Page 13 of The Sound of Sleighbells

Dinner had been scheduled for three o’clock. Ruth made sure her family was ready to leave the house by 1:45 so she could arrive at Abner’s in time for the last-minute preparations: mashing the potatoes, making gravy, dishing out the stuffing, carving the turkey, and making sure other dishes were hot. By now, the storm had moved in. Sleet splattered the windshield, but the plastic over the rear window was holding up. The station wagon was warm inside.

Janeen had made paper turkeys to decorate the table. She carried them in a bag. “I made them with my hand,” she said. “You trace your fingers—the thumb is the head and the other fingers are the tail. Then you draw on them. I wanted to write names, but I didn’t know who was going to be there.”

“I’ve got a pen in my purse,” Ruth said. “There should be time to write names after we get to Abner’s. I’ll be busy, but you can ask one of the grown-ups to help you.”

“I know some of the people who’ll be there.” Janeen began counting on her fingers. “Abner and the four of us—that makes five. And there’s Trevor and his mom and dad. That’s three more. How many is five and three?”

“Think about it and tell me.”

Janeen counted her fingers again. “Eight. Is Maggie coming?”

“Maggie’s family is going out of town. So no, she and her parents won’t be there. But Abner said he might invite Hank, the man who runs the hardware store,” Ruth said. “I don’t know if he’s coming, but that would make one more.”

“So, that’s nine. Anybody else?”

“Not unless Abner surprises us. We’ll see.”

A few minutes later, Ruth drove through the gate and pulled up to Abner’s house. Out front, through the blowing sleet, she recognized Jess’s Toyota and Cooper Chapman’s black SUV. An older pickup probably belonged to Hank Miller, who managed the hardware store. Sheltering the girls with her coat, Ruth ushered her brood through the storm and onto the sheltered porch. Warmth and the fragrance of delicious holiday food greeted her as she opened the door. Tammy raced ahead of her into the living room. “Yay!” she shouted. “We’re here! Let’s eat!”

Abner chuckled. “Hold your horses, young lady. Wait till the food’s ready.”

Hank Miller was seated on the couch, his prosthetic leg extended at an angle. A balding man in his forties, he’d lost the leg a few years ago in a terrible farm accident. The bouts of depression and drinking that followed had cost him his wife and young son. He’d since pulled his life together, stopped drinking, and now had a good job at the hardware store. But his family was gone.

“It’s great to see you, Hank,” Ruth said, giving him a friendly smile. “I was hoping you’d accept Abner’s invitation.”

“How could I turn down a chance for good food and friends?” Hank asked. “This is so much better than a turkey TV dinner at home.”

“Mom!” Janeen was calling from the dining room where the table had been extended with extra leaves and set with a holiday cloth and elegant china that had been passed down in the family of Abner’s late wife.

“Mom! Come here!” Janeen demanded again.

“What is it?” Ruth hurried to find her daughter scowling at the table. She was holding a pen and the paper bag that contained her turkey cutouts.

“Look. We counted nine people in the car. There are ten places at the table. Did you make a mistake?”

“I wasn’t the one who set the table, dear. But I’m sure it’s all right. Maybe somebody else is coming. Or maybe the extra place is there to welcome any guest who stops by. Some people like to do that.”

“But what about my turkeys? I need to write names.”

Ruth sighed. It had been a long day, and it was far from over. “Why don’t you go and ask your brother, dear? I need to help in the kitchen now.”

“Skip and Trevor are watching sports on TV. They won’t want to help.”

“Then maybe Abner will. Or why don’t you just write the first initial of the names? You can do that by yourself. I’ve got to go, honey.”

Before her daughter could protest, Ruth hurried off to the kitchen. Jess would be needing her help to make sure all the different dishes were ready at the same time.

* * *

It was 2:45 when Judd swung his pickup through the gate and drove up to the house. He’d gone back and forth about accepting Abner’s invitation. He had work to do, and he’d never been much for social niceties. But in the end, wanting to be a good neighbor and lured by the thought of an old-fashioned Thanksgiving dinner, he’d relented.

Several vehicles were parked out front. Through the blur of sleet that battered the windshield, he recognized Cooper Chapman’s SUV and his wife’s red Toyota. The older pickup probably belonged to Hank Miller. Abner had mentioned he might be coming to dinner. Then Judd’s gaze fell on the last vehicle in the row.

His mouth went dry.

There could be no mistaking the brown station wagon with the broken—and now patched—rear window. It was Ruth’s—the same vehicle he’d seen that morning at Shop Mart.

Judd had never considered himself a coward. But the thought of facing Ruth over dinner, making inane conversation as if the past had never happened, turned his insides to jelly. They’d spent years avoiding each other and the pain they’d chosen to forget. Judd muttered a curse. Why did this have to be the day when he finally had to face her?

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