An Old Fashioned Thanksgiving

Dear Mrs. Caldwell, my friend

and neighbor, Mr. Gideon Hopkins,

had the pleasure to make

your acquaintance this summer

on a ferry trip from Cyprus to Crete.

If you are reading this, it means that

his first suspicions have been confirmed.

You, Mrs. Caldwell, are my mother.

I trust I will be forgiven for not remembering

when or why we parted.

My beloved husband

was recently kidnapped by Gypsies

and I must admit the experience

has left me somewhat undone.

Deprived of his protection,

my children and I live like wild animals,

demented by hunger

and at risk of losing shelter as well.

We are kept afloat by one hope,

that, having been alerted to our plight,

you will joyfully embrace

your maternal responsibility

and restore us to our former lives.

Anxiously awaiting your reply.

Yours sincerely, Mary.

Chapter One. The Letter.

By which our story begins.

Good morning, Tilly.

-Thank you.

-Have a good day.

What could be keeping Mother?

She`s delivering a baby.

How much time could it take?

She`s been gone all night and half the day.

Don`t worry, she`s well.

-I found it. The serving platter.

-Lovely.

At this rate, l`ll miss the post.

The post office can do without

your hovering for one day.

I`m not hovering.

I shall die of shock

if this mysterious letter ever arrives.

Here`s flour. It`s all we have.

We better put it away

so it doesn`t get wasted.

-What are you doing?

-Planning Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is two weeks away.

I`ve been over the pantry.

It seems we need pudding, cranberries,

mashed potatoes, turkey and pies.

Basically everything.

It`s not like other years.

We may not have a Thanksgiving, Solomon.

This way, we won`t be tempted.

Watch yourself, Solomon. Solomon!

It was an accident, Mother.

Well, at least you kept busy.

There won`t be pudding and there won`t

be pies, but we`ll have each other,

and that`s what Thanksgiving is all about.

But we have each other all the time.

Pudding is what you look forward to.

We can look forward

to a very special Thanksgiving.

-With no pudding?

-No pudding.

-No turkey? No cranberries?

-And no stuffing and no gravy.

-How?

-lf we can`t put dinner on the table,

then at least we can put it on the tablecloth.

Is this another stitching project?

We have much leftover cloth

that can be cut into turkeys and pilgrims.

We`ll make it together

over the next couple of weeks.

-Can I cut the cloth?

-Everyone can cut the cloth.

How`s Mrs. Yule?

She`s very well, all things considered.

Not well enough to pay.

Tilly`s cross about missing the post.

I went by the post office on my way home.

And?

Gideon`s back from college.

Gad`s back!

That`s what they told me.

Came home on the morning coach.

Mother!

You`re an angel. You`re a saint.

-What about the letter?

-lt doesn`t matter! Gad`s back!

You`re not going!

-Why shouldn`t l?

-Mrs. Hopkins hates us.

She doesn`t hate us.

She won`t even know l`m there.

-What are you doing?

-Coming with you.

Listen, you can`t.

Prudence, this is terribly important.

Everything`s important to you.

If I used that as my guide,

I should never do anything.

I think Gad found our grandmother.

The one Mother won`t talk about.

And she`s rich.

-Rich?

-Extremely.

-Tilly...

-I wrote her a letter asking for help,

which Gad was going to deliver

were she our grandmother.

If mother found out, she would die.

Which is why I need

to speak with him privately.

Pamela, what is this?

I`ll tell you. That is a fingerprint.

And a fingerprint

does not belong on a door,

and nothing belongs on this door because...

I`d like you to start with the bedroom,

and this time

I`d like you to lift up

my perfume bottles, please.

When you do the dusting, dust.

Byron.

Perhaps you require more privacy.

Gideon!

He`s meant for you.

Why didn`t you write you were coming?

It was meant to be a surprise.

Well, that was a nasty trick.

-Trick?

-Yes. You`ve completely changed.

I can see you haven`t.

I`ve matured more than it might first appear.

So I see.

You`ve been away for decades.

How many languages do you speak now?

Three?

How are you, Tilly?

There must be a more compelling topic.

Whenever I wrote to you about your father

you never answered.

No one knows more

about losing a loved one than I do.

Don`t let`s talk about this, Gideon. Please.

Mother says that you`re behind on the rent.

There must be something I can do

to help you.

Give me your news.

News?

I see, I shall have to torture you,

Lord Stickywicket,

if I mean to get at the truth.

Never, Madam Busybody!

I will die before giving up my secrets.

Mrs. Caldwell?

Were my suspicions confirmed?

-ls she my grandmother?

-She is.

What is she like?

In body, well-favored. In speech, eloquent.

In manner, refined.

Go on.

She lives in a house as big as a palace,

paintings by all the great masters.

Name them.

Cezanne.

-You lie.

-Degas.

Gideon.

She`s well-read.

Keeping up with her in conversation

is like dancing on coals.

My letter. Was it delivered?

Tilly...

-Did she read it?

-Yes.

-What did she say?

-She threw it away.

I`m so sorry.

Don`t be silly.

It`s not right.

After all, what did I expect?

She doesn`t know what she`s missing.

There must be some reason

they haven`t spoken in all this time.

Till.

Don`t forget.

I was just saying to myself, ``l wonder

how those poor children are doing?``

And here you are, right before my eyes.

How is your mother?

-Very well.

-She must be dreadful.

Such a... A robust husband stolen from her

in the prime of life.

It`s late.

Do give her my best.

What a pity they live

in such wretched circumstances.

They would otherwise be good company.

Now I am so often alone.

Good sir, hello. It is l, Mathilda Bassett.

Inspired by your great words

and noble countenance to ask for help.

I have done all that is in my power

to save my family.

Without some intervention

we are sure to lose what little we have left.

I make no frivolous petition.

In return for your aid I am prepared

to become your postulant,

sacrificing my creature comforts entirely

and devoting my life and writing to

the pursuit of nothing but beauty and truth.

Tilly! What are you doing? Come inside!

Whatever possessed you?

Papa put in potatoes last year.

Tilly, we won`t starve.

Our storage bins are empty.

I`m working and so are you.

There must be more than just us,

some relatives we could ask for assistance?

Your father`s family is in lreland.

What about yours?

They`re still alive, aren`t they?

Some bargains are too costly to make.

I`ve spent many hours trying

to unravel the mystery of my mother.

One thing I know about her past was

that she at one time owned a skittish horse.

That is how she met my father, Ellis Bassett.

She was trapped under a bridge

in Central Park,

unable to get the terrified beast to move

until, happening upon them,

my father began singing to it in Gaelic.

According to him,

by the time they got home he had proposed.

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