Leaves - Day 7

In the sixth year, the goat did not appear. Jeremiah became worried, and after the first snow fall, he decided to find out what happened. The next Saturday morning, he bundled up and headed back into the woods. He could not find the trail under the snow, but somehow made his way back to the clearing.

No one was rocking in the chair on the front porch. No cat, no goat were to be seen. But a thin line of smoke floated out of the chimney, so Jeremiah went to the front door and knocked softly.

A voice from inside that he recognized as Rusty the cat’s, snarled “It’s the kid.”

Jeremiah heard the shuffling of feet and felt the porch shake slightly as the old man opened the door.

“Hi kid.”

“Hello, sir.”

“You growed a bit over the years, eh?”

“Yes sir.”

“Sir, I was wondering if everything was alright?”

“Miss your leaf, eh?”

“No sir. Well, I mean yes sir. I was just worried that something might have happened.”

“Molly died, son.”

While Jeremiah had thought something was wrong, he never envisioned this.

“She was chewed up pretty badly by them wolves. She fought it bravely but finally her body gave out.”

Jeremiah looked over to where the tree had been in the side yard. The tree was gone, replaced by a grave with a small, wooden cross.

“The tree?”

“We cut it down and buried it with her. Seemed like the right thing to do.”

Jeremiah didn’t cry, although his insides were dark, sad, and lonely, as if all his major organs just got up and left. He told the old man goodbye and wandered away, finally making his way back home.


Jeremiah continued on with his life, becoming a successful local business man. One summer, he quietly purchased the woods behind his old school. There had been a push to tear down the woods for a new subdivision. He refused to let that happen and left the woods to themselves.

One glorious fall day, his son came home from school and began telling his dad about a story he heard that day – a story of a single purple leaf on a tree that would make you rich.

“Rich son?”

“Way rich, Dad.”

“You want to go look for it?”“You bet.”

The two grabbed their coats and headed for the woods. Jeremiah let his son lead, but gently guided him down the whisper of a path that was still burned in his brain.

Eventually, they came upon the same clearing. The cabin still stood, barely. The door was ajar, and it was obvious no one had lived there for many years. Strangely, the side yard was not overgrown, but neatly trimmed, as if it had been mowed every Saturday.

Jeremiah held his son’s hand and walked slowly over to the side yard. There stood an old, bedraggled goat, calmly chewing on the last grass of the year.

“Smokey?” Jeremiah asked softly.

“Nope, that’s my Grandma. My name is Gertrude. You that kid Grandma used to talk about?”

“I am.”

“The only kid to ever get the best of Grandma. She used to tell that story over and over and just laugh and laugh.”

“Dad, are you okay? That goat is sure making a lot of noise. Is he going to get us?”

“No son, he is a she, and she is perfectly safe.”

“Gertrude, can I see Molly?”

“Sure. I’ll leave y’all alone.”

Jeremiah told his son to stay right there for a minute and walked over to the grave site. There it was, carefully tended by Smokey and her descendants. And to Jeremiah’s surprise, out of the grave rose one, small trunk, with one small branch, and one most beautiful purple leaf.

As his eyes welled up with long suppressed tears, the leaf gently fell from the branch and landed at his feet.

“She wants you to have it,” said the gravely goat voice.

Jeremiah tenderly picked up the leaf and put it inside his jacket.

“Time to go, son.”

“You crying, Dad?”

“Nah, just got some dust in my eye. Let’s go see what’s for lunch.”
As they walked back through the snow laden woods, Jeremiah thought about what he had known for a long time – the single, purple leaf had indeed make him rich.