~ A Thanksgiving Story ~
The lithe stroke of a finger. The soft eyelid of a baby as it lies upon the breast of its mother could not compare, in its infinite sweet innocence, to anything that life has to offer. The voice of strength, and beauty. This can only be found in the soul of the little babe, as it lies in its cradle, sleeping. Folks sit around a ten pound turkey, laughing gaily at a joke that the old man cracked, his mustache tickling his face during the exchange. He sneezes, causing those within earshot of his dialogue to burst into guffaws. Still the little child, with her pink blanket pulled around her like a warm cocoon, continues in her adorable slumber, soundly, and untouched by the air of life around her. Nothing can touch her. A key has been placed over her heart, making all of the special secrets in it secure, and she is protected by the Heavenly Father. The beauty which we call life, ever changing, has no call upon His child, here.
One of the roguish children, called Nell, threw a piece of turkey upon the ground for the dogs to scavenge. He cried,
“Come and get it!” to the mutts that ran frantically over to devour the scraps of meat which was meant for them to have. It was rare that they were able to get their jaws over something as delectable as this. His mother scolded him in a hoarse whisper,
“I told you to eat your supper first!”
“Aww, but Mom,” whined the little boy, “I’m not hungry.”
“Then go and find something to do. I’m sure that there is more for you to occupy yourself with than trying to make the animals fat.” He sighed, as though the greatest gift in the world had been snatched from him.
“Alright, Mom.” A little cat called Jasper made his way daintily over to the fold. He was small with yellow eyes, and although nearly three, still had the appearance of a quiet kitten, who eyed everything in his surrounding with a serene air about him, almost as if he knew that something special was at work in life, and that he himself was adored, nearly as much as the little three month old baby a few feet away from him. When the darling had been brought home, to meet everyone for the first time, Jasper had taken up with her immediately. Rather than fearing for the child’s welfare, in the vein of most overly protective mothers, the soft-spoken woman known as Cherrie had wrapped her scarves tighter about herself and declared in a quiet, authoritative tone,
“Let him go to her.” The cat had then, upon realizing that he wasn’t about to be stopped, trotted delicately to the child lying in its crib. She blinked peacefully up at him, while the feline marveled at the little thing. At that moment, she was no larger than a doll. He felt compelled to lie down with her, and so carefully set one paw upon the edge of the carrier, as if he were hesitating. After a minute though, he knew that everything was alright, and so hopped in, and curled up next to her.
“We’ll call her Blossom,” said the mother. “Because she looks like a cherry blossom with him.” Indeed, Jasper had curled up and placed an arm around the mite-sized angel, because not only was she nearly as big as he was, but, as quoted the mother, she felt good next to him. Pretty, sweet, and innocent. His own flower. And so remained she.
As everyone around the table merrily talked of things that had naught to do with being thankful, clever Jasper eyed the party balefully, yet with that still serene air that he carried with him everywhere. The nature of the conversation to him seemed rather selfish, and he snuggled closer to Blossom, not allowing anyone to see where he was hidden. The only person who knew where the animal was, had to be Cherrie, the child’s mother, because she had grown accustomed to the manner in which everyone’s favorite runt would place himself just so, barely showing an inch outside of the crib. In fact, down to the many blankets the child wore, he was practically hidden, so his black fur did not reach beyond those coverings, let alone touch anything beyond, and no one saw him. Cherrie put a hand inside the crib, unbeknownst to anyone around her, to give the cat a quick scratch. She felt him purring softly.
It was not long until the discussion over the roast turned to more inane and crude chattering, most of which were not fit for the women. Several of them promptly left, and a few of the younger girls, who showed reluctance, were promptly reprimanded by their mothers, and forced to follow after them. Clever Jasper and Blossom were moved to another part of the cozy house, beside the fireplace. Cherrie placed a finger upon her chin thoughtfully. Coming out from the radio meandered sounds that were not pleasant for her ears to behold, since the newscasters decided to take it upon themselves to assail her with their many prattling about war and other such nonsense. She frowned slightly. This was not anything that she needed to hear on Thanksgiving. She placed a hand upon the dial, and turned it to another station. Another radio spokesperson was speaking about the war in Afghanistan
From beyond her shelter of the strong wooden door that had weathered a many terrible storms in its time, the man still animatedly argued over the things that she didn’t want to listen to. Several of them actually pounded the tables with their fists. She moved her rocker closer to both of her ‘children,’ and allowed one of her hands to hover, protectively over the two of them-
Just then a loud banging from the less protective door announced the flamboyant as well as crass entrance of her brother-in-law.
“Cherrie.” He bore down in front of her. She could smell the stale stench of ale pungently dripping from him.
“What is it, Matthew?” He looked at her, and his eyes for a moment swirled with an emotion that she could not name. It looked nearly sympathetic, while at the same time causing her breast to swell with anxiety.
“We need to go now,” he told her. “The troops are moving in. I heard it on the radio just moments ago.” She reached down into the cradle, letting the pink covers on her baby come down very slightly. She suddenly found herself choked for air.
“No.”
“Right now. Grab the baby.” She wouldn’t do it.
“No, no!” she cried out. “You can’t have my baby.”
“Cherrie, let go of her. Your husband is fighting in that war.” She stopped her passionate struggle, and looked at him. He held her in a strong grip. Her hair fell in frazzled whirls of ridiculous curls about her face.
“I know.” She swallowed heavily, tears stinging her eyelids. She could hear Mathew’s harsh breathing, and looked once again into his red eyes. They bore into her like nails. She said, “I know.” Then she lifted the cradle, and took up both of her children. Jasper lifted his small head up and looked at her. She placed a finger to her lips.
“Shh, not now.” He gazed at her knowingly, and then settled back down next to Blossom, looking rather sad. Her heart felt as if it were going to tear out of her chest. “It’s alright, little angels. It’s alright.”
Blossom was a very special angel. But, as sweet as babies are, they cannot compare to elements in this world that are of magic. Jasper was a bright, intelligent animal, who had a sixth sense that told him when things were going to happen. That is why, when they were taken away, the little baby and the loving cat torn from their fireplace beneath the arms of people who stole across alleyways like thieves, in the night, he simply put his head down and slept.
When the group made their way into a hidden enclosure just beyond a market plaza, where people seldom ever went unless to remove their backpacks from days of traveling, as they came into town, Cherrie began to sing quietly to the baby. Jasper’s ears straightened, while the sounds meeting his ears turned into a melody that flattened out like a sweet roll before it baked. It was soft to him, and welcoming somehow. He blinked up at the lady in question peacefully. She placed one of her hands on top of him, yet again, stroking the black fur, once, then two more times. But before she knew what had happened Jasper lifted a paw, swatting her away gently. She lagged near the end of the party, slowing enough to hiss under her breath,
“What is it, Jasper?” His yellow eyes bored into her, as though he were trying to transmit a message. She bent down closer. “Do you need something?” She murmured. It was hard for her to believe that Blossom had not awakened, but with the black bundle resting protectively around her baby’s head, perhaps, that should not have been surprising . . .
Jasper’s body was now rigid however. He was alert, his ears perked, and his beautiful orbs of yellow meeting hers evenly. Cherrie did not know much about animals save for what her experiences had been with this one, a rather strange kind of background to boast for one that communicated so fluently with the small cat. She noticed glowing embers in the distance, and wrapped her arms more tightly around the child.
“What is it?” she questioned again. “What do you need?” The cat stealthily crept up to the edge of the cradle, his yellow-amber eyes observing the scene around them. He could not do anything at the current moment while in his present position. Therefore, he swatted Cherrie’s arm once again.
“You’re free to go,” she said, starting to choke up. “But I won’t know where to find you.” He gazed at her again, and those round, glowing eyes seemed to speak to her. Then he jumped out of the cradle, streaking across the expanse between the refugees and several buildings several yards away from them. Tears streaming down her face, she wiped at herself angrily and continued walking. Jasper was no more than a shadow as he sped across the open, and she tried not to look. She raised her head high and continued walking.
The little cat dashed between large, angry men with enormous instruments that he had never before seen. He heard shouts coming from many of them and crass words that he knew his master wouldn’t allow under her supervision, but he also knew that they would not be able to catch him, because he was faster than the speed of lightning. Ignoring their rudeness, he thought of all the nice things that he and Blossom would do once they got themselves out of this mess. Dogs barked, but they were miles away from him. He shot into a house that looked as though it were on the edge of collapse, since the Japanese had burned it. Some men beyond the area called out roughly.
“Run!” One of them shouted, as several sparks were lit up, and the building across from him went up in flames. Jasper sat in the window of the broken down, thatch-roof shelter he was in, quietly watching while all of it took place. He heard Christmas music in the other direction, and so followed his senses, being careful to dodge all of the raging bullets and scornful lust of these horrible people as he took off, making toward the lovely singsong voices. They reminded him of Cherrie’s voice.
“God rest ye merry gentlemen and they will . . . ” The voices tapered, but the little cat continued to roam around, looking for them. He met up with the carolers soon, after he crossed two more streets. The group was composed of five women and three young girls, all of whom were covered in warms scarves and shawls up to their heads, down to their very toes. All of them also had bright pink faces, and as they sang, their breaths could be seen in the cold air, twirling into whiffs of clouds that petered away after a time. Jasper watched in fascination while the older ones held their girls close to them, a larger, buxom lady pulling hers so tight that she looked as though she might suffocate. In the blink of an eye, an idea spurred the tiny cat into action. He raced up between them, the purple pads upon his feet thudding with very little weight on the cobbled stones beneath him, an act of gravity that only he was privy to hearing. He leapt up at a piece of sheet-work dangling, grabbed it between his teeth, and before the unfortunate caroler had a chance to turn, ran as fast as his legs would carry him towards the direction of his own party-
When he heard the familiar voices, his heart pounded faster, spurring him with intense motive, joy filling him. When he was within sight of Cherrie and Blossom, he couldn’t contain his meow of pleasure, dashing straight into the cradle, without so much as another minute given away to surroundings. His master started crying softly. No one could see how happy they were save for feline and the mother who was a part of this.
“Did you have a safe trip?” She asked him. “What’s that you have?” She fingered the sheet-music delicately, before more tears in her eyes gathered. “Do you know you could have been killed? What’s wrong with you?” Jasper simply purred, rubbing his black head against her gloved, aromatic hand, whose air of spices and herbs he had missed. “Jasper,” she scolded halfheartedly, not really owning up to any true need to reprimand him for his work. “Look, everyone. Jasper got sheet-music for us. Let us sing Christmas songs.” No one except Matthew turned back around, not paying her any mind. A few of them even tossed her a hard glare before they continued walking down the dark street.
“Good grief, woman! We’re in the middle of a war,” he said harshly, his brown eyes narrowed. “What would possess you to sing?” She shrugged serenely, a small smile upon her lips. “My husband would have wanted it.” A slight changed moved behind the look he was giving her.
“Perhaps he would have. But you know that we cannot sing. We’re in the middle of chaos. Everyone here is just fighting to stay living.” His eyes fell involuntarily upon the baby in her arms.
“I know,” she said. “But then . . . what we really need is to stay alive here.” She pointed at her heart. “I know it sounds crazy, Matt, but . . . perhaps, when we find shelter, if we sing this carol then it will give a sense of normalcy to Thanksgiving. After all . . . ” she looked up at the sky above them, where all the blue in it, seemed to have congealed into one mass between the burning flames. “There is more to be thankful for then, well- I might have thought.” She looked down at her children again, now both sleeping softly.
That night, ten people of various ages sang God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman, around a fire, completely removed and apparently unaware of their city, which was going up in flames around them. Cherrie reached down, as she had so many times on that particular occasion, and softly stroked her children’s faces. In the far distance, a woman who had lost her written carol sang from her heart, having been forced to memorize all of it. And, in some small way, on that Thanksgiving Evening, more had been accomplished, than words could tell. The faint stroke of a finger and an eyelash moving upon the face . . . the secrets which were locked in the heart of a small babe. Jasper’s treasure was his love for his two family members that meant to him so much, and his family, well, they all adored him. A long, long time ago, where we never imagine we can go, is the story of love, and beauty, in a sheltering fold-
And on that Thanksgiving night which I am describing, that particular story, was worth more to those people in their hidden cave, sodden as it was and no matter how dank, than anything they could ever have cherished. God surrounded them, and while the area went up in flames, a mother lay sleeping upon her child’s breast. And a cat’s eyes burned through the dark-
with some kind of magic.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I hope you enjoyed this little special. If you did, feel free to press that dreaded button called 'comments,' which we all know and love regardless. I bid you best wishes until next time we meet.
Brooke ~
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