Melody Carlson - The Christmas Dog

The Christmas
Dog

MELODY CARLSON

2009 by Melody Carlson

Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Carlson, Melody.

The Christmas dog / Melody Carlson.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-8007-1881-7 (cloth)

1. Christmas stories. I. Title.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Contents

The Christmas
Dog

As Betty Kowalski drove home from church on Sunday, she realized she was guilty of two sins. First of all, she felt enviousperhaps even lustfulof Marsha Deerwoods new leather jacket. But, in Bettys defense, the coat was exquisite. A three-quarter-length jacket, it was beautifully cut, constructed of a dove-gray lambskin, and softer than homemade butter. Betty knew this for a fact since she had touched the sleeve of Marshas jacket and audibly sighed just as Pastor Gordon had invited the congregation to rise and bow their heads in prayer.

Its an early anniversary present from Jim, Marsha had whispered after the pastor proclaimed a hearty Amen. As usual, the two old friends sat together in the third pew from the front. On Marshas other side, next to the aisle so he could help with the collection plates, sat Marshas husband, James Deerwood, a recently retired physician and respected member of the congregation.

Naturally Betty didnt show even the slightest sign of jealousy. Years of practice made this small performance no great challenge. Instead, Betty simply smiled, complimented Marsha on the lovely garment, and pretended not to notice the worn cuffs of her own winter coat, a charcoal-colored Harris Tweed that had served her well for several decades now. Still, it was classic and timeless, and a new silk scarf or a pair of sleek leather gloves might dress it up a bit. Not that she could afford such little luxuries right now. Besides, she did not care to dwell on such superficialities (especially during the service). Nor would she want anyone to suspect how thoughts such as these distracted her while Pastor Gordon preached with such fiery intensity about the necessity of loving ones neighbors today. He even pounded his fist on the pulpit a couple of times, something the congregation rarely witnessed in their small, dignified church.

But now, as Betty drove her old car toward her neighborhood, she was mindful of Pastor Gordons words. And thus she became cognizant of her second sin. Not only did Betty not love her neighbor, she was afraid that she hated him wholeheartedly. But then again, she reminded herself, it wasnt as if Jack Jones lived right next to her. He wasnt her next-door neighbor. Not that it made much difference, since only a decrepit cedar fence separated their backyards. It was, in fact, that rotten old fence that had started their dispute in the first place.

This fence is encroaching on my property, Jack had said to her in October. Shed been peacefully minding her own business, enjoying the crisp sunny day as she raked leaves in her backyard.

What do you mean? She set her bamboo rake aside and went over to hear him better, which wasnt easy since his music, as usual, was blaring.

I mean Ive studied the property lines in our neighborhood, and that fence is at least eight feet into my yard, he said.

That fence is on your property line, fair and square. She looked him straight in the eyes. Its the public access strip thats

No way! He pointed toward the neighboring yards where the public access strip had been split right down the middle. See what I mean? Your yard has encroached over the whole public access strip and

Excuse me, she said, shaking her finger at him like he was in grade school. But the original owners agreed to build that fence right where it is. No one has encroached on anyone.

He rubbed his hand through his straggly dark hair, jutted out his unshaved chin, narrowed his eyes. Its over the line, lady.

Betty did not like being called lady. But instead of losing her temper, she pressed her lips together tightly and mentally counted to ten.

And its falling down, he added.

Well, she retorted, since its on your property, I suggest you fix it. As she turned and walked away, she felt certain that he increased the volume on his music just to spite her. It seemed clear the battle lines were drawn.

Fortunately, the weather turned cold after that. Consequently, Betty no longer cared to spend time in her backyard, and her windows remained tightly closed to shut out Jacks noise and music.

Now Betty tightened her grip on the steering wheel, keeping her gaze straight ahead as she drove down Persimmon Lane, the street on which Jack lived. She did not want that insufferable young man to observe her looking his way. Although it was hard not to stare at the run-down house with the filthy red pickup truck parked right on the front lawn. Obviously, the old vehicle couldnt be parked in the driveway. That space was buried in a mountain of junk covered with ugly blue tarps, which were anchored with old plastic milk bottles. She assumed the bottles were filled with dirty water, although another neighbor (who suspected their young neighbor was up to no good) had suggested the mysterious brown liquid in the containers might be a toxic chemical used in the manufacturing of some kind of illegal drugs.

Betty sighed and continued her attempt to avert her gaze as she slowed down for the intersection of her street, Nutmeg Lane. But despite her resolve, she glanced sideways and let out a loud groan. Oh, to think that the Spencer house had once been the prettiest home in the neighborhood!

As she turned the corner, she remembered how that house used to look. For years it had been painted a lovely sky blue with clean white trim, and the weed-free lawn had always been neatly cut and perfectly edged. The flower beds had bloomed profusely with annuals and perennials, and Gladys Spencers roses had even won prizes at the county fair. Who ever wouldve guessed it would come to this?

The original owners, Al and Gladys Spencer, had taken great pride in their home. And they had been excellent neighbors and wonderful friends for decades. But over the past five years, the elderly couple had suffered a variety of serious health problems. Gladys had gone into a nursing home, then Al had followed her, and eventually they both passed away within months of each other. The house had sat vacant for a few years.

Then, out of the blue, this Jack character had shown up and taken over. Without saying a word to anyone, he began tearing into the house as if he was intent on destroying it. And even when well-meaning neighbors tried to meet him or find out who he was, he made it perfectly clear that he had absolutely no interest in speaking to any of them. He was a rude young man and didnt care who knew it.

As Betty pulled into her own driveway, she wondered not for the first time if Jack Jones actually owned that house. No one had ever seen a For Sale sign go up. And no one had witnessed a moving van arrive. Her secret suspicion was that Jack Jones was a squatter.