Keeper of the Doves Page 7

  “Mr. Tom got them from the woods. He made little traps and brought them here. Now they’re just going home.”

  We waited for a while, watching the doves’ confusion, and then one of them flew to a nearby tree. Another followed.

  “You know what I was going to do that day, the day Mr. Tom saved my life?”

  “No, Papa.”

  “I was going dove hunting.” Both of us smiled at the thought.

  When all the doves had disappeared in the forest, Papa brushed his hands together.

  He said, “Well, it’s all over now.” And, taking my hand, he started toward home.

  A shadow fell across our path as a cloud hid the sun. I thought it was a warning that a storm was coming. I looked up. The rest of the sky was blue. Our storm had come and gone.

  I said, “Papa, somehow I don’t feel as young as I felt a few days ago.”

  “Nor do I,” said Papa. “Nor do I.”

  chapter twenty-six

  “Z Is Not the End

  Zzzzzzzzzz. Hear that, Adam? That means there is a bee inside that flower. Listen.”

  Zzzzzzzzzzzz.

  “When you hear zzzzzz, Adam, you don’t pick that flower. You don’t even smell that flower.”

  I held Adam’s small hand as we watched the flower, waiting for the bee to exit.

  It had been two years since Mr. Tominski’s funeral. Many things had happened in that two years. We had moved into a new century. The Willows now had electricity, and Papa was talking of a motor car.

  The Bellas had gone to live with Grandmama, where they attended something called Miss Bridges Finishing School, though the few times they had been home, Papa said they didn’t seem quite finished.

  Abigail would be marrying Lamar in the fall. All the sisters would be in the wedding. We already had our dresses—peach organza with embroidered sashes. Aunt Pauline said she didn’t think she could attend, because her wedding to Frederick would have been in the fall. However, she had her dress made just in case.

  “Here he comes, Adam. Bee!”

  Adam said, “McBee.”

  “No, you’re a McBee.” I touched his shoulder. “That is a bee.”

  Adam was two years old now. I had taken over his education, the way the Bellas had taken over mine.

  “Listen, Adam, do you hear any more zzzzzz?”

  Adam put his small hand behind his ear. That was what Aunt Pauline did when there was something she wanted to hear. Adam shook his head.

  “Then we can pick that flower.”

  I picked it and added it to the others in the crook of my arm.

  “Two years ago, Adam, there was a man who lived here—a dove keeper. And I never really got to know him. He went away too soon.”

  “On the choo-choo train?”

  That was too painful a question to answer.

  “But one time—right in this very cemetery—for one brief moment, I had the strange feeling that I did know him. Anyway, today we’re going to put some flowers on his grave.”

  “Let’s go,” he said, his favorite phrase.

  We opened the angel gate to the cemetery and stepped inside. Mr. Tominski’s grave now had a tombstone.

  Mr. Anton Tominski

  Keeper of the Doves

  Departed this day, August 11, 1899

  “Lamb,” Adam said, running to Anita’s grave to pat its head.

  He continued proudly, “Ear . . . eye . . . nose . . .”

  He looked to me for praise. My eyes had misted over because I remembered that day long ago when I recited all the parts of our dog, Scout.

  “Good, Adam.”

  “. . . tail . . .” he continued.

  I laid the roses in front of the stone. Then, with a sigh, I crossed to where Adam knelt beside the lamb. I looked at Anita’s inscription.

  Someday, I said to myself, someday I will write about you, Anita, because even though you only lived ten days, you seemed to make each day count for the people who loved you. You held your sisters’ hands, you smiled, you were loved. You’re still loved. You never, ever cried.

  I lifted my head with a sudden thought. And maybe, Mr. Tominski, one day I’ll write about you.

  “You know, Adam,” I said aloud, “there are poems, there are stories, whole books, about people who lived hundreds, even thousands of years ago. Those people still live because of words. Words! Words are the most wonderful things in the world. As long as there are words, nobody need ever die.”

  “Let’s go,” Adam said.

  “Let’s.”

  And as I closed the gate behind us and the latch clicked shut, I somehow seemed to be closing more than just a gate.

  “I like the lamb,” Adam said.

  “And you knew the words for all the parts.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are a smart boy.”

  “Yes!”

  We started for the house. Adam looked back once for a final glimpse of the lamb while I, as Grandmama would say, turned my face to the future.