From the Relief Society Magazine, November 1966 –

Home for Thanksgiving

By Mabel Harmer

Martha picked up the hammer and half a dozen nails and marched grimly towards the fence. As she tried to fasten the board into place, a sharp gust of the November wind blew an end of her scarf across her face. She dropped the hammer and slipped the nails into her pocket while she retied the scarf, her irritation growing stronger with every move.

“You!” she stormed at the pig, who seemed to be actually enjoying her frustration. “If you have to run away, why do you have to go to Jake Bolton’s farm?”

The question was purely academic, since the break in the fence led directly to the Bolton acres. She was just pounding the last nail into place when she was interrupted by the loud honking of an auto horn. She turned to see Everett Mitchell grinning at her.

“Hi, Aunt Matt! I’m sure glad that wasn’t my head you were working on.”

“Next time it will be that pig’s head,” she retorted. “He seems to know that he could start a small war by going over to Jake Boltons.”

“You mean, he could make a small war bigger, don’t you?” asked Everett. “I seem to remember that this feud between you and your good neighbor has been going on for some time now. Sort of like the Hatfields and McCoys, in a genteel way.”

“Well, it’s all his fault,” said Martha. “Just because I took my turn at the water from the ditch when he claimed it was his.”

“Yes, I remember,” Everett nodded. “You know something, Aunt Matt? Water fights have been going on for as long as history. It isn’t only people who fight — individuals, I mean. States and even entire nations fight it out. Of course, it didn’t help your neighborly relations any when your boy Rhon jilted Alice Bolton to marry that schoolteacher. I don’t know as Alice fretted too much, but I’ll bet a wooden nickle that Jake sure did.”

“You talk too much about matters of which you know nothing,” said Martha sharply. “Was that what you came out here to say?”

“Certainly not,” Everett exclaimed. “This discussion got so interesting I almost forgot. Jim Hay ward asked if I’d deliver this telegram. It’s been in the office for two days. He also said that if you’d put in a telephone you’d get your messages a lot faster. Besides, you could listen to all the gossip on the party line and —”

Martha ignored this last bit of flippancy as she tore open the telegram. “It’s from Rhon,” she said. “He and the boys are all coming home for Thanksgiving. What’s today?”

“Wednesday. Are they getting in today or tomorrow?”

“He didn’t say. Just We’ll be home for Thanksgiving. Not even if they are driving, flying, or just walking.”

“Well, that’s nice. I mean it’s nice that you will have the boys here for Thanksgiving. Let’s see — it’s been a couple of years now since his wife died, hasn’t it? How old are the boys?”

“Six and eight. They’re cute little shavers. Full of life as all get-out.” Martha’s face softened as she smiled at the thoughts of her grandchildren. “They’d like for me to come to the city and live with them,” she went on, “but I can’t leave my place here. I tried it for a few months, but I couldn’t make friends in the city. And all that noise and racket got on my nerves. So, as soon as Rhon could get a good housekeeper, I came back home again.”

“To enjoy yourself mending fences and chasing runaway porkers.”

“I guess. That among other things,” agreed Martha. “You can’t walk out on the memories of a lifetime. Not very easily, anyway.”

“Shucks, you talk like an old woman. And you know you’re not a day over seventy-five.”

“And you know that I’m not a day over fifty-five,” Martha retorted.

“Sure, I know that,” laughed Everett. “Well, I’ll run along. Have yourself a merry, merry . . . no, that’s Christmas, isn’t it? Well, have a happy Thanksgiving.”

He gunned his car and swooped out of the yard, sending chickens scattering in every direction. Martha watched him down the road with a half smile and went into the house.

So, now what was she going to do? Here it was the day before Thanksgiving and not a morsel of holiday fare. Well, come to think of it, there was practically everything but a turkey. They’d have to make do with roast chickens this time.

She would make pie crust and bake the pies first thing in the morning. They weren’t fit to eat held over for a day. She could cook the pumpkin and get the filling all ready. There would be pickles, rolls, com, peas, and plenty of mashed potatoes. Rhon never got too much of those.

She would check the linen and silver. My, it had been a long time since she’d had any occasion to bring them out! It would sure be wonderful to have her family home again — especially
home for Thanksgiving.

She was in the midst of cutting up pumpkin when another car drove into the yard. It was Alice Bolton and two youngsters. Why, it couldn’t be! Yes, it was Eric and Timmy. She rushed out as they tumbled out of the car.

“Grandma!” they cried. “We came all alone on the airplane!”

She braced herself against the onslaught, and asked in bewilderment, “How . . .?”

“I picked them up at the airport,” said Alice. “Rhon had a case in court and couldn’t get away until tomorrow. He wasn’t sure that he could get reservations for all three tomorrow, so he let the boys go on ahead.”

“Alone?” Martha repeated, taking their luggage.

“Oh, yes, it’s no problem,” said Alice. “The stewardess looks after them and, once they’re on the plane they can’t get off until they reach their destination. It’s much more sure than train or bus that way.”

“Well, thanks a lot,” said Martha. “I hope it didn’t put you out too much.”

“Not at all,” was the cheerful reply. “Goodbye, boys. Come and see me.”

“We will,” they called and started to run, each in a different direction.

“Here! Wait a minute!” called their grandmother. “Where are you going?”

“To see the cow and the pigs and all the animals,” answered Eric. “That’s mostly why we came.”

“Indeed,” said their grandmother. “Well, aren’t you going to take off those good clothes first? On the farm we have to wear farm clothes.”

Reluctantly, they turned back and came into the house long enough to change their clothes, then they quickly rushed outdoors again.

Martha turned back to her holiday tasks and felt her spirits rising by the moment. How good it would be to have Rhon and the boys home with her, if only for a few days. She had been alone so much and so long. She wished she knew how he had come to call Alice. She guessed there was nothing else he could do. Anyway, Alice was going to marry George Wilkins one of these days, probably. They had been keeping company long enough. Almost since Rhon left, in fact. And George was a good, steady fellow. A mite too steady, maybe, if there was such a thing.

She put the pumpkin on the range to cook and went to the door to see if the boys were all right. Yes, there they were climbing among the branches of an apple tree, Well, that was safe enough. She’d let them feed the chickens when the time came.

She brought up the jelly and canned peas from the basement. She wished that she had some cranberries and yams. They were almost as much a part of the dinner as the bird. But she didn’t have any, and no way of getting any, unless she drove into town. She could make the bread stuffing and have that ready.

She was about to call the boys when they came in of their own accord. “We’re hungry,” Timmy announced, “so we’d like some cookies.”

“Dear me,” Martha exclaimed. “I haven’t gotten around to baking them yet. We’ll have to start right away.”

“Daddy said that you always had cookies,” Eric insisted.

“So I do — most of the time. And we’ll have them as soon as I can make them. How about some bread and jam for right now?”

“Okay,” they agreed. She spread a thick slice for each and poured them a glass of milk. It seemed such a few years since Rhon had been asking the same question.

In the midst of his snack, Timmy suddenly asked, “Can we see the turkey?”

“Well, I didn’t get a turkey,” said his grandmother. “You see, I didn’t know you were coming. I don’t have a telephone — but am sure going to have to get one. Some surprises I like, but not this kind.”

“Daddy said that you always got a turkey from Mr. Bolton,” said Eric.

“Yes — we did when he was a little boy. But this year we’re going to have roast chicken for a change.”

“Why are we?” Eric went on. “Alice said that they have plenty of turkeys.”

“Yes, I suppose they have. But they aren’t ours. I’m sure that you will enjoy the roast chicken. And, what’s more, there will be a drumstick for each one of us. We’d only get part of one if we had a turkey.”

“Well, Daddy said that we always got a turkey from . . . .”

“I know,” his grandmother interrupted. “So we did when he was a little boy. But this year we aren’t.” Martha spoke in such a tone of voice as to settle the matter. She couldn’t explain a quarrel between two people who had been neighbors for thirty years. Especially a quarrel over anything that seemed so trivial as to who should use the water on a certain day — even if nations did sometimes quarrel over the same thing.

Later on she said, “Now we’ll feed the chickens and after supper you can go upstairs and sleep in your daddy’s room, where he slept as a little boy.”

“Will you read us a story first?” asked Timmy.

“I surely will. I even have some of the books here that I read to Daddy when he was a little boy.”

She lit a fire in the grate and sat on the couch with a boy on each side, while she read stories. Then she tucked them into bed with such pleasure as she had almost forgotten was possible. As she settled down before the fire again, before going to her own room, she felt such a love for all mankind that she almost forgave Jake Bolton — but not quite. She did feel sorry for him, however. She knew that he had been greatly disappointed when Rhon and Alice broke up. And, as for that slow George, if he and Alice didn’t get married pretty soon they would be too old to have much of a family. Jake would never be a grandparent, and he would be missing half the joy in life. Yes, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for Jake.

She went to bed still enveloped in a happy glow and a feeling of good will toward all men. Well, nearly all men.

The next morning, she did the chores and stirred up batter for pancakes before going to awaken the boys. She called first and,
when there was no answer, went upstairs. The bed was empty. What was more, their wraps were gone.

“They must have slipped out while I was outside in the barn,” she said. “Now, where in the world?”

She went down again, trying to decide which way to look for them. She went first to the barn, almost sure that the boys would be visiting the animals. That was always their first pleasure on the farm. They were not in the barn. They were not in the chicken yard. They were nowhere that she could see.

She called until she was almost hoarse. Then she went into the house and took down her whistle, used once in a while to summon the dog. Even he did not answer now. Wherever the boys had gone, he was with them. So much the better. Only, where had they gone?

She walked out to the road and looked both ways. She was trying to decide whether to get the car out and start traveling, or simply to go in the house and wait it out, when she saw them coming. They were struggling to carry something between them.

She hurried on, but before she could reach them, she saw only too well what it was. They were bringing a turkey — small, but undeniably a live turkey.

“What in the wide world!” she gasped. “Where did you get it?”

“Over at Bolton’s,” replied Eric. “Daddy said that you always got your turkey at Bolton’s.”

“That was long ago,” said Martha sharply, “and we went over it all last night. Now we’ll just have to get in the car and take it back.”

“But it’s ours!” Timmy protested. “Mr. Bolton gave it to us.”

“We’re going back,” said Martha firmly. “Even if we keep the turkey we’re going to pay for it right now.”

“All right. But it’s ours and we’re going to keep it,” said Eric. His chin was set in a stubborn line that Martha recognized must
be very much like her own.

She backed the car out and filled it with boys, a live turkey and a dog. Then she headed down the road to the Bolton farm.

Jake was out in the yard hauling some potatoes to the storage cellar. He set down the wheelbarrow and greeted the boys with a smile.

“Didn’t you give us the turkey?” Eric demanded. “Grandma says that we can’t keep it.”

“Certainly I gave you the turkey,” replied Jake. “We’ll just have to talk Grandma into letting you have it.”

Martha found it increasingly difficult to maintain a look of severity in the face of Jake’s jovial manner. What had come over him all of a sudden? Didn’t he remember that they hadn’t been on friendly terms for years? Maybe he was just putting on a show for the boys. Well, she could play that game, too, just as well as he.

“All right, we’ll keep it,” she agreed. “But I must pay you for it.” She spoke so pleasantly that she hardly even knew her own voice.

“There’s not time to get that bird ready for dinner today,” said Jake. “I’ve got one in the house all dressed and ready to shoot into the oven. You take that one home, and we’ll save this one until next year. There’ll be a lot more to him by then.”

He went into the house, after putting the live bird back into the fenced pen. While he was gone Martha sat thinking, how stupid for two grownup people to be at odds over anything so trivial as who used the water on Monday or Tuesday. Anyway, with all of her blessings, she ought to be kind and gracious to everyone on the face of the earth. She ought to be especially kind to Jake, who didn’t have two fine grandsons, like hers, and possibly never would have.

When he came out again and put the turkey on the seat beside her, she said, “Thank you very much. And I’ll be glad to take the bird. But we want you and Alice to join us for dinner.”

Much to her surprise, Jake answered, “Sure. We’ll be over. We were planning on coming. Alice is going over to the city airport to pick Rhon up at two, and I guess you’ll want to have dinner soon after.”

“Yes,” she nodded rather weakly. “That will be fine.”

She drove home quickly and went to work. The turkey was stuffed, rubbed with butter, and put into the oven. There was barely time now to get it done by two. Then she turned to the table, put in the extra leaves and set it for six. What a long time it had been since she could put a place on the table for more than one or two!

What could she do for flowers? She solved that by cutting all the blossoms off from her geranium plants and putting them in a silver bowl.

The boys were under her feet every minute “helping Grandma get dinner.” But even that was a joy. In fact, she was so filled with happiness she found it hard to understand. Was it just that her family was going to be with her again? It couldn’t be because that silly old quarrel with Jake was over and done with? Or could it? Maybe it was a combination of everything pleasant.

The boys had a mid-morning snack. They couldn’t possibly wait until dinner, especially with the tempting odor of roasting turkey filling the kitchen. She, herself, was far too excited to think about food.

The minute the boys heard the car in the driveway, they shouted, “Here’s Daddy!” and rushed out to fling themselves at him as if it had been a year instead of a day since they had parted.

Alice and her father stood by smiling until Rhon disentangled himself and came in the house to greet his mother. “Isn’t this great. Mom!” he cried, kissing her soundly and lifting her off her feet in a bear hug.

“Yes — yes, it certainly is,” she agreed somewhat breathlessly.

“Take your things upstairs,” she went on. “And you, Alice, put your coat and your father’s in the front hall closet. Dinner will be ready right away.”

As soon as Alice had put their wraps away, she came out into the kitchen again and said, “I’m going to help. What shall I do first?”

“You might cut up the apples for the Waldorf salad,” replied Martha. “Here’s an apron.”

She busied herself stirring the thickening in the gravy. How pleasant it was to have Alice helping in the kitchen. She wondered if there was anything now between her and Rhon, but didn’t dare ask. Maybe this was only an interlude — a meeting just for today, with no future plans.

When everything else was on the table, Rhon came into the kitchen to get the turkey and carry it to the table. They bowed their heads as he said the prayer of thanksgiving.

As Rhon began to carve the turkey, Eric shouted, “I speak for a drumstick.”

“I speak for the other one,” echoed Timmy.

“It would take you a week to eat one this size,” said their father, “but you may have all that you can manage at this meal.”

The dinner was wonderful, and everyone seemed to be just as gay and relaxed as if this were an everyday affair — at least, an every holiday affair.

Afterwards they went into the living room and played some records, low enough so that they could still carry on a conversation. Rhon and Alice sat side by side on the divan and Martha noticed that very shortly she had slipped her hand into his.

A few minutes later, Eric announced, “Grandpa says that he’ll take us on a hike to the cave tomorrow. Didn’t you, Grandpa?”

Martha caught her breath. Had it been a slip of a childish tongue, or something more?

She looked at the happy faces about her. Of course, it was more. Well, if Jake was going to be grandpa to her own grandsons, it was a mighty good thing that there wasn’t going to be any more bickering.

She sighed with happiness and contentment. How blessed it was to have a family! To have that family come home for Thanksgiving.