Standing on the porch of the Wolfe family’s bungalow, Bernie adjusted his bow tie one last time. Nervousness, excitement, and apprehension created a flutter in his belly. He hadn’t been to a real family Thanksgiving since he was a boy, when his grandparents were still alive and the aunts, uncles, and cousins all gathered together. With Grandmother’s death, the family get-togethers ceased, and not until he’d received the invitation from Henry had he realized how much he missed being part of a family gathering.
But today, thanks to the Wolfes’ kindness, he’d once again have the chance to sit at a noisy table. But exactly how noisy, he couldn’t help but wonder. Would Helen have invited the man named Richard as a thank-you, too? A thank-you he didn’t deserve?
Pressing one palm to the buttons of his best blue suit coat, he raised his other hand and gave the doorjamb several brisk knocks. Within seconds the door creaked open, and a young girl with a thin, pale face and a tumble of shoulder-length sausage curls gazed up at him. Thick black lashes swept up and down with each blink of her bold blue eyes.
Bernie found himself immediately smitten. “Hello there. You must be Lois.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Bernie O’Day.”
The child hunched her skinny shoulders and took his hand in a quick, embarrassed shake. “Hello, Mr. O’Day. Will you come in, please?”
Wonderful aromas greeted Bernie’s nose as he stepped over the threshold. His stomach turned, but this time from eagerness rather than apprehension.
Lois closed the door behind Bernie then fixed him with a serious look. “May I take your hat?”
Her impeccable manners and formal speech belied her tender years. Bernie swallowed a grin and mimicked her courtly attitude. “Why, of course, miss. And thank you.”
A tiny giggle found its way from the little girl’s throat. She placed his hat on a chair in the corner then gestured toward a wide doorway at the far side of the simple parlor. “This way, please.” She led him through the doorway to a dining room where a long table covered in a crisp white cloth, flowered China plates, and gleaming silverware sat ready for Thanksgiving dinner. Bernie gawked in amazement. Helen had gone all out to make this dinner a festive affair. He quickly counted the chairs—six in all, but the one at the foot of the table had no place setting. Apparently he was the only guest. He nearly collapsed in relief.
Lois gestured toward a chair on the left-hand side of the table. “Helen, Henry, and Carl are dishing up the food right now. We’ll be eating in a few minutes. You can sit down, an’ we’ll be out in a little bit.” She dashed through a doorway in the corner of the dining room, her voice trailing after her. “He’s here, Helen! We can eat now!”
Bernie stood behind the chair, unwilling to sit until his hostess had taken her seat. Clanks, scuffles, and mumbled voices carried from beyond the doorway, painting a picture of busyness. He wished he could go in and offer his help, but he didn’t want to intrude. So he stood, gaze aimed at the doorway, alternately smoothing his hair into place with his palm and checking the buttons on his jacket while he counted down the seconds.
In less than two minutes, his patience was rewarded by a small parade led by Lois, who carried a basket of sliced bread and a round dish of creamy butter. Henry came next, his hands filled with bowls of steaming mashed sweet potatoes and buttery green beans. A shorter version of Henry—Carl, no doubt—clomped behind Henry with some sort of green wobbly tower balanced on a plate. And finally Helen emerged, holding a platter containing a beautifully browned turkey and a mound of moist stuffing. Bernie barely noticed the bird, however; he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman.
She’d done something different with her hair—pulled it up so it formed a smooth sweep from her slender neck to the crown of her head. Soft curls spilled toward her forehead. Her cheeks sported soft pink, and the color also graced her full lips. The deep blue of her two-piece, well-fitted suit brought out the bright blue of her eyes. She was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful.
The three younger Wolfe siblings placed their offerings on the table and settled into chairs with a noisy scraping of legs against the wood floor. Lois took the chair next to Bernie, and Henry and Carl sat side by side across the table, leaving the seat at the head for Helen. She wiped the back of her hand daintily across her perspiration-dotted brow and sent Bernie, who stood stupidly behind his chair staring at her, a shy smile. “Welcome to our home, Bernie. Won’t you be seated?”
Bernie darted to her chair and pulled it out. “Ladies first.”
Henry coughed into his hand, and Carl smirked. Bernie chose to ignore the boys and kept his focus on Helen. Her cheeks deepened—a natural blush much more appealing than the powder she wore—and she slipped into the chair, her head low.
“Thank you, Bernie.”
“You’re welcome.”
She smoothed her skirt over her knees and lifted her face slightly. “You already met Lois, and of course you know Henry. Please meet our other brother, Carl.”
The freckle-faced boy grinned at Bernie. “Hi, Mr. O’Day. Nice to meet’cha.”
Bernie stifled a chuckle at the boy’s lack of formality. He gave a quick nod in reply then returned to his chair, feeling clumsy compared to Helen’s swanlike motions. As soon as he sat, Carl reached for the nearest bowl—green beans—and started to serve himself.
Automatically, Bernie cleared his throat. “Would you like me to say grace?”
Carl’s hands froze on the serving spoon.
Bernie wished he could kick himself. He was a guest—he had no business inflicting his belief system on this family. But how could they sit down to such a fine feast and not offer thanks? He flicked a glance at Helen. She wasn’t smiling, but neither was she frowning. Her sweet face wore a pensive expression Bernie wished he could translate.
After a few tense seconds of silence, Helen folded her hands. “Please do so.”
Everyone folded their hands and bowed their heads, and Bernie delivered a short prayer of gratitude for the food and the hands that had prepared it. He finished, “Thank You, our Father, for Your bountiful blessings. May we be ever mindful of Your presence in our lives. Amen.”
Helen swallowed the lump that filled her throat at the sweetness in Bernie’s tone as he talked to the God he called Father. Dad had spoken to God with the same ease and familiarity, and as a child she’d experienced such security while listening to her father pray. Bernie’s prayer sent a spiral of warmth around her, as comforting as a cozy quilt on a winter day, but at the same time a chill whisked through her heart. The emptiness that had plagued her since her parents’ deaths and Richard’s departure returned, coupled with an aching realization: the emptiness was due to more than burying her parents and her dreams of a future with Richard; it was due to her decision to refuse God any part of her life.
Her hands shook as she carved the turkey and placed succulent slices on each plate. But no one seemed to notice her turmoil. Her brothers and sister passed the bowls and dove into the hearty meal. While they ate, they chatted with each other. And with Bernie. Carl and Lois seemed as at ease with this newcomer as if he’d visited a dozen times. Bernie, too, appeared completely comfortable after his initial shyness. He teased Lois, talked to Henry like a peer, and drilled Carl on baseball facts. Helen found she needed to contribute nothing to the conversation, which suited her—she couldn’t think of a thing to say—yet also left her feeling left out. Her topsy-turvy emotions confused her, and the food that she had so anticipated lost its appeal.
When they’d nearly emptied the bowls and consumed a good quarter of the turkey, the boys clamored for pie. Helen brought out the sweet potato and pecan pie made from Mom’s recipe and cut it into six equal portions. Conversation ceased while they ate dessert. Helen wasn’t sure if they’d all run out of words or if they were just too full to speak, but in the silence that fell—only the clink of forks on plates and satisfied sighs creating a soft backdrop—she grew more and more unsettled. If only she could make sense of her tumbling emotions!
As soon as the boys were finished eating, they staggered to their bedroom to change out of their church clothes, which Helen had insisted they wear for the dinner. Lois yawned widely and asked to be excused. Looking into the child’s dark-rimmed eyes, Helen decided not to insist Lois help with cleanup. Lois scuffed around the corner, and Helen and Bernie were left alone at a messy table with chairs all askew.
Bernie sat back and patted his stomach. “That was delicious, Miss Wolfe. Thank you so much for including me.”
“You’re very welcome.” Helen’s voice sounded unnaturally high. She cleared her throat and tried again. “After your kindness toward Henry, it’s the least we could do.” She hadn’t intended to intimate she’d invited him out of obligation, but she realized her statement could offer that meaning. She scrambled for a way of rephrasing, but before she could think of anything, Bernie spoke.
“Henry gives as much as he gets. He’s proved himself invaluable.”
Relieved that he hadn’t seemed to take offense, Helen rose and began stacking dirty plates. “He loves his job, and—truthfully—his income is very helpful.”
Bernie gathered silverware, filling both fists with forks, spoons, and knives. “I’d like to keep him on until he’s finished with school. But after that…”
Helen gestured for Bernie to put the silverware into the empty green bean bowl. When he’d released the handfuls of clattering silverware, she put the bowl on top of the plates and lifted the stack. “After that… what?”
Bernie sent her a serious look. “I’d like to see him quit working for me and go on to college. He’s a bright boy. He oughta aim higher than being the helper in a pawnshop.”
Although he’d paid her brother a compliment, his words stung. Mom and Dad had wanted college for Henry. But how would she provide it? Forcing a laugh to hide the hurt his comment had inflicted, Helen turned toward the kitchen. “Well, if Henry’s to attend college, my gift elf will need to leave more than school supplies and woolen socks on the porch. We’ll need a bag of gold.”
Bernie scurried after her. “Your gift elf?” Humor and interest tinged his tone.
Helen placed the dirty dishes on the counter then faced her guest. “Have you ever heard the story about the elves and the shoemaker?”
Bernie nodded.
“Apparently we have our own version. Someone…” It had to be Richard, trying to butter her up. Helen’s stomach churned. “… has left items on our porch once or twice a week for the past couple months. It reminds me of the little elves seeing to the needs of the shoemaker when he isn’t looking.”
A smile twitched on Bernie’s clean-shaven cheeks. He smelled of bay rum, too. He must’ve cleaned up and shaved right before coming over to look so fresh. Helen hurried to the dining room before the temptation to run her fingers along his smooth cheek overcame her.
He followed. “That story always reminded me of a Bible story—the one about a pitcher of oil that never ran dry. God made sure the widow and her son’s needs were met.”
Helen paused in gathering the dessert plates. She shifted slowly to look at Bernie. His open, honest gaze met hers. “Do you really believe God meets our needs?”
Without so much as a moment’s hesitation, Bernie nodded emphatically. “I believe that with all my heart. He might not meet them the way we think He ought to do it, but He gives us exactly what we need.”
The past months of worry, frustration, and heartache rose up in one mighty tidal wave of emotion and spilled from Helen’s mouth before she could stop it. “What I need most is a helpmate, and if God puts him on my front porch, maybe I’ll finally believe He really does care about me.”
Bernie stared at her, openmouthed and red faced. Embarrassed, Helen spun away from him. She reached for the last dessert plate, but as her fingers closed around it, a loud knocking sounded on the front door. “Excuse me,” she muttered and bustled through the parlor.
The knocking came again—harsh and impatient. Helen called, “I’m coming!” She threw open the door then stumbled backward in shock.
Richard Mason swept his hat from his head and gave a dapper bow. “Happy Thanksgiving, Helen!” His gaze roved from her head to her toes and up again. A knowing grin climbed his cheek. “You’re just as pretty as you always were.” He held out his arms. “How about a hug, honey?”