While Antonio Pasta was filling the boss in on what he had uncovered, Abe and Shorty were on their way back from Windsor to deliver their purchases to the orphanage.
Shorty had been given the navigator’s job and he had gotten them to Windsor earlier with out a hitch. So, on the return trip, Abe forgot about watching for landmarks and was simply enjoying the cool drive. With Horace’s head sticking out of an open window they were whistling down the highway without a care in the world. “Ahh, it’s a wonderful feelin’ indeed,” Shorty said, holding a hand out to catch the wind. “Ya tend to ferget the small pleasures in life as ya grow older don’t ya, Mr. Douglas?”
“I suppose we do, Mr. McDougal,” Abe said. “But here lately I’ve been thinking a lot about all those little things I missed out on. I imagine you did too, growing up the way you did. But I feel like maybe we’ve been given a second chance at it. Not that we deserve it after the kinds of lives we’ve led.”
Shorty turned to face Abe. “You know, Mr. Douglas, I can’t think of a better way to make up fer where we went wrong than what we’re doin’ today. I recall one year when a bunch of students from the university threw a Christmas party fer us. That was the best Christmas of me life, and after all these years I remember it like it was yesterday. This’ll be like that fer the kids at the orphanage. I know it’s not Christmas, but it’ll be like that fer ‘em. Do ya think they’ll recognize me from the last time, ya know when I was drinkin’ and all?”
Abe didn’t answer him, instead he pulled the car to the side of the road. “Mr. McDougal, doesn’t that look a lot like Midvale to you?” He pointed toward the tall feed silo that marked the north end of town.
The Irishman pulled his cap off and gave his scalp a long scratch. “I don’t know how that’s possible, Mr. Douglas,” he answered. “And anyhow, what would we be doin’ on this side of town?”
Abe shook his head. “Give me that map.” He took it out of Shorty’s hands, turned it right side up and searched for Midvale. “Okay, I’ve got it,” he said, pointing out their position to Shorty. “We’re here. Now if we backtrack this way we’ll wind up back in Windsor.” He ran a finger along the route and stopped at the crossroads they had passed an hour earlier. “You told me to keep going straight.”
“It’s me eyes, Mr. Douglas, sometimes they go skittery.”
“Well,” said Abe. “If you’d of kept the map turned the right way maybe they wouldn’t have messed us up. I guess we turn around.”
Shorty eyed the silo. “Ya know, if we just drive on ahead we’ll be goin’ right by the park. I know me way from there, I think.”
Abe took his advice and pulled the car back onto the highway. In a few minutes they passed Munroe’s pasture. Only a dozen or so cars were lined up alongside the barn and Munroe had slashed his price to five dollars a day. Shorty waved but Munroe was too busy making another sign to notice them.
“I wonder why there’s not more people around?” Abe asked aloud, putting his thoughts into words.
“There’s not much to do at the park,” Shorty answered. “I’m thinkin’ they’re waitin’ ‘til it gets a little later.”
Abe nodded. “You’re probably right. What time is it anyhow?”
“I wouldn’t know, but it was after two when we left the store.”
“That late?” Abe pushed the accelerator down. “I sure hope you’re right about being able to get us to the orphanage.”
Nine kids of various ages swarmed the old yellow car when Abe wheeled it into the oleander lined driveway of the Waverly Children’s home; not an orphanage at all but rather a type of foster home for wards of the state who were awaiting adoption. A middle-aged woman, looking somewhat harried, stood in the doorway of the main building. She rang a bell and the kids backed away but kept their eyes glued to the pile of boxes in the back seat of the car. Shorty waved and Horace stuck his head out and ‘woofed’ a hello.
Abe got out and called, “Miss Haggard?”
“Let the gentlemen have a little room,” the woman said as she walked closer. The kids took a tiny step to the rear. “I’m she.”
Abe removed his hat. “I’m Abraham Douglas and this is Thomas McDougal,” he said as Shorty eased himself out of the car and into the blockade of excited youngsters. It didn’t appear that any of the children or Miss Haggard saw him for the man who helped to get Mr. Lafferty fired. As Shorty cleared the way Horace bounded out of the car and over to the oleanders where he opted to watch everything from a safe distance.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Douglas. I received your note,” said Miss Haggard. She nodded a hello to Shorty. “I was praying it was you when the car turned in.” She gave them a warm smile and pointed to the children. “As you can see we were all praying.”
“Were ya, now,” Shorty said, mainly to the children. “That’d be a grand thing to be doin’. Ya know, the Lord answers yer prayers don’t ya?”
“Mr. McDougal?” Abe interrupted him, and rolled his eyes toward the back seat of the wagon. “The prayers won’t really be answered until the car’s unloaded.” He gazed at the eager faces. “Would any of you like to help us?”
Shorty had to jump back to escape injury as the kids dove into the tempting old wagon. All but one of them found a hole to crawl through. The tiny tot who didn’t make it seemed terribly confused by the mad rush. He stood by for a brief moment then took his thumb out of his mouth just long enough to ask a simple question. “Are you Santa Clause?” he asked Abe.
“Oh, no,” Abe answered. He squatted down and winked at the tike. “But Mr. McDougal here. Well, he’s working at becoming an elf. And when he gets all the way down to just your size, do you know what he’s going to do?”
The boy removed the white, wrinkled thumb from his mouth again and looked way up at the Irishman. “He can’t do that,” he stated, and replaced the handy pacifier.
Abe laughed and picked the smart little fellow up and hugged him. “You’re absolutely right, he can’t. But let’s not tell him, okay? He thinks Santa’s going to hire him someday.”
From his perch in Abe’s arms the child looked down at the short man. “Can you make horses?” he asked Mc Dougal around the ever-present thumb.
“That’s the next thing on me list,” Shorty answered. “Just as soon as I get me uniform made.” He bent over at the waist and stared at his feet. “Would ya be knowin’ how I could get the toes of me shoes to turn up so they’d look like an elf’s?” Without warning a misguided missile in the form of a soccer ball bounced off his cap.
“Jeremy!” Miss Haggard’s voice rang out. “Oh, Mr. McDougal, are you all right?”
Shorty let himself plop down on the seat of his pants and began to laugh. “Would ya look at that!” the Irishman gasped as if some small miracle had just occurred. He pointed to his shoes. “Ya made me toes turn up!” The tike giggled, and Shorty got up and danced a little jig. “I’m goin’ to be an elf, I’m goin’ to be an elf,” he sang out. In milliseconds every one of the children and Miss Haggard joined in the merriment.
Horace must have decided all the strangers meant him no harm. With all the laughter going on, he ran up and sat down at Abe’s feet. The little tike looked down at the dog and forgot all about his thumb. “Can I pet your doggie?” he asked with a broad smile beaming on his freckled face.
Abe set him down. “This is Horace,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Alvin,” the tot answered, holding a hesitant hand out to touch Horace. Horace licked the tiny hand then nudged his muzzle up to the boy’s chest.
“He likes you,” Abe said to Alvin. “You can go ahead and pet him if you want to.”
With that Alvin reached both arms out and hugged the old dog’s neck. “You want to play with me?” he asked after the long hug. Horace ‘woofed’ softly and gave him a grin. It didn’t scare Alvin. “Come on, doggie,” he said, and Horace eagerly followed him to wherever he was going.
Miss Hag
gard sighed. “That’s the happiest I’ve seen Alvin in the five months he’s been with us. In fact I’ve never seen any of the children so happy. It does my heart good. I don’t know how we can ever thank you both.”
“You don’t have to,” Abe said, turning back to the car. “We’ve got some clothes and things in here, too.”
“Not knowin’ the sizes ya’d be needin’,” Shorty explained, “we just brought ya a few in every size they had.”
Abe raised the back seat and took out a good-sized box. “We thought you’d want to take charge of this one,” he said, opening the box. It was packed full of candy bars.
“Oh, my goodness. I think we’ll save this for a while. They’re going to be hyper enough from the toys for today.” She motioned a hand towards the building. “Would either of you like a drink? We have coffee or tea.”
“We would,” said Abe. “But we were kind of late getting here and we have to be back in town pretty soon. Maybe we could come back sometime and take you up on that.”
“Any time,” Miss Haggard said. “We’d love to visit with you for a while.”
“Likewise,” Shorty said. “If ya’ll show us where ya want these things we’ll just be puttin’ ‘em inside fer ya.”
With the car unloaded and farewells said to Miss Haggard, Abe stood in the courtyard and called Horace. “Come on, boy, it’s time to go home.” Horace and Alvin were chasing a butterfly a short distance from him. “Come on,” he called again. Horace looked at him, ‘woofed’ then went back to the chase.
“Looks like ya may have lost yer dog, Mr. Douglas,” Shorty commented, his voice cracked and somewhat teary.
Abe didn’t answer him. Instead he walked a few paces into the open field and squatted down. “Horace,” he called again. This time the old dog came to him, sat down in front of him and ‘woofed’. Abe patted him on the head. “You want to stay here, Horace?” he asked. “I can’t say that I blame you,” he went on, looking around them at all the free range. “The city’s really no place for a dog like you.” Horace turned his head when Alvin called him. “Go on,” Abe told him. “You go on and play, boy. I’ll come back and see you whenever I can.”
“Come on, doggie,” Alvin called again, and Horace went to him.
“I think it’ll be okay,” Miss Haggard said when Abe asked if Horace could stay with Alvin. “I just hope he doesn’t want to sleep with him. I’m not sure how I’d handle that.”
“Oh, Horace will be happy with a few rags on the porch,” Abe said. “And the boy’ll be fine as long as he knows Horace will be there in the morning. We’ll come back when we can.” He gave the boy and his doggie a final glance before getting back into the car. “I’m going to miss him.”
Abe and Shorty were silently shedding a few tears as Abe pulled the captain’s station wagon out of the drive and onto the highway. The sad-happy moment of losing their buddy had blurred their vision as well as their thoughts and neither of them saw the big gray sedan bearing down on them when he entered the highway.
The deafening blast, blast, blast of a car horn and the screaming of skidding tires jolted Abe back to reality. Instinctively, he wheeled the wagon onto the gravel shoulder. As the wagon hit the dirt, the sedan slid past them sideways in the middle of the road. Its driver was frantically flogging the steering wheel trying to regain control, and the contorted faces of two passengers were hard-pressed against the left rear window as the car continued to revolve on the pavement and zoom on by.
“Oh, me everlovin’ mother!” the panic stricken Shorty bellowed. “They’re goin’ to lose it as sure as the Lord’s watchin’.” Just as he got the words out, the sedan slid into the gravel on the opposite side of the road. It quickly spun around twice then slammed into the rail fence that ran alongside the highway. A great cloud of dust and dirt flew into the air like the rooster tail of a speedboat. The car plowed down two hundred feet of fencing before it bounced to a stop.
Breathlessly, their knees jelled all the way to their shoulders, Abe and Shorty sat for a long silent moment waiting for someone to get out of the car. When it didn’t happen, Shorty put both hands over his eyes. “Would ya mind, Mr. Douglas, goin’ and seein’ if any of ‘em are still alive? Me stomach doesn’t set well with that sorta thing.”
Abe’s hands were shaking so badly that he had trouble opening the door. “Lord, I hope they’re not dead,” he prayed as he slowly got out of the car. Cautiously he approached the sedan. “Hello, in there,” he called out when he got within shouting distance but got no answer. He took a few more steps then called again. This time a mumbling of voices caught his ear. He ran the rest of the way to the car. At close range the voices were clearly audible.
“Get your knee outta my stomach!”
“That’s not my knee, and quit pushin’.”
“Ohhh, I think my back’s broke.”
Abe jumped over the tangle of fence rails and wire. He bellied up to the car and looked into the back window. Three vicious-looking faces stared back at him.
“Don’t just stand there,” one of the faces growled. “Open the door.”
Abe opened it and the body of a fourth ugly face toppled out. It rolled over. A bright red imprint of a shoe sole covered his forehead. “Ohhh,” the man groaned, and rubbed a hand over his branded brow.
Another voice flew out of the car’s backseat area. “I told you to quit pushin’.”
“Sorry, Tony, but your knee’s killin’ me. Can’t you move it a little bit?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tony said as he pushed another man out of the car headfirst.
“Take it easy, Tony,” the dumped man pleaded. He began walking on his hands and dragging his legs out of the intertwined mess in the back seat.
The driver screamed. Abe ran around to his side of the car and tried to open the door. It was caved in and wouldn’t budge. “Can you slide out the other side?” Abe called through the closed window.
The chauffeur grimaced. “My finger’s caught in the door!” he cried out, and pointed with his other hand. The tip of his little finger was squashed between the doorframe and the instrument panel.
A look of pain crossed Abe’s face. “I’m sorry. The door’s stuck,” he said. He tugged on it once more and the driver screamed again.
Tony had gotten himself out of the car and came around to see what was happening. “What’s the problem up here?” Tony asked.
Abe pointed. “His finger’s smashed and stuck.”
Tony smiled. “That all? I thought he was in some kind serious trouble.” He pulled a switchblade knife out of a pocket, flicked it open and handed it to Abe. “Break the window and get him outta there.”
Abe backed up. “I can’t do that!” he said in a terrified voice.
Tony screwed up his face, grabbed the knife and shoved Abe out of his way. “Shut your eyes,” he warned the driver. “I’m gonna break the glass.”
The driver looked up, saw the knife and jerked his hand hard. “Never mind, Tony,” he said through gritted teeth, and held his hand up to show Tony he didn’t need to cut it off after all. He was minus a fingernail as he slid out of the passenger side door.
“I’m so sorry about all this,” Abe tried to apologize, but Tony didn’t want to hear it.
He told the driver to open the trunk and grab the suitcases, then flipped a hand motion towards the captain’s wagon. “That pile of garbage still running?” Abe nodded. “That’s good. Right, boys?” The boys agreed and all five of them started over to the wagon.
“We’d be glad to take you into town,” Abe offered as he took two of the cases and fell in behind the tough-looking crew. “We’ve got plenty of room for you all.” He didn’t get an answer.
Shorty still had his eyes covered when they got to the wagon. “Hey you?” Tony said in a deep voice. “Outta the car.”
Shorty dropped his hands and stared at the mean dark eyes of Antonio Pasta.
“Outta the car!” Tony said again, and Shorty popped out. “Okay, Santini, you drive,” Pasta ordered.
“Right, Tony.” The five of them piled into the captain’s wagon. Santini fired it up and pushed the accelerator further down than it had ever been pushed. Black smoke billowed out of the tail pipe. “What kinda piece of junk is this?” Santini yelled when the old engine started coughing and sputtering. He pumped the gas pedal a few times and the old wagon caught on. It’s engine smoothed out and sounded more like what Santini was used to. Amid the noise of grating gears and screeching tires they were off, storming onto the highway and steaming towards Midvale while Abe and Shorty were left standing in the smokescreen yelling for the men to take it easy on their borrowed vehicle.