Linda Ford - Once Upon A Thanksgiving

She thought of what Rosie really needed—to become more a part of the community instead of keeping so much to herself. But before she could voice her thought, Rosie tiptoed from the bedroom.

“Were you two talking about me?” she asked.

Buck sighed. “You were the furthest thing from my mind.”

Rosie considered them suspiciously. “I heard you talking while I got the children to sleep, yet the minute I step into the room you are quiet as mice.”

Buck grinned. “If you insist on knowing, I was telling her all the family secrets.”

Rosie drew up hard and stared at her brother. Then she laughed, a nervous twitter of a sound. “I know you’re joshing. Serves me right for being so suspicious.” She turned to Kathleen. “Were you serious about helping me stitch a quilt top?”

At last, something to do with her hands so her thoughts wouldn’t continually run off in silly directions. “Of course. Are you ready to get started?”

Rosie fetched a basket of fabric pieces. “I thought to make one for Junior’s bed, but I don’t intend to take advantage of your generosity or anything.”

Kathleen rubbed her hands together. “We can do this. Do you have a pattern in mind?”

The women pulled out fabric and discussed different arrangements. Once they’d chosen a pattern, they cut out a number of squares, then Kathleen started stitching them together while Rosie continued cutting.

“Where did you spend Thanksgiving last year?” Kathleen asked him.

Guess it was too much for Buck to think their project would keep them occupied and allow him the privilege of watching the subtle changes in Kathleen’s expression as she chose colors and patterns and aligned the pieces. But he realized he didn’t mind talking about the past year. In most ways it was one of the best in his life, with Joey to look after and love. “The two of us spent it in a settler’s shack. The pioneer family had moved to town for the winter, and they were glad enough to have someone occupy their place.” No doubt such simple accommodations were something she would not rejoice over, but he’d been grateful.

Kathleen and Rosie continued to work, but he felt their keen interest. “I really never gave Thanksgiving a thought until the owner of the place rode out with a bundle. Said his wife insisted he bring it to the two of us. I let Joey open it. You should have seen his eyes. I don’t think he could remember receiving gifts before. Inside was enough turkey for the both of us and plenty of mashed potatoes and gravy. There were two oranges and a toy whistle. We had us a real good day. Just the two of us.” He wasn’t sure why he kept saying it was only he and Joey, except he wanted to believe it was how he wanted things to be. Even to his own ears it sounded lonely. But he really did have something to be thankful for—a little son and a warm house, even though the latter was temporary.

Thanksgiving was three weeks away. He should be gone again by then, but only if he remained would Joey know a true family celebration. The temptation to stay was strong.

“It sounds sweet,” Kathleen said, although her voice seemed tight, as if the words didn’t want release.

“It sounds lonely.” Rosie, as always, was bluntly honest. They studied each other. He wished he could stay awhile. Perhaps she did, too, but they both knew the risks. People were less than welcoming when they discovered whom their father was. He and Rosie had been driven from more than one place by a violent crowd.

He and Joey must move on.

Kathleen’s gaze had not left him all the while he and Rosie shared their silent communication, and now he shifted and met her blue, intense look.

She smiled. “The church is having a special Thanksgiving service. There will be a community dinner to share the bounty of the year. It would be nice if you would attend. I think you’d enjoy it.”

Her words fell into a silence, sending ripples through his thoughts. He hadn’t been to church since Ma died. He wondered if Rosie had. He’d attended her wedding, held in the parsonage. It was the last time he’d seen her before yesterday, though he sent her an occasional letter. She wrote to him regularly so he knew she and Bill had moved to this town. Bill knew enough to keep one step ahead of the cruel truth of his wife’s past. “I doubt I’ll be here.” Regret deepened his voice but he hoped no one would notice. “Rosie, you should go. It would be good for you and the kids.”

Rosie allowed him the briefest glance, but enough for him to see her longing ran every bit as deep as his. “I’ll think on it.”

“I’ll keep asking,” Kathleen said.

Buck wondered how she managed to sound so serene, so confident. Not for the first time, and likely not for the last, he wished things could be different so he could get to know her better and discover who she really was.

It wasn’t possible. He shifted his thoughts to other things. Like the children. Rosie’s were happy and full of spirit. Was Joey on par with them? Was he suffering because of the way Buck lived? Not that he could do a thing to change it.

The children woke and the women put away the sewing. Rosie brought Lilly from the bedroom with her two boys following her. At the same time, Joey came from the other room. The boy’s color had improved.

Rosie put Lilly in her chair and the other children sat around the table to eat bread and jam.

“Good food and rest are giving Joey back his strength,” he said.

Kathleen’s gentle gaze brushed him. “God has given us so many reasons to be thankful.”

He nodded. She made it easy for him to believe in God’s bountiful blessings.

“I must return home. I promised Mother and Father I wouldn’t be as late as I was yesterday.”

Buck scrambled to his feet. “I’ll walk you home.”

“It’s not necessary.”

Did he detect a hint of something in her voice he was loath to admit? Was she embarrassed to have him walk her home? “My mother, God rest her soul, would expect no less of me.”

She considered him briefly then nodded. “Very well, though it really isn’t necessary.”

He bent to face his son. “Joey, you stay with Aunt Rosie. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Okay?”

“You be back for sure?”

“For sure.”

“Okay, then.” He returned his attention to the slice of bread.

He slipped into his coat and buttoned it, then held the door for Kathleen, who had already said goodbye to everyone in the room. They tramped along the hardened path.

“Do you realize that’s the first time I’ve heard mention of your mother?”

“Even the likes of Rosie and me have a mother and father, though they are both dead now.” He regretted his words as soon as they were out and hoped she wouldn’t ask about his father.

“I’m sorry for your loss, but you know I didn’t mean you wouldn’t have parents.” She scowled at him, making him feel like a small boy.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I am too defensive.”

“Both you and Rosie. It’s like you expect someone to kick you in the teeth for no reason.”

Oh, they thought they had reason enough, but he wasn’t about to tell her so.

Kathleen turned to him, her expression a mixture of amusement and something more—perhaps regret? “Rosie’s very fond of you.”

“Like you said, she hides it pretty well.”

Her sweet laugh filled his senses. “Tell me what it was like to have a sister growing up.”

Her questions almost stopped him in his tracks. It took every bit of his well-developed self-control to move forward, to keep his voice steady, as if the memories weren’t filled with a bittersweet taste. “Life was very different then. My parents were alive.”

She didn’t speak, and he wondered how aware she was of the tension gripping his heart.