Their First Thanksgiving
Chapter Two: Main Course
**Interlude**
"I hate that storm," a frightened Velma looked at the rain streaking down the window then turned her attention toward Shaggy.
"Why Velma? It's not like it's personal." She had to smile, he had the ability to make her smile at any given moment.
"You sure about that?" She had begun looking at him through different eyes lately and she liked what she saw. His brown hair acted as if it had a mind of its own, resisting any attempt to tame it. She had the sudden urge to run her fingers through his hair just to see his reaction but was able to curtail the motherly impulse. His eyes were his best feature she thought, ranging from soft to dark depending on his mood.
He was no longer that cute awkward teen she had grown up with; instead he had matured into a quite handsome man. She seldom wore makeup or lipstick relying on the natural look. This morning however she had spent an inordinate amount of time to put her face on, even choosing a more form fitting sweater and skirt...and Shaggy hadn't said a word. Velma opened the oven door, checking on the progress of their turkey, "Fred, the turkey's done. Could you take it out of the oven?" Fred entered the kitchen to fulfill the request, leaving Shaggy to fend for himself for a while.
Shaggy watched Velma reach up to retrieve the large serving tray for carving the bird. 'Dummkoph! Just how stupid do you have to be to miss the fact she is one fine looking woman and spent who knows how much time on her make up and new outfit and you haven't complimented her once!' He decided to correct that oversight as soon as possible no matter how long it took.
After carving the turkey, Fred spotted the nod from Daphne, their own secret sign that she wanted to talk to Velma alone; he made a hasty retreat back to the living room.
"Okay, Velma, you've banged enough pots and pans around. What's wrong? And don't say 'nothing', I know you too well."
"Nothing's wrong!" The brunette shot back quickly, "really, nothing's wrong." She repeated, softening the retort. But wasn't that the problem? All that work, and for Velma it had been work, to get her makeup just the way she wanted and a new outfit and Shaggy hadn't even noticed. It was aggravating.
"I said don't tell me 'nothing', you're acting like Scooby in a room full of ghosts. It's Shaggy isn't it?"
"Oh, alright, yes, it's Shaggy! I wear makeup, pick an outfit I think he'll like and I might as well be wrapped in an old blanket with grease smeared over my face for all Shaggy notices." She sniffled, holding back the tears that threatened to cascade down her cheeks, "I don't know what to do."
Her friend placed her hands on her shoulders, "take a deep breath, go touch up your makeup, I'll take care of the guys...and don't worry so much, I think Shaggy has noticed you. He's blind if he hasn't."
Shaggy had indeed noticed; his eyes followed Velma as she returned to the room, taking a seat across the room from Shaggy. She gave no indication if she saw the disappointment in his eyes as he picked up on the story.
**End Interlude**
The wharf at Plymouth was crowded with people. There were 'separatists' some here to say farewell to friends and loved ones; others stood by bags and baggage, waiting to board one of the two ships headed to America. 'Strangers', hired by the Charter of the Virginia Company to fill out the passenger compliment of separatists milled around as if not sure about the decision they had made that would take them to this new land to fulfill the one year contract. And there were sailors, some were crew members for the 'Speedwell' and 'Mayflower' while others entered and left the meeting places where such men went to sign on or just to visit with friends while they waited for their names to be called.
Macalla made her way through the melee of the crowd. The delicate fan she fluttered above her bosom looked expensive mainly because it was; made from the finest French silk, it would have cost a years salary for the average person. She used the fan effectively to protect her nose from the stench of the crowd and from the smells of the wharf itself.
The crowd parted at her passing; gentlemen tipped their hats accompanied by brief nod at her beauty. Ladies were less sociable but stepped aside to make way for this woman of the world. Macalla looked demurely over the fan at the gentlemen and with daring disdain at the ladies. With a regal walk befitting a woman of her status, she made her way to an open air cafe, ordered coffee, a roll with cheese then turned to locate a table. With the excitement of two ships departing the tables were full. She despaired at the sight, then beamed when a gentleman rose from his table, "all the tables appear to be taken, would you do me the honor to join me in your repast?" It would be better than trying to stand while balancing hot coffee, roll and cheese without burning herself.
"Thank you for your kindness," she took the offered seat, "Macalla Kincaid." She offered her hand; the gentleman held her hand a moment, bowing slightly, his breath warm on her fingers.
"Duncan MacRogers, at your service," he reclaimed his seat, looking at the dark eyes of his breakfast companion. His blood ran cold; he had recognized the name and the accent. Fellow Scot or not, he knew he had just met a beautiful but formidable enemy. He would have to be on his guard or his life would be forfeit.
"Are you traveling to this New England?" She fluttered her fan then dabbed her lips after taking a taste of her roll. She partook a closer look at her host; young, she guessed his age at nineteen or twenty at most, good looking if not handsome and at ease with himself. Mentally, she waved him away as one would an annoying mosquito; she would deal with this one when the time came. She smiled.
"Yes, I've managed to secure passage on the ship, 'Mayflower', my family castle has become overcrowded of late, my father decided the answer lay in sending me to this America on family business. And you?" 'mull that over with your roll' he thought. There was no reason to lie; this little parrying fooled no one.
"Mayhaps we will meet in this America, I will be sailing on the 'Speedwell'."
Time passed as the two ate and talked about the coming adventure. Outwardly they seemed like any two young people who had just met, enjoying the pleasant company of the other. Duncan had chosen to add a sweet treat to his breakfast and offered half to Macalla who accepted the treat sharing a distinct cheese that went well with the sweet.
Inwardly, a battle of wits raged as if between two battle weary opponents; both careful not to give their adversary an edge. They had just finished their breakfast when the first call went out; the 'Speedwell' and 'Mayflower' were ready to accept passengers. "May I escort you to your ship?" Duncan held her chair for her.
"I don't want to be a trouble; you need to get yourself on board your own ship."
"It's no trouble, I assure you," he smiled warmly, offering her his arm.
"Indeed, it might be safer, a young woman traveling alone canna be too careful," her disarming smile had no effect on Duncan. He was on a family quest to retrieve the stolen amulet and no one, including Macalla Kincaid, would influence him to drop his guard.
-Xxxxxx
"I fear this is where we part," Macalla announced at the gang plank, "thank you for your kindness. Perhaps we will meet in America."
"I look forward to that meeting," Duncan bowed, kissing her fingertips. His eyes followed her up the gang plank before turning on his heel, making his way through the throng toward the waiting 'Mayflower'.
TBC