Dusk's Darkest Shore by Carolyn Miller

Author:Carolyn Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kregel Publications
Published: 2021-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

“Who’s a beautiful boy, then?” Mary stroked the dark head before bending to press a kiss between the dog’s ears. “He’s adorable.”

“He’s such a lovely natured boy.” Susan Oakley rubbed his white chest affectionately. “And has a way of somehow knowing what one needs.”

“But you don’t know why he has been returned?”

Susan shook her head. “I suppose the Paynes did not appreciate him like we do.”

“What is his name?”

“Frank.”

“Frank? How unusual.”

“That’s what I be thinkin’,” Mr. Oakley said. “Right unnatural to call a dog anything.”

“You’d call all dogs Dog, wouldn’t you?” Susan said, humor tweaking her lips.

“Aye.” He shrugged good-naturedly.

Susan rubbed the wriggling dog’s stomach. “It is what the Paynes named him, and so he answers to it now. I like to call him Frankie.”

“And you think he will be helpful for the Edgertons?”

“Aye,” Mr. Oakley said. “These dogs be known as water dogs, imported from Newfoundland, and used by fishermen both there and here. They be strong, good-natured, and not afeared of water. I admit I first thought it a strange idea, but I can see a companion dog might help young Edgerton.”

“And be a friend,” Susan said, as the dog licked her face. “So eager to please, aren’t you, Frankie?”

“Eager to please sounds just like what Adam will need.” Mary nodded. “Hopefully he’ll enjoy your company more than others from recent times.”

Admittedly her last visit had gone considerably better than she’d expected—Mrs. Edgerton had even taken Mary aside afterwards and thanked her, with tears in her eyes, for helping her son find something to smile about. Mary had been surprised by her voluble thanks, a condition not altogether unconnected to the surprise in how Adam had responded to her queries about the war. He’d seemed happy enough to relive the time, to remember who he’d once been, to not be thought of as a victim. She’d wondered whether stirring up such memories might make him wish for those days again but had sensed a degree of acceptance and appreciation that what once had been had not been forgotten altogether.

She’d said as much to her father last night at dinner, and he’d been agreeably surprised. “He needs to remember what he’s capable of, especially if he’s ever going to have any chance of running that farm.”

“Running the farm?” Joanna scoffed. “Blind people can’t do such things.”

“Why not?” Father had asked. “Have you never heard of Blind Jack?”

Therein followed a story about a man from Yorkshire, John Metcalf, who, though blinded by smallpox at a young age, grew to become an accomplished fiddler, athlete, and road builder, who was responsible for over a hundred miles of northern England’s turnpike roads.

“A blind man building roads? That is make-believe.”

“I’ve travelled those roads myself, and he’s been honored for some years in Knaresborough. It’s quite true, I assure you, Joanna.”

“How impressive he must be,” Mama said.

“I believe he died just on a year ago. But yes, he certainly possessed a courageous heart and a strong back, and was unafraid of what he could not see.

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