Thankful Thomas's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

The table was set, but the pavilion had no walls. Cold wind swept off the water and rolled across the food. Thomas held his hand over the turkey. The steam was already thin. He touched the potatoes. Warm, but cooling fast. His guests would arrive soon, and the wind would leave them a cold feast. He had built the table and hauled every dish. He would not let the chill ruin it now. He pulled his apron tight and looked down the long boards. The pies sat open to the air. The squash lost its heat with every gust. Thomas ran through what he had on hand. Cloths were too thin. His hands could not cover eight dishes at once. He needed something that could trap the heat and hold it. He remembered the old warming pan hanging in his cottage. Cast iron, heavy, with a rounded lid and a long handle. His grandfather had used it for winter suppers. Thomas ran up the slope, his breath sharp in his chest. He found the pan on its hook and lifted it down. The iron was cold now, but he knew what to do. Back at the yard, his brick oven still held coals from the morning. Thomas raked them out and filled the pan's belly with hot embers. He clamped the lid shut. The iron warmed under his palms. He carried it down to the pavilion, careful on the slope, and set it beside the turkey. The heat spread. He slid the pan close to the pies, then the stuffing, moving it dish by dish. Where the iron sat, the steam rose thick again. He found a second smaller pan under the table and did the same on the other end. Two pockets of heat now guarded the food from the wind. Thomas laid cloths over the dishes between the pans. The warm air stayed trapped underneath. He lifted the turkey's cover and felt the heat hold steady. He pressed his hand to the potatoes. Hot. He grinned and wiped his brow. The wind still crossed the pavilion, but the food no longer surrendered to it. He stepped back and looked at his work. The long table stood full and warm under the open roof. The cold could not touch the feast now. Thomas let out a slow breath. Then he heard voices. Faint at first, carried on the wind from up the hill. His guests were arriving at the cottage. He looked at the warm table, ready and waiting, and then up the dark slope. They stood at the wrong door, knocking on a cold and empty house. The food was safe. The people were lost.