WE GATHER TOGETHER by Edward L. Woodyard

We Gather Together Chapter One Hundred Twenty

Sam McCulloch arrived home from town the week after Thanksgiving, with the photographic print Bob Lundgren had done for him of this year's gathering. The front lawn was clear of most leaves, a landscaper having distributed the leaf pile into the woods. The driveway was wet from a flash thunderstorm that had swept through the area about thirty minutes before; there had been hail pellets mixed in with the cold rain. A bright sun was beginning to drop behind the meadow across Pleasanton Road as it aimed its final rays on a rim of dark gray thunderclouds overhead.

As Sam got out of his car and went up the front walkway, he noticed a child's tooth near the front hedge. At first, he thought it could be a hail pellet, until he retrieved it. He smiled as he walked up the porch stairs and into the house; on the front door, a red-ribboned cluster of holly branches and pine cones hung from the brass knocker, replacing the wreath of bittersweet vines Julia had made for Thanksgiving. He still had not oiled the top hinge on the storm door.

From inside the house, Julia alerted him, "Wipe your feet, please. It's wet out there." He did as she requested on the bristle mat under the threshold.

When Sam entered the house, he saw Julia in the living room taking Thanksgiving decorations off the mantel; a cardboard box of Christmas decorations was on the couch. She smiled when Sam showed her Jason's tooth, which she put in an envelope from her top desk drawer. He then showed her the picture that was to go into the silver frame on her desk, finally explaining to her the cause of all the laughter.

Julia nodded politely and then confessed to Sam about the year the turkey slipped off the platter and went Thud! Splat! onto the kitchen floor, creating fillet de gobbler. "It's useless to hold onto secrets. The truth will always be revealed eventually," she said.

"I guess it's just one of those things that we finally get around to doing," answered Sam. With that, Julia handed Sam an oil can she had retrieved from the crowded shed and pointed to the front storm door.

The final glow of day was reflected in the passing storm clouds hovering above their old farmhouse as they stepped out onto its front porch. "We may need to have a fire tonight, Julia."

As Julia watched Sam squirt oil onto the creaking top hinge, she felt a sharp pang of frigid air that gusted across the porch. "Winter's coming, Sam."

"But so is Christmas." He tested the front storm door by swinging it back and forth. "The creak's gone."

Sam left the oil can by the front porch railing and then followed Julia inside. As he closed the front door behind him, Julia wondered, "Is that oil can going to stay out there until spring?"

"Maybe. It may take me some time to get around to putting it back on the workbench," Sam answered. "Time's like money, Julia. We always think we've got enough of it until we don't."

From their front window through the lace curtain panel, they watched the sun slip past the oaks and spruces into a late November dusk, steal across the hillside meadow and descend beyond the lone sentinel linden to give them a final wink for today. Then it was time for Julia to make dinner and for Sam to build a fire.

What Sam and Julia couldn't see was that the sun was also giving them a final blessing for this day, as if it were ordaining some celestial vespers just for them. Outside over their home arched a giant rainbow.