CONTINUED FROM LAST WEEK:

                Recap: Liddy, the newly married Coursey wife, gets the job of hosting the first Thanksgiving meal for the large family. She has called her father-in-law and her sisters-in-law about customs. She contacted all of them, and now she asks her husband. [This is a letter to her mother, et al.]

                 That left Heth. ‘Hell, I got left out when it came to cooking. Mom taught the other boys, but I didn’t stay home long enough for her to teach me. Maybe I can mooch more of the applejack—uh, cider from Frank—‘He ran out the back door laughing. I yelled after him, ‘You’d better not, you, you—‘I slammed the door and cried. I would make tea and coffee and grape juice for the kids.

                The food was taken care of.  Now, the seating. Nine adults and three children. Our table would seat only eight. I had to figure something out. At first, I thought about asking Tom to help, but when he answered the telephone, I decided against it.

                ‘Tom, what are you doing for Thanksgiving? Why don’t you join us if you—’ But he was cooking for his boarders and folks who didn’t have plans for a big family gathering.

                Aha! I’d sit on the sewing machine stool. Now, I considered linens and dishes, silverware and glasses. Just before I called Papa Quinn, he drove up.

                ‘Thought you might need extra plates and things.’

                Mother, he’d boxed up a set of Sula Mae’s dishes and glasses and flatware. And located some tablecloths and napkins in their buffet. Two baking pans, serving spoons and bowls and two glass pitchers were in another box. He set them on the dining table. ‘I didn’t know what all you had and I don’t need these any longer. You’re welcome to them.’

                I stuttered my thanks.

                Things were coming together. All this done during the first week. Not a bad record, if I do say so myself. I still had to sweep and dust and arrange the furniture. The biggest problem now was where to put the extra table and chairs for the children. Between the kitchen and the back porch is an anteroom just large enough to be a throw-it-all place. I would have to squeeze the table and chairs in there.

                Thank goodness, I had two more weeks. The last Thursday would fall on November 30. How unusual—end the month with Thanksgiving, and begin on Christmas the next day. Things were going well.

                Late on Tuesday, the twenty-first, I answered a knock at the door. Papa Quinn stood there with a big container of meat and a gallon jar of stock.

                ‘I knew you’d need to get this ready tomorrow and cook it Thursday morning. In case no one has told you, we gather about twelve-thirty and eat a half-hour later.’

                ‘But—but—Thanksgiving’s not until next week,’ I said. ‘It’s on the last Thursday, isn’t it?’

                ‘Oh, my goodness,’ he said. ‘The Courseys always consider the fourth Thursday as Thanksgiving.’

END OF CHAPTER 29.

                To read about the Thanksgiving meal, you’ll have to read the book, A JOURNEY OF CHOICE, available from me at plpalaster21@gmail.com, or from Amazon, Barnes&Noble.com or iUniverse.com.

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