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“I’m sure they are fine.” Helen realized she hadn’t heard or seen the dog and raccoon all morning. That was unusual.
Charlotte’s eyes widened. She pressed both hands to her cheeks. “Someone has stolen them.”
Helen caught herself before she laughed aloud. She struggled to speak in a reasonable tone. “Aenti, calm yourself. Who would want to steal your pets?”
“I’ve read that the Englisch people make hats out of raccoons, and Clyde is a very valuable animal. Why, the bishop’s wife remarked on his amazingly long ears just yesterday. Oh, the nerve of that woman to take him from my house. Well, she can’t have him. I’m going right over there and tell her so.”
Helen caught her aunt by the arm as she marched toward the kitchen door. “Nee, you are not going to accuse the bishop’s wife of dognapping. She said his ears were foolishly long for such a squat-bodied hund. I was standing right beside you when she said it.”
“I heard her say his ears were luxuriously long, and she deeply admired such a dog.”
Clearly her aunt heard only what she wanted to hear when people were talking about her pets. “Even if she admired him, she wouldn’t steal him.”
“You don’t know that woman. Her family is from Nappanee.”
“So is your family.”
“Exactly!”
Helen caught the sound of distant barking. “I think I hear him.”
“You do?” Charlotte rushed to the door and pulled it open. “Clyde! Where are you?”
Helen moved to stand beside her aunt. Dawn was turning the eastern sky a pale gold color beyond the tree-covered ridge to the east. “I’m sure it was him.”
The barking started again, closer now. Charlotte pressed her hands to her chest. “I hear him, too. It is Clyde. Come here, baby boy.”
She rushed outside just as a horse and buggy turned off the main road and rolled up her lane. The barking, louder and more frantic now, was coming from the buggy. Helen stepped out onto the porch but almost turned and scurried back into the house when she saw Mark Bowman was driving. What was he doing here? The barking was definitely coming from his buggy. Why did he have Clyde with him?
Mark started to step down, but her aunt planted herself in front of him with one hand on her hip as she shook a finger in his face. “How dare you! I never would have suspected a Bowman of such dastardly behavior.”
“What?” He looked utterly confused. Helen knew exactly how he felt.
Charlotte folded her arms over her ample chest. “Stealing is a sin and beneath you, Mark Bowman, but I forgive you, since you have returned him.”
Mark looked at Helen. “What is she talking about?”
“She thinks that you stole Clyde.”
His puzzled expression snapped into a fierce scowl. “I did no such thing. Your miserable mutt began howling outside my window at three o’clock this morning. I couldn’t make him leave. He woke the entire household. I almost returned him then, but I decided to wait until a reasonable hour.”
Charlotte already had the rear buggy door open. Clyde was smothering her with doggy kisses as he struggled against the makeshift leash preventing him from jumping out. “Untie him at once, and I won’t mention your deplorable behavior to Bishop Beachy.”
“I didn’t steal your dog!”
Helen patted his shoulder. “I think I can help. Aenti, listen carefully. Mr. Bowman didn’t take Clyde. Your poor dog became lost in the woods last night. Mr. Bowman found him and took time out of his busy morning to bring your precious pet home because he knows how much you love Clyde. Mark is a mighty goot fellow.”
Charlotte eyed him suspiciously for a long moment and then looked at Helen. Her eyes brightened. “He’s a hero just like in the book I’m reading. He rescued poor Clyde from a terrible fate. Bless you, my boy.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Mark muttered under his breath. He untied the rope holding Clyde in the buggy.
The overweight hound tumbled out the door and immediately jumped up on Charlotte. She toppled to her backside and hugged him close as he climbed into her lap. “My poor fellow. You are safe at home. Danki, Mark. Do come in and join us for breakfast.”
“I can’t. I must get home.” Mark helped Charlotte to her feet.
“Nonsense. I insist. I must reward your efforts on behalf of poor Clyde. My niece makes the most delicious rolls. Where is Juliet?” She rose on tiptoe to try and see the top of his buggy.
“Who is Juliet?” Mark asked, looking to Helen for an explanation.
“Her raccoon.”
Charlotte bent to pet her hound. “Juliet is Clyde’s dearest friend. They go everywhere together.”
“She’ll be along shortly,” Helen said to appease her aunt.
“Oh, goot.” She shook a finger at Clyde. “You were a naughty dog to wander off.”
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