Leta never asked Aaron if her children could celebrate Thanksgiving with them, which was in conflict with the family plans anyway.
Instead, they were all invited to dinner at their sister Nellie’s. Leta and her three siblings would be partaking, as well as their children. They asked Leta to make
pies, and she did—five of them: lemon meringue, cherry, apple, and two pumpkin.
She started late on Thanksgiving Eve. Her nieces were in bed, Florence kept her
company for an hour or so before retiring, Aaron was at the Flat Iron with the
lonely gamblers and drinkers. He would not return until early in the morning
and then sleep until they left for Nellie’s.
Once Florence went to bed, Leta retrieved a jug of brick wine
that she had made and began sipping. She did not particularly care for wine; it
was too bitter and acidic for her taste, but this was all she had available. Fetching
her secret bottle of bourbon from her bedroom would disturb Florence, who officially
would not permit any kind of liquor in the house. (Leta suspected that Aaron
also had a bottle of gin hidden somewhere on the property.) That left only the wine available. Her sister Louise
had asked her to make the wine under the guise of “grape juice” for
Thanksgiving dinner. Louise liked wine, and particularly when Leta added a
little sugar, orange peel and cloves. Nellie also enjoyed a
glass or two during large family gatherings. So Leta made two jugs, just in case
the sisters were in an enthusiastic celebratory mood. She also made two jugs of
unfermented grape juice for the children.
By the time all the pies had been baked, Leta had emptied the
jug. While she no longer felt the pain of being apart from her children, she
also became sloppy in her clean up. Certainly, she swept the floor, wiped down
the counters, washed the dishes and put everything away. She mostly did this as
she went along, so at the end of her baking, she did not have much left to do.
However, with regard to what she did have to do, she left signs that she was
not in her full capacity. She completely neglected to wipe the table. The
countertop had several spots of hardening dough, and she poured some remaining
flour into the sugar canister.
She awoke the next morning to the sound of her niece June
tapping at her bedroom door and softly calling her name. Later, she learned
that this was the third time that one of the girls had tried to wake her. First,
they called her to go to church. Then they checked in on her again after their
return. She had responded, but was either still mostly asleep or fell right
back into it. Now, it was nearly noon. They were planning to leave the house an
hour later. Leta looked around, her eyes somewhat blurred. She was lying on the
quilt, still wearing her house dress and apron. She could not recall when or how
she made it into the bedroom. This time, she could hear the family bustling
around the house, as they finalized their preparation for the family’s
Thanksgiving celebration. She could smell the sweet potatoes that Florence had
made and hear the murmurs of Aaron and Florence. If he was awake and
functioning by now, surely she had no good excuse. She knew that he had still
not arrived home when she went to bed.
When she sat up, her head was spinning, so she paused with her
feet over the side of the bed. She looked down, and the floor seemed very far
away. She hesitantly brushed her feet against it and could feel the cold, so
she stood. She was terribly thirsty, but first she needed to use the toilet.
She removed her apron and house dress, dropping them both onto the floor and
kicking them under the bed. Somehow she had left her robe on the vanity stool,
not its usual place. She told herself that she remembered putting it there some
time during the night, although she was not certain she was remembering what
actually happened or observing the obvious. She quickly put on the robe and
made her way to the toilet, using the wall for support. Fortunately, everyone
else was downstairs.
She still felt unsteady, and in the back of her head, an
unwelcome headache began to transpire. Once back in her room, she went into the
bottom drawer of the vanity, pushed aside her stockings, and retrieved a small
bottle of bourbon. Without looking for a glass, she took a large swig, and felt
the warm rush through her body. She sat there for a few moments. The
opportunistic headache that had been developing was abated. She felt better.
Then she took another small swallow of the alcohol, put the bottle away, and
immediately began to prepare for the family festivities.
At five minutes to one, she appeared at the bottom of the
stairs, dressed in her finest clothes and not a hair out of place. She looked
poised and ready for anything.
If Leta missed having her children with her for the holiday
festivities, she never directly shared it with anyone. She helped lay out the meal,
laughed with her siblings and their children, and helped clean up afterwards.
She was, everyone attested, as charming and cheerful as ever. Amidst the
revelry, however, Leta had four glasses of wine and ate very little.
At the end of the celebration, she declined Aaron’s invitation
to join him at the Flat Iron. Instead, she went home with Florence and the
girls, and promptly left them for her bedroom. Once she closed the door, her
loneliness and grief overwhelmed her. As her eyes filled with tears, she
undressed, pulled back the bed covering, and crawled into bed. Almost
immediately exhaustion enveloped her, and she fell into a deep, empty sleep.
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