Thankful Thomas's Arc

Chapter 16 of 20

Thomas looked at the loaded counters. Six bowls, four pans, two pies. The slope ran long and dark down to the pavilion. His hands could carry two dishes, maybe three. By the time he climbed back for the rest, the first pans would go cold. He needed to move the whole feast at once. He stepped into the yard and scanned the farm for anything on wheels. Then he remembered the old snack cart behind the pantry shed. He hauled it out. Four wheels, a flat counter, a canopy to block the wind. He wiped the dust off and rolled it to the door. It groaned but held. Still, one old man could not steer a full cart down a dark slope and keep every bowl from tipping. Thomas needed a second pair of hands, someone young and strong. He thought of the neighbor's farmhand. He walked to the fence and called across the field. Jake Miller jogged over, the neighbor's hired hand, red bandanna loose at his neck, boots caked with mud. He was barely more than a boy, but Thomas had watched him lift feed sacks two at a time. "You need muscle, Mr. Thomas?" Jake grinned. "I've got nothing but muscle today." "I need you to help me move a whole feast," Thomas said. "Downhill. Before it cools." Jake rolled up his sleeves without another question. Thomas felt the knot in his chest loosen. They loaded the cart together. Quincey packed the bowls tight so they would not slide. Dorothy laid towels over the pans to hold the heat. Thomas set the pies on the top shelf, under the canopy. Jake tested the handle and nodded. The cart was heavy but balanced. The light was the next problem. The slope dropped into shadow, and a single slip would spill everything. Thomas fetched his grandfather's old oil lantern from the shed. He lit the wick and the glass glowed warm. He hung it from the front of the cart so it swung ahead of the wheels. They started down. Jake took the front, leaning back to hold the weight. Thomas gripped the rear and steadied the load. The lantern threw light on every rut and root. The wheels bumped, and a bowl of greens jumped. Jake braced hard. "Easy," he said. "I've got it." They slowed, found the smooth track, and kept rolling. Halfway down, the cart leaned toward a root. Thomas threw his shoulder against it. The wheels caught and held. Steam still rose from the pans. The food was warm. At the bottom, the pavilion waited by the water, its roof dark against the sky. They rolled the cart under its shelter and lifted each dish onto the long table. Every bowl steamed. The turkey pieces glistened. Nothing had spilled. Thomas leaned on the table and breathed. The feast had made it down hot and whole. Then he looked at the empty pavilion and the long table set for a crowd. The food was here. The guests were not. No one knew to come down.