Holiday Feast

The sun shone dully through a thick blanket of December clouds while
an elderly woman made her way haltingly across the street to Anderson's
Grocery, clutching her coat collar closed while she went. A brass bell
clanged overhead as she bustled through the door, pushing it closed
against a bitter wind.
"Hello Mrs. Watkins, how are you this evening?" A jolly looking man in
a faded red smock, greeted her from behind the checkout counter. "Cold
enough for you?"
"Yes... yes!" she exclaimed. "I believe it's going to snow again soon;
the aches in my bones say so!"
"As if we haven't had enough already! Can I help you find
anything?"
"No thank you, I don't think so, I just need a couple of things and
then I'll be ready for a nice little Christmas dinner with my
neighbor."
"You got here just in time," he said cheerily. "I was just about to
close up shop."
"Oh... good! I won't take long!" she said heading toward the canned
goods section.
She scanned the well-stocked shelves for what she wanted. There were
cans of corn, cans of beets, green beans, sauerkraut, even cans of
pumpkin pie filling. She must be getting close! But her good humor
failed when she saw that her way was blocked by a young ruffian. He
seemed to be standing right where the cans she needed would be. He wore
an olive drab overcoat with earrings and a spiky haircut, and his pants
looked like they might fall right off his scrawny hips. What would a
kid like this be doing in a grocery store?
She didn't want any trouble, so she decided to go on past him to the
dairy cooler and pick up the margarine she needed. Maybe by the time
she came back, he will have finished and moved on to another part of
the store. She walked quietly and cautiously past the young man,
noticing with chagrin that he seemed to be studying the ingredients in
a can of congealed cranberry sauce, one of the things she was looking
for!
At the refrigerator case she picked up a plastic tub of margarine and
placed it in her shopping basket. On a whim, she added a carton of egg
nog. Why not splurge a little? Tomorrow would be Christmas, after
all!
Having finished with her other shopping, Mrs. Watkins returned to the
canned goods section. As she stepped into the aisle, she observed the
kid struggling with something under his jacket. While she watched, a
loaf of French bread slid out from under his coat and fell to the
floor. Looking closer, she could also see that his coat pockets were
bulging with tin cans. He was shoplifting!
She stepped back, hoping he hadn't seen her. There's no telling what he
might do if he thought she had seen him! Hoping to be inconspicuous,
she turned to the shelf beside her and picked up the first thing that
came to hand, a bag of nacho flavored chips, and dropped it into her
basket. Then she made an inept effort to walk casually over to the
checkout counter.
"Excuse me, Mr. Pritchard, I need to tell you something."
Seeing that something must be wrong, the grocer leaned forward to hear
her urgent news.
"You've got a shoplifter!" she whispered excitedly. "That weird-looking
punk is taking everything you've got! You've got to call the
police!"
"Oh, you mean Jackie? It's all right, he doesn't take much."
"He's done this before? You know about this and you don't do anything
about it?" she asked, wide-eyed and bewildered.
"That's right. He's okay. About every other week or so, he comes in
here and takes one or two things."
While the man behind the counter spoke, the subject of their
conversation sauntered past them and right out the door.
"But I really don't mind," he continued, "he only takes what he
needs."
"You can't let him just walk out of here!" she whined.
The store keeper was beginning to lose his cheerful demeanor when he
answered "Yes I can, Mrs. Watkins. I appreciate your concern, but this
is my store; I'll do business any way I want.
"Now," he said with finality, "is there anything else you need? Or can
I ring you up?"
She could hardly speak; was he giving her the brush-off! "No," she
snapped. "That's all. You can ring me up now."
After paying for her groceries, Mrs. Watkins stormed angrily out of the
store. Along the way back home, a stray cat began to follow her. "Get
out of here, you mangy, yellow flea bag!" she growled, kicking clumsily
at it. "I don't have any food for you!" The cat, being used to such
treatment, dodged her foot easily and continued to follow.

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Just around the block, in a rented mill house, Jackie returned home to
the smell of turkey and dressing. Susan, his pretty young wife, smiled
as he came through the door.
"Merry Christmas!" she called out, happily. "Supper's almost
ready!"
"Great! I'm starved!" He walked over to the high chair where a
curly-headed girl with chubby cheeks smiled up at him. "And how's my
little angel doing today?" he said, lifting her high in the air.
She laughed and squealed with delight.
"Look what Daddy brought you!" He set her down and pulled a can from
his pocket. "Your Daddy brought his baby some cranberry sauce! You like
your cranberry sauce, don't you?... Yes you do!... Yes you do!" She
laughed and giggled as he tickled her chin.
Susan came from the kitchen carrying turkey TV dinners which she put on
the table. "Perfect!" she exclaimed. "Just what we needed to dress up
our dinner!" She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

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On the other side of town, a Christmas tree, heavily laden with lights
and tinsel, stood watch in the corner while the grocer sat down to
dinner, his family all around. Royal Doulton china and Waterford
crystal sparkled in the flickering light of a pair of candles while the
family prayed, giving thanks for the meal they were about to eat.
When the prayer ended, the feeding frenzy began: Pass the turkey! Pass
the potatoes! Terry, be careful, you'll knock your glass over.
Christine, would you like to have some dressing?
At the head of the table, the amiable patriarch, made a request: "Pass
the cranberry sauce, please."

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Down the street from Anderson's Grocery, Viola Watkins was preparing a
modest meal. A small hen was roasting in the oven and green beans
boiled in a pot on the stove. A salad bowl was filled with a colorful
mixture of lettuce, carrots, radishes and broccoli. Fresh rolls
snuggled under a towel in the bread basket.
A bag of nacho chips sat alone and unopened on the kitchen
counter.
The door bell announced that her friend had arrived. "Margie! It's so
good to see you! Come in, come in! Supper's almost ready. Let me take
your coat. Have a seat!"
"It's good to see you too," Margie said. "Thank you for inviting me
over. Here... I brought a couple of things for tonight." The box she
offered Viola contained a home-made fruit cake and a can of cranberry
sauce.
While the two old friends ate, they chatted and reminisced about the
good old days. Later, Viola told Margie about her encounter with the
shoplifter and Mr. Pritchard, and about how rude he had been.
Margie interrupted: "Don't you know about Mr. Pritchard?
"No.... Should I?" she asked, uneasily.
"Mr. Pritchard used to have a partner in the grocery store. He and Ben
Anderson, owned the store together; they were best friends. About
twelve years ago, Ben had a heart attack and died. Ever since then, Mr.
Pritchard has watched over Ben's only child, a boy who was only
fourteen at the time.
"I'm almost sure that the boy you saw at the store today must have been
Jackie Anderson, Ben Anderson's son!"
For a moment, Viola's fork hung motionless in the air, all but
forgotten. Finally, she said, "Oh, my goodness!... That must have been
him!... I'm so embarrassed! I think I owe Mr. Pritchard an
apology!"

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After the ladies finished supper, Mrs. Watkins scraped their leftovers
onto a plate and carried it out to the back porch. "Kitty?" she called.
"Kitty! Kitty!"
A scrawny yellow cat slipped quietly out of the shadows and crept
cautiously onto the porch.
"You know, if you feed that thing, you'll never get rid of it," Margie
commented from the door.
"I know. It's all right; he won't eat much. He'll only take what he
needs."
She set the plate down and the cat immediately ran over and began
feasting on the contents of the plate: chicken bones, giblets, green
beans, cranberry sauce and gravy.
Viola leaned over for a moment and stroked the cat's bony back while he
ate. A smiled curled on her face when she heard a purr rumbling in its
throat.