Doveland (13 page)

Clovis perched on the window sill as he did every evening. The Major was anxious to return home with the little dove he had written so much about. He placed his feet up on the wooden writing table, and relaxed with his hands behind his head. The war had been tough, but it was over, he thought.

“You'll love my country,” said the Major excited to be finally going home. “You will be honored once again for your bravery.”

But, Clovis was not interested in any medals, and began to fear that the Major may never let him go free. He continued to quietly gaze through the window, and the Major began to feel a distant silence growing between them. The Major's excitement about their imminent departure began to diminish as he dropped his feet onto the floor and sat forward in his chair.

“Are you from France, Little Buddy?”

No reponse.

“Belgium?”

Clovis turned his head toward the major.

“Coo-rr.”

“And a true Belgian you are!” he smiled.

The Major had formed an attachment to the bird, and did not want to give him up. Later, while the bird rested, the Major removed the identification band from his leg and returned to his desk. It read, USA217BrnDove. The bird wouldn't need this anymore, he thought, and placed it in the drawer.

Later that evening, he wanted to make something special for his brave little dove to wear for the performance the following morning. He removed the French uniform out of the closet, and snipped a small piece of red material from the trousers. He shaped and formed a little vest that required little stitching. When it was finished, he carefully placed it inside the drawer.

The next morning, the Major was dressed in full uniform for his return to the states. His bags were packed and placed near the door, along with the bird cage needed to board ship.

There was a knock at the door. The Corporal was ready to take Little Buddy outside for the performance. The Major asked him to wait for a moment.

The Major carried the bird to the writing table, and took out the special vest. Draping it over his injured chest, he secured it around his neck.

“The troops would appreciate a little flying performance from you outside before we board ship.”

When the Major opened the door, the Corporal was waiting with a big smile. “Wow! He really does look like a war hero!”

The Major soon joined the others on the street. Comments about the dove's bravery were passed around as Clovis skated through the air with the grace of a bird, and the strength of a soldier. Someone in the crowd threw a piece of bread high into the air, which he easily retrieved. The crowd cheered and applauded.

Clovis had waited so long to return to his family. He abruptly ended the performance by flying up to the belfry of the nearby cathedral, and hoped that the Major would liberate him. Out of reach, his little dove seemed larger than life to him, poised in an unyielding stance. If he whistled, the dove would return to him, but the choice between freedom and captivity would be no challenge to a loyal bird, he thought. There was a strong bond between them as their focus remained on each other. It reminded the Major of the first time he made contact with Little Buddy on the riverbank; his heroic flight up the ridge, and his slow recovery that began on a small blanket in the park.

Meanwhile, the spectators began to whisper with concern for the little dove. “Why is he staying up there so long?” Someone asked.

“Maybe something's wrong with him,” answered another.

Concerned that the dove may have become disoriented, the Corporal looked toward the Major for the possibility of a rescue, but saw peaceful tears rolling down his smiling face. The Major felt
mounting pressure, as he realized the dove's will to survive may have very well brought him to this long awaited moment.

With gratitude for his loyal service, the Major stood at attention, and honored Clovis with a full salute ~ a hand gesture that he would recognize from Argonne Forest. “Go with the wings of an eagle!”

At last, Clovis leaped from the belfry, flying higher and higher into the sky with the freedom to return to his beloved family. The Major remained at attention until his brave little soldier faded into the clouds.

It began to rain heavily before Clovis reached the Belgian border, and his impaired vision forced him to seek shelter in the forest below. Still struggling with injuries to his covert, his leg slipped on a wet branch, but he managed to clutch the limb below. Aware of his physical limitations, he realized the war had taken its toll on his health.

The rains passed by afternoon, and he would soon be reunited with his family at Misty Meadows. As he approached his destination, he was met with unexpected tragedy. The farmhouse and its surrounding hedge had been destroyed by heavy gun artillery, and the bird house lay broken and entrenched in the mud on the ground. He assumed the farmer had been killed in the bombardment.

Perhaps they were hiding in fear, he thought. He stepped around the yard, calling out to his family, but no one answered. He flew up to the birch tree, now burned and barren, and looked over the devastation. How scared Dove Lillian must have been, he thought, and he wasn't there to save her. He recalled the last time
he saw her alive, running after him, begging him not to go. “I will wait for you,” were her last words. Unknown to Clovis, Dove Lillian had spent time each day perching in the same tree waiting for him to come home.

Into the night he waited, and into the misty morning. But no one came. His heart ached with the realization that he had lost his family. Now the war had taken everything. Neither sounds of heavy artillery, nor trumpets of victory could have been heard above the lonely silence of grief and resentment that consumed him. Leaving the farmland he once called home, Clovis leaped off into a future of uncertainty, and once again, wondering why he, alone, was left to survive.

Flying aimlessly across the fields of Flanders, there seemed to be no path to his future. Expectations of reuniting with his family had been shattered. Unable to resume his flight, he landed among a newly planted row of popular trees, and wept.

While in mourning, he became distracted by a flicker of light across the meadows. As he moved closer to the outer part of the branch, the ground fog began to lift. What is this? He wondered as
he looked upon rows and rows of white headstones, each etched with a cross, and adorned with stems of red poppies. He realized it must be a grand military cemetery in memory of the fallen soldiers. His spirit began to lift, and he rejoiced as songs of praises filled his heart. He visited several graves throughout the day.

Once a raging battlefield, Clovis became mesmerized by its tranquil peace and serenity, far from the battle cries of the wounded in no man's land, and the unwavering voices in the trenches asking, “When will it all end?” Clovis had witnessed a war that exceeded human endurance, but their honor would live on.

Clovis had survived the war, and those he had left behind. No longer focused on a future of uncertainty, his outlook became transformed with a renewed sense of purpose that would mark a turning point in his life. For the first time, he was not afraid to recall that fateful day when he and Homer were suddenly swept away from their homeland, and the echo of his terrifying cry for his father. And somehow, it was no longer painful for him to utter the name, “Papa.” Clovis realized it was his destiny to return to Doveland.

Along the way, he flew over no man's land, where dark war clouds once huddled. The terrain had taken the form of a desolate lunar landscape, with fragments of burned out trees and mounds of toppled soil. As he approached the Sambre-Meuse valley, he flew across the Meuse River and circled back to continue his flight in tradition with his father's teachings. Proudly gliding above the river with outstretched wings, he prepared to carry the spirit of his father to his beloved homeland.

His journey home had taken years and his flight pace was steady, for he had no expectations of finding what he had lost. Reaching the confluence of the Semois River, he followed its winding path through the rugged Valley of the Ardennes.

Approaching his destination, he circled above the island, and did not see any signs of life below. He landed in the ground center of the threshold, now an open crater facing the sky. The explosion with the onset of the war had rocked the center of the island leaving burned out trees, forest litter for ground cover, with the scent of wet deadwood. This was not the Doveland he remembered. He sighed.

But everything was about to change when he felt movement around him. Startled, he called out.

“Is anyone here?” His voice seemed to echo throughout the hollow forest.

A turtle dove remained cautious as he responded from the safety of the underbrush.

“Who are you?”

“I am Clovis of Doveland.”

“Papa?” cried BoCoo as he ran toward his father, with his sister, Lilac behind him.

His heart filled with great joy, just like he had dreamed it would so many times.

“Oh, Lille, my Lille.”

“I knew you would find us, Clovis.”

“I dreamed of this day for so long. I've missed you Lille.”

BoCoo could not wait any longer to interrupt.

“Where did you get that red cloak, Papa?”

“From a kind soldier to keep me warm,” he replied, still gazing at his mate who saw through his humility, as he minimized the importance of his war injuries with a sense of valor that did not aspire recognition.

Many unfamiliar pigeons and doves began gathering around the ground center of the threshold. Lilac quickly explained.

“By the way, Papa, we brought lots of new friends with us!”

Before he could respond, two doves came forward, singing the tune of Waltzing Matilda while marching into the ground center.

“Remember us?” they asked in unison.

“Banjo, Mookie, I'm so glad to see you!” exclaimed Clovis.

“We lost our Jolly in the war and decided to join you here,” said Mookie.

“When your family said you didn't return home, we went searching for you many times,” said Banjo.

“Where have you been all this time?” asked Mookie.

“I'll tell you all about it,” replied Clovis as he became distracted by a small flock of birds circling overhead. Soon he discovered it was the Tumbler. Honey Dove landed first, then the Tumbler and their two fledglings. The Tumbler was pleasantly surprised to see Clovis. He couldn't wait to introduce his family.

“Of course you know Honey Dove. These are our little rollers, Tumbleweed, and Honeyseed.”

Clovis greeted them warmly, but surprised that the Tumbler had settled down. Clovis wanted to know what happened at Misty Meadows.

The Tumbler explained that the farmer had to be rescued from the house by the Belgian Army before the enemy advanced further into West Flanders. They realized they would have to find a new home.

“I knew if you were still alive, Clovis, you would return to Doveland.”

“Thank you for taking care of my family, Tumbler.”

“Welcome home, my friend!”

Clovis quietly gazed around the ground center of the threshold. It was no longer endowed by a beautiful green canopy, but it had survived the war. Realizing that the future of Doveland rested in the shared community of family and friends, he proudly exclaimed, “This is the happiest day of my life!”

As family, friends, and newcomers began to gather closer around Clovis, it became evident that they had chosen him to be their leader. He accepted the honor and was eager to announce there would be a special celebration to officially declare the trees of Doveland their permanent homeland. Feeling secure in their newly developed community, the pigeons and doves boldly ventured away from the safety of the underbrush into the forest where they gathered seed and dried berries for the celebration.

The forest floor was abundant with colonized pioneer grasses, as well as pine cone seeds heroically dispersed during the firestorm. Spore-shedding fronds of ferns with blue and silver hues were collected among the rocks along the shore. Wilted vines yanked from the roots of an aspen awakened the dormant buds beneath the protective carpet of pine needles. Green sprouts of new growth were
plucked from the dark cinders by nature's pruners, and ground critters rustled once again beneath the musty leaves. A new forest garden had begun.

Wondering what all the excitement was about, Wimpy the weasel emerged from his burrow, along with two of his own weasels. Recognizing his friend, Clovis, he cautioned his family.

“Now remember, we don't bother the birds!”

Serenades of nature swept across the river to the trees of Doveland, bringing winds of change to the ground center of the threshold, as the ceremony was about to begin.

Clovis proudly faced the community to make an important announcement. “It was my father's greatest dream . . .”

The ceremony was suddenly interrupted by the presence of hawks arriving in the bare branches above them. The forests had been ravaged by the war and the hawks had become desperate for food. Clacking sounds echoed throughout the forest, “Kek-kekkek.” Their powerful strength as hunters invoked such paralyzing
fear among the pigeons and doves that they fled to safety in the underbrush, and hovered in the dark shadows of trees and shrubs.

The past had come back to haunt Clovis. The sight of the hawks in the trees above sent chills through him. Standing alone against the enemy in the ground center of the threshold, Clovis wondered if the struggle to survive would ever end.

If his leadership inspired fear among the pigeons and doves like that of his grandfather, Skybird, hope for a peaceful haven would be lost. They must learn to unite, he thought, and make a stand against their enemy. He would have to rely on the service background of the newcomers, because he had only one plan of action. He called out to the pigeons and doves with the fearless tone of a commanding officer.

“Are there any Yanks, Tommies, or Doughboys here?”