Mourning Dove

by Donna Simmons

  “Is this what Ruth brought over?” Sara asked in return.

  “It’s great. Jordie is on his third piece, the porker.”

  Sara raised her hand and Jordie waved back from the table, sadness a mask on his face. “I’ll pass,” She reached into the bread box and pulled out a loaf, furry and green, dropped it into the trash can under the sink then pulled a bag of English muffins from the freezer.

  Cass grabbed the bag from her and sliced cheese to melt on top. “Have you called Florida yet?”

  “You know I haven’t.”

  “One of us can do that for you,” Cass said.

  “I need to do it. Thanks.”

  Cass turned from the counter waving a bread knife in her hand and raised an eyebrow. Jordie and Matthew both turned toward them, their cheeks stuffed with coffeecake like chipmunks gathering food for winter. “I’m sorry, Cass, bad habit.”

  Silence filled the room when Sara walked to the phone by the couch and dialed a number memorized when Carl’s school triumphs needed to be shared. It rang twice, Ron’s mother answered.

  Sara sank into the middle of the couch, held the receiver away from her ear, and stared. She couldn’t, not yet. She hung up to a room of silence. An ocean had flowed from her eyes but it was not done yet. She folded over her knees and rocked. The phone was removed from her hand and she looked up as Cass hit redial. Jordie slid onto the sofa on her right, Matthew on her left.

  “Mrs. Stafford, I’m Cass O’Brien, Ron and Sara’s friend... Sara was trying to call you and got disconnected. Just one moment...” Sara reached for the phone again. “Mom, it’s Sara. Is Dad with you?”

  “He’s right here. Do you want to speak with him?”

  “No, not yet. I’m sorry to have to call with this. There was a gas explosion at the house. I am so very sorry. Ron’s gone.”

  ***

  “Sara, do you have a notebook with you?” Matthew asked. She was staring out the car window, dry-eyed at last. “Sara, love, notebook?”

  “What?”

  “We need to make a list.” She nodded and dug into her purse. A black leather calendar and pen finally unearthed.

  “What kind of list?” she asked.

  “Arrangements for your husband.”

  He watched her flip through the pages filled with life’s details. “What are you looking for?”

  “March, we just have to repeat March, the 16th through the 22nd.”

  Matthew understood now, Carl died on March 15th. He waved at the toll taker when they slid through the EZ Pass lane at the York tolls. When he glanced back at her she was staring at the almost unrecognizable scribble on a tear-stained page. “What we need is a new list,” he finally said. “Find this week’s calendar page and I’ll give you the list.”

  She flipped through the pages of the year, ripping some from the binding; then flattened a blank page. In a near whisper he started, “First stop is the funeral home, then the church, the florist; what else?”

  He watched her scrawl a shaky script across the sixth of November. She added, “The office, clothes and pictures from the house.” She glanced up at him with a dazed look. “And the park?” she asked.

  “Don’t put the last on there, just the obvious.” She stopped writing and stared out the side window. He took the first exit off the high bridge and pulled over to the side of the road. She was folded into herself rubbing her index finger over the date. “Are you okay?”

  “No. It’s okay though. Where were we?”

  “Where were you?”

  “Today would have been our twenty-seventh anniversary. Two years ago, Carl gave us a party. We danced ‘til midnight. I remember a room filled with laughter.”

  “Why the office?” he asked.

  She sighed. “Allen and the new bookkeeper, I don’t remember her name, she may be there. We’ll have to coordinate who’s doing what.”

  “We’ll have to go out to the point before dark,” he added. “Could we do some of this tomorrow?”

  She shook her head and tensed her jaw. He watched the muscles twitch beneath her cheek. After a long pause, she said, “We need to finish it today.”

  “All right.” He restarted the engine. “You perform like this through next week and this will all be over.”

  “Do you think this is an act!?”

  “I’ve been pushing, Sara, and I apologize. Think about what we can use as a decoy.”

  “You mean in addition to my grief?”

  “To hide a fake cylinder and disk in. Which way do I go from here to reach the funeral home?”

  “Take the next left. How big are they? The disk and the cylinder, I mean.”

  “I’ve not seen them. I would suppose the disk is the same size as a CD or DVD, maybe smaller. I don’t know the size of the cylinder. I’m not even sure there is one.”

  “The base of the obelisk is hollow. If they’re not too large, it might do.”

  “What obelisk?”

  “Carl’s stone, he found it while he was doing his masters in Europe. He had it mounted on a mahogany base and kept it in his apartment. After he...I couldn’t handle seeing it daily. It gave Ron some comfort to have it near. He kept the obelisk in his office. During the break-in it was knocked to the floor and buried under some industry catalogs. On the base a trap door we didn’t know existed was open. Carl kept his agency identification there. That’s when Ron finally began to believe his death was not a suicide.”

  “Where is this obelisk now?”

  “After the break-in, we figured it was something we should protect. I’ve kept it wrapped in a stadium blanket in the trunk of my car.”

  “This car?”

  “It’s not here now. When I flew to Chicago, my car was going to have to stay in the company lot. I moved it.”

  “Where?”

  “Let’s see if we can find the cylinder first and find a decoy small enough.”

  ***

  The sun was riding the horizon by the time Matthew and Sara parked in front of the first gate at Odiorne Park. “I still don’t understand why we couldn’t use my car for this?” she asked. “You screened it before we left the house.”

  “Let’s just say it’s my paranoid tendencies. Allen’s fiancée’s car should not be tailed and it looks like you’re still at the office working with Allen. There’s snow in the air. I want this done before our footsteps leave a track.”

  “Her name is Annette and it’s too warm for snow.”

  “What?”

  “Her name is Annette,” she said, “Allen’s fiancée.”

  He nodded and turned off the ignition to the black Jetta. They crossed the gravel parking lot on foot. “Where to?” He stared at the spot beyond three large granite boulders where Carl’s body was found. She recognized the spot, too. “Come on,” he reached out his hand to hers.

  She took the lead and within minutes they’d crossed the footbridge and were deep into the brush on a narrow trail walking away from the bay. A half hour later she stopped and turned in a circle.

  “Tell me we’re not lost.”

  “We’re not. I know where we are.”

  “Right. Well, lead on.”

  “It was different in the summertime. There were leaves, and insects; we came from the other end of the park.”

  “I thought you weren’t lost.”

  “I’m not. We’re in Odiorne State Park.”

  “Let’s go this way.” He pointed to the gravel path.

  “No, we’ll take the left path toward the bay.”

  “That one leads back to where we came.”

  “No, it branches up ahead. I just need to find the path.”

  “Sara, we’re losing daylight.” He watched her stare through the darkening shadows. “Maybe we should try this again in the morning.”

  “What if it snows?” she asked.

  “You said it was too warm to snow.”

  “What do I know? I’m not a meteorologist.” He shook his head. “This reminds me of Chicago.”<
br />
  “It doesn’t look anything like Chicago,” she said as she disappeared beyond a gnarly old maple.

  “I’m getting that same gut feeling I had when I let you come to the pool the night I made the drug bust.”

  “Shush.”

  They climbed an almost non-existent trail covered in dropped leaves. She stepped over a downed pine and then another.

  “I believe we’ve lost the trail.” He leaped over the first pine and fell over the second. “Sara, wait.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Between the last downed pine and you. How much further?”

  “Not far, are you all right?”

  “My pride’s dented, nothing else seems amiss.” He looked up; she was a silhouette in the gray dusk extending a hand. He reached for her and pushed himself off the ground with his other hand.

  “Come on,” she said. “It’s just up ahead.”

  And it was. In the fading light it was damn near invisible – two shafts – one closed, the other open. He climbed through the brush to the closed vent and dug into his pocket for an adjustable wrench. “Bloody hell, I left it in my car.” He looked up and she’d disappeared.

  “Sara?”

  “Over here. That shaft is rusted shut, has been for decades, probably since VE day.”

  He followed the glow of a flashlight he didn’t know she had and trudged through the brier between the shafts, snagging his pants in the process. She moved the light around a corrugated pipe. Eight inches above it, a round metal plate was held aloft on a threaded shaft. “Hold this,” she gave him the light.

  “Let me, Sara. I don’t know how caustic this stuff is.”

  “I’ll put on gloves. You hold the light; you’ll never get your hands inside this.”

  He watched the woman, who earlier today was near to being a basket case, pull black leather gloves from a purse that looked more like a knapsack. She lifted out a hooded sweatshirt and spread it on the ground beside the concrete foundation. He angled the light to shine inside the pipe; then she reached inside and pulled out a handful of leaves. Soon, she had a rat’s nest and stash of rodent food laid out on the ground. She scooped out another pile of dried leaves. “What do you feel in there?” He was impatient to be the one reaching inside this World War II relic.

  “I’ve got something.” She pulled out a stiff piece of canvas and laid it on the sweatshirt. He kept the light on the bundle but looked up to her face. “Open it,” she said.

  He handed her the light and unfolded the old piece of canvas. Inside was a small collection: an arrowhead, a small nugget, and a marble. “Wrong prize,” she said. “Be careful with the arrowhead; it’s sharp.”

  “I'm sorry,” he whispered and looked up to see her disappointment. She was smiling!

  “Sara?” he was afraid she’d lost the thin thread of composure that had carried them through their search. “Why are you smiling?”

  “This is the pirate booty the boys often hid inside the shaft and other hiding places along the trails here. Shine the light back into the air shaft. The real treasure was always below it.” She reached in again and pulled out a thin cord. “Hold onto the cord; don’t let go. Something’s lodged in here.” She wedged her forearm down into the shaft and he wondered if she’d get it stuck.

  “Need help?”

  “I almost have it. Wait.” After a bit she smiled again in the glow from the flashlight.

  ***

  Matthew and Sara switched cars again at the Stafford office and drove back to Ocean Park.

  “Cass is back at her house,” she said. “Her lights are all lit up in the front and Jordie’s truck is gone.”

  A low light shone from inside Sara’s place. Matthew parked her car inside the garage and pushed the button to lower the door. She reached into the back seat for the sack.

  “Sara, wait. Where is the obelisk you mentioned?”

  “Inside, come on. Let’s bring in the groceries first and I’ll show you.”

  Inside the house, the place smelled like a florist shop. A cellophane wrapped dish garden sat on the coffee table, a canoe-shaped log with puffy white mums filled the center of the kitchen table, and a cobalt blue vase full of white roses stood sentinel on the island in the kitchen. The only light glowing was from the range hood. He watched her stunned face as she took it all in. She opened a note on the counter.

  “Cass?” he asked.

  “She says, stifado is warming in the oven, Syrian bread is on the counter, and phone messages are on the coffee table. We’re to call when we’re ready for company.”

  “We?”

  “Cass just said call, I added the pronoun.”

  “Where is?”

  Sara smiled at him when he picked up the cat that had been rubbing against his leg since they entered the house. “The poor thing doesn’t know where home is: from Stacy’s, to Jordie’s, to my house, to Ron’s, back to Jordie’s, and now back to mine.”

  “Leonardo,” he whispered into its calico fur. “You’re a lucky cat.”

  She reached over and lifted the cat into her arms. His purr amplified at her touch.

  “Where, Sara?”

  “Let me show you the cat jungle I got for Leonardo before I left for Chicago. He hasn’t had much time to play with it, yet.” She handed him the cat and knelt down at the base of the carpeted cat house tucked in the corner of the dining area. In a few minutes, she’d pulled the towering feline playground out from the wall and lifted a blue plaid stadium blanket from inside. She unwrapped a three feet tall stone obelisk, six inches of it a mahogany platform.

  She pushed the mum boat to the side and placed the obelisk on top of the table. “Watch this,” She said and pushed in a corner of the base. A hidden drawer swung open exposing a black bi-fold wallet. He opened it in the palm of his hand and stared at his friend’s government ID.

  “I believe you have one just like it. But you don’t have to hide yours,” she said with a bit of sting in her voice.

  “Let’s put this somewhere safe.”

  “It was somewhere safe. We never knew.” Leonardo leaped to the table and rubbed up against the granite stone.

  “We could put the wallet in the Brillo box under the sink,” she said. “When Carl was young, he used to hide things there he didn’t want me to see. I never let on I knew his hiding place.”

  She slid a CD of Carl’s into the base. “It’s a copy of some music Carl and Jordie put together when they were teenagers with hair halfway down their backs. I told him he should have labeled it, he never did.”

  “Sara, do you have another copy of this?”

  She shook her head. “Jordie does. I can get copies made if I lose this one.”

  He lifted an aluminum cigar tube from the plastic shopping bag, removed the label, and slid it into the base. It rocked when they slid the base back into place and he shook his head, “Wait, that won’t do.”

  She walked back to the bedroom and brought out a small white cardboard box. From inside she lifted a rectangular piece of cotton batting and in minutes the cigar tube was nestled inside the obelisk base, the disk below it.

  He rolled the obelisk into the stadium blanket, and took it out to the garage. When he came back she was kneeling in front of the cat jungle pushing it back into place.

  “What about something to eat?” he rubbed his stomach.

  “Let’s ask Cass to join us. For the first time in a week, my stomach is finally not…” She stopped in midsentence and stared at him. Tears refilled her eyes.

  “Grief is…”

  “Don’t.” She held her hand up like a traffic cop at rush hour.

  “I'm glad we got the obelisk back into the trunk of your car. I don’t like you leaving it in the house.” She nodded and he winked just as the doorbell rang. He whispered in her ear, “The bait is set.”

  ***

  Cass walked in the front door with her ever present flutter. “I’m not intruding, am I?”

  “Of course not, we were just abou
t to give you a buzz. You’re going to help us polish off the stifado.”

  “Sara, I made that for you and Matthew.”

  “And we are inviting you to dine,” he said.

  Sara watched Cass turn a lovely shade of rose, freckles enhanced. “I’ll feed Leonardo while you dish up the goodies,” her friend said.

  Pulling the Syrian bread from the wrapper to warm it in the oven, Sara heard cellophane crinkling behind her and turned toward the sound.

  “I don’t imagine chrysanthemums are on his diet, Cass.” Sara could hear the anger in her voice and she was sorry, but she couldn’t seem to say it.

  “Aw honey, just let it out. Scream if you have to. I know you don’t mean it. It’s not your fault.”

  Matthew took one step toward Sara and she shook her head.

  “God damn it, Cass! Yes it is! It has been my fault from the beginning! I couldn’t keep either one of them safe! I left him, Cass! I left him because I was selfish and now he’s dead! It is my fault! I should have been a better mother! I should have been a better wife! I should have been there,” she ended in a whisper.

  Sniffing through her tears, Sara slid to the floor in front of the stove. She sat there with eyes closed feeling the warmth of the oven behind her. The only sound beyond her sniffling was Leonardo’s purr. She’d probably chased them both away. Who could blame them? She’d run away, too. “Oh God, what have I done?” The sound of her crying scared Leonardo out from his nest on top of her feet. She had no energy to get back up so she stayed there until her bottom was numb. The sniffling was louder. When she opened her eyes, she realized Matthew and Cass hadn’t left. They were on the floor too, sitting guard on her left and right, sniffing back tears of their own. Sara opened a hand, palm up, to each of them and found strength in their clasped hands.

  They sat for a long time after that. Just sniffling and holding on to one another. A deep rumble finally came from Matthew’s stomach.

  “Sara,” he asked, “what is stifado?”

  ***

  White lines bracketed Sara’s mouth at the reception after her husband’s funeral. The strain of putting a passive face on the closure had pushed her to the limit. Matthew watched from across the function room as one curious person after another tried to get close to her. The scandal had reached the national press. Headlines in all the papers read like major crime reports in a big city instead of the sleepy port town of Portsmouth: Prominent Business Man Dies Defending Home; Three Dead in Explosion; Authorities Evasive – Fed’s Involved. The major networks had the funeral home, Sara’s house, and the church staked out. Portsmouth police lined the route to the cemetery and kept the rabble to a minimum.