Hope In Every Raindrop Read online

  She took a few more steps into the store and discovered a refrigerated section in the back. It was small, but it had the essentials like bacon, eggs, cheese, and milk, along with a multitude of meats that looked freshly cut and wrapped.

  The middle of the store was full of rows of breads, potato chips, granola bars, and smelled faintly of pure vanilla. One row was clearly marked “Local Goods,” and contained what appeared to be homemade jams or jellies, in particular several different variations of peach.

  As she walked around the store, she used her phone to snap some photos of anything she thought she could use to write about later: brand names she had never heard of, how certain foods were packaged and stacked on the shelves, old pictures and signs that hung from the walls. She also took some quick notes with the pad she carried in her purse, but soon all that took a backseat to her growling stomach.

  A door that led to the back opened and an older man in a white apron and black wire-rim glasses emerged. He was bald except for a short row of hair resting about an inch above each ear, and a bushy white mustache neatly cropped under his nose. Katie couldn’t help but think he looked just like the Monopoly man.

  The man seemed a bit taken aback when he saw a young woman standing in front of him. He adjusted his glasses as if he might be seeing things and then said, "May, uh, I, uh, help you, Miss?"

  Katie smiled and her stomach growled again. "Actually yes, I was just looking for a place to..."

  "Eat," the old man said, finishing her sentence. "I may be old, but I'm not deaf," he added at the confusion on Katie's face.

  "Is there a..."

  The old man again finished her sentence, "restaurant in town? Well, yes and no. We've got food here, but I wouldn't say we're a restaurant. Though I could whip you up a pretty mean sandwich."

  Before Katie could respond he took a few more steps forward, wiped his hand on his apron, and extended it towards her. "I'm Earl, and you are..."

  "Katie," she said, finishing his sentence for a change.

  He chuckled to himself and turned to walk further into the store.

  There weren't many options on the menu at Pearl's Place, but the ham and cheese sandwich that Earl made was absolutely amazing. An inside-out ham and cheese sandwich—that’s what Earl had called it. His secret? Butter each slice of bread and sprinkle the outside with parmesan cheese. So simple, but so delicious. Either that or Katie was just so famished that anything would have been amazing.

  "I hope Earl here isn't bothering you," a woman said from somewhere behind Katie.

  Katie turned on her stool at the only high-top table in the store, to find a plump gray-haired woman holding a large push broom. Her cheeks puffed into little round cotton balls as she smiled, and her voice had that endearing quality of a wise grandmother.

  Katie wiped a drop of mustard from her lip and swallowed the last bit of her sandwich. "Not at all.”

  "Not at all," Earl quickly added. "Miss Price here is a famous writer!" Earl added, which he had learned through the endless conversation he’d engaged her in while making the sandwich.

  The woman ignored Earl and instead introduced herself. "Excuse his manners, he’s all shy at first, but once you get him talking he just doesn't know when to stop. I'm Pearl."

  "Katie."

  "Well, Katie, it is a pleasure to meet you."

  "I love your store," Katie blurted out.

  "Thank you, dear, but I'm afraid it's not much these days," Pearl said, looking towards the worn wooden beams that framed the ceiling.

  "Miss Price is looking for a story!" Earl interrupted again excitedly.

  "Oh, Earl, would you hush up and stop bothering this poor woman." Pearl turned back and whispered to Katie, "I'm sorry, dear, he's always like this when we get somebody in the store."

  "It's okay," Katie said. "I actually am looking for a story to tell."

  Earl's smile was ear to ear as he looked at Pearl with smug satisfaction. “See?”

  "Hmm. Well, I'm afraid Bishopville isn't exactly a big story town,” Pearl said, ignoring her husband. “Not a lot goes on around here. I s'pose that's why most people stick around."

  Katie's smile faded a bit at the news, but she resolved herself as she recalled the words that started her on this journey in the first place.

  There are stories all around you if you only take the time to look.

  "Anyways, enjoy your lunch, dear. C'mon Earl, let's leave Miss Price to finish her meal in peace."

  “But she already finished her sandwich,” Earl pleaded.

  Pearl just glared at him, and Earl stepped from behind the counter and followed her towards the front of the store. She handed him the broom and he began to sweep the floors between each row of shelves.

  Katie crumpled up the wax paper she had been using for a plate, quickly ate the dill pickle wedge that Earl had given her, and found Pearl tidying up behind the register.

  "How much for the sandwich and drink?"

  "That will be five dollars even," Pearl said with a great big smile.

  Katie pulled out her pocketbook and was about to hand over a credit card when she thought better of it. Instead, she pulled out a ten dollar bill and slid it across the counter. "I don't need any change," she added politely.

  Earl was still sweeping the floors and grumbling to himself. "You should tell her about the dogs," he kept mumbling. "I bet she'd like to know about the dogs. And Kyle,” he added.

  "She don't want to hear about no silly dogs," Pearl shouted back.

  Katie couldn’t help her curiosity. "What dogs?"

  Pearl sighed and tapped her finger on the countertop as she looked at Katie, a reserved look on her face. “Miss Price, I just don’t think you ought to be chasin’ after rumors is all.”

  “What rumors?”

  Pearl carried on, talking more in thought than complete sentences. “Doc just hasn’t been the same since…I mean, he still practices an’ all, but…and…Kyle. He really has grown up to be a fine young man, but he’s just gotten so attached to them dogs.” She paused, taking in a deep breath as she fiddled with the white huck rag in her hands. “I just don’t think they’re the type of people that want strangers snoopin’ around their business. No offense, dear.”

  “None taken. Sometimes us writers have to do a little bit of snoopin’, though. What were you saying about the dogs?”

  Pearl hesitated again, but after a few seconds gave in. “Well, I haven’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  “I have.” Earl added.

  “Hush up. You haven’t either.”

  “Seen what?”

  “Supposedly certain people come to town just to see these dogs.”

  “They do, I’ve seen ’em,” Earl added again.

  Pearl just glared at him until he walked a few feet away and went back to sweeping the floors.

  “Like I was saying: people from all over come to see these dogs.”

  “Why? What’s so special about the dogs?”

  “To be honest, dear, I’m not sure. I’m not much of an animal person myself. ’Cept the ones we keep around to butcher and sell.”

  Earl couldn’t help it. He was like a cat waiting for just the right time to pounce. He walked briskly up to Katie. “They’re race dogs. But not just any ol’ race dogs. They’re the cream o’ the crop. The cat’s meow. The bee’s knees. The best thing since little apples. You can’t beat ‘em.” He looked up at Katie, who was listening intently, and went on. “Mainly ‘cause they’re part wolf. Got them long lean legs that can outrun anythin’. But ’specially ‘cause they’re Carolina dogs,” he said with a prideful grin.

  “Earl, you don’t know that.”

  “I do so. Seen it with my own eyes. Seen the boy out runnin’ with ‘em.

  Pearl just shook her head. “It snows here ’bout twice a year. That doesn’t even make sense.”

  "You don't happen to have an address, do you?" Katie asked excitedly, drawing a somewhat surprised look from Pearl.

  "I
don't. But..." Pearl paused, reaching under the counter for a pencil and a scrap piece of paper. She jotted down directions quickly, the loose skin between her elbow and shoulder jiggling as she wrote, and handed the paper to Katie.

  "I hope you find whatever you're looking for, dear."

  "Thanks. I hope I do, too,” Katie said.

  “Oh you’ll find it if you look hard ’nough. There’s somethin’ magical ’bout them dogs,” Earl said, drawing a final stare from his wife that caused him to shuffle to the other end of the store as the front door closed behind Katie.

  Chapter 4

  Almost an hour later, Katie pulled to a stop in front of a dirt road that was split in half by a large banyan tree. The tree’s roots had taken over the driveway and protruded from the orange and brown dirt like natural speed bumps. She hadn’t driven more than a few miles since she left Pearl’s Place, but the roads were long and empty. Pole-mounted street signs were missing or supplanted by barely legible makeshift boards.

  Katie looked back at the directions Pearl had jotted down.

  Drive straight down Anderson until you see a slight bend in the road.

  Take a left onto a dirt road. House will be on the left.

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Katie said to herself as she took a deep breath and made a left turn.

  The sand and dirt crunched under the tires of Katie’s light blue convertible as it turned off the asphalt road. She was too busy looking ahead to see the small cloud of dust kick up from the tires as she eased to a stop several hundred yards later.

  On her left was a faded white double-wide trailer with a long front porch. The roof was dark green, and matched the leaves of several tall trees that stood behind the house.

  She put the car in park and pressed the ignition button adjacent to the steering wheel. The lights on the dash went off and she stepped out of the car.

  Directly across from the house was a two-story barn. One of the oversized sliding doors was pulled open, but the sun cast a shadow that prevented Katie from seeing farther than a few feet into the barn.

  She took several steps up the front porch. As Katie extended her hand to knock on the screen door, a man asked from the side of the porch, "May I help you?"

  Startled, Katie pulled her hand back and cleared her throat, but before she spoke she was taken aback at the sheer size of the man standing there. Perhaps a few inches over six feet, his legs were like tree trunks tight against his jeans, and his forearms looked more like calves as he wrapped his hand around a large walking staff that stopped just past his shoulders. He had a neatly trimmed thin white beard and his hair was pulled back in a ponytail that hung barely above his shoulders.

  Every facet of him seemed imposing. Until he smiled.

  His cheeks puffed with a light red hue and there was nothing but kindness in his eyes. It was like looking at a fitter version of Santa Claus.

  "I’m looking for Doctor Anderson," she finally managed.

  The stranger made his way around the porch railing and took the steps two at a time until he was standing right in front of her.

  "Well, last time I checked that was still me," he said as he held out his hand. "But you can call me Doc. And you are..."

  "Oh, excuse me. I'm Katie Price." As she extended her hand, her elbow brushed against the small spiral notepad poking from her purse.

  "I was actually going to say reporter," Doc said. He hesitated. "But...a reporter wouldn't be out here in a sundress and designer boots. At least not a reporter who's done her homework. And you don't seem like a reporter, anyways."

  He glanced back at her car parked on the dirt path. "And I don't believe you're here as a buyer, or prospective buyer anyways. For one, the pups are only six weeks old, and for two we haven't told anyone about them just yet. Not to mention one of them would likely ruin your nice car."

  Katie was about to speak, but Doc stopped her by holding up his hand. "Wait, don't tell me." He rubbed his thumb and index finger against his chin. "No, I think I was nearly right the first time. So, if not a reporter then...a writer?"

  "How did you do that?"

  "I apologize, it's an old habit of mine. I really should have seen it sooner." He motioned to the notepad sticking out of her purse, and then back to the car. "It was obvious that you're some type of writer, and last I checked reporters don't make enough money for fancy cars. Of course, neither do most writers. Unless they're very good writers, that is. So," Doc continued, "what brings a young writer all the way out here?"

  Before Katie could respond, she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see a black and white piebald dog with shaggy hair trotting away from five puppies chasing furiously after her.

  Doc laughed softly to himself. "She's tired of nursing."

  Katie was still a bit confused until the dog was only a few steps from the porch. Up close, it was clear to see her stomach was loose and sagging, as if she’d been nursing for days on end.

  Doc walked past Katie and down the steps. "Excuse me one moment?"

  Katie nodded.

  "Come on, Biscuit,” Doc said, tapping the dog lightly on the back of her neck. “I've got just the hiding spot for you."

  Biscuit followed Doc around the side of the house. Katie was left alone on the porch with five wild puppies still running in her direction.

  When they reached the steps, the pups looked up at her and began to whine. At first Katie didn't understand, then one of them put his paws on the bottom step and tried to make his way up. They were still too young to make it over the steps, which were a few inches higher than they were tall.

  Katie walked down and sat on the bottom step.

  Four of the puppies were black with a small white triangular marking on their chest and spots of white on their feet, but one of them was entirely black. They nuzzled against her legs, tracking little dirt prints over the toe of her leather boots. She reached down and picked the solid black one up and held it in front of her, one hand on each side of the puppy and her thumbs wrapped under his front legs.

  Katie pulled him close to her and ran her fingers over his fuzzy body. The puppy looked up at her and wrinkled its nose slightly, sniffing at the air around him.

  In a higher-than-normal pitch Katie looked down at the dog and said, "What do you smell?" She scratched his head and around his small ears, already pricked straight up. "I bet the smell of my clothes and perfume is all brand new to you, huh?"

  As she spoke, the puppy suddenly started to scramble out of her lap at the same time the others scurried below the steps in front of her.

  "And where do you think you all are going?"

  She knelt forward off the steps, adjusting her dress so her knees pressed into the grass. She was about to look down under the porch when she heard a low growl a few feet to her left. She hadn’t seen or heard a single thing except the puppies, but now a large black dog stood several yards away.

  Katie drew in her breath quickly, but didn't move.

  His head was huge relative to his body and was lowered, so it was even with his tail. His teeth were not bared, but he was definitely making some sort of growling noise as he stared directly at her. From her knees the dog was almost eye level. She noticed there was no collar around the dog’s neck, unlike Biscuit. And a defined strip of fur down the dog’s back bristled.

  She wasn't sure if she should back slowly up the steps to the porch, make a run for her car, or just sit there on all fours and not move until Doc returned.

  Before she could make a decision, a man appeared on the dirt and grass path several hundred feet behind the dog. With the sun at his back she could only see his silhouette, but he appeared to be holding something up to his mouth. From where she was it looked exactly like a person standing with a harmonica—but not quite a harmonica. Something else.

  A high-pitched whistle lifted over the breeze and ran down towards her. The black dog growled once more, turned, and ran. His gait was smooth and effortless. With long fluid st
rides his back remained perfectly flat as he moved across the land. When Katie finally took her eyes off the dog and looked back towards where the man had been standing, she saw nothing. A few seconds later, the dog crested the horizon and both of them were gone.

  Katie stood and brushed her knees off as Doc approached from the barn.

  "Sorry about that," he said. "But I've got Biscuit a nice little hiding spot in one of the new runs. She should be safe for a few hours at least. So…you were in the middle of telling me why you're here."

  "Well, I'm here to write."

  "Ah, yes, a writer who likes to write. Quite ambitious of you,” he said with a slight grin as he walked back over to one of two empty rocking chairs and sat down. "May I ask how exactly you ended up here, though? I mean, there are so many places in the world to visit. I dare say Bishopville, South Carolina wasn’t at the top of your list. I would have guessed some place fancy like New York City or San Francisco.”

  Katie didn't hesitate. She had thought about this question for a long time during her drive from California. Was what she was doing silly? Just because this was the way her father found his inspiration didn’t mean it would work for her. But around a thousand miles into this trip, she had remembered a story her father once told her.

  "In 1937,” she began aloud, relating the story to Doc, “horse racing was one of the most popular sports in the United States. So popular, that to this day people could probably tell you stories about a famous leviathan of a horse named War Admiral. After winning the Triple Crown that year, War Admiral will always be remembered as one of the greatest race horses to live.

  "But something else happened in 1937 that almost nobody knows. Another horse, competing mostly in smaller races on the West Coast, actually took home more prize money that year than any other horse. Running in these small races, this horse began to stir hope in the hearts of Americans at a time when the Great Depression had hit hard and hope was scarce.

  "A year later, the horse's owner traveled East demanding a match race between the overpowering War Admiral and the no-name filly from the West."