“How’re you doing?” Madeline said from the box where she was half sitting, half reclining. “Staying awake?”

“I wasn’t asleep. I was just thinking how snug it is here with the dogs.”

“It is,” she answered. “It reminds me of the farm I grew up on in Alberta. Dad was a sheep farmer. In the winter the sheep used to eat tunnels into the snow covered haystacks. Sometimes I’d crawl in and curl up beside them. Outside it might be ten below, but inside, it was steamy and warm.”

“Sheep farming, huh?” Sam said. Then, “How did you get from sheep to Newfoundlands?”

“My grandfather had a Newfoundland. When I was a kid I swore that if I ever lived on a place that was big enough, I’d raise a whole bunch of Newfies. When I married John we moved here to his parents’ farm, so I had what I wanted. Now I have almost thirty of my own.”

A gust of wind hit the barn, causing the lights to sway on their long cords. Madeline looked up. “Don’t worry,” she said reassuringly. “These barns have stood far worse than that.” The dogs weren’t bothered either. The mothers continued their heavy panting and the little ones, their nursing. In this sheltered warmth, Madeline seem more relaxed.

“John mentioned a Commission that’s keeping him busy,” Sam said.

“Yes. He’s Chairman of the Provincial Commission for Inuit and Indian Relations. They’re trying to resolve land claims. Between that and his cattle, I hardly see him.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, then Madeline asked about Sam’s background.

“Well, I retired five years ago from a marketing company and wrote two novels.”

“Really. What are the titles?”

“I doubt that you’ve heard of them: Quiet Cove and Playing With Fire. Only a few thousand sold.”

“It must be wonderful to write. I love to read, but I could never write a book. Where do you live?”

“In Marblehead, Massachusetts, a little north of Boston. But I’m going to move to the western part of the state.”

“You’ll need a lot of room if you’re going to raise a Newfoundland.”

“If I get the house I’m looking at I’ll have a little over an acre. The property’s pretty much off the beaten path and it’s on a river.”

“That sounds good. I won’t sell a dog to someone that doesn’t have room to care for it.” She looked into Sam’s box. “Better see if the mother wants a drink. Panting dries them out.” Sam got up, first onto his knees and then, bracing himself against the side of the box, pushed himself up. Madeline watched, concerned about him. “Sam, if this is too much, you don’t need to do it.”

“I’m all right. Just takes me a few seconds to adjust.” When he was up, he arched backward, then picked up the water bowl and set it beneath the bitch’s muzzle. The dog drank her fill, and he placed the bowl outside the box. Slowly he resumed his reclining position.

“Do you have a family ?” she asked when he was settled.

“Three children. A son and two daughters. They’re in their thirties now.”

“And your wife?” she asked tentatively.

“My wife . .” He stopped. How should I say it? She left me? She disappeared? “I haven’t seen her for two years. I don’t know if she’s alive or, or not.”

“I’m sorry.” She started to say something else, but couldn’t seem to find the words.

“That’s all right. It’s been some time now. I’m getting used to her being gone, to being alone.”

She seemed to lose herself in her thoughts for a while before she said, “I worry about John’s flying. Not our little Cessna, but the jets. He’s still in the reserves and spends a weekend a month with the Air Force.” Speaking as if thinking out loud, she said, “I can’t imagine how I’d be able to go on if something happened to him.”

“The hardest part for me is not knowing. If she had written that she was leaving me or if the police had found a body . .” He caught his breath. “But nothing.”

Again Madeline said, “I’m sorry.”

Whether induced by the early morning hour or his lack of sleep or the warm sanctuary of the barn, Sam began to tell her about the woman he’d seen who he thought might be Sarah. She listened, but her expression was more of pity for an old man caught up in a dream than belief in what he was saying.

“My wife, her name’s Sarah, worked for a design company. She was a national manager, but she started with the company as a photographer the year we got married. She kept up the photography as a hobby and was really very good. I’ve got some pictures she took of Annie Haas’s dogs which are remarkable.” He paused, then fixed his eyes on Madeline’s. “In fact they’re exactly the same style as the pictures in the book, Newfies And Their Friends.”

Gradually Madeline’s expression changed from compassion to suspicion as she began to comprehend Sam’s meaning. “You’re not here to buy a puppy.”

He faced her, his expression pleading for understanding. Speaking slowly, he said, “You and Dave Cowan are the last hope I have of finding out what happened to her.”

“I’m not telling you a damned thing,” she said angrily.

“Please. Just listen to me. I’m sure that Susan Lang is my wife.”

Madeline stood up as if to leave, then seemed to realize she couldn’t walk out on the puppies. Turning her back to him, she went to the window and stared out at the stormy night.

Sam sighed. “Look, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to put something over on you.” He paused. “No, that’s wrong. I did mean to at first because I thought you wouldn’t talk to me.”

“I’m not talking now, either.” Sam pushed himself up into a standing position. “And stay over there. Don’t come near me.”

“I won’t, but I want you to hear me out. I’ve come two thousand miles to speak with you.” When she didn’t answer, he continued talking to her back. “It’s more than the style of the pictures in the book. The initials: S. L. — Susan Lang, Sarah Langley. And the dedication: ‘To Sam Forever’. All I ask, Madeline, is that you look at a picture of my wife and tell me if she’s Susan Lang.”

She wheeled around, facing him. “And who the hell are you? You call yourself Sam Langley. Is that a lie too?”

“Look,” he said reaching into his pocket, “here’s my driver’s license, and you can check Amazon.com for my name and my two books.”

They stared at each other without speaking, she taking long deep breaths and he letting his shoulders sag in supplication.

“No,” she said, and waved away his offer. Returning to the whelping box, she sat down and picked up a puppy that had strayed into a corner and placed it beside its mother. Staring blankly into the box she seemed to collect her thoughts. “Yeah, I would like to see your driver’s license.” Sam willingly fished his wallet from his back pocket and handed it to her. She looked at the picture, then at Sam, and handed it back to him.

After a full minute of silence, she said, “I hate to be lied to, and don’t ever do it again.” She sighed. “But it’s more than that. If what you say is true, then Susan Lang may be dead.” She looked at Sam with sadness. “She was here for only a month, but we became friends. She wrote me a couple of letters when she left, but after that, nothing. I was afraid something had happened to her. She wouldn’t just drop me like that. We’d become too close.”

“I know,” Sam said softly. One of the bitches stood, freeing herself of her puppies, and lay down on the floor outside the box. Sam moved the squirming puppies onto the heating pad where they immediately fell asleep. “If you’d watch these for a while, I’ll go to the cottage and get a picture of my wife.”

“Go on. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Sam put his glasses into his shirt pocket, pulled on his coat and went out into the rainy night. The envelope containing pictures of Sarah as well as those she took at Annie’s were in the dresser drawer. He tucked the lot of them under his coat and returned to the dog barn.

The first one Madeline looked at was of Sarah sitting on Annie’s porch with Maggie. She drew in her breath and said, “That’s her, Susan.”

“Sarah,” Sam said.

She gave him a quick glance, then nodded slowly. Taking her time, she went through all the pictures, those Sarah had taken of Annie’s dogs and those Annie had taken of Sarah. Nodding her head slowly, she returned the pictures, and said, “I’m sorry I put up such a fuss.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “You say you’re looking for her. So you think she might be alive?”

“I wouldn’t have come all the way out here if I didn’t.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, nodding her head slowly. “What can I do to help?”

Sam asked, “How did you meet Sarah?”

“I didn’t meet Sarah. I met Susan Lang. It was at a dog show in San Francisco. She asked if she could take pictures of the dogs I was grooming for the show and I said yes. I liked her. She had a good sense with animals. We wound up having dinner together. I saw her again the next day and she asked if she could come to Pinnacle to do a feature on me and my dogs. I was delighted.”

“When exactly was she here?”

“Let’s see. The National was in June two years ago and she came up directly after that.”

Sam dropped his head. “She told me she was going to the west coast for an extended business trip. That was the last I saw her.”

“Then you knew nothing about her being at the show or here at Pinnacle?”

“No.” He looked at her. “I assumed she was working. She often took long trips. After a month the kids and I began to worry. We eventually went to the police.”

“And all that time she was here.”

Frowning, Sam asked, “Did you talk much?”

“Actually, she kept very much to herself — like me, I guess, and both of us understood and respected that in each other. We installed her in the guest cottage, and she set about taking pictures. She turned the bathroom into a dark room and developed her photos as she took them.”

“And she never mentioned a family?”

“No. I noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring so I assumed she wasn’t married.”

“No ring?” She always wore her ring, Sam said to himself.

Madeline saw his distress. “What can I say? We didn’t talk about family. She met John, of course, and they got along well, but she never asked about us and I didn’t ask about her relationships.”

“Then maybe she is alive,” Sam said sadly, “alive and living with someone else.” He drew in a deep breath and said, “I recently learned that she closed out her savings account three month before she came here. She was planning to leave even then.”

“I said we didn’t talk about personal matters, but it was clear to me the she was upset about something.”

“Upset?” Sam asked.

“Yes. Agitated. I never saw her sit calmly with her own thoughts. She kept herself busy taking pictures, developing them, running errands into town. When I asked if she was all right, she’d answer nervously that she was okay.” Madeline waited for a moment, than said, “If you don’t mind my asking, were you two having problems?”

“I didn’t think so. Our life had a kind of pattern to it. After I retired I took care of the house and wrote, and she went to work, business trips mostly. When she wasn’t traveling, we’d go out for dinner at least once a week, but most of the time it was quiet evenings at home. It was pretty comfortable.”

They sat in silence for several moments, then Madeline said, “Sam, it’s almost time for Julia to relieve us. Why don’t you go on up to the house and get some sleep. I can handle it here.”

“I think that’s a good idea, if it’s okay with you.” He got up slowly, stretched and walked to the door, bent slightly and feeling very old.

He crossed to the house and found Julia in the kitchen whipping up a bowl of pancake batter. “Want some breakfast before you go to bed? Pancakes are best when they’re fresh.”

“I guess I am hungry. Something about the air out here. Can I help?”

“No. Just relax and have a cup of coffee.”

Sam looked at his watch. It would be about nine o’clock in Marblehead, so Russ should be home, probably just getting up. “Mind if I make a long distance call? I’ll pay you back.”

“Help yourself.”

After the fourth ring, the answering machine cut in. When the automatic message ended, Sam said, “Russ, this is Dad. Give me a call as soon as the mail comes. I want to know if there’s a letter for me from Susan Lang or her publisher in New York.” Then he left the telephone number. When they’d eaten, Sam went to the cottage and took a two hour nap.

He awoke to see the sun breaking through clouds, warming the day. At the barn he found Madeline sitting on the floor of a room that looked like a dispensary. She was clipping the toe nails of a large dog. The dog seemed to enjoy the attention and let Madeline know by licking her face. When she finished with the toe nails, she scraped tartar from his teeth with what looked like a dental tool. This he didn’t like.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” he asked her.

“Not often when we’re whelping. If you’ve got nothing better to do, how about taking the popper-scooper and cleaning the dog yard?”

He’d filled three buckets with poop when John called to him from the house. “Sam, you’ve got a phone call.”

Sam stowed the buckets by the fence and walked as quickly as he could to the house. It was his son. “I think we might have a contract coming on the house,” Russ said. “Dorothy called and said you’d better be ready in a day or two to sign a contract.”

“I agreed to be here for a few more days. Can’t she fax it to me?”

“She was pretty insistent on you being here. Said they’re quibbling about the price.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He was about to say good bye when he remembered why he called Russ earlier. “Did a letter come for me from someone named Susan Lang?”

“Mail hasn’t come yet. There was nothing yesterday. Oh, by the way. A Vera Ashby telephoned. Wants you to give her a call.”

That’s strange, Sam thought. Wonder what she’s up to. Tucking it away in his mind he said, “Tell Dorothy to hold her horses and I’ll get back as quick as I can.”

Sam went back to the barn and spoke to Madeline. He told her about the contract coming in on his house, but that he was willing to stay two more days if she needed him. She insisted he make arrangements to go home as soon as possible. With the whelping completed, she said she could watch three boxes as easily as one.

“We’ll manage,” she assured him. “It’s not every day you sell a house.”

The first flight Sam could get was early the next morning. John said he had to go to Regina and would fly Sam to the airport. Julia, anxious to get away after several days in the whelping box said she’d return Sam’s rental car to Regina, visit a friend and fly back later in the week with her dad. Sam was so grateful he offered to take her afternoon shift with the puppies.

Mid afternoon, Madeline came into the barn. “There’s some things I think I should tell you about your wife. Do you mind?”

“No,” he said apprehensively, bracing himself for something he might not want to hear.

She was silent for a moment, probably formulating her thoughts. Then she said, “I almost told you this last night when you said you thought your wife might have been planning to leave you. You were so tired I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. Now, I expect you’re going to go to Pemaquid Point and talk to Dave.” Sam nodded yes. “I thought so. Then I’d better tell you.”

Sam closed his eyes, knowing that his fears about Sarah leaving him were about to be confirmed. If true, he had to hear it sooner or later.

“Sarah had been here three weeks when Dave Cowan arrived in his RV. He’d been in San Francisco for the National and had taken some time off to tour the coast. I’d asked him to come by here the end of the month because I wanted to breed his dog, Condor, with two of my bitches that were due about then.

“You’ve seen pictures of Dave in the book so you know he’s a good looking guy. He’s also a lot of fun. At first Susan — I’m sorry Sam, but it’s easier if I call her that — Susan was too busy getting pictures ready for the book to have time for Dave. At least that’s what she said, but frankly, I think she was too depressed to be around somebody so outgoing. He saw this as a challenge and did his best to make friends. Well, to make a long story short, a few days before he was ready to head back east, he’d drawn her out of her distress. They were taking Condor for long walks, coming back holding hands and laughing. I know this is hard for you, but it was a pleasure to see her happy.”

It was hard. He felt he was drowning in Madeline’s words, each one pulling him deeper into malaise.

“She came to me one day and said Dave had agreed to let her do a feature about him and Condor for the book, and that she was driving back with him to Maine. I hated to see her go, but to tell you the truth, I wasn’t surprised. She packed up her developing equipment and her few clothes, and they left. She promised to write and come back to see me again when the book came out.”

Madeline was sitting beside Sam on the whelping box. She placed her hand on his shoulder, patting it gently as one might a grieving, elderly parent.

“A month after they left, she sent me a couple of pictures of herself.” She gave Sam a hesitant glance, then said, “I can get them if you’d like.” The prospect of seeing a picture of Sarah taken at the very time he and his children were grieving for her, was like a slap in the face. A nod was all he could manage. “I’ll be right back,” Madeline said, and left. A few minutes later, she returned reading a letter as she approached. “This is the letter that came with the pictures. I think it’s all right if you want to read it.”

He looked at her cautiously, then took the pictures and letter. First he looked at the photos. There were two: one of Sarah standing at the top of rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. A large Newfoundland sat beside her gazing at her. Sarah was smiling, probably at Dave Cowan, with that smile that said, “Come on now, take the picture.” How many times had he seen that smile? Her brown hair had only a few strands of gray. Her eyes sparkled with joy. Her khaki shirt was open at the neck and her sleeves were rolled up. She had on khaki pants and hiking boots. With her left hand, she rubbed the dogs head. The details of the picture blurred and Sam lifted his glasses to wipe his eyes.

“She looks happy,” he said.

Madeline nodded. “And much healthier. That’s Condor with her.”

“I surmised as much.”

He looked at the next picture. Sarah was sitting in the passenger seat of a helicopter. The door was open and her right foot was still on the landing strut step. Dressed as she was in the other picture with the addition of light jacket, she was waving with her right hand. And laughing.

“That’s the helicopter Dave uses for rescue work,” Madeline said.

Sam dropped his hands to his lap, the pictures still in them, and took a deep breath. Then he picked up the letter and unfolded it. It was dated July the year she disappeared and had a Pemaquid Point return address.

Dear Madeline,

You asked how I was feeling? I thought pictures could tell you better than words.

It’s summer on the Point and flowers are growing in little clumps around the cottage. The ocean is a brilliant blue when the sun’s out, but it’s been rainy and windy much of the time.

Dave is teaching me rescue at sea. So far it’s all been on the ground, but as soon as the weather calms down, he’s taking me with him and Condor for a practice run in the ocean.

I’m trying to keep busy so my mind will be occupied. Dave helps.

How are all my Newfy friends at Pinnacle? My publisher has the manuscript and you should see the book if and when they decide to publish it. Remember me to Julia and John.

Thank you again for all you did.

Love, Susan

Sam folded the letter and put it and the pictures back in the envelope, then stared blankly across the room.

“Well,” he said somberly, “it’s best I know. She sounded happy in the letter, like she’d found the place she wants to be.” And the person she wants to be with, he said to himself.

“Yes, when she wrote the letter,” Madeline said, “but she’s not there now, at least as far as I know.” Sam looked at her puzzled. “When the puppies Condor sired were born, I e-mailed Dave to tell him. I also asked him to give my love to Susan. He e-mailed back and said she’d gone. He’d been away in Japan the first three weeks of September and when he got back she wasn’t there.”

Sam frowned, “Have you talked to him since?”

“Several times. He’s never mentioned Susan again.”

“I’m still glad you told me. If I’d gone rushing up to Maine, I could have made a fool of myself.”

Madeline was nodding her head as he spoke. “That’s why I thought you ought to see the letter.”

“Maybe I won’t go there at all. I don’t see the point of it now.”