Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  After several hours, Rebecca finally completed all her rounds and returned to her office and desk. She normally left her door open, but tonight she closed it as she completed her evening report. There was no hidden camera placed in her office, but that didn’t stop probing eyes from watching her. Just outside her office, from high on the opposite wall, she was being observed. When aimed properly, the small vertical rectangular window next to her door offered the camera a clear view of Rebecca sitting at her desk. This was no accident and had been thought about and planned before the camera was ever added to the building.

  Eddie sat inside his dark control center, eyes fixed and steady on Rebecca. He watched as she stopped writing, set her pen down, and rubbed her tired eyes. She stared blankly out the window, looking straight ahead and not up to where the camera was mounted. Even if she had happened to look out through the window, up toward the camera, it wasn’t something at all out of place. She knew it was mounted there, along with dozens of others hanging in hallways throughout the building. Her mind at the moment was elsewhere, and had she even looked at it, the fact that the camera was now pointing directly at her through the office window might not have alarmed her, though it should have.

  The camera, and the hungry eyes behind it, watched as Rebecca picked up the phone and punched in a number. Reading lips was a specialty for Eddie. In his many years of working in surveillance and security, he’d gotten very good at it. He watched carefully, zooming in the camera as far as it would go so he could clearly see Rebecca’s mouth.

  “I didn’t intend to call again, but I couldn’t help myself,” she said, still staring directly out the small window into the hallway. “I’m now getting a little worried about you.” She then swiveled her desk chair around and faced away from the window—hidden from Eddie’s gaze.

  “Maybe…I’m actually worried about us. Did things move along too fast yesterday? What am I saying? Of course, they did. You come back into my life after three years, and we get married the same day. How could that not be moving too fast? I just want this to be real—it just feels so right and real to me—more right and real than anything I’ve felt in…well, forever. I wish I could be there with you. I wish I could be wherever you are right now. Where are you anyway? Sorry this is rambling. I guess I’m getting tired, but I need to hear your voice. I miss you and need you.”

  Still facing away from the window, Rebecca looked at her watch; it was a few minutes before midnight. “Hey, what do you know?” she continued, “Happy Anniversary! We’ve been married a whole day now.” She smiled for a moment, but it soon faded. She swiveled back toward the door, the window, and the camera. Then, slowly and deliberately, she said, “Matthew William Duncan—wherever you are—I love you—goodnight.” She then hung up and continued to stare out toward the hallway.

  Even without the deliberate and slow pacing of her final statement into the phone, Eddie had no problem knowing exactly what Rebecca had said. The words caught Eddie in his heart—the pain of so many years of waiting, hoping, with the long nights thinking only of her. He stared at the video monitors and didn’t realize Rebecca had gotten out of her seat, opened her office door, turned off her light, and left her office. Eddie wouldn’t have bothered trying to track her movement through the facility anymore this evening anyway. What he’d seen had been enough to send him tumbling into another mode of thought.

  Alone in the security office, Eddie Flynn was lost in dark thought and even darker emotions. A selfish determination began to grow inside of him. He’d waited, hoped, planned, and plotted for too long to have his prize taken from him now.

  This wouldn’t stand…this couldn’t stand! Somehow, Becky must have been tricked by Matthew Duncan.

  That was the only possible explanation for this turn of events. Eddie then resolved himself to fight for what he’d thirsted after for so long. His prize wouldn’t be taken from him so easily. He and Rebecca were meant to be together, and so he would fight for his love by whatever means necessary. He would help her see the truth—to open her eyes to the web of deception that had been cast upon her. They belonged together, and so there would be, and could be, only victory. The only other choice was death—the old friend that always gratefully accepts donations.

  Forty-Nine

  Ernie Martinelli, Jr.

  His full name was Ernest Jules Martinelli Jr., and he was the youngest son in a family of six children. His father, Ernest Jules Martinelli Sr., fled Italy with his family at the very beginnings of World War II to settle in Chicago. It was there that Ernest Jr. was born.

  After barely a year in Chicago, the new immigrants grew weary of big-city life and wanted to find a place more rural and more conducive for raising children. The problem with moving out of Chicago was simple—the Martinelli family was broke. The family savings had been spent in just getting to the United States, and the jobs Ernest Sr. found in Chicago paid very little. He worked two of them, as a cook and a railroad porter, just to keep food on the table and live in a small, run-down apartment.

  But Ernest Martinelli Sr. was a believer in miracles. He prayed every night for a solution to his problem. He needed both the money to get out of Chicago and to find a job in a smaller town. He knew it would take nothing short of a miracle for either of these to happen for him.

  And then one day his train came in.

  Ernest Sr. was helping a family wheel their luggage from the train to their waiting taxi, when he struck up his normal friendly conversation. It turned out that the family owned the Little Bear Tavern in a small town by the name of Cottonwood, Colorado, and were in Chicago to visit relatives. As the conversation continued, he soon realized an opportunity had fallen at his tired feet, as it was divulged that they were in need of a new cook for their restaurant. As is the case sometimes with miracles, they come disguised as a series of coincidences. Ernest Sr. quickly let them know that his other job was, indeed, as a cook. In seeing what a hard worker he was from the way he’d handled their luggage, and in thinking also of the novelty of having a real Italian cooking at their restaurant, they hired him on the spot. In addition, they offered to pay for his moving costs from Chicago to Cottonwood. Within a month, the Martinelli family was living in western Colorado—the older children gleefully exploring the lush forests in the area and Ernest Sr. happily cooking away at the Little Bear Tavern.

  Ernest Martinelli Sr. was, indeed, an outstanding cook, and in a short span of time, he became the head cook, working hard and faithfully at the Little Bear Tavern for many years. After the original owner died, he bought the restaurant from the family and renamed it Ernie’s Diner. His youngest son, Ernest Jr., first worked bussing tables, washing floors, and cleaning bathrooms in the diner, and then as a teenager, he moved up to cooking. When his father passed away, Ernie Jr. was ready and eager to take over the family business—the best part was that he didn’t have to worry about changing the name of the establishment.

  Ernie sat alone in his downstairs study. His wife had long since gone to bed, and he was sitting at his computer watching a video playing on the screen for the fifty-first time. He was playing it back in slow motion, watching it progress frame-by-frame. The video showed the heavy stainless steel shelf inside the walk-in refrigerator at the diner. Nothing seemed to be changing as he slowly forwarded the video, until suddenly, in the space of one frame, a bright flash appeared in the center of the frame. It grew rapidly from a tiny spot on the shelf, until a few frames later, it filled the full image. Ernie paused the video on the frame when the flash was at its fullest, moving his face very near to the computer monitor to study it closely. He noticed it wasn’t a pure white flash; it was actually composed of a multitude of intense ribbon-like streaks of pure colors. He played the video forward a few frames, and as rapidly as the flash had appeared, it faded. The entire flash, from beginning to end, had lasted less than a half second in real time. Once the flash had faded away, in the same location on the previously empty shelf of the walk-in refrigerator was a five-gallon
container of milk.

  Impossible!

  Ernie knew it was impossible, but there was no denying what he saw. Ernie also knew that no one else had touched the video camera or done anything to it at all. On the screen in front of him, Ernest Martinelli Jr. was staring at the biggest mystery he’d ever faced in his life. Up to that moment, he had hesitated sharing it with anyone, but now it was time. He calmly left his study and went upstairs and woke his wife, telling her to come down to the study.

  Annette Martinelli had been sound asleep. She was yawning and putting her robe on as she came down the stairs and into his study. “This had better be really good,” Annette said, standing behind Ernie as he sat in front of the computer monitor. “It’d better be at least as good as the dream you woke me from—and it was outstanding.”

  “I promise you, dear,” said Ernie, “this is gonna knock your socks off.”

  “I’m not wearing any socks, so you’d better think of something else.” Annette yawned again and crossed her arms as Ernie prepared to play the video.

  “First, let me tell you exactly what I did to get this video,” he began. “All I did was take the—”

  “Spare me the techno mumbo jumbo,” she interrupted. “I really don’t care about any of that. I just want to see what you think was worth getting me out of bed for. I don’t care how you got it—show me what you’ve got so I can get back to my dream.”

  Annette had many fine qualities, and she and Ernie were happy together, but Ernie knew he was wasting time on her with anything technical. She was a “show me or get lost” kind of woman. He knew he’d better play the video quickly or lose his only audience for the evening.

  He pushed play. This time the video played at normal speed, and once more the scene was the inside of the walk-in refrigerator with the empty metal shelf and then a very quick flash that looked almost like someone had snapped a picture, and then on the screen was the same shelf with a five-gallon container of milk sitting on it.

  “That’s it?” she said, seemingly unimpressed.

  “That’s it?!” Ernie replied, stunned by her lack of amazement. “That’s all you can say? I show you the most fabulous thing you’ve probably ever seen in all your life, and all you can say is that’s it?”

  “Yep, that’s all I’m gonna say, too, for you waking me at this time of night for some stupid special effect. Didn’t you do that same thing years ago when you were first playing with your new video toys? I seem to remember you made fruit disappear from tables and people pop in and out of the picture like a cheap magic trick. I thought it was kind of cute then, but I’ve seen it. You need to find some new tricks, honey. Thank you, maestro, but it definitely didn’t knock my socks off. Good night.”

  Annette turned and started to leave.

  “Wait!” said Ernie standing up from his chair. “You don’t understand. I didn’t edit this! This was no editing effect! It was shot this way in the camera! This is exactly what happened in the walk-in!”

  Annette stopped, took a deep breath, and turned around. “Honey, I don’t know what that means—in the camera—but it really wasn’t very impressive—pretty cheesy, really. And personally, I think the effect would work better without the flash.”

  Annette turned around once more and headed toward the stairs.

  Ernie yelled after her, “Annette! You don’t understand! This really happened! There is something very mysterious going on here! Come and watch it again! Please!”

  Annette stopped after climbing the first two stairs and turned around once more. “The only thing that’s mysterious is what the hell I’m doing up at this hour. Really, Ernie, you should come to bed, too.” Annette turned around and with heavy tired steps, climbed the stairs to the bedroom.

  Ernie turned and looked back at the screen. He sat down and put the video into loop playback and then mechanically hit the play button. He watched the same few seconds of video over and over again—an empty shelf, then flash, then there was milk—an empty shelf, then flash, then there was milk….

  So Ernie Martinelli Jr., son of Italian immigrants and one of the most successful men in Cottonwood, sat alone in his study once more, watching a video and a mystery his mind could not grasp. Like all mysteries, it didn’t fit into his conception of the way he thought the universe ought to work. There were, he realized, more things going on in the cosmos than he had imagined. To make matters even more unsettling, there was currently no one to share this mystery with. If his own wife wasn’t impressed by what he’d discovered, it might prove difficult to find anyone who would be. In a skeptical world, where technology could make the real appear false and the false appear real, Ernest Martinelli Jr. knew he needed to find a true believer in mysteries—someone who could believe the universe was larger than they’d imagined it to be; in short, he needed to find someone like his father had been—a believer in the miraculous.

  Fifty

  Sunday Morning

  The sounds of church bells and birdsongs greeted Cottonwood on Sunday morning. Pastor James Harrison of the First Methodist Church of Cottonwood was thrilled to see his church packed for the one and only service of the day. It was even more heartening to see so many new faces in attendance. He knew, of course, that the crowded shoulder-to-shoulder pews were likely due to the stranded motorists in town and general uneasiness surrounding the stoppage of traffic, but even so, the large audience gave him an extra boost of energy for his sermon. He had stayed up late the night before, preparing the sermon especially for the crisis the town now faced. The fact that it was a bright, warm Sunday morning with a full house of faithful, and he was prepared to deliver the sermon of his life was, as far as Pastor Harrison was concerned, another demonstration of the beneficence and love of God.

  Leading up to his sermon as various hymns were being sung, Pastor Harrison glanced now and then at the crowd, taking note of the familiar faces of his dwindling congregation of regular churchgoers as well as of those who were normally only Christmas and Easter attendees. He noted with interest the large number of Cottonwood residents he had never seen in church before, except perhaps at the occasional wedding or funeral. Though the crisis had not yet caused any major inconveniences to life’s patterns in Cottonwood, Pastor Harrison sensed that under the surface, a certain level of anxiety and even fear were present. The complete strangers who had become temporarily stranded in Cottonwood were perhaps the most anxious of all, as their lives had been the most disrupted.

  When the time came for his sermon, Pastor Harrison felt his heart beating the way it had many years ago as a young pastor about to give his first sermon before a new congregation. He stood at the pulpit, looked out at the waiting crowd, drew a deep breath, and began:

  “It is indeed a wonderful sign of God’s mercy that so many of you are here today. I have prayed for many years to see my congregation grow, and now it seems God has found a way to make that happen, at least for one day.” Scattered giggles and subdued laughter filtered through the congregation.

  The pastor continued: “I know the crisis facing our town has many of you worried, but let me assure you that God is most merciful and doesn’t send trials into our lives that we are not able to handle. There is always a solution to any problem, if we are willing and open and brave enough to look for it. God is also most just and doesn’t send trials into our lives that we don’t deserve. But don’t think that trials are sent to punish us, for God is also most wise and doesn’t send trials into our lives that we don’t need. Trials help to teach us lessons and make us stronger—though sometimes they can be painful.”

  Pastor Harrison always judged the quality of his sermons by what he half-jokingly told his wife was the “fidget factor.” The more a congregation fidgeted, the less the sermon was connecting with them. Thus, if the fidget factor was low, it was a good sermon, and if the fidget factor was high, it was usually a less than inspired sermon. The fidget factor rule only held to a certain point, however, for if a sermon reached an unbearably dull extreme wher
e the fidget factor was excessive, the measurement would suddenly plunge to near zero, as the bulk of the congregation would be asleep. So far, the fidget factor was low, and he saw no closed eyelids.

  “Cottonwood,” the pastor continued, “has been blessed. You see, God hasn’t passed us over. I’m convinced that our current crisis proves that God is still working here and hasn’t given up on us. He has some purpose here, and though that purpose may be hidden from us right now, rest assured, over time, the wisdom and benevolent nature will be revealed. It is like a parent giving their child some nasty-tasting medicine—even though it is unpleasant—knowing, in the long run, it is the best thing for their child. The current crisis may be unpleasant, but in the long run will prove the correct medicine for Cottonwood.

  “We’ve gone through some very hard years that have tested many of us. Friends and families have moved away. This very congregation has dwindled to less than half its former size. Our community has been declining, and many of our youth have moved away. But let me assure you—God has not moved away from Cottonwood. God has not put his own ‘for sale’ sign up and packed up a big moving van and said ‘good-bye’ to our town. That’s not God’s way. God is not a quitter. God is not done with Cottonwood—not even close, and that my friends should be the most thrilling news I can deliver to your hearts on this beautiful morning. God is still here, working on us, giving us our medicine—but we have to do our part. We have to meet God halfway.”

  The fidget factor remained low, but he thought it might have climbed a bit since the opening. Pastor Harrison hoped the next few paragraphs would reverse that. He continued:

  “So, some of you are now thinking, ‘okay, there’s always a catch—I have to do my part.’ Well, I have some good news for you—your part is easy. Your part doesn’t require any physical exertion; your part doesn’t require any outward activity at all. Your part requires only that you change something inside yourself. For meeting God halfway doesn’t require that you look outward into the world, but that you look inward, to the mystery of your own heart. So, as you sit here today, wondering what this mysterious crisis that’s descended on Cottonwood means, or how such a thing could happen in this modern world of technology we live in, perhaps your heart is filled with fear or anxiety. That fear and anxiety in your heart is a sign—a knocking on the door of your heart—telling you where to meet God halfway. For you see, it is always and forever inward, in your heart, where you’ll find the greatest work to do. And what is that work? It is simple—you should find faith. Certainly, if faith can move mountains, it can transform the anxiety and fear you feel in your heart into joy.”