“Sylvia!” I screamed. “I’ve just fixed the screen door, and now you’ve broken it again.”
“I guess you didn’t fix it very good.” I barely heard her say.
“What did you say?” I bellowed. “It’s ‘very well,’ not ‘very good.’ Can’t you even speak English correctly while you’re complaining? You are in trouble, young lady, mark my words. I told you to be careful with the door and now look.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any disrespect, especially to you. You do everything for me, and I really appreciate it. The whole thing with the door was an accident. I don’t know how it happened. I was just trying to tap on it to let you know I was there and ready for dinner, and it just happened. The duct tape came loose. It doesn’t like to stick on screen. I beg you, please, please, please forgive me.” Having recited all this at top speed, Sylvia burst unto tears.
“Stop it, Sylvia. What’s the matter with you? It’s just a door – not the end of the world,” I said, collapsing into my comfortable chair.
Without seeming to hear me, Sylvia sat at my feet and ranted on. “Don’t send me away. Please don’t send me away. I can’t bear it.”
“What’s gotten into you, Sylvia? What ever gave you the idea that I’d send you away?” I ruffled her bristly hair.
Sylvia made an attempt to stop crying and succeeded only as far as hiccups.
“Sylvia, you’re more than my companion. You’re my family,” I said. “You don’t give away family, no matter how much you might want to at times.”
“But … but …” Sylvia stammered. “It’s not my fault, really. It’s all the fault of the economy. I read that some people are giving their pets away because they can’t afford to feed them. And I realize that I eat a lot.”
“Oh, Sylvia, things aren’t that bad here, and you don’t eat that much.”
“I feel so sorry for those animals and their people. And then I get scared that it could happen to me.” Tears ran in rivulets down her face, dragging dirt with them.
“Lighten up, Sylvia. Don’t be so dramatic. Even if we should have to starve, we’ll be together.”
“I’m not very good at starving,” Sylvia admitted.
“I was only kidding. We’ll manage somehow.”
“I’ll help.” Sylvia offered. “I won’t eat so many biscuits, and I have an idea for raising money. I’ve been thinking on it ever since I read that article in the Mountain Mail.”
Of course I had to ask, “What article?”
“The one about the Lost Adams Diggings. They could be anywhere, but I’m pretty sure I know where they are.”
“Where?” I was sternly skeptical.
Sylvia dropped her voice so even the gray mouse who’s taken to roaming the house, carefully avoiding the sticky traps and the DeCon, couldn’t hear, “They’re here, right up-canyon of our house, just beyond the pond where the big rocks start.”
“What makes you think that’s the place?”
“I just know. I can see it. I feel it in my bones. They’re saying, ‘Gold.’ Gold. Just think of it. Gold not even a half-mile away. We’ll be rich. Rich, I tell you. But you mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“I can safely promise you I won’t say a word to anyone at all.”
“It’ll be easy. All we have to do is dig, and we’ll be rich. Rich beyond our wildest dreams. Too bad we missed the full moon, but we’ll just have to work by flashlight. Candlelight would be better, but we don’t want to take a chance on setting the forest on fire. We’ll be rich. We’ll be able to buy whole new screen doors. No more duct tape for us.”
I could swear that Sylvia’s eyes glowed.
(Continued next week.)
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