by Robyn Carr
At four o’clock the turkey came out of the oven to sit for a half hour before carving. The side dishes were ready and the hors d’oeuvres were on the bar. A cabernet was breathing, a chardonnay was chilled, juice and sodas were cold for the kids and abstemious, the water glasses were all filled, coffee was ready to perk. Preacher looked around the room, puffing up a little in pride.
The first to arrive were Rick and Liz, helping Rick’s grandmother, Lydie, into the bar. Next came Connie and Ron of the corner store and, for the first time, Connie’s sister, Liz’s mother. Joy and Bruce, good friends from down the street, arrived and, right behind them, Hope McCrea. Not long after, Cameron and Abby with babies, Julia and Justin, and enough baby gear to open a nursery. Preacher held on to his own little daughter, Dana Marie, and chuckled as he realized they basically had opened a nursery.
He beamed when the door opened again and Dan Brady and Cheryl came in. He’d hoped they would come, but he had no way of knowing if Cheryl was comfortable among them. It had taken her some time after adjusting to her newfound sobriety to get used to the idea that Virgin River folks didn’t look down on her at all. The fact of the matter, Preacher knew, was that everyone was real proud of her.
Paige and Preacher passed around the hors d’oeuvres and drinks and, after about twenty minutes of visiting, there was a mad scurrying among the women to put out all the side dishes, settle small children in high chairs and find places for everyone to sit. Then and only then did Preacher bring out the noble bird on a large tray, surrounded by baked apples and parsley. He put it in front of his place at the head of the table and took in all the oohs and ahhs as he prepared to carve.
Right at that moment the door to the bar opened and a man stood in the entrance. His hair was too long and he looked a little on the worn side, his jacket collar frayed. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were open.”
“Come in, come in,” Preacher said. “You’re just in time.”
“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I can see you’re having a holiday dinner. And I have the family in the car. We’re headed back to my in-laws in Trinity County and the car was sputtering, so we decided to stop for a while. But I’ll take a look under the hood and we’ll push on.”
Dan Brady was on his feet. “Tell the family to come in, brother. Join us for a meal and then we’ll have a look at the car. At least we’ll send you off in good working order.”
“I, ah…We have some sandwiches in the car for the kids—”
“It would be our pleasure to have you and your family join us. Please. No one pays for a meal or drink, or even for car repair, on a special holiday like this one. This is a family day,” Preacher said. “Come in and meet everyone. Join us. We’d be honored.”
At the Riordan household, Luke had purchased a couple of long folding tables and foldable chairs for their Thanksgiving dinner. With Art’s help, he rearranged the furniture to make room so the women could set up their dinner table.
“I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” Shelby told her mother-in-law.
“What nonsense! You’ve stuffed the bird and he’s roasting beautifully! You’ve done a fantastic job so far.”
“My uncle Walt talked me through it—he’s a great cook. We don’t have enough dishes, so my cousin Vanni is bringing some of her mother’s, along with some table linens. It isn’t going to be fancy—all mismatched plates and flatware and—”
“Darling,” Maureen said, putting a hand on her arm to still her. “I can’t think of a thing you could do to make it more perfect.”
Shelby smiled and leaned toward her to whisper, “I can think of one thing. You have to let Luke make his announcement, but I’ll give you a tip. We’re going to give Rosie a cousin.”
Maureen pulled her into an embrace. “Congratulations, sweetheart. When are you due?”
Shelby shrugged. “The height of next summer, just as Luke planned.”
“And you’re feeling well?”
“Actually, I feel like crap. Oops,” she apologized. “I mean, I’m kind of tired and have some morning sickness and, according to Luke, I’m not in the best mood. I might want to have a little consult with my brother-in-law after dinner.”
“Good idea,” Maureen said. “Maybe he’ll have a suggestion or two. Now, let’s get this house ready for the company!”
The first to arrive were Sean, Franci, Rosie and Vivian. Viv jumped right into the kitchen work with Maureen, while Rosie checked with everyone present to see if anyone was going fishing!
Next came Paul and Vanni with their little ones and a couple of boxes of additional dishes, linens and flatware. Right behind them were Walt and Muriel. Walt’s son, Tom Booth, and his girlfriend, Brenda, were having dinner with Brenda’s family but planned to arrive for dessert. The kitchen was full of women, talking and laughing, with the general trying to edge his way into direct traffic.
The house was full of people when Art quietly asked Luke how long it would be before dinner. When he was told it would be at least an hour—right around four o’clock—he slipped away and walked to his little cabin next door to grab his rod and reel. Art loved people, but large crowds stuffed into a small house made him a little jittery. All those little children! Art thought himself a little clumsy sometimes; he was afraid he might step on one of them!
Recently, Luke had given him a very nice watch for his birthday, and when Luke told him a time to be somewhere or do something, Art was exactly on time. He loved his watch! He did just as the Riordan brothers did—he’d check his watch and mark the time in his head. He never forgot. In his fantasy life, he was a Riordan brother. Brave and handsome and courageous.
Down at the river’s edge Art walked upstream to his favorite spot where the river was shallow and most narrow. There were some flat rocks he could step on to get out into the middle of the stream and, from there, he would cast. Casting was still a little new to him and learning it hadn’t been easy, but Luke had been patient and never made him feel stupid. Of all the things he loved about Luke, his favorite thing was that Luke always treated him like a man.
He stepped on the flat rocks—one, two, three—very slowly and cautiously. If he didn’t go too quickly, not a drop of water would wet the tops of his tennis shoes. He went easy and lightly so as not to slip. Luke said he might get waders for Christmas and he was so excited about that.
Art stood almost in the middle of the river and threw his fly into the deeper part, reeling in slowly. If he caught a fish, they would put it in Luke’s freezer for another day. Today was turkey day.
Contentment always washed over Art while he fished. Not only did it relax him, but when he pulled in a fish and gave it to Luke and Shelby, he felt as if he was contributing to the family. They ate fish for dinner about twice a week—almost always fish that Art had caught. Out of the corner of his eye Art caught a glimpse of something red. He turned and saw Rosie standing right at the water’s edge. She had a fistful of bread and she was tearing off pieces, tossing them in the water, watching to see if the fish would come close to her. Her feet were wet and she didn’t even have a coat on!
Just then, she threw some more bread in the water and she lost her balance!
“Rosie!” Art yelled.
She righted herself, standing in water over her ankles.
“Rosie, you’re not supposed to be here all by yourself!” he yelled.
“I’m fishing,” she said, completely ignoring Art’s concern. She threw more bread and slipped again.
She was standing near a deep pool! It wasn’t too deep for Art, but she was so little! If she fell in, she could drown! The current that ran near the shoreline wouldn’t pull someone as big as Art downstream, but little Rosie might be helpless!
“You stay right there!” he yelled.
He dropped his rod right in the water, giving no thought to it, focused only on Rosie. He took two quick, giant steps, but on the third step he slipped on a large flat rock and the sole of his shoe slid off. He teetered and fell for
ward. He put out his hands, but there was too much momentum—he fell face-first in the shallow end of the river, hit his head on a rock and lay facedown in the river.
As the turkey came out of the oven ready for carving and Walt insisted on making the gravy, Franci went looking for Rosie—it was time to clean up and get her hands washed. She’d seen her just a second ago on the floor with Mattie and Hannah, Vanni’s children, but right now she was nowhere in sight. She checked the bathroom and Shelby’s bedroom, but she wasn’t there. Franci looked up the staircase—would she have gone upstairs?
Franci ran up and peeked into the two bedrooms, but no Rosie. Running back downstairs she wondered if the little imp was hiding. “Sean,” Franci called. “Where’s Rosie?”
Sean looked around. “Bathroom?” he suggested.
Franci shook her head. Then she glanced into the kitchen. There, on the countertop, was a loaf of bread. But the plastic bag was open. No adult in this house would have left it like that; it was too close to dinner to be making sandwiches. She gasped and her heart fell with a thud.
“The river!” she yelled into the living room full of people. “Oh, God, she took bread to the river!”
Sean bolted out the door, Franci on his heels, both of them frantically running for the river. Franci could hear Rosie crying and she picked up speed. The river was close; she saw her little girl standing at its edge, clutching her sliced bread. Sean got to her first. He scooped her up instantly. “Sean!” Franci yelled, pointing at Art, facedown in the water.
There was the sound of running behind them—others had followed the alarm and several people came pounding down the trail.
Sean put Rosie back on her feet at the edge of the water and ran to Art. He was barely there before Luke and Aiden waded up to their knees in the icy water, pulling Art to the bank. They rolled him over and Aiden immediately straddled Art’s waist and began pressing upward on his chest. “Someone call rescue—we’ll need emergency transport,” he said, pressing on Art’s chest. A bubble of river water rolled out. “And blankets. Lots of blankets!”
There was a flurry of activity as Rosie was taken back to the house by Maureen, while others ran to use the phone and to hunt for towels and blankets. Aiden pulled himself off Art’s midsection to kneel beside him and begin mouth-to-mouth.
Franci knelt on Art’s other side. “I can spell you,” she said to Aiden.
“I’m good,” he said, pushing another breath into the big man. “Come on, Art!”
As if performing on command, Art coughed and spewed water into the air. He coughed again; he wheezed and gasped. Aiden and Franci together rolled him onto his side and, after a great deal of coughing and choking, he threw up a lot of river water. While Art struggled to sit up, Luke was shaking out a blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders.
“There we go,” Aiden said. “Take slow breaths if you can, Art. Cough it out.”
Art had a terrified look on his face and a big lump on his head. He had a hard time catching his breath enough to speak and was clearly panicked. Finally, in a voice he could barely use, looking around frantically, he said, “Rosie? Did she fall in?”
“No, buddy. You did. But you’re going to be all right, I think.”
That didn’t seem to satisfy him. “Where’s Rosie? Where is she?”
Luke knelt in front of Art and pulled the blanket around him, holding it tight. “Her grandma took her up to the house where it’s warm.”
“Luke,” he said, his voice raspy. “I stepped too fast and didn’t look.”
“An accident, buddy,” Luke said. “Were you trying to get to Rosie?”
He nodded and coughed. “She’s not supposed to fish without Sean. Did she fall in?”
“She’s okay. You were a close call, though. You scared me good, Art.”
“Sorry, L-L-Luke,” he said, teeth chattering.
The wet blanket was pulled away and a dry one wrapped around him. When he’d recovered enough to be breathing somewhat better, Luke and Sean made a chair out of their arms and carried him to the house so he could sit by the fire.
“I called Cameron,” Walt said. “Once you had him breathing and sitting up, I canceled the helicopter transport. Cameron will be here faster, in less than five minutes. Luke, you can drive the Hummer for him so he can be in the back with Art.” Then the general leaned close to Art. “Art, you’re going to go to the hospital so they can check you over, make sure you didn’t get a concussion or get too much water in your lungs.”
“I don’t want to,” Art wheezed.
“I’ll go with you, buddy,” Luke said. “Right now I’m going next door to your house to find you some dry clothes.”
“O-k-k-kay,” he said. Maureen came close, holding Rosie, who was still gasping with barely subsiding sobs. Art looked up at her. He frowned at her. “No f-f-fishing without Sean,” he said in a bit of a scolding tone.
She turned and buried her head in Maureen’s shoulder for a second, then looked back at Art and asked, “Do I hab time-out?” Her breath caught pitifully and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“No time-out,” Art said. “And no more fishing without Sean!”
She nodded her head and clung to her grandmother.
The front door opened and Cameron stuck his head inside. “Did I hear someone’s been swimming in this cold weather?”
By seven that evening at Valley Hospital, Art had had a clean CT and good chest X-ray. The danger of developing pneumonia from nearly drowning was the risk, so Cameron wanted him to stay at the hospital overnight, on antibiotics for infection and breathing treatments to keep his lungs clear.
“I don’t want to spend the night,” Art said, his voice still gruff from the strain of coughing and choking.
“I’ll stay here with you,” Luke said.
“But I want Thanksgiving, Luke!”
“I’ll make sure—”
Shelby popped her head in the room. She carried a covered tray. “Now, Art, would I let you miss Thanksgiving?” she asked. “Don’t I know you like to eat better than anything?”
He grinned at her and she came into the room. She put the tray on his bedside stand. “I drove it over on a hot-water bottle, but if it’s not warm enough, the nurses might let us borrow their microwave.” She pulled the aluminum foil off the dishes. “Oh, I think you’re going to like this!”
He dipped a fork in the mashed potatoes first and grinned. “It’s good. Are you going to spend the night, too?” he asked her.
“Probably not,” she said with a laugh. “If Luke is here with you, I can stretch out at home and have the whole bed.” She leaned forward and gave Art a kiss on the head. “Be more careful,” she said. “I can’t stand the thought you might be hurt!”
Art glowed scarlet from the kiss.
“Knock, knock,” someone said from the door. Sean came into the room with Rosie on his hip. “Some Wide Iwish Rose can’t go to sleep tonight without seeing you. She’s never been in a hospital before.”
Right behind them Franci entered the room, saying, “And we brought…” Her voice trailed off as she saw Art with a generous Thanksgiving meal in front of him. “Pie.” Within five minutes, Rosie was sitting on the bed beside Art, helping him eat his dinner, which he didn’t seem to mind sharing with her.
Then Walt Booth’s voice boomed from the hospital room doorway. “Aw, hell, I thought this was an original idea!” He brought in his own collection of leftovers and behind him Muriel laughed, holding a large serving of pie.
Next came Paul with still more pie. “Vanni sent this over,” he said.
And right behind him, Preacher. “Heard there was a little excitement at the Riordan Thanksgiving dinner,” he said, bearing a couple of take-out cartons from the bar.
And, finally, Aiden and Maureen crowded into the small room. “I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t bring food,” she said. “We just wanted to check on you and make sure you had company, Art. But look at this—you have so many friends.”
> “I have very many friends,” Art said. “Very many.”
The day after Thanksgiving was bright and sunny, though very cold. Maureen told Vivian she had errands to run, but would be back in plenty of time to help with dinner at Franci’s house. Tonight Shelby, Luke, Art and Aiden were all coming over for a family dinner before they scattered to the winds in a great exodus out of Virgin River and Eureka.
Maureen drove to Ferndale and back to the cemetery. She saw George’s car parked by the side of the road and pulled up behind it. He was halfway up the hill, apparently reading a headstone. She walked up the winding stone stairs till she met him.
He turned and opened his arms and she walked right into his embrace. “Do you think it’s a bad omen to meet in a cemetery?” she asked him.
“I have a special fondness for this place,” he said. “This is exactly where you completely lost control, threw yourself at me and passionately kissed me. I like it here.”
“I think I surprised myself more than you,” she said.
“Impossible. I thought I’d have to chase you for years before I got a kiss.” He stroked her hair back over her ear. “Are you ready to go?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. You?”
“I’d rather not,” he admitted. “But I have responsibilities. The upside is, I’m going to get those things taken care of quickly so I can get the next part of my life under way. I’m looking forward to this next stage.”
“And you’ll be back here for Christmas?” Maureen asked.
“Didn’t I promise you?”
“I suppose I can trust you to keep a promise,” she said. Then she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Are you still planning to leave tomorrow?”
He nodded. “I’ll drive for a day and have Sunday to get myself organized before classes. I think I might drum up the hardest end-of-term exams in the history of the world. I want to be remembered for something.”
