A silence followed this, then Susan, overcome, said, "Uncle, I never expected anything like this. I promise we will cherish the land, and I promise Ned will create easements so it can't be subdivided."
"Just leave me room to build a house, Dad," Brooks blurted out.
Ned, with gravity, stood up, walked over, and shook the old man's hand, inhaling as he did so the odor of lanolin from the virgin wool of Brother Thomas's robe. "This is a great blessing to our family. I don't think I can properly express my gratitude."
Brother Thomas smiled, squeezing Ned's hand. "Care for the land, Ned; she is under all of us." Then he laughed. "Since not one of you is a good Catholic, I can't exhort you there." He laughed again. "A Lutheran, Susan. I could have died from mortification when your mother became a Lutheran before her marriage." He paused a moment. "But then, the years have taught me perhaps that the denomination isn't as important as I once thought, so long as one fears and loves God."
Brooks didn't take to the fear part, but she kept that to herself. "Uncle Thomas, how do I know God loves me?"
He blinked, then replied with a depth of feeling that reached each of them. "Every time you behold the Blue Ridge Mountains, every time you feel a snowflake on your eyelashes, every time you see a frog on a lily pad, every time a friend gives you his hand, Brooks, God loves you. You're surrounded by His love. We look for it in all the wrong places as we pray for worldly success. We say that must be proof of God's love. Some people pray not for material success but for an easy life." He shook his head. "No, even our pains are a sign of His love, for they will lead you to the right path, if you'll only listen." He opened his eyes wide, touching his fingertips together. "Ah, well, I'm not much of a preacher. I didn't mean to go on. I spend so much time in prayer or fixing pipes or both," he laughed, "or with Brother Mark, my apprentice. This summer when we repaired the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mother he asked so many questions he made me dizzy. He's still a chatterbox around me." His eyes twinkled. "Sometimes I forget how to carry on a true conversation."
"We will never forget what you've said," Ned replied.
"Well, you're kind. I'm an old man with an audience. That's more intoxicating than wine." He laughed at himself. "Or cognac?" He lifted his white eyebrows.
Ned rose, returning with three brands of cognac—each expensive—and four snifters, all on a silver tray. He placed them before Brother Thomas, pointing to one brand. "I think this was first made by monks." Ned wasn't sure that the precious liquid had been created in a monastery, but the possibility shouldn't be overlooked.
"Yes. Well, I mustn't disappoint my brethren. I'll try just a taste of each of these to see if the spiritual life improved the product."
Ned poured Hennessy Paradis for Susan and a little drop of Remy Martin Louis XIII for Brooks after he poured Uncle Thomas's Hors d'Age No. 9. "Ladies." He then poured some of the amber liquid into his own snifter, holding it high. "To Brother Thomas, a man of love and a man of light."
They toasted Brother Thomas and he acknowledged the accolade, savored his cognac, then held up his glass for Ned to fill it with another brand. He tasted that. "Hmm, the distiller may not have been a monk, but I'm certain he was a Christian." He took another sip. "A very good Christian."
6
Driving slowly through the fast-falling snow, Fair kept his eyes on the road.
"Can't see the center line." Harry squinted.
"It's the side I'm worried about. Damn, it's easy to slide off. We'd be sitting in a snowbank until morning."
"Well, at least we'd be well fed. Miranda knocked herself out."
Fair smiled. "And who would have thought that a big, tough Korean vet like Tracy could bake? I still can't believe he made the pumpkin pie." His shoulders dropped a bit as he could just make out the sign to the farm. "Whew."
As he turned his truck off the road, the wheels sank deep into the snow. He geared down.
"Glad I put the snow blade on the tractor. It must be snowing two inches per hour. Jeez, I'll be out on the tractor all day," Harry exclaimed. "Any scheduled calls?"
"A full book, but it's exams and X rays; can be rescheduled if need be. It's the emergency calls that worry me."
"Maybe I'd better plow the drive tonight. Still be covered with snow tomorrow but not as deep." She turned to look at him as the bed of the truck slowly swung right.
He corrected the slide but didn't breathe normally until he pulled up by the back porch door. "Thank God."
They hurried inside, Harry carrying a take-out bag. "Aunt Miranda made Thanksgiving dinner for you all."
She picked up their bowls, putting in giblets, gravy, and some dressing.
"Hooray," the three cheered in unison as they pounced when the food was placed on the floor.
"Honey, don't plow. It's late. Let's trust to luck. If I get an emergency call we can worry about it."
"Sure?"
"Sure. Let's sit in front of the fire and remember Thanksgivings past." He walked into the living room, removed the fire screen, and began placing hardwood—oak, walnut, one precious pear log on top—in a square.
Harry picked up the bowls, instantly licked clean. She rinsed them in the sink.
"Is a saint bigger than the Blessed Virgin Mother?" Tucker thought for a second.
"No. The BVM is the Big Cheese." Mrs. Murphy cleaned her whiskers.
"Think any human has ever made a statue to cheese?" Pewter thought honoring food with a statue not a bad idea.
"Not that I know of." Mrs. Murphy intended to join Harry, who had just walked into the living room, but her belly was full and the distance seemed too great.
Harry inhaled. "Pear wood smells fabulous."
Fair smiled, holding out his hand.
She took it and he led her to the sofa. They put their feet on the coffee table, continuing to hold hands.
"Remember the other Thanksgiving when it snowed so much? Not that common. We were in junior high."
"Yeah. Dad had to put chains on the tires."
The fire crackled and glowed. The two cats were fast asleep in the large basket filled with old towels that Harry saved. They were in the kitchen. Tucker managed to totter to the hearth before conking out.
"I remember digging Mrs. Clark out of that big snow. So many of our teachers are gone now. Mrs. Clark died back in 1989. Liver disease, and she never even drank."
"An entire generation is leaving us. Funny how fast time goes." He squeezed Harry's hand. "I don't have anything else to say about what I did, what I learned, where I am at this exact moment. You've heard it all. I want to marry you. I won't ask again. I know making a big decision is very hard for you. You can be so good in a crisis, but you don't like change, and life is change."