WE GATHER TOGETHER by Edward L. Woodyard

We Gather Together Chapter One Hundred Five

Julia McCulloch basted the turkey in the oven. She had put on her set of faux pearls and applied some lipstick and a dab of Shalimar; however, her apron was still protecting her wool skirt. The sumptuous smells of Thanksgiving were permeating the downstairs of the house. She checked the digital clock on the stove; it was almost noon. The Macy's parade on TV was over and the professional football games would soon be telecast.

Julia was grateful for the annual NFL games; it would get the men out of the way so that she and the women could prepare the meal and get everything ready without any hindrance. "The only interference I want is a pass interference on the television and not any meal interference in the kitchen," she would say.

The family would be arriving at any moment. Sam had put on his white shirt and his turkey print tie which he had tucked between the third and fourth buttons of the placket on the shirt. His blazer was draped over the newel post for later.

"So, who'll be here first?"

"Us."

"Besides us."

Julia and Sam surveyed the dining room. The heirloom silver candlesticks and the autumn floral arrangement set off the tablecloth and linen napkins; the china, glasses and silverware were perfectly placed. "Everything is beautiful," said Sam.

She imagined the table circled with generations of family and friends who would be represented by the china, glassware, candlesticks, recipes, traditions and stories. She also wondered about the Thanksgivings of the other families who had lived in their home before them and had celebrated holidays in that very room. All of their lives had enriched hers so that she could in turn enrich those of others, especially her family's.

She thought out loud to Sam as she arranged trivets on the serving table, reviewing the menu and deciding what dishes would go where. It would be up to Sam to serve everyone. He shifted the carving knife and fork closer to a silver platter that would hold the turkey. His silver baby rattle was there to prop the end of the carving knife to keep the table surface clean after it had performed its task.

This meal would be served the same way as Sam had done it for Sunday dinners when the kids were growing up; however, that custom became infrequent during skiing season in Vermont and as high school athletic practices dominated their lives. Sam and Julia had tried to maintain a decorum and routine to help ground their children with a sense of time and place, but modern life intruded with its necessities and demands. They did maintain certain rules at the dinner table: no television while they ate and no answering phones; they wanted minimal interruptions in any conversation about the weekly review of and the weekly forecast for each child, as Julia called it. And it went without saying that no cell phones were ever permitted at the table, either at home or at a restaurant.

Julia was still trying to figure out the seating arrangement for this year. She decided to put Emma in the middle of one side, but then she couldn't decide who would sit at her right. Ben? Or the absent Scott? For the past eight years, Scott's card had been placed at Julia's right. There was nothing telling her not to do the same thing again this year. It upset her every year to have to do so, but she was adamant about it, even if it did make others uncomfortable at the table. Scott wasn't dead – and Scott was not going to be forgotten.

The first year Julia had set a place for Scott, Drew had said in jest that Scott was the Ghost of Thanksgiving Past. Sam explained that he had understood Scott's anger at him and had forgiven him, letting him know that in a letter to which Scott never responded. Julia agreed that it was up to Scott now to forgive, which Scott would do at some point, when Scott was ready. In the meantime, his place would be ready when he was.

Sam lifted the fire screen aside and used a butane lighter to ignite the newspaper and start the flames in the hearth. "Time to warm up the place, Mrs. McCulloch."

"It'll be warm with everyone here and all that body heat," she said. She stared at the flames catching the kindling twigs and then the split logs. She thought that there was nothing more welcoming in a home than a fire in a fireplace.

Sam watched Julia view the fire as it engaged with the kindling and logs. He understood why people could sit and watch its flames for hours. It reminded him of when televisions first became popular and what his grandmother Harriet Armstrong McCulloch had said, "What do I need a television for? I have a fireplace."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. McCulloch," said Julia as she put her arm around him while they enjoyed the fire. She turned to him and he kissed her.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he said, putting his arm around her.

"That'll have to wait, Sam," Julia advised. She consulted her wristwatch, "Now, I need to think about the rolls."