Linda Ford - Once Upon A Thanksgiving - Season of Bounty / Home for Thanksgiving

“There was a time …” He slowed his words to cover his regret. “When my father laughed with joy and said we had much to be grateful for.” How quickly his attitude had changed.

“It sounds nice.”

“It was.” How long since he’d remembered those better days? Far too long. And he vowed right there in the middle of the trail he would give Joey some memories of good times, and he’d find a way to remind Rosie of those happier days when being thankful didn’t require an effort.

“Having a sibling is special.”

Did he detect a lonesome note in her voice? He couldn’t think it was true. She came from a secure, stable, safe family.

They passed the business section of town and climbed a slight hill to a cluster of large houses.

Kathleen stopped walking. “This is where I live.” She indicated a house dominating those around it.

The place was huge. Buck could see why they might need someone to dust and clean. “Just you and your parents live here?” He failed to keep awe from his voice.

“Our cook has quarters here, too.”

“Oh, then that explains why you need such a large house.”

She grinned. “You know it doesn’t. We don’t need a big house, but my father thinks it’s in keeping with his station in life.” Her smile seemed slightly lopsided. “My father has very well-formed ideas of right and wrong.”

“And always does what is right?”

“Always.”

“That’s something to be grateful for, isn’t it?” He knew his voice revealed far more than he wanted to. If his own father had always done what was right, not let his anger and frustration drive him to taking things into his own hands in such a gruesome manner … well, his life and Rosie’s—and now their children’s—would be much different.

Aware that she watched him closely, likely wondering why he seemed so vehement about the idea of right and wrong when they’d been talking about her big house, he again studied the mansion before him. Lots of red brick and white trim around the seemingly endless windows on both the ground floor and second story. “It certainly makes a person stand up and take notice.”

“It’s just a house. Isn’t a house the place where family gathers? Seems to me that what’s important. Not the size of the dwelling.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the house in front of them. “If you say so.”

“I do. Now stop staring at it. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

He jerked his attention away and toward her. “Why would it make you uncomfortable?”

“Because I don’t want to be judged by who my father is or how large the house I live in is. I want to be judged for my own actions.” Her words rang with fierceness.

“I wish I could think such was possible.” But people would always judge him by who his father was. He couldn’t imagine it would be any different for Kathleen, though for vastly different reasons.

She studied him, her gaze searching out hidden meanings in his words, secrets buried deep in his heart. “Can it not be so between us, at least?”

Her question begged so many things from him. Acceptance of her friendship, but more. Openness, sharing of secrets. He couldn’t offer what she silently asked for, though he ached to do so. “I wish things could be different.”

“Can’t you make them so?”

“I can’t control what others say or think or do.”

“But you can choose who and what you are.”

He searched her frank open gaze. He wanted to point out it was easy for her to choose her own path with the protection of her father’s name. But he didn’t want to spoil the moment.

She continued to study him. “Haven’t you done that already to some extent?”

He didn’t understand. His choice was to leave before people learned the truth or immediately after they did.

She must have seen his confusion. “Adopting Joey.”

“That has never been a hardship.” Though partly because Joey fit into Buck’s way of life … moving on before people got too critical. But was he doing the child a disservice by constantly moving?

“I must go inside.” Kathleen shifted her attention to the house.

“Good afternoon. Thanks for everything.”

She turned back to him. Made him happy he’d said something to accomplish that. “For what?”

“For visiting Rosie and being her friend. For praying for Joey. Reminding me of God.” For being Kathleen and sharing your joy.

She lowered her eyes. “You’re welcome.” Brought her gaze back to his, smiling widely. “I hope you think about God more often now.”

“I surely shall.” Every time he thought of Kathleen and he knew that would be often.

“Goodbye now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She headed up the brick sidewalk, paused at the door to give a little wave.

He lifted a hand in response, waited until the door closed behind her then headed back to Rosie’s, Kathleen’s promise ringing in his ears. See you tomorrow.

How many tomorrows dare he plan? He clamped his jaw down hard, making his teeth ache. Not nearly enough.

Kathleen leaned against the door and waited for her heart to calm. He admired her. Approved of her friendship with Rosie. Of course he would, Rosie being his sister. But his approval meant more to her than she could explain.

She hung her coat on the hall tree and slipped out of her boots into a pair of fur-lined slippers. Central heating filled the whole house with welcoming warmth. Yes, she was grateful for the comforts of her life. Yes, she admired her parents for their moral strength. But some days it all felt hollow, and today was one of those times.

“I’m in here,” Mother called from the sitting room.

Kathleen took a deep, calming breath and scolded herself for feeling so restless when she was so blessed. She stepped into the room. “Mother, you’re up already. How are you?”

“I do believe I am feeling better every day.” She sighed in such a way that Kathleen wondered at the truth of her words. “I get tired of being tired.”

Kathleen sat on the stool at her knees. “You did something different with your hair.”

“Jeannie offered to brush and style it.” Jeannie was more than housekeeper. She often did little things to brighten Mother’s day. Kathleen would be sure to thank her later.

“It’s very becoming.”

Mother brushed her hand over her hair. “Who was that young man?”

Kathleen stalled. She didn’t want her parents to know too much about Buck, aware they would heartily disapprove of Joey. “That’s Rosie’s brother I told you about. He insisted on seeing me safely home.”

“I see.” Mother studied her a long moment. “And yet you’ve gone back and forth safely the past few weeks.”

“I assured him I didn’t need an escort, but he insisted his mother would expect him to do so.”

“Where is his mother?”

“She’s passed away.”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

Kathleen wished she could talk to her mother about the thousand thoughts racing through her head. Why were Rosie and Buck so secretive? Both parents were dead. How long ago? Was Joey truly on the mend? If he was, would Buck be on his way? Why did the idea tangle her thoughts? What did it all mean? But aware her mother would tell her to forget such people, she didn’t voice any of her questions. “I’ll go see if Cook needs help.” She hurried to the kitchen before her mother could say anything.

But Cook had everything competently under control and allowed her only to finish setting the table. Kathleen did so and stood back to study the formal dining room with its perfectly matched chairs and perfectly matched china and silver. It was all very nice but lacked something that seemed to abound around Rosie’s table. Funny—she hadn’t been so acutely aware of it until a day or two ago.