NINETEEN
Nov 27th: 1230 hours
Inside the mess tent, the tables were placed end to end. Hospital linens were used as tablecloths. The food, instead of being served in the usual line, was placed on the table to be passed by hand. Everyone was waiting for the chance to begin their meal.
"...And help us remember, each day, to be thankful for our blessings. Amen." Father Mulcahy finished his prayer. He sat down as the people at the tables raised their heads.
Sarabeth MacAllister smiled at her two brothers affectionately. Crockett MacAllister was sitting on her left. Fannin MacAllister was sitting on her right. Shorter than his brother, only six foot in height, he had a slighter build and his red hair was curlier. He looked very much like his two siblings, however.
The three of them were still holding hands. Crockett looked at his sister's hand enclosed in his. "It's been a while since we've all held hands during a blessing, sister mine. I've forgotten how much I enjoy it."
"Me, too," the woman agreed.
"My family used to form a circle of hands during the prayer, too," Mulcahy commented. "It was a way of strengthening family unity."
"It was also a good time to play Mercy," Fannin MacAllister remarked.
"Oh no, you don't!" The youngest MacAllister tried to pull her hand away as her brother maintained his grip.
"Mercy? What's that?" Hawkeye Pierce stopped chewing on his beef ribs long enough to ask.
"Mercy," Fannin explained with his drawl, "is where you take your little sister's hand and you squeeze and squeeze the knuckles together until she hollers for mercy." He was demonstrating the technique as he talked. Sarabeth glared at him but she was not in any real pain.
"Mercy is also where you get to kick..." there was a thump under the table and the man jerked, "your bullying big brother until he quits!" There was another thump. Fannin released her hand. His sister flexed her fingers as her brother reached down to rub his shinbone.
"Damn it, Sarabeth. You kick harder than you used to!"
"It's the combat boots," she replied sweetly. "Can I do it some more?"
"No," the man answered. "I yield. What do you want?"
"I want you to smile for the rest of the time you're here. I'm tired of you frowning."
"I haven't been frowning," Fannin protested.
"He's right, Sarabeth," Crockett commented. "He hasn't been frowning."
Angrily, his sister swung around to glare at him. He grinned at her. "I'd call it glowering, myself. And I'm tired of it, too, little brother." He raised an eyebrow at Fannin in silent admonition.
"All right, I'll behave," the middle MacAllister conceeded. "But only if you'll pass that jar of pickled okra over this way."
With a small movement, Sarabeth, using her right hand, tapped Fannin on the arm. When he looked at her, she motioned with her eyes towards Crockett. They turned to watch him. Caught with a spoon heaping full of pickles halfway between the jar and his plate, he looked at them with distrust. "What?" he demanded.
"Nothing, brother mine," the woman replied. Her expression was neutral but the corner of her mouth was beginning to twitch as she gazed at her oldest brother.
"Enjoying those bread and butter pickles, are you?" her other brother inquired pleasantly.
"I am." MacAllister was suspicious of their solicitude. He set the relish onto his plate and looked at them. "Why? I thought you didn't like this kind of pickle, little brother."
"I don't...fortunately."
"These aren't Mama's bread and butter pickles, are they?" asked Crockett who was trying to act unconcerned.
"Nope," Sarabeth added, helpfully, "Great-aunt Thelma made those."
"Great-aunt Thelma?" Fannin asked. His voice matched his sister's conversational tone, "Isn't she the one who keeps the rat poison right next to the pickling spices?"
"That's the one. Bless her heart; she's getting to where she can hardly see," the youngest MacAllister commented.
"Pity," Fannin noted. "Would you please pass the bread?'
"Certainly." Major Winchester, sitting across from Sarabeth, handed the platter to him. The doctor was watching the drama on their side of the table with avid curiosity.
Crockett MacAllister looked at the food on his tray. He looked at his brother and sister. And then, with deliberate motions, he ate the pickles. After he swallowed, he grinned at their teasing and remarked:
'If---in this gherkin a poison be lurking,then---tomorrow, death will be a-smirking.'
Crockett reached for the jar again.
His siblings struggled to maintain their composure. However, first one snicker and then another escaped from them until their laughter couldn't be contained any longer.
Lifting her glass to him, Sarabeth acknowledged Crockett's success, "The winner! And still champion! Darn it, I just knew I was going to get you on that one!" She grinned at her oldest brother who was still keeping a straight face. "All right, brother mine, I reckon I owe you double. What do you want?"
"A game of chess with you and a pair of silk stockings," the colonel informed her.
"The chess match is no problem," the lieutenant replied. "But, I don't reckon they make silk stockings in your size," she told him seriously.
Crockett was swallowing some of his drink when he heard her words. Sputtering, he turned away from the table and tried to keep from laughing.
Sarabeth slapped him on the back. "Is it something you ate, big brother?" she asked in mock concern.
"Gee, brother mine, I thought you had finally given up wearing high heels and dresses," Fannin contributed with barely contained amusement.
"Perhaps you would like to borrow some of my lipstick and eye shadow, as well?" his sister asked while she laughed.
With his shoulders shaking, Crockett surrendered to the merriment. The three of them, quietly laughing, were leaning on each other for support.
Finally, with a deep breath, the oldest MacAllister straightened in his seat. "You definitely got me on that one, little sister," Crockett acknowledged with a wide grin. "What do you want?"
"A movie; one that isn't a war film. And one that doesn't have 300 splices in it."
"You've got it," he promised. "All right, proper decorum is now called for. We are at the supper table." Crockett ordered. Grinning, his siblings obeyed with only an occasional chirrup of laughter.
