Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving Dinner Page #2

"Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving Dinner" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a charming short story that captures the spirit of Thanksgiving through the eyes of a young girl. The narrative revolves around a family gathering at Aunt Susanna's house, where the warmth of familial bonds, the joy of sharing stories, and the importance of gratitude are at the forefront. As the preparations for the festive meal unfold, the characters navigate humorous misunderstandings and heartfelt moments, ultimately highlighting the significance of togetherness and appreciation during the holiday season. With Montgomery's signature blend of whimsical storytelling and gentle life lessons, the tale captures the essence of Thanksgiving in a delightful and engaging way.

• Short story

								

that dog in spite of all I can do and I can't walk out of my own back
door without falling over him."

We promise to eschew the McGinnises and all their works, including
the dog, and when Aunt Susanna had gone we looked at each other with
mingled hope and fear.

"Girls, this is the chance of your lives," said Laura. "If you can
only please Aunt Susanna with this dinner it will convince her that
you are good cooks in spite of your nefarious bent for music and
literature. I consider the illness of Miranda Mary's mother a
Providential interposition--that is, if she isn't too sick."

"It's all very well for you to be pleased, Lolla," I said dolefully.
"But I don't feel jubilant over the prospect at all. Something will
probably go wrong. And then there's our own nice little Thanksgiving
celebration we've planned, and pinched and economized for weeks to
provide. That is half spoiled now."

"Oh, what is that compared to Margaret's chance of going to college?"
exclaimed Kate. "Cheer up, Aggie. You know we can cook. I feel that it
is now or never with Aunt Susanna."

I cheered up accordingly. We are not given to pessimism which is
fortunate. Ever since father died four years ago we have struggled on
here, content to give up a good deal just to keep our home and be
together. This little gray house--oh, how we do love it and its apple
trees--is ours and we have, as aforesaid, a tiny income and our
ambitions; not very big ambitions but big enough to give zest to our
lives and hope to the future. We've been very happy as a rule. Aunt
Susanna has a big house and lots of money but she isn't as happy as
we are. She nags us a good deal--just as she used to nag father--but
we don't mind it very much after all. Indeed, I sometimes suspect that
we really like Aunt Susanna tremendously if she'd only leave us alone
long enough to find it out.

Thursday morning was an ideal Thanksgiving morning--bright, crisp and
sparkling. There had been a white frost in the night, and the orchard
and the white birch wood behind it looked like fairyland. We were all
up early. None of us had slept well, and both Kate and I had had the
most fearful dreams of spoiling Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving dinner.

"Never mind, dreams always go by contraries, you know," said Laura
cheerfully. "You'd better go up to the Pinery early and get the fires
on, for the house will be cold. Remember the McGinnises and the dog.
Weigh the turkey so that you'll know exactly how long to cook it. Put
the pies in the oven in time to get piping hot--lukewarm mince pies
are an abomination. Be sure--"

"Laura, don't confuse us with any more cautions," I groaned, "or we
shall get hopelessly fuddled. Come on, Kate, before she has time to."


It wasn't very far up to the Pinery--just ten minutes' walk, and such
a delightful walk on that delightful morning. We went through the
orchard and then through the white birch wood where the loveliness of
the frosted boughs awed us. Beyond that there was a lane between ranks
of young, balsamy, white-misted firs and then an open pasture field,
sere and crispy. Just across it was the Pinery, a lovely old house
with dormer windows in the roof, surrounded by pines that were dark
and glorious against the silvery morning sky.

The McGinnis dog was sitting on the back-door steps when we arrived.
He wagged his tail ingratiatingly, but we ruthlessly pushed him off,
went in and shut the door in his face. All the little McGinnises were
sitting in a row on their fence, and they whooped derisively. The
McGinnis manners are not those which appertain to the caste of Vere de
Vere; but we rather like the urchins--there are eight of them--and we
would probably have gone over to talk to them if we had not had the
fear of Aunt Susanna before our eyes.

We kindled the fires, weighed the turkey, put it in the oven and
prepared the vegetables. Then we set the dining-room table and
decorated it with Aunt Susanna's potted ferns and dishes of lovely red
apples. Everything went so smoothly that we soon forgot to be nervous.
When the turkey was done, we took it out, set it on the back of the
range to keep warm and put the mince pies in. The potatoes, cabbage
and turnips were bubbling away cheerfully, and everything was going as
merrily as a marriage bell. Then, all at once, things happened.

In an evil hour we went to the yard window and looked out. We saw a
quiet scene. The McGinnis dog was still sitting on his haunches by the
steps, just as he had been sitting all the morning. Down in the
McGinnis yard everything wore an unusually peaceful aspect. Only one
McGinnis was in sight--Tony, aged eight, who was perched up on the
edge of the well box, swinging his legs and singing at the top of his
melodious Irish voice. All at once, just as we were looking at him,
Tony went over backward and apparently tumbled head foremost down his
father's well.

Kate and I screamed simultaneously. We tore across the kitchen, flung
open the door, plunged down over Aunt Susanna's yard, scrambled over
the fence and flew to the well. Just as we reached it, Tony's red head
appeared as he climbed serenely out over the box. I don't know whether
I felt more relieved or furious. He had merely fallen on the blank
guard inside the box: and there are times when I am tempted to think
he fell on purpose because he saw Kate and me looking out at the
window. At least he didn't seem at all frightened, and grinned most
impishly at us.

Kate and I turned on our heels and marched back in as dignified a
manner as was possible under the circumstances. Half way up Aunt
Susanna's yard we forgot dignity and broke into a run. We had left the
door open and the McGinnis dog had disappeared.

Never shall I forget the sight we saw or the smell we smelled when we
burst into that kitchen. There on the floor was the McGinnis dog and
what was left of Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving turkey. As for the smell,
imagine a commingled odor of scorching turnips and burning mince pies,
and you have it.

The dog fled out with a guilty yelp. I groaned and snatched the
turnips off. Kate threw open the oven door and dragged out the pies.
Pies and turnips were ruined as irretrievably as the turkey.

"Oh, what shall we do?" I cried miserably. I knew Margaret's chance of
college was gone forever.

"Do!" Kate was superb. She didn't lose her wits for a second. "We'll
go home and borrow the girls' dinner. Quick--there's just ten minutes
before train time. Throw those pies and turnips into this basket--the
turkey too--we'll carry them with us to hide them."

I might not be able to evolve an idea like that on the spur of the
moment, but I can at least act up to it when it is presented. Without
a moment's delay we shut the door and ran. As we went I saw the
McGinnis dog licking his chops over in their yard. I have been ashamed
ever since of my feelings toward that dog. They were murderous.

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