A Turkeyless Thanksgiving

A Turkeyless Thanksgiving By Silas L. Cheney (OARAH was perhaps no more than thirty-five, although as she k^j) puttered crossly about the stove preparing supper she appeared much older. Her life had been a trying one, especially since her marriage with John Sharp. Things had gone from bad to worse until at present they seemed to have reached a climax. There was no money in the house, not so much as a red cent, and it was doubtful when they would be able to get any. As an added mis- fortune, tomorrow was Thanksgiving and she was supposed to pre- pare the customary Thanskgiving dinner. "My, but won't it be a scrumptious affair," she muttered ironically. She heard John at the door sweeping the snow from his feet. A moment later he came in tired and wet. "Did you sell the sack of wheat?" she asked. "No," he replied slowly. "None of the stores would take it because, with the roads like they are, there isn't much chance for an outside market." It was the demise of their last hope of securing anything extra for Thanksgiving. She boiled with suppressed indignation which demanded some sort of outlet. "Well, that don't excuse you for bringing in all that snow/' she snapped. He looked in dismay at the snow still adhering to various parts of his clothing. "I couldn't help it, Sarah. It's pretty dark out- side, besides it's snowing so hard that it falls on about as fast as you can brush it off." He spoke gently, sensing the strain she was laboring under. The children were cross and troublesome and in her present state of irritation she slapped instead of fed them. "Isn't supper about ready?" he asked. "I think we'd ajl feel better if we had something to eat." "That's just like you; always thinking about eating instead of how to get something to eat," she spluttered. There was no use answering, so he remained silent, patiently waiting for her to set the table. Supper over and the children in bed, he sat watching as she cleared away the dishes. He felt sorry for her. They had suffered

42 IMPROVEMENT ERA one disappointment after another until he could hardly bear up under it. No wonder she was gradually giving away. "It's surely too bad I couldn't sell the wheat. Won't seem much like Thanksgiving without a turkey," he said. "No, nor anything else," she sneered. "Just look at the way we live. Look at the way we dress. Why my winter coat is so old and shabby even the moths won't live with it." "Everything seems to have gone against us, doesn't it? But I'm sure the crops will be good next year. It's seldom we have as late a frost as we had last spring," he rejoined. "But there's been something every year. Mighty queer that you have all the bad luck. Other men seem to get along all right. If the farm won't pay, why the blazes don't you find something else to do. Anything would be better than this groveling for an existence and then not quite making it." "Now, Sarah,, things aren't that bad. They're bad enough, of course, but why lose hope entirely. We have each other and four strong, healthy children. Surely that is something to be thankful for." "A lot of consolation that is when with it we're forced to suffer humiliation on every hand — almost starvation. It might be all right for an easy-going person like you, but I'd rather be dead!" she spoke bitterly without looking at him. He flushed slightly, then paled. A pained expression as of a wounded, adoring animal came into his eyes. After a time he arose slowly and prepared to go out. "Where are you going?" she asked disinterestedly. "To find some way of getting you a coat," he replied. Sarah laughed. "You're surely getting an early start," she said sarcastically. She was worn out, not so much from work as from worry, and shortly undressed, turned out the lights and went to bed. Some- time later he returned and crept in beside her. Next morning she awoke to find a warm fire and boiling water on the stove as usual, but John was nowhere to be seen. He had left a note on the table saying: "Dear Sarah, I won't be back before six o'clock. Have a good, hot fire, for when I came I'll bring a turkey. If I don't get back tonight there's something in the bottom of my trunk for you." "With love, John." An ironical expression overspread her face. It was just an- other of his absurd promises. She went about her work grudgingly

A TURKEYLESS THANKSGIVING 43 since it offered the same old monotonous routine. There was absolutely nothing about it suggestive of a holiday. By late afternoon she had reached the limit of her endurance, She simply had to get away from the house for a time at least. In her present state of mind merely gazing in at the shop windows would be a relief, and — of course — there was the remote possi- bility of finding something more diverting. So leaving the chil- dren in care of the eldest, she put on her wraps and went down town. The storm was much worse than she had thought, and by the time she reached the business district she was glad to take ad- vantage of the half-shelter afforded by the doorway of one of the stores. While standing there dreading to go farther in what was virtually a blizzard, the conversation of two men with backs to- ward her, attracted her attention. "I understand the mail went north this morning?" one was saying. "Yes. Interesting the way it came about, too," the other, who was the postmaster, replied. "It was important that it should go. but owing to this frightful snowstorm, the road over the moun- tain has become impassable even with a sleigh. The carrier hasn't been able to make the trip for four days now. Under the circum- stances we decided to get someone to take it over on snowshoes. I asked John Sharp yesterday if he would go, offering him $50 for the trip. He's a husky fellow, acquainted with almost every foot of the country around here and could do it if anyone could. He laughed at the idea. Said it would be as much as anyone's life was worth to tackle such a thing in this loose snow and blinding storm. I thought the matter ended but late last night he came over and said he would take a bag of the most important mail if I would have it ready by daylight this morning. So away it went. But with this storm keeping up I'm sorry I let him go. It's very questionable whether he'll be able to make it over, or even be able to get back once he lands un there on the mountain." So that was it. All the bitterness drained from Sarah's heart leaving only a sense of icy numbness. The storm no longer had terrors for her. Out she rushed, forgetting to raise her tattered um- brella. She reached home exhausted, but immediately commenced a mad search for the note he had left. Finding it. she read and re-read what he had written. Then her eyes became glued to the last line, "If I don't get back tonight there is something in the bottom of my trunk for you." In a trance she knelt before his trunk and opened it reverently; then began automatically to take things out, dropping them about her until she reached the bottom. There it was; a large thick envelope tied securely with a string. Quickly

44 IMPROVEMENT ERA she opened it and, after one glance at the contents, fell into hysterical screaming. It was John's life insurance policy for $2000. The children clung about her frightened and crying. "Oh. mama, don't do that," begged little Ralph. "Please — please don't." Gradually she subsided. There were duties to perform. She must take care of the children. They, at least, were left to her. It was nearly eight o'clock; time the children were in bed but they hadn't had their supper. The fire burned low and there was very little wood in the house. Some must be gotten. Securing a wrap she drew it snugly about her — then discovering that it was her winter coat, the one "too old for the moths to live with" she flung it aside as if it were contaminating and rushed out into the storm unprotected. Her thoughts tormented her badly enough while she was busy feeding the children and putting them to bed, but afterward, when everything in the house grew solemnly quiet, they became almost unendurable. There was no use sounding an alarm for a searching party since no one would go until morning at least. Besides what would people think of her? They must realize that it was she who had driven him to it. Time after time there ran through her mind the phrase: "Nothing to be thankful for — nothing to be thank- ful for!" and again, "But we have each other and the children, surely that is something to be thankful for." She wrung her hands in despair but gritted her teeth to keep control of herself, feeling that she could not give up again without going mad. Slowly, like a death watch, the time wore on; nine-thirty — ten. At every little noise she would spring to the door — then stumble slowly back to her seat. Ten; ten-thirty. As the hands worked their way around to eleven there came a slow, heavy, shuf- fling tread to the door as of someone carrying a heavy burden. "They are bringing him back dead. Oh — " and she flung her hands to her mouth to stifle the scream. Standing as if trans-, fixed, eyes wide with horror, she listened to the effort someone was making to sweep the snow from his feet. Then the door slowly opened. "John!" cried Sarah wild with joy as she rushed toward him. But John, mail pouch still strapped to his back, leaned heavily against the doorsill for an instant — then slid to the floor completely exhausted. She half dragged, half carried him to a rocking chair before the fire. Then hastily prepared some hot ginger tea which he eagerly drank. She removed his pack, his coat, his shoes; doing everything that could possibly be done to make him comfortable. When she

A TURKEYLESS THANKSGIVING 45 could contain herself no longer she sat on the arm of his chair and pressing her cheek fondly against his, asked tremulously: "John, why did you ever try to take the mail over the moun- tain when you knew how dangerous it was?" After a pause he replied with an effort. "I wanted to gei you a new winter coat. You've meant so much to me and the children that if I can't provide for you so you won't be humiliated at every turn — or if I can't give you something to be thankful for. I'm not much of a man. But Sarah, I failed again. I tried hard to make it — honestly I did — but the storm was against me. I'll do it yet, though; I'm trying it again day-after-tomorrow." "No, you're not!" she exclaimed emphatically. "You're not going a step. I don't want a new coat — I don't want anything. I've got enough." "No, my dear, you've hardly anything. You said yourself you had nothing to be thankful for, and you are right. Why, we haven't even a turkey," he concluded sorrowfully as he glanced toward the table which was barren of almost everything except a few used dishes. "Oh, John," she sobbed, "please forget what I said. As long as we have each other and the darling children, we have every- thing to be thankful for." Magna, Utah Our Best Friend (To Our Boys) When life seems a little gloomy, and the trail ahead looks dim, When you feel the blues have got you, and you're not sure that you'll win. When friends that used to know you, have a touch of Klondyke snow, When they pass you on the highway, may not even say Hello — There's a Friend who knows your troubles, understands them, one and all. Watching, guarding, — gently guiding. He who notes the sparrows fall. Tell Him all about it, Buddy, you will find He never fails. He's a friend who understands us, knows our weaknesses and ails. Go to Him when you're in trouble, ask Him for the things you need: When you think your friends have left you, you'll find Him a friend indeed. In this life of pain, and sorrow, sprinkled here and there with joy, You will find that God the Father is your friend — my Buddy Boy. Moab, Utah. F- M. SHAFER.