Richard was glad that his residency was finally over. It was as if he was redeemed. Once he became a staff OB/GYN at the hospital, his relationship with his father changed. After eleven years, all told, his life was no longer under his father’s microscope. Discussions with his father morphed into professional camaraderie. He supposed that in his father’s eyes he was now a fellow OB/GYN and therefore deserving of his admiration and respect.
He made his way to the kitchen. The one-bedroom apartment had a small kitchen area, which was called a kitchenette. It served him well when he lived there alone, but with Theresa moving in, it got a bit tight at times. They planned to move to a three-bedroom apartment nearer the hospital when they got married. He turned on the small TV to view the holiday festivities.
***
The town of Wallington had two special days; the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving. These were special days for one big reason. The town, being the home of the prestigious Harding Institute of Music also housed the Wallington High-Step Marching Band. Under the leadership of Warren (Pop) Werner, the school blossomed from a local training facility for the town’s band, to a nationally acclaimed institute with over three hundred students.
WHSMB was the town’s pride and joy. On the Fourth of July, the high-stepping musicians paraded down Main Street behind a procession of floats and balloons and before the TV cameras that broadcast the festivities over the nation’s top three TV networks.
On Thanksgiving Day, however, the residents of Wallington had to settle for watching their band on TV. This year, as they had done the past ten years, the Wallington High-Step Marching Band participated in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City. Proud townsfolk yelled and cheered at their TV sets as the band entered their screens. It was a day of celebration for this town of 28,000 residents.
The parade show was already in progress. Richard was like a little kid when it came to parades. He was glad to be able to view the parade in town on the Fourth. He would probably miss the band’s parade appearance again this year. It seemed that they always performed while he was on his way to his parents’ house. It was times like this he wished that he had a DVR recorder for his TV. That’s going to be a must when we move to our new place. He had promised his mother that they would get there by noon and since this was also going to be a special day for him and his for his fiancée, he wanted everything to be perfect.
Richard went back to the bathroom to shower, shave, brush his teeth, and do the rest of his grooming. When he was finished he put on a robe and headed back to the kitchen.
“Do you want me to make anything for you?” Theresa asked as she poured him a cup of coffee.
“I think I’ll just have some toast with a smear of peanut butter.”
“Saving room for the turkey?”
“You bet. Everything Mom puts out is so delicious, especially her stuffing. I can’t resist having seconds.”
“I’m looking forward to having Thanksgiving dinner with your family. Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. Last year I was on duty and I just had some dried out turkey and mashed potatoes in the duty room.”
“Did you ever go back to Faribault for Thanksgiving?”
“No. I made a few Christmas trips, but never on Thanksgiving.”
“Did they ever try to get you to move back to Minnesota?”
“You mean did they ever stop trying? Faribault is just sixty miles from the Mayo Clinic at Rochester. It was their dream that I work there. I did apply, but as you can imagine the number of applications for RNs that they must receive in one year is probably in the thousands. Even though I was virtually a home town girl, they never even invited me for an interview. I guess I should consider myself lucky, though. If I had gone out there, I would be all alone now and I would never have met you.”
He leaned over and gave her a prolonged kiss that they both understood to be invitation to return to the bedroom for some lovemaking. It was quite possible that they might arrive late at his parents’ house, after all.
Chapter 6
8:30 a.m. at the Symington Household
Marilyn removed the turkey from the refrigerator. Twenty pounds made for a bulky bird to wash and prep for her special stuffing, which was a traditional “old family recipe” handed down by five generations of Porters—a recipe she would pass on to Maggie when the time was right. The only copy of the recipe was written on a yellowed sheet of paper torn from a school notebook back in the early nineteen hundreds. It was hidden away under the book jacket of a book on spices. She thought for a moment how funny it was that people hid family recipes as if they were treasure. She guessed that the reason was that if they were to become too commonplace, the very thing that made them special and appreciated would somehow be lost. Eventually she would pass the recipe on to Maggie, but for now she intended to hold the secret close to her heart.
Marilyn carefully washed the bird, placed it in the roasting pan, and returned it to the refrigerator. She put the liver and giblets in boiling water for five minutes, chopped both into small squares, and set them aside as ingredients for her stuffing. She didn’t need to reference the paper to make her stuffing. She knew it by heart and had spent about an hour earlier in the week locating and measuring all of the ingredients she would need. A trip to the store secured those missing or in low supply. Marilyn always made her stuffing alone. Alone meant alone; no one dared to venture into the kitchen while her culinary masterpiece was being prepared. There were several reasons why she needed privacy, but mostly it was to avoid sharing the secret of the family recipe.
The final result always brought accolades; her turkey stuffing was “to die for.” She smiled inwardly as she saw the expression of approval on the face of anyone tasting it for the first time. There were a lot of mistakes a person can make while roasting a turkey, but for the most part, no one judged the turkey anywhere near as much as they did the stuffing. There were probably tens of thousands of regional recipes for stuffing in the United States, each with a unique ingredient or ingredients that made it stand out from the others. Marilyn wasn’t at all interested in competing with any other recipe. She just wanted to serve a stuffing her family would enjoy; the one that her mother had passed down to her and that she, one day, would pass on to Maggie.
Ron was her best judge. “This is really great,” he usually said and his opinion was the one she appreciated the most. His mother had been considered by many to be an outstanding cook, but he told Lynn the very first year she made her stuffing for him that his mother’s stuffing couldn’t hold a candle to hers. That alone was worth a lifetime of compliments. Life doesn’t always provide a lot of kudos for housewives and mothers, so any time they are compared favorably to their own or their spouse’s mothers, it is cherished. Several times she considered letting him taste it before the meal, but her confidence in her personal culinary skill would not allow her to do so.
She worked methodically, being careful to measure each ingredient as she blended them into the sixteen quart clear glass mixing bowl. Every step was done by hand; just as it had been done for over one hundred years. That, she always believed, had a lot to do with the success of the final product. Too often, would-be chefs tampered with “old family recipes,” thinking that folks in bygone years didn’t know enough about spices and herbs from around the world. Their improved recipes may have turned out passable, possibly even superb, but to refer to the stuffing as “authentic” was a true misnomer.
Although it defied logic, Marilyn believed that the ingredients, the measurements, and the timing of mixing-in each ingredient was important; as if there was some magic to when and how they entered the mix. She wasn’t going to argue with or change the process as it had been laid out on that notebook paper over a century ago. Her mantra, You don’t tamper with success.
She discussed this with her friends at the Wallington Women’s Social Club and was surprised that the majority of them felt that there was enough to do for Thanksgiving dinner without
slaving over the stuffing. Several of them were even completely happy with packaged stuffing. Marilyn shuddered at the thought.
It took her a little more than an hour to prepare the dressing. When it was finished she stuffed the turkey, stitched it up, stuck the thermometer in the bird’s breast, and placed it in the pre-heated oven. After setting the timer, she finally had time to relax with a second cup of coffee. She looked at the clock; Maggie wasn’t due for another half hour. She turned on the small TV on the counter and tuned in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. She liked the balloons and floats, but felt that the high school bands overlapped each other too much to really be enjoyed. There was also a similarity between them that took away from the overall spectacle. Of course, her opinion of parade bands did not apply to Wallington’s High Steppers. They put on such a magnificent show that the producers zeroed in on with coverage that included the commentary by Pop Werner, himself. He hasn’t changed a bit in twenty years. He’s just as cantankerous as he’s always been, but god—I wouldn’t miss watching him for the world.
Chapter 7
Maggie arrived right on time. She went straight to the kitchen, put her sack of groceries on the counter, and gave her mother a big hug.
“How are you doing, Mom?”
“Just fine, dear, everything is right on schedule. Did you get those things I asked you to pick up?”
“Yes, I did.” She reached in the sack for the cranberry jelly and the croissants. “They were out of the twelve-packs, so I got two six-packs.”
“That’s probably better. We may not have to open one of the packages then. Put them in the refrigerator, please. How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, that’s all right. Think of it as a substitute for the cheap bottle of wine I didn’t remember to bring.”
“It’s just as well that you didn’t. We’ve got plenty. Are you ready to get started?”
Maggie saluted. “Reporting for duty, Ma’am.”
“Good! You’ll find a clean apron in the towel drawer. You can start by peeling and cutting up the sweet potatoes. I’ll have the water boiling by the time you’re through. You’ll have to do the same for the white potatoes. I’ll be working on the apple and pumpkin pies. Thank god for my new double oven. I’d be lost without it. I don’t know how I ever cooked a Thanksgiving dinner without one.”
Maggie went right to work. She was happy to do the grunt work involved in the meal’s preparation; after all, someone had to do it. She would have been happier if her mother had asked her to come over early to show her the “secret” of the stuffing, but she knew that the “ceremony of the secret sharing” would not take place until her mother felt absolutely comfortable in doing so. In the meantime, she would just continue to pay her dues, as it were.
Marilyn’s kitchen was flurry of activity for the next two hours, interrupted briefly by Ron coming to say hello to Maggie, and the arrival of Richard and Theresa. With apologies, she scooted them all out of her kitchen. They settled in the living room to watch the parade on the wide-screen TV.
Wilson walked into the house shortly after his brother and fiancée arrived and went straight to the kitchen. His mother turned around, and a big smile showed on her face. “Oh. It’s so good to see you, son.” They met in the middle of the room for a lengthy hug.
“It’s good to see you too, Mom.” He handed her a bottle of wine. “I brought this for you.”
“Just put it on the counter with the others.”
Maggie stopped chopping vegetables, wiped her hands on her apron, and walked over to hug Wil.
“How’s it going, Bro?”
“Just fine, Mag. And you?”
“Same here.”
Lynn needed him out of her kitchen. “I hate to shoo you out right away, but you know the rules. Nobody’s allowed in the kitchen while Maggie and I are cooking. Your father, Richard, and his fiancée are in the living room watching the end of the parade. Why don’t you join them? I don’t think that you’ve met Theresa yet.”
“No, I haven’t.”
Maggie waved as he turned to leave. “Let’s get together later.”
“Sure thing, Mag.”
***
As soon as Wilson walked into the room, Richard started in. “Well, it looks as if Indiana Jones is joining us for dinner today,” taking a shot at Wilson’s cargo pants and shirt.
Deciding to be the better man, Wilson ignored the remark and turned to Theresa. “You must be Theresa, I’m so glad to meet you.” He gave her a big smile. “You seem to be a nice person, but I must question your taste in men.”
“Well, I’m pleased to meet you too.” Linking her arm with Richard’s, she continued, “But I must disagree with you about my taste in men. I know you’re his brother, but you’ve apparently overlooked the good qualities in this wonderful man here.” As she spoke, Theresa looked up lovingly at Richard and he smiled back at her.
Not wishing to continue the banter any further, Wilson answered, “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I’ve been too close to Saint Richard, here, to see all of his good qualities. That’s what I get for growing up with him.”
Wilson’s innocuous comment seemed to end the interplay. Ron piped in, “Have a seat, son. The parade is just concluding. The weather there is perfect and they had a record turnout. You missed the excitement just a few minutes ago when one of the floats broke free of its moorings. It’s a good thing the safety lines held or they would have had a spacecraft balloon floating over New York City.”
“That must have been fun to see,” Wilson said. “Can you imagine how a person who had too much to drink might have reacted to that? It could have been Orson Welles’ War of the Worlds all over again.”
They all found that amusing.
Theresa asked, “How are things working out for you at Wallington House?”
“It’s okay, I guess. The people there are very nice to work with, but it’s not a final destination for me. I’m job hunting, hoping to find something in logistics. That was my major at college.”
“I’m not familiar with logistics. What’s that about?”
“Basically, it’s the management of the flow of materials from one point to another. That includes handling of goods, warehousing, transportation and security. Virtually all of the commerce in the country involves logistics.”
“Well, good luck with that. I have a friend who worked at Wallington House one summer as an intern in their back office. She found it to be a nice place to work, as well.”
Richard saw an opportunity to get a barb in. He looked at Theresa as he said, “Actually Wilson, here, is very good at distribution. At least that’s what the judge said.”
Wilson glared at Richard. He switched his attention back to Theresa. “What my brother is alluding to is that I was prosecuted for ‘intent to distribute.’ The judge gave me the maximum sentence. I got out a few months ago and the job at the Wallington House was the only one I could find.”
Richard jumped in. “You should have thought of that before you got mixed up with the Abbots. People judge you by the company you keep, you know.”
Ron spoke directly to Richard. “Now you lay off that kind of talk. Wilson made a mistake and he paid the price for it. This is no way to act toward your brother. Your comments serve no purpose except to cause bad blood. I’ve warned you about this before. In this family we let bygones be bygones. Now I think you owe Wilson an apology.”
Richard got up, walked over to Wilson and extended his hand. “I’m sorry, Wilson. I was entirely out of line with what I said. Please forgive me.”
Wilson was taken aback by the gesture. He looked into his brother’s eyes and he could see that there was no sincerity in the words that were spoken. Still, he couldn’t very well refuse to accept the apology. “That’s okay, Richard, I know you meant no harm by it.”
Ron sat back in his chair. “Now that’s better. Let’s not forget that we’re here today to express our thanks for all the good things in our lives. Richard, you’re closest to
the remote. How about switching the channel to the pre-game show?”
Maggie joined them a while later. She sat down next to Theresa.
Ron asked, “How are things looking out there?”
“It’s all up to the bird now. I think we have at least another hour. It’s a big bird and Mom wants to roast him slowly. Everything else has been prepared and is ready to go. The maestro is orchestrating the dinner and I’ve been excused. I could use a glass of wine. I’m not allowed to have any while I’m working on the dinner.”
Ron poured her a glass and one for himself. Theresa, Richard, and Wilson went out to the porch to retrieve a few bottles of beer from a small refrigerator Ron kept out there to save unnecessary trips to the kitchen.
When they came back, they sat down in the same places as before and engaged in small talk about the football game for the next forty-five minutes, just as if nothing had happened.
Finally, Marilyn called from the kitchen, “Dinner in fifteen minutes.”
Maggie excused herself and went to help her mother get everything into serving dishes.
Chapter 8
Dinner Time
Turning to Theresa, Marilyn raised her wine glass. “Welcome to your first Symington Thanksgiving dinner. We’re all so happy you could join us.”
Theresa look a little flushed. “Thank you for inviting me. I’ve been anxious all week to meet Richard’s family. He’s told me a little about each of you.”
Ron laughed. “Well, don’t you believe everything he tells you. He’s got a very active imagination and an equally poor memory.”
Siblings Page 3