They let Cindy continue the shoveling as Andrea asked Jonathan, “What are you thankful for, Jon?”
The young man gave the question serious thought, and with almost adult gravity answered, “I’m thankful for the new tree, and how now I’m… I’m… older.” His expression showed that he knew the word was wrong, but that he didn’t have a word for what he meant. “I’m thankful that all our trees are healthy, and for how hard Dad works to keep them watered and sprayed.”
Andrea looked at her husband. “What are you thankful for, Bill?”
Bill beamed at his family, each of them bundled up like Phoenibees, faces rosy and alive in the cold air. He looked at Andrea, approving her addition to the ceremony. “I’m thankful for this family, the best a man could ever wish for. I’m thankful that Mom came here, and helped me make a loving home. And I’m thankful for the stories she tells about Earth, helping us to remember the old ways.”
They all looked at Andrea for a moment, then in ragged unison asked, “What are you thankful for, Mommy?”
What was she thankful for? For her new life here, where the edge of the map began at the end of their property? For the freedom from the tyrannies of consumer-oriented economic pressures? For family ties bound firmly into the bedrock foundation of a new order? The human settlement on Phoenix had delivered on many of the claims and promises made for star traveling in general. The inducements that had brought her here had been, by and large, fulfilled. The gamble had been a good one, in spite of staggering losses.
“I’m thankful for all of you.” An earnest look at Bill. “I’m thankful for how you make me feel truly at home, so far away from Earth.”
Then it was her turn to use the scoop.
Andrea took a scoop of dirt and tossed it into the hole. “This is for those no longer with us.”
Scoop
“For those lost to starvation.”
Scoop
“For those lost to the guardian reptants.”
Scoop
“For all the reptants we killed.”
Scoop
“And for everyone on Earth, lost in the mists of time.”
Andrea put down the scoop and stood up. Hand in hand, the whole family formed a ring around the new tree. They all lowered their eyes and Bill closed the ceremony with words almost as old as the tentative human presence on Phoenix.
“This soil, like the karma we can never escape, is our abode, but not our home. Imperfectly our souls strive for freedom, but we know that Moksha begins in the wholeness of Phoenix. So let us do right, and do least, and live in harmony with this separate creation.”
Andrea felt a surge within her. This new life here on Phoenix is truly all I have. The awareness pressed in on her with the insistence of an ocean current. A new emotion bubbled up to the back of Andrea’s throat. It felt good. Important.
She bent down to talk to Cindy. “Cindy, we don’t plant a new tree during Replant time every year. Why do you think we’re planting one this year?”
Bill and Jonathan were grinning broadly.
Cindy looked at every tree in turn, then at the new tree. Then at her mother, suspiciously. “I don’t know, Mommy. This new one’s extra, unless… unless… Mommy!?”
“Yes, that’s right, honey, you’re going to have a new little sister or brother.”
Cindy ran into her mother’s arms. “Mommy, Mommy! That’s super!”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Now let’s go inside and warm up.”
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Bill and Jonathan stayed outside to finish the replanting. Bill instructed his son on the care and feeding of the new tree, which would be his first grown-up responsibility. Andrea was pleased to see Jonathan take his obligations to the unborn child seriously.
Andrea and Cindy were busy preparing Earth Apple tea for themselves and their hard working men. Cindy, a chatterbox in sudden bloom, wanted to know all about babies and about growing up on Earth. Andrea answered every question as best she could, glad for the lightness she felt.
Through the window she watched Bill and Jonathan at work, and grieved for the loss of her little boy. Then she returned to the tea party, feeling a newly forged bond with her daughter.
A door closes… a window opens, Andrea thought.
Bill and Jonathan came in and put four perfect little Earth Apples in a dish. “First Apples” from the new tree. Dessert. Solemnly they each took an apple and savored the special sweet taste.
In imitation of a gesture she had seen so often today, Cindy raised her cup of tea. “Happy Replant Day, Mommy.”
“Happy Replant Day, sweetheart.”
When it was time to refill the cups Andrea got up to fetch the tea pot. Jonathan offered to help and surprised her with a big hug near the stove.
“I love you, Mother.”
She could barely reply, for she knew he meant it. Those strong little arms told her so much more than he could find words for. And she knew suddenly that she had not lost him after all. She wondered suddenly where her fears had come from, and where they had gone. She knew they’d be back tomorrow, but today she felt free of them, and it was a start.
Andrea’s eyes brimmed with tears of happiness. The first in a long, long time.