One Thanksgiving in Lusty, Texas by Cara Covington (rosie project TXT) 📕

you have your Benedicts and your Kendalls and your Jessops and your Jessop-Kendalls. You have your Parkers and your Joneses and your Parker-Jones.” Caleb sent a grin her way through the rearview mirror. “We also have Mendez and Sanchez in the family, and they go back to the beginning, as well.”

“Our mother is Maria Sanchez Jessop,” Adam said. “And we’re all very proud of our ancestors.”

“That is all so much more interesting than my grandmother’s stuffy claim about our descendants coming over on the Mayflower.” The Young side of the family—her mother’s ancestors—loved to wave the flag of the Mayflower as a status symbol.

How nice to be amidst people who were proud of their ancestors for their accomplishments instead of their pedigree.

Caleb turned onto what appeared to be a country road. It curved around and then ended. He turned the car right and then, just a few moments later, left.

“That’s our new airfield. The Town Trust has designated that part of family land, with a view to purchasing a private plane or two.”

“Caleb’s fathers were both of them majors and pilots in the Second World War,” James said.

“My mother was a major, too, with the Army Nurse Corps.” Caleb sounded proud as hell.

Growing up, Pamela had listened to her Grandfather Young speak of his service during that same war.

“Actually, the dads had their own plane, which they purchased with their own money, well before the war. Then, when hostilities broke out in Europe and the call went out from England for pilots, the dads volunteered. They went over and became members of an Eagle Squadron. There were a lot of American fliers who answered England’s call, enough to form three squadrons. They were called pursuit pilots, then.”

“I recall my history. When this country declared war on the aggressors, an arrangement was made to repatriate all those pilots who wanted to come home, an agreement that allowed them to keep their rank already earned in battle.”

“Exactly. They trained others to fly because this country didn’t have much of an air force at first.” Caleb said.

“But we sure made up for it.” Pam nodded. And it was thanks to men like Caleb’s fathers.

“So, we’re finally getting a private jet,” Adam said.

“We are. It’s going to be a couple of years before we actually have one, but the proposal received approval. At the meeting of the town trust, Uncle Martin—Martin Kendall—explained how it wouldn’t be all that expensive, considering the soaring cost of air fare. Those prices have soared thanks to the cost of jet fuel. But when you own an oil company…” Caleb let his sentence trail off.

“One thing about Lusty,” James said. “We’re proud of our past, but we’re not chained to it.”

Pamela thought that sounded perfect. A few minutes later, she had occasion to mentally repeat that word, for the house that Caleb Benedict drew to a stop in front of was…perfect.

When she’d been an adolescent, she’d dreamed of a castle with a turret. This was no castle, but the house, built in the Victorian style, appeared to boast three dormers and a turret. The latter appeared to house a small room, as did each of the dormers, one of which was a third floor room. Five steps led up to a porch that curved off to the right, as she faced the building. The front door was straight ahead, at the top of those steps. Steps that seemed to be calling to her.

“We don’t have a basement here,” Adam said. “We need to be mindful of keeping mold out because of the heat and humidity. So, we have a little extra bit on top. Our grandparents, whom you’ll meet tonight, lived here until they moved into the New House. They live there now with our Uncles Nicholas and Martin and our Aunt Miranda.”

“It’s beautiful!”

“I have it on good authority that our mother and the aunts have been through the place, opening windows and making sure we weren’t bringing you into a stale home.”

“That was very kind of them. Stale only means unlived in. We’re home now. I think we’re going to do a lot of living, here.”

“I’ll help you with your bags,” Caleb said. “Then I have to get home to the farm. Have one of the guys give us a ring tomorrow. I know Bernice would love to meet you.”

She and Bernice Benedict should be of an age. It would be good to have a friend—a woman friend—here in her new home.

“I’d love to meet her, too. Thank you, Caleb, for the ride home.”

Her husbands beamed, and Caleb’s smile lit his eyes. “My pleasure. Welcome home, Mrs. Jessop.”

* * * *

Was there ever a more perfect woman?

James didn’t think so. He felt an enormous weight lift off his shoulders. He watched Pamela touring her new home, and didn’t the grandparents’ place now feel like their home, at last? There could be no mistaking her joy at what she discovered as she explored.

Pamela’s sassy fire-tinged brown hair swayed as she toured her surroundings. Her beguiling hazel eyes saw everything. Simple things delighted her. There would be no airs put on by their Pamela. Her heart was as good and as large as he’d ever seen. When she looked at him, he saw more than affection, and when she focused on him as he spoke, he felt as if they were the only people in the world.

And yet, she had a way of making sure that Adam was a part of their conversations, and he was with the two of them if they were talking. She enveloped them both and had from that very first shared lunch in the cafeteria at Johns Hopkins, through all the coffee breaks, suppers and excursions since.

He already loved her with all his heart. He really was the luckiest man in the world.

Pamela ran her hand along the kitchen counter and had a look in the fridge. There was fresh milk and butter, a pitcher of sweet tea and a plate of sandwiches, covered over