She looked appreciatively over the elaborately set table, smiling with satisfaction. Her grandmother’s china and silver sparkled under the crystal chandelier. Minnie had pressed the creamy linen tablecloth perfectly, without a crease visible anywhere. Bright white napkins with edging as light as a web peeked from under the heavy, scrolled silver forks. Walking around the table, she surveyed each setting, noting the names in curlicue calligraphy and checking them against the master list in her head. No, no, she thought, it wouldn’t do to have Reverend Whitkins next to Old Mrs. Roon. His terribly wicked sense of humor would no doubt offend her. She rearranged the seating expertly, long practiced at creating a harmonious dinner table from a rag-tag group of friends and family. Well, she thought, Thanksgiving is a time for mending fences. She heard Minnie coming up behind her.

“Miss Lorna, why you fussin’ o’r that again? If yo’ ask me, that’s too much pumpkin fo’ a nickel.”

She turned around, smiling and smoothed her hands on her crisp apron. “Now, Minnie, I’m just trying to make it a nice day. You know that friend of Cal’s is as poor as Job’s turkey and I want him to have a real nice time tonight.” Her son Cal was bringing back a fraternity brother for Thanksgiving dinner – a scholarship kid who was real smart and real nice to hear Cal tell it but who didn’t come from nothing.

Later that evening, she joined hands around the table. Miss Purdue was on her left and she held onto the thin hand as delicate as bone china and gave a little squeeze as Reverend Whitkins finished his lengthy blessing. Cousin Oriah’s hand was damp and sweaty and looking over at him, she could see thick rivulets of sweat starting a southward climb from his temples towards his thick jowls. She smiled. These were her people and she loved them, but goodness, sometimes they were stranger than a three eyed possum.

She inhaled deeply allowing her senses to feast on the meal laid out before her. There was turkey with oyster dressing, a spiral ham, and some of her brother Sam’s venison. Angel biscuits, butter biscuits, and cheddar biscuits competed with cornbread for space on the table. There was corn on the cob, of course, swimming in a lake of butter and sweet potatoes with those little marshmallows on top, burned a perfect brown, like the color of Minnie’s skin. She looked over to the sideboard, delighting in the spread of desserts. There was Aunt Lola’s coconut layer cake, the best in the county if you believed the judges at this summer’s fair. Next to that was her favorite – pumpkin pecan pie. A mess of other berry pies promised too many choices come dessert. She rested a moment in perfect contentment before picking up her fork and daintily spearing a piece of turkey.

“It’s a nice dinner, Miss Lorna.”

A nurse dressed in faded yellow scrubs steps up behind Lorna, patting her shoulder. Lorna is sitting hunched-over in a frayed blue dressing gown. Her thin white hair frames a face rich in wrinkles and brown age spots. Tiny feet are encased in pink fuzzy slippers which are growing brown with use. A walker stands nearby. The nurse is glad to see Lorna eating. She is fading away lately, refusing meals, not leaving her room, failing to recognize her infrequent visitors leading her son Cal to remark that his mother was slowly exiting life, day by day.

Lorna picks up the cheap metal fork and spears a piece of turkey breast swimming in gravy from a jar. Appearing to savor it as it rests a moment on her tongue, she smiles. She turns to Mr. Paulson, seated in his wheelchair across the table. “Reverend Whitkins, I did so love your sermon last week. It‘s inspirational, especially at this time of year to think about helping those less fortunate than ourselves.” Mrs. Remy, seated on Lorna’s left, looks surprised and then annoyed when Lorna squeezes her hand and says, “Miss Purdue, you outdid yourself with the sweet potatoes this year. I swear that last year’s were the best I ever tasted, but these are fine as frog’s hair.”