Mama was silent for a moment; then, in a gentle voice, she said, 'Billy, sometimes it's hard to believe that things like this can happen, but there's always an answer. When you're older, you'll understand better.'
'No, I won't,' I said. 'I don't care if I'm a hundred years old, I'll never understand why my dogs had to die.'
As if she were talking to someone far away, I heard her say in a low voice, 'I don't know what to say. I can't seem to find the right words.'
Looking up to her face, I saw that her eyes were flooded with tears.
'Mama, please don't cry,' I said. 'I didn't mean what I said.'
'I know you didn't,' she said, as she squeezed me up tight. 'It's just your way of fighting back.'
I heard the voice of my father calling to us from the house.
'Come now,' Mama said. 'I have supper ready and your father wants to talk to you. I think when you've heard what he has to say, you'll feel better.'
'I can't leave Little Ann like this, Mama,' I said. 'It'll be cold tonight. I think I'll carry her back to the house.'
'No, I don't think you should do that,' Mama said. 'Your sisters would go all to pieces. Let's make her comfortable here.'
Raking some dead leaves into a pile, she picked Little Ann up and laid her in them. Taking off my coat, I spread it over her body. I dreaded to think of what I had to do on the morrow.
My father and sisters were waiting for us on the porch. Mama told them the sad story. My sisters broke down and started crying. They ran to Mama and buried their faces in her long cotton dress.
Papa came over and laid his hand on my shoulder. 'Billy,' he said, 'there are times in a boy's life when he has to stand up like a man. This is one of those times. I know what you're going through and how it hurts, but there's always an answer. The Good Lord has a reason for everything He does.'
'There couldn't be any reason for my dogs to die, Papa,' I said. 'There just couldn't. They hadn't done anything wrong.'
Papa glanced at Mama. Getting no help from her, he said, 'It's getting cold out here. Let's go in the house. I have something to show you.'
'Guess what we're having for supper,' Mama said, as we turned to enter the house. 'Your favorite, Billy, sweet potato pie. You'll like that, won't you?'
I nodded my head, but my heart wasn't in it.
Papa didn't follow us into the kitchen. He turned and entered his bedroom.
When he came into the room, he had a small shoe box in his hand. I recognized the box by the bright blue ribbon tied around it. Mama kept her valuables in it.
A silence settled over the room. Walking to the head of the table, Papa set the box down and started untying the ribbon. His hands were trembling as he fumbled with the knot. With the lid off, he reached in and started lifting out bundles of money.
After stacking them in a neat pile, he raised his head and looked straight at me. 'Billy,' he said, 'you know how your mother has prayed that some day we'd have enough money to move out of these hills and into town so that you children could get an education.'
I nodded my head.
'Well,' he said, in a low voice, 'because of your dogs, her prayers have been answered. This is the money earned by Old Dan and Little Ann. I've managed to make the farm feed us and clothe us and I've saved every cent your furs brought in. We now have enough.'
'Isn't it wonderful,' Mama said. 'It's just like a miracle.'
'I think it is a miracle,' Papa said. 'Remember, Billy said a prayer when he asked for his pups and then there were your prayers. Billy got his pups. Through those dogs your prayers were answered. Yes, I'm sure it is a miracle.'
'If he gave them to me, then why did he take them away?' I asked.
