Thankful Thomas's Arc

Chapter 7 of 7

The pumpkin and apples went fast. Thomas watched the last spoonfuls pass down the long table. Hands reached, scraped, and came up empty. The guests smiled, but he saw it in their eyes. They were still hungry. Two dishes could not fill a whole table twice. He had no turkey. He could not bake all night. He needed food now, already cooked, and he needed it for a crowd. Then he thought of the church pantry. He knew the woman who ran it kept staples on the shelves and a heart that never closed. He grabbed a lantern and climbed the dark slope to his cottage. He found her number and called. The phone rang twice. "Carol Hendricks," she answered, loud over clatter in her own kitchen. Carol ran every church potluck Thomas had ever eaten at. She never came empty-handed. "Thomas? It's Thanksgiving night. What's wrong?" "My table's full and my food's gone," he said. "I've got no turkey left. The pantry. Is there anything?" "Plenty," Carol said. He heard a cupboard bang. "Bread, broth, onions, celery. I'll meet you there." Thomas drove to the pantry. Warm light glowed in its narrow windows under the little steeple. Carol was already inside, apron on, pulling loaves from a shelf. She tore bread into a huge black pot before he even shut the door. "Stuffing," she said. "Feeds an army with nothing fancy. Crack those onions. Move." He chopped. She poured broth and stirred. The pot filled and rose, golden and heaped with torn bread, onion, and herbs. Steam curled up between them. Carol tasted a spoonful, nodded once, and clamped the lid down. "That'll do," she said. "Now lift your end. Careful, it's heavy." They carried the great pot to the truck together. Thomas's arms shook under the weight. He had not asked for this and she had not hesitated. He drove back with the pot braced on the floor and Carol following in her own car. The path to the water was dark. They each took a lantern and went down the slope slowly, the pot swinging between them. When they stepped into the pavilion, the whole table turned. Thomas set the stuffing on the planks. He pulled off the lid. Warm steam rose over the crowd. A cheer went up, bigger than before. Spoons dove in. Bowls filled high and stayed full. For the first time all night, no plate came up empty. Thomas stood back and watched them eat. Dorothy caught his eye and smiled. He did not say he had made it alone, because he had not. He put his arm around Carol's shoulder and turned her toward the table. "This is Carol," he told them all. "She opened the pantry for us tonight. Thank her." The guests raised their glasses to her. Thomas looked at the heaped pot and the full bowls. The table had enough now. But he saw Dorothy glance up the slope, where the Maple Cream Cake still waited, uncut, in the cold cottage.