It was a sumptuous feast by any standard. Nathan and Carl and Will had rowed across the river and spent a full day hunting along the streams west of Montrose. Mary Ann had specifically ordered the things she wanted them to get, but that was easier said than done. Twice they heard the gobble of wild turkeys, but they never even got to see them. But they did bag three quail, two Canadian geese, and a yearling buck deer. Joshua had his drivers round up two bushels of apples, a large sack of potatoes, a whole wagonload of pumpkins—most of which Joshua then gave away to neighbors and friends—and enough flour, sugar, and honey to make a dozen pies. The children scoured the river bottoms for currants and other edible roots and berries, while the wives scrubbed the house until it shone.
On the thirtieth, Jessica took a rare holiday and dismissed school, mostly so that Peter and the McIntire girls could watch the store and tend the children, which would free the women to spend the day cooking. Joshua and Caroline had the biggest house, so they decided to have the gathering there, but even then, with the Pottsworths, there were thirty-one people coming to dinner, counting the babies. So out went the furniture and in came sawhorses and long planks. Two long tables were set up and tablecloths spread over them. Each family contributed their finest dinnerware to provide the place settings. When everything was in readiness, they all trooped back to their individual homes to wash and change. Promptly at six p.m., the banquet began.
Benjamin stood at the head of the table and surveyed the faces around him. The room grew very quiet. “I think it is appropriate if we say a word or two before we begin. Mama tells me that we have a few minutes before the meat is done.”
Mary Ann nodded beside him.
“As you know, this is Thanksgiving Day. I don’t know why we haven’t paid much attention to it before, but I, for one, am glad that your grandmother and Caroline proposed that this year we do so.”
“Hear! Hear!” Nathan called out.
“Rather than hearing some long, boring talk from me, Mama and I would like to propose something else. We would like each person to think of one thing that they are particularly thankful for on this day and then tell us about it. It doesn’t have to be the most important thing in your life. It doesn’t have to be important to anyone else but you. Just tell us the one thing for which you are most thankful. That includes the children. When the last is finished, we’ll ask Nathan to return thanks on the food and then we’ll eat.”
Murmurs of assent rippled through the family and heads were nodding. He looked down at Mary Ann and took her hand. “I would like to begin.” Every eye turned to him now, and he straightened noticeably. “This was hard for me, because so many things came to mind. But . . . A year ago in July, I was lying on my bed, too weak to move, thinking I was going to die. But I didn’t. So I am thankful for the gift of another year of life, another year to be with all of you”—he looked down at Mary Ann—“and another year to be with this woman. She still has much to teach me and I’m trying to learn.”
He sat down amid murmurs of affection and approval. Then, as it quieted, everyone looked around. He hadn’t designated any order and they weren’t sure who was next. Benjamin noted the momentary confusion, but said nothing. After a moment, Joshua slowly stood. “I would like to be the first after Pa.” He looked at his father and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Pa. You said we could say only one thing, but I have two things that I am grateful for. First . . .” He looked around at the family. “First, like Pa, I am glad that I am sitting here tonight at this table with my family. I nearly died too, but it’s more than that. I spent many years away from this table and away from you, and it is good to be back.”
He took a deep breath and looked at Will. “Second . . .” Now his voice betrayed him, and he looked down. His hands gripped the back of his chair until the knuckles were white. Finally, he looked up. His gaze was still on Will. His eyes were filled with tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I think you know what the second thing is.” And he sat down. Two seats away from him, Will was blinking rapidly, trying to hold in his own emotions.
Joshua was barely down before Caroline was up. She had Charles in one arm, but she reached out with her other hand and laid it on Joshua’s shoulder. Her lower lip was trembling, but when she spoke her voice was clear and steady. “I am thankful for a God who hears and answers our prayers and who has brought our son home again.” She sat down.
Olivia and Will both started to get up, but Jessica beat them to it. Her head was up and her eyes were dry, but the effect of her words was even more powerful than if she had been weeping. “I am thankful for John Griffith. Though he is not with us now, he was a blessing to my life that will last into the eternities. He gave me three wonderful sons.” She looked down at Rachel. “And he was a good father to my daughter. And . . .” A wonderful joy filled her eyes. “And he taught me the meaning of love.”
And so it went. It was not just a catalog of thanks, but a litany of remembrance and a listing of blessings. Lydia spoke of peace found and purpose renewed. Nathan said he was thankful they had followed Benjamin’s advice and gone back to Palmyra because of what it had meant to Lydia’s parents and to him and Lydia. Their Emmy, every bit the miniature replica of her mother, brought smiles all around when she gave thanks for her new little sister. Lydia wasn’t due yet for another month, but Emmy wanted a sister, and so a sister it had to be.
Olivia also spoke of Will. Then, a little chagrined, she admitted that the piano her father had bought for her was also a treasure for which she was especially grateful. Abigail Pottsworth gave thanks for newness—a new country, a new start, a new “family,” and a new life among the community of Saints. Jenny expressed joy in being able to hear the Prophet Joseph Smith in person. Peter said he was grateful that Derek had found the Pottsworths and helped them come to America.
Like his father, Will stood but couldn’t finish. He didn’t have to. When he finally sat down, shrugging helplessly, there were tears enough around the table to say it all. Young Joshua and Rachel both said they were thankful for the gospel. Redheaded Savannah was thankful for Will and her grandpa. Jennifer Jo McIntire (with two Jennys now, everyone had followed Matthew’s lead and taken to calling her by her full name) expressed gratitude for two people, both of whom were gone from her life—her mother, dead now for over a year, and Matthew, gone to England.
Kathryn echoed those sentiments regarding their mother, then thanked God for the new “mother” he had given them as a replacement. With that comment, everyone looked at Jessica and smiled. Now she couldn’t stop the tears from rising up. Jennifer and Kathryn McIntire were far more now than just her boarders, and everyone knew it. Carl surprised everyone by talking mostly about how happy he was that he and Melissa had come west. Melissa almost duplicated Caroline in thanking God for answering prayers.
When it had gone all the way around, Benjamin turned to Mary Ann. “Mother?” he said gently. “I think you’re the last.”
She rose to her feet and let her eyes move slowly across the whole group. They were shining with happiness and contentment. “There is only one thing I ever really wanted, and that was to have all of my family together with me. I knew it was not possible. I knew it was only the dream of a sentimental old grandma. And yet, here it is. Here you all are.” She smiled down at the Pottsworths. “And how happy we are that our family keeps growing.”
“But what about Matthew and Derek, Grandma?” Emily asked with concern. “They’re not here right now.”
“Oh yes they are, Emmy,” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her heart. “Oh, yes they are.”
“And that about says it all,” Benjamin said as she sat down. “Nathan, would you offer grace on the food, please?”
Jennifer Jo tiptoed into the bedroom and shut the door quietly behind her. Moving carefully so as not to bump anything and awaken Kathryn, she crept to the bed and started to get into it. Then she heard the soft sound of crying. “Kathryn?”
Her sister rolled over, and in th
e faint moonlight coming through the window Jennifer Jo could see the wet streaks on her cheeks. “Kathryn, what is it? What’s the matter?”
There was a quick shake of her head, and another convulsive shudder ran through her body.
“Kathryn,” Jennifer Jo said, lying down beside her and putting an arm around her. “Peter didn’t do it to hurt you.”
“I know.” It came out in a strangled little whisper.
Jennifer Jo sighed. This was not the first time Kathryn had gone to bed with tears because of Peter, and normally Jennifer just tried not to smile as she gave Kathryn the comfort she needed. Kathryn was still only fourteen years old, and her feelings for Peter hovered between juvenile infatuation and adoring adulation. Two years her senior, Peter was, for the most part, blithely unaware of the torture he was putting her through. They were good friends, but Kathryn read so much more into it than he did. And thus the constant seesaw between ecstasy and despair. On one day, Peter would share a poem with her that he had written or slap her playfully on the shoulder, as he would any other friend, and she would come home dreamy eyed and keep her sister up for hours talking about it. Then he would turn right around and go days on end acting as though he barely knew her. Those were the nights for the tears.
Jennifer Jo talked to Jessica about it once, but Jessica had just smiled and said that that was part of growing up for girls. Let Peter and Kathryn mature some more, she counseled. One day, and perhaps soon, he will open his eyes and see that Kathryn has become a lovely young woman. He will start to notice how comfortable she makes him feel, and how much they have in common. And then everything will be fine. In the meantime, they just had to help Kathryn learn to be patient.
This had proven to be wise counsel, until Jenny Pottsworth arrived, and then for Kathryn, the world seemed to collapse.
Jenny was fifteen, only a year older than Kathryn, but in many ways Jenny was leagues ahead of Kathryn. Not only was she more physically mature—much more a woman—than Kathryn, but she was emotionally and intellectually two or three years ahead of most fifteen-year-olds. And that was no surprise. Jenny had started working in the textile mills at age nine. The Steed family had been horrified one night a few days after the Pottsworths’ arrival when Sister Pottsworth told them about the shameless exploitation of children in industrial England. Even with the law Parliament finally passed in 1834, children under the age of eighteen were still working sixty-nine hours per week! That was five twelve-hour shifts and a nine-hour shift on Saturdays. In essence, Jenny had been catapulted from childhood to womanhood, missing adolescence completely.
And Peter had done the same. Orphans battling together for survival, he and Derek had lived a lifetime by the time Peter was twelve. So this bond between Jenny and Peter was more than the usual friendship. They were products of the same bleak growing-up years.
“Kathryn,” Jennifer Jo finally said, not knowing how else to comfort her. “You have to remember that Jenny and Peter were good friends in England.”
“I know.”
“Good friends!” she said again. “That’s all they are now. Just good friends.”
Kathryn’s head came around and there was challenge in her eyes. “Did you watch Will tonight at dinner? Do you think he thinks they are only friends?”
Jennifer Jo didn’t answer because there was only one answer. She had seen it too. All through the Thanksgiving dinner, she had watched the pain in Will’s eyes too. Like Kathryn, he would wince when Jenny, in that totally natural way she had, would lay her hand across Peter’s and they would throw back their heads and laugh together. Like Kathryn, he would look away quickly when Peter would whisper something to Jenny and she would smile and nod in delight.
“She sat by him at dinner,” Kathryn began, her voice a mixture of sadness and anger. “She sat with him afterwards. She ended up as his partner when we played the games.”
“Sometimes that was just by accident.”
“Sometimes,” Kathryn conceded darkly. “And what about the singing? Was that by accident?”
Jennifer Jo looked away. That had proven to be the worst disaster of the night. After the games, Nathan suggested they gather around the piano and sing songs. With Olivia playing for some and Caroline accompanying others, they went through their old favorites: first the more spirited ones—“Yankee Doodle,” “Comin’ Through the Rye,” and “Ol’ Zip Coon”—then the slower ones, the ones with more feeling and emotion—“ ’Tis the Last Rose of Summer,” “Shenandoah,” “Flow Gently, Sweet Afton.” As they sang together, a wonderful, sweet mood descended on the whole family. And that is when it happened.
Jennifer Jo sighed. “I’m so sorry, Kathryn. When I suggested that Peter sing, I just assumed he would ask you to sing it with him.”
“So did I.”
Frowning, Jennifer Jo felt her own anger rising now. Lydia had sung one verse of “Amazing Grace.” It was beautiful, and all were touched. Then on impulse she asked Jessica to sing with her. The results had been a deeply moving experience for all. That was when Jennifer Jo got the idea to have Peter and Kathryn sing together and maybe salvage something from the night. Kathryn had a favorite song, and Peter liked it too. The name of it was “Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms.” Kathryn and Peter had sung it once as a duet in school, and so when Jennifer Jo made the suggestion she didn’t feel that she had to suggest both their names. She wanted the request for Kathryn to come from Peter, and not from her. And that was when disaster struck. Peter had not turned to Kathryn. He had turned to Jenny and asked her if she knew the song. She did, and that was that.
“It was so beautiful,” cried Kathryn. The anguish was heavy now. “I could never sing it that beautifully.”
“You do sing it beautifully,” Jennifer Jo said loyally. But it was true. If Lydia and Jessica’s song had deeply stirred the family, then Jenny and Peter’s stunned them. Both of their voices were so pure, so perfectly on pitch, that when they sang in unison, one had to listen closely to make sure there were two voices. And when they had sung harmony, Jenny’s rich alto blending into Peter’s clear-toned tenor, even Jennifer Jo had felt chills go up and down her back.
“It’s my song,” Kathryn suddenly burst out. “I taught it to him.”
Jennifer Jo’s eyebrows rose. “You did?”
“Yes. Margaret Naylor taught it to me.” Suddenly the tears were overflowing. “And she’s the one who told me the story behind it.”
“The story? What story?” Kathryn had never said anything about this before.
Kathryn sniffed back the tears. “It’s a true story, too,” she said mournfully. “There was once a man and a woman who were very happily married. The woman was considered to be one of the most beautiful women in all the country. She had long hair, and skin as fair as the clouds. They were very much in love. Then one day she was struck down with smallpox. She nearly died, and her husband was not allowed to see her, lest he catch the disease too. When she finally recovered, she looked in the mirror and saw that she was horribly scarred. Her beautiful hair was mostly gone. She was so devastated that she locked herself in her room and swore she would never again see the light of day.”
“So what happened?” Jennifer Jo asked, caught up totally in the story.
“Her husband pled with her to come out. He told her that he didn’t care what the disease had done to her, that he loved her anyway. But nothing he said changed her mind. Desperate, he went downstairs and got a pen and paper. And then . . .” She looked away.
Now Jennifer Jo was nodding. “And he wrote those wonderful words.”
“Yes.” Kathryn began to recite very softly.
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around t
he dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.
The room was quiet now, and Kathryn was staring at her hands. “He walked up the stairs and sang that song to her through the door. For a moment there was no sound, and then the door opened, and with tears in her eyes, the woman threw herself into her husband’s arms.”
Now Jennifer Jo fully understood what Peter and Jenny had done to Kathryn on this night. This was Kathryn’s dream. No matter that she was not as lovely as Jenny. No matter that she was not as mature and witty and composed and assured. Her Peter would someday see beyond those surface things and love her in spite of them. Singing that duet together in school had been their compact, their covenant to that fact. But tonight, the compact was shattered, the covenant was broken.
Jennifer Jo’s lips set into a tight line. It was not just Peter that she resented now. Maybe it was innocently done, but Jenny had caused deep pain this night. And Jennifer Jo could not simply brush that aside. She put her arms around Kathryn and pulled her close. “I’m so sorry, Kathryn. If only I had known, I would never have asked him.”
Chapter Notes
The Church was very much interested in the Wisconsin pineries, as they were called, as a source of lumber. For four winter seasons, commencing in the fall of 1841 and finishing in the spring of 1845, the Church ran sawmills along Roaring Creek and the Black River. With the influx of immigrants from England, these mills provided not only much-needed building materials but also employment for many brethren. Over those four years, the Church harvested an estimated one and one-half million board feet of milled lumber, over two hundred thousand shingles, and an unknown amount of loose logs, barn boards, and hewed timbers. (See Dennis Rowley, “The Mormon Experience in the Wisconsin Pineries, 1841–1845,” BYU Studies 32 [Winter and Spring 1992]: 119–48.)
For some reason, the traditional Thanksgiving Day feast so popular in New England lost its place out west. Indications are that even the Saints were not observing the holiday. Eventually, some Nauvoo Saints apparently did take up the observance of Thanksgiving, though it may not have been as early as depicted here in the novel. We do know that Martha Hall Haven, a convert from Massachusetts who was determined to renew her own family traditions, held a Thanksgiving dinner in Nauvoo in 1843, the first that is recorded there. (See Women, pp. 64–65.) Gradually, various states made Thanksgiving a legal holiday until finally, in 1863, President Abraham Lincoln issued a general proclamation that the last Thursday in November would be a national day of thanksgiving. It was not until the beginning of World War II that, in an effort to stimulate business by providing a longer Christmas shopping season, Thanksgiving was moved up a week to the fourth Thursday and was designated as a federal holiday.
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