Dachshund Through the Snow, Page 2

  “Can we take the long way around Bushrod Square?” she suggested as they neared the square-mile park that was currently overrun with all things holiday. “It’s so crowded with…revelers.”

  “And add all that time to our walk?” Yiayia scoffed and gestured toward the candy cane arches that led to the statue of Thaddeus Ambrose Bushrod, the town’s founder. “Not a chance when my doxie is waiting.”

  Pru squished her nose and went with them, tucking her face into the fake fur collar of her parka and keeping her eyes on the two dogs who marched past brightly lit bushes into the square.

  “So, who ya hidin’ from, lass?” Gramma nudged her lightly.

  “A boy?” Yiayia asked.

  “Not likely,” Gramma responded for her when Pru stayed quiet. “If I know my Prudence, and I do, this tiff’s about the lassies.”

  She let out a noisy sigh. “Gramma’s right,” she admitted. “And not really lassies, but one in particular.” She glanced from one to the other. “Teagan was really awful.”

  “Teagan?” Gramma Finnie said. “The pretty one with the reddish hair and curls? Why, she’s too Irish to be unkind. I very much like that lass.”

  “Well, I very much liked her, too, until she made me feel like a pariah at the ornament-decorating booth.” Pru glanced in the general direction of the fundraising tables. “She and Sarah and Caitlin, who I hate, by the way, were just whispering and laughing and acting like I wasn’t even there.”

  “Don’t hate anyone,” Yiayia said. “It’ll come back to haunt you.”

  “Well, I intensely dislike her with every fiber of my being. It’s bad enough that Sarah practically had her tongue down Drew Irving’s throat when I got there, then Caitlin is waving around this necklace that I guarantee you she didn’t pay for.”

  “A gift?” Gramma asked.

  “A five-finger discount.” She made a “plucking and pocketing” gesture.

  “Are you sure?” Gramma’s voice rose in surprise.

  “That’s quite an allegation,” Yiayia said.

  Pru just shook her head, not in any mood to defend those girls. She didn’t care about them. But Teagan? “My best friend just took off with them, even though we had lunch planned for weeks. We were going to exchange gifts, but Teagan acted like I made up the whole thing and we were never going anywhere. I’ve never, ever known her to be mean like that. She acted like the idea of Christmas presents was something only five-year-olds like her little sister would do with friends. I mean, come on.”

  The memory still burned, especially the way Teagan and the other two had walked away without even saying goodbye, like a pack of mean girls, leaving Pru standing all alone until the next ornament-making shift arrived. She’d had no choice but to walk to Gramma and Yiayia’s house off the square since she didn’t have a ride home until Mom got off duty at her vet office. And that could be hours because she was dealing with a cat in a troubled labor.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with her, lass, but I hope you make up,” Gramma said. “You know, a good friend is like a four-leaf clover—hard to find and lucky to have.”

  Pru had to work not to roll her eyes. Usually, her grandmother’s silly Irish sayings were cute and funny, but nothing was cute and funny today.

  Yiayia leaned into her. “Perhaps something personal is going on and she doesn’t want to have a conversation with you about it.”

  Pru considered that, but she couldn’t imagine what Teagan would do that she wouldn’t share, unless Caitlin had taken her “shopping.”

  “She started acting weird about a week ago, but today was off the charts.”

  “Maybe you can call her after we get the dog,” Yiayia suggested.

  “Take the high road,” Gramma Finnie chimed in. “’Tis always the right path, most especially on Christmas Eve.”

  Pru managed a nod, but she had no intention of calling Teagan. Not after the way she’d been treated. So she kept her head down as they walked through the crowds, with Gala and Pyggie occasionally barking at the other dogs that passed through Bushrod Square.

  “On the way back, I’ll have another doxie,” Yiayia said in a happy voice. Then she whispered to Pru, “And you don’t have to call anyone if you don’t want to make amends.”

  “Me make amends?” Pru snorted. “She needs to grovel, or I’m keeping that beautiful blue sweater she loved so much last time we went shopping. She nearly cried for how bad she wanted it, and right now it’s wrapped in a box in Mom’s office. You know, I think I’ll wear it tomorrow for Christmas. No, no. I’m going to wear it to school the first day after break. That’ll show her.”

  “Prudence.” Gramma Finnie patted her arm. “Bitter is not a nice taste in your mouth, lass.”

  She shot a look at Yiayia, who shrugged. “Sometimes it is,” Yiayia said under her breath. “In the right recipe.”

  Pru didn’t answer as they worked their way past some dancing elves and around the entrance to the Christmas train that ran the perimeter of the square all through December.

  Gramma eyed her as they reached the other side and started down Ambrose Avenue. “I think you should talk to her and find out what’s in her heart before you end a perfectly lovely friendship.”

  “I still think she should think twice before she’s mean, spiteful, and rejects her best friend.”

  Yiayia let it go as they walked the rest of the distance in silence, stopping occasionally because Gramma Finnie saw a friend, or to let faster pedestrians go by, or even admire a Christmas display in a store window. Just off the main street of town, they headed into a residential area and found the small house with the address Gramma Finnie had in her phone.

  “Let me do the talking,” Yiayia announced as they slowed in front of the driveway. “And don’t talk me out of whatever he wants for the dog. I have the money.”

  “A dachshund shouldn’t be that expensive,” Pru said.

  Yiayia gave her a hard look. “You can’t put a price on how much I want this dog. Of course, he has to look…a certain way. If he doesn’t…” Her voice trailed off.

  Pru made a face. “Pretty sure you’ve been hanging around the Kilcannons long enough to know beauty is in the eye of the beholder where dogs are concerned.” She tipped her head. “Like, look at Pyggie.”

  The chubby little pup wagged his tail at the mention of his name.

  “This dog needs to look…like I imagine him to look.”

  Pru frowned and glanced at Gramma Finnie for some help on this. “Like you imagine him to look?”

  Gramma shrugged as if she’d had this conversation and gotten nowhere.

  “Just…let me do the talking,” Yiayia said, giving Gala’s leash to Pru. “You two stay a little behind with the dogs so we can give them a chance to get acquainted.”

  She took a few steps ahead to the door, then rang the bell. Instantly, a dog started frantically barking from behind the door, which set off Pyggie and Gala, too. The racket was deafening, but funny.

  “Yes, that sounds like a doxie,” Yiayia said on a high-pitched laugh.

  After a moment, the front door was opened by a balding man who looked to be about fifty, holding a squirming brown dog in his arms. “Can I help you?”

  “Oh my sweet heavens alive!” Yiayia exclaimed. “It’s Charis!”

  Charis? Pru and Gramma Finnie exchanged a look, but didn’t attempt to talk over the cacophony of three dachshunds barking.

  “It’s Rover,” the man said, eyeing her suspiciously. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to buy your dachshund,” Yiayia announced. “Please tell me it’s that one right there in your arms and that you are really willing to part with him.”

  “I am,” he said, opening the door wider, silently inviting her in. “Come on in. Your friends, too, assuming they don’t bite.”

  Yiayia laughed, more excited than Pru had ever seen her. “Only the one with white hair,” she joked.

  The ice broken, they all headed in, banging some snow fr
om their boots while Pru held the leashes tight so the dogs could get used to the place. They stood in a small entryway, a Christmas tree visible on a table in the living room and two stockings both embroidered with an R hanging from the fireplace mantel. For Rover and Rad? He had a stocking for a dog he was selling?

  The whole house was sparse and dim, like an air of sadness hung over it instead of Christmas cheer.

  “Can I hold him?” Yiayia asked, reaching greedily for Rover.

  “Of course,” he said. “He’s a good dog, but he just doesn’t get along with Ralph.”

  “Ralph?” Yiayia looked past him, as if expecting to see another man. His father? Son? Maybe a cat who fought with dogs?

  He gestured for them to step into the living room, and there, in a huge glass tank that looked like it could house a cow, was a giant lizard. It had to be almost two feet long, with spots all over his back and pinkish spikes poking out from his chin.

  “Oh my!” Gramma Finnie jumped back, even though it was enclosed in glass. Yiayia let out a shriek of surprise. Both dogs barked, but instantly backed away as if sensing that they weren’t in charge here.

  But Pru gasped as she realized what it was. “A bearded dragon!” she exclaimed, aching to reach for it. “I’ve been begging my mother for one of these.”

  “This is Ralph,” he said. “He belonged to my wife, but she’s…” He heaved a sigh. “She’s gone home.”

  “Oh, lad.” Gramma reached out. “You have my sympathies. Such a hard time of year to mourn a lost loved one.”

  “She’s not lost,” he said quickly. “She literally went home. To live with her mother. The old bag lives in Arizona.”

  Gramma Finnie drew back, and Pru bit her lip to keep from laughing at the way he said it.

  “So, which of you ladies is getting Rover?”

  “I am,” Yiayia said, nuzzling her head into the dog’s fur, the connection between them instant. “He’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

  “So you want him?” the man asked.

  “With my whole heart and soul,” she crooned, holding him up to gaze into his big brown eyes. “I want you, sweet thing. Oh yes, I do!”

  Of course, Pyggie and Gala barked possessively at the baby talk, tugging on their leashes to let this intruder know exactly who Yiayia really loved.

  “It’s okay,” Pru assured them.

  “It sure is,” Yiayia said, lowering Rover so he could be closer to the other two doxies. “This is going to be your new brother!”

  “Well, I do have a price that you’ll have to pay.”

  “Of course. I brought my checkbook.” Yiayia tapped the bag hanging on her shoulder. “How much are you asking?”

  He looked from one to the other, gnawing his lip. With each second that ticked by, Pru got a little anxious. Was he going to demand an astronomical amount of money? Would Yiayia pay it?

  “I want a ticket to the First Baptist Christmas Spectacular event.”

  Pru blinked at the request. Gramma Finnie let out a soft hoot. And Yiayia drew back in disbelief.

  “You might as well ask for a seat on the moon,” she said with a snort. “I’ve heard that if there’s a ticket to be had, it’s selling for more money than God makes.”

  Pru couldn’t argue with that. The two-act Christmas extravaganza that all the churches in town got together to produce at First Baptist of Bitter Bark had been sold out since September. They’d had performances all week, but Christmas Eve was the biggie, with a live baby Jesus at the end of the first act and the promise of real reindeer in the second.

  “Well, that’s my price,” he said, angling his head with a hint of smugness, as if he could sense the dog meant a lot. “I’ve never missed the show, not once, but my wife was the one who got the tickets. She didn’t this year, then she left and…” He shook his head. “It’s not Christmas for me if I don’t see that performance.”

  “Well, that’s just the stupidest thing I ever heard,” Yiayia said, earning a soft gasp from Gramma Finnie, who believed in speaking her mind, but never quite as bluntly as her closest friend. “You’ll just have to miss it one year. I’m willing to pay cash, and maybe you can find a scalper.”

  He shook his head. “A ticket…for a decent seat, not nosebleeds,” he replied with so much determination, Pru could practically hear his heels digging into the hardwood floor. “That’s my price.”

  Yiayia grunted in frustration.

  “Wait a second,” Gramma Finnie said softly. “I might be able to help.”

  Yiayia whipped around, and the man looked just as interested. “How?” they asked in unison.

  “One of the men from St. Gabriel’s, which is my church, is workin’ as the set director for the play at First Baptist. I know this because I begged him to be Santa Claus tonight,” she added as an aside to Yiayia. “When he turned that down, he offered so kindly to help me out in any other way he could. Such a good man, he—”

  “Call him,” Yiayia said. “He’ll have a ticket. He has to have a ticket.”

  Rad stepped closer and lifted Rover right out of Yiayia’s arms. “If I get the ticket, you get the dog,” he said.

  Yiayia gave him a look Pru rarely saw from her, but that she’d certainly heard her Santorini step-cousins and their mother talk about. Like, if looks could kill, poor Rad would be headed to Easterbrook Funeral Home, not the Christmas Spectacular.

  “You will give me that dog,” she said through gritted teeth. “It’s important.”

  “So’s the play,” he countered, undaunted by her. “Get me a ticket, and you can have the dog. I’ll be here all day, ’cept for taking Rover for a walk. If you can’t get the ticket, you can’t have the dog.”

  “Then we’ll get a ticket,” Yiayia said, signaling for Gramma, Pru, and the dogs to follow her out the front door.

  “Bye, Ralph,” Pru whispered into the tank, then gave a quick pet to the dog Rad held. “See you, Rover.” She looked up at the man. “You drive a hard bargain, dude.”

  “I want the ticket.”

  “Got it.” Pru zipped out with the two dogs to find Gramma Finnie and Yiayia deep in conversation on the sidewalk. “So, we’re going to the church to try and sell our souls for a ticket?”

  “Whatever it takes,” Gramma Finnie said.

  “Thank you.” Yiayia put her hand on Gramma’s back. “You’re a good friend, Finola.”

  While they trudged back down Ambrose Avenue, Yiayia was silent as Gramma Finnie chatted about her friend Melvin Jankewicz, the set director, and how he could help them. She was certain he’d be at First Baptist all day, so they headed toward the large white columns of the stately church not far from the town hall at the perimeter of Bushrod Square.

  “Won’t take but a minute to get the ticket,” Gramma said.

  Yiayia gave a skeptical look over her shoulder in the direction they’d just come from. “Then he better give us that dog when we get back with the ticket and not send us off on another goose chase,” she said. “Maybe he’s some kind of scam artist.”

  “A scam to go to a Christmas play?” Gramma Finnie gave a soft snort. “My word, Agnes, you don’t trust anyone.”

  “Life has taught me that,” she said. “Life taught me…”

  Her words faded in Pru’s ear at the outburst of girls’ laughter from the square as they passed one of the entrances. The musical cadence of one was all too familiar. She looked to her left and felt a stab of pain at the sight of Teagan huddled with Caitlin, Sarah, and one other girl who ran in that crowd at school.

  Just as Pru stared at them, Teagan looked up, a flash of something in her eyes, then she quickly looked away, pretending she hadn’t seen Pru.

  “Oh…” The sound slipped from Pru’s lips, getting a quick look from Yiayia. But Pru didn’t say a word because, for all she knew, Yiayia would march under those candy cane arches and demand an explanation from Teagan. “That’s…sad,” she finished.

  “What is?” Yiayia asked.

  “That life taugh
t you not to trust people.” Although, wasn’t life grinding that lesson on Pru’s heart right then?

  “How did that happen, lass?” Gramma asked, sliding a loving hand through Agnes’s arm. “Who let you down?”

  “Who didn’t?” she answered in her wry Yiayia tone. “And on Christmas Day, too.”

  “Really?” Pru asked.

  “Certainly not your husband or children,” Gramma said. “Not on Christmas.”

  The other woman didn’t answer for a long time, looking ahead, her eyes pinned on something in the distance. Or a memory.

  “What happened?” Pru asked. “Can you share with us?”

  Yiayia’s eyes shuttered closed, and some color drained from her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s all such ancient history now.”

  “That’s the best kind,” Gramma said.

  “Last Christmas Eve, Gramma Finnie told me the most amazing story. Now it’s your turn.”

  Yiayia smiled and sighed. “I’m not the storyteller your Irish great-grandmother is.”

  “You can’t share anything about your life?” Pru asked.

  “After I’ve told you so much of mine?” Gramma added.

  They took a few more steps, silent. Then Yiayia slowed and finally stopped, tugging at the dogs. “The first person to let me down and break my trust was my father,” she said softly. “I walked into the kitchen on Christmas morning, just a few days after I’d turned eighteen, and he announced that he’d found my husband, a man from Greece who I’d never met.”

  Pru gasped. “You had an arranged marriage?”

  “Not…exactly.”

  Chapter Three

  Astoria, New York, 1955

  Agnes opened her eyes and squinted through the tiny slats of her attic window to confirm that it had, indeed, not stopped snowing yet. Which might make a lot of people happy today, Christmas morning, but it meant that Norman’s car might not make it all the way to Astoria from the city tomorrow so they could meet and have their secret gift exchange.