Jill Spiwak

Hundreds of White Doves

Caroline Osborn Short Story

Mistress Elizabeth’s bedroom was elegant. It had matching pinewood furniture and white linens. The simple adornments made the wallpaper a clear focal point. Its deep blue background could barely be seen amid the vines that wove their way to the ceiling with determination. Leaves sprouted across the walls, filling the sparse areas with movement. A flock of white doves were pinned to the painted forest. They all assumed the same position of outstretched wings and a skyward glance. The sunlight that poured through the windows guided my attention to a vacant space on the wall. The pattern of birds was consistent throughout the whole room, but one was missing. Upon examination, I noticed another bird’s wing hanging off the wall. I ran my fingers over it and felt soft feathers. One of my black curls fell into my face as I studied the birds, and I brushed it away. “Hurry up!” Mistress Elizabeth’s voice rang out from downstairs. I snapped back into focus and grabbed the book off of her nightstand. I marched through the door before turning around for one last look at the empty space. I had been in Mistress Elizabeth’s room many times, so I would have noticed something like this. It made no sense that the bird had just disappeared. I stroked the cover of the book with my thumb. I felt the grooves where the title had been etched and gilded. I tilted the book forward and attempted to make sense of the large word on the front cover. “Bondage,” I whispered. I flipped to the first page and examined a lone sentence. “It all started when someone left the window open.” I moved my finger across every little word, feeling the smoothe ink under my fingertips. I gripped the book against my chest with one arm and proceeded toward the window near Mistress Elizabeth’s bureau. The skirt of my dress brushed against her radiator as I flipped the lock. I hoisted the bottom panel all the way up, then backed away. Warm spring air filled the room with anticipation, and her sheer curtains were elevated by an incoming breeze. I took a deep breath and paused for a moment. Once I felt satisfied with myself, I rushed back downstairs. “Could you have taken any longer?” Mistress Elizabeth took her book and slapped the back of my hand. Her pale face wore a tight scowl. “Sorry,” I said. She ignored my apology and flipped through the pages to find the piece of embroidered fabric she used to mark her place. “Can you make me some tea?” she asked without looking up. “And don’t dawdle like you did getting my book.” I nodded and rushed into the kitchen. I had lit the wood stove earlier this morning to make eggs for breakfast, and it was still warm enough to boil tea. I fetched the kettle from the cupboard, brought it to the basin, and began filling it with water. I studied the view outside the window above the dry sink to pass the time. Young wildflowers swayed in the whistling breeze, filling the fields with expanses of pink, yellow, and white amongst the dewy grass. Puffy clouds hung in the afternoon sky, casting shadows over the woods. On a spur of the moment, hundreds of white doves soared over the field toward the forest. On impulse, I dropped the kettle into the wash basin and hastened to the stairs. “What are you doing?” Mistress Elizabeth shouted. I heard her get out of her chair and chase after me, but I refused to stop. I sprinted down the hallway and halted when I arrived at the doorframe of her bedroom. “They’re gone,” I said out loud. The walls -- once covered with white doves -- now were only adorned with vines. As I ambled further into the room, I heard Mistress Elizabeth enter behind me. I turned around to see her pursuing me with her hand raised. When she noticed the missing avifauna, she hesitated and brought her arm back to her side. “Where are the birds?” she asked herself. Before I could concoct an answer, she began to walk toward the window that I left ajar. She ran a hand along the windowsill and stood idly for a moment. The breeze carried her thin hair behind her shoulders and blew the curtains further into the room. I stood behind her in silence. “It all started when someone left the window open,” she recited. “He squeezed through and climbed down the side of the house until his feet met with the ground. Illinois was a two-day trip upstream, against the current. But he would make that trip a thousand times if, when it was over, he would be free.” Mistress Elizabeth lifted her hand from the windowsill and turned to face me. I watched behind her as she walked over to her desk, pulled out a fountain pen and some paper, and scribbled meaningless circles and lines. “Before my husband gets home, you must go to the house at the end of Winston Avenue. There should be a light on outside. Stay there for the night, and the woman that lives there will tell you where to go in the morning. This should help you find your way,” Mistress Elizabeth handed me the sheet of paper. Once I saw it the proper way, I could recognize the streets in our part of town. My hands shook as I folded the map and put it into my pocket. Mistress Elizabeth, who had tears trickling down her cheeks, put away her stationery and came around to the other side of the desk. She opened her arms and pulled me into a tight hug. “Thank you so much, Mistress Elizabeth,” I said. She replied, “Call me Liz.”