Christmas Bessie by Grace Jelsnik

Author:Grace Jelsnik
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: dogs, puppy mill, divorce, veterinarian, elderly, suspense
Publisher: Plainswomen Press
Published: 2017-02-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Stella stood before the mirror, twisting her upper body from one side to the other while considering her reflection. She liked the dark red silk dress with the merest traces of spun gold sparkling beneath the overhead light. She liked the way the full skirt swished around her knees when she moved, whispering promises of a rich life and eternal happiness. She liked the simple cut, the way the dress nipped in at her waist, emphasizing its narrowness, and the way the scooped neck and short sleeves seemed to make her throat and arms radiate a pearly glow.

Mort had insisted she wear black for parties. He’d said blonds like her should always wear black, so she had. He’d preferred low-cut, form-fitting sheaths with spaghetti straps that were forever slipping down. He’d have hated this dress.

She smiled at herself and then down at the dog. “What do you think?”

Bessie wriggled her approval and shifted her bottom closer to the floor.

“I agree.” Stella glanced at her watch. “It’s time to put dinner in the oven.” She led the way to the kitchen, addressing the dog over her shoulder. “Then we must do what we discussed earlier. I know it will be difficult. We’ve had a hectic day shopping, baking, and cooking, and, yes, Alice was mean to both of us, but I think it’s important we make overtures of friendship.”

She slid the bib apron over her dress and tied it in the back. “Alice is lonely, like I was, and Lars said he was going to uninvite her to his Christmas party. Tonight she’ll be all alone, knowing that, three houses down, people are laughing and having fun. She’ll be sad. We need to bring her some Christmas joy. It’s our duty as good neighbors.” She slid the pancetta-wrapped beef tenderloin into the oven and straightened, smiling at Bessie, whose eyes were fixed on the oven door, the look in them one of ravenous avidity.

“No, that’s not for you. The books I bought said beef tenderloin wrapped in anything is bad for dogs.” They hadn’t really said that, but Bessie couldn’t read, so she’d never catch Stella out in the lie. She felt guilt rise at the trusting look in the dog’s soft eyes.

While shrugging into her coat, she said, “You know your role. You smile—as if I have to tell you to smile—and look adorable. I give her the cookies. We wish her a Merry Christmas. We turn around and come home. We don’t look back. If we look back, she may think we’re afraid she’s going to throw something at us. It will be a measure of distrust. That will hurt her even more.”

Bessie studied the plate of cookies in Stella’s hands, interested but not overly so, not like she had been in the tenderloin. Bessie was a dog of discriminating tastes, a dog that became animated only when treats or an outing were in the offing, as was evidenced by the way her tail started slicing the air and her body started wriggling when Stella grabbed the leash from the peg by the door.

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