Thankful Thomas's Arc

Chapter 18 of 20

Thomas stood at the head of the table and watched the crowd fill every bench. The food steamed in its pans. There was not enough. He counted again, hoping the numbers would change. They did not. More mouths than plates, just like last night. His chest tightened. He had rung the bell too well. Then a voice called from the slope. "Don't start without us!" Thomas turned. A line of lanterns swayed down the dark path. His guests were coming, but their hands were full. Each one carried a dish. A woman held a warm casserole, its buttered top glowing gold. A man cradled a cheesecake crowned with berries. Steam and sweet smells drifted ahead of them. At the front walked a stout man in a black suit, glasses low on his nose, a worn book tucked under one arm. Thomas knew the face. Reverend Samuel Cross had visited that morning, a preacher passing through the county. He set his book on the rail and rolled up his sleeves. "Thomas," he said, "you called the whole hillside. The hillside brought supper." Thomas stared at the growing pile of dishes. "I thought I had to feed all of them myself." "No man feeds a crowd alone." Cross clapped him on the shoulder. "Point me to the bird. I'll carve." Thomas led him to the pans of turkey pieces. He had butchered the bird the night before. No whole centerpiece, just plain cut meat. He braced for the preacher's frown. It did not come. Cross lifted a knife and began to serve. He laid turkey on each plate, piece by piece, and talked as he worked. He asked each guest their name. He thanked each one for what they carried. The line moved fast. The corn casserole went down the table. The cheesecake waited at the far end for after. Thomas moved beside him. He scooped greens. He spooned squash. The dishes that had seemed too few now stretched, because new dishes kept arriving. A pot of beans. A tray of rolls. A pan of baked apples. The pavilion table grew heavier, not lighter. Soon every plate held food. Guests ate and passed the bowls. Laughter rose under the sheltered roof. Thomas stepped back and looked at the full table. The shortage was gone. The crowd was fed, every single one. Cross wiped the knife and smiled. "You gave them a reason to come. They gave the rest." Thomas nodded. His throat was tight, but not from fear now. He had worried all day about turkey and plates and heat. He had forgotten the simplest thing. The people themselves were part of the feast. Then he saw the far end of the table. The desserts sat untouched, more than he had counted on. And at the pavilion's edge, a few late guests stood empty-handed, still waiting to be welcomed in. He had fed the crowd. Now he had to find them all a place.