Thankful Thomas's Arc

Chapter 13 of 13

The harvest was safe in the shed, but a feast needs meat. Thomas washed the frost from his hands and faced the hard truth. He had apples, squash, and greens. He had no turkey. Guests would arrive tomorrow, and bowls of roots would not fill a Thanksgiving table. He pulled on his coat again and drove into town. One place sold birds this late. He had to try it. The butcher shop stood with its red awning rolled down against the cold. A knife-shaped sign hung above the door. Thomas pushed inside. The butcher, a broad man in a stained apron, shook his head before Thomas finished asking. "Turkeys are gone," the butcher said. "Everybody came early this year. I sold my last bird two days back." He wiped his hands on a rag. "I got ham. I got chicken. No turkey till next week." Thomas gripped the counter. Ham was not the feast he had promised. He thanked the man and stepped back into the street. His breath hung white in the air. He had crops and no centerpiece, and no other shop for miles. The one door he counted on had closed. He thought of who else fed crowds. One name came fast. He drove to the church pantry and found Carol Hendricks there, stacking cans on a shelf. She had saved his last feast with a pot of stuffing when his food ran out. Her floral shirt was dusted with flour. She looked up and smiled. "Thomas. You look like a man who lost his dinner." "I lost my turkey," he said. "Every one in town is sold. Guests come tomorrow. I've got nothing for the center of the table." Carol set down a can and thought. "The pantry doesn't keep whole birds. But the Harbor of Hope sometimes does for the holiday." She picked up the phone on the wall and dialed. Thomas waited while she spoke low and quick. She hung up and grinned. "They have two frozen turkeys left," she said. "Donated for families in need. I told them yours is a table full of travelers with nowhere else. They'll hold one for you." Thomas let out a long breath. "Carol, you saved me twice now." "That's what the pantry's for." She grabbed her keys. "I'll drive. It closes in an hour." They reached the hope pantry as the light failed. A volunteer carried out a turkey wrapped in brown paper, frozen hard as a stone. Thomas held it against his chest. It was heavy. It was real. He thanked the volunteer and carried the bird to the truck. On the drive home, Thomas set his hand on the cold package. He had his centerpiece at last. But frozen solid, it would take all night and more to thaw. Guests would come by midday. A rock-hard turkey could not roast in time. The bird was found. Now it had to be made ready.