Because of Winn-Dixie - Kate DiCamillo [3]
Winn-Dixie looked at me hard, like he was trying to say something.
“What?” I said.
He stared at me.
“You think I should make the preacher tell me about her?”
Winn-Dixie looked at me so hard he sneezed.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
When I was done working on him, Winn-Dixie looked a whole lot better. He still had his bald spots, but the fur that he did have cleaned up nice. It was all shiny and soft. You could still see his ribs, but I intended to feed him good and that would take care of that. I couldn’t do anything about his crooked yellow teeth because he got into a sneezing fit every time I started brushing them with my toothbrush, and I finally had to give up. But for the most part, he looked a whole lot better, and so I took him into the trailer and showed him to the preacher.
“Daddy,” I said.
“Hmmm,” he said. He was working on a sermon and kind of muttering to himself.
“Daddy, I wanted to show you the new Winn-Dixie.”
The preacher put down his pencil and rubbed his nose, and finally, he looked up.
“Well,” he said, smiling real big at Winn-Dixie, “well, now. Don’t you look handsome.”
Winn-Dixie smiled back at the preacher. He went over and put his head in the preacher’s lap.
“He smells nice, too,” said the preacher. He rubbed Winn-Dixie’s head and looked into his eyes.
“Daddy,” I said, real quick before I lost all my nerve, “I’ve been talking to Winn-Dixie.”
“Is that right?” the preacher said; he scratched Winn-Dixie’s head.
“I’ve been talking to him and he agreed with me that, since I’m ten years old, you should tell me ten things about my mama. Just ten things, that’s all.”
The preacher stopped rubbing Winn-Dixie’s head and held real still. I could see him thinking about pulling his head back into his shell.
“One thing for each year I’ve been alive,” I told him. “Please.”
Winn-Dixie looked up at the preacher and kind of gave him a nudge with his nose.
The preacher sighed. He said to Winn-Dixie, “I should have guessed you were going to be trouble.” Then he looked at me. “Come on, Opal,” he said. “Sit down. And I will tell you ten things about your mama.”
One,” said the preacher. We were sitting on the couch and Winn-Dixie was sitting between us. Winn-Dixie had already decided that he liked the couch a lot. “One,” said the preacher again. Winn-Dixie looked at him kind of hard. “Your mama was funny. She could make just about anybody laugh.”
“Two,” he said. “She had red hair and freckles.”
“Just like me,” I said.
“Just like you,” the preacher nodded.
“Three. She liked to plant things. She had a talent for it. She could stick a tire in the ground and grow a car.”
Winn-Dixie started chewing on his paw, and I tapped him on the head to make him stop.
“Four,” said the preacher. “She could run fast. If you were racing her, you couldn’t ever let her get a head start, because she would beat you for sure.”
“I’m that way, too,” I said. “Back home, in Watley, I raced Liam Fullerton, and beat him, and he said it wasn’t fair, because boys and girls shouldn’t race each other to begin with. I told him he was just a sore loser.”
The preacher nodded. He was quiet for a minute.
“I’m ready for number five,” I told him.
“Five,” he said. “She couldn’t cook. She burned everything, including water. She had a hard time opening a can of beans. She couldn’t make head nor tail of a piece of meat. Six.” The preacher rubbed his nose and looked up at the ceiling. Winn-Dixie looked up, too. “Number six is that your mama loved a story. She would sit and listen to stories all day long. She loved to be told a story. She especially liked funny ones, stories that made her laugh.” The preacher nodded his head like he was agreeing with himself.
“What’s number seven?” I asked.
“Let’s see,” he said. “She knew all the constellations,