The Messenger

23

Tyler went to his room, found the slender packet of handwritten sheets, and ran his fingers over the paper, so unlike the paper of these times. The words were inscribed in his best copperplate, written with neatness and care-once she became accustomed to the style of the hand, she should be able to decipher it. He wondered if the day was coming when no one would be able to write without the aid of a keyboard.

If so, he’d be around to see it, wouldn’t he?

He shuddered.

He took the sheaf into her room, a guest room. She had not had time to make any personal impression here, hardly time to do more than unpack.

He began to set the papers on the desk, then halted and turned to the bed. Ignoring all the warnings in his mind that this was trespass, and his fear that she would see this as an insult, he pulled the light comforter aside and set the papers on the soft sheets below, near but not quite on her pillow, then left the room.

“I don’t know what she’ll make of it, Shade,” he said later, as they walked together through the cemetery. He paused and stared out over the tombstones. “I hardly know what to make of all of this either. Courtship, at my age? A little ridiculous, isn’t it?”

The dog stopped and stared back at him, then butted his head against him. From long experience, Tyler knew this to be a gesture of comfort. He reached to stroke the dog’s soft, tufted ears. “Thank you. I’ve often wondered if you long for the company of another dog, but you’ve never seemed more than mildly interested in other canines.” He paused. “And I don’t know where to find another cemetery dog for you. Should I try again to find someone else who does what I do? The closest I’ve come is Colby.”

Shade walked on. He always seemed disapproving or indifferent to any mention of Colby. Tyler could hardly blame him.

“Colby once told me there are no others, but he’s never felt compelled to be truthful. I feel strongly that there must be others, and yet whenever we’ve traveled-not the smallest bit of success, was there? Perhaps I’ve kidded myself, hoping we’d at least be able to meet an animal who could provide better companionship for you than I do.”

Shade looked up at him again, this time with an intensity that made him wish he could read the dog’s mind.

They walked on for a while. He confessed to Shade, “I can’t stop thinking of her.”

Shade turned to him and wagged his tail.

“Yes, that’s all very well until I imagine what sort of future I would be offering her.” He sighed. “It would be better, don’t you think, if I could find someone else who is in my situation?”

Shade looked away from him, then moved off, back toward the car.

Tyler tried to shake off the sensation of having disappointed the dog.