WE GATHER TOGETHER by Edward L. Woodyard

We Gather Together Chapter Three

Julia McCulloch positioned the silver frame to make more room on the desk. She took out a stack of blank place cards from a top desk drawer then reached for a bottle of India ink and a calligraphy pen from a bottom desk drawer as Sam crossed the foyer from the den to enter the living room. He had always liked this room, especially its focal centerpiece, a fieldstone fireplace. Antique oak tables and lacquered mahogany chairs from both families accented the modern but classic couch, as well as the upholstered club and wingback chairs. The room was comfortable and relaxed; on the walls, rural landscapes and still life paintings offset an abstract oil of seashells over the mantel that Annie had painted in college.

Sam adjusted his eyeglasses to notice that Julia was already doing the place cards for Thursday. She had scheduled this task for today, having accomplished her major food shopping for Thanksgiving over the weekend.

"Doing the place cards now? It's only Monday, Julia. You've got time."

"Sam, time is like money. We always think we have enough of it until we don't."

"My father used to say that."

"So did my mother," Julia added.

"Does this mean we've become our parents?"

"We became our parents when we became parents ourselves and bought this house," said Julia. "Regardless, when Annie and Cara bring the kids out tomorrow, you can help your grandchildren decorate the place cards. It'll give them – and you – something to do while we get some other things ready."

Sam's glance went past Julia's shoulder to the name she was writing on the place card.

"You know he won't be here."

"Scott was our first born, so I do him first."

"The table looks ridiculous with a place set and no one sitting at it."

"He's here with us in spirit," Julia insisted.

"It isn't a Seder, with an empty chair," Sam mumbled under his breath as he paced the room. "I don't understand you, Julia."

"After thirty-eight years of marriage, Sam McCulloch?"

"Do your sister first. She hasn't missed a Thanksgiving here in twenty years."

"Thirty years."

"But who's counting?"

"You should appreciate her effort. All that way from Ohio every year and at her age. We're the only family Emma's got."

"So, don't do Scott's."

"It's like the last line of the hymn, Sam. 'He forgets not his own.'"

Sam looked away from Julia who then returned to her calligraphy. She had made her point, but Sam wanted to have a last word.

"It's more like the Israelites waiting for Elijah. And you'll wait just as long too. . ."

Julia interrupted him, "He knows the invitation is always open. This house will always be his home."

Sam stared out the front window, his back to his wife, "Let go, Julia."

Julia held onto the pen and turned her head to her husband, saying softly, "My heart keeps hoping."

Sam glanced at his wife, "It's not you he hates."

"He doesn't hate. . ."

Sam interrupted her, "I made the right decision, didn't I?"

Julia knew that her husband needed reassurance. "He had to leave, Sam. Some people can't take than much family obligation and duty."

"Drew took it on."

"Because Drew wanted to take it on. Scott didn't," answered Julia. She needed to end the discussion, "What's done is done."