just follow the cat

Chapter 19: the strawberry jam

12:32PM CST, January 28th

Lake Road below Cooper's Hill, Leasburg, Missouri

("It's a show that's better than any Sunday get together.")

After pulling Earl from the well, Martin Huntington collapsed at his wife's feet. The mud caked rope was still in his hand and he left it to Ruth to force breath after breath into their son's water-filled lungs. Minutes passed with no response. The young boy's body remained cold and his muscles limp.

Lying beside Earl on the ground, Robert Prindle shivered terribly, but the worst of his convulsions had ceased. When the young man's eyes finally refocused, he saw his friends and neighbors turn away from him. They would look directly toward him but only when he was looking away. His failure to save Earl had made him an exile in a small town.

Throughout the morning, light breezes had blown the powdery snow off the trees. First, the top branches were cleared and little by little the lower branches lost their coating as well. Each time the snow fell, the sun would illuminate the broken flakes. Sparkling rainbows hung in the air until the powder settled to the ground. Since there had already been hundreds of colorful showers that day, it was easy not to notice them anymore. But when snow fell from a nearby beech tree, a young couple took note of the beauty around them. For a moment, they danced hand in hand as if they had suddenly left this awful world and entered a happier one. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, Avery watched the couple spinning around each other like it was the warmest day of summer.

In the sky above Leasburg, the black bird that had been circling the town since morning finally broke out of its pattern and headed west. Although the bird had never been much more than a splotch on the sky, it was now even less than that. First, it was a speck. Then a blip. Then finally, it was nothing.

With his head in his hands, Avery began speaking so quietly that no living human could hear his words. He looked at the couple dancing under the shower of snow and said, "Come on in, folks. Come on. Direct from the hills of Missouri; it's a show that's better than any Sunday get together. There's dancing and spinning and death."

Then he looked at Earl Huntington's body beside him on the ground. In a voice that was so soft that not even God could hear his words, the old man said, "Just an hour ago, I watched this boy throwing snowballs at the trees. He never hit what he wanted to hit because this snow is too dry." Avery worked the snow between his fingers. The snowflakes stuck to everything – his gloves, his wrist – everything but other snowflakes.

Soon, the people by the well began walking away. The crowd that was once as close as a tightly packed snowball was drifting apart. They were like the driest snowflakes on the coldest day. As the crowd thinned, Avery continued speaking, but his voice was even gentler than before. So gentle that (even he) couldn't hear his own words. "Those of us who are older know how this works," he said. "We let the warmth of our hands do the hard part. After a few seconds, the snow is warm enough and wet enough to form a snowball. But that boy was too young to know any better. His snowballs broke apart before they ever got close to their target. And yet, he kept throwing them. From my house on the top of hill, it looked foolish to keep trying but maybe it was just the best that he could do."

Then Avery looked at Robert Prindle – the young man who had expected a life full of praise and glory. Now, he was coated in mud and the kisses of his mother and sisters. Avery looked at all the other people turning their backs and mouthed the words, "You all thought that you could have found the boy sooner. After all, it's such a small area to search. No wider than your outstretched arms. But you weren't down there and I'm quite sure that young Lucas did the best that he could."

Before walking away, the men on the rope line brushed the dirt from their pants and wiped their muddy hands on the snow in hopes that they could remove the stain of failure from their efforts that day. Avery shook his head and thought, "Each man is telling himself that he did his best – that it wasn't his fault. At the same time, each is wondering about the others. Maybe the other nine could have pulled harder or dug in deeper. That thought will pass, of course. It will pass and be replaced by a much more terrible thought. When those men go to bed tonight, they'll know that there are nine other men in town blaming them for what happened."

Finally, Avery turned to look at his house on the top of the hill. He leaned over Earl's body and whispered to the boy's mother, "When I saw your boy fall into the well, I ran as fast as I could to tell you. At least, I thought it was as fast as I could but when I got here I found that I had carried this jar of strawberry jam along with me."

Avery pulled the jar out of his pocket.

"I can assure you that I don't normally carry strawberry jam in my pocket. While that may seem like a small point. It might be much more than that. You see, I must have paused for a moment to pick up the jar. And since I don't remember doing it, that pause might have made the difference. It was probably just a second or two, but it could have been much longer. Who knows what might have happened if I hadn't waited so long. When I go to bed tonight, I'll have my own terrible thoughts. I'll wonder if I did the best that I could."

Avery let the wet snow fall from his palm. This time, instead of floating to ground, the snow dropped in a heavy mass at his feet. By this point, it was a soggy brown snowball. Then, he took the jar of strawberry jam and tossed it into the abandoned well.

He threw the spoon in after it.

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