Cat Dubois' Odyssey To Enchantment

By BoJenn

Cat Dubois Odyssey To Enchantment

The more than interesting circumstances that brought Eleanor to visit me one stormy night unfolds in the tale of Cat Dubois' Odyssey To Enchantment.

It was early fall and a chill captured the rainy sheered winds as they blew across the acre backyard. Cat Dubois stared out the window alone and was utterly mesmerized by the battle of weathering burst of leaves, water and muds combining chaotically perfect. She sipped the cognac simply watching the war take place especially within the vehemently intended lightening strikes. Quietly her intuitions told her something was about to happen. Cat took another sip. This was her pastime when the weather's temperature dropped and the seasons wrestled again.

A transformer popped outside, from the hacking of swords the thunders displayed while battling each other somewhat violently.

Cat was worried, oh not about the weather, and not about being alone, no... more about a sense that a dynamic experience was going to occur... soon.

Suddenly another Ka-boom occurred and this time she jumped. "Huh!" she had to readjust her eyesight as if there was something odd taking place in her backyard. She adjusted her glance. She moved her head to look between the drops of rain across the back windows. The lights from the bolts lit up the yard so she could see better and there, "yes" in the center of a puddle standing above the water stood a figure.

A women adjusted her umbrella and cane and then began walking towards her back door. She signaled Cat to open the door. She did as signaled.

As the door opened and the umbrella had been set down by the door, the woman looked up at Cat and said, "hello" using Old English language, "my name is Eleanor. I've waited five hundred years for this day. May I come in please?"

And this is the character and mood of my story.
Hello, my name is Bonnie Jennings and I go by BoJenn and I am the author of this book Cat Dubois' Odyssey To Enchantment.

I live in The Piney Woods of East Texas. I have two older children and one precious grandchild named Jacob. At my home there are many animals. I love them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780999115015

Book preview

Glory Town

Now, Elizabeth Catherine Dubois, or Cat, as she prefers, lives in a lonely house in the Appalachian Mountains, in a place known as Glory Town. She is young; growing up is upon her.

As you sip your tea, I will tell you all about it. Hers is a tale of loss, troubles, enchantments, delights and the magic of God’s angels, fairy godmothers and other divine interveners. These divine creatures—angels, guardians, fairy godmothers, or your choice of moniker for those who carry goodness on their wings—came to Glory Town for the sole purpose of restoring Cat Dubois.

Now, Glory Town is nestled between two old mountains in The Appalachians, the picture-perfect quaint village of 11,000 residents, which is not quite as perfectly round a number as 12,000, but purposely maintained at approximately 11,000. Furthermore, the municipality is never allowed a population exceeding 12,000. This was written in the foundations of Glory Town’s secret codes and governed by the town’s three founders.

These three are: David Finks, whose wife is Hannah Finks, with whom they have three sons, Warwick, Winston and Chad. Next in the hierarchy is Robert Fletcher-Snuttgrass, with his wife, Jessica, and their four children: eldest daughter, Emily; middle son, Taylor; Claire, the next girl; and then, baby, Suzanne. The third family led by a founding father of Glory Town are the Thornton-Henchmens with their tribe: patriarch, Theodore or Teddy, for short, and Selma, his wife, and Hector, Molly and Thorpe Thornton-Henchmen.

Also of notable importance are the Reverend Davis (Daniel Davis’s father) and the preacher’s wife, Rebecca Palmer Davis. Other families, though less impressive, include: The Bartons—Henry, Ruth and their 3 daughters, Priscilla, Patsy and Daphne; the Johnsons—Larry, the town mechanic, his wife Mary, and daughter Tammy; then are the Millers and their two infamous sons—Dillinger and Cooper. Finally, the immigrants from France and England are the Dubois family, comprising Philippe and Catherine Harrington Dubois, and their daughter, Elizabeth Catherine, around whom this story revolves.

Joy to the world! The Lord has come. The crowning attraction of Glory Town is its famous claim as THE Christmas town most photographed and visited by tourist families with the delighted eyes of imaginative children and their parents, who still wonder, like children themselves, at the warmth of the holy season. Glory Town enlivens their memories like a picturesque scene on a vintage postcard, assuredly giving Christmas lovers warm fuzzies.

When approaching Glory Town from either mountain’s winding road, it appears like a Norman Rockwell painting that everyone wants, but only a few truly experience in a lifetime.

White snow; white picket fences; gently billowing smoke from the home fireplaces burning warm; and sidewalks, along which passersby smile endearingly, while wishing all Merry Christmas!, signal the revelry. Carolers beckon from the sanctuary, donning red choir robes and halo-white satin collars, heralding the music of pleasant voices in perfect a cappella, lifting up Gregorian hymns as the gothic organ opens with Bach's Passacaglia in C Minor.

The carolers, in a procession of holiday finery, continue their serenade to the corners in front of Victorian homes prominently, proudly, situated within what area, over many Christmases past, would become the town’s spiritual epicenter.

Hark! The herald angels sing, ‘Glory to the newborn king…’ Everyone in Glory Town is expected to play roles demonstrating angelic behaviors at all times—and especially when guests are afoot. This whole town is a Christian town, hastening one back, in a heartbeat, to a Charles Dickens setting. Good behavior as far as one can see has been dreamed of, desired by, and lusted after, by those who have ever read or heard of the charm found only here, only now, this magical time of year.

The reputation of this little whistle-stop snowballed, bigger with every winter. Glowing reviews, and enough money to publish and mail pamphlets far and wide, made the traditions of these townspeople turn into the regular place of pilgrimage it is today. When visiting Glory Town, no tourist expects anything less than perfection. Who wouldn’t want to make this place home?

The improvements of puritanical whitewashing for the holiday productions begins each summer, with summer rehearsals starting directly after New Year’s. These practice runs include all residents—young and old—and require them to play their parts so well they’re second nature. By August, all the families congregate and begin re-teaching manners they’ve been teaching exactly as written and executed in the 1800s. The women sew new costumes each year. They rehearse with their children so everyone is in step: how to act, how to talk and how to dress as if they still lived in the 1800s.

Making money by entertaining tourists has always been a major source of income for the town. Aside from that revenue, each business is small—and there aren’t many—and their bottom lines are nil to nothing. They like it this way; that’s why the law exists that the town will grow no larger. No corporate world exists here—in yesteryear. Everyone depends on the gratuities offered; they come in all year long, now that even the tourists have been courted to remember tithing so the traditions can continue. Little other real employment is available in Glory Town.

The acting, the manner of dress and everything else has become such a way of life that sometimes neighbors have to remind each other what is real and what are now magnificently drummed up vocations. ‘Come,’ they tell the tourists. ‘Pa-rum-pa-pum-pum.’

It has become so confusing that some townsfolk, especially the older ones, just stay in their assigned role all year, shifting from season to season, talking in a dialect privy to Glory Town from nearly two hundred years ago. As they grew into their roles, they became them…except for some of the women who serve on the community boards. They dress in their finest other attire most of the time.

The locals take tremendous pride in the natural beauty of their town; and that goes right with giving thanks that they are governed by strict Biblical standards. The town is theirs—God seems to have made it and them just the way they are. Surely, it is a blessing for their piety, the elders say. And, though they welcome the tourists who marvel at their magical village, they are happy when the visitors depart. They certainly appreciate the economical gratuities. They benefit from the applause of the audiences they entertain; however they do wallow in the esteem. Glory Town is exclusive to their chosen few.

The tourists are the ones who now provide all the necessary income to maintain the town’s old architecture, the roads and the restorations to every utility, but the natives are very, very fussy about who comes to live, who seeks to stay, who stays too long after the stockings come down from the mantles. The visitors make them uncomfortable—way over their comfort level.

In the old days, they had strong persuasive men who determined when it was time that someone should leave Glory Town as soon after Christmas as possible. They would escort the interloper to the city limits, tip their hats and say, Never show your face here again. Ya, understand? But a few things had to change, as reticent as these Glory Town people are. They know who feeds them, and, now, people want to come visit throughout the year. So riding people out of town on a rail, so to speak, had to go. And with it went their smiles, now grown shallow, their Christmas greetings superficial, but their acting rivals the best of Broadway. The more charming the experience they provide the marveling visitors, the better the pay. Oh, little town of Bethlehem how still we see thee lie…

The steeple of the old wooden white-framed church is first seen when driving down from the mountain roads. It seems to welcome all from the winding path. But looks are deceiving, and the whitewashed paint is just that—whitewashed. And the winding path, it’s the most winding in the minds of those who live in Glory Town.

If anyone comes to visit outside the season of giving, the townsfolk know who they are, where they came from, what their intentions are…and when they should leave. The gossip trail is fierce; if one knows something new, they all do.

Of course, everyone attends church, and since there is only one church building in Glory Town, the Catholics have the evenings, the Baptists take the 10:00 a.m. every Sunday, while the Methodists have the 11:10 a.m. slot, and the Episcopalians secure the earliest services at 8:00 a.m. sharp, ending promptly forty-five minutes later. The Presbyterians are at 9:00 a.m., and the Pentecostals, which include the Assemblies of God and so forth, occupy most of Sunday afternoons.

Church bells ring throughout the day, calling each congregation to their appointed time of worship. The church bells sound rich and deep, reverberating with man’s spirit and soul, ringing to the heavens to be one with his Maker.

However, when fellowship time comes, they congregate all denominations together—eating, singing, dancing and making the social hoopla a bigger, more joyous community event.

Mountain clogging and square dancing are two celebrated happenings that many in Glory Town excitedly gather for during the fall and spring months. Their fiddlers and steel guitarists are some of the finest in the country. There is a young vocalist competition, and a clog dancer contest, which also includes a beauty event.

These festivals bring in neighboring county folks. A good healthy county competition is exhilarating, and the town is always hoping for new talent who can bring celebrity status to the area, as well as keep the faithful tourists geared up for another visit. After all, the nearby state of Tennessee has quite a reputation for talented artists. Glory Town wants to reap such distinction, too.

Glory Town has one hotel with eleven rooms which, during Christmas, never has any vacancies; and the two private bed and breakfast facilities tend to be booked up an entire year, or even two, in advance.

Hotel residents are rarely invited to the church social functions any time of year. During the holiday season, the hotel’s guests are provided an open kitchen and usually celebrate together because the town closes on Christmas Eve at 3:00 p.m. sharp. There isn’t a movie theater, or any other venue for entertainment. The tourists resort to entertaining themselves, and they accept that for all the unbelievable goodness showered upon them the next day.

The grocery store is a small market that transitions to an open-air fresh fruit and goat-swapping center during summer. Nearby are ruby and diamond mines that have shovels and sifters for rent in summer, too, but it doesn’t take many people on staff to run them, so, again, the job market for Glory Town is slim to none. The coal mines employ about forty-two of the working class of Glory Town. Logging is protected, but where it is allowed some of the men of the town work in that capacity. There is a double-sided clinic that tends to people on one side, while a country veterinarian utilizes the other. If the regular doctor is incapacitated, the country vet works both sides. That vet has delivered babies of every breed and stitched up minor lacerations on both humans and animals. But, all victims of major incidents are flown by helicopter to the nearest open emergency room.

The roads leading to and within Glory Town are treacherous during winter. Many people coming or going lose their lives trying to drive up or down the two-lane mountain roads. For safety’s sake, most of the grocery shopping is done in monthly installments, especially during the winters, and particularly if the individual lives on Downy Mountain Ridge Road leading into Glory Town. This road is where Cat Dubois lives.

The majority of the residents were all born in Glory Town—almost every single family has been a part of this whole scenario since its founding, except the doctor and the veterinarian. But, eighty-some-odd years ago there had been just one other outsider who came to live among them —Cat’s late uncle, her mother’s oldest brother.

François Nicolle, who visited the town frequently in the years that followed Black Tuesday, was eventually, and, surprisingly, by the old ways, allowed to purchase the manor and land on Downy Mountain Ridge—mostly because he was unintrusive; he was isolative; and he came with significant wealth. Uncle François had immigrated from Rouen, France where he had honed his skills in the agricultural art of growing the finest tobacco. He had brought those skills to the fertile soil of Virginia and grew a fortune in the most unlikely time of prosperity between the Great War and the Great Depression. Along with his wealth—built in years when most are mere boys—Nicolle was almost idolized as the man’s man. He introduced the lush-hungry males of the town to tobacco and Bordeaux. With his keen mind for scientific advancements and business, and at only about twenty-three years old, the young industrialist offered to help build the economy of Glory Town, if he was allowed purchase of the estate. By all historical accounts, François had been the only newcomer who had ever been allowed to stay. The Depression lingered longer there in Glory Town, so they were open to his offer.

When François met his unfortunate death in late 1955, leaving the manor and all his land in Glory Town to his l ittle sister, Catherine Harrington Dubois, it was as if his death brought a sudden, striking revelation to their circumstances and signalled that they must embark on a new life in America, putting all their focus and energy on that quest. Within the year, Catherine’s parents began employing locals seeking work, and made their move from Europe in 1956. For the next twenty-five years, it became their family’s home. After the death of her mother and father, Cat has lived there alone. Her story must be told.

Since I, Tadhg, am the keeper of poetry, I know many poems for many occasions. Right now, I have one written for Cat Dubois. It was written for her to ease and lend strength for the journey she experiences. Tadhg smiles warmly, Perhaps her journey is one that has a familiar ring to you?

Though, I’m as parched as the desert, and my skin is brown and wrinkled by the scorching sun, you have never left me.

I have known you are my friend and will never let me wither. If the night had no light from the moon, if the ocean’s waves consumed the shores, and if I had no friends, you would always be by my side.

You would lead me with your sweet tender voice, you would send angels to hold my hand. You would place the eternal light before my feet and I will not fall nor fail.

While I sleep, your angels will sing lullabies and say, ‘Sleep. child. sleep’.

What makes Cat’s story unique is her gift. You see, Cat has faith, and it has made all the difference. Faith is her gift, and it will be put to the test to see if it is real, and to strengthen the measure given her for later use.

Before we can start this story in earnest, I must tell you some things beforehand:

First, the hard part. You must understand the reason’s behind Cat’s wilting, and angry spirit, for she was not always that way. You see, after many years of trying to be a good Christian like her mother and father, trying to live her life in their footsteps from the shadows of all they had done economically and spiritually for Glory Town, Cat shook her arms facing the sky and screamed up at the ears of God, as if He were there. Filled with rejections caused by believing those good people of Glory Town who claimed to be God's children, Cat finally threw in her towel and lived in the singleness of her own mind.

Community, sisterly love and congregating with them was, well, truly, out of the question. She vowed to cut every relationship and denounce all spiritual ties with those idiots of her scorn. The last accusations against her, had been the final straw. Calling me ‘a witch’, how dare they! Cat rebuked their slurs as if God listened anymore. Her scowl said it all; and from then on, she no longer congregated with anyone in Glory Town unless it was absolutely necessary.

Cat scryed into the brandy snifter.

She sat alone reminiscing about people and her vanishing past while lounging on the 19th century velvet olive-green couch in the manor’s library. Holding the brandy snifter in her right hand, she swirled the amber liquid at the bottom of the crystal glass. The movement was hypnotizing.

She watched it twirl for an hour or more, while memories played like a movie in her waking dreams all afternoon. She saw deeply, examining the past. The candles on the fireplace mantle flickered as the light faded in the room. The tears that befell her glass turned to droplets of self-discovery. As she cried, she saw something. A face! It frightened her for a moment, drawing a gasp. Somehow she had transcended; the year was 1997, and Catherine’s age, 45. This was not a young woman’s overactive imagination.

She stared at her brandy. There, in the glass, a face appeared again. It was a boy, looking at her from within the mirror of the liquor. He had sandy hair and his skin was fair with sunburned pink cheeks. In less than a second, the boy’s image disappeared.

Cat jumped back momentarily, then back again, eying deeper yet into the liquid, trying to see the anomaly. As quickly as she imagined the image she saw, nothing but brandy looked back at her. She looked behind her, thinking the boy would be standing there. How did he get there? Who is he? A chill passed through her. The air was thick, and the room smelled of sea water on a hot summer’s day, but it was freezing outside.

I’ve had too much brandy, she muttered to herself. She thought about that, and set the snifter down for the night on the table beside her.

She remained on the couch, thinking. After a while, forgetting the boy’s face, she dismissed the foolish delusion, She flashed back to the beginning of her anger—frustration—rages, regarding these good, kind people of Glory Town.

Ruminating, her mind ran away from the pain, way back in time. She saw herself—perhaps, she was four or five, maybe; she couldn’t remember. But the time was when she met her best friend, Daniel Davis, who was slightly older than she; and, it was a haunting memory, a mystery she would never forget.

Daniel was the minister’s son. From kindergarten until teenage years they were bosom buddies. He was a handsome boy who grew into a gorgeous young man. Always shy around others, young Cat was the one that made him laugh. Daniel trusted her.

It was if she had always known him—even before they met. Confidences and secrets were hidden in their hearts. Their families wanted them to marry when they were older. From Cat’s sweet smile anyone could tell she wanted nothing more than this, but, in her heart, she knew it would never happen.

With all the hopes surrounding them, she went along with the idea that their marriage event would occur, anyway. She knew that Daniel loved her, but the dark secrets he’d shared when they were teenagers, made such wishes impossible.

He loved to cook and garden. He worked around the house and never wanted to go hunting with the men. He had strong shoulders because he chopped wood for the townsfolk. At the high school dances, he performed the latest moves like they were second nature. So, he was popular, too—every girl’s best friend, sweet, kind and intellectual, and mindful of the teachings of the elders. But, he listened to the forbidden radio to hear the latest news about world events and fashion. He snuck away from his father’s hellfire and brimstone messages to learn all he could of the outside world.

That which compelled him to quest far beyond the oak-lined alleys of Glory Town, was as second nature to him as dancing. Daniel loved men. Glory Town would never allow him to live there, if they knew. And, he didn’t want to live a lie.

Cat loved him unconditionally and would hide his secret forever, but she knew she would never be his wife no matter how hard anyone, and she, wished. It was easy to visualize her entire life with Daniel, but she would have to settle for being his best friend. There would be no romance or physical penetration when two souls meet, embrace and unite as one. She knew this would never happen. It made her sad; she wanted what lovers have; she wanted matrimony—with him. She loved him and adored him more than can fill a heart and mind and soul. But because she loved him so, she was willing to sacrifice that precious union, the whole man and wife magic, that blessed sacrament. He was Daniel; he was hers and she was his; it was just a different kind of wonderful than anyone could know.

Daniel revered Cat’s willingness to sacrifice her future for him, honoring his dark secret. But, he couldn’t bear allowing her to live a life with him devoid of physical engagement. He would hold her heart, but there would be no joining of their two spirits. There would be no conjugations; there could be no true marriage. As much as he, too, prayed he could compensate with the purest of love, Daniel could not ask Cat to throw so much of herself away, for him.

Cat DuBois was just too special. It was he who bragged about her extraordinary gifts to everyone—her gift of healing animals, her gift of healing all living creatures. He stood in amazement every time they were together. She could heal people of so many ills, if they would just let her. The blessing of healing she manifested from within her were far too precious not to scream it from the mountaintops. He told everyone.

Assuredly, that is how jealousy took root in a family, and then spread like a forest fire in a drought. Because Cat had these gifts, amidst her shining star character and brilliance, she upstaged the pillars of the town, the respected elders and queens of the clans of Glory Town.

One family in particular began lambasting Cat at every turn, The Bartons’ three daughters, Priscilla, Patsy and Daphne, were this community’s beauties beyond compare. They also won the majority of scholastic awards—but, of course, their mother, Ruth, taught at their school.

Patsy was Cat’s age, and she desperately tried to provoke Cat into any competition that presented itself. But there was one area she had to dismiss. Patsy couldn’t carry a tune in choir practice, and Cat had perfect pitch. But Cat was never allowed a solo. Mrs. Barton made certain of it. The girls’ mother graded Cat on a curve Mozart couldn’t master—all because she thought Daniel would be a better match for Daphne.

Every time the Barton women could make a negative slur about Cat, they dug a slanderous ditch for her. Silently, they listened and gritted their teeth at Daniel’s accolades of Cat; they wanted to believe he was delusional. Like sour grapes, they imagined if he married this little insignificant girlfriend, Cat Dubois, he would one day discover that she was just like all the other dreadfully boring women of the town.

Surely Daniel was making a mistake! Clearly he was bewitched by this common girl and could not see Priscilla, Patsy or Daphne because of the enchantment with which the little trollop Cat blinded him.

The pressure grew on Daniel to ask for Cat’s hand in marriage. The entire town—except Ruth and her three girls—wanted to know, When? Were they going to have their wedding ceremony as soon as high school was finished? When is the big day?

Constantly pushing their agendas, engagement ideas and wedding plans upon him, Daniel finally broke under the strain and screamed the truth at his father, the Reverend Davis. One fine afternoon, he admitted his secret truth. He had to be honest. He confessed under emotional duress, but it was still the truth. Father, I am gay! Don’t you see it? I’ve been this way for a long time.

Those words changed his life forever—just as he’d thought. Daniel was expunged from Glory Town by his own father and mother. He was given a knapsack of food, water in a thermos, and allowed to keep only the clothes on his back.

He traveled on foot up the winding road, making the curve out of town on Downy Park Ridge Road. His younger siblings watched him leave until he was out of sight. They were unsure of the reason why he had to go; their parents and everyone who saw stood silent; but, they all knew something bad had happened.

Mama. Mama, where is Daniel going?, they pleaded, crying and pulling on her flowered cotton dress. One held onto her dirty apron. Daniel’s home, the day before his announcement, was now a place in his past.

One confession changed his world—that first sentence was all it took. It changed his mother’s and father’s lives, and those of his siblings; it changed Cat’s life.

The sky became grayer. The light of day dimmed to darkness. The brilliance of some special charm in that town lost its shimmer; no, it was gone altogether. An artist left and took all the colors with him. Enchantment with the hope a new young couple would bring such delightful children to sing in their choir—what was to be a slice of the magical life of Glory Town was erased in an instant—all because Daniel didn’t fit the mold. The pretty picture they had painted in their minds didn’t match God’s unique creation—the young man who had just hiked out of Glory Town.

Mrs. Davis stood looking down the street that Daniel walked on his way up the hill. The road looked long and lonesome. She thought to herself with caution, Daniel soon will pass the Dubois estate. In fact, her husband had yelled at him as he walked, Better not go that way. His demeaning tone rang loudly inside Daniel’s head, but Daniel had to go that way. He must. Still, even louder, his father screamed, Don’t you think the Dubois family will want you to stop. Go on! You’re not my son anymore. Nobody wants you.

Daniel’s mother stood like a lone tree in the desert. Her husband had scurried their other children inside. She was alone. Was she embarrassed or sad? Perhaps, a little of both but she knew she wanted her Daniel back. Would she ever see him again?

Word traveled before Daniel even made the first curve in the road. Some gossiped that his mother was so ashamed she couldn’t even move. Cat later knew that his mother was just broken-hearted. She knew that his mother would never heal; she knew that she, herself, wouldn’t.

The sun was blazing hot ‘though it would soon be dark. Sweat began to trickle down his head. Daniel was afraid, but free, at the same time. No longer would he have to live a lie though his immediate thoughts were, Where will I go? Where will I sleep tonight? He pressed onward.

Finally, going inside to look out the kitchen window, Mrs. Davis strained to see her last glimpse of her son. Her finger tips pressed the window trying to pull herself closer. She wanted to run after him.

If you go after him, then you might as well pack your bags. You better not even think about it, Rev. Davis barked. After gruffly preaching this to her, she stayed motionless at the window. He hit the wall beside her, putting a hole in it, then he marched upstairs and slammed the door. The good Reverend never spoke to his wife again, unless he had to. She didn’t care. She hated him for this. She almost hated his God that he preached about on Sundays.

As Daniel passed the Dubois manor, he did stop—only to say goodbye. He hoped he could just see Cat one more time. Pausing in front of her home, he wished only for a hug and then a wave, Goodbye.

But news had already traveled to her parents; even as Cat tried to gain permission to take the car to drive him to the next town, her father refused.

Papa, please! It’s not right; and you know it!

Catherine, you go to your room right now!, her father said angrily, his French accent making the words sound so much more foreign.

You loved him this morning! Now? Now, you hate him? How dare you! You call yourself a Christian? You’re not Christlike at all! I despise you!, Catherine shouted.

Cat ran to the stairs. There on the table next to the banister, she caught a glimpse of a roll of money—money on top of her mother’s purse.

Cat grabbed the cash and ran the rest of the way up to her room. She hurried to the window and looked out, waiting until Daniel walked by.

Daniel? Here! She called out, throwing the money down below so he would be able to catch it. She watched as it blew away from the manor, and she waved goodbye, knowing her father would be going outside any minute to chase him away. Warm tears passed her soft, pink cheeks. Bye, Daniel, she hollered. I love you! I’ll love you forever.

Daniel waved back and blew her a kiss before he scrambled to pick up the money he could in a hurry. He stared back, seeing Cat’s mother looking out the front living room window. She gave a wave, too—a fragile, weak kind of wave.

Mrs. Dubois prayed as he turned and walked away. Oh, Lord, please protect him. Send your angels to comfort him. Keep him safe. Please. Thank you. Then, she went upstairs. She went straight to Cat, putting her arms around her tightly. Together, they cried.

What will happen to him, Mama?, Cat asked, wiping the tears on her face.

I don’t know, Cat, honey, but we will pray that God will be with him, Mrs. Dubois said.

Cat bit her lip. Mama, may I please give him a ride to the next town? Please? Just let me sneak the car out this once?

No, Catherine, your father will kill us both. Mrs. Dubois said, sadly. I’m sorry.

Mama?, Cat began, tentatively. I took money from your wallet. $25.00. I gave it to Daniel.

I know. I left it there on purpose. You’ve a great heart, Elizabeth Catherine Dubois. I’m glad you did that for him; it was the least we could do for that sweet young man. I know how much he means to you. They held each other as they watched Daniel walk up the road until he was no longer visible.

Mama, will I ever see him again?, Cat asked.

I don’t know, Mrs. Dubois said, softly. I don’t know.

She hesitated before leaving the room, putting a hand into her apron pocket. She had a second thought. She changed her mind. Without looking at Cat, she placed the keys to the old Impala on the dresser, tucking a credit card beneath it. Under her breath she whispered, Be careful. Pay for two nights at a hotel. Your father can be tempered. I’ll tell him it was a donation to a worthy cause. A tax write-off. Now, go quietly while I distract him.

Cat quietly slipped outside and jumped into the car parked down the drive to the side of the house.

Mrs Dubois distracted Mr. Dubois with the suggestion of summer night’s passion, My, it’s hot tonight. Come upstairs with me. I have something for you. A gift. She smiled and winked. She curled her index finger to and fro. Come on. I’ll meet you upstairs. Mrs. Dubois turned on the bath water for two.

The sound of rushing water would distract his hearing. He wouldn’t be able to hear the car’s engine as Cat started it up, nor would the Impala’s headlights reflect in the large victorian bathroom.

Her distraction worked, for Mr. Dubois couldn’t get there fast enough. For the moment it seemed as if he forgot about Daniel’s drama and gladly he accepted the invitation.

Turn on some music dear…, she taunted.

Cat started up the old car and crept down Downy Ridge Drive as if going slowly might make less noise. She spotted Daniel walking on the side of the road. It was past dusk, and she could vaguely make out his shadowy figure. Honking and pulling to the side of the narrow curvy mountain’s small shoulder, she called out to him. It’s me, Cat. Get in.

The silence was thick. There were few words expressed, but finally Daniel spoke, All men must go through an initiation into manhood. He was silent for a second. Cat, don’t stop this. Boys need to have this time. Any of them who don’t will later wish they had. It’s our rite of passage. The Indian braves do it. This is the right time and the right thing to do.

Cat wanted to believe him. She drove him twenty-five miles to the next town stopping at a small motel. Mother told me to pay for a night or two.

Tell your mother, Thank you. I love her. And, will you tell my mother the same?"

Daniel?, through her tears she nodded Yes to his requests. Daniel, I can’t let you go. I can go with you.

No, Cat; I will be fine. I know someone not too far away. He said I could stay with him until I find work. I will be okay.

Promise? Swear it, she begged.

Yes, I must do this. I have to grow up, Cat. It’s my time to sink or swim. I must become a man, now.

Swim, Daniel, swim. Sobbing, he turns her away. Get the car home before your father knows. I don’t want him to take it out on you two.

Okay. Sniffling, Cat hugs him one more time.

He points the direction out of the parking lot. "Do you know how to get home? It’s dark on the mountain roads. Be careful. Promise?’

Yes. Daniel. Daniel, I already miss you.

I’ll keep in touch. I swear. He held the door open as she got into the car.

As he closed the door, he said softly, Now, you must go. I love you always.

Pulling out of the motel parking lot she found the mountain road that would take her home. Cat thought about him every mile of the way. Through her sobs and tears, she wondered how he would survive.

Upon her return, she found that her parents were fast asleep. Cat slipped upstairs toward her bedroom, silently replacing the gifts her mother had lent her.

The women thought the father never knew she had taken the car. But, when she pulled back into the driveway, he was listening. He sighed relief, and said his thank you’s to God. A tear formed in his eye. He never let on he knew, and they didn’t ask.

Cat wrote in her journal that night, trying to understand the day. Even though her daddy was tough and often cool, he thought the world of Daniel, like the rest of the family. But, after Daniel left that summer, her daddy would hug her, for no reason. He never said anything. He just hugged her.

It rained for one whole month in Glory Town. Perhaps the town was secretly crying about Daniels departure, or maybe it was the angels crying.

As for Mrs. Davis, the days of her sobbing were over, but she would never smile again. She stared down that road, and waited. She just waited…and waited…and waited. She had a feeling she would never see her boy again, her precious Daniel.

She questioned the rules voiced through the insensitive humans who surrounded her. How was it possible that a loving God was so cruel? How could it be that they worshipped an unloving deity that allowed no mercy or grey areas to exist, especially, in Glory Town where things were supposed to be based on God’s love? Black was black; and white was white; and there would never be any shades of grey there.

To the neighbors (supposedly, all her friends) who judged her son so harshly, God was an almighty father who tolerated nothing but perfection from his lambs. No spots or wrinkles, just pristine, whitewashed picket fences, and houses that complemented each other with matching shades of paint, and children who walked and talked the Holy Scriptures without pleasurable smiles. They sang Christmas carols all year—songs that now meant nothing to her; they were simply empty, dead words—just like her feelings.

Cat saw Mrs. Davis’ endless watching to see if her son would walk again down their lane again— day after day, one year to the next. Cat wanted to reach out and touch her, to tell her how she felt. After all, they understood and accepted Daniel exactly as he is. But, Cat stayed her distance; she did not intrude.

Cat did pray, however. She asked God to help Daniel’s mother, We are two women who know painful sadness: for Daniel who took the rainbows with him, for the unicorns also departed with their smiles. Cat laughed at her silly humor, but she felt like all this about Daniel was just that— ridiculous. Besides, anything that brought a magical feeling did disappear out of their lives when Daniel left.

Meanness grew from the seed of uncompassionate judgement and resentment, planted the day they exiled Daniel. That seed grew with more cultivation than ever in their grounds of high expectations. Trying to live up to all the Thou shalls, and the Thou shall nots had turned out to be a very hard lesson that kept getting more difficult with every day.

If there was any grey area, it was gossiping. Somehow one could gossip without sinning too badly. After all, who is perfect?, they justified. The gossip queens found protection under the Almighty's great wings of grace. Apparently, gossiping was very forgivable, for them. It was letting off the steam from their boiling pot of perfectionisms.

They loved to gossip about two things: Cat and Daniel. And, of course, Reverend Davis. Not one of the townspeople ever visited Mrs. Davis—not even once.

Daniel’s mother seemed to wither away. After Daniel left, she had very little to say to anyone, including her husband. Mrs. Dubois always warmly smiled, and patted her hand, once, to show support. It was a kind gesture, but Mrs. Davis needed more. She hurt so badly that she questioned God’s existence.

All the scriptures regarding pain and suffering were, simply, not much comfort. The scriptures were used to convict her son, not to love him. Wasn’t their God supposed to be a God of love? This is what she had always believed. Perhaps, she was wrong about His character. A hateful God she would not, she could not, follow.

Mrs. Davis desperately wanted to talk with Cat, but her husband’s strict rules—to stay away from the Dubois family—kept her from paying a visit to the manor house. She was so fearful of what others would say; and more afraid of her minister husband. He might hit her. He would definitely berate her, although never publicly. But, she had borne his harsh blames and accusations that she was the reason Daniel grew up to be queer. He growled, rebuking the mother of their child, Had you not coddled him so often and treated him like a girl, this never would have happened. God, help you woman! Of course, he blamed his wife for all of it: Daniel’s homosexuality; the fact that he wasn’t a real man in his father’s definition, or that of his community; and that he had to leave his home. It was all her fault!

And so, Mrs. Davis changed. She avoided the congregation by isolating herself in their lonely prison of a home. The only hope for a glimpse of godly mercy would be that Cat Dubois would hear and answer her prayers —that, somehow, Cat would make a way to find her and tell her about her son, her Daniel. Please, hear me, Cat. Please, come and tell me about my son, she prayed repeatedly.

Then one day, a diagnosis was confirmed by her doctor. Mrs. Davis was dying. Parasitic cancer was rapidly growing. She called their maid, Ernestine, to send word that she needed to talk with Cat Dubois.

The maid knew, at once, that this had to be a clandestine operation. She would have to go to Cat’s house and ask her to come. Oh, she wasn’t afraid of Cat, but she feared for her own reputation just like everyone else in Glory Town. Anyone seen talking or visiting Cat Dubois was ostracized. But, she would do it. She had to