Free More Than a Dream by Lauraine Snelling

He never initiated conversation either, so unless someone spoke to him, he lived in a word-free world.
    Andrew kicked a rock-hard clump of black dirt ahead of him. He whistled a tune, his thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his pants. What a perfect day to go fishing. But then, any day was a perfect day to go fishing. Wouldn’t his mother love a string of perch to fry for supper? In spite of a full stomach topped off by gingerbread, he could taste the crispy fried fish. Now if Baptiste still lived around here, he’d have brought them strings of fish, or a mess of squirrels or rabbits, or a deer if he’d have seen a buck. Farming took too much time away from hunting and fishing. He remembered stories his mother told of the early days when the sky had been black with migrating ducks and geese. She said you only had to aim at the sky and surely you’d hit at least one. While Andrew doubted the flocks were that thick, his tante Kaaren had corroborated his mother’s stories, and Tante Kaaren never exaggerated when telling stories like his mother often did.
    He whistled a three-tone call that Baptiste had always used to announce his presence and waited for Metiz to come out of her house.
    ‘‘In back.’’
    ‘‘Okay.’’ He followed her voice, and when he stepped around a woodpile that needed splitting and stacking, he saw her sitting on a bench on the back porch, a basket at her feet, something black and brown and furry in her lap. ‘‘How are you?’’ He nodded toward the wood. ‘‘I’ll come split and stack that as soon as I can.’’
    ‘‘This for you.’’ Metiz stood and held out a squirming puppy.
    ‘‘Really?’’ Andrew crossed to the porch and took the puppy in both hands. ‘‘Look at his feet. He’s going to be a big dog.’’ Andrew gathered the bundle of wriggling fur and pink tongue into his chest. ‘‘Where did you get him?’’
    ‘‘A member of my tribe. He say I need dog. I say you need dog.’’
    ‘‘He looks like someone spattered gray and black and brown paint all over him.’’ The puppy chewed on Andrew’s thumb, his tail whipping in ecstasy. ‘‘And one white foot. Does he have a name?’’
    ‘‘No, you name.’’
    Andrew sat down on the bench beside Metiz. ‘‘You sure you want to give him away?’’
    She nodded. ‘‘He need longtime home.’’
    ‘‘You planning on going somewhere else?’’ He glanced at her out of the side of his eye and caught her shrug.
    ‘‘One never know.’’
    ‘‘Well, I must get back to work. Thank you for my new friend here.’’
    ‘‘You most welcome. He meant for you.’’
    Andrew, puppy in his arms, headed for home. ‘‘How did she know, Mor?’’ he asked after showing Ingeborg his gift.
    ‘‘It wouldn’t be hard to figure out, knowing how much you loved Paws. But Metiz senses things. She always has.’’
    ‘‘Did she say anything to you about going somewhere?’’
    ‘‘No, why?’’
    ‘‘Just . . . I don’t know. She said the puppy needed a longtime home, and when I asked her if she was going somewhere, she said, ‘One never knows.’ Strange, isn’t it?’’
    Please, God, don’t let it be what I fear .

C HAPTER S IX

    Northfield, Minnesota
    Playing the piano was more soothing than a cool bath.
    Elizabeth let her fingers trail over the keys, rippling from chord to chord and melody to melody. She closed her eyes and let the music seep into her muscles and bones, trickling into her soul, where it began the needed healing, mending the rents and tears of finals week, of not hearing from the school she wanted, of missing Thornton. Thornton Wickersham the Third, whom she originally thought to be pompous and boring but had instead become a good friend, who insisted she take time to laugh and play.
    She hadn’t thought that would be the case, but today the croquet set almost brought her to tears. They’d played many a match on the back lawn, and now she regretted trouncing him so soundly. His