the sofa. Mrs. Bartlett and Mrs. Fairmont returned to the parlor. Mrs. Bartlett was carrying a silver coffee service. Her mother followed with a plate of miniature pastries.
"Careful!" Mrs. Bartlett cried out.
The dog launched himself from my lap. Barking ferociously, he skidded across the floor toward Mrs. Bartlett, who stuck out her left foot to keep him away. The tray tipped to the side. I jumped up and rushed toward her as the tray moved the other way and the coffeepot slid to the edge. Flip, his teeth bared, continued to bark and dance around her feet. Mrs. Fairmont stood motionless with her mouth slightly open.
"Stop it!" Mrs. Bartlett said. "Get away!"
Like a basketball player scrambling for a loose ball, I lunged to the floor and grabbed the wiggling animal with my right hand. But it was too late. Mrs. Bartlett lost control of the tray. The pot flew off, followed by three cups, saucers, the sugar container, and a cream pitcher. The sound of clattering metal and breaking china in the quiet house was deafening.
Mrs. Bartlett swore. The black coffee was pooling across the wooden floor toward the rug. Instinct took over. I grabbed the coffeepot, knelt on the floor, and positioned my dress between the coffee and the rug. I pressed down with my hands in an effort to block the progress of the coffee. The long length of my dress came in handy. "Someone get a washrag or paper towels," I said.
Mrs. Bartlett hurried out of the room. Mrs. Fairmont stared at me and seemed stuck in the moment. I could feel the coffee against my free hand. In spite of my efforts, it was continuing to creep toward the rug. There was nothing else to do. I sat down on the floor between the coffee and the rug. I could feel the hot coffee on my thigh, but it wasn't warm enough to burn me. I looked up at Mrs. Fairmont. Flip calmed down, and I held him in my lap. The old woman put the pastry tray on a chair.
"Get up, child. It's not worth ruining your dress to clean up a spill."
"I couldn't let it ruin the rug. I can wash the dress, but I don't know how you would clean a rug like that."
Mrs. Bartlett returned from the kitchen with washcloths. Flip started barking again. Mrs. Bartlett handed the washcloths to me and quickly backed away. I slipped to my knees and tossed the cloths on the rest of the coffee. The rug was saved.
"I thought you were going to keep that dog in his room," Mrs. Bartlett said, turning toward her mother. "I called and reminded you this morning."
"He must have been in my bedroom," Mrs. Fairmont said apologetically. She looked down at me. "I'm so sorry about your dress."
Mrs. Bartlett turned to me as if just realizing what I'd done. "How courageous of you," she said. "To sacrifice your outfit."
"I'm not sure how courageous it was, Mrs. Bartlett. It was coffee, not a hand grenade."
I stood and moved one of the washcloths across the floor with my foot.
"It's that dog's fault," Mrs. Bartlett said, refocusing on Flip. "This isn't a house for a dog, no matter what you think. Especially a vicious one!"
Mrs. Fairmont, a dazed look in her eyes, stared at Mrs. Bartlett without saying a word. I picked up Flip and could feel a growl in his throat. I rubbed his back.
"Take him away!" Mrs. Bartlett said. "And lock him up in that dog palace you created for him."
Mrs. Fairmont seemed to reconnect with her surroundings.
"If Miss Taylor will carry him, we'll put him in his room."
"Yes ma'am."
I followed Mrs. Fairmont through the foyer.
"I'll call Gracie and have her come right over and clean up this mess," Mrs. Bartlett called after us. "She doesn't have a regular house to clean on Saturday, does she?"
"I can take care of it," I said over my shoulder. "Find the broom and a dustpan."
I patted Flip on the head and whispered in his ear. "I understand. You're just protecting your territory like your wolf ancestors."
"I HAVE A PLACE FOR FLIP IN THE BASEMENT," MRS. FAIRMONT SAID.
We walked down a short hallway past a paneled room
"Careful!" Mrs. Bartlett cried out.
The dog launched himself from my lap. Barking ferociously, he skidded across the floor toward Mrs. Bartlett, who stuck out her left foot to keep him away. The tray tipped to the side. I jumped up and rushed toward her as the tray moved the other way and the coffeepot slid to the edge. Flip, his teeth bared, continued to bark and dance around her feet. Mrs. Fairmont stood motionless with her mouth slightly open.
"Stop it!" Mrs. Bartlett said. "Get away!"
Like a basketball player scrambling for a loose ball, I lunged to the floor and grabbed the wiggling animal with my right hand. But it was too late. Mrs. Bartlett lost control of the tray. The pot flew off, followed by three cups, saucers, the sugar container, and a cream pitcher. The sound of clattering metal and breaking china in the quiet house was deafening.
Mrs. Bartlett swore. The black coffee was pooling across the wooden floor toward the rug. Instinct took over. I grabbed the coffeepot, knelt on the floor, and positioned my dress between the coffee and the rug. I pressed down with my hands in an effort to block the progress of the coffee. The long length of my dress came in handy. "Someone get a washrag or paper towels," I said.
Mrs. Bartlett hurried out of the room. Mrs. Fairmont stared at me and seemed stuck in the moment. I could feel the coffee against my free hand. In spite of my efforts, it was continuing to creep toward the rug. There was nothing else to do. I sat down on the floor between the coffee and the rug. I could feel the hot coffee on my thigh, but it wasn't warm enough to burn me. I looked up at Mrs. Fairmont. Flip calmed down, and I held him in my lap. The old woman put the pastry tray on a chair.
"Get up, child. It's not worth ruining your dress to clean up a spill."
"I couldn't let it ruin the rug. I can wash the dress, but I don't know how you would clean a rug like that."
Mrs. Bartlett returned from the kitchen with washcloths. Flip started barking again. Mrs. Bartlett handed the washcloths to me and quickly backed away. I slipped to my knees and tossed the cloths on the rest of the coffee. The rug was saved.
"I thought you were going to keep that dog in his room," Mrs. Bartlett said, turning toward her mother. "I called and reminded you this morning."
"He must have been in my bedroom," Mrs. Fairmont said apologetically. She looked down at me. "I'm so sorry about your dress."
Mrs. Bartlett turned to me as if just realizing what I'd done. "How courageous of you," she said. "To sacrifice your outfit."
"I'm not sure how courageous it was, Mrs. Bartlett. It was coffee, not a hand grenade."
I stood and moved one of the washcloths across the floor with my foot.
"It's that dog's fault," Mrs. Bartlett said, refocusing on Flip. "This isn't a house for a dog, no matter what you think. Especially a vicious one!"
Mrs. Fairmont, a dazed look in her eyes, stared at Mrs. Bartlett without saying a word. I picked up Flip and could feel a growl in his throat. I rubbed his back.
"Take him away!" Mrs. Bartlett said. "And lock him up in that dog palace you created for him."
Mrs. Fairmont seemed to reconnect with her surroundings.
"If Miss Taylor will carry him, we'll put him in his room."
"Yes ma'am."
I followed Mrs. Fairmont through the foyer.
"I'll call Gracie and have her come right over and clean up this mess," Mrs. Bartlett called after us. "She doesn't have a regular house to clean on Saturday, does she?"
"I can take care of it," I said over my shoulder. "Find the broom and a dustpan."
I patted Flip on the head and whispered in his ear. "I understand. You're just protecting your territory like your wolf ancestors."
"I HAVE A PLACE FOR FLIP IN THE BASEMENT," MRS. FAIRMONT SAID.
We walked down a short hallway past a paneled room
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