WE GATHER TOGETHER by Edward L. Woodyard

We Gather Together Chapter Seventy-Two

Sam McCulloch was dressed for a new day, in tan wide wale corduroys and a blue plaid shirt. He heard the coffee maker drip its last drop of coffee into its pot and poured himself a first cup. He may not need a second one, even though it was the day before Thanksgiving and everything was coming together smoothly for the annual family gathering. The whole family would be there, except one.

Sam had awoken before sunrise and quietly tip-toed out of the bedroom. He wanted to let Julia sleep as long as she needed since tomorrow would be energetic, to say the least, especially with four excited grandchildren. They were the reason he was so thankful at this stage in his life. His hopes and dreams for them were what would get him through old age. His father had told him that grandchildren and a tombstone are all anyone left on this earth, and Sam was beginning to understand his statement. Despite his brother never having any kids, Sam knew that his own four children had given Peter McCulloch his greatest pleasure late in life, especially after his beloved Anne died while still in her early sixties. He had told Sam that even though he had no one with whom to share his memories, his grandchildren gave him wonderful new ones.

Sam sauntered from the kitchen into the living room to peer at the early light of morning through the lace curtain panel in the front window. He put on his red-and-black checkered wool jacket hanging on the brass coat rack in the foyer and grasped his coffee mug before he walked out on his front porch. The storm door creaked as he opened it. Maybe today he'd oil its top hinge.

He exhaled purposefully; it wasn't yet cold enough now to see his breath.

He knew the temperature must have briefly gone below freezing overnight. He noticed a slight frost on his lawn and on the leaf pile. He hoped that the leaf pile wouldn't get too wet for the grandchildren to jump in it tomorrow. He supposed that their parents might not want them getting dirty in their good clothes; he'd let jumping in the leaf pile be a parental decision, not one he'd make. Regardless, the leaf pile would be there for whatever was decided. "Always keep your options open" was what his father had always told him. Sam knew well that Peter McCulloch preferred reason to emotion, insisting that personal feelings restricted logical answers to proper solutions.

To the east, thin cloud bands of pink and orange seeped among the towering spruces and ancient oaks that bordered their old farmhouse. He sipped from his coffee mug which was being quickly cooled by the morning chill. After the holidays, he thought, he'd take Julia to a beach somewhere where she could walk in the sand and collect seashells – and where he could stand outside with a cup of coffee which would stay warm for longer than twenty minutes.

Yes, he told himself, that's what they would do this winter. There were enough children around to take care of the house while they were gone. He had just decided such a trip would be his Christmas gift to Julia this year.

He again sipped his cold coffee and gazed over the rim of his mug to spy three wild turkeys hobble from some underbrush near the spruces. Generations ago, he thought, Old Jake McCulloch would have reached for his Henry repeating rifle and shoot one of them for Thanksgiving. He would have presented it to Sarah Harris McCulloch, who would have scalded it before plucking its feathers. Sam imagined his great grandparents on a porch similar to the one on which he stood, Sarah Harris McCulloch leaning forward on a three-legged stool defeathering the turkey while Old Jake split logs in the front yard which would be used to roast it in the fireplace where she'd turn it on a spit for hours.

Sam's visions of Thanksgivings past were interrupted when he heard the creak of the storm door behind him. Julia was standing on the front threshold in her "work clothes," a frayed-at-the-collar long-sleeved cotton shirt that had once been Sam's, khaki pants and tennis sneakers. After she did some more cooking, Julia announced, she would clean and dust the entire house today while Sam vacuumed. She tapped her vintage Lady Elgin wristwatch, told Sam that "day's a-wastin'" and then asked him to please empty the kitchen wastebasket so she could fill it up again.

Julia returned inside but hadn't noticed the wild turkeys. They were now strutting from the end of the driveway toward the hillside meadow across Pleasanton Road. Once they had safely made it across without being hit by a vehicle, Sam poured the rest of his cold coffee into the hedge and entered the house to begin his chores. He was smiling to himself, thinking "Why did the turkey cross the road? To avoid being Old Jake McCulloch's Thanksgiving dinner."