Milk

“Mary Ellen, Lillian, ya’ll take the milk up the hill to the Emmitts. Be back before dark.”

The young girls, eight and seven, always loved this time of day. The elderly couple loved their visits as well. In the height of the Great Depression, it was a blessing to have a cow that gave more than enough milk for a small family and it was a blessing to the old couple on the hill to have a neighbor that owned such a cow.

“Hey Mary Ellen, hey Lillian,” Mrs. Emmitt greeted. “Did you girls learn anything in school today?”

They answered spontaneously with the usual answer. “No, ma’am.”

“We’ll, give it time. I’m sure you’ll learn something, eventually.”

Mary Ellen set the milk on the floor of the porch. The girls took their usual chairs and chatted with the old couple. Their visits usually lasted about thirty minutes.

About fifteen minutes into their visit, a knock was heard on the door. There was no one at the door, but they all heard the knock and were all sure it came from the door just a few feet from them.

“Well, my sakes! What in the world!” Mrs. Emmitt arose from the glider and went to the door, thinking that maybe a prankster had come in through the back door. She walked inside and in a few minutes came back out.

“I can’t imagine what that was! There’s no one in the house.”

Mr. Emmitt said little. He was “slowing down” as Mrs. Emmitt put it. He hadn’t said much for the past three days. He always seemed sleepy.

They had been there for only fifteen of the customary thirty minutes they usually spent, but Mary Ellen arose and Lillian immediately followed her action. Both girls were scared.

“We have to go now, bye.” They hugged the old couple and got home in record time.

When the girls got home they were out of breath. “Why are ya’ll home so early and why did you run so,” their Mother asked.

The girls told their mother what happened. She simply kept at her work shelling peas and remarked, “How odd.”

The family were steadfast in the church. As a matter of fact, the father was the preacher. He was also the butcher at a small store nearby. Mrs. Emmitt came by the store the next morning and told him what had happened while the girls were visiting them. She also went on to add that later that evening, after having the milk with some cookies, they prepared for bed.

“We walked into the bedroom to get into bed, and a trunk came sliding out from under the bed and we don’t even own a trunk like that! It slid out the bedroom door and down the hallway and out the front door and disappeared! It frightened me so badly that I didn’t sleep all night, but Luther slept well. He was still sleeping when I left a few minutes ago. What do you make of that, Preacher?”

“I don’t know what to make of it, Mrs Emmitt. I’ve never heard of any such goings on like that before. I’ll come by this evening when I get off work and say a prayer with ya’ll.”

“We’d shore appreciate it Preacher. That’ll help settle my nerves.”

That night Mr. Cook went to the Emmitt house. Mrs. Emmitt was on the porch in the glider. “Hello, Mrs. Emmitt. Is everything going well for ya?”

“Luther hasn’t been up all day. He hasn’t said anything. He’s just lying there. I think he’s dying.” Tears rolled down her face. “I’m just glad you’re here. Come with me and we’ll check on him.”

Preacher Cook followed Mrs. Emmitt down the hallway to the bedroom and walked in. “Hello, Luther. How you gitten’ along?” There was no answer. “Mrs. Emmitt, can I have a moment alone with Luther?”

“You certainly may, Preacher,” as she backed out the door.

Preacher Cook walked over to the bed. He knew before he bent over to put his head next to Luther’s to hear any sound of life. He knew before he put his ear to the old man’s chest.

He looked at the corpse for a few seconds and finally said, “Luther, my old friend, say hello to my mother and father.” With that, he walked into the parlor and called his wife.

“Mary Lou, I need you to call the doctor. I think Luther is dead. And then get on up here and tend to Mrs. Emmitt.”

Later that night, friends and relatives filled the parlor and the front porch. Mrs. Emmitt overheard a couple of the guests in the parlor talking about the knock on the door and the trunk sliding out the door.

“I say it was an omen,” said Pearl in a whispered tone.

“Yep,” Mrs. Emmitt said taking a seat next to Pearl. “Death came ‘a knockin’ and his travelin’ trunk moved out the door ahead of him.”