Рита Браун - Cat's Eyewitness

The minute Fair left the tackroom, she wiped down a rein with one hand while dialing with the other.

"BoomBoom." Harry proceeded to tell BoomBoom what she'd just heard from Susan. Then she asked her to go to the top of the mountain with her. She knew BoomBoom would do it.

When she hung up the phone, she was thrilled with herself; she had a partner in crime. Harry liked doing things with people, and BoomBoom suggested that Alicia come, too. Three of them would deflect some of Fair's criticism—not that she'd tell him. Of course, he'd find out, but it might take a day or two.

She hummed to herself as she inhaled the odor of Horsemen's One Step, a whitish paste in a bucket. When she'd strip down her bridles, once a year, she'd wash them with harsh castile soap, rinse with pure water, then dip them in a light oil and hang them outside over a bucket to drip-dry. In the cold she used Horseman's One Step, which kept the leather supple after she cleaned it.

"Don't let me forget to put out candies for Simon," Harry cheerfully instructed her animals.

Simon, the half-tame possum, loved his candies.

Harry would occasionally put out little bits of raw beef for the huge owl in the cupola, but the owl was such a mighty hunter she needed little augmentation; Simon, on the other hand, was lazy as sin.

She chirped and chatted to her pets.

"She's going to get into trouble." Pewter shook her head.

"Never a good sign when she gets all bubbly like this," Tucker agreed.

"Then we'd better all hope that the Blessed Virgin Mother really can work miracles." Mrs. Murphy sighed.

14

BoomBoom sank into a snowdrift up to mid-calf. Shaking off her foot, she gingerly stepped ahead, hoping for more-solid ground. She sank again.

Alicia, also struggling, with a royal blue scarf over her mouth to ward off the bitter cold, couldn't help but laugh.

Harry, head down, pressed forward, slipping on the new powder over the compacted snow, which was like a layer cake with thin sheets of ice between the snow.

Tucker stayed immediately behind Harry. The cats, left at home, would exact their revenge for this slight.

A blush touched the snow. This Monday morning a thin mauve line appeared on the distant eastern horizon.

The three women, accustomed to rising early, rendezvoused at BoomBoom's house, drove to the top of the mountain, and parked BoomBoom's truck at the cleared parking lot of the Inn at Afton Mountain. They were hiking into the monastery the back way, which from the parking lot was only a quarter of a mile. However, the property covered over two thousand acres, and the statue of the Virgin Mary stood a good mile and a half from the property's northernmost edge.

It was a testimony to each woman's spirit that she elected to do this. Then again, Harry could talk a dog off a meat wagon.

The wind blew snow down the back of Alicia's neck, tiny cold crystals working their way behind her scarf. It occurred to her that this adventure prevented them from doing anything about Christmas. She felt overwhelmed at Christmas. When she lived in Hollywood, her staff decorated everything, and her husband—it didn't matter which one—wrote the check. This Christmas she was going to face it with Fred and Doris, who could always lift her spirits.

As the sky lightened in the distance, Mary was standing as a lone sentinel on the highest part of the mountain.

Harry paused for a moment. The image, stark against the bare trees, was compelling.

BoomBoom gave a low whistle. The other two floundered toward her. She'd found a deer trail snaking down toward the gardens below Mary as well as to the stone pumphouse that serviced the gardens, the greenhouse, and the garden cottage. They fell in line, Tucker still right on Harry's heels. The going was better now.

Native Americans invented the snowshoe. Tribes in the Appalachian chain had need of them. Harry wished she had a pair.

The three women and Tucker arrived at the statue just as the sun cleared the horizon, a deep-scarlet ball turning oriflamme.

It always amazed Harry how fast the color of the sun changed, how the world suffused with light seemed to smile.

Chickadees, goldfinches, cardinals, and small house wrens tweeted, swooped in and out of bushes, many heading for the places where the monks had put out seed. One bold male cardinal flew to the top of the Virgin Mary's head. He peered down at the humans and canine.

BoomBoom's gloved hand involuntarily flew to her heart. "My God."

Alicia, without thinking about it, put her arm around BoomBoom's waist, as she, too, stared at the tears on that face, radiant in the sunrise.

Harry, even though she'd seen it before, stood transfixed.

"Is it blood?" the dog asked the cardinal, as birds possess marvelous olfactory powers. The hunters were especially keen, but even a seed-eater like this flaming cardinal had a sense of smell beyond anything a human could imagine.

The cardinal cocked his head, one eye on the intrepid corgi, snow on her long snout. He then cocked it toward the tears, bent over low. "Yes."

"Are you sure? Blood has that odd coppery smell."

The cardinal, knowing the corgi wasn't going to chase him, carefully walked toward Mary's brow, the little bits of snow that fell from his pronged feet catching the light, falling as tiny rainbows. He bent over as far as he could. "I know that, you dim bulb! It's blood, human blood. I can tell the difference, can you, doggie doodle?" He threw down the challenge.

"Of course I can." Tucker puffed out her white chest, then said, "To humans this is Mary, Mother of Jesus Christ, so she's very holy. Even a statue of her is holy. Her tears set them off. Not these three humans, but other humans."

"Mmm." The cardinal unfurled his brilliant crest as his mate flew onto a tree limb nearby. "I know about her. Jesus, too. You can't live among the monks and not learn their stories. Every species has its stories, I reckon." He puffed out his own plump chest. "The church has cardinals, you know, imitating us, which shows some sense, don't you think?"

"I never thought of that." Tucker had seen a Catholic cardinal, resplendent in his red cassock.

"Oh, yes" the bird confidently replied. "That's why they're called cardinals. They realize that we are closer to God than they are. I can fly nearer, you see. They're stuck on earth."

"Chirpy fellow, isn't he?" Harry whispered.

"Happy." Alicia smiled, pulling her scarf below her mouth.

"Never thought about flying." Tucker pondered the cardinal's remark.

"How could you? You're earthbound, too. I get to see everything."

"Have you seen God up there?" The strong little dog didn't think God sat on the highest tree branch.

"No." The cardinal, crest falling back down slick, lifted one foot from the snow, the tiny sharp claws on the end glistening. "The great cardinal in the sky is beyond my comprehension."

"How do you know it isn't a bald eagle?" Tucker had seen quite a few bald eagles in the last four years. The symbol of the United States was making a comeback along the great rivers of Virginia as well as near the incomparable Chesapeake Bay, one of the wonders of the world.

He blew air out of the two tiny beak holes. "Ha! What do they do but eat fish? Sit in trees, swoop down, and snag a fish. So self-regarding, those eagles. Wouldn't give you a nickel for the lot of them." He leaned forward a bit, toward the dog. "If the mature males didn't have that white hood—a little like the true Carmelite monks, you see, white hood over brown—well, you wouldn't look twice at them."

"They're pretty darn big." Tucker's brown eyes stared upward. Even she found the sight of the bloody tears peculiar.

"Piffle." The cardinal tossed his head and his crest again unfurled, which made his mate laugh. "Piffle, I say piffle. If I flew next to a bald eagle, you'd look at me first."