A fictional tale of the true life account of a mystery box and a turkey.
A Rockin’ Angelic Thanksgiving Caper
They met in a darkened room located at the back of the First Baptist Church. There were four of them in all, each casting furtive glances at the others, the lone light in the storage closet shrouding their faces in shadow.
“Are we agreed?” said Kevin, the leader of the small ring of would-be outlaws, looking from one face to the next, daring the three to disagree.
One half-dared to. “Must we do this?” said Nancy, her voice soft and sad. “He’s already been through so much. It just seems wrong.”
“It’s not wrong,” said her husband Charles beside her, glancing toward the other two men for confirmation. “It's been six or seven months. He’s a grown man. Right?”
The fourth, an elderly gentleman and deacon of the church, nodded his approval.
“It’s only a joke,” said Kevin, moving toward the door.
“It seems mean,” said Nancy, looking to her husband for support.
Kevin shook his head. “We can’t go through with it unless she agrees, Charles. If my sister tells on us like she always did when we were children…”
“I won’t tattle.” Nancy straightened her red sweater, smoothing it down past her hips as she strode past Kevin, giving a preening pat to her bangs and side-swept wavy blonde hair styled in a manner that would make Farrah jealous.
“Good,” said Kevin, his smirk irritating her. “The box is on the kitchen counter.”
Nancy turned to face him. “I have to give it to Frank?”
“You’re the one in charge of the raffle. It will seem odd if the turkey doesn’t come from you.”
Knowing no amount of arguing would work, she spun toward the kitchen, slamming into her nine-year-old son, his face ramming into her stomach. As she grunted, he mumbled an apology then ducked behind her long black skirt to hide from his younger sister. Nancy yelled at them for running inside, smiling mirthlessly at any of the other parishioners still milling about after Wednesday services.
A large box with bright red wrapping paper spackled with snowflakes sat on the countertop, it’s size filling the room. Heavier than she expected, she struggled to carry the package.
“What’s in this thing?” she said as she passed Kevin again.
“Frank is expecting a twenty-one-pound bird. I found a rock about that heavy and packed it in there tight.”
Frank Gustafson stood conversing with Pastor Peter near the door. Forcing her brightest smile onto her lips, she carried Frank’s prize toward him. When he saw it, he shook his head, his kind eyes squinting as he tried to focus on it.
“My goodness,” he said. “That is a lovely box, Mrs. Pierce.”
“It’s Nancy. Congratulations on winning, Frank.” She placed the box in his arms.
He hunched over due to its weight. “Whoa. This is a big one.”
“Twenty-one pounds.”
Frank shook his head again. “I don’t know what to say. Do I have to accept it? You’ve got a large family. Why don’t you take it?”
Nancy grinned, reaching out to take the box.
Charles stopped the exchange. “Hey, Frank. Congrats, man.”
“I was suggesting you guys take it.”
“That would set a bad precedent, wouldn’t it, pastor?”
Like children asking permission to stay up and watch a movie, Frank and Nancy faced Pastor Pete.
“I don’t see how it could,” said the pastor.
“If Frank gives his turkey away,” said Charles, “then other families who actually need the prizes from our church raffles might feel obligated to do the same.”
“That is also true .”
Frank sighed, his smile sad. “Ok. Ok. I’ll take it home. It just seems a lot for me to eat on my own, you know, considering I don’t have Hazel anymore.”
“Oh, Frank,” said Nancy, her eyes filling with moisture. “I’m so sorry. Isn’t your family coming to visit you?”
“They used all their time off and extra expenses to come to the…to the…”
“That’s right. The funeral. Why don’t you come and spend Thanksgiving with us? I insist.”
Frank chuckled. “Now, now, Mrs. Pierce. You’re making too much of a fuss about me. There are some things a man has to walk through on his own.”
“If you need any help cooking that turkey, you call me.”
“I know my way around the kitchen. But thank you.”
“As soon as you get home, take it out of the box and put it in the refrigerator. Not the freezer. It needs to thaw. It might be too late now. It should already be in the fridge. Run some hot water over it and…”
“Nancy,” said her husband. “I think he can manage.”
“I know. Charles, you can at least carry it to his car.”
“I didn’t drive,” said Frank. “My Camino is getting a new muffler.”
“How are you getting home?” she said
.
“I’ll take the bus, same way I came here.”
“Let us give you a ride home, Frank. Please. Then I can make sure the turkey gets where it needs to go.”
Frank laughed. “What would the world be like without people like you, Mrs. Pierce. Happy Thanksgiving.”
Nancy kept to herself on the way home, successfully ignoring the arguing and fighting of her three children in the back of their station wagon, not once threatening to strap them into their seatbelts if they misbehaved. When she asked why they had to pick on dear old Frank, Charles shrugged.
She had a good idea why. Frank and Hazel had been living legends…or icons in their church and community, always known for their giving and sacrifice. As such, they received much recognition for their service. As the church secretary, Nancy received thank-you cards and tiny gift bags from the pastoral staff. One time and one time only she had complained of this to her husband, thinking the staff’s appreciation far lower than what it should have been. Now she thought it more than what she deserved. She tried not to think about the disappointment Frank would have when he opened his prize only to discover the box full of space and a rock. If Santa gave her a lump of coal for Christmas, she’d think him far too generous.
That evening, as she busiest herself in the kitchen, she paid more attention to the phone’s silence than to Johnny on the set in the living room. No one called, and she missed his bit with one of the Angels.
She didn’t sleep much that night, deciding at four in the morning she might as well get up and start preparing their holiday meal. Preoccupied with thoughts of Frank cursing at his so-called friends for giving him a rock, she never caught her nine-year old in the act of stealing the whipped topping from the pies.
She rushed to answer the phone each time it rang, her disappointment growing with each subsequent call, confusing her parents and sisters and brother when they called.
After she cleared the meal, stored the leftovers and washed the dishes, she sat near her husband on the couch, pulling her legs to her side, smoothing her skirt over them. He put his arm around her, easing her head against his chest. In silence, she watched the remainder of the football game with him, not caring who played or who won. Charles didn’t care that much either, as long as the Cowboys lost.
She roused when he cheered them losing at the hands of the Gassers. Or Greasers. Or some team involved with automobile lubricant.
“We should go to bed, dear.” he said. “You were up early.”
She nodded but didn’t move. "What are you most thankful for?"
Charles shrugged. "That the Cowboys lost."
"I'm serious."
"I don't know. You?"
"For you. For family to share holidays with."
He sighed. “You’re thinking about Frank.”
She nodded again.
Charles gave her a squeeze. “I’m sure he’s fine. You’ll see.”
She readied herself for church Sunday morning, both apprehensive and anxious to see Frank.
When she arrived, Frank stood near the rear of the sanctuary conversing with one of the deacons. Before Nancy could say a word to him, Frank checked his watch and ducked away, heading down the hallway, citing a need to speak with the pastor.
Nancy frowned.
The service lovely as always, Pastor Peter did an excellent job of incorporating current events into his message, reminding his church the real reason they all had to be thankful had nothing to do with whichever president had been elected.
Before the pastor dismissed them, he told them Frank wished to say something. Frank stepped onto the dais, taking the microphone from Pastor Peter.
Nancy gaped, fearing her and her accomplices were going to be outed in front of the church.
“I hope everyone had a great holiday,” said Frank. “I want to express my thanks to all of you for designating me as the raffle winner. I know we do things a little differently and that the winner isn’t as random as we sometimes make it out to be. So thank you. I felt very blessed by this church body these past months. I want to share a little story with you.
“On the bus on my way home Wednesday evening, I sat next to a young gentleman by the name of Gerome. We got to talking, mainly about the contents of my large, brightly-colored present. I had a chance to share with him about who we are as a church and about God’s love and how my gift was a smidgen of what God’s gift to us is. After some more talking, I learned that he and his brother had been estranged due to the recent election results, Gerome having voted for Reagan, something his brother thought counter to the ideals of their culture. Gerome also shared how his family was short on funds due to his wife laid up and off work due to breaking her leg. Though expecting workman’s compensation, it hadn’t been approved yet.”
Knowing the direction Frank’s story headed, Nancy couldn’t look at him. Keeping her eyes on the Bible in the back of the pew ahead of her, she held tight to her stomach as it began churning, her chest hurting due to acid reflux.
“Feeling overwhelmed with generosity and compelled by the Spirit,” said Frank, “I offered Gerome my prize. Of course, like me, he didn’t want to accept it. I told Gerome I was giving him the turkey with the stipulation that he invite his brother over for dinner. After all, I said, the holidays are about family. Gerome cried. I cried. He thanked me and I thanked God for the opportunity to help a fellow man.”
The congregation said amen and the pastor said a prayer for Gerome and his family. As other members gathered around Frank and the sanctuary emptied, four people remained glued to their pews, not daring to make eye contact with one another.
When most had gone, Nancy stood and nudged her chin toward the back.
The four gathered in the darkened storage room, Nancy glaring at the three men.
“What?” said Kevin. “It’s no big deal.”
Nancy fought to keep composed. Her mouth moved but no words came out, unable to say one of the thousand things she wanted to say to her brother.
“Do you think we should tell him?” said Charles.
The elderly gent nodded his head.
Kevin shook his. “What good would it do?”
“But, Kevin…” said Charles.
“It’s out of our hands. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s wrong,” said Charles.
“It’s not wrong,” said Kevin, chuckling. “Frank is…”
“We won’t tell Frank,” said Nancy. All three stared at her. “Are we agreed?”
The three men nodded in unison.
One by one they left the room, Nancy the last to go. She dried her eyes before heading toward the door. After seeing her children into their coats, she headed down the hallway toward where Frank conversed with Pastor Peter.
When Frank saw her approaching, he said a hurried goodbye to the pastor and rushed outside.
Nancy scowled, following him out, ignoring the chill in the air. “Franklin Gustafson, are you avoiding me?”
Frank turned back, a nervous smile on his face. “Mrs. Pierce, hello. No. Of course not.”
“I’ve told you. It’s Nancy.”
“Right. I’m sorry, Nancy. Look, I don’t want to miss my bus…”
“You are trying to avoid me. Why? What have I done?”
“Nothing. You’ve done enough for me.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means…Mrs. Pierce, really. I’m fine. You’re making too much of a fuss over me.”
“It’s Nancy!” she said, her voice rising. “And so what if I am? Because I care about how you’re doing I’m suddenly the bad guy? When my mother died, your Hazel was there for us. She herself cooked us three meals. I didn’t suddenly forget how to care for my family. I wasn’t insulted by her generosity. I said thank you and was appreciative. I just wanted to do the same for you.”
“You have. But now I’m ok. I don’t need you to fuss…”
“You stubborn man, Franklin. I’ll fuss if I want to. I swear, sometimes I wonder if it was the cancer that got to Hazel or your damned obstinacy!”
Her eyes widened. She sucked in the cold air and covered her mouth with both hands, as if the two motions could recall her words before they reached Frank’s ears. She imagined him shattering and her having to stand in front of the church and the Judgement Throne to give an account for her actions.
Instead, Frank chuckled, speaking before she could get out an apology. “Mrs. Pierce…I mean, Nancy. You’re right. I’m a stubborn man. Hazel used to tell me that. Don’t worry. I’m ok. I can take it. I’m sorry for being too proud to accept help. Hazel never liked it when I complained about anything, reminding me how blessed I was. I didn’t want to start now just because she’s gone. Whenever I complained to God about Him taking her from me, it was always her words that popped in my head, the same thing she always said whenever I whined. ‘Life’s a rock.’”
As Frank headed down the sidewalk, Charles came and put a coat about her shoulders.
Nancy signed, pulling the coat tight to keep from shivering. “Life’s a rock. What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that life sucks sometimes and you can’t change it.”
“You don’t think Frank’s messing with us, do you, that maybe he knows about the turkey?”
“I doubt it. The question I have is: what do we do with the real turkey?”
“Charles!”
“What? We can’t let it go to waste.”
She grinned. “I guess we’ll have to take it, you know…to get rid of the evidence.”
Charles hugged her, guiding her back toward the church. “My goodness, Nancy, first you colluded in a dastardly plot to prank a poor helpless man, then you cursed at him, now you want to steal his turkey. You’re turning into a regular Bonnie.”
“I’m not an outlaw. By sparing Frank’s feelings, we’re performing a public service. I’m more like Jill Munroe.
“You are my Angel.” He kissed her on the cheek.
“By the way, Charlie, any bright ideas on how to sneak a twenty-one-pound turkey out of a church?”
“We won’t have to sneak it out of the church. We just have to avoid being seen at the supermarket redeeming the voucher for it.”
Nancy stopped and stared at him. “What?”
“Unless, of course, your brother put the voucher in the box with the rock.”
Great story! I actually felt almost as guilty as Nancy, just by reading it. Certainly loved the ending, I will assume that the voucher was in the box, after all I am a sucker for happy endings.
I think that Frank knew, Life's a rock and all that.
B.
I like the ending. I can't imagine good church people playing a prank on a man who just lost his wife. That's scary. I was worried that Gerome and his brother would be mightily disappointed at all Nancy seemed to care about was Frank. I certainly hope that the voucher was in the box.
Certainly does read like a true story. All pranks aren't as good-natured as they seem.
A Rockin’ Angelic Thanksgiving Caper
