Twenty-Two

Hank Coolidge

Nice, Illinois

I can’t sleep. I listen to the rain pounding the roof. Branches scrape the windows like they want in.

I guess I fall asleep because when I open my eyes again, it’s morning—barely. I get dressed and head outside. The scent of slow-cooked turkey fills the house.

Outside, it’s still dark. A bank of gray clouds shields the horizon. I feel like I’m being drawn outside, but the strings drawing me are pulling at me from every direction. For a minute, I don’t know which way to go—the paddock, the south pasture, the barn.

And then I know why I’ve come outside. The maple tree. Kat’s maple tree. I want to see it.

I need to see it.

I jog, then run, to the barn. I duck through the frame, wet and splattered with mud. My feet slip, and I go down. My hand slides through mud at the base of the barn. Something brushes against my fingertips, and I jerk my hand away. I get to my knees, then look where my hand was.

Buried beneath mud and ash is a bright red leaf—a maple leaf. I pull it out and see that it’s perfect, without a tear or spot, completely preserved. It survived. While flames leaped above it and everything around it turned black, this leaf held on.

Carefully I brush off the ash. “I’ll hold on too,” I whisper, fingering the veins of the leaf. “I’ll stay close, God.”

Suddenly I want more than ever to see that maple. The storm and wind have probably blown off all the leaves by now, and I’ll never see it the way Kat did. But I want to see it anyway.

I walk around the posts that form the corner of the new barn. When I make the turn, the sun peeks through the clouds, sending a ray, a spotlight that sets the maple on fire with reds, oranges, and yellows. Light shines through the branches, and a breeze makes the wet leaves wave. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. And I almost missed it.

“Thank You,” I whisper.

“Far out.”

I turn toward the paddock and see Catman and Winnie, arm in arm, staring at the maple and the sunrise. They’re walking toward me, but I don’t think they’ve seen me yet.

I’m grateful that there’s someone to share this maple, this moment, with.

You’re so good to me. The thought—the prayer—comes to me as natural and real as the sunrise.

“Far out!” I shout. It feels more like prayer than “Amen” or “Hallelujah.” So I shout it again: “Far out!”

Catman hollers back, “Right on, man!”

“Far out!” Winnie agrees.

They join me, and we stand gazing at the maple for I don’t know how long, soaking up the glory of the tree, the sunrise, and the Creator, who’s closer than all of it.

“Hey, guys!” Dakota calls. When we don’t answer, she comes over to us and stares at the maple too. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

“Far out.” Winnie and Catman say it at exactly the same instant.

“Almost forgot why I came out here,” Dakota says. “Hank, your mom says they called from the firehouse. The guys are on their way. She thought you might need us to help you with something before they get here.”

I grin at Dakota, then at Winnie and Catman. They look like they’re waiting for their work orders. There are a lot of things I can think of that we could do to get ready for the barn raising.

But there’s only one that sounds like the perfect way to begin Thanksgiving. “Let’s ride.”

In minutes, we’re on horseback. Catman doubles up with Winnie on Nickers. Dakota and Blackfire ride next to Starlight and me. I’ve missed my horse, missed the oneness I feel when we move together. But I know she forgives me for being away from her so long. The day is filled with forgiveness. And hope.

Cool wind whips around me. Catman clings to Winnie. Dakota leans forward and hugs Blackfire’s neck. I hug Starlight, inhaling her horsey scent. And together, we gallop toward the sunrise, with the whole world in front of us.