Free Keeper of the Doves by Betsy Byars

the final X —his grave, where we had his funeral this afternoon.
    â€œSurely, surely ,” Aunt Pauline had said, “you are not going to bury him in the family cemetery!”
    Papa said, “I am.”
    â€œBut that is for family.”
    â€œMr. Tom is family. Those were our father’s exact words. ‘Mr. Tom is family.’ Our father didn’t say, ‘Mr. Tom is like family.’ ”
    â€œI never heard Father say that. And I, for one, could not rest easy in my grave, knowing that that man lay in the same sacred place.”
    â€œThen I am sorry to tell you, dear sister, that you will not rest easy,” Papa said.
    It was Papa who led the brief ceremony. He wore his white linen suit. He held his hands behind his back, the fingers so tightly clasped that his knuckles were whiter than his suit. His head was bowed.
    Aunt Pauline and Mama sat on the bench. Aunt Pauline was stern and indignant. Mama was tearful, but I thought perhaps her tears were not so much for Mr. Tominski as for her suffering and inconsolable husband.
    The Bellas did not attend. Grandmama and Uncle William had taken them into town.
    Abigail and Augusta began the service with a song, for once in perfect harmony.
    â€œJust as I am, without one plea
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.”
    My thoughts drifted back to the last time I had heard my sisters sing, the time I had seen Mr. Tominski’s smiling face at the window. I was saddened by the thought of my needless fears.
    â€œGreater love,” Papa began, “hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friend.”
    Papa then spoke about how Mr. Tom, a fugitive from justice, had risked capture to save him. This was the first time I had heard Mr. Tom was a fugitive, and I was still wondering about that when Papa said, “I believe Amie has a poem she would like to read.”
    I unrolled my sheet of paper. The air around me seemed changed, hard to breath. At that moment we heard the mournful sound of the train. Ever since Mr. Tominski’s accident, the engineer had been blowing his whistle from twenty miles away, clearing the tracks, trying to prevent another tragedy.
    I took a deep breath. All the graves bore flowers for the occasion, but on this sad day even the flowers seemed to scent the air with unhappiness.
    â€œAmie,” Papa prompted.
    I read.
    â€œHe came to us on the noonday train.
The train that took him away again.
He was a gentle man, his loves
Were our family and his doves.
A shy and simple man and yet
He touched us and we’ll not forget.
I think Grandmama said it best:
The dove magician’s gone to rest.”
    Papa nodded to Abigail and Augusta, and they began a final hymn.
    â€œBlest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love!
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.”
    Papa began to weep. He put his hands over his face and his shoulders shook.
    So, I thought, there are two times in a man’s life when he cries—when he gains a son and when he loses a friend.
    The last verse brought tears to all our eyes.
    â€œWhen we asunder part
It gives us inward pain;
But we shall still be joined in heart,
And hope to meet again.”
    When the song ended, the women and children went back into the house. We moved through the empty rooms in silence, listening to the clumps of earth being shoveled into Mr. Tominski’s grave.

chapter twenty-five
    No Longer Young
    â€œY our poem was fine, Amie.”
    â€œI wish it could have been better.”
    â€œIt was fine.”
    â€œPapa, I’ve been thinking about what you said at the funeral. Can I ask you a question?”
    â€œYou ask too many questions, Amie.”
    â€œHow else can I learn, Papa?”
    We were back behind the chapel, where the doves cooed in their cages. The way the limbs of the trees arched over our heads made it seem