SALUTE THE WOMEN WHO GAVE US THANKSGIVING

by Charlotte Maclay

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite times of the year. But put yourself in the uncomfortable shoes of a Pilgrim wife when she is first told she'll be moving to America.

She's standing at the fireplace in her family's home, a single room that is dimly lit and smoke-filled. As she stirs a pot of mutton stew, her three little kids cling to her skirts, her belly is full of number four, and her mother-in-law is snoring in the rocker in the corner of the room.

Her husband bursts into the room. "Good Wife, we are going to America."

"I'd rather go out to dinner," she mutters, weary from a day of doing the laundry, taking care of the children, making candles and brewing twenty-seven cups of tea for her mother-in-law.

"No, no. You don't understand. We are going to sail to the New World."

She looks up from the pot of stew, her eyes alight with anticipation. "It's a cruise? Why didn't you say that in the first place? We could celebrate our anniversary! Leave the kids with your mother--"

"Well, 'tis not exactly that kind of a cruise. A hundred of our closest friends are going to sail with us to America."

Frowning, Good Wife returns to her stew. "Knowing our friends, we'll be lucky to still be talking to each other by the time we get there. What kind of a ship will we be sailing on?"

"'Tis the Mayflower, a fine, sturdy little ship."

A long, weary sigh escapes her lips. "John, my love, have you forgotten? I'm pregnant. Again."

"I know." He beams her an affectionate smile. "That's because I'm virile and have been so attentive to you, Good Wife."

"I'm going to be sea sick bobbing around on the ocean."

"The good Lord will see to our smooth passage. 'Twill be like sailing on glass."

Setting her stirring spoon aside, she shoos the children to their places at the supper table. "That's what you said about the trip back from Holland, John. Every soul on board was hanging over the side of the ship the entire trip."

"This time I promise smooth sailing."

She eyes her husband skeptically. "How long a journey are we talking about?"

"Couple of months." Removing his black, wide-brim hat, he runs his palm across his thinning hair. "Maybe more."

"May the good Lord save me! What accommodations have you arranged for us? A private cabin, I trust."

"Well, no. We and all our dear friends will be together below decks--"

"Not Henry Smidling, I hope. He passes gas!"

"During the day, we menfolk will take the air on the deck, have a smoke--"

"Thank God you're not going to smoke around the children. But what if the weather turns sour?"

"Then we men will join you ladies below decks, of course."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, joy! I suppose you'll be expecting us to cook for you."

"Arrangements are being made now for ample supplies on board. Goats, pigs, chickens--"

"Below decks with us?" she gasps.

"No, my love. The animals will be stowed on deck. Hehe. Unless the weather turns fowl. That's a little joke, my dear."

Hooking her fist on her ample hip, she nails her husband with a look that isn't at all like that of a Good Wife. "Dragging me and the children off to a heathen land clear across the ocean is no laughing matter, John. What in heaven's name are we going to do when we get there?"

"First, we menfolk will sign a Mayflower Compact that will be the start of a democratic society," he told her proudly.

"You menfolk?" she shrieks. "What about us womenfolk? After going all that way, don't we get to sign your bloody compact, too?"

"You don't know how to write, my dear."

"And whose bloody fault is that?"

"Please, my love," he beseeched her, glancing toward his still napping mother. "After we reach America, we'll plant our crops, and I'll build you a snug log cabin."

She throws up her hands in dismay. "John, you've lived in the city all your life and been a clerk. You don't even like to take a walk in the park. It gives you hay fever! You don't know how to build a log cabin!"

"Ah, Good Wife, 'tis part of the adventure to learn new skills. After all, I shall be building not just a cabin but a glorious new country!"

Recognizing no argument will sway her husband, Good Wife ladles the stew into wooden bowls for her family as John takes his place at the head of the table.

"Very well, John. I shall pack our belongings and go with you to this new, untried land. But we will all have to make some sacrifices. Some things must be left behind."

"To be expected, my dear. Out with the old, in with the new. Anything in particular?"

At last, the faintest hint of a smile curves Good Wife's lips. "Your mother."

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