Maeve stared at the faded yellow paper in disbelief and then slowly unfolded the second clipping and realized it was the obituary, and from it, she learned more about Gage than she’d ever known. At the top, there was a picture that looked like it might’ve come from Cale’s yearbook. He was wearing a jacket and tie, and his blond hair was cropped short and neatly combed. He was handsome and had the same crooked smile she knew all too well, and even though he was all cleaned up, there was no hiding the mischievous country boy behind those sparkling eyes. Cale was born on August 13, 1983—making him Gage’s Irish twin—and he died on August 8, 2003, five days before his twentieth birthday. It went on to say he was survived by his parents, three grandparents—including Dutch—and five younger brothers: Gage, Matthew, Eli, Grayson, and Chase. The service was held at the First Congregational Church and a reception in Fellowship Hall had followed. Underneath was a second picture, showing all six Tennyson brothers standing together. Damn! Those Tennyson genes ran strong!
Maeve looked up from the clipping and watched the hens still scratching the sun-dappled earth. This explains a lot . . . but it doesn’t explain everything. She looked down at his Bible, expecting more clues to fall from its pages, and as if on cue, she noticed a blue envelope tucked inside the back cover. She slid it out and looked at the return address—it was from Tennessee. She turned it over to see if Gage had opened it. He had, which meant she could easily read it and put it back . . . but—and this was a very big but—was this a line she wanted to cross? It was one thing to innocently read clippings that had accidentally fallen out of his Bible, but it was quite another to open and read someone’s mail. Still, she wanted to understand what had happened in his life. She swallowed the lump in her throat, slowly lifted the flap of the envelope, and slid out the letter, but just as she was about to unfold it, Gage’s rooster screamed like he was possessed, and the hens started to squawk nervously and flap their wings. Maeve looked up and saw a bushy red tail flicking above the tall grass. “Oh, no you don’t! Don’t even think of it!” she shouted. “Go on!” She rose from her chair and a fox—ready to pounce—looked up in surprise. Maeve began waving her arms and then flew off the porch, causing the fox to hightail it through the fields.
“Oh, my goodness!” Maeve said, her heart pounding. “That was close!” She looked around for any more predators lurking in the grass, picked up the Bible, tucked everything back where it belonged, and smiled at the rooster still strutting around and clucking indignantly. “Good job, Pilgrim!” she said. “You saved us . . . all!” And then she took the Bible inside, slid it back into its spot on the shelf, refilled her coffee mug, and started to unpack.
16
MASON SLID HIS ARMS INTO THE SLEEVES OF HIS GRADUATION GOWN AND hitched it up onto his shoulders. He attached the tassel to his mortarboard and balanced it on his head—thank goodness he didn’t have to wear this thing for very long! He paused to admire his new—old—watch and check the time.
“Ready?” Ali asked, coming up behind him, already dressed and wearing her National Honor Society stole and several honor cords around her neck.
Mason looked up from zipping his gown. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Such enthusiasm,” she teased, as she adjusted his tassel. “This, my friend, stays on your right side till we all have our diplomas and are instructed to move it over to the left. . . . Weren’t you paying attention during rehearsal?”
“No,” he said, smiling.
“Where’re your stole and honor cords?” she asked, straightening his tie.
“In my locker.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re going to need them,” she said, reaching for his hand and pulling him through the throng of graduates toward his locker. “Besides,” she said, standing beside him as he spun the combination lock back and forth for probably the last time, “our lockers are supposed to be empty.”
“Well, it’s going to be empty once I take these out.”
“Is your yearbook in there?”
“Maybe,” he said impishly.
“Mason!” she said, feigning disbelief—even though she wasn’t surprised. “Have you let anyone sign it?”
“Maybe,” he said, giving her a funny face.
“You haven’t! I can tell by the look on your face!” she said, raising her eyebrows. “And since your locker is supposed to be empty, what are you going to do with it during graduation?”
He shrugged. “Carry it?”
Ali shook her head and held out her hand. “I’ll give it to my mom.”
“Are they here?” Mason asked in surprise, his stomach suddenly twisting into a knot.
She nodded. “I peeked out a little while ago and saw them right up front.”
“How’d my mom look?”
“She was smiling.”
Mason looked relieved and handed his yearbook to her. “Okay. Tell her thanks.”
She nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
He reached into his locker, and trying to expel the kaleidoscope of butterflies now fluttering around in his stomach, lifted out his stole and the rainbow of colorful cords. As he draped them around his neck, several of his friends—fellow distance runners from the cross-country and track teams—stopped to congratulate him on his recently revealed status as salutatorian, and their usual banter and teasing helped him relax.
“All right, Mase, you da man,” Jackson Temple said, pointing at him.
“Keep it short, sweetheart,” Randy Stephens teased, slapping him on the shoulder. Mason laughed, shaking hands as they all headed off in different
