My Father's Words by Patricia MacLachlan

Author:Patricia MacLachlan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Comfort

My mother and Finn and I sat in the kitchen after dinner. I could hear the katydid sounds outside, like dusk music.

My father holds up his finger when he hears that sound. “Summer song,” he says.

“What?” asked my mother, seeing the look on my face.

“That sound.”

“He liked it. ‘Katydid, Katydidn’t,’” my mother said.

“He knew the songs of the oriole, the cardinal, the veery by the river, and the high call of the sharp-shinned hawk,” said Finn, ticking them off on his fingers.

My mother and I looked at each other, surprised. Finn was beginning to talk as much as Luke was these days.

“You remembered all that,” said my mother.

“And I listened. Like Emma,” said Finn. “She liked ‘Dona Nobis Pacem’ when I played the tape for her.”

“Your father’s song. He used to sing it to me in a fierce basketball game so I’d get distracted,” said my mother. “Imagine the nerve of him singing a gentle song meaning ‘grant us peace’ when I was trying to beat him up in basketball.”

Finn and I grinned at each other, remembered it working from time to time.

“You know, Finn, maybe you should sing to Emma. You have a beautiful voice, and I think animals react to voices,” said my mother.

“Do dogs like music?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not,” she said. “I mostly know about young children. Not dogs. Young children respond to singing.”

“Maybe dogs and young children are alike,” Finn said with his thoughtful look. He peered at my mother.

“Right now you look just like your father,” she said softly.

She was right. My father’s direct and thoughtful look as if he was just discovering the thing he’d say next.

“So maybe it is not the stories I’ve been reading,” said Finn. “Maybe it’s my voice that Emma likes.”

“Thomas said Father once told him, ‘Keep on singing,’” I said.

“Who is Thomas?” asked Finn.

“A very wise friend of Father’s,” I said.

My mother smiled.

It was quiet then in the kitchen.

“Is there a music school in town?” asked Finn idly.

“Well, there is the Chance Conservatory,” said my mother. “Over on West Avenue, across the park from the shelter.”

Finn looked up as if startled.

“Chance? Is that the name?” asked Finn.

“Why are you asking?” said my mother.

“Just wondering,” he said.

I remember my father once watching Finn look out the window in winter as the snow fell.

“What are you doing?” my father asks.

“Just wondering,” Finn says.

“Just wondering is good,” my father says.

“Actually, I’m making a plan,” said Finn. “Emma’s owner who died was named David Chance. Martha told me.”

“Shall I ask what the plan is?” I said.

“No,” said Finn.

The only sounds were the katydids’ steady soft song as dusk turned into night.

Katydid, Katydidn’t.

Katydid, Katydidn’t.

Katydid, Katydidn’t.

Memories.

At the shelter Finn went right into the rescue room as if he lived there now.

“Joe and Penny are not here today,” said Martha. “It’s pretty quiet in the rescue room.”

Jenny came right over, looking up at me. I knelt down and hugged her.

I thought of Finn’s words about the dogs liking the sound of a voice.

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