This story was originally published as a part of Group Writing Project 8 at The Other Side of Glen Road. Page design by Deb Smouse.

Helen Belden looked up as she heard the sound of footsteps thundering down the steps of the then-quiet Crabapple Farm home. She had assumed it was Mart coming down for his usual breakfast of three scrambled eggs, four strips of bacon, two pieces of buttered toast, and a large glass of orange juice. She was just about to open her mouth to admonish him, once again, for making so much noise as she wanted two-year-old Bobby to sleep for as long as he would that morning. To her surprise, it was her spirited sixth-grader that bounced into the dining room.

"Trixie! My heavens! What are you doing up and dressed at this hour? It's a full hour before the elementary school bus comes by."

"Morning, Moms," Trixie replied, looking around at the odd array of items on the table--an assortment of dried flora, including corn shucks, several varieties of fall flowers, red and gold leaves, and green mulberries; brown twine; a green Styrofoam ring; floral fabric ribbon in autumn colors; scissors; pipe cleaners; wire; glue; and straight pins. Trixie picked a small Rome apple from the fruit bowl and took a loud, squishy bite. "What'sh all thish for?" she asked through the mush of fruit in her mouth.

"Well, dear, I thought I'd try my hand at making a Thanksgiving wreath to hang on the front door. I saw the ones that Mrs. Montgomery had for sale at her craft booth at the Labor Day celebration and thought they were so pretty. She was really nice and showed me how to do it. She even wrote down what all I needed, but I'm not so sure now."

"Moms, you can do anything! Everything you do is great," Trixie encouraged her mother, as she polished off the apple in a series of chunky bites and tossed the apple core into the green metal wastebasket Mrs. Belden had sitting beside her on the floor.

Helen smiled at Trixie's exuberant confidence. "Thanks, sweetheart. But how this project will turn out is just anyone's guess now. You still didn't answer me though. Why are you up so early? Usually I'm just now trying to pull the covers off of you and here you are up, dressed, and bouncing around."

Trixie's eyes shown as she pulled a chair away from the table and plopped down. "I'm just so excited, Moms! This is going to be such a fun day!"

A smile twitched around the corners of Mrs. Belden's mouth. She was quite sure she had never heard Trixie describe the prospects of a day at school as "fun." "Oh yes? And why is that? Hand me that stack of dried corn shucks, please."

Trixie slid the stack across the table so that her mother could reach them. "Mrs. Holloway is letting me, Cynthia Long, Marcie Hall, and Kathryn Spencer out of class all day today!" Trixie rolled five of the green mulberries toward her and began making shapes with them on the table.

"Really? What for?" Mrs. Belden asked as she began to wrap the dried corn shucks around the green Styrofoam ring, securing each one with straight pins on the back of the ring.

"Our class is giving the Thanksgiving program during assembly tomorrow and Mrs. Holloway choose us to decorate the stage!"

Mrs. Belden frowned, remembering Trixie’s previous report card. "Trixie, that's nice but I'm worried that you'll miss something while you're out of class. Your father and I would certainly love to see those C's come up to B's."

"Oh, pooh, Moms. You know Mrs. Holloway wouldn't let me out of class unless she thought I could handle it. Besides, the rest of the class will be practicing their lines for the play and all. I was so glad she didn't want me to be one of the Pilgrim girls and wear one of those icky outfits. I like being on the decorating committee and in the chorus anyway. It's a lot more fun!"

"Well, that does sound like fun, sweetie. I am proud that your teacher thinks you are able to handle the responsibility of decorating without any supervision. That is a nice compliment."

The sound of Mart and Brian coming down the stairs made Mrs. Belden glance at her watch once again.

"Brian's got a girlfriend, Brian's got a girlfriend," Mart was chanting in a taunting, singsong voice.

"Do not, you lamebrain," Brian said, punching his nagging little brother in the arm. "Melinda was just thanking me for helping her carry that heavy display to the lobby. So shut up!"

Mart struck a pose, laying clasped hands on the side of his face. "Oh, thank you, Brian. You're so strong," he cooed in a high falsetto. "Brian and Melinda sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"I said stop it!" Brian snarled as he shoved Mart even harder.

"Boys! Both of you stop it, now," Mrs. Belden scolded. "Trixie, honey, would you run out to the chicken coop and see if you can scare up a fresh egg or two? Maybe they won't be able to argue with their mouths full."

"Sure, Moms!" Trixie said, pushing herself up out of the chair and skipping her way into the kitchen. She plucked her red knit sweater from the wall peg just inside the kitchen’s back door and grabbed a dog bone out the ceramic Doggie Treats crock for Reddy.

"Okay, boys, quit your horseplay or you’ll go to school without breakfast!"

"Well, I already know what kind of wedding I’m going to have when Barry and I get married," Marcie informed her pals as they lay spread out on the floor of the auditorium stage, putting the finishing touches on the large posters that would serve as backdrops for their class play.

"So you think you’re going to be Mrs. Barry Fulford?" Kathryn giggled. "Hand me that gold glitter, Trixie."

"Yes, I just know it! I mean, we’re going steady now and he walks me home almost every Friday," Marcie said, laying down her black marker and propping her head on her hands. A dreamy expression came over her young face. "He will wear a black tuxedo with tails. I am going to have the most beautiful bride’s dress that was ever made—just yards and yards of shining satin and poufy lace and dozens of those tiny pearl buttons. My bouquet will be white orchards and yellow roses. As I pass by, I’ll stop and hand each mother and grandmother one long-stemmed yellow rose. We’ll have this gorgeous garden wedding with all the pretty flowers in bloom, birds singing in the trees, butterflies dancing all around us. Granny has already given me the old glove that her grandmother gave her on her wedding day to put in the white family Bible that I’ll carry."

"And then you’ll go on your honeymoon and do you-know-what," Cynthia added in her most mature voice.

"What you-know-what?" Trixie asked, as she retrieved a peppermint from her back pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth. She then used candy wrapper to wipe the last dribble of glue off the tip of the bottle.

"Oh Trixie! Don’t tell me you don’t know!" Cynthia chided.

"Know what?"

"Oh my god, she doesn’t know about it," Cynthia tittered. The other girls laughed nervously, not wanting to appear ignorant in the eyes of their class leader. "Come on, Trix, didn’t your mother have that little talk with you, you know, about the facts of life?"

Trixie’s face burned red with embarrassment. She bent her face to scrutinize the tree branch on which she had just pasted a pair of bluebirds. "Oh, yeah, that," she mumbled.

"Ewwww, can you imagine our parents doing it?" Marcie shuddered as she posed the question.

"I can’t imagine me doing it. I’m just going to adopt kids if I want any," Kathryn stated emphatically. "I don’t want a boy’s pee-pee thing in me. What about you, Trixie? What did you say when your mom told you?"

"Well, um, well, she said, well, that it was something that, uh, shouldn’t be discussed, that it was kind of a, uh, a private thing," Trixie stuttered out, praying they would get off this uncomfortable conversation.

Marcie rolled over and pushed herself up. She brushed the dust off of her olive sweater and tan pants. "Why don’t you guys put up the backdrops and I’ll get the props."

"Great idea, Marcie. I think we’ve got everything ready," Trixie responded quickly, eager to change the subject.

Trixie and Kathryn held up the posters of sun, sky, trees, flowers and the front of a log cabin to the heavy red velvet curtains at the back of the stage while Cynthia taped and pinned them on. Marcie had brought out the boxes containing items that would be used as props during the play and set them on the large wooden picnic table that had been borrowed from the town park.

Marcie brought out brown Melamine plates that they hoped would pass for wooden ones and placed them on the table. Another classmate had brought a wooden bowl with plastic fruit, which Marcie sat in the middle.

She drew out and held up a horseshoe. "Now, what are we supposed to do with this? Don’t tell me we’re going to have a real horse?"

Trixie laughed at the thought of a horse on stage with them. "That would be a mess! What if it pooped or something?"

The eleven-year-old years dissolved into fits of giggles.

"Well now, just what seems to be so funny?" a warm voice came from the rear of the auditorium.

"Oh, Mrs. Holloway," Trixie gasped, as she found her breath. "We found this horseshoe in our prop box and starting laughing about what would happen if we had a horse on stage with us."

The petite brown-headed lady threw back her head and laughed. "Yes, that would be quite a mess, wouldn’t it? Actually I put it in there. I thought Tommy, who’ll be dressed as a Pilgrim boy, could act like he was showing Billy, who’ll be playing the Indian boy, how to pitch horseshoes."

"That would be cute," Trixie agreed, "as long as Tommy doesn’t throw it for real."

"You’re right, Trixie. That would be just like Tommy. Hey, by the way, everything is looking great, girls!"

They all beamed as they all adored their teacher and were extremely pleased by her compliment.

"Mrs. Holloway, there’s a light bulb burned out backstage and it’s kind of dark back there. Can you get the janitor to replace it?" Cynthia asked.

"Sure thing, Cynthia. But I think you’ve all forgotten something."

The girls looked at each other with puzzled expressions.

"We have?"

"What did we forget?"

"Oh no! What?"

Mrs. Holloway’s brown eyes danced as she pointed to the round white faced, black-numeraled Ingraham clock that hung above the middle set of doors to the auditorium. "You’ve just about worked your way through your lunch time."

The sound of the school’s loudspeaker system made all of them turn toward the tan box that hung in the corner of the room.

"Attention, students and faculty."

The catch in the principal’s voice and the distinct sound of sobbing in the background gave Trixie an uneasy feeling in her stomach. A quick glance at the other girls let her know they were feeling the same uncertainty.

"I, ah-ummmmm," the principal stopped as he cleared his voice. "I am very sad to tell you that President Kennedy has been shot and killed."

Mrs. Holloway's face turned stark white as she sank to floor, covered her face, and wailed, "Oh no! Oh no!" The four young girls clutched each other and cried for their slain president, not quite understanding what had happened, hoping it was all a big mistake.

There would be no Thanksgiving in Camelot.

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