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Rated: E · Short Story · Fantasy · #1137821
A simple tale of caring souls
The small one-room building once was a church. The country folk had no use for a big ornate cathedral with its statues and incense. For years, they’d come to this tiny church, filling it with more honest love of God than most other houses of worship. Now it stood empty and slowly sinking back into the earth, board by insect-riddled board. The people had since moved away, the farm land that once provided them a good living now worn out and barren.

“Well,” said the old man to his companion, “at least it has a roof to keep us dry if it rains tonight.” Ralph Weston looked down at his friend of many years, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Shall we go in?” Hearing nothing to the contrary, Ralph pushed against the wooden door hanging half on and half off its rusted hinges. It took a bit of effort, but slowly the door opened to let the two weary travelers inside.

The man looked around, trying to find a clean place to spend the night, which was almost on them. Through the windows, grimy from years of neglect, the orange and purple sunset managed somehow to bath the simple church in glorious vibrant colors, more beautiful than that caused by the most expensive stained-glass windows. Not as fussy as Ralph about where to sleep, his companion walked to a corner and lay down, waiting for the food she knew would be coming.

“Sorry, Gertrude, all I could find were these,” Ralph said sadly, holding out a bunch of dry Queen Anne’s lace. The spiky plant, however, satisfied Gertrude. She chewed on them with a look of contentment on her face.

Ralph finally lay down, wrapping his worn coat around him for warmth. Even though the heat of the day still filled the room, his old bones already felt the encroaching cold of the night. On the far side of 90, Ralph was alone with all his family and friends gone to their final rewards. His only companion was the one he’d rescued from a cruel human barrier. Gertrude’s cries of pain and terror had him running that day across an empty field to find her tangled up in a rusty barb wire fence, bleeding and almost starved to death.

“Shush, shush, girl,” he soothed her, managing to still her cries while pulling away the wire from around her legs. Two years later, she carried the scars on her legs, but Ralph had healed the cuts and fed her until ribs no longer showed through her cream-colored skin.

“Gertrude,” his wavering voice called out across the darkened room. “You’ve been a true friend, but I think you’ll have to be on your own from now on.” Only the rustling of her movement in the distance was his answer. “It’s been a good run for me. I had a wife to love and who loved me back and gave me two wonderful children.” He continued talking softly, not caring that his voice was getting softer and weaker. For years after the last of his family passed away, he wandered over the countryside, using Western Union to wire his bank for money whenever it got low. He had no ties to keep him in one place and enjoyed meeting strangers in his travels. Now, both his money and life were reaching the end, and he was more than ready to join his wife again.

As Ralph lay there, remembering certain happy memories of his long life, he suddenly heard the sound of rain on the church’s tin roof. Lightning turned the dark room into daylight, and he saw Gertrude lifting her head at the sounds that accompanied the flashes of light. Lulled to sleep by the music of the rain overhead, his rheumy blue eyes closed. His breathing slowed, and in his sleep, he stretched out his arms in welcome.

When the next morning brought fresh air into the church, Gertrude awoke, once again hungry. Across the room, the man lay, not moving, peaceful in death. She walked over to his silent body and gazed down at him for long minutes. People say that animals have no emotions, but Gertrude did. In her bovine heart, she knew something was gone from her life and lowed deeply in sorrow.

Finally, the Jersey cow took one last look at the man and left the church, a fitting place for a gentle man to end his days.

Gertrude for Blessed Be story }

< Blessed be, Gertrude! >


Microsoft Word count = 760

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© Copyright 2006 J. A. Buxton (judity at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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