BARNEY
On his ritual morning walk, Barney tramped through the autumn leaves being briskly piled and recycled by the wind along the sloping shoulder of the lane. Even if it had stopped drizzling, he would not dare walk on the narrow road itself. The countryside and the sleepy village were changing. Some young maniac, the first of the week, would soon hurtle around a curve.
One day, Barney reasoned, he would hear the squeal of tires, the screech of brakes applied too late, and his bloodied, battered body would be tossed up over the hedge like Old Harvey's scarecrow that he'd been dreaming about for weeks. The heartless motorist would speed on his way, cursing the expense of having to fix the front fender of his shiny murder machine. He'd be just like the hit-and-run motorist who had fatally injured Old Harvey. And Barney shuddered at the nightmare he'd been having over and over.
Interrupting his thoughts, a horn brayed and Dopplered past. He barely glimpsed the red sports car, as he fell to his knees from the draft.
"Oh, God." He pressed his hand against his heart, then cautiously patted his arms and legs, finding nothing that hurt worse than usual.
"I'm all right." He grinned at his good fortune.
Concentrating on getting back on his feet, not hearing the heavy footsteps padding toward him until too late, his heart jumped when someone leaned against him. "Please, leave an old man alone!" he yelled.
Then his nose caught the odor of wet animal hair. Instantly, his grey-blue eyes met the stare of a dog larger than any he had seen lately in these parts, but he recognized the amiable breed, a Newfoundland. For a moment, the animal continued to gaze at him, eyes alert. Then he stepped forward and nosed under Barney's bony elbow. "Well, darned if you aren't helping."
Barney's long fingers found the broad leather collar and he got to his feet as the dog stepped forward.
"Are you all right, sir?" called a young, sweet voice.
A thrill ran through Barney. She was straight out of Wordsworth! He hadn't heard a timbre like that since his teaching days. He turned carefully.
"Why, yes, miss! Thanks to—your dog?"
"That's Ajax," she said, pride showing in her brown eyes. "If you'd fallen into the ditch, he'd have been even happier to rescue you!" Barney chuckled in spite of himself.
"I'm sorry I scared you so badly," she went on. "I haven't got the hang of these curves yet. I thought I was going to run right into you."
"So did I," he said dryly. "Do you walk this early every morning?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm on my way home." "I really am sorry," the young woman said. "I'll be more careful." Ajax padded up with Barney's Tyrolean hat in his mouth and put it in Barney's hand.
They shivered as the gusting wind freshened sharply.
"Well, maybe Ajax and I will see you again," she said. "I'm Angela. We're visiting the Campbells."
When Barney did not answer, she pointed at his neighbors' farmhouse behind a row of poplars. "You do know the Campbells?" she asked curiously.
Barney continued to stare at her, transfixed, then remembered his manners.
"Yes! But the Campbells are—there's no one in the house…."
"Oh, yes," she said. "They're home. See you again soon?"
"That'd be—fine," he managed. "My name's Barney."
With a quick smile, Angela moved off toward the driveway.
He shook his head at her back as she walked crisply away. "What's she talking about?" he asked himself softly. "The Campbells are dead!"
He turned toward his own home, the only one nearby.
Later, finishing a bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar, he said, "I'm not losing my mind. Someone else must be living there but why haven't I noticed?"
A cloud of leaves whirled suddenly past the kitchen window while a willow branch danced crazily over the fence and into the vegetable garden. With the next gust Old Harvey's scarecrow followed it, only to catch on a post and hang upside down by one leg.
|