A gentle breeze sifted through the blazing leaves of the trees that grew on a gently sloping hill. The bright reds, oranges, and yellows, framed against a baby blue sky, added an almost surreal touch to the scene. All this encompassed a small, blue and white, Victorian-style house.
A fire crackled in the hearth within the homely little dwelling, casting a warm, flickering glow against the antique furniture situated around it.
From her place in the center of the kitchen, Kiera McCormick stood, hands on hips, her lips pursed, as she stared at the pile of cooking ingredients scattered across the counter. She then cast her gaze to the small kitchen table to one side of the room. There was so much to do! Where was she to begin?
Kiera was a relatively new bride, having married David McCormick only two months earlier. They had moved into David’s great-grandparents’ old house, and it had quickly become a comfortable home. But it was far removed from either of their families, and this particular day was Thanksgiving day. David, being only a novice firefighter, didn’t make very much money, and Kiera herself only made a meager sum working as a librarian in town. Currently they didn’t have the money to fly anywhere. And so they were stuck here, in the little Victorian house in the country.
Silently Kiera thought back to the time she and David had first met. On a dare, he had asked her to go with him to a fall banquet. She remembered him saying very clearly that Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday. He told her all about the pies, and vegetables, and dressings that his grandmother would make on that special occasion. He had gotten a dreamy look in his eye when told her about his grandmother’s turkey. Yes, Thanksgiving was definitely his favorite holiday.
But this year he wouldn’t be able to go to his grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving. It was because of this that Kiera was now preparing to make the biggest meal she had ever cooked in her life: an entire Thanksgiving feast. She wanted to make this day special for David.
After a few minutes of trying to figure out where to start, Kiera brushed back a strand of loose auburn hair and set to work preparing the enormous meal.
Occasionally she glanced out the kitchen window to the rolling hills beyond, their gentle slopes clothed in autumn splendor. It was beautiful, but lonely, reminding her that she still had several hours to go before her husband returned home.
At last she finished all the preparations, put the turkey in the oven, and made her way into the small sitting room. Satisfied that she could at last relax, Kiera curled up on the couch and picked up a book that had been lying on the coffee table.
However, no matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the book in her hands, her eyes kept drifting back to the dancing flames in the hearth nearby. Her eyelids drooped, and her head began to nod.
“Come on, Kiera,” she muttered to herself. “You can’t fall asleep now.”
But it was a hopeless cause, and the young woman soon slipped off to sleep, her dreams full of cooking pies and stuffed turkeys.
A few hours later she awoke with a start. The house was dark and the smell of burnt something-or-other hung heavy in the air.
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, bounding from the couch. “The turkey!”
Quickly she shot up off the couch, her bare feet striking the polished wooden floor with a thud.
Down the hall she sped, wondering how long she had been asleep. She burst around the corner, then froze, staring.
A golden tablecloth had been draped over the small kitchen table, and candles had been lit and placed in its center. And there before her, setting the table with the chinaware they had received as a wedding gift, was David. He glanced up when she appeared in the doorway, and a gentle smile caressed his lips.
“Good-morning, sleeping beauty,” he grinned, leaving the plates on the table and crossing the room to meet her.
“David, I-”
He reached out, drawing her into a warm embrace, placing a kiss on her lips and silencing what ever apology might have come from her.
“Sit down,” he said at last, motioning for her to take a seat at the little table.
Dumbfounded, she did as she was told and watched as her husband placed the food before her: pies, veggies, dressings, and all the fixings. Then came the turkey. Kiera cringed at the sight of it. It didn’t look much like a turkey anymore. A giant lump of coal would have been a better way to describe it.
Sheepishly the young woman glanced up as David settled down in the seat to her right.
“David, I’m so sorry!” she suddenly burst, a knot forming in her throat as she fought back the tears of embarrassment and frustration. “I just sat down for a break and I fell asleep. I should have set an alarm or something. I just…I just wanted to make this a good Thanksgiving for you.”
He didn’t seem to be listening. Instead he was concentrating on pouring champagne into a pair of crystal wineglasses.
Kiera blinked back the tears that glistened in her eyes when she saw that the wineglasses were the same ones she and David had used on their wedding day.
Just then he glanced up at her with his soft brown eyes and, handing her one of the glasses, said, “K-bear, you don’t need to apologize. I have you right here with me. What more could I ask for?”
He then scooted his chair closer to hers and, wrapping his arm around her waist, lifted his glass in the air.
“A toast,” he said, drawing her closer to himself, “to the best Thanksgiving ever.”