A Fantastic Holiday Season: The Gift of Stories by Kevin J. Anderson

Author:Kevin J. Anderson [Anderson, Kevin J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: WordFire Press
Published: 2014-10-01T04:00:00+00:00

I spent Wednesday unpacking and making pies.

I thought about last year and how I was making pies then, too, down at the mess hall. After cleaning my rifle. I’d been in for two years and had already saved up enough for the trailer. I was working on setting aside enough park fees and taxes to keep my costs down while I used that GI Bill and figured out my own sense of purpose.

Last year, I was shot in the ass on Thanksgiving morning. This year, it looked I’d be ambushed by my family and their good intentions.

And Mama wasn’t letting up. Her voice boomed in my Bluetooth while I broke down the empty boxes. “And he’s such a polite young man,” she said, lauding another of Pastor Frank’s many shining attributes.

I ran the cutter down the line of tape and loved the power I felt collapsing the box upon itself. “I’m sure he is, Mama.”

“And the board’s really happy with his work. I expect he’ll be getting a raise soon.”

I put the flattened cardboard onto the stack and picked up another box. “I’m sure he will, Mama.” I decided to have some fun with it all. “So it sounds like Johnny Alvin turned out fine and dandy. I’m real happy for Jessie Lynn. You think they’ll get married?”

Mama sounded like she was choking. She didn’t say anything. I couldn’t resist; I just kept straight on. “Say,” I said, “Pastor Frank could do the service. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Mama found her wits and her words. “I don’t think Jessie Lynn’s all that smitten with Johnny.”

“Oh,” I said in my most incredulous tone. “Why I can’t imagine why she’d bring him around to Thanksgiving if she wasn’t.”

I picked up the stack of flattened boxes and moved across the shag carpet to the front door. “Well,” Mama said, “I’m sure she’s just being kind-hearted.”

“I’m sure she is,” I said. Now, I navigated the steps down. I’d awakened to an inch of snow and now more was drifting down slowly, dusting the driveway and lawns.

Mama changed the subject quickly. “So how did Great Granny’s Grateful Pie turn out?”

I glanced at the pig’s pen as she asked. I couldn’t see him in there. “It didn’t,” I said. “Went to the pig.”

“You have a pig?”

“Folk at the trailer park share one. Cuts down on the trash bill.”

She snorted. “You’re coming up in the world.”

I ignored the sarcasm. “It’s okay. I’m making more pie. But Great Granny’s was a loss.” Her pie was put together from her own butter crust recipe—this year was Jessie Lynn’s turn—from ingredients that still grew wild up in the holler where her shack squatted, abandoned now, in a dilapidated heap. It had been a Thanksgiving tradition all the way back to the days of outhouses and dirt roads. There was no time for a do-over on this one so I was substituting with sweet potato, pecan and pumpkin from recipes I’d learned cooking mess for Uncle Sam.

“It won’t be Thanksgiving without Granny’s pie.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.