The Island of Doves by Kelly O'Connor McNees Read Free Book Online

little boy to care for.”
    Susannah nodded. She thought of how shattered she had been when her parents died. Losses like these could become so big they swallowed you whole.
    “We have arranged for a new house to be built for her—in fact, it should be complete by now—so that she may spend the rest of her years in comfort. But with so much distance between us, Father Adler worries about how she fares. Someday, when he can, he intends to travel there to see for himself. But in the meantime, in any way that you can, please try to be of use to her, to help her in return for the help she has given you.”
    “But what can I do for her?” Susannah said. “What does she need that I can give her?”
    “I don’t know. She has endured a great deal, and it is our wish to bring her comfort, peace. Perhaps when you arrive you will see what must be done.”
    “I don’t know, but I will try.”
    “That is all that I ask,” the nun said. “Now, we must address what you will call yourself.
    Fraser
was Edward’s name, Edward’s brand on her arm. “It hardly matters what I am called,” Susannah said, “as long as it is something else.”
    “Of course it matters,” the sister insisted. “Nothing has meaning unless we
give
it meaning.”
    Susannah smiled. “Those don’t sound like the words of a religious woman.”
    “On the contrary. God waits until we act—not the other way around. It took me far too many years to learn that lesson.” The sister laced her fingers together. “From now on you will go by
Miss Dove
.”
    “Miss Dove.” Susannah repeated the words as she heard the
clip-clop
of a horse and wagon outside the cabin, worn wheels creaking to a stop.
    Sister Mary Genevieve tipped her chin to the door in recognition. “It’s time.” She stood. “The name is a protection, and a reminder: You are in flight.”
    Susannah nodded. Suddenly everything seemed to be speeding up again. She stole a glance out the window at the wagon. It was covered with a canvas tarp, the sort undertakers used to collect the dead. Susannah gave the nun a frightened look.
    “No soul would dare to look for you here. Quickly now,” the sister said, opening the door and hurrying Susannah to the wagon. Their breath bloomed from their mouths. Susannah hoisted herself up, one foot on the wet wheel well, curling her toes to keep her boot from slipping, and lifted the corner of the tarp, then climbed over the side. The wagon was full of clean straw. She didn’t even get a look at the driver’s face.
    “Father Adler was very clear in his instructions,” the nun said. “Once you get on the boat you are to find a priest named Father Milani. He will see you safely to the island. Do not speak to anyone else. If you are pressed by anyone, simply explain that you are traveling to St. Louis. The boat will make one stop, in the port of Detroit, but no matter what happens, stay on the boat. Do you understand?” The sister’s eyes were stern, and she grasped Susannah’s shoulder. “If you leave the boat, we cannot help you.”
    Susannah nodded. She was so afraid, her heart writhing violently within her, that she felt she might cry out. “Shouldn’t we pray?” she asked.
    “There isn’t time. Remember my instructions. And be brave—
determined
to survive.” Sister Mary Genevieve walked alongside the wagon for a few steps and began to lash the canvas in place, casting Susannah’s hiding place into darkness.
    “Good-bye, Miss Dove, and God be with you.”

Chapter Three
    E dward Fraser knew something was wrong when he returned home from his meeting in Black Rock to find a single damask tablemat at the head of his long dining table. Their hired girl, Marjorie, emerged from the kitchen with one bowl of stew and half a loaf of brown bread.
    “Good evening,” Edward said. “Is Mrs. Fraser ill?”
    “No, sir,” Marjorie said, turning her back to Edward to light a lamp on the sideboard. “Mrs. Fraser is not here.”
    “Isn’t here?