Chapter Twenty-Four
A bigail returned to the kitchen and paused at the doorway to marvel yet again at the hive of activity within.
In her lifetime of living in the same place, among these people, she’d felt she knew them pretty well.
Until the Signal Bend Station development expanded into three phases, she’d known every town resident by name, and she still knew most of them at least that well.
A fair number she knew better, well enough to chat with about more than the weather when they met on Main Street, or at a council meeting, or at one of the town events.
A small but, she thought, still significant number came to her for jams and pies, or advice about home remedies, or more spiritual questions and needs. Those she felt she knew well.
She’d never considered them friends—and she knew they hadn’t considered her as such, either.
Lots of people cast gossipy glances her way, but most were at least cordial to her face.
And that had been fine. As much as she enjoyed people as a whole, she was happy in her own company, and she was busy every day with work that fulfilled her.
Her life alone in the hills had been a good one.
She was a Thanksgiving baby, but never before this year had she celebrated either her birthday or Thanksgiving with anyone but her grandmother.
Since Granny Kate’s passing, Abigail had spent these times on her own, and she’d done so mainly in quiet contentment, only feeling lonely and blue in the first years after Granny.
Surely when she was young, going to school, never quite clicking with her classmates, often their target for being a little different, she’d felt loss and loneliness then, but she couldn’t remember it.
What she remembered from those days was returning home to Granny, being swallowed up in a tight hug as if she’d returned from war, and settling back into a life she loved.
That sense of peace and contentment had held all her life, as if Granny had reached deep into Abigail’s chest and planted it there for safekeeping.
Then Mel had entered her small life and immediately seen a secret door. He’d found the lever and thrown it open to a wide vista, so much more life that could be lived, even in a little place like Signal Bend.
On this Thanksgiving, Abigail had been invited to Badger and Adrienne’s home for the Night Horde feast. She hadn’t merely come along as Mel’s date, she’d been personally invited—and more than that, she’d been included in the preparations.
Adrienne had called to do both, to make sure Abigail really understood she was part of the family now, and thus had a seat at their celebrations, and to ask her if she’d help with the food—specifically, to be in charge of dessert.
So here she was, in the Ness home for the first time, marveling how those two had designed the perfect home base for such a large family—their own nuclear version, with five kids, and the extended Horde family, which, including all their partners and kids, numbered something like forty people.
The house was enormous, styled like a regular country cottage but about three times the size.
All these people could be here without crowding, with plenty of room for different activities in different places.
The dining room was nearly like a ballroom, long and wide, with a gorgeous plank farm table, about twelve or fifteen feet long, with seating to almost comfortably seat almost the entire family—there was a kids’ table, too, of course, in the kitchen, within sight of the big table.
Despite the expansive, comfortable space, Abigail’s main impression of the day so far was controlled chaos.
Little and medium-sized kids ran everywhere, darting around the grownups, occasionally suffering to be corralled for a chore.
Nolan, Darwin, Zaxx, and Bart had a touch football game going in the commodious back yard, with the older kids.
Gia, Lexi, and Iris had an arts and crafts center going in the playroom.
Several teens and twenty-somethings were playing a very loud board game Abigail didn’t know.
Bo had brought a crate of LEGO and was building with some of the younger kids.
And, of course, most of the women were busy in the huge kitchen, putting together a meal worthy of this wonderful family.
Two TVs had the football game on. One had the parade on.
Another was showing episodes of a cartoon with a cute dog family.
People were talking, playing, laughing, relaxing.
They were cooking, setting up, helping out.
There was so much indeterminate noise it was almost soothing. Every decibel was cheerful.
Abigail would always enjoy quiet, but this happy clamor before her was rich and warm and satiating .
She’d known herself as an empath all her life, so she’d understood intellectually, but only recently truly experienced , how much other people’s bright energy shone in her own heart, how good it felt to be around people who were exactly where they wanted to be.
This was what family felt like. She supposed it would be reasonable to feel loss to be forty-three before she understood that, but Abigail felt only the gain of having it now.
“Control, we’ve got an obstacle on the runway, please advise.”
Abigail turned and saw Nolan coming down the hallway toward her, his youngest daughter, Calla, held aloft in his arms, her own arms out like wings. She was giggling wildly, and her daddy wore the grin of a man who hadn’t a care in the world.
“Oh, sorry!” Abigail said, and stepped into the little alcove before the door to a half bath. Then she added, in a similarly mechanical voice as the one Nolan had used, “Crews have cleared the runway, proceed as planned.”
She had no idea if air traffic controllers talked like that, she’d never even seen an airplane in real life that wasn’t a dot in the sky, but it didn’t matter. Nolan gave her a wink and continued his path down their imaginary runway, toward destinations only Calla could conjure.
“Abigail!” somebody—she thought it was Lilli—called from the kitchen. “You around?”
“I’m here!” she called back and returned to the busy delights of the kitchen, where the Horde women were crafting the feast. The intermingled aromas of roasting meat, of sage, and onion, and garlic, and broth, of potatoes, of fresh-baked bread and roasted vegetables, of cinnamon and nutmeg made the specific and necessary magic that turned a meal into a celebration.
“What do you need?” she asked, vaguely noticing a dampening of the commotion as she came into the room.
Lilli turned from the pantry door and smiled at her. “I don’t need anything. Here, sit down.”
“Oh, that’s okay, I don’t need a breather yet. I got the pies laid out on the sideboard”—she grinned—”and I put your threatening note on top of the middle one, Adrienne.”
Adrienne had given her a tented white note card with a message printed in all caps with black marker: ANYONE WHO TOUCHES THESE PIES BEFORE I SAY SO LOSES A HAND, signed THE BOSS OF THIS HOUSE .
Adrienne laughed. “Good. That makes a fifty-five percent chance they’ll leave them alone. But go ahead and sit down, Abigail. We want to do something.”
Unable to imagine what they might want to do that required her to sit, Abigail took a seat at the kitchen table, which was still a mess, laden with ingredients and supplies. They’d make up the kids’ table after the food was ready.
“Okay, I’m sitting,” she said—and realized that the food prep had stopped, and all the women were converging, circling the table and surrounding her. She cast her attention around the table, feeling a tendril or two of wariness hook into her mind. “Is everything okay?”
Lilli stood at her side and set a hand on her shoulder.
“Mel told us that yesterday was a very big day for you.” She reached down and lifted Abigail’s left hand.
“Your birthday and your engagement day. This ring is absolutely gorgeous, by the way. We can’t let that go by like it’s not important.
That’s not how we do things in this family. So ...” She nodded at Adrienne.
Abigail swiveled her head to Adrienne, who was holding out a beautifully wrapped gift.
“Oh goodness!” As she took the offered gift, she felt tears flood her eyes, but she blinked them back. It had been so many years since anyone other than herself had marked her birthday in any way.
The paper and ribbon were too lovely to rip apart, so Abigail untied the ribbon and slid her finger into the paper seam to separate the tape gently, exposing a plain white box, about an inch deep and about six by eight inches long and wide.
She lifted the lid and found a delicate silver picture frame and a white envelope, the size of a greeting card.
When she lifted the envelope, she froze. There was a photo in the frame already: one of her and Mel that she’d had no idea existed. Nor did she know who’d taken it. It was taken at the Harvest Festival, in the evening. Mel had just helped her close up her booth.
The photographer had caught them in a quiet moment Abigail remembered vividly. They were facing each other, nearly chest to chest. Mel had her face cupped in his hands, and she had her hands hooked over his forearms.
His lips were pressed to her forehead, and their eyes were closed.
This was her first photo of them as a couple. Again, tears welled. “This is so beautiful and so thoughtful,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady and clear. “It means so much to me. Thank you!”
Adrienne and Lilli both set hands on her shoulders and squeezed.
“Don’t forget the card!” Candy said with a wet sniff.
Abigail opened the envelope and found a card with a beautiful country landscape in watercolor on the front. The inside had no prefabricated message but a handwritten note: