Wilton Knight and Devon Miles were in Wilton's office, discussing Knight Industries business. There was a knock at the door, to which Wilton responded by inviting the person to enter the room. Though he was pretty certain who it was. Sure enough, the door opened and in came his young daughter, Melissa. The preschooler had her blankie over one shoulder. Smiling, he met her halfway, scooping her up into a big hug.
"And how is my busy little bee today?" he asked.
She giggled. "Why you call me dat?"
"Because your name – Melissa – means bee."
"Really?" Her eyes went wide.
"Yes, really. Every name has a meaning." Wilton set her on the sofa, then sat beside her, sandwiching her between himself and Devon.
"What your name mean, Daddy?" she asked as she snuggled up against him.
"Wilton means town with a well."
"Dat a silly name."
Devon disagreed. Wilton's genius and business acumen meant that Knight Industries flourished, like a town with a consistent water supply.
"And Unka Devon? What his name mean?"
"Devon means poet."
"I am a poet, and I don't even know it," Devon solemnly intoned. "But my feet show it. Because they are long fellows."
Wilton chuckled at the joke, which went completely over his young daughter's head.
"Daddy, it not nice to laugh at Unka Devon," she said in a whisper not much quieter than her normal speaking voice.
"I am sorry, Devon." Wilton managed to keep a straight face as he apologized to his friend.
Also with a straight face, Devon graciously replied, "Apology accepted, Wilton."
"What about Garthe?" Melissa asked excitedly. "What his name mean?"
"I'm not sure," Wilton said, and Melissa looked crestfallen. "But I do know where to find a book that will tell us."
"The liberry! We go to liberry?"
"Of course, my busy little bee."
Just then, the phone rang. Wilton answered. He spoke to the person on the line, then put his hand over the receiver.
"Sorry, honey. I need to take this call. And it's going to be a while."
"Dat okay, Daddy," said Melissa sadly.
"I, however," said Devon as he hoisted his goddaughter onto his shoulders, "do not have any calls to take. To the library! We shall report back what we learn."
Wilton waved at them both and blew his daughter a kiss, then returned to his call. Devon strode down the hall. Melissa was making happy buzzing bee noises. And then they turned a corner to see Melissa's older brother, Garthe.
"Garthe!" said Melissa with delight. "We go to liberry. You come wif?"
Devon wondered if the 19-year-old knew how much his little sister adored him. The TH sound was hard for a small child to enunciate properly. But Melissa had learned to say Garthe, with the TH, even though she said dat instead of that and wif instead of with. Of course, Garthe neither knew nor cared.
"Why would I want to go anywhere with you?" he sneered.
"We invite you," Melissa replied with the logic of a small child.
"You can't read. You can't even say library correctly."
Devon decided to join in the conversation, to explain to Garthe the purpose behind their excursion. "We are going to –"
"Save it, Mr. Miles. I have far better things to do with my time than spending it with her."
"You can carry blankie." Melissa generously offered.
Contemptuously, Garthe declined. "Why would I want to even touch that dirty old rag?"
"Blankie not dirty," Melissa hotly defended her prized possession.
Garthe didn't respond. He instead stalked away. Devon was impressed at his goddaughter's refusal to give up. And disgusted at his godson's refusal to give in. Devon patted Melissa on the leg and continued to the library. He gently placed Melissa on the small settee and then turned to the shelves.
"Now, let's see where that book is, shall we?"
"No." Melissa's voice was so small and soft that Devon wasn't sure he had heard her.
He looked at her in surprise. "No?"
"Don't wanna anymore," she said in the same soft voice as before.
Devon went back to the settee and sat down beside Melissa, with his arm around her. She leaned against him, thumb in her mouth. After a few minutes, she pulled her thumb out.
"Unka Devon? Garthe is my bruver. But he not love me like he eposta."
Devon gave a heavy sigh. "No, my dear child, he doesn't."
Melissa sucked her thumb pensively a little more, then asked, "Do I hafta love him, Unka Devon?"
Firmly but kindly, Devon told her, "Melissa Alexandra, love is a gift. You decide who deserves to receive that gift and who doesn't. You can also decide that someone who has that gift no longer deserves it. You do not hafta love anyone just because other people think you are eposta."
"Oh."
Melissa sucked her thumb again, clearly thinking. Or perhaps getting ready for a nap. It was getting to be about that time of day.
Eventually, she said, "It hard to love Garthe."
"Yes, it is."
"It too hard. So I stop." Melissa paused, then added, "That make Daddy sad."
"Yes," replied Devon sadly, knowing how Wilton felt about the situation.
"We not tell him."
Devon realized his mistake with bemusement. At two months shy of her fourth birthday, Melissa was a bit hazy on the formal rules of English grammar. When she said that make, she meant that will make rather than that does make, which is what Devon had assumed. Now he had to figure out what to do about his error.
She commanded, "Unka Devon, you not tell Daddy."
"Well –"
"Promise!"
"I will not tell him. Though I will not lie to him, either."
"It bad to lie," Melissa acknowledged.
"Yes, it is."
"Okay, if Daddy ask, you tell him. But only if he ask."
"I promise."
Melissa stayed where she was, sucking her thumb. Devon wondered if this time she had fallen asleep. Until she spoke again.
"Unka Devon? Please read to me?"
"Of course. What would you like me to read?"
"Poetry!" she answered with a giggle.
Devon walked over to the shelves again, scanning the titles until he found the one he wanted. He pulled the book off the shelf and returned to his goddaughter on the settee.
"Here's a book of poetry by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow."
Melissa was not quite four. She may have remembered that Devon meant poet, but she had long since forgotten Devon's recital in Wilton's office. Devon chose not to explain the joke. Instead, he sat down and began reading "Paul Revere's Ride".
Melissa was asleep before the final stanza. Carefully, Devon moved his goddaughter, so she was laying fully on the settee rather than leaning up against him. When he was sure she was settled and unlikely to wake up, he returned the book of poetry to the shelf. He then went to a different shelf and pulled down a different book. He flipped through it until he found what he was looking for.
"Gardener, eh? An apt name for someone who so clearly will reap what he has sown."