Harvest

Maria held her husband's arm as she descended the staircase. Illness could not obscure the authority whipping stiff peaks in her black robe, nor hide the beauty in a lined but determined face.

Her son waited at the bottom in his finest attire-a kilt matching the bushy red hair inherited from his mother. "You look good, Mom!"

"And you look handsome as ever, Brandon." A thin smile underlined her soft words as they walked toward the dining room. Her daughter waited at the open French doors in a flapper costume. Maria chuckled, grasping Erica in a hug. "Don't tell Aunt Eunice, but you rock her dress."

She turned to the dining room and gasped.

"It's gorgeous."

She stood in silence, the moisture on her trembling lashes reflecting joy, to take in the fall wonderland inside her home. Potted trees meandered the back wall, a living forest blending the boundary between wilderness and civilization. The table gleamed with fine china, crystal, and silver. The light of one white, one black, and one red candle held the dark at bay; shadows of gourds, acorns, and leaves danced serpentine down white linen.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble..."

The troupe crowded to embrace the young matriarch as she brushed a tear from her cheek.

"I'm fine-really. Let's eat." With a gracious smile she ambled forward, stopping to inspect the sideboard laden with memories of the past.

Maria traced a finger over a French dictionary to her father's picture. She sat beside him at the table he made with his hands. "Bien," he said, snapping the book shut. A seven year-old heart swelled with confidence.

She lifted the pack of Marlboro reds beside the photo of her mother and inhaled deeply. Under the disintegrating tobacco, White Shoulders lingered. As the curvaceous woman in a black evening gown enveloped her in a hug, Maria marveled at the constellation of rainbows dancing on the walls-magical rainbows thrown from a diamond necklace. She clutched at her throat automatically, fingering the antique jewels.

Her family waited patiently for her to return to the present and take her seat at the head of the table.

"Thank you-thank you all so much for making this Samhain so special. The altar is perfect-you found just the right symbol for each ancestor."

"It ain't over yet, sweetie." James smiled wide, wrinkles appearing on a youthful face. "Brandon, you want to read your poem?"

The burly young man produced a paper from the folds of his kilt and laid it beside a candle. His voice grew in strength as he read the words.

"On Samhain Eve-
a brief reprieve.
Here life and death do meet.
The veil is thin
as mists roll in--
the family tree complete.

We call ancestors of our line
to visit for the night.
We share a tear, a smoke, a beer
to honor them is right.

Grandmother, come, enfold us in love.
Grandfather, send your strength from above
Aunts and Uncles, stay for a space;
friends, bring wisdom to this sacred place."

Maria nodded approval but her eyes remained on the empty place setting at the foot of the table.

Erica crossed to the sideboard, the fringe on her dress whispering to the twilight. She tucked auburn hair behind both ears, closing almond eyes-the perfect combination of both parents. She called each loved one, lighting a candle. In a few breathless minutes the room hummed with light.

"Bien," Maria mumbled, playing with her fork absently. Only when the scent of onions and spiced beef reached her nose did she shake her head and glance around.

"Your mom is delighted you remembered the perkedel." She bit into the potato pancake, her face and shoulders falling in satisfaction. "Delicious! But Li would have said they were too salty."

As each course arrived, Maria shared the fames and foibles of the recipe's cook. Family secrets and long-stifled opinions flew freely around the room, weaving a spell of perfect love and trust.

Suspended in the moment, Maria raised her arms in an exaggerated shrug. "I'm pulling the sheet around me, and your grandmother's screaming at me in Indonesian, ‘I don't care if it is your wedding night, this woman you left me with is a stranger!'"

The family erupted in howls of laughter that left Maria pale and gasping for breath. James chuckled louder to cover the rattle as Erica squeezed out of her seat to grab a pill bottle from the kitchen.

Maria patted her husband's hand as she swallowed the morphine which would shroud her in the veil of sleep--a veil through which she could see the dead but not the living. Only here, only on this night, can I talk with both.

James tossed two coins on the table. "Time to wrap up this celebration. " He looked to the full plate of food at the opposite end. "Two heads up--they've finished eating. Erica, would you like to thank the ancestors?"

Maria clutched at the linen tablecloth. "But they haven't left! " She relaxed her fingers and took a deep breath. "They want their flowers. Your mom is making digging motions."

A vacuum of silence hovered where courage had fled; no one knew what to say.

James narrowed his eyes in respect. "Dang, you're right! I'd like everyone to take home one of the tulips from the sideboard. They came from the first bulbs your great grandmother planted at the farm. " He dropped his voice. "I thought it would be neat to see life spring from death."

Maria sipped her wine, calm returning. "This was absolutely perfect, hon. You remembered everything."

"The kids helped." He gestured toward his offspring who glowed with the praise.

Maria raised a teasing eyebrow. "I'm impressed-for an atheist you throw a mean ritual. But I'm wondering--we normally use mums and marigolds to honor the dead--tulips are associated with spring."

James grinned, wagging a finger. "For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature..."

"...it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad," Maria finished. Bemusement lifted the corners of her mouth. "You remembered that, too."

The silence returned, death's message from the past a gulf of protection from the future.

Ancestors paraded past Maria, a chain of memories shimmering in the air. Uncle Frank gave a slow wink, grabbing his fishing pole. Aunt Eunice, drink aloft, did the cha-cha, beads hopping on the trampoline of her breasts. Grandma Li rose from the corner, beaming her secret smile-the end of her sari floating into the mist as she waved goodbye. The conga line snaked behind her, to disappear through the forest veil.

"Did you say something, sweetie?" James slid a steady palm under Maria's fingers and stroked her wedding ring with his thumb.

Maria gave his hand a squeeze, closing her eyes. "I'm not afraid."

Erica lifted her wine glass in a toast and drank it down. "To life...and death. Why would you be afraid? All that drinking, dancing, and fishing-it looks like fun!"

The men whipped their heads toward her. A mother's tired face brightened with a secret smile.

"Grandma says you'll be surprised when the bulbs come up." Erica winked slowly. "They're irises."


"For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad." Edwin Way Teale



Word count:1221
1st place October 2007 "Quotation Inspiration: Official Contest" 
and October's Pagan Writer's Circle