Free Keeper of the Doves by Betsy Byars Page A

like an outdoor chapel. Behind us, Mr. Tom’s chapel had been closed, the door and windows nailed shut.
    â€œAt the funeral you said Mr. Tom was a fugitive.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œA fugitive from what?”
    â€œI don’t mind telling you now, Amen, but I wouldn’t want it to go any further.”
    â€œIt won’t.”
    â€œWell, like a lot of young Polish immigrants, Mr. Tom came to this country to work in the Kentucky coal mines. There was a murder—I don’t know the details—but Mr. Tom was the lead suspect. He escaped before he could be arrested.”
    â€œDid the police come after him?”
    â€œThey didn’t track him to The Willows, if that’s what you mean, but all his life he was afraid they would. He would never go into town. He hid from visitors. He relied on me for everything.”
    Papa put his hands in his pockets and looked up at the sky. “I think that night when, as you told me, he must have heard the twins call him a murderer, all he could think of was what had happened in Kentucky.”
    â€œAnd he was afraid all over again.”
    â€œHe was a very simple man, Amen, and his mind in many ways was like a child’s.”
    â€œDo you think he did kill Scout?”
    â€œMaybe he kicked the dog. I don’t know. The night he escaped, there were dogs after him, tracking him, and I don’t think he had much love for dogs after that.”
    â€œAnyway, Papa, I’m very, very glad he saved your life.”
    â€œI am too, Amie.”
    After a minute I said, “So that’s another thing he was—a fugitive. How many things can one man be? Aunt Pauline said he was a drifter, a hobo. Mama called him a harmless old man. Grandmama called him a dove magician. You said he was a friend. I think he was a hero for saving your life. Can a man be so many things?”
    â€œSo many things—and more.”
    He stepped back to the dove cage and opened it. The doves flew out and landed in the trees. They waited, their heads cocked to one side. I think they hoped that Mr. Tominski would come out and call them into action.
    â€œHe’s not coming,” Papa said to the doves. “Go back to the woods.” He made a shooing motion with both hands.
    â€œWill they be all right, Papa?”
    â€œMr. 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.
    â€œYou know what I was going to do that day, the day Mr. Tom saved my life?”
    â€œNo, Papa.”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œNor do I,” said Papa. “Nor do I.”

chapter twenty-six
    â€œZ Is Not the End
    Z zzzzzzzzz . Hear that, Adam? That means there is a bee inside that flower. Listen.”
    Zzzzzzzzzzzz .
    â€œWhen 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