Promises to Keep Nan Rossiter (books for 7th graders .txt) 📖

she said softly. “I’m sorry this happened, but we’re gonna find a new home for you. Everything is going to be okay.”

Then she stood up and looked back at Gus, whose fur was still standing on end. “C’mon, silly, he’s not going to hurt you.” The very tip of Gus’s tail wagged tentatively, and with his ears back, he tiptoed across the porch as far from the crate as possible.

Maeve dropped her bag on a chair and walked across the room to get her laptop, but as she passed Gage’s drawing table, she realized the lamp was on and the little narrow drawer beneath it was open. When she started to push the drawer closed, she noticed a small black box from a jewelry store in Savannah on the table and froze, staring at it.

With a pounding heart, she glanced out the window. Gage was still digging, and she knew he would be occupied for a while. She looked back at the box, and then slowly reached over to pick it up. Would it hurt to look? Honestly, wouldn’t any girl—given the opportunity—peek inside a little black jewelry box . . . just to see what was inside? It was probably earrings—after all, she’d recently complained about how many earrings she’d lost—but as she held the box in her hand, the temptation tore at her heart. On one hand, she could hear her friends and her sister absolutely encouraging her to peek, but on the other hand, something was stopping her. She knew Gage had left this room in a hurry, abandoning whatever he’d been doing . . . and if he were to come in right now, what he would think? What would he expect of the woman he loved and trusted? Would he be disappointed if he saw her opening the box? She knew, deep down, he would. She looked out the window again and suddenly felt as if she were seeing him for the first time . . . and it didn’t have anything to do with the box or its contents. It was because he was sweating and struggling to dig a hole that would be deep enough to protect the body of the fox he’d had to kill. This good, honest, kind, gentle man was trying to make things right the only way he knew how, and his eyes were glistening with tears because killing the fox had been against every fiber of his being . . . and how incredibly lucky was she that this tenderhearted man loved her? She bit her lip, put the box in the drawer, closed it, and reached up to turn off the light, but before she did, she noticed Dutch’s eyes gazing up at her. “I didn’t open it,” she whispered with a half smile, and then she clicked off the light and picked up her laptop.

She sat down at the kitchen table, opened her laptop, and googled “wildlife rehabilitators in Savannah, Georgia.” Several names and websites popped up, but one name sounded oddly familiar: Sage Finch, licensed wildlife rehabilitator, Tybee Island. Maeve frowned. Where had she heard that name before? She clicked on the link, and in the banner of the website there was a picture of a boy with a little raccoon trailing behind him. The caption read: “Sam and Ty Coon.” Of course, she thought. Harper is always talking about her friend Sam and his gentle affinity for animals. Harper even mentioned that his mom takes care of orphaned animals. That is how Sam came to have a pet raccoon.

She scrolled through the page, looking for information, and after jotting down the address, she called the phone number and Sage picked up after the first ring.

When Gage came in a few minutes later, carrying his rifle, she told him about the call.

He nodded. “Would you mind taking him?”

“Sure,” she said haltingly. “Don’t you want to go?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think I want to meet someone who rescues wild animals when I’m the one who orphaned him.”

“Sage actually said it happens pretty often—wild animals become too bold around humans and their dwellings and it creates problems. She was surprised, though, that there was only one kit because there’re usually several in a litter.”

Gage shrugged. “I only saw one, but I’ll keep my eye out . . . not that I’d be able to catch any. The only reason I caught this one was because he was inside the fence.”

Maeve nodded. “Maybe, if there are others, they’re old enough to get by on their own.”

“Maybe,” Gage said, “but I hope they don’t settle around here.” He wiped his brow with the shoulder of his shirt. “When are you taking him?”

“I told her I’d be right over.”

“I think the crate will fit in the back of your Jeep . . . unless you want to take the truck.”

“It doesn’t matter—whichever you think is better.”

“Okay, I’ll go see.” He went outside, gingerly picked up the crate, and carried it to her Jeep, trying not to spill the water, but he ended up putting it in the back of his truck, and when she came out, he handed her his keys.

“I’ll be back,” she said with a sad half smile. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I still love you.”

He smiled, too. “Well, that’s good to know.” He pulled her toward him. “Even though I’m all sweaty?”

“Especially because you’re all sweaty,” she said, glad he was smiling. She kissed him and then turned to go, but stopped and looked back. “Try to be showered when I get back, though.”

“I don’t have time for hanky-panky,” he teased.

“Your loss,” she said, waving as she pulled away.

“My loss, indeed,” he said, laughing. He went back inside with Gus at his heels, the big Lab trotting happily across the porch, thankful that the infiltrator had been removed from the premises, but he did peer into the box holding the new little chicks and gave them a quick sniff—no danger posed there!

Gage cleaned his rifle, and as he locked it back in its case, he ran his hand over