Keeper of the Doves by Betsy Byars Read Free Book Online Page B

didn’t speak any English, only Polish, but he understood everything that was said.
    â€œI b-better go,” I said.
    He did not move.
    â€œM-Mama’s expecting me.”
    He did not move.
    â€œI was just taking a photograph.”
    He did not move.
    â€œGrandmama gave me this camera.”
    Now he did move. With one huge hand he pointed to himself.
    I thought for a moment he was trying to show me his suspenders, for they were brightly colored and stood out against his gray shirt.
    He pointed again, jabbing his chest with intensity.
    At that moment, I had the most startling thought. Mr. Tominski wanted to pose for a photograph. Mr. Tominski! I tried to keep the shock out of my voice as I said, “Would you like me to take a picture of you, Mr. Tominski?”
    He nodded.
    â€œMaybe you could sit on the bench.”
    I indicated the bench, and he took a seat. He ran one hand through his straggly hair, as if to smooth it, then rested his huge hands on his knees.
    I approached the bench slowly. Of course he did not eat children, as the Bellas had said. He was, as Mama had said, harmless. Yet, my heart pounded in my throat.
    I looked through the viewfinder. Mr. Tominski had a serious look on his face, as if this was a big moment in his life. He took a deep breath, as if to inflate himself with importance, and held it.
    â€œOne . . . two . . . three.”
    I snapped the shutter. Mr. Tominski threw back his head and shouted with glee, “Hee! Hee! Hee!”
    Then he grew quiet, but he continued to sit there, as if he were waiting.
    My thoughts raced. Maybe, when Mr. Tominski was a boy back in the old country, he had seen important people having their pictures taken. Maybe he had promised himself that one day he would be important enough to have his picture made too.
    And maybe, back then, if a person was very important, his picture would be taken twice, to make sure of a good one.
    â€œLet me take one more,” I said.
    I looked through the viewfinder and saw his face beaming with pride. “One . . . two . . . three.” I took the picture.
    Even as I clicked the shutter, I knew that I would need no photograph to help me remember this face. There was a glow about it. A radiance. A lambency!
    When I looked up, the cemetery gate was open and Mr. Tominski was gone.
    Not until I was around the house, listening to Lamar still trying to extract a promise from Abigail for a photograph, did my breathing return to normal.
    That night at the dinner table, Grandmama said, “Girls, I want to know the most interesting thing you photographed today. One by one, now.”
    The Bellas had each photographed one of the spaniel puppies. Abigail admitted, blushing, that she had taken a picture of Lamar.
    â€œA picture!” Augusta said.
    â€œAugusta, what was your favorite photograph?” Grandmama interrupted quickly.
    Augusta claimed that she could never take a picture of anything more wonderful than Adam.
    â€œAnd you, Amie? You’ve been awfully quiet. What did you photograph today?”
    â€œI photographed four things—Scout, Adam, a butterfly on the stone lamb of Anita’s grave, and”—I was pleased that my voice didn’t tremble when I said this—“I photographed Mr. Tominski.”
    Then I smiled at Papa. “There was a sort of lambency about him.”

chapter nineteen
    S-S-S-Something
    â€œS cout! Where’s Scout?” one of the Bellas said. “Scout likes to play. Scout!”
    â€œScout! Scooout!”
    Both the Bellas called, but Scout did not appear. This was unusual. Scout always came when he was called.
    â€œWe’ll have to play without him.”
    The Bellas and I were in the front yard getting ready to play Ain’t No Bears Out Tonight.
    For the first time, the Bellas were allowing me to be the bear. I was planning to hide in the shrubbery beneath the window to Papa’s den. The Bellas hid their eyes and I rushed around the