Throughout the next day, villagers would remember, the weather on the south shore of Prince Edward Island had been temperamental. At sunrise, thick mist hovered over the bay. The sea was as still as glass. When the mist cleared, the sun was hot, intermittently covered by bloated clouds. Late in the afternoon, strong winds from the southwest churned the frothy waves.
Tango, too, had been temperamental. Tonight’s fight with Malachi weighed heavily on his mind. Beau was right: Malachi was no small wharf rat, like the kind he’d killed in Augusta’s cellar. And, in truth, ending the brown rat’s life hadn’t felt nearly as heroic as all the humans made it out to be.
But it was too late now.
Spurred on by the desire to get his charm back, Tango plotted his strategy, devising ways to avoid Malachi’s razor-sharp teeth and whiplike tail. Taking Malachi down, and keeping him down, was no small challenge. But that is exactly what Tango would need to do to win back his silver charm.
Soon the wind doubled in strength. Young trees bent in its path. Brittle branches snapped. By the time the bold red sun dropped out of sight, the winds were nearly gale force. Tourists took to their cars. Villagers closed their windows and awaited the storm.
Augusta, exhausted by sporadic attempts to walk with a three-footed cane, was fast asleep on the sofa. Earlier, Augusta told Tango that she was sick and tired of being impaired. She missed the little things most, like hanging wash on the line, weeding her garden, mowing her lawn.
Now it was time for Tango to go to the Pitiful Place. In case he never saw Augusta again (for fear filled his heart), he tip-toed across the afghan covering her body. He’d never had a chance to say goodbye to Marcellina. He allowed himself a moment to linger, licking the hand that had petted, brushed, bathed, and fed him.
Half-asleep, Augusta opened her eyes. “You know, Pup,” she mumbled. “If I didn’t have you around to keep me company, I don’t know what I’d do.”
Her eyes were clear and deep as tide pools. If Tango dove in, he would drown.
Augusta reached back over her head. “My medicine—now where is that?” She searched the end table with her fingers. “What time is it? Oh, my. Pup—get McKenna for me, will you? Good dog.”
As he’d done so many times since Augusta had fallen down the cellar stairs, Tango ran out to the picket fence. As loudly as he could, Tango barked the bark that told McKenna that Miss Gustie needed something.
“All right, already!” McKenna shouted over the wild, whistling wind. “Tell Miss Gustie to cool her heels! I’m on my way.”
Tango felt a lump in his throat.
McKenna, Beau had told him, was also leaving—in a day or two. Big Bart was driving her back to the North Shore. After both Tango and McKenna were gone—assuming he recaptured his silver heart and Marcellina came for him—who would care for Augusta until her hip healed?
But what could Tango do? He was only a dog.
Tango shook off his concerns, imagining instead the money that Marcellina would shower on Augusta. A lot more than a thousand dollars, he’d bet. With all that money, Augusta could hire people to take care of her: a nurse, a maid, a cook, a driver.
What tugged at Tango’s heart even more was that Augusta was planning to announce his new name tomorrow. Jack Tucker was bringing a bakery cake to celebrate. McKenna was making an enchanted candle with a base of red sand scooped from the exact spot on the beach where Tango had washed ashore.
Augusta drifted back to sleep. Tango took his leave in silence.
As planned, he met Beau inside his den.
“Beau, can I talk to you about something?”
“Of course.”
Tango told Beau that he was worried about abandoning Augusta.
“I understand. A dog cannot have two masters,” responded Beau. “Nor can you prevent Miss Gustie’s pain. It is too late for that. You have won her heart. She has claimed you as her own. Miss Gustie’s devotion to you is stronger than bonds of silver.”
Tango frowned at the truth of Beau’s words. He had to stay centered; he had a job to do.
As Tango and Beau pressed forward into the bullish night, the wind all but ripped the fur off their backs. The sea was gaining strength, a thunderous swooshing as waves bashed against the shore.
“Please, Tango,” Beau pleaded. “Will you not reconsider? I fear for your safety. These winds are harsh and unforgiving, warning us to turn back.”
“Wait, I’d better warm up.”
Trying his best to brush off the fear the fox’s words were instilling, Tango stretched his body, flexed his muscles, and ran in a circle to warm up. He snapped his jaw and imagined his teeth sinking into Malachi’s neck.
“Truly, Tango, I do not like the sound of this. The sky is angry.”
“How bad can it be?” Tango questioned.
The one-hinged door to the Pitiful Place swung open. Leftie, the orange cat with the twisted smile, braced the door and motioned with his head for the two canines to come forward.
“I guess we will soon find out,” Beau answered.