she handed Johnny and me each a quarter. “Watch the show. I’ll be back to pick you up when it’s over. Gracie Girl, you need to get your mind off your problems for a while.”

I slung open the car door and stepped out. Johnny darted past me.

I placed my quarter on the shelf at the ticket window. The man inside gave me back a nickel and a dime. Johnny did the same. Inside, the smell of popcorn made my mouth water. We handed over our money to a man behind a big counter and ordered two soda pops and two bags of popcorn. A door opened into a huge room filled with rows of seats. We walked all the way down to the first row. The theater was exciting, but I would rather have been searching for Spot. Johnny was so thrilled I didn’t want to spoil his fun. As soon as we sat down, I whispered, “Look at that screen, Johnny. Big, huh?”

A man walked onto the stage and welcomed us. He said this theater had shown Lassie Come Home last summer when it was first released, but so many had asked to see it again, they were replaying it for our viewing pleasure. The audience applauded, and the man walked off the stage.

Johnny looked around to see if anyone from school was there. I did too. Carolyn and Janie sat three rows over. I walked over to ask them if they had seen Spot. They said they hadn’t, but if they did they would let me know. I thanked them and returned to my seat as the lights dimmed. Music played, and a picture appeared on the screen.

I remembered seeing Pinocchio at this same theater, but this was Johnny’s first trip. He sat there and stared at the screen.

The picture show kept reminding me of Spot because the story was about a lost dog. My tummy twisted and turned.

Johnny never made a peep the whole ninety minutes. He drank it all in—the lost dog on the screen, the actors talking, the music, the popcorn and soda pop, whispering in the audience, fancy ceiling and curtains, everything.

I sat there and cried. Lassie was lost, but she made it back home. If Lassie could, maybe Spot could too. I filled my mind with positive thoughts—Spot is smart and knows his way around the area, and he’ll want to get home, so he’ll do his best to return.

We walked out of the theater, and Mom picked us up. On the drive back to Grandma’s, Johnny never stopped talking about the picture show. “Lassie came home,” Johnny told Mom. “Spot will too, don’t you think?” We both looked at Mom for her answer.

“It’s much too early to give up hope on Spot,” Mom said. “Remember, think positive. That’s what Lassie did. She would have not made it back home if she had given up.”

When we pulled up at Grandma’s, I dashed out back to check on Spot. He wasn’t there. I jerked on my play clothes and searched until dark. No Spot.