“I feel their sadness and their hurt and whatever else they’re full of.”

Helen was quiet.

“Why do you keep doing it if it’s so sad?”

“I dunno. It’s kinda like how I imagine drowning would feel. It sorta feels like you can’t get your breath, and if you did take a big breath, it would kill you. But it’s so peaceful in the water, so serene in those seconds before you pass.”

“I’ve never drowned before.”

“Well, now you don’t have to.”

They weaved through the woods and toward the railcar. They stopped by the creek that meandered through the grove of live oaks with wide trunks and twisting limbs. Momentarily they thought they’d lost Abe, until they heard the unmistakable sound of a ten-year-old boy making water on a flat rock.

When they neared the railcar, they saw a single-file line of people waiting on the steps. Men were holding their hats in their hands, and women stood with their children beside them.

Helen and Marigold stopped walking. Helen touched Marigold’s arm. “I never thanked you, you know.”

“For what?”

Helen touched Abe’s head. “For the best thing in my life.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You say that, but it’s not true,” said Helen. “You do something to people, and you don’t understand it, and I don’t understand. We might never understand. But it’s something.”

Helen pinched the bloom from a yellow flower and tucked it behind Marigold’s ear, then straightened Marigold’s messy hair. “Go and make them feel what I feel.”

“What do you feel?”

“Glad.”

Fifty-Seven
Go-Getters

“Now that little girl’s got heart,” said Paul, pointing to the bloodhound with the black body. “She’s gonna make a go-getter, that one.”

Pete stood beside Paul watching the lanky animals chase each other through the shallow creek, splashing water in all directions. They were chasing a coon, and howling while they did it.

“She don’t like to lose,” Paul added. “She’s a natural leader, that one.”

“Hard to believe she was the runt,” said Pete.

“Only in size, not in heart,” said Paul. “That one has heart.”

“How do you know?”

“Look at her. She’s wild and uncontrollable, and she’s one in a million. You can just tell.”

He was right. The old man was always right when it came to the animals. It was a gift, as though he had canine in his blood. Pete had the gift too. He had become a good dog trainer, and that was a quality that couldn’t be taught. It was something a man was either born with or he wasn’t. Paul was a natural dog man. And now Pete was taking up the family business. He’d gone the first part of his life not knowing what or who he was. Now he knew. He was a dog trainer.