One Day before Thanksgiving
Why couldn’t things remain the same forever?
As the sun rose over the eastern hills, the rolling,
deep purple meadows glistened from a thousand sparkling
prisms as sunlight refracted in the morning dew. Dawn was a
magical time of day. Sarah shuffled her feet through the
shredded cornstalks as though she had all the time in the
world. Fiery red and gold leaves swirled along the lane
that separated their land from the neighbor’s property. On
her left stood the tidy, white house and outbuildings of
home—farmland that had been in her family for seven
generations. The fenced pastures and rolling croplands
stretched for as far as the eye could see. On her right,
white pickets enclosed the landscaped four acres of her
employer, Country Pleasures—a charming bed-and-breakfast on
the county road. Two different worlds, but both dear to her
heart.
Englischers came from all over Ohio to sleep on goose
down pillows, under handmade Amish quilts, in antique four-
poster walnut beds. They ate hearty gourmet breakfasts in
the luxurious dining room before setting out to visit Amish
country. The community of Plain folk had drawn tourists for
decades to the quilt shops, farmers’ markets and furniture
galleries of Holmes, Wayne and Tuscarawas counties. Except
for the danger from increased traffic, the Amish had
adjusted to their newfound popularity while holding
steadfast to their Christian faith and simple lifestyle.
Sarah Beachy enjoyed the best of both worlds. The farm
where she lived with her parents and five siblings stood
within walking distance of the inn where she prepared
breakfast six days a week, washed linens, and tidied rooms
in between guests. Englischers weren’t the only ones
curious. Sarah loved hearing their strange accents, seeing
their colorful combinations of clothes, and listening to
breakfast chitchat about the "bargains" they’d found at the
flea market. And since she usually finished work by eleven,
the rest of her day stretched before her like a box of
wrapped chocolate—each hour to be opened and savored at
leisure.
"Sarah Beachy!" A voice broke through her trance. "Stop
dawdling! I need you today!" Mrs. Pratt stood with both
hands planted on her hips, yelling from the upstairs porch.
Although still too far away to judge facial expressions,
Sarah knew the innkeeper wasn’t really angry. A kinder,
gentler soul would be impossible to find. But she picked up
her skirt regardless and ran the rest of the way—an
occurrence since she’d reached the dignified age of
nineteen.
"You’re not strolling woodland paths hand-in-hand with
Adam. I need you to start the omelet while I fix fruit and
oatmeal for my vegetarians and country fried steak for the
men. I think the youngsters would enjoy Mickey Mouse cut-
out pancakes." Mrs. Pratt’s voice trailed off as she
reentered the hallway, allowing the screen door to slam
behind her.
Sarah smirked as she climbed the steps to the back door.
Strolling with Adam…she might do a little of that tomorrow
after the big turkey dinner. The entire Troyer family had
been invited to share the meal with the Beachys. There were
so many Troyers, they would need tables set up in the
living room and enclosed porch, besides the ten-footer in
the kitchen. But since her mamm planned to roast one turkey
today and another tomorrow, there would be no shortage of
food. Sarah hurried to wash up and put on her apron. When
she entered the high-ceilinged kitchen, Mrs. Pratt held an
upraised wooden spoon. "Are you going to smack me with
that?" Sarah asked, trying not to grin.
"What?"
Mrs. Pratt looked confused. "No, no. I’m
trying to get down another saucepot from the hook. Why Roy
thought I needed this silly ceiling rack for pots and pans
is a mystery to me. And I have no idea where my step stool
is." At five-foot-nothing, Lee Ann Pratt needed her stool
on a regular basis.
At five-foot-ten, Sarah almost never did. "Let me help."
She arched up on tiptoes and easily caught the handle of
the sought-after pot.
"Thank you, dear girl. I’m so glad I hired someone
tall." Mrs. Pratt bustled to the counter where cinnamon
rolls were cooling on a wire rack. "Ready for the glaze,"
she announced, poking at one roll. "Please start an omelet
for eight and get out some orange juice. We’ll have to make
do with frozen, no time to squeeze. But I’ve already sliced
fresh pears and a pineapple and for fruit cups." Back and
forth the woman buzzed around the room, like a hummingbird
under the influence of fermented nectar. Sarah performed
her duties with far less stress but no less efficiency.
After all, keeping the inn filled to capacity with paying
guests wasn’t her personal worry.
"Everybody’s in an all-fired-up hurry today," Lee Ann
said, dropping her voice to a whisper. The first of the
overnight guests had appeared and were headed toward the
coffee service on the credenza. "Folks want to pick up
pumpkin pies and specialty gifts in town, or view the last
of the autumn leaves before the holiday rush starts."
"Rush to where?" Sarah asked, dicing peppers and tomato
for the omelet.
Lee Ann looked at her strangely. "Everywhere…people are
in a big hurry until Christmas, trying to finish their
shopping, baking and house decorating. It never seems like
there’ll be enough time, but somehow there always is." Like
a dervish, Mrs. Pratt grabbed her tray of fruit cups and
marched into the dining room, as though the bed-n-breakfast
guests teetered on the edge of collapse from hunger.
Sarah smiled as the door swung shut. She loved working
in the warm comfortable inn especially since the frenetic
innkeeper treated her like a daughter. From early spring
through late fall when the B&B operated at full capacity,
her younger sister worked here too. But as the holidays
drew near and throughout winter, the two of them ran the
place like a well-oiled clock.
Hopefully, the Englischers won’t be rushing around so
much they miss the point of the season, she thought. After
pushing bread down in the eight-slice toaster, Sarah added
cheese to the omelet, turned the ham slices in the skillet,
and stirred blueberries into the oatmeal.
"We need more coffee, dear," called Lee Ann from the
pass-through window. "And check the Mickey Mouse pancakes.
Please don’t let them burn." Deep furrows creased her
forehead, while her complexion turned bright pink from
exertion.
"No problem." Sarah flipped the pancakes onto a platter
and then peeked into the dining room while decorating the
mice with licorice whips and pink frosting. Ten Englischers—
ranging in age from six to seventy—milled around the table,
talking, laughing, and sipping coffee from tiny china cups.
Their clothes varied from blue jeans with missing knees to
long print skirts, silky blouses, and thigh-high leather
boots. Sarah loved being Amish, seldom coveting fancy
clothes, but the odd combinations women put together into
outfits interested her. How long did it take them to make
up their minds each morning?
"They’re ready for us to serve." The innkeeper breezed
into the kitchen with an empty carafe in hand, looking
frazzled. Yet the two women handled the culinary chaos of
food allergies, restrictive diets, and peculiar taste buds
with their usual precision. Soon, amid lavish praise and
good-bye hugs, the guests departed to find their way down
backcountry roads, leaving Lee Ann and Sarah with five
rooms in disarray, a table full of dirty dishes, and a
kitchen turned upside down.
But first, they sat down to their own breakfast—
something the proprietress had insisted upon since the day
Sarah had been hired. They filled plates from whatever had
been leftover and carried them to the nook overlooking the
front garden. While they listened to birds bickering at the
feeder or the clop-clop-clopping of horses and buggies on
the road below, they shared a meal before readying the inn
for the next onslaught of guests.
"Any reservations today?" Sarah asked, biting into a
warm cinnamon bun.
"Oh, no, thank goodness. Since tomorrow is Thanksgiving,
people will sleep in their own beds tonight, or in the home
of whomever is cooking the big bird." She sampled Sarah’s
eggs and smiled. "It’ll just be Roy and myself for dinner.
You’ll be able to sleep in since I won’t need you here. But
I imagine your mother will have plenty for you to do."
"Hmmm, jah, she will." Sarah sipped coffee and watched
two Cardinals squabbling at the suet feeder. "Why will it
just be you and your husband? What about your children—
aren’t they coming to celebrate the holiday?" She sat down
her fork. Two people alone on Thanksgiving didn’t seem
right.
"No," Lee Ann said, dragging out the short word. "My
daughter lives in Baton Rouge with her three kids—too far
to drive and too expensive to fly home. I’m hoping to see
them at Christmas, but even that’s doubtful. Her husband’s
afraid to take a few days off with so many coworkers
getting laid off at his plant. He plans to wait and see how
things look the week before." She quickly ate another
forkful of omelet. "Umm, this does taste better with melted
Swiss instead of mild cheddar. Good idea!"
Lee Ann’s brave effort hadn’t fooled Sarah as she
refilled both coffee cups. "What about your son? Doesn’t he
live in Virginia? That’s not as far away, is it?" She
couldn’t remember exactly where Louisiana was. Her teacher
had once shown the class a map of the United States, but
it’d been long ago.
"Yes, he lives in northern Virginia, part of the
suburban sprawl around Washington, D.C. He has the opposite
problem from my son-in-law. His company is so busy people
must come to work seven days a week. Can you imagine, even
going to the office on the Sabbath? My son has so little
time, he’ll never find the right person to marry unless
some gal stalks him to and from Starbucks."
Both women shook their heads.
"He’ll get Thanksgiving off but must be back in the
office on Friday. So he can’t come home either. I guess I
should’ve had more kids than two. Maybe if I had six like
your mom I’d have a better chance for company during the
holidays." She rose to her feet. "Eat more eggs," she
ordered. "That’s not enough to save, and Roy already ate
cereal."
"No more for me, danki," said Sarah.
Lee Ann ignored her refusal and promptly scraped the
remaining omelet onto Sarah’s plate. "Nonsense, you’re too
thin. If we don’t add some meat to your bones, you’ll blow
away when the wind howls across the fields this winter."
Sarah pushed the food around her plate with a troubled
heart. Mrs. Pratt was acting bravely, but Sarah knew
loneliness had arrived a day early. Without guests tonight,
she and Mr. Pratt would have too much time on their
hands. "Will you cook a whole turkey for just two people?"
she asked.
"A turkey? No, child, I bought the biggest chicken in
the grocery store. I’ll stuff her with sage dressing and
roast her in the oven. Then we’ll pretend she gobbled while
walking the earth, instead of clucking." She laughed while
carrying her dishes to the sink.
Sarah ate another bite; then scraped the rest into the
disposal. "Isn’t there an English law that you must eat
turkey tomorrow? Even if there isn’t, I want you to join us
for dinner. Believe me, we’ll have more food than we’ll
know what to do with."
Her boss patted her arm and then wiped down the stove
and countertops. "That’s very nice of you, but your mother
doesn’t need any more people in her house. If Adam brings
the entire Troyer clan, you’ll end up sitting on steps and
windowsills the way it is." She reached for a large serving
tray.
Sarah blocked Mrs. Pratt’s path to the dining
room. "Please, I want you to join us. It would mean a lot
to me if you came."
For a moment, the sweet-faced woman stared at her. "All
right, Sarah, thank you. But make sure you warn your family—
my husband always makes a pig of himself with the candied
yams. Better yet, I’ll bring the yams so I’m certain
they’ll be enough." She stepped around Sarah and began
stacking the dirty cups and plates.
Sarah looked through the pass-window and noticed two
things different about Mrs. Pratt: Her left dimple had
deepened, and she was singing along to the radio. Other
than Sunday mornings in the church choir, the innkeeper
hadn’t sung since the Cleveland basketball team had made
the play-offs.
While Sarah stripped beds and ran the vacuum sweeper,
thoughts of Mrs. Pratt ran through her head. How could her
children even consider not coming home for Christmas? Other
than attending church, how else would people celebrate the
Lord’s birth if not by spending time with family? Some
folks’ loved ones might have already passed on, or maybe
they were never blessed with siblings or children, but how
could a woman not see her grandchildren on Christmas
morning?
Christmas Eve was the holiest time of the year.
Everything seemed to look prettier, smell sweeter, and
taste more delicious on that special night. Even the stars
shone brighter in the night sky. Although Plain folk didn’t
decorate trees or their homes like Englischers, they
enjoyed their own traditions. Since she’d been a little
girl, her daed would build up the fire in the woodstove
after supper and they would gather around to sing carols
and eat Christmas cookies with tall glasses of milk. Later,
he would read the story of Jesus’ birth from his well-worn
Bible. Excitement filled everyone’s hearts when they
finally crept upstairs to bed.
That afternoon when she finished work, Sarah hugged Mrs.
Pratt tightly, exacting a promise to come for dinner the
next day. Joy from doing a good deed buoyed her spirits as
she walked the back lane home. However, her pleasure lasted
less than halfway. She remembered only five of the six
Beachy kinner would be at her mother’s Thanksgiving table
tomorrow. How quickly her eldest brother had slipped from
her mind, like a casual schoolmate who’d moved to another
county after graduation.
Caleb, quiet and sometimes sullen, spirited and
temperamental, had left home five years ago and hadn’t been
back since. He’d been nineteen, Sarah’s present age, when
he’d joined a construction crew headed for Cleveland. Caleb
had grown rebellious during his Rumschpringe—arguing with
daed, neglecting chores, and forgetting his Amish friends
in favor of Englischers he’d met at work. Her father had
assumed he would return when his work on the housing
renewal project was finished. Mamm had assumed he’d come
back once big city excitement lost its appeal and he grew
lonesome for his family.
Both had been wrong.
With tomorrow’s big dinner and Christmas fast
approaching, would Caleb’s absence even be noticed in a
house bulging with people? Or like Isaac’s prodigal son,
will the absent child leave a void that those who had
stayed behind could never fill?