📗 PART 6 – “Something Left Behind”
Three days passed.
The snow melted in slow patches, revealing brittle grass and brown pine needles beneath.
Agnes still didn’t move Bear’s bowl from the hearth.
Didn’t touch the blanket on the rocker.
Didn’t sweep the corner where his fur still gathered like tumbleweed.
“There’s no hurry,” she murmured to herself.
“He was never in a rush.”
On the morning of the fourth day, a noise broke the quiet:
The low growl of tires on gravel.
Agnes peeked through the curtain.
A government truck—park service, probably.
She expected a ranger, maybe someone returning a lost backpack.
But when the door opened, it wasn’t a ranger who stepped out.
It was Molly.
Bundled in a navy parka too big for her. Hair brushed, eyes unsure.
Beside her stood a woman—her mother, Agnes guessed.
Behind them, the driver waited in the idling truck.
Agnes opened the door.
Didn’t say a word.
Molly stepped forward, clutching something in her mittened hands.
“Hi,” the girl said softly.
“You’re… Miss Agnes?”
“Just Agnes is fine.”
The girl looked down at her boots.
Then up.
“He saved me.”
Agnes nodded.
“He did.”
Molly held out the thing in her hands.
It was a small cloth bundle, tied with a blue ribbon.
Agnes untied it gently. Inside: a child’s drawing of Bear, sitting beneath the oak tree.
A red heart floated above his head.
His tail curved into a smile.
Beneath it, in big block letters, were the words:
“THANK YOU BEAR”
Folded inside was a note, written carefully.
Dear Agnes,
My name is Molly. I’m the girl Bear saved. I couldn’t sleep the last few nights because I kept thinking maybe he was hurting. But my mom said he’s not anymore.
I want you to know I love him.
And that I’ll remember him forever.
Also, I want to be a dog doctor now. A vet.Love,
Molly
Agnes blinked back the sting in her eyes.
She ran a finger over the drawing.
“He’d have liked this,” she said.
“He didn’t care for awards, but… he liked being known.”
Molly gave a small smile.
“He was brave. Like in the movies.”
“Braver,” Agnes said.
“Because nobody was watching.”
Molly’s mother stepped forward, placed her hand on Agnes’s arm.
“Thank you for… raising him. For keeping him ready. You didn’t have to do any of it.”
Agnes looked toward the tree line.
“No, I did. He came to me broken. The least I could do was let him leave whole.”
After they left, Agnes stood alone on the porch, the drawing still in her hands.
She didn’t go inside right away.
Instead, she walked to the shed, opened a drawer, and found a small wooden frame.
The last one Earl had made before his stroke.
She placed Molly’s picture in it.
Set it on the mantle, right next to Bear’s collar.
Then, for the first time in days, she picked up his food bowl.
Washed it clean.
Dried it with care.
Not to forget him.
But to make space.
Because somewhere, somehow…
Something was still coming.