Story-a-Day the 13th! (That’s got to be lucky, right?)

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And it’s only the 13th…

Jeremiah Blyth was tired of being Jeremiah Blyth. His mind took unnecessary tangents and engaged in losing arguments. His body disappointed him routinely. His spirit flagged before breakfast.

He pushed himself out the door and lumbered down the street. Folks were saying miracles were for sale not that far from town. Now, Jeremiah never reckoned could afford even a husk of a miracle. Everyone knew the best miracles demanded beauty, faith, or gold. A shoddy miracle needed at least a hair of luck. He scrounged up enough cash to get through a day, but those other treasures might as well have been buried on the moon for as close as he’d ever get to them.

But today promised something different. Miracles were selling for whatever you could carry to trade. Beatrice Putnam, his neighbor, shook her head and warned Jeremiah that the whole deal sounded too good to be true. “You don’t want to go way out there,” she said to him. “There ain’t nothing wrong with the way you are.”

“I didn’t say anything was wrong,” he replied. “I said I was tired.”

“But not too tired to haul tail out there and make a fool of yourself. Or worse.”

He shrugged. She meant well, but she’d gotten as many as two miracles already in life, and she was twenty years younger than him. “Even some harm would make for a change.”

“That don’t make no kind of sense, Jeremiah,” she scolded. “And you don’t need no miracle anyways. You just sit yourself back down and I’ll bring you a cup of joe. That should be a miracle aplenty.”

Maybe Beatrice was right, but Jeremiah wasn’t going to change his plans. He wore his best shoes and coat. He followed the directions he’d scribbled on the torn page of newsprint. He headed toward where miracles were for sale.

Beatrice kept an eye on the road for his return. For a long time, she kept his house clean for him, just in case. Many an evening she’d sit on her front porch and half expect to see Jeremiah Blyth to be walking back up the road with a shiny miracle in his pocket or even sparkling in his eyes. She sipped her coffee and said to anyone keeping her company, “Ain’t no reason to think he didn’t get what he wanted. Why, I bet he didn’t want to come back and have people think he’d gotten above himself. Everyone knows it’s bad luck to show off your miracles.”

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