Keeper of the Doves by Betsy Byars

Author:Betsy Byars
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US

chapter fourteen

The Nevers

“Never open an umbrella in the house.”

“Never sleep with the full moon on your face.”

“Break a mirror, you have seven years’ bad luck.”

Those were some of Aunt Pauline’s rules. She had a deep respect for bad luck and its prevention. She seemed to see life as a narrow and dangerous cliff, with charmed objects and correct action all there was to keep you from falling over the edge.

She made us throw salt over our left shoulders if we spilled some. She made us turn around three times if a hearse passed by. She made us promise never to look in a mirror at bedtime or the devil would come into our dreams.

“Never, never tell a bad dream before breakfast or it will come true.”

That was one of her favorite rules—I had been hearing it all my life. Now it was she herself who broke that rule.

She came into the kitchen where we girls were having breakfast at the table. The cook, Rose, was cutting us slices of bread. Aunt Pauline leaned heavily against the table.

“You all right, Miss Pauline?” Cook asked. We looked at our aunt. She did look a bit worse than usual.

Aunt Pauline put one hand to her throat, as if seeking the comfort of her brooch containing Frederick’s hair, but in her agitation, she had forgotten to pin it on that morning.

She hesitated, took a deep breath, and then blurted out, “I dreamed I was in a graveyard.”

Cook’s knife stopped in the middle of a slice. The bread and the knife dropped to the table.

“What does that mean, Aunt Pauline?” Abigail asked.

Aunt Pauline shook her head as if she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

“It means that someone’s going to die,” Cook said in a hushed tone. Cook shared Aunt Pauline’s belief in dreams and superstitions. A broom rested by the back door to prevent a spell from entering. Willow twigs by the window kept out the evil eye.

“Who’s going to die?” a Bella asked.

“Could you see the name on the tombstone, Miss Pauline?” Cook asked.

“I never can,” Aunt Pauline said. “I’ve had this dream before. It’s always the same. I come in the graveyard and I start running. I’m terribly afraid. I run and I run, but I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”

We had stopped eating, caught up in the nightmare. For once Aunt Pauline had our complete attention.

“Finally I get to the empty grave and just as I lift my eyes to read the name, I wake up shivering.”

“I don’t believe in that kind of thing,” Abigail said.

“It doesn’t matter whether you believe or not,” Cook said. “It always comes true.”

“It won’t be one of us, will it?” I asked.

“Yes, Miss Pauline,” Cook said, “had the grave been dug for an adult or a child?”

I drew in my breath. I remembered that Mama was going to have a baby. I remembered the tiny grave in our cemetery. I remembered how fragile a baby’s heart was.

Aunt Pauline put out her hands as if to part a curtain.

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