The Keeper of Dawn by J.B. Hickman Read Free Book Online

show you. Come along.”
    I followed him into the kitchen where he shoved a box of
matches at me. Inside were three matches, each twice the length of a regular
match.
    “See how long they are? They’re like that so they can reach
the pilot, among other things. As it turned out, I forgot the matches outside. Probably
set them down when I was closing the basement door. You’d be surprised how many
things you forget when you’re my age. When I went back out, this was all that
was left.” He took back the box and gave it an agitated shake. “Three matches!
That’s all! It was brand new. Where’d the rest of them go?”
    I returned his inquisitive glance, hoping he wasn’t
expecting a response.
    “It wasn’t windy, so they couldn’t have blown away. The only
other possible explanation, assuming I’m not completely off my rocker, is that
someone came into my yard, saw the unguarded matches, and ran off with them.”
    The absurdity in Grandfather’s voice crept into his eyes. “But
our conscientious match thief decides it would be too easy to run off with the
whole box, so he takes all but three. Apparently he didn’t want to leave me matchless.
Are you with me?”
    “I … I think so. I still don’t know what—”
    But he refused to be interrupted. “It’s been pestering the
bejesus out of me. It doesn’t make any sense. What on earth became of those matches?
There has to be a rational explanation. But then,” he held up a finger. “Then,
it dawned on me. It’s springtime.”
    “Springtime?”
    “Yes, springtime. And do you know what happens in the
springtime?”
    I shrugged. “Well, lots of things.”
    “Lots of things indeed. There, look out there.” He pointed
out the kitchen window, the very window he had been peering out of when I
arrived, completely unaware of his search for the BroadLeaf match thief.
    “Do you see it?”
    “You mean that tree?” I asked, referring to the maple that
straddled the property line.
    “Yes, the tree. Look closer at the tree.”
    I searched the branches from top to bottom, but all that
caught my eye was a squirrel scampering up the smooth bark. I was on the verge
of giving up, but then I saw it. Cradled in the fork of two stout branches, a
pair of robins chirped contentedly in their nest of BroadLeaf matches.
    “Ha!”
    Grandfather slapped me on the back. “The goddamn robins
stole my matches! Probably work better than twigs.”
    “As long as they don’t set themselves on fire!” I said,
which got us both laughing.
    “I’ve always enjoyed bird watching,” Grandfather said, still
looking at the maple. “But in all my years, I’ve never seen anything like
this.”
    When I turned from the window, Grandfather studied me from
the corner of his eye.
    “I used to tell my students a joke before an exam to loosen
them up. It helps relieve the tension. You’re too serious, Jacob. You’re much
too young to be that serious. Now, let’s go in the other room, shall we?”
    He led me back into the entryway and through an archway that
was so low I had to duck my head. Grandfather performed the movement automatically,
calling back just in time, “Watch your cap. Apparently the builders were little people.”
    The entryway’s red carpeting flowed into a spacious living
room crowded with plants. A hibiscus sat on a stack of National Geographics ,
a spindly fern peeked from behind the curtains; in the corner, a nest of ivy
shot tendrils in every direction, tangling about the legs of the coffee table,
stretching the length of the couch, writhing through the shaggy carpet like
green snakes searching to warm their cool blood in the sun.
    “I let them have the run of the place,” Grandfather said. “They’re
the lungs of the house. They help clear the air and bring the room to life,
don’t you think?”
    He stood at the center of the room. The carpeting looked particularly
threadbare along the edges, with entire sections worn thin from heavy usage
such that spots of