As she tried to get past the forms of the message—the bumps, nicks, and scratches in the cane—and into the deeper meanings of what she was feeling, the cane began revealing the meanings and its secrets to Chelsea Reese. Like a child comprehending her first word, and then a few more, and then the whole world opening up—something opened in Chelsea’s mind, and the cane began telling her the story of Old Blind Carl.
Old Blind Carl was a kind man—a gentle man. He loved people; he loved stories. He wasn’t bitter about his fate. He was filled with wonder at the miracle of life, despite his blindness! He was compassionate, kind, and caring. He loved to listen! The sounds he heard told him so much—far more than Chelsea ever knew was around her—things she’d ignored with her ears because she relied so much on her eyes. His sense of touch and his skill and acuity in listening were far greater than hers, and the world he experienced was far different.
Chelsea continued to touch the cane and try to understand what it was telling her. The language was new, but she continued to learn and take in its meanings. There were things she did not understand, but she learned more about Old Blind Carl than she ever imagined an old cane could tell her. Or was it imagination? Possibly it was, but she continued to listen, no matter the source. She learned of his love of music, spicy food, the sounds of nature, and the touch of another human. She learned he had traveled the world and had somehow visited the Great Pyramid, the Eiffel Tower, and the Statue of Liberty—not with his eyes, but with his touch! He has touched them? She was confused. How could that be possible? It made no sense to her, but she distinctly felt those experiences in the cane. All the qualities and experiences that made up Carl and his life were revealed to her.
With eyes still closed, tears began to stream down Chelsea’s face. Matthew was right—the cane did contain the story of Old Blind Carl’s life! She was about to open her eyes, when a surprise came. A surprise was hidden at the end of the story—Joy! There was some intense joy—far beyond anything that Chelsea had ever known. Far beyond the hollowness of the word joy itself! Old Blind Carl had known some kind of immense joy, so intense that Chelsea barely had the heart or imagination to contain it. It was a mystery to her.
She opened her eyes and wiped the tears from her face. She looked at the cane and realized how one-dimensional merely looking at it was—how empty and flat the sight of it—how much deeper and richer the touch of it! She rested the cane against the nightstand by her bed. Is this a dream?
As she continued to wipe her face, there was a knock on her bedroom door. “Come in,” she said, expecting it could only be her mother.
“I saw your light was still on,” Amanda said. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m all right,” said Chelsea.
“You’ve been crying,” said Amanda softly. Amanda sat on the bed next to her daughter. She reached up and caressed Chelsea’s hair and wiped the last bit of a tear from her cheek. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?”
“It’s been an incredible day,” Chelsea said, trying to be strong enough to keep the tears from flowing again.
Amanda looked into her daughter’s dampened eyes. “Were you crying about Old Blind Carl? I’m worried about him, too.”
Chelsea shook her head. “I’m not worried about him. That’s not why I was crying.”
“No? Then something else?”
Chelsea turned her head slightly away from her mother and glanced at the cane. I can’t tell her, she thought. Not now, anyway.
“I guess it’s just a bit of everything,” said Chelsea, turning back to her mother.
“I know,” Amanda said, smiling. “How often do you see a naked man and then have dinner with him, all in the same day?”
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that. It seems like such a long time ago.”
“How could you forget about that? He’s such an odd man.”
“He is odd, I suppose,” said Chelsea, looking at her mother. “Yet, there’s something else to him. I think he’s—” Chelsea stopped.
Not now. She wasn’t ready to tell anything just now. The experience was too strange, too new, and too odd. It was too close to being imagination. She searched for the right words to complete the sentence. She searched for the meaning. Matthew was more than just odd, and she wanted to know what he had meant to her. What had this experience with him actually meant? She thought of the cane. He had given it to her, and it had somehow opened up a whole new world to her. The cane had been a gift to her. Matthew had meant—a gift. It was too nebulous and too dangerous to say out loud.
“He’s what?” her mother asked, searching Chelsea’s eyes.
“I’m not sure,” said Chelsea, “but odd is not exactly it. Odd is too general and too…I don’t know…too negative.”
Amanda continued to look closely at Chelsea. “Chelse, the man said that Old Blind Carl was no longer blind! You don’t find that odd?”
She didn’t connect it at first, but at that moment she did—the joy! Could it be related? Could the intense joy in the cane be…? Chelsea’s mind raced in wonder at the thought of it.
Her mother’s voice brought her back. “Chelse…do you find Matthew attractive?”
Chelsea laughed slightly. “Mom, what kind of question is that?”
“Just the kind of question a mother might ask her daughter after the kind of day we’ve had. I don’t think I recall you ever seeing a man naked before—or at least telling me about it. You are just so reluctant to call him what he is—odd! People can be odd and attractive at the same time, right?”
Chelsea took a deep breath. “Okay,” she began, “I guess I mean…he is pretty cute…for an older guy. So attractive, yes, but I’m not attracted to him in that way.”
Oops, had she said too much?
“In that way?” Amanda said, raising her voice a little.
“Physically, sexually, whatever…” Chelsea said, looking away from her mother and down at the cane once more.
“You said it like you were attracted to him in some way. What other way could there be?” Amanda bent forward and looked up into Chelsea’s eyes to try to force her back into making eye contact.
In absolutely no way would Chelsea now tell her mother anything. She’d already said too much. She still wasn’t sure of the reality of it herself—though its intensity was real enough. She knew it was Matthew who had told her she could read the story of the cane the way she did. It was he who had given her this gift, and it was the mystery of that gift and the mystery of how he could know about the cane that she found attractive. This kind of attraction was strange and new to her, and would certainly be “odd” to her mother. Chelsea would hide it away.
“He just seemed pretty nice to me,” said Chelsea. “Maybe he is odd, sort of, but not in a negative way. I can’t find the exact words right now, but it’s not a negative thing.”
“Chelsea,” Amanda began, growing a bit irritated, “the man was naked in our river, he had Old Blind Carl’s cane, seems to be a profuse liar, and personally, I think he may have done something very awful to Old Blind Carl.”
“He didn’t!” blurted Chelsea, unable to hold it in or even realize what she was saying.
Then, as she thought about it, the way you think about a story after you read it and deeper meanings settle in, she realized—it was true! He didn’t! That was it! The joy she had read in the cane was Old Blind Carl’s last emotion before giving up his cane! Matthew didn’t do anything awful to Old Blind Carl! The certainty of this fact grew rapidly inside of her. Whatever happened to Old Blind Carl just before he parted with the cane was joyful! And she knew, somehow she knew—it was possible Old Blind Carl could actually see!
“How can you be so certain of that?” asked Amanda.
“Of what?” asked Chelsea, momentarily confused between what she’d said and what she’d only been thinking.
“That Matthew didn’t do something awful to Old Blind Carl?”
She hated to lie, but she wasn’t brave enough to share t
he complete truth of her newfound feelings. How indeed was she so certain? It was a mystery. She couldn’t explain it, but the certainty was there inside of her just as boldly, plainly, and fully revealed as Matthew had been as he stood in the river.
“I don’t know,” said Chelsea, “but sitting here and thinking about it, I’ve just got the feeling that Matthew isn’t the type to do something bad to Old Blind Carl.”
Amanda Reese stared at her daughter for a moment. “People can be deceptive in their appearances,” she said. “I know you’re smart and understand that, but I just want to caution you—Matthew may not be all that he appears.”
Chelsea said nothing. She merely nodded her head in a ritualistic child-to-parent show of agreement. There was no point in going further; she and her mother currently viewed the world from irreconcilable perspectives.
Amanda stood up and kissed her daughter on the forehead. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt or be shocked when this whole thing blows up,” said Amanda softly. “Because tomorrow, if they don’t find Old Blind Carl alive somewhere, I’ve got a feeling that Matthew Duncan will be in a huge amount of trouble. That cane could be a valuable piece of evidence.”
Amanda stroked her daughter’s hair once more. “Now get some sleep, okay?”
With a childlike smile, Chelsea nodded again.
Amanda left the room and carefully closed the door, leaving Chelsea sitting alone on her bed. She looked back down at the cane for a moment and then got up, undressed, brushed her teeth, and crawled into her bed.
A storm was beginning to rage inside the seventeen-year-old. It was not like other storms she’d known while going through the normal trials and disappointments of a girl transforming into a young woman. Those had only shaken her heart. The storm that was now stirring inside Chelsea was shaking her whole world. All that she thought she knew, all that she was so certain of before, was falling away. The solid world she’d taken for granted seemed to be a more fluid thing now—moving and changing like the waters of Little Bear River—changing faster than she could keep up. But the one thing that hadn’t changed as she lay on her bed—was her bed itself. It was soft and warm and smelled like her. It was the one solid thing she knew—a tiny island of certainty, surrounded by change and movement. She stared up at the ceiling in the darkness and saw the dull light of the glow-in-the-dark star stickers she’d stuck there when she was fourteen. They were now stars in the night sky over a vast ocean, and her bed was a raft adrift in that ocean. Could so much have changed since she was fourteen? Could so much have changed in one day? Slowly she drifted off across the ocean, and the stars faded. Sleep washed over Chelsea Reese like the gentle waters of Little Bear River.
Thirty
Judge Reynolds
Though not born and raised in Cottonwood, Municipal Judge Richard Reynolds was still considered one of the town’s own. He’d been born in Grand Junction and spent the better part of his life there, until going off to college in Kansas and then to law school back in Boulder, Colorado.
He returned to the area and eventually became a prosecuting attorney for the county and was quite a successful one at that. Though he worked for the county, he made his home in Cottonwood, where he and his wife, Gayle, raised two children. As his career progressed, he was asked on several occasions to fill in as a relief judge for both the county and the local towns in the area. When the former judge of Cottonwood eventually retired, Prosecutor Richard Reynolds was the instant favorite to take his spot, and he’d been Judge Reynolds ever since. The couple and their children were for many years the town’s “favorite” family, and though the arrival of the charming Reese family had somewhat eclipsed their social standing, the judge and his wife remained perennial favorites. Whenever their now grown children, who had moved out of Cottonwood, came to town for a visit, it seemed everyone in Cottonwood insisted on being included in a chance to see them.
His years as a prosecuting attorney had helped lay a broad legal foundation for Judge Reynolds. He had a firm grasp of the law and of the tactics used by both prosecutors and defense attorneys. He remained a fair man and hadn’t let his years as a prosecutor taint his judgment. Those brought before him were tried by the rule of law—not the opinions held by either himself or others. Justice was indeed blind in his court, and the scales would only be tipped by facts—and nothing else.
At exactly 11:15 p.m., the knocking started, and Yankee, the Reynolds’ six-year-old yellow lab, barked loudly and ran downstairs. The judge knew the time so precisely, because he had been sleeping soundly and had glanced at the glowing blue numbers of the clock on his bedside table the moment he was awakened. Gayle remained in bed and mumbled something as Judge Reynolds went to his closet, put on a robe, and headed downstairs.
“I wonder who in heaven’s name that could be at this time of night?” the judge muttered to himself as he walked down the stairway to the front door.
Yankee remained by the front door and let out a few more barks for good measure. The front porch light was already on, so the judge peered though the peephole of the front door to see who might need him at this hour.
Looking through the peephole, he definitely recognized one of the people standing on his front porch and possibly the second, though he couldn’t be quite sure. The visitors appeared safe enough. He unlocked and opened the door.
Yankee edged around the judge’s leg and squeezed out through the open door as soon as it had presented a wide enough opportunity to do so. With tail wagging, Yankee thoroughly sniffed both visitors, as scent made up her world. She knew the visitors were a man and a woman. Extremely faint odors—pheromones—not consciously detected by humans, were easily picked up by her superbly powerful nose. Each sex has its own particular scent, and regardless of how well or how recently they had bathed, Yankee could pick up those scent molecules down to parts per billion. Not only did Yankee know the sex, but she also knew they were both friendly—no aggression here. Yankee’s continually wagging tail said as much to the judge.
Judge Reynolds invited the couple into his house, and the three stepped into the living room and sat down. Yankee eagerly followed, as friendly visitors always meant lots of petting.
The couple apologized for the very late hour but said that they needed his services for something that couldn’t wait until morning. The judge wondered what could be so urgent so late at night.
“We need to get married,” the woman said. “Tonight…right now.”
The judge studied the couple closely. They were certainly not children. They both seemed sincere. He knew the woman wasn’t the kind to act impulsively. But why tonight? He wondered. The judge thought about the craziness of the day, with the strange stoppage of the traffic. He recalled the stories he’d heard about major power outages and how they brought people together, causing them to do things that they might not otherwise do. Strange and out of the ordinary occurrences cause people to do strange and out of the ordinary things.
“My dear,” said the judge to the woman, “I’ve always hoped to attend your wedding someday, but I also always imagined it would be…in a church. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” said the woman calmly. “This is exactly the right time.”
He looked at her. She didn’t seem desperate and certainly was resolved.
After a few moments of thought, Judge Reynolds said, “Well, though it’s rather late, I would never want to be the one to stand in the way of love. Neither of you are children anymore, and while I probably wouldn’t have done this for you when you were eighteen, I can’t in good conscience deny you now.” He then looked directly at the woman. “I do, however, have one condition that I must insist upon—you will need to call your mother and ask her to attend the ceremony. I’ve known her for far too long not to do this for her.”
“Thank you so much, Judge Reynolds,” the woman said. “I was actually planning to call her—once you said yes. Now if I can only wake her.”
The woman p
honed her mother, and considering the hour, the mother of the bride arrived a surprisingly short while later. It seemed apparent from her dress and general disposition that she had also been in bed for the night. The nature of her daughter’s call had no doubt provided sufficient momentum to propel her out of her slumber and lead her over to the judge’s house.
After arriving, the mother requested a few moments alone with her daughter. The judge offered up his private study, and the two women retreated to the room and closed the door.
“Believe it or not, this is not the way I expected to attend your wedding,” the mother said with a touch of humor mixed with seriousness.
“This is not the way I expected to be attending my wedding either,” said the daughter. “But I guess sometimes life throws you an unexpected curve. If it’s something you want to catch, I guess you just need to be ready for it.”
The mother could see the very bright glow of love in her daughter’s face and knew there was no reason to ask if she was sure of her decision. There was, however, a more practical one the mother did want to ask. “I’ve hoped for years now that you’d find someone,” she said. “My only question, really, is why now—why tonight?”
The young woman reached out and held her mother’s hand. “I can only say that it’s the right time,” she began. “When I wake up tomorrow, I want to be his wife. I can’t explain it all to you, but I can tell you that I’ve never been so certain about anything in my life. I lost this man once, or thought I had, and that’s not going to happen again. I can’t imagine now being with someone or finding someone more perfect for me. Tonight is as good a night as any—and a perfect way to end an extraordinary day in Cottonwood.”
The mother reached up and touched her daughter’s face and hair. “You look so radiant right now, so beautiful. I am so happy for you,” she said, giving her daughter a long and warm embrace.
Touching Cottonwood Page 24