Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow - Jessica Day George [8]
“I didn’t.” He gave her a puzzled look.
The girl looked around. No one else was near.
There was a thump on the floor, and the lass looked down at the half-grown pup. It was gazing up at her, wagging its tail. “Can I have a bit, if he doesn’t want it?”
She looked sharply at the puppy. “Did you hear that?” She pointed the lefse stick at the animal, but her question was directed at Hans Peter.
“Hear what?”
“The dog asked for a bit of lefse.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“Yes, I did,” said the dog. Its ears drooped. “But you don’t have to give me any if you don’t want to.”
“Hans Peter,” the lass said, lowering her voice so that the others wouldn’t hear. “The dog is talking to me.”
“I see.” He put aside the bit of wood he’d been carving and carefully sheathed his knife. Standing, he went to his youngest sister and put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you have a headache?”
“No.”
“Have you eaten today?”
“Yes.” She shrugged off the hand in irritation. “He’s speaking to me. I’m not sick or mad or dreaming.” She pointed the stick at the dog again. “Say something else!”
“Can I have a piece before it gets cold?”
“There!” She turned triumphantly to Hans Peter. “Did you hear that?”
“No.” He shook his head, but he looked thoughtful. “But I did hear it make noise. Growls and yips, like dogs do.”
“But I heard the words quite clearly.” She slapped down the stick in frustration. Then, seeing that her mother was looking their way, she quickly spread more batter on the hot griddle and smoothed out another lefse with the edge of the stick. While it was cooking, she turned her attention to the dog again. “Did you know that my brother can’t understand you?” she asked in a low voice.
“No one can,” the dog said easily. “I talk all the time, but you’re the first person to understand.” He raised a hind leg and scratched at one ear. “Your sister is nice, but I beg all day long, and she never gives me anything good.” His big brown eyes fastened on the stack of lefse cooling on the table. “Please? Just a bit?”
The lass tore a strip off the edge of a pancake, rolled it up, and tossed it to the young dog. He caught it with a snap of his teeth and lowered his head to eat. When he was done, he looked back up at her with a sigh. “That tasted as good as it looked,” he told her.
“Thank you,” she said, still stunned.
“Are you still talking to the dog?” Hans Peter’s bewildered expression had passed and now he looked curious.
“Yes, and he’s talking back,” the girl said.
“Have you ever heard an animal talk before?”
“No, I . . . wait.” She pursed her lips. “This morning I could have sworn that one of the chickens said, ‘Here she comes again!’ when I opened the coop. But Einar and Anni were in the yard too.”
“Hmm.” Hans Peter crouched down beside the dog. “Can you talk to me, boy?”
The dog studied him and finally said, “I can try.”
Hans Peter looked up. “It just sounded like a whine.”
“He said he’d try,” she reported.
“What are you two whispering about over there?” Jorunn, jolly and rosy cheeked, came over to the fireside. “Are you teaching Nils’s dog a trick?” Her long-fingered hands rested on her pregnant belly with pride.
Hans Peter and his youngest sister exchanged looks. He cleared his throat. “We were trying to teach the dog to talk, but it doesn’t seem to have worked.”
“Oh, well! Nils says he isn’t very smart.”
The lass bristled at this. The dog seemed quite intelligent to her. “I think he’s smart. Let’s try the trick again.” She winked and pointed a finger at the dog. “Speak, boy!”
The dog sat up and barked.
“Good boy!” The lass tossed it a bit of lefse. “Now, lie down!”
It obediently lay down on the threadbare rug.
Another bit of lefse. “Roll over!”
The dog rolled onto its back.
“Hah!” The lass tossed it a last bit of lefse, amid the cheers of her other sisters, who had crowded around to watch.
“Kindly stop feeding that animal our dinner, pika,” their mother sniffed, bringing an end to the merriment.
“Yes, ma’am.” The girl straightened and went back to work. Jorunn and Hans Peter gave her sympathetic looks.