c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(5-26)
The dinner table in Angelette Pringle’s expansive kitchen was long and sturdy. Covered with a white, lace runner that spanned its distance from one end to the other. It had been built by local craftsmen who were skilled at making furniture of all sorts, without sophisticated tools or any other modern conveniences. By necessity, they had relearned old arts long forgotten in the world that existed, over a century ago. Now, their services were desired around the small community of Grafton Depot, and in other pockets of civilization that were hidden in the wilderness areas. Perhaps most of all, in the eastern enclave of Atlantia. Though they shunned traveling to that dominant region, to find wealth and privilege. Instead, they preferred to retain the mountainous, Appalachian heritage that had made them so durable in the face of many challenges after the Great Uprising.
That simple furnishing was a fitting centerpiece for the lively grandmother, and her brood. To be invited for a meal, with her sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, children, great-grandchildren, and neighbors, was an honor not bestowed on seekers of fortune, or those who already held power and notoriety. But always welcome to common travelers, laborers, or those in need.
Judson, Kelly, and Serge were all seated together, at one end of this considerable platform. They stood out as being foreign and unfamiliar, yet were welcomed with enthusiasm. Once the full meal had been prepared, everyone gathered as a group, united in purpose and emotion. Then, the family sire appeared, from a stockroom behind their abode and general store.
Bodean Pringle III was a man in his 70s. Still fit and able to supervise the operation of his business directly, as a manager and purchaser. He did not keep a special office for himself, but instead, worked out of what had been a pantry before the home and emporium were expanded. He had a minimalist approach to acquiring goods and services, with every transaction occurring over a handshake. His word was secure in a way not enforced by legal documents, or public edicts. He spoke softly, but with a firmness of faith in the goodness of his kind. And trust in his own wits, to assess every situation on its particular merits.
Before the feast was served, he bowed graciously over the table end, placed both palms on its polished wood, and offered a blessing.
“Dear Lord, we give thanks for this food prepared to nourish our bodies. We also give thanks for the word you have delivered, to nourish our souls. We ask to be worthy in partaking of these gifts, to be humble in spirit and in deeds. We ask for mercy when our hearts stray from the path of righteousness. And forgiveness when we become full of pride, and forget the bounty we are given, in your name. We also ask for you to embrace strangers and outsiders that may visit us, and seek guidance or favor. Let us never forget that but for your grace, we might also be as they are. We might also be in need of a helping hand or a warm embrace. Let us shine as the sun shines on our fields, every day. Let us be cool-headed as the nights are cool, after dark. Let us always move carefully, with deliberation and affection, as we find challenges to face. Let us never act in haste, or with ignorance. Let us always be your servants, loving one another as we love ourselves. In your holy name we offer this petition. Amen!”
Baines felt his cheeks burning. He was not used to such crude expressions of fealty to a higher consciousness. He did not subscribe to the philosophical tilt toward a creation ethic. Science in any of its forms, was his primary focus. God as a concept seemed better suited to those who were intellectually weak, and uneducated. Yet something in the moment struck him as undeniably authentic. Perhaps, even motivational in a sense he that could not measure or quantify. There was an aura of some sort present in the room, a crackle of static electricity shared between all of the relatives and guests who were present. He felt this energy in his bones, ebbing from his pores, and resonating in his mind.
Strafe, the resigned Space Force officer, took to this prayer of humility more easily because of her own background as a sworn protector of the Mars colonies. She had also bowed in reaction to the blessing being offered. Her echo of the tagline was ebullient, and genuine.
“Amen, Mr. Pringle! Amen, amen, amen!”
Angelette and two of her granddaughters began to assist with passing heaping plates and filled bowls, around the table. Aromas of smokehouse ham, garden tomatoes, pickled onions and peppers, mashed potatoes, cornbread dressing, and fresh biscuits teased everyone’s nostrils and taste buds. Sweet tea flowed freely, along with hand-squeezed lemonade. A festive atmosphere swelled hearts, and caused faces to smile or grin. While this culinary celebration unfolded, part of the banquet was set aside, to be distributed around the town for those who were no longer mobile enough to attend. Those who were shut-in because of physical infirmities or handicaps still mattered.
Finally, Bodean turned his attention toward the new trio sitting in a place of honor, near the kitchen door. He was intrigued by their odd manner of dress, particularly with the one who seemed to be an outlier in this group of three.
“Friends, I won’t trouble you with many questions, because that isn’t my habit. I don’t concern myself with gossip, or prying into details that aren’t mine to know. But I do wonder about how you have come to us, today. We are lost in the woods here, so to speak. Our hillside village doesn’t attract much attention from outsiders, which is a convenient benefit of being hidden in the brush and bramble. Still though, I have to ask, how did you find us? What miracle of goodness brought you here? Is this an act of chance, or a result of some calling we do not understand?”
The three voyagers stared at each other for a moment, being visibly unprepared for that kind of query. They whispered among themselves briefly, before sitting up straight, clearing their throats, and widening their eyes.
Baines identified the cause in simple terms. He did not attempt to elaborate.
“We heard about Grafton Depot on the radio, sir. You’ve apparently got great taste in music of the old-world variety! And so, here we are!”
No comments:
Post a Comment