Part 6 – Wherein Bridie Meets the Neighbors

The Mansion gate had only just come into sight when Waif decided he couldn’t walk another step. Without warning he collapsed on the lawn, letting out a most exhausted huff that blew his whiskers.

Glancing down the road, I said: “Come on Waif, we’re almost there.”

Another huff.

“Might as well carry him.” Darcy suggested.

I obliged, heaving the dog into my arms. I had only just turned away when a voice demanded: “Did you just let your little mutt relieve himself on my front lawn?”

Turning, I saw a man stalking over to where we stood. A few feet away from me he stopped, hands on hips. Now I could see he was not a man, but a boy. Though he towered above me, he had boyish features. His freckled face was pulled into a menacing frown. “I asked you a question, madam.”

With I huff I answered angrily. “I heard you, sir, and no, I would not allow my dog to use anyone’s lawn as a loo, most of all yours.” From my arms came the low growl of Waif.

Cocking his raven head back, the boy smirked. “Oh great, just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, look who appears. Mrs. Bridget Baxter herself.”

I blinked. “Excuse me? Do I know you?”

The boy laughed. “Of course you wouldn’t want to remember me.”

“I supposed not, though I can’t imagine why.” I retorted.

Darcy nudged me, reminding me of my manners.

Sticking out a hand, I muttered. “My name is Bridie Baxter. Pardon me, but I seem to have forgotten yours.”

He took it grudgingly. “Basil Stubbings. We never saw each other much, but when we did, they weren’t happy meetings. Do you remember what I did to your dog?”

I had a vague idea, but I replied: “No.”

Flashing a grin he made a motion with his hand. “I tied pop cans to her tail and let her run around.”

My face must’ve turned bright red, because he laughed. It took everything in me not punch the guy right in the face. The look Darcy had told me that if I hadn’t been there, she would’ve said a really bad word. Both of us had been very fond of Little Dot.

“Hey, girls, don’t look like that. That was years ago. I’ve matured a little.” He held up his hands in defence. “By the way, who’s this one?” Bending over me, a little too close for comfort, he patted my dog’s head.

Waif growled. I frowned. “Waif.”

He stepped back, mocking grin still plastered across his face, eyebrows raised. “Really? Do you know what that means?”

“No.”

“Stray. Lost person or animal.”

Desperate to defend Waif’s honor, I replied with a snarl. “Well, I don’t know why you find that so funny, cause that’s exactly what he is.”

Darcy had been watching this whole time, rather angrily. Mrs. Post’s potatoes were probably the only thing that kept here this long. “We’ll be leaving.” She said finally. Placing a hand on my shoulder she steered me away.

I  back at Basil, who gave me a lopsided grin, cocked his freckled face and waved good-bye.

“Man alive, I wish I could give that boy a piece of my mind.” Darcy mumbled.

“Or fist.” I added.

Waif yipped.

~*~

June 5th 2005

My Dear Bridie,

Mrs. Stubbing’s great nephew moved in with her this week. She called me this morning and explained–very kindly, mind you– that yesterday he came home with a black eye. With a very angelic look on your face you explained that “Basil hates dogs, and I hate people who hate dogs.” I’m sure there’s more behind this.

Part 5 – In Which Bridie Goes Shopping

Just after I had finished re-rearranging the furniture in the sitting room (the piano had mysteriously moved to the other end of the room), Darcy entered.

“Oh, how perfect.” I jumped up from the red velvet couch where I had been resting and scampered up to her. “You’re just the person I had wanted to see. You and I are going to go shopping. I need to prepare for the guests.” Grabbing her by the arm, I dragged my friend from the room.

“Shopping? Whatever for?” Darcy asked, crooking a perfect and puzzled eyebrow. “Mrs. Post has all the food we’ll need, and the maids will take care of everything else.”

Waving a long piece of paper in the air I grinned as we turned a corner of the hallway. “Yes, but there are a few necessary precautions we must take.”

Digging her high heels into the plush burgundy carpet, she brought us to an abrupt stop. She snatched the list from my hand. ” ‘Bridie’s Shopping List. What we’ll need when the family comes.’ Number one is baby powder?”

I nodded seriously. “For dusting for fingerprints.”

She glanced at me pointedly but continued. “Rope, chair, and rat poison?”

“In case things get out of hand.”

“And where, my dear, are you going to find a Security 3000?”

I shrugged. “Hardware store?”

Propping hands on hips, she leaned down over me, not impressed. “Birdy dear, I think you–” She was interrupted by a earth quaking voice.

“Mr. Post, what do you mean by placing these vegetables upon my kitchen table?” Mrs. Post thundered.

Darcy must have seen the look of extreme guilt that went over me, because she grabbed me and raced in the direction of the kitchen, hissing through gritted teeth: “Bridget Baxter, what have you done?”

Darcy never called me by my given name unless she was really, really mad. To add my last name, well, let’s just say that our shopping trip might have been postponed. For forever.

It was my turn to dig my heels into the carpet as we neared the kitchen. “Darcy…!”

The kitchen was filled with the green smell of fresh vegetables. I peeked through the doorway, cautious of what I might find inside. I got a sick feeling in my stomach at the sight of what lay there. The counter groaned under the weight of a humongous cardboard box filled to the brim with the biggest potatoes I had ever seen. Darcy dragged me into the room, right up to where the cook and gardener stood. I stood there, feeling very ashamed as they argued. Darcy tried to make amends, saying my dear Mrs. Post, what might Bridie think and how do you, Mr Post, think Bridie must feel right now? None of it did any good. Mr. Post simply slammed the stained glass door and Mrs. Post said with an awful huff: “Well then, we can’t let perfectly good vegetables go to waste! Lunch will be in an hour!”

I eyed the crate of potatoes. They looked like dirty rocks. Chances are they had the flavor and consistency of them as well. It would take her at least three hours simply to peel them.

Darcy was completely fed up. She got all calm like, the only hint to her boiling anger the tap of her fingers on her hip. “We will not be home for lunch. Bridie and I are going shopping.” With that she stalked out of the room.

I blinked and followed, grinning and pleased that our shopping plans were still on and I wouldn’t be having the “Post Potato Platter” for lunch.

~*~

“Darcy…”

“Bridie…” Darcy copied my whining tone, frowning. “No. You may not buy rat poison.”

“Aw.” I turned to the display in front of the pest control shop. Pressing my nose to the cold window where rats were displayed, killed in a variety of ways.  Glancing back to my friend I asked hopefully: “Mouse traps?”

“No!”

I huffed and slouched. So far, Darcy had talked me out of everything. Turning away from the bear trap display with deep regret, I followed her down the street.

Small crowds of people milled about the small streets of the town of Roseville, not a car in sight. A wave of deja-vu swept over me and I felt a smile lift the corners of my lips. Grandpa and I had often walked down this street.

“Wait here, I need to get something for Dahlia.” Darcy never called Mrs. Swann “mom,’ except on rare occasions. Stepping into a shop, Darcy let the door close behind her with a jingle. It was obviously a new shop. Boxes were stacked in the window, the display not yet fully unpacked. The sign above the door was a signature so flowery I could not make it out. Boxes in the window obscured my view from what was happening inside.

A bark distracted me. Under a stop sign sat a scruffy, unkempt terrier. Straining at the rope holding him there, he cocked his head in a pleading manner and began to whine.

I hurried over too inspect the dog. As I knelt beside him, I realized he wasn’t dirty. The shaggy thing was simply speckled all over in every color a dog could be: silver, two kinds of ginger, grey, almost pink, brown, cream, as well as black and white. A white muzzle resembled whiskers. Tied to the rope around his neck was a note:

“This is Waif. Be very kind to him.”

“Aw, you pitiful thing, you. I wish I could take you home, but I’m afraid Darcy isn’t in the mood for letting me bring anything home.”

Waif cocked a ginger ear and placed a white paw on my knee. Letting out the smallest, most insignificant whimper, he curled closer, looking as tiny and helpless as ever. His deep brown eyes bore a hole in my heart.

Darcy came our of the shop just in time to witness me in the act of stuffing the puppy up my shirt.

“Birdy dear, let the poor animal go.”

“Dog? What dog? I haven’t seen any dogs.” I tucked in an exposed polka-dotted tail.

“Bridie.” Darcy frowned, but a twinkled in her eyes betrayed her contained laughter.

I suppose the bewildered head poking out of the neck of my sweater did look rather silly. With a sigh I pulled him out and placed him on his feet. “Darcy,” I began, getting to my feet.

“No. Bridie, we have enough to worry without a dog running around.”

Waif was pulling at the shoelaces of my sneakers. I picked him up and held him near, doing my best to imitate Waif’s puppy eyes. I stuck out my bottom lip in a pout. “Darcy, please?”

She massaged her temples.

“He looks just like Turandot.” I whispered.

She smiled sadly and ruffled my hair. “He does look like Little Dot. Alright. Seeing as we couldn’t get a Security 3000.”

“Yes! Thank you Darcy.” I let Waif slip from my arms and skipped ahead, dog bounding at my heals. “You hear that Waif?”

He barked, tail whipping at my legs. Darcy slipped an arm around my shoulders and we carried on like that, down the street towards home.

~*~

April 25th 2005

My Dear Bridie,

Today you came home with a puppy. “It followed me home.” You said, holding up the rope tied around it’s neck. It was not a pretty thing. Small, scruffy, and covered in many different colors. Mrs. Post said you should call her Dot. You insisted that was not a proper name for a dog. Much too plain, you said, for a special one like this. Help me think of another one. I had recently read a book about such a character, and suggested you call her Turandot. I’m glad you liked it.