Chapter 6

Missy appeared at our home in late March. She immediately — and inadvertently — turned the household upside down.

In the first place, she rapidly put on weight until she was where Rob Richards thought she should be. And, in the process, she became the greatest living fan of JJ’s cooking. Whatever JJ prepared, Melissa loved. And since JJ just adored cooking...

I found a phonics-based course in teaching reading. Missy burned through that entire course with a speed not to be believed.

But that wasn’t all. It took no time at all for her to learn of our exercise regimen. And in spite of the fact that at the beginning she wasn’t much more than skin and bones, she insisted on doing the same exercises we did. Martha bought more exercise machines scaled to her smaller size, and off she went.

Our nudity around the house not only didn’t bother her, in a curious way it was reassuring to her. After all, it was all she had ever experienced prior to coming to live with us.

Finally, since everyone (except me) had duties around the house, Missy insisted on that, too. She began working on the gardens and grounds with Paul. It was funny, really. You may have heard of people talking to plants? Well, apparently Missy did. She never told us what she said, but we could see her around the flowers talking softly.

And you know what? They honest-to-God seemed to respond. While she was talking to them, they seemed to stand up straighter and taller, and their colors seemed to become even more vivid. At the same time, she would walk all around the grounds seeming to dare a weed to show its ugly head. As far as I could tell, there never were any.

Then one day I received a surprise. There was a truck-mounted crane on the sidewalk in front of the house and it was being used to disassemble the front fence.

I guess this is something I omitted. While the house was being rebuilt, Martha had made arrangements for the front. In the first place, all overhead utility wires had been buried so that nothing obstructed the view of the house. In the second place, the whole sidewalk had been replaced. Formerly, it was asphalt, the cheapest sidewalk possible. Now it was brick, set edgewise in a herringbone pattern and set on gravel and sand excavated down a number of feet. It was really lovely and very much in keeping with the house.

Along the lot-line at the front was a brick-based fence. The brickwork rose about a foot above the ground and it was topped by a wrought-iron fence that rose another two-and-a-half feet. The iron fence sections were about eight feet wide and were held between brick columns, appropriately spaced.

When the house had been redone, the fence was, too. Now, though, instead of crumbling brickwork, the fence was now brick-faced reinforced concrete set deep into the ground. What were formerly brick columns were now brick-faced reinforced concrete posts with stainless-steel eyebolts used to support the wrought iron. For some reason, though, although everything else had been replaced, the wrought iron portion had just received a coat of paint. Quite honestly it was dramatically below the standard of everything else.

But when I asked Marty what was going on, she just replied airily that it was a little thing that Maria and Missy were working on. And, for some reason, I let it go at that. It was interesting, though, to see that great care was being taken with the wrought-iron sections. The bed of the truck had been fitted with racks into which each section was carefully placed to ensure that no section came in contact with any of the others.

And so it stayed for a few days. Then Missy asked if I could drive Maria and her to the shop where the fence sections were being worked on. I didn’t really see what I was needed for — maybe she just wanted me to have something to do — but what the hell? Off we went in the Beamer.

When we arrived, I found all the iron sections in various stages of finish. Large-scale sand-blasting equipment was being used to take off all the finish from the last section, while other sections had already received at least two coats of primer. They were apparently waiting for us before applying the finish coats.

The two girls went over every inch of the section that had just been sand-blasted to ensure that the iron was completely clean. It was. But then they concentrated on the center of the piece, and I went over to see what they were doing.

I received quite a surprise. In the center of each section was an oval about eight inches wide by about five inches high. Obviously, whatever it was had been there from the beginning, but I had never noticed it before. On the oval was an image of some kind.

When I reached them, Missy had just asked Maria what she thought. Maria had been studying an oval with a magnifying glass. “All I can say, honey, is that you have incredibly sharp eyes. There’s no sign of these icons ever having been done in color. Furthermore, over the years the images were essentially filled in with paint, so they were lost.”

“But what is it?” I asked.

“It’s something Missy found ... or thought she did,” Maria replied. Then she grinned and added, “On these icons is the whole darned Battle of Yorktown. The first shows the British taking up positions on the York River. A couple of the later ones even show the Battle of the Chesapeake Capes when the French drove off the British fleet that was coming to relieve Cornwallis. And the last icon shows the British surrender. [Author’s note: It’s interesting that British armies have only surrendered three times in history. The first was at Saratoga in 1777, the second was at Yorktown in 1781, and the third was at Singapore in 1942.]

“Isn’t it fabulous? The whole thing was done less than 60 years after the battle, and you know what’s really funny?”

“What?”

“The ironwork was produced in England,” Maria responded. “Golly ... I wonder what the workmen making these sections thought?”

“I think it’s wonderful, but now what?”

“You’ll see, Gram,” Missy replied. Then she produced a stack of what appeared to be oval pieces of paper. It turned out that they were masks she and Maria had made to cover the icons before the finish coats of black paint were to be applied. In just a few minutes the two of them had covered all the icons and I got to see the finish coats put on. It was really quite interesting. They put electrified wire clips on a fence section and it seemed to have the effect of magnetizing the fence with respect to paint. A worker started spraying with a spray gun and it was possible to see the paint going one way and then being pulled back toward the fencing. Fascinating!

A few days later, the same truck reappeared and carefully placed the iron sections in a part of the garage that wasn’t being used. And I learned something else about the girls’ attention to detail: I learned that the two of them had spent weeks trying to determine the correct shade of red to use on the British uniforms. You won’t believe what they did: They managed to find a British woolen factory that had actually produced uniforms for the army. And, somehow, they had been able to persuade someone there to go into old storerooms on a search that ultimately turned up a bolt of cloth dating from the turn of the 19^th century in British Army red. The girls had a large piece cut from close to the end of the bolt so it had never been exposed to light from the day its dye had dried. It might not have been the exact shade of red, but there was no one alive in a position to argue.

When the two finished their work, they even capped each icon with a very shallow dome of plastic that had been formulated to filter out ultra-violet light, which could fade the colors. Again, the crane truck appeared and the fence sections were put back in place. When they finished, the rest of us walked from end to end, and it was so exciting! There, in bas relief, was the entire Battle of Yorktown fought just a few miles away from where we were standing. It was just so neat!

But you know what? Nothing was said to anyone outside of our family. And in spite of the vivid colors — the British red, the French white, and the American blue — no one seemed to notice. Just as well.

Now it was June and Missy’s birthday. By then, she was back to normal and a raving beauty. Looking at her, it was apparent that she would be her mother’s twin. In just a few short months, she had grown two inches and appeared to be on her way to her mother’s five feet ten, or very close to it.

For the occasion of her birthday, the whole family ate in the dining room for a change. And JJ really outdid herself, too. The dinner was utterly spectacular and ended with a magnificent birthday cake. Melissa was so excited and happy, I thought she would burst. When dinner was finished, we all adjourned to the library for Missy to open her birthday presents.

To say she appreciated her gifts would be the understatement of the year. She was ecstatic, and her joy permeated the whole room. Everyone got the warmest feeling as the gifts were opened. I’m not sure she even noticed, but there were none of significance from either Marty or me. As she was coming to the end, Marty disappeared. Then, when Missy thought it was all over, Marty reappeared leading two giant gray German Shepherds. Both were quite young and not yet fully grown.

“Sweetie,” Marty said softly, “Gram and I wanted you to have something to look after you and keep you out of trouble. So this is Prince and this is Duke. They’re your dogs.”

Missy was utterly speechless. Then she started to cry, but reached out toward Prince. The dog moved close and Missy just hugged and kissed him. Then she did the same thing with Duke. From that instant, they were her dogs. There was just a two-way flow of love.

But that was just the beginning. It was the most remarkable thing any of us had ever seen. Missy would be sitting on a chair with the two dogs sitting on their haunches in front of her. Their ears were cocked forward and they appeared to be hanging on every word. We never learned what Missy said to them, but she never had to tell either of them a second time to do or not do anything. Any word of hers was Divine Writ as far as the dogs were concerned.

Electrically-operated doors were installed by the front and back doors. The dogs had tiny radios in their collars so that the doors would open and close automatically for them. No one ever had to let them in or out. I guess they had leashes — I think Marty had them on leashes when she brought them into the library — but they were never used again. When she took them for walks — which both she and the dogs loved — one would walk in front of her while the other one stayed beside. If she wanted the dog to turn, she would just tell it so, and that was that.

The most interesting thing was the dogs hated ever to let Missy out of their sight. When JJ had beef rib bones for them, they would only accept them if Missy gave them permission each time. Then they would take them to the hearth in the library and each take a corner of it while they chewed on their bones. But Missy had to stay in the room with them. If she left, regardless of how much dogs love beef ribs, they would leave their bones and follow her.

And at night, both dogs slept in her room. Periodically, one or the other would go downstairs, check around the house to make sure that everything was secure, and then return to her room. Since the two were each about 150 pounds, or about double Missy’s weight, it’s safe to say that she was very safe indeed.

So it went with us home-schooling Missy.

Oh, yes ... One more thing: several times there were workmen in the house for some reason. Once it was a plumber, and another time it was a guy working on our satellite dish. Each time, one of the dogs kept an eye on him. And each of the times I’m thinking about, the dog went after Paul. He followed the dog back and found the workman installing something that was unwanted. In one case it was a tiny TV camera, while in another it was a microphone feeding a tiny radio transmitter. Someone was very interested in us, and we wanted to know who.

Since Jim and Paul can be very persuasive, we quickly learned that each had been hired by Prudence Parker, whoever the hell she might be. It was quite awhile before I found out.

Then one night in late November, I was routed out of bed by the clamorous ring of the telephone. As I grabbed it, I saw Marty jumping out of bed, grabbing a robe and dashing out.

A word about our telephones: They have three distinct rings, two quiet and melodious rings indicating whether the call is from inside or outside, and a clamorous ring for emergencies. I was awakened by its clamorous ring.

“Yes?” I muttered.

It was Jim. “We have a problem in the library, Cathy. You had better come at once.”

After grabbing another short terry robe, I dashed down the stairs. In the library I found the others along with a man dressed all in black face down on the carpet with both his arms and legs outstretched. Prince was on the floor in front of him with his muzzle not a foot away from the intruder and with his hackles raised. As I entered, the man moved a fraction of an inch and instantly Prince let out a frightening growl. That ended the movement.

Jim and Paul were both present wearing slacks and sweatshirts. Missy, naked, as usual, was also there with Duke beside her. She was patting Duke as she looked at me wide-eyed and asked, “They didn’t do anything wrong, did they, Gram?”

“No, darling! Your furry friends couldn’t have been better. They’re guard dogs and they were guarding our home ... and doing a very fine job of it, too.”

“Honey, I think you’d better get a robe,” Jim said softly. “The police will be here any moment.”

Off she dashed with Duke bounding along behind her. Those dogs just never wanted Missy out of their sight.

A few minutes later, she was back wearing a lovely white quilted robe with tiny embroidered flowers on it. She was wriggling her body, so Maria started clipping off the store tags that were scratching her. It was so like Maria: She did dozens of things every day to make our lives more pleasant, but almost invariably, as that night, she did them unobtrusively and without saying a word.

At that point I saw flashing blue lights in the front windows and moments later the doorbell rang. Jim was there to open it and ushered in two uniformed officers, and moments later, two more.

What followed was funny. One of the officers went to cuff the intruder’s hands behind his back but found that the man was essentially catatonic; he was frozen in position and the policeman couldn’t move his arms.

“What happened?” one of the officers asked. It was a general question, not aimed at anyone in particular.

“It was my dogs, sir,” Missy replied diffidently. “They sleep in my room, but often they’ll get up and check the house. I guess they found this man here.” She paused and added, “I think one of them might have bitten him.” Then with her eyes wide she added, “They’re not in trouble, are they, sir?”

The officer, who I gathered was the senior in the group, looked closely at Missy for the first time. She was utterly adorable. I had purchased the robe for her, but as you learned, she had never before worn it. She was utterly beautiful in it.

“Of course not, sweetie,” he replied. “They’re guard dogs doing what they’re trained to do: guarding your home. Who trained them, by the way? I’ve never seen a pair as well-behaved as these two.”

“I did, sir. At least I tried to.”

At that point a couple of plainclothes detectives arrived, one of whom was a detective sergeant, who took over the case. When he noticed that the intruder wasn’t cuffed, the officer explained that the man was frozen stiff. The detective tried to move the man’s arm and found that the officer was right. He looked around and noticed that both Jim and Paul had .44 magnums in their hands. He whistled softly and said, “There’s more than enough firepower in the room. I think you could safely call off your dog. Maybe then we might be able to get this lug to move.”

“Okay, Prince,” Missy said softly.

Instantly the dog was off the floor and beside my granddaughter. She scratched him behind the ear and the animal made that wonderfully happy sound deep in his body; he loved it.