My name is Joshua Greenberg. I guess it's up to me to finish Jess's story. I don't know how old he was, but he sure saw a lot of history in this country. No one hardly even thinks about the Civil War anymore, even though it still affects a lot of people. We've come a long way since then. We still have our problems, who doesn't? But I can only hope that there are more people like Jess and my Uncle Abe in the world. They were good men, and the world was a better place when they were in it. Women like cousin Helga and Oota certainly did their part as well. And from what I've seen of her, Cousin Mary and her family will continue to set examples for others as they move through life. But that is yet to come.

Shortly after Jess had gone in, I heard a noise in the cabin, like something had fallen. I went inside to see what had happened, and found Jess on the floor next to a table that held a bottle of wine and two glasses. He had an old, battered tin cup in his hand. Since he was holding it, I guessed he must have wanted to show it to me for some reason. There was an empty space on the mantle, as if that was where it usually sat. I thought that old cup must have meant something special to him, since he'd kept it when all the other things in the cabin were a lot newer and much nicer - and since it seemed as if he'd wanted me to see it. I wondered if, maybe, it was the same one he'd mentioned early in his story; when he spoke about surviving a storm and being glad he, at least, still had his tin cup. Perhaps that was why he wanted to show it to me. It could have been a reminder of a different time in his life, before he found what was really important to him.

We buried Jess next to Helga, Abe, and Oota. I don't know what religion he followed. Cousin Mary said he was a Christian, and he had a crucifix over his mantel. But he wore a Star of David necklace. Mary told me it was one that Abe had once worn, and my mother had one just like it. Perhaps Jess wore it in Abe's memory. But Mary also said they had celebrated Jewish holidays too, as well as participating in ceremonies Oota held with the changing of the seasons. I thought of what an interesting household they must have had. After a little discussion, we just went ahead and had both the star and cross put on Jess' headstone. People may have thought that was strange, but we didn't much care. Mary and her family liked it, and I think Jess would have too.

After the funeral, as I was standing in that little plot behind the cabin, I thought of what it showed about how people can live in this world. About how people can come together if they don't let themselves get caught up in what others think of them. Buried there were two Jews, a Christian, and a Native American.  People from very different cultures, who loved, respected, and cared for each other in life. They may not have been considered equals by most people while they lived, but death doesn't care what we think.

I sat for a while on the bench made by an uncle I'd never met, after burying a man I had known for such a short, but significant time, and understood what Uncle Abe had seen in Jess Harper. I was honored to have known the man, if even for such a limited span, and thought he seemed much like my uncle. They'd both embraced a simple life without all the trapping most of us see as civilization. As my thoughts drifted, it seemed as if the two men had become one person, who had affected me more than hundreds of others I had met.

I looked across the peaceful meadow before me and thought how beautiful this wild country was. It had seen little of any lasting imprint of the hand of man, but I knew it would only be a matter of time 'til that changed. People were racing across the continent now, eager to settle new lands.

But the lonely beauty of nature left me feeling small and insignificant. Like, no matter what we do here, the universe takes no notice. The sound of the wind through the trees was like the haunting tones of a Native American flute I'd heard played as I passed through a small town on my way here. The rustle of the leaves giving way to the breeze reminded me of the fleeting impact any of us can ever have on the land.