Uncle Henry kept a shotgun leaning in the corner.
Toto did not show up for a day or two. Dorothy knew enough not to mention him. She thought he was hiding, keeping low for a while. He was such a clever dog.
But how low can you keep without disappearing, until you fade into less than a memory? When almost a week had passed, Dorothy asked if Aunty Em had seen Toto while she was away at school.
Aunty Em was scrubbing. 'No, I haven't,' she said, lightly.
'He's been gone a long time.'
'I expect he's gone away,' said Aunty Em, not looking at her.
'He wouldn't do that,' said Dorothy.
'Well, he kept staying away for longer and longer,' said Aunty Em.
But he wouldn't leave her, he wouldn't leave Dorothy, she knew that.
'Why would he run away?'
'Guess he didn't like it here.'
Dorothy slumped down onto her mattress. Aunty Em couldn't stand it when anyone else cried. If anyone had a right to cry, it was Aunty Em. She looked around the edge of the blanket.
'There's no point going against the will of God, if that's what He's decided,' said Aunty Em. Aunty Em looked at the good little girl who was so unhappy and relented a bit.
'Toto wasn't happy here, Dorothy. That's why he kept barking all the time and running off and did all those terrible things. So, I reckon he's gone off to find somewhere happier. Maybe he's gone off to find your old house in St. Louis. Maybe he thinks your mama's there. He's a dog and doesn't know any better.'
'He wouldn't leave me!' said Dorothy.
'Well he has, and there's no way around it but to get used to it,' said Aunty Em. Dorothy heard her boots on the floor as she walked away.
Dorothy waited for Toto to come back. Maybe he had gone away because he knew he was bad and would come back when he thought he had been forgiven. Maybe you could find out you were bad, and go away from shame and come back when you were good again.
Every day after school, when she came to the track that led to the farm, she would expect to see him again. Maybe this time, maybe this time, she thought every day all through the rest of that March, into April, into the fullness of the Kansas spring. From time to time, she would call his name, expecting to find him lying close to the ground, ready to spring up and run yipping to her.
She knew just how she would feel when that happened. She knew there would be a leaping up of joy inside her, and she would say 'Good Toto, good boy, good Toto,' and he would roll over and over and over, like he always did when he was especially glad to see her. That would happen, and everything would be all right.
Whenever she heard a dog barking at night, the sound coming across the Kansas hills, she thought it was Toto. She would get up.
'Dorothy. Where are you going?' demanded the voice in the darkness.
'I think it's Toto,' she would reply. 'I think he's come back.'
'It's not Toto. Get back to bed,' the voice would order.
And Dorothy would slink guiltily back onto her bed, in an agony in case Toto came back and found no one there to greet him. She learned how to slip out of the window, into the cool spring night in just her nightgown.
'Toto?' she would whisper, teeth chattering, icy mud between her toes. 'Toto?'
She started hiding her boots under the mattress. She would go out and hunt for Toto at night, stumbling across the Kansas plain, following the sound of the dogs. She would be sure that he was just a field or two away, lost, not quite able to find the tiny single-room house in the wide flat valley.
One day after school, Uncle Henry met her at the crossroads and they walked together.
'You're still worried about Toto, ain't you?' he said. His kindness was inseparable from his smell. He still reeked, and there was food in his beard.
'When he can't find my mama, will he come back here?' she asked.
'Well,' he said. 'It's possible that Toto is dead, Dorothy.'
Dorothy saw the bedraggled fur, the empty eyes.
'If he is, then he's with all the other good little dogs in Heaven, and we should be happy for him.'
Dorothy said nothing.
'So maybe he has found your mama,' said Uncle Henry. 'And your little brother. Maybe they're all together, just like they used to be.'
'Maybe Wilbur's there too,' she said. She still thought of Wilbur sometimes.
'I should think that's right,' said Uncle Henry. 'So you say your prayers, and be a good little girl, you'll join them one day. They'll be waiting for you at the gate.'
'By that time I'll be too old, and I won't care,' said Dorothy.
But she didn't stop hoping. She just knew she had to hide it. Whenever she heard a dog bark, she would look up in hope.
