just follow the cat

Epilogue #1 (Leasburg, MO)

Exactly 12:35PM CST, January 28th

Lake Road below Cooper's Hill, Leasburg, Missouri

("Come now. We'll have chicken.")

A trickle of mud slid down Earl Huntington's cheek. It led from his eye to his ear and left a dark trail behind it. Although it looked a bit like a teardrop, it was clearly something else. When Avery saw it, he shook his head because it seemed as if the horrible events of the day had counted for nothing. Not even one real tear.

Before walking away, Avery looked into the blackness at the bottom of the abandoned well and said, "God waits until January before he buries the dead. He gives us a blanket of frost and then a second one of snow to help us forget those who are gone. It hardly seems enough, but I suppose it's the best that He can do. I guess even God—"

His voice trailed off.

Then the old man leaned down and pushed himself onto his feet. As he did, he came up with two handfuls of snow. In moments, the warmth of his hands welded the flakes together into an icy white ball. Those who were present that day can agree on one point: when the snowball fell from Avery Cooper's hand, it landed with a great thump. A great, resounding thump, as if it had fallen from a thousand feet in the air. As if it had been carried on the back of a large black bird.

Over the years, some people in town have told more elaborate versions of this story – ones where the snowball was actually dropped onto Earl's chest or into the well. But neither story is true. The tiny snowball simply hit the earth and made a remarkable sound. What happened next was even more remarkable. From deep inside Earl Huntington's chest came a sputtering cough. The boy's body shook briefly and then suddenly from out of his mouth shot a spray of dust and dirt, a few pebbles, and three dried holly leaves. After the first cough, the boy coughed up several more leaves and then everyone heard the boy cry.

Immediately, Earl's mother and father let out great gasping sobs. Then, they fell on top of their son and kissed his muddy skin. All the while, the boy squirmed to get free from the unwanted attention. Still flat on the ground, Earl glanced at the people around him. Seemingly out of nowhere, the crowd was as large as it had ever been.

Avery Cooper stood quietly at the edge of the well. His face was stained with mud and his clothes were twisted into crazy shapes. When he heard the footsteps of people finally leaving, he wobbled a bit as he began walking back up the hill to his house. After only a few steps, he felt an arm slip around his elbow. Then suddenly, he felt a woman's hand brush the back of his neck like it was wiping away the wine-colored birthmark he had always hated. It was Ruth Huntington's hand.

Ruth patted Avery on the shoulder and then opened her mouth. At first no words were able to escape. They were trapped by the sobs that she thought she'd have to share with the world that day. But then (after a moment), she smiled at Avery. She smiled at the old man. She smiled at Mr. Cooper. At Avery Tecla Geronimo Cooper. And then she said, "You'll stay for supper, Mr. Cooper. Come now. We'll have chicken."

Avery looked up at the sky and saw the black bird circling above Leasburg again. It might have been a crow or a starling or even a child's kite. But really, it was so high up that really it was just a black smear on the winter blueness. Avery opened his mouth to answer Ruth, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. Or at least none that resembled a word. Finally, he just cleared his throat and nodded.

You see, it was hours before suppertime. The invitation wasn't just for a meal; it was for time spent together – time with Ruth and Martin and Earl – more time than Avery had spent with anyone in so long that he couldn't remember the occasion. With a lip trembling so slightly that it could easily be attributed to old age, Avery turned toward Ruth and looked into her muddy face. He saw lines etched from one end to the other where teardrops had eroded the dirt and left a roadmap across both of her cheeks. He saw a smile as well. It was a broad, straightforward smile that sat in the middle of everything – in the middle of her face – in the middle of the universe – in the middle of all the intersecting paths that lead from hope to fear and the million places in between.

ααα

I'd like to end the story right here. Really, I would. I mean right here with this sentence. After all, whenever Avery Cooper told his version of what happened, he would begin with the words, "I was born. I will die. In between, I saved a life." And at the end his story, he would be walking arm in arm with a woman he barely knew to share a meal with a family he never understood.

But it's altogether too neat, isn't it? And to believe a story such as this isn't easy. But think of it as a simple act of kindness for an old man who accumulated so little of value in his life and ultimately would leave behind even less. When you think of it that way, there's nothing wrong in believing.

ααα