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The rain had stopped before dawn, but the roads still held it.
Water lay in shallow hollows along the rutted edges, clouded brown where wagon wheels and automobile tyres had passed through. The ditches ran thin and quick beneath the grass, carrying leaves, loosened twigs and small islands of yellow foam toward the lower fields. Every roof in Geneva seemed darker than usual, and the trees stood black along their trunks, their remaining leaves washed bright against the grey morning.
By afternoon the clouds had lifted enough to let through a pale light. It gave no warmth, but it brought people outside to inspect gardens, clear drains and shake water from porch chairs. The air smelled of damp earth, wet wood and the cold beginning to gather beneath autumn.
Cindy met Jennifer at the usual corner with her coat buttoned to the throat and her glasses still carrying a faint mist from the walk. Her shoes had been polished before she left home. She had chosen the firmer side of every road and stepped over puddles rather than around them whenever the grass looked soft. Even so, a narrow line of mud marked one heel.
Jennifer came from the lane with Nicola walking quietly at her left side and Bart several paces ahead at the end of his lead. Bart’s paws were already dirty. Wet soil darkened the fur between his toes, and each time he moved from the road to the verge he brought a little more of the morning with him.
“He’s been through water,” Cindy said.
“He found a puddle near the shed.”
“Did he fall in?”
“He stood in it.”
Bart reached Cindy and pushed his nose beneath her hand. His coat smelled faintly of rain and damp grass. She rubbed the fur behind one ear, then looked down at his feet again.
“He’ll put those on my skirt.”
“He may.”
Cindy stepped aside when Bart lifted one paw toward her. “No.”
Bart placed it back on the road.
Jennifer handed over his lead. The leather felt cool and swollen from the wet, softer than it had been through the dry summer. Cindy examined the clasp before wrapping the loop around her wrist.
There was a brown stain near the hinge and a shallow groove where the metal tongue sat in its ring. She opened it with her thumb and closed it again. It caught, though not as cleanly as before.
“This is worn,” she said.
“Papa’s going to mend it.”
“When?”
“He said tonight.”
Cindy tested it once more. “It should hold until then.”
Jennifer looked at the clasp, then at Bart. “Keep him close near the road.”
“I always do.”
They began along the lane, Nicola on Jennifer’s far side and Bart travelling between the verge and Cindy’s knee. The morning rain had altered every smell along the route. Bart worked through them with his whole body. He stopped beside places he had ignored the previous week, buried his nose in flattened weeds and followed lines of scent where water had crossed the road.
Cindy let him examine the first few.
After he spent nearly a minute at the base of a gatepost, she drew him gently onward.
“He thinks everything’s new,” Jennifer said.
“It’s the same road.”
“It doesn’t smell the same.”
“It looks worse.”
Bart stepped into a shallow puddle.
Cindy moved him out before the water reached above his toes. “Stay on the firm part.”
He shook one paw and continued.
They passed houses with windows open by a narrow amount to release the smell of coal smoke and cooking. A woman knelt beside her front steps, sweeping wet leaves away with a broom that made little progress against the mud. Two boys carried a broken branch between them, one at either end, dragging the smaller twigs across the road. Bart tried to follow.
Cindy brought him back. “No.”
One of the boys glanced at the dog and called to him. Bart’s ears lifted, but Cindy shortened the lead and kept walking. Jennifer didn’t turn.
Beyond the last row of houses, the road ran beside an open field. Through most of the summer it had been a wide stretch of dry grass and low reeds, pale beneath the sun, with a drainage ditch hidden along its lowest edge. The rain had flattened parts of it and darkened the earth between the clumps. Water lay in broad shallow patches that reflected the sky.
Cindy slowed at the edge.
“We shouldn’t go through there.”
They had sometimes used the narrow footpath beside the field to lengthen their route before returning toward town. The path remained visible, though several sections had become dark and soft.
“We can stay on the road,” Jennifer said.
Bart had already noticed the field.
His head rose. His nose worked toward the reeds, and his body leaned against the lead. Something moved near the centre of the wet grass. It wasn’t large enough to be clearly seen, only a shifting patch where the reeds parted and sprang back.
Bart went still.
Cindy felt the change before she saw it. The usual restless pull stopped. The lead became a straight, unmoving line between her hand and his collar.
“What does he see?”
Jennifer looked across the field. “Something’s moving.”
A clump of reeds bent low and shook.
Bart lunged.
Cindy’s arm snapped forward. She tightened her hand and stepped back onto the firmer road.
“No.”
Bart braced, front legs spread, shoulders low.
The reeds moved again.
He lunged a second time with greater force.
Cindy turned sideways and brought the lead toward her hip as Jennifer had shown her. Bart’s body twisted across the verge. For a moment the pressure eased.
Then the clasp turned against the ring on his collar.
There was a small metallic click.
The lead fell loose in Cindy’s hand.
Bart charged into the field.
“Bart!”
Jennifer’s voice followed him, but he didn’t look back. He crossed the first muddy patch in three long bounds, sending water out from beneath his paws. The dry fur along his legs darkened at once. He passed through a stand of reeds, emerged on the other side and continued toward the moving grass.
Cindy stared at the empty clasp in her hand.
“It opened.”
Jennifer had already stepped from the road. “Bart!”
He disappeared behind the reeds.
The two girls followed as far as the edge of the footpath. Mud gave beneath Cindy’s shoe. She stopped before her heel sank and moved onto a strip of flattened grass.
Jennifer came beside her, Nicola’s lead wrapped securely around one hand.
“Can you see him?” Cindy asked.
“No.”
The reeds moved farther down the field.
Bart’s head appeared briefly between them, ears back, mouth open. Then he vanished again.
“Bart, come here!” Jennifer called.
A low rustling travelled across the wet ground. Something darted through the reeds, too hidden to identify. Bart followed it, his path marked by shaking stalks and splashes of black water.
Cindy took another step.
The earth near the path gave way beneath the toe of her shoe. She drew back quickly.
“Don’t go farther,” Jennifer said.
“He’s going toward the ditch.”
“I know.”
They could see the line of the drainage channel only where the grass dipped. Long wet blades leaned over it from both sides, covering the banks and hiding the bottom. Water moved somewhere beneath them with a soft, continuous sound.
Bart’s head rose once more.
He bounded forward.
The grass opened beneath him.
Then he was gone.
Jennifer stopped calling.
Cindy stared at the place where he had disappeared. “Did he fall?”
“I don’t know.”
Neither girl moved closer.
The ditch might have held only shallow water and mud. It might also have been deeper where the field drained beneath the road. The grass hid the slope entirely. A wrong step could send either of them down after him, and Nicola had begun to pull forward, disturbed by Bart’s absence.
Jennifer shortened her lead. “Stay.”
Nicola stood at her side, ears raised toward the ditch.
There was a splash from below the reeds.
“Bart!” Jennifer called.
Another splash answered, followed by rough movement through grass.
Cindy listened. “He’s moving.”
“Yes.”
They shifted along the edge of the field, keeping to the firmest parts of the path. Jennifer tested each patch with the toe of her shoe before putting down her weight. Cindy followed in her steps. The broken lead hung from her hand, its clasp open and useless.
Bart made no sound.
The reeds near the ditch trembled, then went still.
“Bart,” Jennifer called again, softer now. “Come out.”
Cindy looked along the channel. “He may be trying to climb where it’s too steep.”
“He’ll find another place.”
“How do you know?”
“He went in.”
“That doesn’t mean he can get out.”
Jennifer looked toward the hidden ditch. Her face remained calm, though her hand had tightened around Nicola’s lead until the leather pressed white lines into her fingers.
Water splashed farther down.
The girls turned together.
A patch of grass shook near the culvert. Black mud appeared first, sliding between the reeds. Then Bart’s front paws came over the bank.
He scrambled upward with his chest low against the slope. His hind legs slipped once and sent a sheet of mud back into the ditch. He clawed again, found firmer ground and pulled himself onto the field.
For several seconds he stood with his legs spread.
His face was almost clean.
A narrow line of mud crossed his muzzle, and one wet leaf clung near his ear, but from the neck downward he was coated in black. Mud covered his chest, his shoulders, his belly and every part of his legs. His tail had become a heavy dark rope. Water dripped steadily from the fur beneath him.
Bart saw the girls.
His mouth opened.
“Don’t let him near the road,” Cindy said.
Jennifer moved first, angling across the firm path to block the direct way back. “Bart. Come.”
He started toward them.
Cindy raised one hand. “Slow.”
Bart did not slow.
He crossed the muddy field with his body low and eager, leaving dark splashes behind him. His clean face made the rest of him look stranger, as though he had put on the mud deliberately and spared only the part he wanted them to recognize.
“He’s going to shake,” Cindy said.
Jennifer stepped forward.
Bart reached the path and gathered himself.
“Don’t,” Cindy warned.
Jennifer caught his collar with both hands just before he shook.
Bart’s shoulders twisted beneath her grip. His tail lashed mud across the grass, but the full movement never came. Jennifer held him close enough that he couldn’t turn his body.
Cindy stepped well back, lifting the edge of her coat away from him.
“He’ll get your clothes.”
“He already has.”
Mud marked Jennifer’s sleeves where Bart’s shoulders had struck them. A dark smear ran across the front of her skirt below one knee.
Cindy looked toward the road. “We have to keep him away from the automobiles.”
“I’ve got him.”
“Hold him there.”
She crouched near the fallen lead and picked it up from the wet grass. The clasp had twisted sideways. She wiped it against a clean patch of weeds and tried closing it around the collar ring.
The metal tongue slipped free as soon as she pulled.
“It won’t hold.”
Jennifer kept one hand around Bart’s collar while using the other to remove a reed from his shoulder. “We’ll have to carry the lead.”
“He can’t walk without it.”
“You can hold his collar.”
“All the way home?”
“If he stays close.”
Bart attempted to turn toward Nicola.
The quiet dog stood several feet away, watching him with her ears tilted forward. Her coat remained almost entirely clean. Only her paws showed dark marks from the wet road.
Bart pulled toward her.
“Wait,” Jennifer said.
He reached Nicola before either girl could turn him.
His muddy shoulder pressed broadly against her side.
The wet fur left a black smear from beneath Nicola’s neck almost to her hip. Bart pushed his nose beneath her chin in greeting.
Nicola went rigid.
She looked at him.
Bart wagged.
The end of his tail struck her hind leg and left another dark mark.
Nicola turned her head toward Jennifer.
Her expression remained composed, but the stillness of her body carried a clear and measured objection.
“I know,” Jennifer said.
Nicola stepped away from Bart with deliberate care. She moved to Jennifer’s opposite side and stood beyond his reach, looking toward the road as though she had decided the matter required no further attention.
Cindy looked at the smear. “He’s ruined her too.”
“She’ll wash.”
“She didn’t go in the ditch.”
“No.”
Nicola glanced once at Bart and then faced away again.
Jennifer transferred her lead to her left hand. “Take his collar.”
Cindy looked down at Bart. Mud continued running from his belly in thin dark lines. “He’ll cover me.”
“He’ll go to the road if we don’t move.”
Cindy shifted the broken lead to her left hand and stepped close. She reached beneath Bart’s jaw, found the collar and closed her fingers around the leather near the buckle.
Bart tried to lift one paw toward her coat.
“No.”
She moved the coat back and held him at arm’s length.
“We should take the lane behind the mill,” Jennifer said. “There’ll be fewer people.”
“It’s longer.”
“There’s less traffic.”
Cindy looked toward the main road. An automobile passed, its tyres sending water from the ruts. Bart raised his head at the sound and leaned in that direction.
“The lane,” she agreed.
They left the field slowly.
Cindy walked beside Bart rather than behind him, one hand fixed to his collar and her arm held stiff enough to keep his muddy body away from her skirt. The position forced her into short uneven steps. Bart wanted to move faster. Each time he surged ahead, she tightened her grip and told him to wait.
Jennifer kept Nicola on the far side. The smear along the dog’s coat looked darker as it began drying.
The path to the mill lane ran behind a row of sheds and kitchen gardens. It was narrow, deeply rutted and bordered by hedges, but few people used it after rain. Water dripped from overhanging branches onto the girls’ hair and shoulders. Bart stopped often to smell the ground, though Cindy refused to let him lower his body into anything else.
“Keep walking.”
He pulled toward a puddle.
“No.”
He tried to cross behind her.
Cindy turned with him, keeping her hand on the collar. “Stay here.”
Mud from his neck had reached her fingers. It was cold and gritty against her skin. A dark mark appeared at the cuff of her sleeve despite every effort to remain clear of him.
Jennifer noticed. “You can let me take him.”
“You have Nicola.”
“I can tie her lead around my wrist.”
“He’ll pull you both.”
Cindy tightened her grip when Bart leaned toward the hedge. “I have him.”
Jennifer didn’t argue.
They passed a yard where a woman stood pinning wet cloths to a line. She looked up at Bart, then at the girls. Cindy kept her face forward. Jennifer chose the side of the lane farthest from the washing so Bart couldn’t throw mud toward it.
At the next turning, two younger children played beside a porch. One called out to ask what had happened to the dog.
“He went in a ditch,” Jennifer answered.
Bart tried to approach them.
Cindy held him back. “He can’t say hello.”
The children followed as far as their gate before losing interest.
Farther on, the lane narrowed around stacked timber. Jennifer went first with Nicola. Cindy guided Bart between the wood and the hedge, turning his shoulders whenever he tried to brush against either side. He looked up at her, face bright and nearly clean above the black ruin of his body.
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” she told him.
Bart panted.
“He saw something,” Jennifer said from ahead.
“He still went into the ditch.”
“Yes.”
“He could’ve been hurt.”
Jennifer looked back at him. “He wasn’t.”
“That doesn’t improve it.”
Bart shook his head.
Mud flew from his ears and struck Cindy’s glasses.
She stopped.
Two black drops clung to the right lens. Another marked her cheek.
Bart looked at her.
Jennifer came back at once. “Hold still.”
Cindy kept one hand on the collar while Jennifer took a clean corner of her handkerchief and wiped the lens. The first pass spread the mud. She folded the cloth and tried again until Cindy could see clearly.
“There,” Jennifer said.
Cindy touched the spot on her cheek. “Is there more?”
“A little.”
Jennifer wiped that too.
Bart watched them, tail moving.
Cindy looked down at him. “You aren’t sorry.”
“He doesn’t know he should be,” Jennifer said.
“He knows he wasn’t supposed to leave.”
“He may know now.”
Cindy resumed walking. “He’ll forget by tomorrow.”
“He may remember the ditch.”
“That’ll make him want to go back.”
Jennifer considered it. “It might.”
The pale green house appeared between the trees after the final turn. Cindy had never been so relieved to see the repaired gate.
April came to the kitchen door before they reached it.
She stood beneath the small porch roof, one hand on the frame, and looked from Nicola’s stained side to Bart’s black body. Her eyes moved briefly to Cindy’s marked sleeve and Jennifer’s muddy skirt.
“What happened?”
“The clasp opened,” Jennifer said. “He went into the field ditch.”
April came down the steps. “Was he hurt?”
“No.”
“Were either of you?”
“No, ma’am,” Cindy said.
April bent to look at Bart’s legs and chest without touching him. “He found the deepest part, I suppose.”
“He came out by the culvert,” Jennifer said.
Bart tried to approach her.
April raised one finger. “You stay there.”
He stopped, though Cindy still held his collar.
April looked toward the pump. “Don’t bring either dog near the house. There are old cloths in the shed and two buckets by the woodpile. Jennifer, change your shoes before you step inside afterward.”
She returned to the kitchen and closed the screen behind her.
Cindy watched her go. “She isn’t cross.”
“She will be if he gets mud on the floor.”
They led Bart to the pump.
The ground nearby was already damp from the morning rain, which made it the safest place to wash him. Jennifer collected the buckets while Cindy kept him beside the stone basin. Nicola settled several yards away under the tree, choosing a patch of grass well beyond Bart’s reach.
Jennifer filled the first bucket.
The pump handle squeaked as she worked it. Cold water struck the metal bottom with a hard, clear sound. Bart watched the stream, ears moving forward.
When the bucket was half full, Jennifer set it down and returned for the old cloths. She brought three from the shed: one thick and grey from years of use, one made from a torn towel and one narrow strip of flannel.
Cindy held Bart’s collar with both hands. “How do we do this?”
“Wet him first.”
“He’s already wet.”
“Not with clean water.”
Jennifer lifted the bucket.
Bart saw it rise and stepped backward.
Cindy tightened her hold. “Stay.”
Jennifer poured a small amount over his shoulders.
Bart jumped sideways.
Water and mud ran together across the stone. Cindy moved with him, boots slipping slightly on the wet ground.
“Not all at once,” she said.
“I didn’t.”
“He thought you did.”
Jennifer set down the bucket. She soaked the grey cloth instead and pressed it against Bart’s back.
He twisted.
Cindy leaned over him, keeping one hand beneath his jaw and the other near the collar buckle. “Hold still.”
Jennifer wiped from his shoulders toward his tail. The cloth came away black.
She rinsed it in the bucket. The water clouded immediately.
“We’ll need another,” she said.
Bart bent suddenly and seized the corner of the cloth.
Jennifer held on.
He pulled.
“Bart,” Cindy said. “Let go.”
The dog widened his stance. Muddy water dripped from the cloth between his teeth.
Jennifer didn’t pull against him. She released her end.
Bart lifted his head in triumph.
Cindy caught the cloth near his mouth. “That isn’t a toy.”
He turned away.
She kept hold of his collar and reached after the cloth with her free hand. Bart moved in a slow circle, forcing her to circle with him.
“Give it here.”
He carried it farther around.
Jennifer picked up the narrow flannel strip and held it in front of him.
Bart noticed.
He released the wet cloth.
Cindy retrieved it before he could change his mind. “He’ll trade for anything.”
“He thinks we’re giving him choices,” Jennifer said.
She tossed the flannel several feet away. Bart started after it, but Cindy kept hold of the collar.
“No. You stay.”
His front paws slid against the wet stone.
Jennifer collected the flannel and put it on top of the pump where he couldn’t reach.
They returned to washing.
Cindy worked the cloth beneath Bart’s neck while Jennifer cleaned his back and sides. Mud had reached deep into the fur. Each stroke brought up more, darkening the water and the girls’ hands. The clean line of his face ended suddenly beneath his jaw, as though he had lowered everything except his head into a vat of black paint.
“How did he keep his face clean?” Cindy asked.
“He must’ve held it up.”
“He had enough sense for that.”
Bart tried to smell the cloth in Cindy’s hand.
She pushed his nose away. “No.”
Jennifer used the second bucket to pour water slowly down his back. This time Cindy held him more securely. Bart crouched beneath the stream and turned his head, but he stayed in place until the water reached his tail.
Then he shook.
The movement began at his ears and travelled down his body before either girl could stop it.
Water flew in every direction.
Cindy closed her eyes. Cold drops struck her face, her coat, her skirt and the front of her shoes. Jennifer turned away too late. Her braid swung, and the back of her cardigan took most of the spray.
Bart finished and stood with his legs spread, fur lifted in wet spikes.
Cindy opened her eyes.
Jennifer looked at her.
A drop of muddy water hung from the end of Cindy’s nose.
Neither spoke.
Cindy wiped it away with the back of her wrist. “He waited until we’d rinsed him.”
Jennifer’s mouth moved.
Cindy saw the smile and tried to keep her own face still. “It isn’t funny.”
“No.”
Bart lowered his head toward the bucket.
Cindy pulled him away. “Don’t drink that.”
Jennifer turned back to the pump. Her shoulders moved once beneath the wet cardigan.
“You are laughing,” Cindy said.
“Only a little.”
“You aren’t as wet.”
Jennifer looked down at herself. Muddy droplets covered her skirt from waist to hem. “I am.”
Cindy examined her own coat. “Mine was clean.”
“We’ll rinse it.”
“My mother will know.”
“She’d know if it were dry.”
Cindy looked at Jennifer. There was no teasing in her voice, only the simple fact. That made the corner of Cindy’s mouth lift despite herself.
Bart put one paw on the edge of the bucket and tipped it.
Dark water spilled across the ground.
Cindy jumped aside.
Jennifer caught the empty bucket before it rolled. “We needed fresh water.”
“He didn’t do it to help.”
“No.”
They filled both buckets again.
This time they moved Bart onto the grass where the water could drain away without making the stone more slippery. Cindy crouched beside his front legs, working mud from the long fur around his chest. Jennifer knelt behind him and rinsed his tail.
Bart watched Cindy’s hands.
She pressed the wet cloth beneath one shoulder and rubbed carefully. The black water running from him had become brown now, then pale grey.
“He’s nearly clean here,” she said.
Jennifer squeezed water through the fur near his tail. “His belly’s worse.”
Cindy looked beneath him. “He’ll have to lie down.”
“He won’t.”
“We can make him.”
They tried.
Jennifer pressed gently over Bart’s back while Cindy guided his front legs. He lowered himself halfway, then sprang upright as soon as his belly touched the wet grass.
Water scattered from his coat.
Cindy closed her eyes again.
The second shaking was shorter but closer.
When she opened them, Jennifer had a dark streak across one cheek.
Cindy stared at it.
Jennifer wiped the wrong side of her face. “Where?”
“The other one.”
Jennifer rubbed near her jaw and spread the mark farther.
Cindy reached up with the corner of the cleanest cloth. “Stay still.”
She wiped the mud from Jennifer’s cheek. Bart tried to catch the cloth between them.
Cindy moved it beyond his mouth. “No.”
He snapped at the air beneath it, not touching either girl.
Jennifer took hold of his collar while Cindy finished cleaning her face.
“There,” Cindy said.
“Thank you.”
Bart pushed his wet head between them.
His body struck Cindy’s shoulder.
She lost her balance and sat hard on the grass.
The ground gave beneath her skirt with a soft wet sound.
Cindy went completely still.
Jennifer tightened both hands around Bart’s collar. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
Cindy looked down.
The grass was damp rather than deeply muddy, but water had soaked through the back of her skirt almost at once. One hand rested flat against the earth. Her palm was brown.
Bart stood in front of her, panting. Muddy water dripped from the long fur of his legs. His clean face remained bright, his eyes fixed upon her as though he expected the game to continue.
Cindy looked at him.
A sound escaped her.
It began as one small breath through her nose, followed by another. She covered her mouth with the back of her clean wrist.
Jennifer watched her carefully.
Cindy tried to stand. Her knees weakened before she had lifted more than an inch, and she sat back down.
The laugh came out fully.
It was higher than her speaking voice and too strong to hide. She bent forward, keeping one hand over her mouth while her shoulders shook. Her glasses slipped down her nose. She pushed them back, looked at Bart again and lost control once more.
Bart wagged.
His wet tail struck Jennifer’s skirt.
Cindy pointed at him, though no words came.
Jennifer kept one hand around his collar and used the other to rinse the cloth. A quiet smile had settled across her face.
“He thinks you’re pleased,” she said.
Cindy drew a breath. “Look at him.”
“I am.”
“He doesn’t care.”
“No.”
“He went into the ditch. He covered Nicola. He’s soaked us and put me on the ground.”
Bart stepped toward Cindy.
Jennifer held him back before his paws reached her skirt.
Cindy looked at his clean muzzle above the dripping body. Another laugh caught her before she could continue. She lowered her head and pressed her lips together, but it made no difference.
Jennifer returned to washing him.
She poured water over one front leg and worked the mud loose with her fingers. Bart stood obediently now, watching Cindy as though her laughter were the reward he had wanted from the beginning.
Cindy tried to rise again.
Her legs still felt unsteady. She stayed where she was, sitting in the damp grass with her coat spread around her and one muddy hand resting on her knee.
Jennifer glanced at her while rinsing Bart’s chest.
Each time Cindy’s laughter began to settle, Bart shifted, wagged or looked at her with the same open, remorseless expression. Each time it began again.
Jennifer’s smile deepened but remained quiet. She didn’t laugh at Cindy. She continued washing Bart with patient hands, wiping the last black streaks from his belly and legs while Cindy sat beside them, unable to make herself stop.
Bart lifted one paw as Jennifer cleaned beneath it.
He placed the paw on Cindy’s knee.
A wet mark spread across her coat.
Cindy stared down at it.
Then she leaned back on one hand and laughed until her glasses misted again.