Winter of the World

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with this puppy,’ Daisy said. ‘He won’t do anything I tell him. I’m going crazy.’ There was a shake in her voice and a tear in her eye, and she was exaggerating only a little.

Charlie Farquharson studied the dog. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him,’ he said. ‘He’s a lovely little fellow. What’s his name?’

‘Jack.’

‘Hmm.’

They were sitting on lawn chairs in the well-kept two-acre garden of Daisy’s home. Eva had greeted Charlie then tactfully retired to write a letter home. The gardener, Henry, was hoeing a bed of purple and yellow pansies in the distance. His wife, Ella, the maid, brought a pitcher of lemonade and some glasses, and set them on a folding table.

The puppy was a tiny Jack Russell terrier, small and strong, white with tan patches. He had an intelligent look, as if he understood every word, but he seemed to have no inclination to obey. Daisy held him on her lap and stroked his nose with dainty fingers in a way that she hoped Charlie would find strangely disturbing. ‘Don’t you like the name?’

‘A bit obvious, perhaps?’ Charlie stared at her white hand on the dog’s nose and shifted uneasily in his chair.

Daisy did not want to overdo it. If she inflamed Charlie too much he would just go home. This was why he was still single at twenty-five: several Buffalo girls, including Dot Renshaw and Muffie Dixon, had found it impossible to nail his foot to the floor. But Daisy was different. ‘Then you shall name him,’ she said.

‘It’s good to have two syllables, as in Bonzo, to make it easier for him to recognize the name.’

Daisy had no idea how to name dogs. ‘How about Rover?’

‘Too common. Rusty might be better.’

‘Perfect!’ she said. ‘Rusty he shall be.’

The dog wriggled effortlessly out of her grasp and jumped to the ground.

Charlie picked him up. Daisy noticed he had big hands. ‘You must show Rusty you’re the boss,’ Charlie said. ‘Hold him tight, and don’t let him jump down until you say so.’ He put the dog back on her lap.

‘But he’s so strong! And I’m afraid of hurting him.’

Charlie smiled condescendingly. ‘You probably couldn’t hurt him if you tried. Hold his collar tightly – twist it a bit if you need to – then put your other hand firmly on his back.’

Daisy followed Charlie’s orders. The dog sensed the increased pressure in her touch and became still, as if waiting to see what would happen next.

‘Tell him to sit, then press down on his rear end.’

‘Sit,’ she said.

‘Say it louder, and pronounce the letter “t” very clearly. Then press down hard.’

‘Sit, Rusty!’ she said, and pushed him down. He sat.

‘There you are,’ said Charlie.

‘You’re so clever!’ Daisy gushed.

Charlie looked pleased. ‘It’s just a matter of knowing what to do,’ he said modestly. ‘You must always be emphatic and decisive with dogs. You have to almost bark at them.’ He sat back, looking content. He was quite heavy, and filled the chair. Talking about the subject in which he was expert had relaxed him, as Daisy had hoped.

She had called him that morning. ‘I’m in despair!’ she had said. ‘I have a new puppy and I can’t manage him at all. Can you give me any advice?’

‘What breed of puppy?’

‘It’s a Jack Russell.’

‘Why, that’s the kind of dog I like best – I have three!’

‘What a coincidence!’

As Daisy had hoped, Charlie volunteered to come over and help her train the dog.

Eva had said doubtfully: ‘Do you really think Charlie is right for you?’

‘Are you kidding?’ Daisy had replied. ‘He’s one of the most eligible bachelors in Buffalo!’

Now Daisy said to Charlie: ‘I bet you’d be really good with children, too.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’

‘You love dogs, but you’re firm with them. I’m sure that works with children, too.’

‘I have no idea.’ He changed the subject. ‘Are you intending to go to college in September?’

‘I might go to Oakdale. It’s a two-year finishing college for ladies. Unless . . .’

‘Unless what?’

Unless I get married, she meant, but she said: ‘I don’t know. Unless something else happens.’

‘Such as what?’

‘I’d like to see England. My father went to London and met the Prince of Wales. What about you? Any plans?’

‘It was always assumed that I would take over Father’s bank, but now there is no bank. Mother has a little money from her family, and I manage that, but otherwise I’m kind of a loose wheel.’

‘You should raise horses,’ Daisy said. ‘I know you’d be good at it.’ She was a good rider and had won prizes when younger. She pictured herself and Charlie in the park on matching greys, with two children on ponies following behind. The vision gave her a warm glow.

‘I love horses,’ Charlie said.

‘So do I! I want to breed racehorses.’ Daisy did not have to feign this enthusiasm. It was her dream to raise a string of champions. She saw racehorse owners as the ultimate international elite.

‘Thoroughbreds cost a lot of money,’ Charlie said lugubriously.