The Final Chapter

Laura Dell leaned towards the car window as her eyes tried to keep up with the moving and sweeping specks like a page of connect-the-dots that refused to keep still. Her view was interrupted by Weldon’s face beaming through the other side of the glass.

Opening the car door he said, “Up you go” while taking both of her hands and supporting her as she stepped onto the dimpled pavement.

Eddie walked around to the front of the car and stood on the curb with the back of his flannel jacket facing Laura Dell. She stepped up with Weldon as they listened to the sparrows’ chorus cascading down from the branches over head. The sound, circling and looping around her, seemed to match the timing of the leaves twisting off the trees when Eddie turned to face her.

She leaned to Eddie and said, “Where did they come from?”

“Come over here, and I’ll show you” he said pointing through the gravestones that stood slanted in uneven rows like books forgotten on the top shelf in a library. She simply nodded and felt Weldon rub her back in agreement. Crinkled sunburnt leaves broke beneath their feet as they followed Eddie through the bends and dips of the cemetery grounds. For so many years this was an image she tried to peel from her mind like wallpaper refusing to be moved from its rightful place.

* * *

Laura Dell watched as Eddie came to face two gravestones standing side by side beneath an aged and sprawling white oak. He stooped down and brushed the few leaves that landed on top of the smooth granite. She walked up to gravestone and traced her fingers over the engraved name of the friend she left here long ago.

Eddie stood and wiped his creased hands against his pants as he said, “Ms. Laura do you remember the ornithological society that Dr. Walters worked with?”

“The same that helped with the nets, right?” she asked and rubbed her hand across the new curve of her stomach.

“Yes Ms. Laura, the one in the same. About a year after you left they made an interesting discovery concerning their flight patterns.”

“It appears they have the idea of flight down packed,” she said and lifted her eyes to find several fluttering and chirping as if to answer Eddie’s unspoken role call.

He chuckled and said, “Yes well, you’re right about the flying but it’s the destination that’s the problem. The society realized that something had changed in a migratory pattern that they track across the U.S. Evidently, a subspecies of Savannah Sparrow normally fly to your part of the country for the winter and pass through Chicago along the way. As I understand it, these Savannah Sparrows decided to cut their trip short,” he said pointing to the birds diving in and out of the crisscrossed branches.

“But how do you know about all of this?” she said.

“They called me when they realized their subspecies,” said Eddie as his gaze shifted downward.

Laura Dell followed his eyes to her hands resting on Dr. Walter’s name and waited for Eddie to continue.

“The group made the connection that the subspecies who halted their migration matched the sparrow caught in our museum. Basically what they deduced was that the Savannah Sparrows sent out a scout and when he didn’t come back they assumed this was the place to roost.”

“But why here? Why this spot?”

Eddie’s shoulders eased up and down like an old seesaw saying, “They’re not sure, but one thing they do know is this,” and raised his hand to direct their attention to various crevices made by the branches that cradled bundles of twigs and dirt. Laura Dell found herself counting over a dozen different clusters that moments before went unnoticed.

“A few began to nest here, right after Herbert’s passing, and their numbers have grown ever since,” he said while spreading his arms over the gravestones as if to include the presence of those that were no longer there.

The tears hiding beneath her eyes rose like a slow tide ebbing against the shore but this time it was different. Since Herbert’s funeral she fought against the flood within her by stacking sandbags around her memories. Stack after stack all sought to protect herself from the fear that gripped her as soon as she saw her father’s knotted car slammed against the slick pavement. The same fear that tightened its vice around her when she touched the sheets wrinkled around Herbert’s still frame. After returning to Siloam, she spent many nights scouring through Herbert’s journals when she came to a pressed page addressed to her. Rubbing down its bent creases she breathed in feeling the weight sink into her chest as began to read:

To The Dear Ms. Laura Dell,

“Live life with me,” these are the words I said to you after I revealed my struggle with cancer. From that moment on you did exactly that Ms. Dell. Our night at the theater, the Southern food we shared, and many others spent in your company have been moments my mind that continue to hold me captive. They lingered on because they spoke of only one thing: Taking life and making it, every experience, every laugh, one worth remembering. I know there was a time when I asked after your father. This is something we never spoke of, but your silence on the topic lead me to believe that he was someone you lost in your life. It might not be within my place to say anything but, being that I am an old fossil after all, you’ll have to forgive my lack of inhibition. I know that loss is something that can freeze your life like Sue suspended in the same position for millions of years beneath the dirt and limestone. This is not what I, or your father, would ever wish for you; for fear to keep you paralyzed in a position in which you do not deserve to be. Now is the time that I ask one more thing of you and it is a request that I beg you will honor.

Live life, Laura Dell.

Ms. Dell, within you what may seem like a tiny life lives an impressive lineage and an impressive story to be told. Your story, I am sure, will be worth remembering.

- Herbert

From there the phrase etched in black ink repeated throughout the years like the patter of wings in the white oak that stretch into the sky. Watching the birds call to one another, Laura Dell looked toward her sneakers that she could no longer see. With the twins coming along her doctor advised that she resist her habit of running during the final stage of the pregnancy. Even with the doctors advice, she still felt the urge to pull her sneakers over the feet she could not reach. Yet, upon the greeting of these sparrows, Laura Dell knew what was different. These sparrows did something she, until that moment, was afraid to do.

Turning to Eddie with Weldon at her side, she murmured, “Herbert’s sparrow stayed.”

“Yes Ms. Laura, they all stayed.”

* * *

Weldon placed his hand on her shoulder and said, “Here,” handing her four open sunflowers. Laura Dell was still astounded by her husband’s ability to remember the things she forgot as if he was able to see the scribbled to-do list that scrolled through her thoughts. He helped her bend down to place two on each of the gravestones. The engraving on the stone reminded her of the gold lettering embossed on each of Herbert’s journals. Page after page, she read stories of Malynne, disasters on dig sites, and diving expeditions revealing a side of Herbert she could only imagine. While she turned the pages, Laura Dell let his words soak until she felt like a sopping dish rag saturated with sentences and paragraphs.

One afternoon her mother walked onto the porch and sat in the swing next Laura Dell. “Still reading?” her mother said while the fading sunlight rested against her back. Laura Dell only nodded and her mother continued, “I know you’ve been reading a lot.” She hesitated for a moment then added, “You should write. Just think about it.” Something clicked inside Laura Dell and she began to add to the journals. Her handwriting and stories mixing in with Herbert’s postcards and photographs to create a collage of splotched and inked memories. Once the journals were filled, Laura Dell sat leafing through the pages when she turned again to the letter addressed to her. Passing over his words as if in slow motion Laura Dell knew why she had to write. Her mother, like Herbert, knew she had a story worth telling. Now, pressing her hand against the cold granite, she whispered, “I hope you liked my story,” and allowed Weldon to help her stand.

“Thank you for bringing me here Eddie,” she said.

“Ms. Dell, thank you and your mighty fine husband,” he said and and patted Weldon’s shoulder in recognition.

“Thank you sir,” said Weldon while he looped his arm around Laura Dell’s.

“If you’re ready Ms. Dell, we better head back,” replied Eddie.

“Of course,” said Laura Dell and they turned to face the path on which they came. She cradled her arms under her round stomach while they walked and thought of the newness that was about to enter their lives. Laura Dell imagined their brown curls bouncing beneath baseball caps as they ran around the wet grass of their backyard in Alabama. Watching the red caps run around her mind, she remembered the little boy at the museum from her first weeks in Chicago. The memory was hazy like the fog that seeped in around their porch on summer mornings, but she could still see the glint of hope that bounced from his bright hazel eyes. She knew the same look would be reflected in the eyes of her own children as the gray parking lot came into view.

They approached the car when Weldon said with surprise, “Laura, look!” All of the sparrows took off from their perches and flew as one. Their small frames merged and blotted against the fading light while bobbing between the tops of the waving trees. The beaming sun made the sparrows seem as if they were small flickering flames against the leaves surrounding them. The cloud of sparrows rose into the sky and faded against the white wisps as their song echoed off the leaves below.

Looking at the sky melting from an aqua to golden rust, Laura Dell thought of Herbert’s letter and the words he gave as his last. Her life. The life of her husband. The lives of her children. Each of them, she knew, were all worth living.

* * *