Part Three: The Devil’s Money
Click Here to Read Part Two
When I arrived home, I was excited to tell Mother about the double and, of course, the twelve-hundred dollars. I removed the rubber band and began counting the money onto the kitchen table.
“…eight-hundred, nine-hundred, one thousand, eleven-hundred, twelve- hundred.” It was more than half a year’s salary for Mother.
Mother’s eyes were as big as saucers as she sat down across from me. “Where on earth! What are you doing with that much money? My goodness! Where did you get that much money?”
I couldn’t contain my excitement. “I made a double Mama, and thought it wasn’t a double, but Mike found the bird in the top of a myrtle bush, Mama, and Mr. Reed won the bet he made with Mr. Seville and Mr. Reed made Mr. Seville pay me… and twelve-hundred was the price of the dog but Mr. Reed got to keep Mike and….”
I don’t know at what point Mother stood from the table. When I realized she wasn’t listening anymore I stopped rambling. She was staring over my head to across the room, at nothing in particular, just staring, eyes glazed over.
I asked, “Mama? Mama?” She stood for a moment longer and then inhaled deeply several times as if holding back something from deep within.
And then she spoke. “A bet? Over a dog? My son out gambling for the price of a dog?”
She had such a way of souring a good thing. I pouted. “I didn’t gamble. It’s my money. Mr. Reed said so. I earned it.”
“How many times did I hear your daddy say that same thing. You didn’t earn that. That’s the devil’s money. I won’t have that money in this house. Your daddy brought that kind of money in here when he was alive, and it never amounted to anything good. The Bible says not to bring the price of a dog into your house, and I won’t allow it in ours. We’re better than that. Now roll that up and take it outside and leave it outside. Tomorrow after church you take that back to Mr. Reed.” She turned away quickly, wiping her paled face with the back of her hand.
As she reached the edge of the room, she turned to me. “Honey, I hate to see you hurting and I hate to be the one who hurt you, but this hurt will heal, and it will keep you from being hurt much worse down the road. I have to be strong for you, and it’s not easy. I have to be Mama strong and Daddy strong. Giving that money back is the best thing. Trust me.” With that said, I turned the first leaf loose and watched as it was swept up in a gust of autumn wind.
The First Lesson by Lynn Bogue Hunt, 30 x 22 inches.
When I arrived at Red Oak, I saw Mr. Reed’s car at the main house. I didn’t go straight there. Maybe I wanted to hold the money for a time longer. Maybe I just didn’t know how to tell him I couldn’t take the money. I don’t know why I didn’t confront him.
I went straight to the kennels and sat in Mr. Reed’s chair under the chinaberry tree. I did not hear Mr. Reed walk up behind me. “That’s a comfortable chair,” he said. “I’ve solved a lot of problems sitting in that chair. I expect you’ve got one or two of your own to solve. You know, I’ve seen you a time or two when I knew you were thinking about your dad. Yesterday when that man and his son were here. I saw what that did to you. But let me tell you something. You’re strong, solid and true.
“I didn’t bet on your shooting yesterday; I bet on you. Shooting comes and goes, luck here, slow bird there; it’s all happenstance. But strong, true and solid can take that bet any day win or lose. Lane, remember you’re Lane Sharp, strong, true and solid with or without Brady Sharp. Now get up and let an old man sit.”
He sat for a while and then rose as quickly as he had arrived. Neither of us mentioned the money. He turned to me as he left and said, “If Saunders and his son aren’t here by three, you can go on home. Let me know how it turns out.”
I sat again in the chair after Mr. Reed walked away and watched as little yellow leaves turned loose from their branches and tumbled across the way. I was beginning to think they weren’t blowing randomly at all.
From the chair, I saw a cloud of dust chasing the pickup truck that had arrived at such an awkward time yesterday morning. As the truck reached the kennel, the dust cloud caught the truck and covered it bumper to bumper. Mr. Saunders let the dust settle before getting out, but the boy scrambled from the far side and ran through the cloud to the kennels where he had seen Mike the day before. “He’s still here Daddy! I told you he’d still be here.”
Mr. Saunders was standing at the kennel now and asked, “Is he still available? Is he still for sale?”
“Yes sir. He’s still available.”
“I hate to ask, but what is Mr. Reed asking for him?”
“He’s a beauty, Dad. He’s got a perfect saddle, just like the dog on the calendar.
“What’s the price?” he asked again.
I thought about what Mr. Reed had just told me. Strong, true and solid, and happenstance, and how strong, true and solid could handle a loss. “He’s yours Mr. Saunders, yours, and Charles’. He’s been paid for. Take him.”
It took a few minutes for the pair to gather a lead from their car. Mr. Saunders reached into the kennel and snapped the lead to Mike’s collar. Once out of the pen, he handed the lead and pulling dog to his son. The three walked away. All three seemed happy. As they reached the truck, I called out, “You sure are a lucky boy.”
Charles turned as best he could with Mike straining at the lead and called back, “Yes, thank you. I’ll take good care of him.”
I wouldn’t, couldn’t, let it go unspoken. “No.” I called back, “You’re lucky to have such a great papa.”
Mr. Saunders helped Mike and Charles into the truck and then returned to me. “Thanks again,” he said. And then for no predictable reason asked me, “Do you know what’s better than having a great dad?”
I thought it so strange that he would ask that, and stranger still was the question. “No sir. I can’t think of anything better than having a good dad.”
“Well, I’ll tell you. The one thing better than having a great dad is being a great dad. And one day I think you’ll be the best ever.”
I never saw the three again. They drove off with Mike and Charles both hanging their heads out of the window. Mike’s dark ears were flapping and Charles’ arm waved until they were out of sight. As they rounded the last curve leaving Red Oak, the truck’s momentum sent a stream of red and yellow leaves scurrying into the woods.
I handed Mr. Reed the roll of bills still wrapped with the red band. He examined the roll quickly, recognizing it from the day before. “Looks like you made a good deal,” he said.
I walked home lighter in many ways than when I had arrived. Plume after plume of November leaves blew across the road in front of me, running out ahead, waiting somewhere in the future to guide me.
I thought about the words of guidance and encouragement they had already sent me through Mother, Mr. Reed and Mr. Saunders. The heavy heart I had been carrying was now filled with a new hope, a solid hope, true and strong. I had even learned something from Mr. Seville. It is better to be humble than to get humbled. All of this had come my way in a whirlwind for sure, and for only the price of a dog.