WE GATHER TOGETHER by Edward L. Woodyard

We Gather Together Chapter Twenty

Julia McCulloch put Ben's place card among the others to dry. She took two blank place cards and wrote simply Grammy McCulloch and Grampy McCulloch. She then glimpsed at the family portrait in the silver frame from last year's Thanksgiving and eyed her matronly half-sister seated upright in the center of the couch. Julia took a last blank place card and wrote Emma Griffin.

Julia left all three place cards in the middle of her desk blotter to dry, then wiped off her calligraphy pen with a tissue and returned it and the India ink bottle to the bottom drawer of her desk. She craned her neck to listen for Sam raking in the front yard. It was quiet.

She stood up from her desk and went to the front window, parting the lace curtain panel. She saw a large pile of leaves and then the metal garden rake lying beside it on the lawn.

She became curious. She hurried to the front door and opened it.

"Sam?"

She got no answer. She opened the storm door; its top hinge creaked. She proceeded onto the porch, then peered over the railing and front hedge as she hastened down the steps toward the discarded rake and leaf pile.

She saw Sam face down in the pile. She couldn't see his body moving. His head and arms were buried in the leaves. She inhaled deeply, almost panicking.

"Sam?!"

As soon as Julia rushed toward the leaf pile, Sam turned over and stared up at her. His eyeglasses were off.

Julia exhaled, relieved.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He then pulled his eyeglasses from the leaves and showed them to her. "Couldn't find my glasses. Second time today they've slid off my nose."

He rolled over onto his knees, extracting himself from the pile. Julia went to help him stand up, but he did it on his own. She then helped Sam pick dried leaves from his wool jacket and tweed cap. "You hungry?" she asked, "Would you like some lunch?"

Sam smiled at her. "Julia, I'm not going to die on you. Old printers never die. . ."

But Julia had heard this line for as long as she could remember and finished it for him, "They're just not the type." She used her apron to wipe some dried leaves from her hands.

Sam put his arm around his wife as they walked up the porch stairs together.

"What's the blood type for an old printer?"

"Bodoni bold."

"So, Julia, you have been listening to my jokes all these years."

"I've heard them all fifty times, Sam. I think I might know a punchline or two by now."

"Another reason to love you. You still laugh at my jokes."

"One of the perils of a long marriage," she said, squeezing him. She changed the subject, "I'm glad the sun is out. And that it's not supposed to rain for a while."

"That just means no possibility of a rainbow for a while." They both knew the significance of his statement. He kissed her cheek when they got onto the porch. She still found leaves on his jacket and picked them off. He went to kiss her again.

"We should think about lunch, Sam."

"And after lunch?"

"You can help me peel apples for the pies."

"You think a paring knife is as dangerous as a garden rake?"

"Either that, Sam," she proposed, "or you can figure out how to get the timer on your camera to work."

Sam first opened the storm door then the front door. He held both doors open as he watched Julia enter the house. "I'll peel apples," Sam said. "I think I know how to do that."

Julia entered the house ahead of Sam who closed the front door behind them. The top hinge of the storm door creaked as it shut.