Now, Piedmont has never been a town to let facts stand in the way of a good story. Truth is, half the folks there treat rumors like domesticated animals. They feed them, water them, and let them grow fat enough to sit on the front porch beside them. But even by Piedmont standards, the rumor that shook the town that fateful Thursday outpaced them all.

It started at Willie Mae’s Beauty Nook & Small Engine Repair, which is where most Piedmont disasters begin. Willie Mae, may the Lord bless her, had a way of repeating things that she had never actually heard. On that particular morning, she announced to her three customers that the new fellow in town, a quiet man named Earl Winthrop, had been arrested in Georgia for runnin’ cows across state lines without permission.

Now, the ladies were horrified. Not by the crime, but by the idea that cows required legal documents.

Faye Ellen Timmons asked if they needed passports. Beatrice Logan wondered if there was a specific kind of border patrol for livestock. And Mrs Leona Haggerty declared with absolute confidence that she had heard something similar once in a documentary about Canada.

By lunchtime, the rumor had boiled itself into a far richer stew. It was said that Earl Winthrop had been smuggling cows in the dead of night. Not ordinary cows, mind you, but genetically enhanced cows that could jump fences like deer and run as fast as greyhounds. Somebody even claimed they had seen one leap over the hedges behind the Methodist Church and vanish into the graveyard.

Pastor Blalock asked for a moment of prayer concerning the possibility of ghost cows, which did not help the situation.

By midafternoon, schoolchildren were telling each other that Earl Winthrop had been wanted by the FBI, the CIA, the USDA, and possibly NASA for creatin’ supercows capable of orbital flight. One boy swore he had seen a cow disappear behind the library with a suspicious puff of smoke, which, upon investigation, turned out to be the librarian sneakin’ outside for a cigarette.

The rumor had grown three sets of legs, taken the interstate, hopped the median, and come back with a new haircut.

Around four o’clock, Sheriff Garner finally stepped out onto the courthouse steps and sent out an official message across town. It was short and to the point.

“Earl Winthrop has not, at any time, smuggled cows. Nobody in Piedmont is harboring cows with supernatural abilities. Please stop calling the office.”

But the sheriff underestimated the stubbornness of Piedmont’s collective imagination.

Folks gathered at the town gazebo anyway. Nearly the whole town came out. They wanted answers. They wanted clarity. They wanted to know how many cows Earl Winthrop had truly modified, and whether they should be worried about them votin’ in the next election.

Earl himself was dragged onto the courthouse steps by a flustered Sheriff Garner. Earl was a quiet man with thin shoulders, big glasses, and the gentle air of someone who apologized to furniture when he bumped into it. He cleared his throat and smiled weakly.

“Uh… I do not… own any cows,” he said.

Silence. Not belief. Just stunned disappointment.

Eventually, Miss Pearl Overby raised her hand one finger high.

“Then what exactly are you hidin’?”

Earl blinked.

“My cat.”

“Your cat?”

“Yes, ma’am. Her name is Mabel. She don’t like strangers. Or neighbors. Or sunlight.”

That did it. The rumor collapsed on itself like a poorly made cake.

Mabel was promptly declared harmless. Earl was welcomed officially into the community. And Piedmont, having burnt off its excitement for the day, slowly filtered back home.

But for years after, whenever a stranger asked Piedmont folks whether they believed in extraordinary things, the answer was always the same.

“No, sir… not unless it involves cows.”

*****

New Yesterdays can be found at: Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon, as well as your favorite bookshops. The Audiobook is available from Libro.fm, as well as Amazon.