Thunder from the Sea (12 page)

“
N
o!” Tom cried out. “Thunder is my dog, Enoch!”

“Don't get upset, son. It might not be Thunder who he's after.”

Dr. Sullivan touched Tom's arm. “Oh, what a chucklehead I am. I wasn't thinkin' how much he means to you. I figured you'd heard.”

“No one told us,” Enoch said. “We knew Amos had been in touch with fisheries last summer, but we didn't know he got a response.”

“Seems word got out about the dog. Anyways, when the telegram arrived the news was all over town,” said Dr. Sullivan. “Everyone here knows what's goin' on, especially in the telegraph office. It's always big news when someone gets a telegram.”

“So the owner's from the States,” said Enoch.

“Yep. From Gloucester, down in Massachusetts.”

“He didn't take good care of Thunder,” Tom protested. “He shouldn't be allowed to own a dog.”

“Tom …” Enoch put his hand on Tom's shoulder, but Tom pulled away.

“This here Fowler person won't be comin' until spring,” Dr. Sullivan said. “Maybe he'll disremember it by then.”

“I'd go round the world for Thunder. I'd never disremember 'im!” Tom retorted.

“If this Mr. Fowler is the owner, there's not much we can do about it,” Enoch said.

“You mean we'll have to give him back?” Tom exclaimed.

“If it were you, Tom, wouldn't you want him back?” Enoch asked softly.

Tom didn't answer. He understood what Enoch was telling him, but … how could he give up Thunder? He couldn't. He
wouldn't
!

“No need to worry about it now,” said Dr. Sullivan. “But do be careful around Chance-Along. Most folks have neither meat nor malt. They've
lost everything with the tidal wave. A reward would be mighty temptin'.”

“See? We should have given heed to that mummer and his warning about Chance-Along,” Tom said.

“Tom, that mummer, whoever he was, must have known about Mr. Fowler and his claim to Thunder. Well, try not to worry. We won't bring Thunder to the mainland again. Meanwhile, we don't have to deal with Mr. Fowler till spring thaw. Come on, let's do our shoppin' so we can get back home.”

“I'll watch Thunder,” said the doctor. “Bring him up on the porch. He'll be safe here.”

Tom tied Thunder to the porch rail, but before he left, Tom whispered to the dog, “Don't go off with anyone, boy.” Then he hugged Thunder so tightly the dog whined.

The main street in Chance-Along was packed with hard snow. Tom and Enoch went to the Copper Kettle first for hot chocolate and a fried codfish sandwich. But Tom wasn't hungry. Why had they come to the mainland anyway? For
food? He'd sooner eat barnacles than come to this town again.

“My boy, you're all upset about Thunder, aren't you?” Enoch said. “Look, if the owner contacts us, I'll offer him money. I don't know if we can afford to buy him, but we'll do everything we can do to keep Thunder.” He pointed to the sandwich. “Come on, Tom, eat up. You'll be starvin' by the time we get home.”

They shopped all afternoon at the general store until the slide was full. Enoch seemed very quiet. Tom knew he was worried about money and was concerned about Thunder, too. “I've got one more errand to run before we leave,” Enoch finally said. “Want to come with me?”

“No, I'll wait here with the slide.”

“All right. I won't be long.” Enoch pulled the slide over to an iron bench, then headed down the street.

Tom slumped onto the bench. The town was unusually quiet. The tidal wave had destroyed most of the boats that had been in the water or even pulled up near the shore. Fishermen could not work without boats, so many families had left
Chance-Along to go to bigger towns like St. John's, the capital of Newfoundland, or Corner Brook to work at the big lumber mills on the Humber River. They headed off to wherever they could make money to survive. Perhaps Enoch and Fiona would move somewhere else too. Maybe that would be a good thing—movin' far away where no one could find Tom or his dog.

“Hey, Tom!”

Tom looked around. Nancy Bosworth stood nearby, dressed in boys' breeches and an orange plaid coat that was too small for her.

“What are you doin' here, Tom?” she asked as she approached.

“Just gettin' supplies.”

“I'm goin' to school now. I can read almost everything.” She pointed to a sign in a nearby store window and began to read slowly. “Buy … win-ter … deep snow … snowshoes—”

“I don't want to talk to you, Nancy.”

“Why not?”

“I've heard about your pa findin' Thunder's real owner.”

Nancy looked down at her boots. “We're all right sorry.”

“As sorry as snakes. Just go away, Nancy. I never want to see any of you Bosworths again.” Tom turned away from her.

Nancy didn't move, and after a few moments Tom heard her crying softly.

“Go away! Cryin' isn't goin' to change anything. Your pa—and your brother, too—they wanted Thunder themselves, and when we wouldn't give him up they made sure they'd find the real owner, just for badness. Begone with ya!”

Nancy raced off. Tom was relieved to see Enoch coming toward him.

“I saw Amos,” Enoch said.

“Aye, and I saw Nancy. I don't want to hear anything about the Bosworths,” Tom said. He grabbed hold of the rope tied to the front of the slide and walked briskly away.

The slide was heavy, but Tom didn't care. He wanted to get away from Chance-Along and never come back. Enoch caught up with Tom and took
the rope from him. Tom ran ahead, eager to be sure that his dog was safe.

“Thunder!” Tom called out as he approached Dr. Sullivan's house. “Thunder!”

When he didn't hear the usual happy bark, Tom ran to the porch.

Thunder wasn't there!

“
t
hunders gone!” he exclaimed, running up the porch steps. “Thunder!”

The back door opened quickly, and Dr. Sullivan came out with Thunder bouncing by his side. “I told you I'd take good care of 'im, lad.” The doctor pointed to the dog's huge paws. “I've made 'im some boots to protect his feet on the ice, see.” Tom couldn't help but smile. Thunder's paws were wrapped with canvas and strong tape. “There's nice soft lamb's wool inside.” The doctor sounded pleased with himself. Thunder picked up one paw and tugged at the boot with his teeth. “No, no, boy,” Dr. Sullivan shook his finger at Thunder. “Keep your boots on!” Thunder put his paw down obediently.

“Thanks, Doc,” Enoch said. “I'm sure Thunder appreciates your hard work.”

“I'm not so sure he does,” Dr. Sullivan said with a laugh. “But a good deed is always in order.” He petted Thunder's head and the dog lapped his hand. “Slobbery dog, you are! He's a real article, ain't he?”

“He's an article all right,” Tom agreed. “And we sure love 'im.”

On the way home Thunder's boots slipped off several times, but Tom or Enoch stopped and pulled them back on. Thunder tried to pull them off, but Tom would tell him, “It's for your own good, Thunder!”

It was getting dark by the time they got home. Tom unhitched Thunder and removed the booties from the dog's paws. Thunder drank an entire bowl of water, sank immediately onto his rug, and closed his eyes.

Tom and Enoch brought in the groceries and supplies without saying much.

“I have a nice pot of pea soup with turnip, potatoes, and carrots, and fresh bread,” Fiona
said, spooning the soup into large bowls. “Now, you men sit down and dig in. Your stomachs probably think your throats have been cut!” She laughed, but neither Tom nor Enoch even smiled. Finally she said, “All right, tell me what happened at Chance-Along.”

“After supper,” Enoch said.

They ate in silence. Then Tom excused himself and went to his room. He left the door open so he could hear Enoch tell Fiona about the telegram.

She let out a little scream. “No! We can't lose our Thunder!”

“Maybe we can offer to buy 'im,” Enoch suggested. “Although I don't know where we'd get that kind of money, specially now with a baby comin'.”

Their voices became low and Tom could only hear a few words—
Tom, boat, fisheries, no money, no boat
.

Tom threw himself on the bed and buried his head in the pillow. He'd run away, that's what he'd do. He'd take Thunder and … what? Where would they go? He had no relatives or friends
outside the mission. And even if he could make his way back to the mission, he couldn't keep Thunder when he got there.

Fiona knocked on the open door. “Tom? Can I come in?”

“All right,” he said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Fiona sat at the foot of Tom's bed. “Enoch told me what's happened,” she said. “I'm so sorry, Tom.”

Tom nodded, his face still buried in the pillow. “I hate Amos and Bert.”

“They're sorry for what they did, so don't hate them. Hate is like a heavy chain to carry with you. Let go of it, my child.”

Tom looked up. “The hardest part is that I
know
that Thunder's owner has a right to him. But he didn't take good enough care of him, lettin' him fall overboard and all!” Tom buried his face in his pillow again. “Now we have to give him back.”

“Things have a way of workin' themselves out, my dear. The Scriptures say not to be anxious about tomorrow. Each day we'll put Thunder in God's hands and let go. Whatever happens then is God's will. He loves you and
wants you to be happy. We want you to be happy too.”

Tom sat up. “Fiona,” he blurted out. “Will you and Enoch be able … to … keep me? I mean … since the earthquake … and the boat's gone … the baby comin'… and all.”

Fiona put her arms around him. “Tom, don't you believe it yet? You're family too. We'll stick together no matter what. Things will work out.” Suddenly she laughed and placed Tom's hand on her belly. “Hush, now. Wait!”

After a moment, the baby moved. Tom jumped back. “I felt it! The baby's kickin' at me!”

Fiona laughed again. “The baby's all excited. He knows his brother is here.” She kissed Tom on the cheek. “Tell God your concerns in your prayers. The Scriptures say, Throw your burdens on Him, because He cares for you.' Then don't worry anymore.” Fiona blew him another kiss and left the room.

Tom put his head on the pillow. “Thank you, Lord,” he prayed. “Thank you for Fiona and Enoch… and the baby. Please, please let us stay together, and please, somehow let me keep Thunder.”

T
he winter was passing by quickly, with February now behind them. The March sun was brighter and higher in the sky. On warm mornings fog enclosed the island, melting the ice along the shoreline, which would then freeze again at night. Other days were like winter returning, with icy winds and brilliant blue skies, and at night, dazzling northern lights flickering red and green in the sky. The house remained cozy, warm with its blanket of snow on the roof and sparkling icicles—ice candles—hanging from the eaves.

But March was the hungry month, when salted, dried fish and meat, along with the supply of root vegetables stored for the winter, was waning. “A more hungry March we've never seen,” Enoch said. “Spring will be hard with no fishin'
boat and all the damage from the tidal wave.”

One clear morning, two figures plodded across the still-frozen harbor to Back o' the Moon. As they approached Enoch called out, “It's Amos! And Bert's with him.”

Were they coming for Thunder? It was almost spring. Wasn't that when Mr. Fowler was to come from the States? Tom grabbed Thunder by the collar and stomped through the deep melting snow to the woodshed. Rufus, the rooster, clucked angrily from the chicken coop. “Shut up, you old crow!” Tom told him. “Don't you know me yet?”

Tom unlatched the door to the woodshed, pulled Thunder inside with him, then shut it quietly behind him.

It's kinda stupid for me to hide, Tom thought. They'll find us sooner or later. But at least I'm not givin' Thunder up easy
. He waited, listening to the melting of the ice candles on the eaves of the roof.

After several minutes he opened the door a crack and peeked outside. No one was about. Perhaps they were all in the house. He shut the door again and sat on a log. Thunder whined and pushed at the door with his paw. “No, Thunder,”
Tom whispered. “We've got to stay here.” Thunder wagged his tail, then settled down on the dirt floor.

Tom closed his eyes.
Please don't let them take Thunder
.

After what seemed like an hour, and sore from sitting on the hard log, Tom peeked again from the woodshed. Everything was quiet. Tom left Thunder in the shed. “I'll be right back,” he told him. “Don't bark.”

He went to the kitchen door and looked through the glass pane. Tom could see evidence of the Bosworths' visit. Fiona was removing teacups from the table, along with a half loaf of molasses bread.

Enoch looked up from his seat at the table and motioned for Tom to come in. “They're gone,” he said, as Tom entered the kitchen cautiously. “Amos and Bert wondered where you were.”

“What did they want?” Tom asked.

“Amos is goin' huntin' next week way out beyond Blow-Me-Down Islands. He wondered if Ken Rideout and I want to go along with ‘im.”

“Are you goin'?” Tom asked.

“I could make some good money. There's a big
market for pelts and meat. We'll be on board a fine steel boat—can't be jammed on ice, you see.” Enoch paused. “But I can't take you with me, Tom. I'll need you to stay here with Fiona.”

“I'm not havin' this baby until April,” she protested. “Tom might like to go with you.”