“Shorty!”
My voice echoes off the snow, the whiteness dizzying. I cut around the house in time to see Nessa back out of the barn, her cheeks sparkling with tears.
I run to her and hold her. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”
We split up, Melissa going in one direction and Ness and me in another, checking under bushes and even in the scoop of the back-hoe, scanning the horizon where the gray squints through a smattering of trees farther out. I sniff. Weather. It’ll snow again tonight, I reckon, if not this afternoon.
“It’ll be okay, Jenessa,” I say, squeezing her hand.
But she’s no longer the meek, dependent little girl, believing in my every word.
“We’ll keep looking until we find him,” I say, my voice firm.
“Alive,” Ness demands, her eyes darting around the hillside.
“Definitely alive,” I say.
He has to be.
Please, Saint Joseph? Ness can’t bear to lose this dog. It’s her one good thing in a long, long time. Please help us find him. Please!
“Here, boy!” Ness continues to yell, her voice crackling with the effort.
Saint Joseph, please! Ness and Shorty go together like beans and brown sugar. It’s like they were always waiting to find each other. They need each other! Please help us find him!
Jenessa plops down in the snow, her face hidden in her mittens, her shoulders heaving.
“Don’t you dare give up! That dog would never give up on you, Jenessa Joelle Blackburn!”
She startles at the reminder of Mama, scowling at me.
I know exactly how she feels.
If you lead us to him and help us bring him back alive, I promise I’ll come clean. I’ll own up to what I did in the woods. I’ll tell our father and I’ll face the consequences. Please, Saint Joseph. Please!
I pull her to her feet.
“Melissa! Girls!”
We spin toward our father’s voice.
I squint around the glare of snow, past the shiver of red maple to the clearing beyond. My father’s arms cradle a still form, and my heart leaps sideways with fear and hope.
Oh please, Saint Joseph, let him be alive! My promise stands! Please!
Ness breaks out in a run, clouds of breath trailing behind her. From here, I wait, wait to read her sisterly braille, sagging in relief when a smile breaks out and she shakes her fists in the air.
I love you, Saint Joseph.
So many different kinds of tears in the world. I continue my clumsy trek, plucking my boots from the snow and crashing back down, my calf and thigh muscles screaming. Behind me, I hear Melissa doing the same.
My father stops to open and rezip his coat around Shorty’s body, warming the hound with his body heat. Ness walks next to them, tearing her eyes from Shorty to share a kaleidoscope of emotions: worry, fear, exhilaration, shock, bewilderment, and, finally, joy.
I reach their side in four strides.
“What happened? Do you know?” My heart plummets when I glimpse a wide smear of blood on my father’s coat sleeve. “Is he going to be okay?”
Please . . .
“I found him out past the clearing. He was probably chasing rabbits. Seems his collar snagged on a section of the old fence I’d been meaning to tear down. Damn fence. I had to scare off two coyotes. Looks like Shorty’s been mauled. If Jenessa hadn’t gone looking for him like she did . . .”
We both turn to Ness, who coos to Shorty and strokes his head, quite a feat as she keeps stride with us at a half run.
“I had a dream,” she tells us breathlessly. I bite back tears at the sound of her voice, her clear, sweet voice. “Shorty needed me to come get ’im. I thought it was just a dream, but I woke up and he wasn’t there.”
My father meets my eyes over her head.
“Will he be okay?” Ness chatters. Her entire body vibrates with cold.
“I think we got to him in time. We need to get him to the vet, though. But I dare say you saved his life, sweetheart.”
Jenessa breaks out in a dance of joy. I feel light as snow.
“If you give me your keys, I’ll warm up the truck,” I offer.
He twists his body toward me, his coat pocket displaying a small bulge. I reach in, grab for the keys, and take off at a run, my breath melting into mist against my frozen cheeks. I tear into the driveway and scramble into the truck, starting the engine and blasting the heat.
“Mel, can you get Jenessa into the house? She’s frozen stiff!”
They rush over the hill, and I notice how Nessa and my father walk the same way—Mama’s long legs, his long legs, with the similar placement of feet. She’s imitating him, without even realizing she’s doing it. Belonging to him, regardless of blood. I throw open the driver’s side door.
Jenessa shakes her head vehemently, curls snaking every which way, like Medusa.