Chapter 14 Natalie
Natalie
Halloween has never been my favorite holiday.
Dressing up as someone you aren’t? Making girls feel almost forced into wearing inappropriate outfits for attention? An insane melee of candy. It feels like a holiday that naturally fosters all the wrong things—fear, greed, and utter abandonment of decency.
I try to focus on the good parts of it, of course.
We always dressed up in themed costumes. We trick-or-treated with family and friends. We decorated with pumpkins, cute little cartoon-esque ghouls and ghosts, and we talked about family members who had left this earth, a la the Dia de los Muertos. That’s at least a tradition I can get behind.
But Thanksgiving? Other than Christmas, and maybe Easter, and okay, also Valentine’s Day, it’s my very favorite. Honestly, it may be tied with Easter and Valentine’s. I have to love celebrations of our Savior’s birth, and I have to celebrate the day of love, but I adore the idea of giving thanks.
For one, it helps us remember all our blessings.
Counting all my blessings has always been one of the best ways for me to calm down when things are hard.
If I name them one at a time, I always wind up with more things than I thought I would.
My children are at the top. A God who loves me.
And then, there are inevitably lots of other material blessings I forget about when I’m wallowing in failures or my own selfishness.
Thanksgiving has always been something I really look forward to.
After my Halloween party plan kind of bombed from the perspective of increasing fall revenue, I was delighted that my Thanksgiving idea actually landed us a dozen bookings—our little estate hotel is full for the first time since August, and every single guest is from America.
And they all paid for a Thanksgiving dinner.
The last few weeks have been slow, and it’s given me and Sam lots of time to work on the cottage remodel, which is almost done, and to do another little show over in Waterford.
We’ve been having almost too much fun. But now, now that Thanksgiving’s here, I’m a little panicked.
For everyone in Ireland, it’s just another day.
But for our American families, this celebration’s a big deal.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am.” Ma’am really sounds more like ‘mum’ coming from Mrs. Murphy. “If I just take some fever reducers, I bet I’ll be able to—”
I shake my head and wave her off. “No way, Mrs. Murphy. If you have a cold, or worse, the flu, you could get everyone sick. And you deserve to be resting when you feel lousy.” I point. “I’m sure we can handle things.”
She winces. “Unfortunately, it’s not only me.”
I was worried about that. “Your daughter too?”
She nods tightly. “I think maybe I picked it up from her.”
I suppress a groan. “Well, both of you should just focus on feeling better soon.”
Nine rooms full of guests. I’m running the numbers in my head. Twenty-three guests paid for a Thanksgiving dinner, and now I’m making it for them all myself, more or less. The second Mrs. Murphy is back in her car and driving away, I’m dialing Sam.
“What’s wrong?” I don’t usually call her in the early morning like this.
“Mrs. Murphy’s sick.”
Sam groans. “You’re kidding.”
“It gets worse. Her daughter is, too.”
“Oh, boy,” Sam says. “I would come help, but eight of the guests booked a ride this morning, and I’m grouting the floors right now. I can’t really stop until I’m done, and—”
“No, it’s fine.” Or at least, it will be fine, somehow. “All of that is great news. I just wanted you to know.”
First things first, I throw together a pretty lame breakfast for the guests who are waking up and beginning to trickle into the dining room.
“What time did you say Thanksgiving dinner would be?” The mother of two small children yawns.
“Sorry.” She half-smiles. “Your room was very nice, but kids.” She shakes her head.
“They never sleep well in a strange place.”
“I’m sorry to hear it was a long night.” I try my hardest not to cringe when I say, “Thanksgiving dinner will be at four p.m.” Which is only eight hours away and shrinking. Oh, boy.
The moment I’ve gotten the breakfast spread set up, I dash back into the kitchen to see what things we have and what things we still need.
I was planning to take a leisurely trip into town to buy things while Mrs. Murphy and her very competent daughter started to put all the food together.
Instead, half an hour later, I’m fielding calls from the kids while I mix up the bread dough for rolls.
“No, I left the form on the counter, near the back door,” I say. “I told you I signed it.”
Blaine would misplace her own ear if that was possible. “Mom, I checked there.”
“By the back door? Or over by the front?”
“Why would you put it—oh.” She sighs. “By the back door. Because we leave through the back.”
“Hey, is that Mom?” I hear Clara, even though she’s probably on the other side of the room. She has one of those voices that carries. Maybe it’s an oldest girl thing. “Hand me the phone.”
“No, it’s my phone. You call her.”
I never should have gotten the twins phones. They’re little monsters with them. “Blaine, let me talk to Clara.” Because I’m kneading dough, hanging up and answering another call is going to be super annoying. And messy.
Blaine huffs, but she hands the phone over.
“Mom, why are you still gone?” Clara asks. “I wanted you to look over my persuasive essay.”
“Ah,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure it will be great—I got stuck here at the big house.
Mrs. Murphy and her daughter are both sick, so I’m making Thanksgiving dinner alone.
” If it had been high season, we’d have another member of staff or two to help, but with things being so slow, we’ve been struggling along alone.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
Clara tsks. “I have nothing going on at school today. I can—”
“No,” I say. “You are going to school, and then your dad and I already made arrangements. Since we’re doing Thanksgiving here today for the hotel, you’re doing it at his place this afternoon. Then we’re celebrating it for our family tomorrow, remember?”
“Well, Dad can suck it,” she says. “Because the second I’m done with school, or right now if you’d just be reasonable, I’m coming to help.”
I’m suddenly blinking back tears. “Clara, there’s no way I’m letting you skip school.”
“Why?” she asks. “They don’t have exemptions here, so I have to take exams either way, and I can have ten absences before they get all upset, so just let me miss one day to come help you when you need it.”
“But your father—”
“Mom, you have got to be kidding right now. Dad won’t care, for one, and for another, if you tell him what happened, he’ll tell me to help himself. I’m sure his plan for Thanksgiving is turkey sandwiches and baked potatoes.”
She’s right about that. Back home, he was always trying to get me to take the kids out to eat on Thanksgiving so we didn’t have to cook.
He’s not someone who spends any time in the kitchen, and now that I’m not around, well, I assumed it would be dire over there.
“Fine,” I say. “Call your dad. See what he says.”
Five minutes later, Mason calls me. “Hey, Clara called. Why don’t we just combine for Thanksgiving tomorrow,” he says.
“Then the kids can lend a hand today. And you know they always manage their school stuff, so if Hannah and Clara help you instead of going today, I think that’s for a good cause.
They can learn what it means to run a business. ”
Why is Mason being so cool?
“But Cillian’s coming tomorrow,” I say. “My boyfriend.”
He sighs. “I guess I’ll have to put on my big boy pants and just deal with it.”
“I think you and him both coming to Thanksgiving at the same place is a terrible idea.”
“It probably is,” he agrees. “Nevertheless, desperate times.”
I groan.
“Natalie, I’ve had countless things go wrong in my business over the years, and every single time you were there, bringing me food, cheering quietly, and helping me put out fires.
I promise you that I won’t cause trouble at Thanksgiving if you let me join in tomorrow.
I want the kids to be able to help you in a way you won’t let me help.
Plus, it’ll save the kids the misery of eating the stovetop stuffing that delivered here last night.
” The sound of a shaking box is unmistakable. “Trust me. No one wants this.”
I laugh. “Fine, but best behavior, please. I’m still thinking this is a very bad idea. I really hope I’m not trading a better day today for a bad one tomorrow.”
“I’m reformed, remember? I’ll be good. You’ll see.”
I really don’t believe him, but it’s done.
Clara and Hannah show up in the next five minutes, Hannah taking over the rolling out of the rolls, and Clara edging me out on the potato chopping.
That frees me up to head for the market for the things I knew I’d forget that I did in fact forget.
Extra butter, because you can never have enough.
Scallions, which is what they call green onions here.
Yams, and I actually manage to find some pecans, which is a delight to someone who spent most of her life in the American South.
I’m even giddier that they have fresh cranberries, and after buying the store out of all six bags, I add my favorite fresh cranberry cake to my list of desserts.
It’s Amelia and Clara’s favorite too, so I’ll freeze whatever cranberries we don’t use so I can make more later.
The rest of the day flies by in a blur of pies, sweet potato casserole, green beans—in a casserole and as its own dish—rolls, turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, cranberry salad, and bean salad. By the time I’m done, my feet hurt, my back aches, and my head’s pounding.