“Gifts?” Grace asked. “You aren’t thinking of buying gifts for all eight siblings, are you?”
“No.” Vera tapped a red, gold, and green plaid material. “This one would be perfect. Actually, we’ve always made Christmas gifts for each other in our family. We never had the money to buy any. Just the material to make them nearly broke our banks. Our farm was tiny.”
“Are you going to sew something with that material?”
“No, I’ll wrap my gifts in it. Then, I’ll pick out some ribbon to tie them closed.”
“What a fantastic idea,” Grace said. “Even I could afford to do that.”
“Wyatt didn’t tell me how much money we have or don’t have, but he said we had a good crop this year, and I could spend up to five dollars on anything I wanted.”
“He must have gotten that idea from his brother. Clay gives me five dollars to spend, too.”
Vera ordered the material and some ribbon before telling Grace, “I know exactly what I’ll make for my siblings, but I don’t know what to make Wyatt.”
Grace sighed. “I have that problem every year. Sometimes, I just bake him something special. This year, however, I have something very special to give him.”
“Oh, tell me—maybe I can get the same for Wyatt.”
Grace laughed. “I don’t think you can ... at least, not yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t tell anyone--I want it to be a surprise, but we’re going to have a child in the spring.”
Vera grabbed Grace and hugged her. “Congratulations! I won’t breathe a word of it. The surprise will be gift enough for Clay. He might even faint. How long have you two been married?”
“Five years.”
“Oh, my!”
“God has finally blessed us.”
Vera felt herself blush. “Now I know why I can’t give Wyatt the same gift.”
Now, Grace was the one to blush. “You two ... haven’t ... um ... ”
“No, not yet. We’re still getting acquainted.”
“It will come. Give it some time and prayer.”
Vera spent every spare moment knitting, crocheting, or embroidering. She still had no idea what to give Wyatt. Would he give her a gift? Their first Christmas might be an uncomfortable one. She thought about knitting him some gloves or a scarf. She could always hide the gift if he didn’t offer her one. That way it wouldn’t be awkward. Maybe she’d have enough yarn to make him gloves and a scarf.
She thought about Grace’s baby as she sewed. Did she want children? Maybe one or two, but certainly not nine. She doubted she and Wyatt would get to the intimate stage for a while, so she didn’t have to worry about increasing just yet.
How might Wyatt fit in back home? Would the kids like him? She knew they would. Who wouldn’t like Wyatt? He was the friendliest man she’d ever known. She grew fonder of him each day, although he had made no intimate advances, such as holding her hand or putting his arm around her as of yet. Vera thought she might like it if he did, though. She’d welcome any sign of affection from him.
After six weeks of marriage, Vera still didn’t know Wyatt very well. She knew he was well-liked in the community. At church, everyone greeted him and seemed fond of him. He loved his father and brother and they seemed to get along wonderfully. He treated her like a princess—a distant one that sat on a shelf—but he smiled at her a lot, and he had a wicked smile.
~~~***~~~
Thanksgiving was approaching, and the church announced it would have its yearly celebration. The minister and his wife, James and Polly Sterling, had each family draw a slip of paper from a bowl after the service. Written on the paper was the dish the family was to bring. She gave them permission to exchange with someone else if they couldn’t bring the assigned dish.
Vera eagerly unfolded her slip, worried they’d want something she hadn’t made before, but smiled when she saw that her paper read, “apple pie.” She showed it to Grace.
“I have cornbread,” Grace said. “It’s my specialty.”
Vera heard the other women exclaiming over or trading their papers.
“Who supplies the turkey?” Vera asked.
“Mr. Butler. He owns the general store and will contribute several birds, and Polly does the roasting with the help of Mrs. Butler, and Reverend James.” Grace squeezed Vera’s arm. “You will love the dinner.”
Vera and Grace went outside to meet their husbands, who were waiting for them by their buggies. It had grown cool, and the women put up their collars and scurried to their husbands.
“What do we bring this year?” Clay asked as he helped his wife into the buggy.
“Cornbread.”
“Now, aren’t they lucky to get the best cornbread in town?” Clay said.
Wyatt helped Vera into the buggy. “What do you have to make?”
“Apple pie.”
“You make an excellent apple pie,” he said as he nudged the buggy forward. “And Clay and I have the most important job: getting the food to the church without eating it.”
Vera and Wyatt laughed. Vera thought about how good it felt to be in his company and to laugh together.
By Thanksgiving, Wyatt’s arm was out of the sling, and he and Jack had finished all of their outside work. Vera had made several pies to store in the root cellar, as well as the one that would go to their dinner at the church.
They had invited Jack to the church dinner. Vera felt special walking into the church—which also served as the schoolhouse—with two of the handsomest men in the county.
The men had cleared out all of the desks and school items and set up a table so long it stretched from the far wall to the front of the building. The women placed their food contributions on
