The Gathering Place

by Thomas Kinkade

  “I hope she’s good,” Wyatt said. “It’s hard to put out a paper every day with almost no staff.”

  Emily saw Dan tense at his son’s words. And she also saw him pause before answering. “Sorry I left you shorthanded, Wyatt. Crown News keeps picking off my best reporters. I did mean to fill the spots before you came,” he apologized.

  “No problem. We’ll manage all right. I’d rather hire my own staff anyway,” Wyatt added in an offhand manner. “Well, got to get going. See you later. And happy Thanksgiving, Emily.”

  Emily glanced at her watch. “I’d better go, too.”

  “So soon?” Dan’s reluctance to see her go secretly pleased her. “Why don’t you stay? Have dinner with us. We have a real live chef-in-residence. And I have it on good authority that truffles are involved in the menu.”

  She met Dan’s warm gaze and nearly gave in to the invitation. “Sounds very tempting. But I really must get over to my mother’s. I’m bringing the dinner, turkey and all.”

  “All right, another time then.” Dan leaned over from his wheelchair and picked up a canapé. Emily could see it was melted Brie with slivered almonds. “You ought to try one of these at least. They look delicious.” He held the dish out to her, and she took one. “I hope Wyatt doesn’t take too long at the paper,” he added wistfully. “It’s pure torture smelling that turkey all day. I don’t know why I get so hungry sitting in this chair. Just bored, I guess. By the time I’m ready to get back on my boat, I’ll probably sink it.”

  “Unlikely,” Emily replied. The gourmet tidbit in her hand suddenly didn’t seem as appetizing, but she took a taste anyway, trying hard not to think about the day Dan would leave town.

  Then he glanced at her and smiled in that way he had that made her feel they shared some private joke, some secret knowledge. And she smiled back, resolved to enjoy whatever time they had together, even if it was going to be far less than she hoped for.

  TEN MINUTES LATER, EMILY ARRIVED AT HER MOTHER’S HOUSE ON PROVIDENCE Street. It took two trips from her Jeep to carry everything inside, and all the while her mother stood in the foyer, clutching her sweater to her chest and giving Emily directions.

  “I’ve turned the oven on to warm it. But I don’t think you should put any of the food in yet. The turkey will dry out. Especially the white meat. It ruins the whole holiday.”

  “Don’t worry. The turkey won’t dry out,” Emily assured her.

  Walking carefully with the use of her cane, Lillian followed Emily into the kitchen. “I thought you’d be here hours ago. You told me eleven o’clock. It’s nearly one.”

  “I believe I told you twelve, Mother. But what’s the difference? I’m here now. It’s only the three of us.”

  Their only guest today would be Dr. Ezra Elliot. He had been their family doctor forever, and even after his retirement, he remained a good friend and just about the only person in town who could argue with her mother and win.

  Lillian sniffed and pulled a bit of lint off her sweater sleeve. “Three is plenty. I prefer a quiet holiday. I hardly need to be caught in some wild mob scene at the Morgans’ house, which I imagine is not well suited for entertaining. Most houses on that side of town are quite small, you know.”

  “Well, it would have been nice to join Jessica and Sam,” Emily said, referring to her younger sister, Jessica, who had recently married Sam Morgan—against her mother’s wishes. The Morgans were a warm, charming family, and Sam’s parents were wonderful cooks. Emily was sure that their gathering was going to be crowded, but also lively and fun.

  “We could still go over after dinner for dessert,” Emily reminded her.

  “You may go if you like. I don’t need to rush through my dinner.” Lillian sighed and sat down heavily in a kitchen chair. “Bring me those string beans, please. I’ll clean them.”

  Emily brought her mother a cutting board and a bowl of freshly washed beans. Lillian’s fingers moved in a stiff, but determined, fashion as she set about cleaning the vegetables.

  Even though Lillian had finally relented and attended Jessica’s wedding, she was still holding the line against Sam. Lillian had not for one moment considered Jessica’s invitation to join the newlyweds at Sam’s parents’ house for Thanksgiving. Emily had wanted to go, but she couldn’t let her mother spend the holiday alone.

  Emily picked up a mushroom and sliced it in half. As always, her obstinate mother needed time. And she and her sister needed patience.

  The doorbell sounded, and Lillian turned in her seat. “That must be Ezra.”

  Emily wiped her hands on a towel. “I’ll get it.”

  When she opened the door, she was surprised to see that Dr. Elliot was not alone.

  “Hello, Ezra. Hello, Luke. Happy Thanksgiving,” she greeted the two men.

  “Happy holiday, Emily.” Ezra leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I persuaded Luke to come along. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

  Dr. Elliot looked neat and dapper, as usual, in a black topcoat, a dark gray suit, and a red bow tie. He carried a bouquet of flowers and a box of fancy chocolates for her mother. Luke carried a small pot of dark red chrysanthemums. The peace offerings would be needed today, Emily thought.

  “Of course not. Go on in. Mother is waiting for you,” she told Ezra. She turned to Luke and smiled. “Happy Thanksgiving, Luke. Glad you could join us.”

  Luke smiled back but seemed uncomfortable. He’d traded his usual leather jacket and T-shirt for a tweed sports coat and a turtleneck sweater, a definite sign of his apprehension in coming here.

  “It was Ezra’s idea. He wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Luke explained. “But I don’t want to intrude. If it’s any bother at all, please just say so.”

  “Nonsense, of course it’s no bother. We have more than enough food,” Emily insisted. She wondered why he hadn’t gone back to his family in Boston for the holiday, but didn’t feel comfortable asking. “If I’d known you were going to be alone today, I would have called you myself.”

  She touched Luke’s arm, leading him into the living room. “Mother, look who’s here—Luke McAllister.”

  Sitting on the high-backed velvet armchair, Lillian peered up at him and made a disgruntled sound.

  “Mr. McAllister. How nice of you to join us,” she said curtly, “though I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

  Luke’s expression remained impassive, though Emily noticed color rising up around his collar.

  “Now, Lillian, don’t make a liar out of me. I promised Luke you wouldn’t mind a bit if he came along,” Ezra cut in. “Where’s your hospitality, for goodness’ sake? Today of all days.”

  “Yes, Mother. Where would we all be if the Pilgrims and Native Americans had taken the same attitude?” Emily added.

  “Thank you for the etiquette tips, Ezra. And for the history lesson,” Lillian added, glancing at her daughter. She sat back in her chair and pursed her lips. “Do have a seat, Mr. McAllister. Of course, you’re welcome to join us for dinner. I never said you were not.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Warwick.” Luke sat on the camel’s hair sofa and nearly smiled. But not quite, Emily noticed. “Please call me Luke.”

  Emily cast Luke an encouraging glance, then excused herself to retreat to the dining room. She added an extra place setting, then took Ezra’s bouquet into the kitchen and put the flowers in a vase. Her mother could be impossible, she reflected, but Luke, who had been a Boston police detective, had undoubtedly handled worse.

  He’ll have to get used to her anyway if he and Sara get more involved, Emily thought, as she arranged the flowers on the dining-room table. It was hard to tell if Sara and Luke were actually dating, or whatever it was young people did these days. But something definitely seemed to be there.

  Sara had told Emily that at one point she was so torn about whether to tell Emily the truth about their relationship that she almost went back home for good. It was Luke who had persuaded Sara to think it through and stay—and finally to tell Emi
ly who she really was. For that alone, Emily would be forever grateful to him.

  Back in the kitchen, Emily checked on the food warming in the oven. Just as she closed the oven door, Luke appeared in the doorway. “Need any help?”

  “Escaping from the living room already?” Emily teased him.

  Luke grinned. “I just thought you might need a hand.”

  “There are a few pots in the sink. One has burned stuff on the bottom. You might need to let it soak.”

  “No problem.” Luke draped his sports jacket on the back of a chair and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Burned pots are my specialty.”

  “Mine, too. Burning them, I mean,” Emily offered, making him laugh.

  They worked together in silence for a few moments. Then Luke said, “So, have you heard from Sara at all?”

  “She called this morning to wish me a happy Thanksgiving. I was surprised,” Emily admitted. “I’m sure she’s very busy. It was sweet of her to think of me.”

  “Yes, it was thoughtful.” Luke nodded. “How did she sound?”

  “Very happy. I guess she’s missed her family more than she’s let on.” Emily paused and checked the simmering gravy. “I only hope she doesn’t decide to stay in Maryland.”

  “Do you think she will?” Luke’s tone was even, but Emily noticed a slight edge of worry.

  “No, not really,” she quickly answered. “She’ll definitely come back to start her job at the Messenger. You know how she’s dying to see her name in print.”

  “That’s right. Sara Franklin, ace reporter.” He smiled and set a clean pot on the drain board. “She’ll definitely come back for that.”

  Despite his easy tone, Emily knew it would hurt him if Sara didn’t return. But Luke was, what, about ten years older than Sara? Maybe even ready to make a serious commitment. Sara was really so young and getting a late start as it was. She’d waited to find me and untangle her past before pursuing a real career, Emily thought.

  It was hard to guess how things would wind up between Sara and Luke. But motherly of me to worry, she realized, with a secret grin.

  Emily pulled open the oven door again. No clues to be found there, only the warming food, another question of timing, one that was far easier to answer.

  “Looks like dinner is ready. Time to sit down.”

  With the help of their two guests, Emily transported the miniature feast from the kitchen. A few minutes later, the small group sat at the upper end of Lillian’s long mahogany dining table. The table had been taken from the Warwick family estate, Lilac Hall, about twenty years ago when the family was forced to vacate after Emily’s father’s financial scandal.

  While Lillian’s colonial was among the finest houses in town, it was still not large enough to comfortably accommodate such a grand piece. Nor her mother’s grand attitude, which, Emily knew, had never quite adapted to her change of fortunes.

  Emily had stopped in yesterday afternoon, and under Lillian’s watchful eye, she had set the table with fine china, sterling, and crystal. Now Ezra’s bouquet served as a centerpiece, a collection of autumn-colored blooms and greenery. To Emily’s surprise, she saw a look bordering on approval on her mother’s face as she surveyed her table.

  “My word. Everything looks delicious, Emily. You’ve outdone yourself, truly,” Ezra said, smoothing his napkin over his lap.

  Not nearly the gourmet fare at Dan’s, but it was a good job for a domestically challenged person like herself, Emily thought.

  “Looks great,” Luke agreed. “Are those fresh cranberries?”

  “The genuine article,” Emily assured him, “homemade cranberry sauce.”

  “Not much to that,” Lillian scoffed. “You simply boil the berries in water and sugar. Anyone can do it.”

  Emily noticed Ezra biting back a grin—or a wise retort.

  “Why don’t you say the blessing, Emily?” Lillian suggested. “Before the food gets cold.”

  Everyone at the table bowed his head. Emily took a breath, thinking the words of the prayer would come automatically. But for some reason she felt a knot of emotion suddenly well up in her throat. There seemed to be so much that she was truly thankful for; the familiar words of grace didn’t seem to cover half of it. She didn’t know where to begin.

  Finding Sara. Or rather Sara finding her was first and foremost. She had thanked the Lord above endlessly for that gift but knew it could never be enough.

  She sensed the others waiting and cleared her throat. “Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful meal and the good friends—and new friends—here to share it. Thank you for the well-being of all our friends and family, including those who are not with us today. Please let us carry the spirit of this holiday in our hearts every day, and keep us ever mindful of the love, guidance, and the many blessings you bestow upon us.”

  “Amen,” Ezra said happily, lifting his head. “You put it perfectly.”

  “Well said,” Luke agreed quietly.

  “She’s quite adept at speaking impromptu,” Lillian said. “Comes from being in politics, I suppose.”

  The comment was her mother’s idea of a compliment, Emily knew. Lillian had never been comfortable with either emotions or spontaneity.

  Emily let the remark pass and smiled at Luke. “Why don’t you start the turkey along?” she said, handing him the platter. “Ezra, you can pass the sweet potatoes whenever you’re ready.”

  The table was quiet for a few moments while everyone filled his plate.

  “I don’t hear much about your project lately, Mr. McAllister. Have you given up on it?” Lillian asked. Emily gulped down a bite of food. Leave it to her mother to start off with the most provocative topic—and in the most tactless way possible.

  “No, not at all.” Luke dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

  “Really? That’s too bad. I heard those children left town, and I hoped it meant you were finally coming to your senses and throwing in the towel.”

  Luke had moved to the town last spring. Despite the local gossip about him, Luke tried to keep a low profile when he bought some property from Dr. Elliot that included a few run-down summer cottages. He eventually decided to open a center there for disadvantaged city kids, a plan that caused a lot of conflict in the town and had nearly cost Emily her reelection. Her mother had been among the many who opposed the New Horizons program coming to Cape Light.

  “We sent the kids from the program back to Boston about two weeks ago,” Luke explained to Lillian. “The cold weather slowed down the outdoor work, so there wasn’t anything more they could do at the building site or at Potter Orchard. But we’re still working inside, turning the cottages into dorms.”

  “They look good, too. I took a peek the other day,” Ezra added.

  Lillian glanced at him. “It wouldn’t take much to improve those cottages. You let them run down terribly. I’m surprised you found anyone foolish enough to buy that property.” She turned back to Luke. “But, of course, you have a great deal of money from the police force.”

  Luke left the Boston police force two years ago, after a shoot-out in which his partner was killed and he was injured.

  “You managed to get yourself shot in the head or something, I heard,” Lillian went on in a disapproving tone.

  “In the leg,” Luke clarified. Emily could see him suppressing a grin.

  “Not as profitable as the head, but worth something, I suppose,” Lillian replied.

  “Mother, can we talk about something else?” Emily cut in.

  “Mr. McAllister and I are just getting acquainted,” Lillian insisted. “I barely know the man, and he arrives at my doorstep for Thanksgiving dinner. I can ask a few questions.” She promptly turned to Luke again. To his credit, he didn’t look the least bit flustered.

  “So, I heard you shot your partner? Is that true?” she continued.

  “Mother!”

  “Now, Lillian, you’ve gone too far,” Ezra said.

  Luke glanced at both of them with a look that said he coul
d take care of himself. “No, I didn’t shoot my partner. The department investigation concluded that I abandoned him in a high-risk situation. I don’t believe I did. . . . But I have very little memory of the event.”

  “Oh, yes. You were under the influence, I heard. Is that true?” Lillian pressed on. Emily sat back in her chair, her mouth nearly falling open. Ezra dropped his fork with a clattering sound, slowly shaking his head in dismay.

  “The memory loss was some sort of stress reaction. The drinking problem came later, after I was thrown off the force,” Luke said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But I got through that, too. In case you were wondering,” he added politely.

  “Yes, I did wonder. You don’t look like a drunk, though. I will say that for you.”

  “Why thank you, Mrs. Warwick. How kind of you to notice.” To Emily’s amazement Luke managed to sound sincere, almost gallant, instead of sarcastic.

  “No wonder you came all the way up to Cape Light,” Lillian said, cutting a small bite of turkey on her plate. “Trying to run away from your troubles, I suppose.”

  Ezra cleared his throat, and Emily was about to interrupt again herself when she noticed that Luke was nearly laughing at her mother’s inquisition.

  “Actually, it was the sea air, Mrs. Warwick,” Luke said, his eyes twinkling. “I heard it has great restorative powers.”

  “Restorative powers, my foot. Sit gazing at the ocean all day, and you’ll end up with arthritis. I guarantee it,” Lillian countered.

  “The cause of arthritis is not yet known, Lillian,” Ezra cut in curtly. “Neither is the cause of unrelenting rudeness, I might add.”

  Luke laughed out loud. Emily nearly did, then caught the daggerlike glance her mother was directing at Ezra. Eventually, her mother looked down at her plate and pushed it aside.

  “The white meat is very dry, Emily. I’m afraid you let the turkey warm much too long.”

  Instead of being taken aback by the comment, Emily sighed with relief. It was her mother’s way of signaling they could finally change the subject. “Here, try some gravy,” she suggested, passing the china gravy boat in her mother’s direction.