Thanksgiving - Jason

Plymouth, 1623

William Bradford, the Governor of Plymouth, looked around the table, at the bounty, the guests, the gifts of the Lord Almighty. He considered how much had transpired in the last two years. He felt the immense sadness of his loss, the blessing of his fortune and the great weight of his responsibility.

Massasoit, the native king, stood across from the Bradford and held his hands up over the long table. Voice spoke in what seemed a child’s language as his sun darkened hands pointed to the roasted meats, the shellfish, the indian corn and corn bread. He then turned his attention to the Governor himself and while he did not understand the white man nodded politely.

“He thanks you, sir, for the hospitality,” started Squanto the native who had helped them make good with the soil these last years, “He thanks the deer for their sacrifice and the sun for its warmth.”

“Thank you, Squanto.”

“This is Mrs. Bradford’s first Harvest Festival,” said Edward, a good lad who had been at the Plymouth since the first. He would probably be Governor one day. He looked to the Governor’s new wife and then back to William. They shared the mix of joy and sadness. The salt water breeze felt good, but it reminded them of that moment when William had pulled himself back onto the Mayflower and he looked from one tear streaked face to the next. He knew, even before Edward had broke the news, he knew.

“William?” asked Alice, “What is wrong?”

“We have just been blessed so much,” he started. The people around seemed to wait for him to say something more, something which gave substance to that relief that they were feeling. Massasoit, Squanto and the others, both from the land and the church seemed to give him notice.

He stood and spoke in a way they all could hear, “Inasmuch as the great Father has given us this year an abundant harvest of Indian corn, wheat, peas, beans, squashes, and garden vegetables,” the eyes of those at the table looked over the spread before them trying to find the various items of bounty he named, “and has made the forests to abound with game and the sea with fish and clams, and inasmuch as he has protected us from the ravages of the savages,” he looked to Squanto, a savage but a good one if there be such a thing, “has spared us from pestilence and disease, has granted us freedom to worship God according to the dictates of our own conscience.”

It was then the smell of the deer and roasted vegetables got to be too much. Those gathered gave thanks, those who were standing sat and they all began to eat of the abundance.