A Stitch in Time by Daphne Kalmar

Author:Daphne Kalmar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

13

At the turnoff to Dog Pond, Donut stashed her gear and returned to the road.

It was a hike out to Marcel’s place. At the top of Bridgeman Hill she turned onto the long dirt track to his house. His roadster had cut deep trenches in the mud. She skipped over puddles and shivered in the shadowy, wet woods, pulling her hat down over her ears.

Marcel’s two very large dogs had a reputation for being ferocious, which discouraged trespassers. His chunk of Vermont was wild forest, hundreds of acres of it, just sitting there with no buckets hanging on the sugar maples or cows in the clearings.

He was a trapper in the winter, but ever since alcohol had been made illegal with Prohibition he’d been doing a bit of rum-running in the summer. She was hoping Marcel’s law-breaking ways would tilt him toward making a loan of his cabin to a fugitive.

Donut began to whistle every few steps. A strong whistle. A no-nonsense, get-over-here whistle. She kept walking and whistling until she heard Lafayette and Rochambeau hurtling through the woods, busting dead branches, scrabbling through the brush, howling and growling.

“Hey, boys,” she called. “Come on, puppies, it’s me, Donut.”

They tore through the ruts on the track, huge dogs, stiff brown-and-black fur sticking out like bristles on a bottlebrush, wagging their tails at the sight of her.

Donut crouched down and they licked her face, gave it a good scrub, shoved and pushed for a scratch behind the ears, knocking the loneliness and worry right out of her. She fell backward in the mud and laughed as they sat back on their haunches, tongues out, waiting for her to get up.

“You’re just too darn big, the two of you,” she said, getting back on her feet.

She continued on, escorted by the Generals, as Marcel called them. Donut had read up on the originals in her Encyclopedia Britannica. The Count of Rochambeau and the Marquis of Lafayette had sailed over from France to help George Washington win the American Revolution.

Coming around the bend, she saw Marcel’s homestead—a small house along with a ramshackle barn. He was sitting on the porch lacing up his boots. The Generals raced up to him and barked to announce her arrival.

“Settle down, the two of you,” he said, shoving them aside. “I see you’ve brought me la petite Napoleon.”

She plunked down on a bench next to him. Marcel had a way of twisting up his r’s and spitting out his t’s with his French-Canadian accent that she admired. He’d called her Napoleon ever since she’d won her first hand of poker at Sam’s. She’d read up on Napoleon. His dream had been to rule the world no matter what the world wanted. She was glad this particular nickname hadn’t caught on.

Lafayette came over and put his head in her lap.

“We’ve missed you at Sam’s Friday nights,” said Marcel.

“Aunt Agnes doesn’t approve of gambling.”

“Some don’t, it’s the truth.”

The Generals wagged their tails, beating out a rhythm on the porch floor.

“She’s gonna drag me off to Boston.

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