Thankful for Love

by Peggy Bird

  “We didn’t tell anyone in either family until recently. We wanted to make sure we knew what the relationship was before we said anything, particularly to my kids. And Quanna’s been afraid there would be gossip. I’m older than she is. She works for me ...”

  “You’re white and she’s not.”

  “That concerns her, although I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know my family and friends.”

  He wasn’t happy to see the unbelieving expression on Mrs. Morales’s face.

  “There will be gossip, I promise,” she said. “Won’t you get tired of hearing it? Maybe you should find someone more like you.”

  “You mean someone who’s white.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Mrs. Morales, in the years since my wife died, not once has a woman interested me in the least. Until Quanna. She’s smart; she’s beautiful. She brought music and laughter back into my home. My kids love her. My brother and sister love her. I don’t share your fear that somehow it’ll all disappear if some jackass makes a racist comment.”

  “So, you’re serious about her.”

  “I love her.”

  “Enough to marry her?”

  “We haven’t gotten that far yet, but we’re on the road.”

  “What about her education?”

  “She needs to finish up her degree. She should be teaching a lot of people’s children, not just mine. I’ve already told her I’ll do whatever I can to support her education.”

  Winona Morales cocked her head and stared at him. She looked about to say something when Quanna and Frank reappeared, each carrying a wooden tray. One had four mugs of coffee on it, the other, sugar, milk, and a plate of cookies.

  “Sorry it took so long. The coffee wasn’t ready,” Quanna said. From the worried look on her face, she was anxious to know what had gone on while she was in the kitchen.

  Winona looked at her daughter. “Your friend doesn’t pull punches, does he, Quanna?” She took a mug from the tray. “How do you take your coffee, Mr. Richardson?”

  “It’s Jack. And I like it black with two sugars, thanks.”

  She added sugar and handed him the mug. “Now, tell me about your boys. Quanna talks about them all the time when she visits. One’s ten and the other’s eight, if I remember right.”

  With that change of subject, the tension in the room seemed to lessen a bit as Jack and Quanna took turns telling Daniel and Lucas stories.

  • • •

  They hadn’t been on the road more than two minutes when Quanna said, “Mom whispered ‘he’s no white devil, but you should be careful’ when she kissed me good-bye. Which is high praise from her. What did you two talk about while we were in the kitchen?” Her curiosity had been close to overwhelming her ever since she’d brought the coffee into the living room.

  “Weren’t you eavesdropping?” Jack looked over at her and grinned. “I was sure you would be.”

  “Believe me, I tried. But with the noise the coffeepot made, Frank rambling on about the offer he got from that gallery owner, and Miguel’s cartoon blaring, I couldn’t hear anything but the occasional word, nothing like a whole sentence.”

  “It was an interesting cross-examination. She wanted to know how long we’ve been together, why we’d kept things secret.” He kept his eyes firmly on the road when he added, “How serious I am about our relationship.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Let’s see, question number one, late summer. Number two, wanted to make sure we knew where we were headed.” He stopped speaking, and her heart almost did the same, she swore. “Oh, yeah, and I told her I love you.”

  Quanna didn’t respond, unable to dig words out to say anything without crying. Or laughing. Or both. Finally she drew herself together enough to say, “I think you should pull off the road.”

  He did as he’d been requested. “I probably shouldn’t have said it to your mom before I said it to you, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

  Quanna flipped up the armrest between them, unsnapped her seat belt, slid over, and hopped onto his lap. “Shut up and kiss me, Jack.”

  He did that, too, as requested. The kiss was sweet and soft, gentle, and full of love. When it was over, she rested her head on his shoulder and played with his fingers. “Now, tell me.”

  “I never thought I’d say the words to another woman but I do, I love you.”

  “And I love you.” She touched his face; he kissed her fingers. Nothing was said for a few moments as she continued to sit with her head tucked under his chin and he softly rubbed her back. “How soon do you have to pick up the boys?”

  “Barb said she’d feed them dinner if we ran late. All I have to do is let her know.”

  “Make the call. And let’s go to my place. There’s a bottle of wine there with our name on it. I’m in the mood to celebrate.”

  Chapter 18

  Preparing for the Richardson Thanksgiving celebration was much more involved than getting ready for the simpler celebrations Quanna was used to. This would be the first year since she returned from Portland that she would not be with her family for the holiday, and if she hadn’t been so busy every day the week before the event, she might have been sad about that.

  But there wasn’t time to be sad. There was too much to do. She was surprised to discover that getting the food organized wasn’t the most time-consuming or labor-intensive part of what had to be done. It was moving furniture around in the house to make room, then setting up the tables and chairs needed to seat thirty-two people. Not to mention getting the tablecloths ironed and the napkins sorted out and collecting the requisite place settings of china, silverware, and glasses—dozens of glasses. Most importantly, according to Daniel and Lucas, it involved making place cards and hollowing out the small pumpkins that would hold flowers and candles on the table, tasks which needed her supervision.

  Starting the Monday before the holiday, people were in and out of the Richardson house delivering their nonfood contributions to the event. Luckily, everyone involved had participated before and knew exactly what to do and when to do it. If it had been up to Quanna alone to organize it, she’d have run for the hills by Tuesday noon and not come back until Christmas.

  It was complicated enough organizing her part—the food. She arranged for pickup on Tuesday of the two huge turkeys and the ingredients for the side dishes she would prepare—green beans, mashed potatoes, and cornbread dressing. The next step was confirmation with the other guests that there would be sweet potatoes and cranberries, plenty of predinner nibbles, wine and sparkling cider, and pies of every sort from apple to pumpkin to pecan and at least two kinds of cheesecake.

  She was so busy getting things ready for the big day she didn’t have any time to worry about meeting a whole new set of Jack’s friends.

  On Thanksgiving Day, Quanna arrived at the ranch before Jack had made his usual 5:00 a.m. appearance so she could get the turkeys into the twin ovens. When he got downstairs, he distributed the place cards the boys had made while she finished setting the tables and placing the flower-and-candle-filled pumpkins in strategic places. Breakfast was at the kitchen island and was basic—toast, juice, and, for the adults, coffee. A lot of coffee.

  It all went so smoothly, Quanna was able to relax for a few minutes and visit with Jack’s siblings and their spouses when they got there early to lend a hand. She wasn’t even nervous when the guests she didn’t know began to arrive. Everything was on track to work out.

  • • •

  The adults were seated at a long line of tables running down the center of the dining room and, after a right angle turn, through the living room. The kids were at tables in the family room. It was noisy. It was frantic. It was the Thanksgiving of Jack’s fondest memories, and he loved it. All the people who mattered to him were there.

  He and Quanna sat at the junction of the line of tables from one room to the other wher
e he always sat so he could see all his adult guests when he made his annual toast. As the platters of carved turkey were brought to the table, he stood and asked for everyone’s attention. When there was enough quiet, he began.

  “Here we are together again at the end of a busy harvest season, to give thanks for a pretty decent year. So, the first toast, as always, is to all of you, my friends and family. I’m grateful for all the hard work you put in every week of the year to ensure our mutual success.” He raised his glass and took a sip. With big smiles and shouts of “cheers,” the guests followed his lead.

  “Next, I’d ask you to toast the people who helped put on the feast today. We’re all thankful for what you brought for us to enjoy.” Glasses were again raised and a few lucky cooks got kissed.

  “Last, a special toast. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, as most of you know. But this year is more special than usual. Those of you who were here for the Civil War game a couple weeks ago got to meet a special woman. I hope you all get that privilege today.” He turned to Quanna, sitting beside him, to direct his words to her. “This year, I’m thankful I have you to share this day with.” He touched his glass to hers. “To Quanna.”

  He took a sip of wine, then kissed the top of her head before he sat down. “Okay, folks. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

  He noticed two things before he got caught up in passing the numerous serving dishes around. Quanna was wiping a tear from her eye, and Anne Salazar hadn’t touched her wine for the last toast.

  • • •

  Dinner was over, at least the main course was. Parents had gone into the family room to see their kids; old friends were visiting with each other. It was the half-hour break needed before the dessert course appeared.

  Barbara, Quanna, and Amanda cleared the dinner plates. Then Barb and Amanda went to check on their kids, promising to return when it was time to slice pies and cheesecakes. Quanna, who was to start the two huge urns of coffee perking, slipped out of the kitchen to the powder room off the mudroom while it was empty. She was washing her hands when she heard two male voices from the kitchen. One of them belonged to Jack. The other man didn’t sound familiar; he did sound a little the worse for alcohol. She started out of the powder room but stopped when she heard the strange man say her name.

  “What the hell is this with Quanna, Jack?” he said. “I mean, it’s all well and good to invite an Indian to Thanksgiving. Hell, even the Pilgrims did. And maybe you could get a pass for hiring her. She probably works for less than a white woman would. But introducing her as your date is going too far. She’s no good for you. You know that. They’re all tramps. You’ll be the laughing stock of the county.”

  “Lenny, you’re drunk so I’m going to forget what you said. But you need to shut up. I won’t have Quanna insulted in my house.”

  “It was Paula’s home, too. What do you think your poor dead wife would say about this piece of Indian trash in charge of her kids? For all you know, she’s stealing from you. And I’m sure she moved into your and Paula’s bedroom, the little slut, where she plans on staying unless you wise up and kick her out. She knows a good thing when she sees it.”

  “I’ll say this one last time—shut up or you have to leave.”

  “You can’t throw me out. My wife is ...”

  “Audrey is the only reason any of us tolerate you. But even she won’t be able to protect you if you don’t stop running on at the mouth about Quanna. I love her. She’s a permanent part of my life now.”

  “You can’t be serious. No one will have any respect for a guy who stoops to her level to get laid.”

  “That’s it. You’re out of here.” He must have grabbed Lenny in some way because the next thing Quanna heard was a struggle in the small hallway leading from the kitchen to the back door. She stayed in the powder room, swallowing hard to calm her stomach, which was roiling from the tension she felt. She heard the back door close and Jack return to the kitchen. She knew she had to escape, to go someplace where she could get the ugly words out of her head, but her feet seemed frozen in place.

  It was just as well she didn’t move because the scene wasn’t over. There was pounding on the back door. In a few minutes, Jack returned to the hall with a woman, apparently Lenny’s wife. As they walked to the door, he told her what had happened, then asked her to take her husband home to sober up.

  No sooner had the door closed again then there was yet another voice in the kitchen, trapping her even longer in the powder room. A woman’s voice asked Jack what was going on. She sounded familiar, and when Jack said her name, Quanna realized why. It was Anne Salazar. Jack explained what had gone on with Lenny Dickson, not pulling any punches about the insults leveled at Quanna. She shuddered hearing the slurs for the second time.

  Anne was quiet for a moment before saying, “You know I love you, Jack. And I want you to be happy. But I can’t totally disagree with Lenny. He may have said it rather crudely, but I think on some level, he’s right. I voiced my hesitation about hiring Quanna when you interviewed her. I haven’t changed my mind. You need to find someone more ... more of our kind ... more like us.”

  “You mean someone white?’

  Anne didn’t respond, but she must have made some indication of agreement because Jack went on. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing, Anne. Paula loved and respected her Indian pupils the same as her white pupils. Surely you knew that.”

  “Don’t throw my daughter’s opinions in my face. I knew her, too, and I doubt this ... this arrangement is what she had in mind for her sons or her husband after she was gone.” Her tone softened, became almost wheedling. “You know I only want what’s best for you and the boys. But I don’t think Quanna meets the criteria.”

  “I, and Daniel and Lucas, respectfully disagree with you.”

  “How can you be sure about the kind of influence she’ll have on your boys? What do you know about her background, her family, her education?”

  “I know more than you do. I’ve met her family. I’ve seen her work with the boys doing homework—hers and theirs—and I’ve seen the good grades the kids are getting after the nosedive they took when Paula died. She’s the best thing that’s happened to all three of us in a long time.” His voice was getting harsh and strained. “If you feel so strongly about Quanna, maybe you’ll feel more comfortable not coming to see the boys here.”

  “You wouldn’t dare keep me from seeing my only grandchildren.” Her voice had anger in it.

  “No, I wouldn’t. But I also won’t force Quanna to deal with someone who clearly doesn’t respect her. When you want to see the boys, we’ll make arrangements for them to come to you.”

  Anne made a noise like a strangled cry.

  “Look, let’s not make this any worse than it is right now,” Jack said. “Come back into the living room. We’ll talk about this later when we’ve both had a chance to think about it a little more.”

  Stunned into inaction by what she’d overhead, Quanna wasn’t sure how long she waited before peeking out of the powder room to make sure no one was in the kitchen. Jack and Anne were gone, but now Barbara and Amanda were there. They’d begun to cut pies and cheesecakes into slices, chatting, apparently oblivious to what had gone on before they arrived.

  Unfortunately, Quanna was not.

  After all the promises and reassurances she’d gotten about how nothing offensive would be said about her in this house or by Jack’s family or friends, she had heard the kind of ugly words she had feared she would. Because of who she was, Jack and the boys would suffer. It was exactly like she’d told him it would be.

  And now she had to decide what to do. Should she pretend she hadn’t heard? Wait to see if Jack told her about the conversation? Act as if everything was fine until he did?

  Well, it wasn’t fine, and she couldn’t pretend.

  What she could do was run. Luckily she had hung her coat and purse in the mudroom when she’d arrived so she grabbed them and ran out the back door to her car, pray
ing it hadn’t been blocked in by someone else’s vehicle.

  It took some maneuvering, but after a few minutes, she managed to get out of the yard full of cars and pickups and was up the driveway on her way home, away from the ugly words now rattling around in her head, words which had made this the worst holiday of her life, which woke her up from her dream world to the nightmare she had been afraid was always there. She’d have to leave the Richardson Ranch permanently. Had to protect the man she loved, the kids she loved, from what was just under the surface of Jack’s world.

  It was the only thing to do even though it meant her plans for graduating from college were once again on hold. She’d be back to square one, forced to move into her childhood home so the little money she made at the resort could go to her mother.

  And today she was supposed to be thankful? For what?

  • • •

  Jack saw his sister waving from the kitchen, clearly trying to get his attention. He was still seething from the last time he’d been in that room and wasn’t anxious to return, but Barbara looked determined.

  “What’s up, Barb?”

  “I think Quanna just left. Did you send her someplace to get something?”

  “No, she should be around here. She was going to start the coffee.” He realized what he had said and what must have happened. “Shit.” He went into the mudroom and saw her purse and coat were gone. “Goddamn son of a bitch. She was in the back hall and heard.”

  “Heard what?”

  “Lenny Dickson calling her an Indian tramp and Anne Salazar agreeing.”

  “I’m not surprised at Lenny. He’ll say anything when he’s drunk. But Anne? What got into her?” Barbara asked.

  “I don’t know, but I have to go after Quanna.” He glanced outside. “My truck’s blocked in. Can I borrow yours, Barb?”

  “Of course. My purse is in the front hall. I’ll go get the keys. But what should we tell people?”

  “Tell them Quanna felt sick, and I’m making sure she’s okay. Can you ...?”