Both the Wetstra and Justice households’ turkeys were already sliced in large deep baking pans and covered in foil in ovens set at low. Sweet and mashed potatoes were now the project at hand. Since they were up to fifty maybe sixty reservations, this turned out to be a much bigger job than Dorothy had bargained for. (She had phoned Theresa on Wednesday and asked if she thought she could recruit one extra large pan of each on such short notice and Theresa had told her she’d already covered that base—just in case. Thank you, Lord, for our supporting role and for giving us Theresa!)
Dorothy’s arthritic fingers were bothering her and Jacob told her not to worry, they’d manage without her. He turned out to be a peeler extraordinaire, thank goodness. She sat at the table across from May Belle and they joked about being supervisors—or maybe they’d just gotten old enough to be benched, Vinnie teased. “Oh, like THAT would ever be possible with you two,” Jacob said to the women, handing them each a small slice of raw white potato to nibble on—a Wetstra tradition. “May Belle, your most difficult job today is keeping the birthday girl out of my hair!”
Earl had finally relaxed enough with the boys to try his best to help with the peeling when he was invited, which made his mom smile. She noticed Jacob giving each of Earl’s peeled potatoes a little spruce-up before he sliced them. She appreciated his ability to honor Earl’s attempts. Under May Belle’s supervision, Jacob had also done a rather artistic job of arranging the sweet potato slices, butter and brown sugar dotting the tops of the dishes just waiting for browning. “Not too bad for a collaboration between a lawyer and a gimp,” Dorothy quipped.
Dear Birthday Girl (and Steve and Brad and Sheba and everybody else),
I made it! Maybe mom already told you since I called her—like she *demanded* I do (Yes, sergeant!)—the minute I arrived. There was more traffic than I expected so early in the morning (guess everybody had the same idea) but we did keep moving, even though it was WAY slower than YOU would have wanted to be going, Dorothy! Sheba’s ears wouldn’t even have been bouncing some of the time, let alone flying. ;>)
We’re eating Thanksgiving dinner late here. Dad’s wife’s folks are coming over at five and so is one of her sisters who has two small children about the ages of the Daily Kids. (More halves of relatives—although I guess since they’re dad’s wife’s, they’re not BLOOD halves! Whew!)
We ARE going to look at the windows at Marshall Field’s tomorrow and I’m going to do my best to remember the stories you told me. It’s fun to picture you there with your kids—although I wish I had some pictures of you then. I can’t imagine you without gray hair. Know what I mean?
Gotta go. I’m being called to help set the table.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING and HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Hug everybody for me when you see them. I’ll be home Saturday night to avoid Sunday’s traffic and we’ll celebrate your birthday then. Got your present wrapped already. Alex and I are either going out Friday night or Saturday morning for breakfast. Gotta see what time we get back from the window thing. I’ll give you the full report when next I see you.
Gobble-gobble and hip-hip-hooray to the BIRTHDAY GIRL,
Joshmeister
29
“I will not panic. I will not panic,” Katie said aloud to the rock-solid frozen enemy she had, in a fit of wrestling with the unwieldy thing, mindlessly started calling Sir Thomas Turkey. Sir Thomas Turkey weighed seventeen frozen pounds, which was right near the line of two chart weight brackets and would, according to not only the directions printed on the plastic wrap, but three of her cookbooks, take somewhere between two to four days of refrigerator thawing (depending on which weight bracket she believed) and six to ten hours in cold water. Why didn’t I read this before! Her microwave directions didn’t recommend trying to thaw anything that heavy and, besides, the turkey wouldn’t fit into it; she’d tried. Several times. She’d nearly frozen her own navel propping the bulk of him to the microwave door with her abdomen while twisting and turning him with her hands. If she had had hair long enough to grab, she would have pulled it all out by now.
According to all directions, Sir Thomas Turkey would, after he was thawed (HA!), take somewhere between three and four hours to cook at 325 degrees, which was recommended. She was to have the sliced beast (oh, and don’t forget letting him SET for twenty minutes after he’s roasted before slicing!) at the church at two-thirty, which was now less than six hours away.
So much for starting early.
Surely there was another way, a more modern and sensible—and efficient and expedient way—to slay Sir Thomas into juicy serving slices. She booted up her computer and began to surf the Net; she would not humiliate herself by making phone calls. She could handle this. Thank heavens she came across a site that warned her about the bag of what sounded to be gross inner body parts stuffed inside one of Sir Thomas’s orifices. Although she discovered a few ways to expedite the roasting itself, like the baking bag method (and, of course, she didn’t have a baking bag) and the high-temp foil wrap approach (but still, the bird needed to be thawed), and don’t forget the deep-frying (but she had no deep fryer), nothing she found led her to a victorious way to speed-thaw and cook the bird within her timeline.
Too bad she didn’t own a chain saw, she thought. That’d fix Sir Thomas! She’d saw his frozen contrary self in half, thaw his halves in the microwave and then . . . then she’d put one half in the microwave and the other in a high-temperature oven and voilà! In her panic (which she continued to repeat she would not succumb to) she actually phoned Sears in Hethrow, hoping they were open. She’d talked herself into believing the chainsaw method—which, as wacky a thought as it was, seemed her only option—might really work. Why not? “. . . closed for the holiday” the recording said. It went on to encourage her to arrive at six A.M. for the early-bird shopping specials on Friday.
She’d probably be dead by then, she thought, having been knocked out cold by her seventeen-pound adversary as they both flew to the floor in their final round. She imagined every word in the Partonville Press.
BALD WOMAN SURROUNDED BY MOUSETRAPS FOUND DEAD NEXT TO PARTIALLY THAWED TURKEY. Although authorities at first assumed it was an accident, suicide is not being ruled out since witnesses close to Katie Mable Carol Durbin have stepped forward to disclose her recent questionable business investments.
Joshua Matthew Kinney, Durbin’s son and only heir (although she is reported to have been survived by many halves of heirs), discovered his mother’s body late Saturday evening when he arrived home from a trip she ill advisedly allowed him to take on his own. (He was only sixteen, folks!) He suspected his mother had been dead since Thanksgiving when she was reported by an undisclosed Partonville resident to have been cooking a turkey. Her son, riddled with grief, wondered if foul play (har, har) wasn’t involved since he said, “I don’t think my mom knew how to cook a turkey.”
Acting Mayor Gladys McKern calls the loss a sorrow for the whole community, especially for those who showed up at United Methodist Church to share in a Thanksgiving dinner only to find they were out of turkey due to Ms. Durbin’s death.
She couldn’t even run away from home—she didn’t have a car! And she wasn’t getting picked up until it was time to go to the church, with Sir Thomas.
At 2:20 P.M. the church basement was a buzz of activity laced with eau de Thanksgiving fragrances. Cooks and volunteers were arriving en masse and Gladys had popped back in for a brief moment away from her family gathering just to make sure there were no fatal flaws. Although she hadn’t intended to make another appearance, the more she sat at her son’s and thought about Theresa Brewton’s lack of leadership ability and how she didn’t want the Catholics to be able to lord it over the Methodists about whose fault “it” was, the more she couldn’t help but make one final check. While Steven was off picking up Katie, Jacob, Vinnie and Bradley ran up and down the stairs hauling in their turkeys, potatoes and desserts. When Lester arrived, he happily accepted their assistance. Edward Showalter dropped off Nel
lie Ruth but didn’t leave for Johnny Mathis’s until he’d made sure she had everything she needed. Although their parting was difficult, they both knew they were each going to be where they belonged for the day, Nellie Ruth telling ES she would give thanks for him every time she glimpsed her electrical wire bracelet—which would be often since she was serving up the potatoes onto each plate.
At 2:40 P.M. Earl and Dorothy escorted May Belle down the stairs. (Gladys made an exception for May Belle’s early seating on account of her back.) Earl stood by his mother’s side, her elbow in his hand; Dorothy walked in front of her in case she fell, which May Belle said was a joke since she’d take Dorothy down like a bowling pin. Jacob walked in front of Dorothy, just in case. When May Belle got to the bottom of the steps and saw the bounty of food, her eyes welled with tears at God’s provision—without her ever having to lift a finger. Although she knew she was pushing the envelope by tackling the stairs, she’d promised them all she would tell them when she needed to go if they would just let her at least come be “in the blessing.”
“Where’s Katie Durbin?” Gladys bellowed at 2:50 P.M. “Isn’t she supposed to be bringing a turkey? We can’t keep folks waiting at the top of the stairs for more than ten minutes! We told them three o’clock sharp and three o’clock sharp it will be!”
“Why don’t you go on ahead and join your family,” Theresa told her. She had the sweetest voice. “Didn’t you say you were eating at three?”
Gladys looked at her watch for the eleven-billionth time and relunctantly headed for the stairs. “Well, I hope she shows up is all I have to say!” Of course, nobody believed that would be all Gladys would have to say, but to their surprise, it was. Up the stairs she went.
At exactly 3 P.M., Nellie Ruth and Dorothy powwowed and decided Gladys was right; they needed to let folks come on down. Nellie Ruth made the announcement that everyone was now welcome to come join the festivities and start finding their seats. They figured Steven and Katie would be arriving momentarily anyway. To Dorothy’s delight, in with the surge of people came Jessica, Paul and Sarah Sue. Fifteen minutes earlier Paul had looked at his tired wife and said, “Jess, all of our customers are checked in and doing their own Thanksgiving things. You look exhausted. Let’s just stop what we’re doing, put a sign on the office door that says BACK AT FOUR and join the Thanksgiving dinner for an hour—even if you can’t eat it. I can’t stop thinking about Dorothy reminding us that Jesus said ‘Come as you are.’ Let’s just do it, honey.” After a few protests from Jessica about how she’d feel too guilty since she hadn’t even cooked the turkey she’d said she would, Paul convinced her that Katie had control of everything, that that’s what friends were for and that she always felt better after she was around Katie for a little while anyway. “She is one more thing we can give thanks for today.” And so off they’d gone.
By the time traffic started flowing down the stairs, the teens had just finished lighting the last of the candles set around the fall decorations on each banquet table; the room was warm, inviting and filled with gratefulness.
After everyone was seated for ten minutes or so, Pastor looked toward the stairs one last time, as did Dorothy and Jessica, who began to fret the moment she learned Katie hadn’t arrived yet and that Steven—teen driver Steven—had gone to pick her up. While Vincent was chastising himself for not sending his cell phone with his son, Pastor and Father O’Sullivan quickly and silently prayed they hadn’t experienced any difficulties. From what Pastor so far knew about Katie, she wasn’t one to be irresponsible. But alas, the meal and the guests were readied; the banquet had to begin. Theresa told Dorothy they really couldn’t wait any longer, especially since she’d overheard the Joys’ story about closing down for only one hour.
“You’re right,” Dorothy said with resignation. She shifted her eyes toward Pastor. “Who gets the pleasure of giving the blessing today, you or Father O’Sullivan?” The men gave each other an awkward glance realizing that between all the committee members, nobody had made this decision, or at least not told them about it.
“How about Father O’Sullivan leads us and I’ll give the Amen,” Pastor Delbert said. Everyone bowed their heads.
“Lord God, giver of light, hope and all things of love, we gather together today—and OH, LORD! it is so special for us all to be gathered together!—to share in a meal in Your house to give thanks for our bounty. Yes, what a special day it is when people of different faiths can come together in Your name!” His exuberant voice, familiar to some and new to others, was much heartier than Pastor Delbert’s. Not that Pastor Delbert’s voice and prayers were ever flat or boring; it just wasn’t his natural style to boom prayers the way Father O’Sullivan did. His words rang with such honest joy and cheerfulness—you could hear the smile behind them—that it inspired Pastor Delbert to reach over and pat him on the back, right during the middle of the prayer. He’d always loved Father O’Sullivan’s prayers and felt especially blessed and glad his congregants got to experience them on this Thanksgiving day.
“Lord, give a special blessing to the hearts of the cooks, the servers and everyone who will partake of this meal.
“Be with those we love who cannot share this table with us today.” He thought of one of the couples he’d seen arrive whose son was serving in the military. “Hold them safe in Your arms, as secure as You hold us here now. Bind us together now, Lord.” He paused for ten seconds (something St. Auggie’s parishioners were used to but that caused the UMC folks to wonder briefly if he was through and they’d missed the Amen) to allow all in attendance to focus on the experience, the shelter, the peace—aside from Wanita’s twin boys whose chairs scraped on the floor while they socked each other.
“Thank You for the beauty of our tables, the nourishment in the food and the grace You extend to each and every one of us.” He gently elbowed Pastor Delbert, who unleashed a heartier than usual “Amen!”
“Pastor, Father,” Dorothy said, “we’d like for you two and your gathered families to head up the line today. We are especially grateful for your dedicated service to your flocks.”
“Well, I couldn’t . . .” Pastor Delbert started to say.
“Well, I could!” Father said, followed by a hearty laugh. He waved over his sister and her family; Pastor Delbert then motioned for his wife and children. Nellie Ruth insisted Theresa and her family jump in next, then Dorothy and her family. Dorothy beamed at the sight of her little clan lined up like a row of big ducks. Her heart was so grateful, and yet, she carried an underlying worry about Katie and Steven.
Dorothy told Bradley to go tell the Joys to get in line next, since they were on a timeline. Jessica looked pale and tired and expressed concern for Katie. Dorothy assured her all was well while her husband rubbed a small circle on her back. “Katie is one of the most determined women I’ve ever met. They’ll get here any moment. Just you wait and see!” Dorothy chirped in a tone convincing enough to convince herself.
May Belle asked Earl to fill her plate for her while she remained seated. “You know what I like, honey.” He looked a little nervous but got in line behind Vincent, who, since he now lived out of Partonville, reminded Earl that they’d grown up together. “My mom brags about you all the time, Earl, about how much you help her with so many things, how you’ve been her groundskeeper . . . I’m so glad you’ll be near her this winter to shovel her sidewalk. That’s a relief to me and Jacob. Thank you, Earl. You are one of the many people I’m giving thanks for today.”
Like his dad before him, Vincent had always had a warm and expressive way with his words. Although Earl didn’t maintain eye contact with him, he did listen to everything he said. When he arrived back at the table with his mother’s plate of food, he looked like his buttons might pop. May Belle had seen Vincent from across the room chattering on, and she thanked Vincent for whatever he’d said to her son. “I just told him how grateful we are he’s here to help our mom, and I meant it,” Vincent said. May Belle’s eyes welled with tears. Th
ank you, Lord. I give You thanks for a son who loves me and for those who love him.
By the time the last person was served, Lester had, in the joint committee’s eyes, become the hero of the day—although Dorothy was sure he’d responded to God’s obvious nudgings after all her desperate prayers. In light of Katie’s turkey’s absence, his unsolicited bird was the one that not only finished serving everyone, but allowed second helpings to the few who chose to circle back. Good thing he hadn’t made up the cards for the grill with Friday’s special on it yet since it sure wouldn’t be turkey sandwiches. No matter, Fridays were meant for fish anyway and he’d probably hear grumbles from the regulars if the usual all-u-can-eat fish fry wasn’t the . . . usual.
Dorothy looked at her watch. She was beginning to really fret about Katie now. This wasn’t like her. She speculated maybe Katie’d been so sad about Josh not being home that she just couldn’t face everyone. She wondered how Steven would handle her if she was distraught. Or maybe the rental car had broken down or . . .
“You mentioned your cell phone awhile ago, Vinnie. Do either of you boys have one on you?” They both reached for their belts and simultaneously tried to hand her a phone. “Will this cost you an arm and a leg if I try to call Katie?”
“No. Just call her, Mom,” Vinnie said as she wrapped her fingers around the surprisingly little contraption.
Dearest Dorothy, Who Would Have Ever Thought?! Page 29
