The broken boy - healed by innocence

A big family

*Faith*

My father build the house with hopes of a large family, so the long, white-linen-covered table stretches the length of the room, providing ample room for everyone. My father sits at one end, my mother to his left, close to his heart. I sit to his right. Cooper occupies the chair beside our mother.

Uncle Wade takes the one at the other end, Aunt Briony to his left, each flanked by two of their daughters. Uncle Blaise and Aunt Lillian sit on one side of the table with three of their sons, while the other two sit across from them.

Seeing all my cousins gathered in one spot is a bittersweet reminder that my parents long for more children, but an accident causing my mother to lose her first child has made it difficult for her to conceive and prevented our household from growing beyond me.

After the food is spread out and the wine poured, I lift my glass. “I would like to make a toast.” I wait until I have everyone's attention and then look at the man who I have little doubt is well on his way to once again becoming my best friend. “It’s good to have you back, Cooper. I missed the sarsaparilla sticks.”

His grin is small, a little playful, but something else reflected within it hints at secrets shared. “I missed having someone to steal them from me.”

Laughter echoes around the table, the loudest coming from my cousins, who have all at one time or another been the recipient of a portion of the sticks Cooper constantly carries around in his pocket.

I lift my glass higher, and a rousing “Welcome home, Cooper” echoes through the room.

After everyone takes a sip of wine, food is passed around and the buzz of conversation fills the air as people begin catching up with one another, their busy lives preventing them from getting together as often as they would like.

“Cooper, I’m thinking of doing a series of articles on your travels,” Maggie says.

The intense manner with which Cooper cuts into his beef tells me he isn’t at all comfortable with that notion. “Why would anyone care to read about my travels?”

“I think it would be interesting. ‘The Life of a Traveling Cowboy.’” She says.

“It wasn’t as glamorous as you might think.” Cooper tells her.

She shakes her head, “I don’t want glamour. I’m looking for stories of real-life adventures.”

I'm just as interested in the details of his life during the time he was away. Neither his postcards nor his letters have revealed much about the particulars of his days and nights.

“It seems to me you ought to go on your own adventures and write about them,” he says.

“That’s what I have been telling her,” Grant, Uncle Blaise’s eldest, says. “I’m going to Europe next year, to visit with dads cousin Norah, she is a Luna there. You could travel with me, Maggie. See the wonders, experience them firsthand, and write articles that will put people right there beside you.”

Maggie shakes her head, “It’s not the sights I’m interested in. We’re losing a way of life and need to get it recorded before it disappears altogether. There’s a fella going around taking photographs of ranch hands working because he believes a time will come when we won’t have cowboys.”

“As long as people want meat,” Pa says, “we wil have cowboys. Maybe not as many, but the cattle aren’t going to walk themselves to the train.”

I meet Cooper’s gaze, and I wonder if he recalls how Cole had questioned his relevance, how I had expected he would run the ranch while I established an oil empire. Everything could change so quickly.

People break off into their own separate conversations. I find it difficult not to keep my attention on Cooper, not to listen and glean information about his time away. His affection for those surrounding him is evident in the intensity with which he listens to them speaking… the same intent look that crosses his face when Callie speaks to him. He would make a good father, but then he had a good example.

“Cooper, you got home just in time for the grand opening of the new theater,” Uncle Blaise says.

He looks confused, “What was wrong with the old theater?”

“This one is for moving pictures,” I explain.

“We thought about simply converting the other theater,” my mother tells him. “But I believe we still have a need for plays, opera, and culture. So I wanted to keep the stage. Laurel is going to manage the new one. She says moving pictures are becoming quite popular.” She looks down the length of the table. “Laurel, honey, do you want to tell Cooper about the theater?”

Uncle Wade’s second oldest daughter perks up. She loves talking about the moving pictures. She had seen one a few years earlier when she had taken a trip to Pittsburgh and afterward had returned home to regale us all with tales about it. “The Nickelodeon. That's what we’re calling it. Officially opens Thursday. Have you seen a moving picture?”

“I once peered through a Kinetoscope and watched a man sneeze.” Cooper says.

She laughs. “This is much better. It’s a story more than a single action. And it’s on a big screen, so you watch it with other people, sharing the experience, knowing those around you are just as enthralled. I’m excited we’re bringing something so modern to Moonshadowville. The entire family is planning to be there. I hope you can join us.”

“I look forward to it,” Cooper says.

Laurel smiles as though he has just handed her the moon. I don’t blame her. He had always been a favorite among the cousins.

He looks across the table at me. “I assume you’re planning to go.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” I tell him.