Free Mine to Tell by Colleen L Donnelly Page A

light closer as he leaned down where he could see.
    I stopped fanning the pages and thumbed through them instead. I saw nothing, but Kyle was intent on each one.
    “Do you see it?” he asked.
    I stopped and let the Bible fall open, staring at the page.
    “No, I don’t. What are you talking about?”
    He pointed. “Look closely. Right there.”
    Nothing was there, nothing between the pages, nothing to see but verses and numbers. His hand moved nearer to the page and his finger lighted on a verse, a word, a letter. I looked and then I saw it, a tiny penciled line beneath the letter. Not just one, but lots of them, scattered throughout the page. Individual letters with tiny, faint underlines. I looked up at Kyle.
    “You think...”
    He nodded. He took the Bible from my hands and I let him. He worked forward carefully page by page from the one we’d been on. He stopped and then moved backward. I sat anxiously at his side as he studied the pages, wondering if I would have ever noticed them on my own…or with Trevor…especially if a ballgame was about to begin or Paul Junior was below, bellowing for Trevor to come outside. I looked up from the pages to Kyle.
    His eyes, that wonderful blue, were whirling over the verses and chapters, a passion in them I’d never have guessed him capable of. He looked up suddenly and caught me staring at him. We both blushed and looked away, back down at Julianne.
    “Each book in the Bible is a separate story, maybe a chapter of her life.” He looked at me again. I nodded. “You’d have to write each letter down that she’s underlined and break them into words and sentences, then collect them into her thoughts.”
    I nodded again, my heart rate picking up.
    “I’ll help,” he offered carefully.
    “Why did you think she’d leave a story? And why are you interested in helping me?” I asked, my earlier irritation returning. It wasn’t supposed to be Kyle sitting here beside me, it was supposed to be Trevor. And it wasn’t supposed to be the neighbor boy with the inner intuitiveness, it was supposed to be me.
    He looked down at his fingers and turned them over to study their underside. “It’s more than interest,” he said. “I understand what you’re doing.”
    “You do?” I asked, but I knew that he did. I could tell. I just didn’t understand it. Before he could answer me, I spoke up again. “Why? Or how?”
    “This is important. It had to be here,” he said. “Why else would this house still be standing?”
    “It’s been waiting,” I muttered. “She’s been waiting.”
    “So was I.” He looked at me with a meaningful gaze that didn’t fully answer my question, but it was enough that I knew the discussion was closed. I could unravel my great-grandmother’s history and my future, but maybe never unravel this complicated man at my side.
    I put the Bible back in its box and replaced the lid. Taking it with me, I climbed down through the trap door and into the empty bedroom. Kyle followed. We stood in the quiet space, staring at each other.
    “You read the letters out loud and I’ll write them down,” I said.
    I’d only seen Kyle smile once, and this time he didn’t. It was more like relief that washed over his face, and it was as close to a smile as I was probably going to get.
    “Tomorrow?” he asked.
    “Yes, come early. We’ll work all day.”
    That near smile flickered again behind his blue eyes. Then he turned and walked downstairs. I heard his footsteps go across the main room, heard the door open and then close behind him.
    I ran to Julianne’s bedroom, where I could see the road better, and I watched Kyle mount a bicycle and pedal away. As his thin form became smaller, I stopped watching him and looked at the landscape, the view Julianne had chosen over her family home as I hugged the tin box to my chest. The road twisted away out of sight, dropping behind a hill with a small woods covering it.
    Did she choose this because of its beauty, or