Getting ready for the open house required more physical work than Sam had done in a long time, and he felt it in his back and knees. Russ was a God-send. He did the heavy yard work, the window and screen washing, the ceiling repair and the painting. Sam cleaned. One day Teresa brought Jimmy to the house to spend the day with his father. Jimmy ran from the Honda to the house while Teresa watched from the car. When Sam opened the door to let him in, she sped away. So much for reconciliation, Sam thought. Father and son had a good day washing screens together in the side yard, and squirting each other with the hose.

On Saturday, Kathleen came to the house and took some furniture from the bedroom that had been hers as a child, but hardly spoke to Sam. Cynthia didn’t call at all. The chill with which the family meeting had ended, still lingered in the house. Russ was the only respite. He actually enjoyed discussing Sam’s evidence for Sarah being alive, and did it without arguing.

By Sunday at 1:00 PM the house was ready for the open house. Dorothy Shraft arrived with signs and colorful balloons and Sam left. He drove to Crocker Park, watched sailboats come and go in the harbor and tried not to think about the strangers tramping through his house. What would Sarah do if she knew he was selling the home they’d lived in for so many years? Probably applaud him. At four o’clock he returned home and called Annie.

She said friends of hers in New England Kennel Club told her that David Cowan was in Europe with his famous dog, Condor, appearing at water rescue events. Sam had hoped to go to Maine first, it being closer, but didn’t want to wait for Cowan to return.

“Do you want me to set up an appointment with Madeline Singer in Saskatchewan?” Annie asked.

“What will you say?”

“I’ll make up something plausible.”

That evening Annie called back saying she’d finally gotten in touch with Madeline and that Sam was welcome to come.

“What reason did you give for my coming?”

“I said you had read about her in Newfies and Their Friends and were interested in buying a pup.”

“Sounds good.”

“She also suggested you find a motel in Moose Jaw, which isn’t far from her, if you plan to spend the night.”

Sam thanked Annie and called Air Canada. The first reservation he could get was for Tuesday. He would fly from Boston to Toronto and then to Regina, Saskatchewan, with one stop in Winnipeg. He told Russ he was going away for a few days, but didn’t say where. He guessed his son assumed he would be visiting Annie. All he asked was for his dad to call him occasionally in case a contract came in on the house. Needless to say, Sam told neither Kathleen nor Cynthia what he was up to.

He left from Logan Airport in Boston and flew to Toronto where he boarded the flight that would ultimately take him to Saskatchewan. Climbing into the clear Canadian air he pressed his forehead against the window and watched the changing terrain as they crossed Ontario toward Winnipeg. Below him the earth was covered with hundreds of lakes reflecting the noonday sun like tiny mirrors. Someday, he thought, I’d like to fly into one of those lakes and do some fishing. Then he smiled. When I move to my new house, I’ll be able to fish right in my own back yard.

He remained on the plane when it landed in Winnipeg. New passengers came aboard to take the seats of those who got off. In twenty minutes they were in the air again. The lakes and rivers of Ontario gave way to endless plains as they crossed into Saskatchewan. Thousands of feet below, the rectangles and squares of recently plowed fields created a vast mosaic. He watched until a film of clouds obscured his view, leaving him with nothing to distract him from his growing anxiety.

As much as he disliked him — too hard a word? he asked himself. No. The truth was he didn’t like his son-in-law — Claude was right. Here Sam was, racing across the sky, chasing a hope based on a few flimsy coincidences. What could he possibly find out that would help him know whether Sarah was alive or dead? He would show the pictures he had of Sarah to this Madeline Singer. Even if she confirmed that Sarah was Susan Lang that didn’t prove she was still alive. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell Kathleen and Cynthia what he was up to. They would have had him committed. By the time he landed in Regina, he was ready to turn around and go home. Instead, he picked up his rental car and headed out highway 1 to Moose Jaw.

It was seven o’clock Marblehead time when Sam, feeling old and discouraged, found a motel. He’d been traveling for more than ten hours and was bushed. The room was spartan with a double bed, desk, straight chair and small TV. He got some ice, uncapped the bottle of scotch he’d brought, poured a drink and telephoned Annie.

“I made it,” he said, “but I feel like a fool.”

“You’re not a fool and knock that off.” She had used her sergeant’s voice. Sam, reprimanded, was silent. “We went over this a hundred times,” Annie went on. “If Susan isn’t Sarah, pack up and come on home. If she is, maybe this Madeline person can tell you something about her, what was going on with her that she left without telling you.”

Sam sighed. “I know. It just feels so futile.”

“Listen to me, Sam. The only way Singer will tell you anything about Sarah, is if she trusts you. If Sarah wrote the book then she must have spent a long time there and she must have become a good friend. She won’t tell you beans if she doesn’t like you. Understand?”

“Yeah. I know you’re right.”

“Okay, what’s your next move?”

“I’ll go to Pinnacle tomorrow morning, meet Madeline Singer and ask to see her kennel and dogs. I’ll repeat what you said about wanting a puppy, and see if she buys it.”

“Sam, if you talk to her like you’re talking to me now, she won’t buy anything. You’ve got to go there determined to win her friendship. Sam, you’re a good guy, a likable guy. Hell, even I like you. You’ll find a way.”

“All right. I’ll do that.” He was silent for a moment then said, “It’s lonely here, Annie. I miss you.”

“Same here.” Then cutting him off from whatever path his thoughts were taking, she added quickly, “Don’t feel sorry for yourself. You’ll do fine.” Then she said good bye.

* * *

He called Madeline Singer at eight the next morning, apologizing for the early hour, but saying he wanted to reach her before she got busy with her dogs.

“Oh, I’ve been up since six,” she said, as if he should know better. “Just came back to the house for a cup of coffee.”

“Would it be possible for me to come by this morning?” Sam asked.

“I guess so, but make it about eleven. I’ve got chores to do.”

She gave him directions: north from Moose Jaw about thirty-five kilometers to Winter Vale. Her road was the fifth one to the left exactly 4.6 kilometers from the Winter Vale grain elevator.

He hung up hoping she was not as inhospitable in person as she had sounded on the phone.

After a leisurely breakfast in Moose Jaw, he walked around the small downtown section looking in store windows. The air had a nip to it and Sam was glad he’d brought a jacket. It took him only minutes to get bored with the aimless wandering, and he hit the road to Pinnacle.

The road could have been drawn with a ruler. Without realizing it, Sam had the car up to eighty as he sped across the level terrain. The occasional farm buildings nestled in clumps of trees were the only interruptions in the endless expanse of waving grass and wheat.

It’s like the ocean, he thought, and the farms are like islands. He shuddered. “Scary,” he said aloud. “Too big. Too open. If I lived here, my mind would float away and I’d never find it again.” After another kilometer of contemplating the monotony, he added, “If Sarah was here, I don’t know how she stood it.”

The town of Winter Vale, no different from farm towns in Montana or Nebraska, was centered around the growing of grain and the raising of cattle. The focal point was the grain elevator rising even higher than the town’s two church steeples. As they passed it, Sam set the odometer to zero and continued, straight as a string, toward Pinnacle.

Four point six kilometers beyond Winter Vale, he turned left onto a dirt road and headed west. He’d journeyed a mile before a cluster of trees appeared on the horizon. “Do you suppose that’s it?” he said aloud.

Half a mile later he entered the barn yard of Pinnacle Kennel. To the right was a two story frame house surrounded by shrubs and grass. Beyond this the road led to a silo and to two, low unpainted barns with fenced enclosures. Between the barns were piled rolls of hay. Sam got out and walked toward one of the barns. Except for the wind and an occasional snorting from cattle inside the barn, it was absolutely quiet. The ground within the fence was pressed and torn by the hoofs.

Next to the other barn was an enclosed, gravel covered yard surrounded by a five foot wire and wood rail fence. As they approached, a vinyl flap on the side of the barn burst open and a score or more of Newfoundlands, barking up a storm, raced toward the edge of the fence where he was standing. They were large, bold animals, some all black, some with white chest markings and two black and white dogs that Sam had learned were Landseers.

“This ought to attract somebody’s attention,” Sam said, turning to look back at the house. No one appeared. After a few more barks the dogs grew bored with the new arrival and commenced to roam their yard, kicking and chasing plastic milk cartons which apparently had been given to them as toys.

She did know I was coming, Sam said, trying to assure himself. It was still early so he decided to walk around to the other side of the barns. The land behind the barns stretched interminably toward the flat line that divided earth and sky. He saw a depression in the otherwise glass-smooth plane that looked like a pond. “Maybe that’s where everybody is,” he wondered.

He started toward the depression when he heard the sound of an airplane approaching, low and fast. It flew overhead and made a steep banking circle on the other side of the house. Sam changed direction and headed back toward the house. By the time he got there, the airplane had touched down on a grass strip and was taxiing toward a T-shaped hanger a hundred yards from the house. It turned smartly in front of the hanger and the engine was cut. Sam approached.

“Hello there,” a man said, climbing out of the plane. “I’m John Singer.” He was taller than Sam by four inches and younger by twenty years. He wore a tattered Canadian Air Force jacket, Levis and western boots. His nose was straight and sharp and his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses.

Sam approached from the tail of the plane and shook his hand. “I’m Sam Langley. I’m a little early for an eleven o’clock appointment with your wife.”

“That’s okay. Nobody minds the clock too closely around here. Nice to meet you.” he said leaning into the back seat of the plane, and lifting out two bags of groceries. “I was in Regina on business this morning and thought I’d do a little shopping. If you’d take these, I’ve two more bags in the back seat.”

On the way to house John said, “You’re not a moment too soon. One bitch started whelping last night — my daughter’s in with her — and two more are scheduled for today.” Sam knew Annie had said he was interested in buying a Newfy, but certainly not a new born pup. “You can go ahead and put your gear in the guest cottage as soon as we get these bags in the kitchen,” the man said.

“That won’t be necessary,” Sam said. “I’ve got a motel in Moose Jaw.”

John gave him a questioning look over the top of his grocery bags and said, “Suit yourself. We’ll set these down and I’ll point the way to the pond. When I came in I saw Madeline down there with some of the dogs.”

John led him into the house and to the kitchen. More dogs met them, following them eagerly, their noses sniffing the bags of food. “Set them far back on the counter,” John said. “No sense in tempting them.” When the bags were put down, he took him out to the yard and behind the barn. “See that depression over there. That’s the pond. You’ll find my wife down there.”

Sam thanked him and headed down a well worn path. To the southwest ominous dark clouds were building on the horizon.

From a knoll above the depression he looked down on a pond about the size of two football fields. Fifteen or twenty Newfoundlands were playing at the water’s edge and some were charging into the pond to retrieve a floating object. As Sam descended the hill, the huge bear-like dogs saw him and began their deep bass barking.

In the midst of the dogs was a woman, standing knee deep in what certainly was cold water. She pushed hair from her eyes and gave Sam a look that made him feel like a trespasser. Or maybe he felt like a trespasser because he was here under false pretenses.


Chapter Nineteen