Thanksgiving Day was inauspicious at the manor house this year, with just the three McHuids and Pastor and Mrs. Greenvale in attendance. Ginger’s mother had included the Woodmans in her annual invitation, but Howard had called to say that he and Sophie were spending this year with Miz Sophie’s sister, Sarah, and her husband over in Frankfort. It had left Miz Magnolia feeling forlorn and missing her friend, but Ginger had suggested inviting the new pastor, which had cheered her mother right up.
For most of Ginger’s life, Miz Sophie and her mother had been thick as thieves, giggling with each other behind their wineglasses, attending every social function in Apple Valley together, and coordinating beautiful parties and events. But since Woodman’s passing, they’d seen very little of his parents—almost as though seeing Ginger’s family was too painful to bear. They were a reminder of Woodman’s lost future, of the good times they’d all spent together. Plus, Ginger perceived that Miz Sophie, who’d always been a little jealous of her, had turned that jealousy to ripe anger. She seemed angry that Ginger had ever claimed any part of Woodman’s heart, as though his love for her had somehow lessened his love for his mother.
The well of friendship had been poisoned by Woodman’s absence, and though her mother still talked about Sophie like they’d resume their friendship one day (“When Sophie’s up for it, we’ll have to plan another casino night at the club”), Ginger felt sure that the longtime friendship between the Woodmans and the McHuids was over.
Though she didn’t really want to see the Woodmans, their absence after twenty years of Thanksgivings spent together was hard to ignore, and it made Ginger feel lonesome in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Her mother, however, was in full-blown hostess mode.
“Ginger, I have to say, you’re lookin’ so much better,” she said, reaching over to pat her daughter’s hand as a hired server stopped by each place setting with a platter piled high with turkey. Miz Magnolia turned to Monica Greenvale and loudly whispered, “The fireman who died in early October was Ginger’s fiancé.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Greenvale, looking sympathetically across the table. “I’m so sorry, Ginger.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Ginger, pulling her hand away from her mother’s.
“Now, Pastor Greenvale, did you tell me that y’all have a son down at Em’ry?”
“Yes, Miz Magnolia,” said Stuart Greenvale. “Our youngest, Colin.”
“Colin Greenvale,” said Ginger’s mother, giving her daughter an encouraging smile. “Isn’t that a fine name?”
Ginger grimaced at her mother, wondering where this conversation was going and dreading her suspicions. “Yes.”
“Tell us more about Colin, won’t you?” her mother asked Mrs. Greenvale.
Monica Greenvale nodded. “He’s a senior, just twenty-one last month—”
“Well, my goodness! Just like our Ginger!”
“Are you twenty-one, dear?” asked the pastor’s wife.
“I am. Yes, ma’am. Just.”
“Our Colin is studyin’ to be a doctor, so he has many more years—”
“Well!” gasped Miz Magnolia, pressing a flattened palm to the front of her Tory Burch silk wrap dress. “Our Ginger’s a nurse!”
“What a coincidence!” exclaimed Pastor Greenvale, helping himself to another scoop of green beans. “Medical children, eh, Ranger?”
“I guess that’s so,” said Ranger, flicking a glance at Ginger, who felt her cheeks flushing with heat.
“Is your son spendin’ Thanksgivin’ with his girlfriend?” asked Ginger, feeling more and more uncomfortable and trying to waylay her mother’s interest in Colin Greenvale.
“No, no,” said Miz Monica, “he’s volunteerin’ at a hospital in Guatemala for six weeks. We’ll have him back in the States after the New Year.”
“January, Ginger,” said her mother, with a knowing smile. “And since he’ll be new to Apple Valley, I expect you could spare an evenin’ to show him around?”
Ginger’s breath caught, anxiety seeping into her veins.
“Virginia,” said Ranger, suddenly commanding his daughter’s attention. “I asked Nina to set aside a pumpkin pie for Klaus and Cain. If you’re finished eatin’, perhaps you wouldn’t mind takin’ it down to the barn for them?”
“Ranger!” exclaimed Miz Magnolia. “We’re still dinin’.”
Ginger’s father ignored her mother, keeping his eyes fixed, with compassion, on his daughter. “You wouldn’t mind, now, would you, dear?”
“No, sir,” she said softly, placing her napkin beside her plate and standing up from her seat. “With your permission?” she said, smiling serenely at the Greenvales and her mother before giving her father a genuine and grateful nod.
And Ranger McHuid, whom Ginger could never remember denying anything his Magnolia, winked at her conspiratorially before she slipped away.
***
“Noch ein Bier?”