From the Improvement Era, December 1951 –

Merry Christmas with Gravy

By Diantha Henderson

The day before Christmas started out bright and sunny. Joey helped Pop salt the paths and the driveway so no one would slip. Then he ran out to roll over and over in the snow just because he felt so happy.

Mother was coming home today! She’d been gone hundreds and hundreds – well, lots of weeks. It’s hard to keep track when you’re only seven. But she had gone right after Thanksgiving and that was a long time ago. It sure took a long time to get an operation.

He had so many things to show and tell her, he was afraid he couldn’t even remember them all. The important things today were the Christmas tree and –

Pete’s sake! He had almost forgotten the gravy! Aunt Nettie promised he could make it. It was to be special turkey gravy, the kind Mother liked, rich and brown and running off the mashed potatoes to make brown puddles on the plate.

He’d make it, then he’d say, “I made the gravy!” Mother would look surprised and pleased. When she tasted it, she’d say, “M-m! What delicious gravy!”

Maybe it was time now to make the gravy. He yelled and listened to the echo. Then he ran to the back door, remembering to stamp the snow off before he went in.

Aunt Nettie was bustling around the kitchen, her wide hips swaying in rhythm with the tick-tock of the old kitchen clock. Joey nodded his head, keeping in time.

Pies were already cooling on the drainboard. Aunt Nettie opened the oven door and basted the turkey. Joey peeked over her shoulder. No, it wasn’t time yet to make the gravy.

He took off his coat and went to the living room. The whole house was shining and smiling. The Christmas tree stood there waiting for Mother and Santa Claus. It shone with tinsel and candy canes and popcorn balls. Nothing to do now but look at it and imagine. In the morning there’d be lots of surprises – maybe even a drum with red and white stripes! “Time for your bath, Joey,” Aunt Nettie called. “Your pop’s going for your mother. You want to get all slicked up.”

Pete’s sake! Already? He followed Aunt Nettie up the stairs. He could hear the old clock tick-tock in the kitchen. He wondered if the clock would stop if Aunt Nettie stopped swaying her hips.

Warm water and soap felt good. He lathered up lots of soap all over him. It took longer to rinse off lots of soap, and the water ran off his shoulders onto his stomach – like gravy pouring over mashed potatoes.

Oh, the gravy! He wondered if he really knew how to make it. He sat still, frowning, trying to remember how Aunt Nettie did it on Thanksgiving. She put the roaster over the fire on top the stove. Then she got a cup of flour . . .

“Joey, don’t dawdle!” Aunt Nettie warned from the foot of the stairs.

He hurried out of the tub and into fresh clothes. He couldn’t seem to part his hair straight, and his underwear pulled to one side. But he thought he looked fine – good enough, anyhow, to give Mother his biggest hug and show her the Christmas tree.

“Joey!” The voice, strange yet familiar, came from the downstairs hall. His throat felt funny. He blinked. He was too big to cry!

“Joey?” The voice again, a little anxious. It was Mother!

He ran down the stairs so fast he missed some of the steps. But he kept his hand sliding on the bannister so he didn’t fall. Then he threw himself at his mother and hugged so hard she gasped for breath, laughing.

Suddenly he felt shy. He stepped back a little. Why, Mother looked just like the Christmas fairy in his storybook! Her shiny hair fell softly onto her shoulders. Her eyes were awfully bright and her mouth looked a little shaky, even though she was laughing. She was a beautiful Mother! She did need a little fattening up, though.

Pop scooped her up in his arms and strode to the couch in the living room. Her eyes got big and excited when she looked at the tree, just as Joey had known they would. She held out her hand to him. He went over and rubbed his face against it.

“I’d better get dinner on the table,” Aunt Nettie said.

The gravy! He’d almost forgotten the gravy!

“Don’t tell!” he shouted.

Aunt Nettie turned to stare at him. “Land sakes! What in the world – ”

He darted past her and into the kitchen. She followed, chuckling.

The turkey, all brown and crinkly, lay on his back on the platter, his legs up in the air. Aunt Nettie set the roaster on the stove. Joey dragged the low bench over to stand on, so he could see down into the roaster without getting his face too close.

Aunt Nettie opened the flour bin and dipped the cup in.

“You promised!” Joey protested. She chuckled again and handed him the cup. Then she picked up some plates and napkins and went into the dining room.

Just a little bit of flour spilled when he carried it to the stove. He got the big spoon, dumped the flour into the roaster, and stirred and stirred. It got awfully thick and turned brown.

Pop came in and looked in the roaster. “I’ll get the salt and pour the water.”

Joey wanted to do that, too, but he didn’t say anything. Pop had let him help salt the drive.

The salt falling on the browned flour looked like the snow falling on the dirt road. Then Pop picked up the teakettle and poured in boiling water. Joey stirred harder and faster. Pete’s sake! it wasn’t smooth any more! There were bumps in it!

Suddenly Joey remembered, and the spoon stood still up in the air. This wasn’t special turkey gravy!

He was making plain, everyday gravy! For turkey gravy, you put the flour and some water in a bowl and stirred it smooth, then poured it –

The everyday gravy blurred. Joey blinked. Of course it was the steam which made it hard to see. He looked up at Pop, and Pop looked at the gravy.

“We’ve got dumplings,” Pop said, “but dumplings are good with potatoes.”

Joey started stirring again, still harder and faster. Some of the big bumps broke into little bumps. But it didn’t look like gravy.

Pop looked at Joey’s face, then back at the gravy, “Do you want to take the dumplings out?”

Joey’s teeth bit hard on his lower lip. He started fishing out all the big bumps and putting them into the cup, until the cup was almost running over. Now the gravy looked too watery, and it still had little bumps in it.

“I think some more flour will fix it up,” Pop said.

He got flour in a spoon and started back to the stove. For an awful moment Joey thought he was going to dump the flour in just plain.

“You – you stir it up in water,” Joey said. His voice sounded queer, but Pop didn’t seem to notice.

“Now, why didn’t I think of that!” Pop said cheerfully. He got a bowl and made a smooth paste then poured it slowly into the gravy.

Joey’s arm ached now, but he kept on stirring, fast and hard. The gravy got thicker and smoother. But it looked dull yellow instead of rich brown, as turkey gravy should. And it still had bumps in it.

Aunt Nettie came in. “Is it ready yet?”

Nobody answered. Joey looked at Pop, and Pop looked at the gravy.

Land sakes, get me a strainer!” Aunt Nettie sounded impatient. “Joey, go wash your hands then carry the potatoes to the table. Everybody’s starved.”

Joey darted out, glad to get away. Everything was spoiled. He’d planned to tell Mother he made the gravy. He imagined how she’d smile at him when the rich brown gravy spread over the mashed potatoes. But that awful yellow gravy! Pete’s sakes! How could he say he made that?

Of course, Pop worked on the gravy, too. Pop should have known how it’s done. Pop should have told him. You couldn’t expect just a little boy to be all to blame, when his pop helped him do it.

He held his fingers under the faucet and wiped them on the towel. He went back to the kitchen and picked up the potatoes without looking at anybody. He stood by his chair until the others came in, then smiled bravely at Mother and tried to smile at Pop.

“I made the gravy!” he said loudly, and sat down before anyone else did.

“Why, Joey, that’s wonderful!” Mother said.

He bowed his head and folded his hands hard together in his lap, while Pop thanked Heavenly Father for our blessings and for having Mother home. He didn’t look up again until Pop asked him to pass his plate for a piece of turkey.

He looked for the gravy bowl, then turned his head just a little to watch Mother dip gravy onto her mashed potatoes. His eyes wanted to jump right out of his head! It wasn’t bumpy yellow at all! It was smooth, brown gravy! It ran over the potatoes and made a little brown puddle on the plate.

Mother tasted it. “M-m! Delicious gravy, Joey!”

He looked at Pop, skilfully slicing turkey. Pop had done something magic to the gravy! Pop glanced up and winked.

“Pop helped!” Joey said suddenly.

Mother and Pop smiled. Aunt Nettie chuckled. Then Joey laughed right out loud.

“Merry Christmas, everybody!” he shouted. “And please pass the gravy!”