WE GATHER TOGETHER by Edward L. Woodyard

We Gather Together Chapter One Hundred One

Julia McCulloch entered the kitchen, whistling. She was dressed for the day in a silk blouse and wool skirt; when everyone started arriving, she would slip on her good shoes, clasp her faux pearls, reapply lipstick and dab a hint of Shalimar. She buttoned Sam's old denim shirt over her blouse as she poured two cups of coffee, set the oven to 325 degrees and then wrapped an apron around her skirt in order to protect it from any potential kitchen disasters.

As she took the bowl with the stuffing from the reserve refrigerator, she noticed a text from Emma on her cell phone lying on the kitchen counter next to the stove. Emma's text said: "Am OK. No worry. I'll call later. Big news. Stay tuned. Love Emma."

Sam entered the kitchen, whistling. Dressed casually for now, he would change clothes later when Julia did, before everyone arrived. He took a cup of coffee, saw her mixing the stuffing with her hands and then insert fistfuls of it in the turkey's cavity. He smiled and thought to himself, "Julia Lemasters McCulloch isn't loved because she is beautiful. She is beautiful because she is loved."

"Sam, take a look at the text I got from Emma." Her hands were preoccupied with sausage stuffing so she nodded in the direction of her cell phone. "It's right there."

Sam read the text. "I told you she wouldn't miss Thanksgiving here. What'd she do? Finally get cell service once her commandeered ship got off of Cape Hatteras?"

"Aren't you curious about her big news?"

"I'm curious about when flights are coming into Westchester from Miami. I'll go online to check schedules."

"We may need to plan around when to have someone pick her up."

"Or she can figure out how to get here by herself and we eat without her."

"Sam, it's Thanksgiving. We can wait to eat."

"Since when is 'we can wait to eat' the same as 'we eat promptly at four o'clock?' I like to eat food when it's hot."

"Are we a grumpy grampy? I thought I put you in a good mood this morning."

"You did. You reignited my pilot light. Thank you," he said, grinning at her. "I'm also thankful I didn't have a heart attack."

"Not as thankful as I am."

"The only thing that has ever attacked my heart was you. Forty years ago."

"Enough with the cheap sentiment, Sam."

"Cheap nothing. It cost me a marriage license fee, home mortgage loans, life insurance, car payments, college tuitions, a vacation or two. . ."

"Back to what you were doing, Sam."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Check the airlines to be sure." 

Sam opened the laptop on the kitchen table and found online that there were two flights into Westchester from Miami that day, late morning and early afternoon. "There's no way to know if Emma's on either of them," he said.

"Let's hope," said Julia, using her elbow to turn on the kitchen faucet then washing her hands at the sink.

"There's a flight late tonight. In that case, she can have leftovers when she gets here."

"I can always make a plate for her." Julia lifted the stuffed turkey into a roasting pan and closed the cavity with metal clamps. "Is the bar ready?"

"Unlocked and ready to get loaded. Did we want to do mulled cider again this year?"

"We could. I have a half gallon of it in the back refrigerator. I got it fresh on Saturday from Proctor's. Nothing but the best. . ."

". . . for the best." He watched Julia dry her hands, put the top on the roasting pan to cover the stuffed turkey and open the oven door. Sam then slid the roasting pan onto a lower rack and closed the door as Julia set the timer on the oven and then turned to kiss him quickly.

"You have things to do."

"Yes, ma'am."

Sam walked through the living room and spied the fieldstone fireplace; he had to finish building the fire for later.

Needing to collect some twigs and branches from the yard for kindling, he opened the front door and stepped onto the front porch. As he started down the porch stairs, he noticed the quiet. There was no traffic on Pleasanton Road, no sound of leaf blowers in the distance, and no chirping of starlings or sparrows flitting among bare tree branches.

The skies were blue with sparse patches of clouds. Although the air felt warmer, it was nevertheless still crisp with a twinge of winter. He thought about going back inside for his jacket and tweed cap, but then told himself that he wouldn't be outside that long. There had been no frost overnight which made it a perfect autumn day for this time of year. The leaf pile had dispersed somewhat around its edges so he used the rake he'd left by the hedges to revitalize it. The leaves were dry so the leaf pile would still be good for a second round of the grandchildren jumping in it later that day.

He remembered that he had come outside to get kindling. He picked up several fallen oak twigs and branches at the edge of the front lawn, breaking them either in his hands or stomping the larger and thicker ones with his foot. He placed his handful of kindling at the bottom of the porch stairs for the time being.

When he had walked onto the porch, he realized since the morning was so quiet that the creak in the storm door was louder. Sam was headed to the shed to get an oil can when Julia appeared at the front door. "Would you help me here, please? I need your input on some decisions."

Sam collected his kindling, walked up the porch stairs and entered his home. Julia was holding the decorated place cards when she saw that the screen was still in front of the fireplace; she moved it aside so that Sam could deposit the kindling on the grate. Julia then led him into the dining room.

"I have a dilemma. You and I are sitting in our usual places, but I'm uncertain about the others. I have Lindsay in her highchair at the corner next to me, with Cara sitting next to her."

"This isn't a White House state dinner, Julia. It's only just family."

"And Ben's new friend."

"Then separate the couples. Isn't that the cardinal rule? Also, make sure everyone can see past the flowers in the middle of the table."

"But still. . ."

"What's the problem? I don't understand, Julia. You've been doing this for years."

"I was thinking to maybe put Emma next to Cara, then Ben's new friend Alison. . ."

"Just don't have too many women on one side of the table or it'll look like a Shaker meeting. And the only thing you want to shake at the table is the salt and pepper."

"You're sounding like Old Jake McCulloch."

"'Sarah, the potatoes. . .'" Sam began smiling at Julia; they both knew the reference.

"You go on," she said, motioning Sam toward the living room. "I'll figure this out myself. You need to get the fireplace ready."

"And you need to turn on the TV. The parade's starting."

Sam knelt in front of the fireplace and placed logs from the brass hopper on the kindling. In doing his mundane duties and what was required of him, Sam had realized years ago that there was no secret meaning of life. Getting through the day by doing the best he could had given him every answer he ever sought to the question of what was the mystery of life. There was no mystery. Right now was it.