I do not own Big Eden.
Widow Thayer was a hoot and a half.
What About Widow Thayer?
Rosemary Adelaide, nee, Hawthorne, Thayer.
Grand dame of the south.
Well, sort of south.
Western Kentucky.
Down close to between Missouri and Tennessee.
She had once been a young, vivacious World War II bride.
The Mister George Thayer meeting her at a USO get-together.
Mere days before going off to give Hitler a good, swift kick-in-the-pants.
Meeting, dancing, dining.
Talking.
Ping-ponging.
She had let him win the game, that charming soldier with the twinkle in his eye.
Hadn't minded. That was what a charming hostess did.
And he had been absolutely taken with her tall, svelte figure.
Her victory curls, her winged, red-lipped makeup.
Her absolutely, charmingly perfected gift of gab.
And it had been a whirlwind courtship, oh yes.
All very hush-hush, as the girls weren't supposed to step out with the soldiers they met in the clubs.
Oh but he was so very handsome.
Proposing, marrying, honeymooning.
And leaving, shipping off for foreign lands.
And her staying behind. Ring on her finger.
Now helping with the organizations of the galas, the dances, the get-togethers.
It being quite unseemly to be dancing with all those incoming soldiers now that she was a properly married woman.
And besides, she was very good at being in charge.
Bringing people together, introducing new friends, new acquaintances.
Into a good world.
A safe world.
A better world without Mister Adolf Hitler in it, thank you very much.
And she'd done it too.
Well, the soldiers. The brave men fighting had won the war.
But she'd done her part too, yes, she had.
And then The War had been over, George had come home, and she had started being a wife.
In the very town where she had been born and raised.
Quite content and happy.
For a while.
George being offered a job as a forester with the National Parks Department.
All the way up in Montana, if you could believe it.
Montana. Big Sky Country, they called it.
It seemed like such an adventure.
She and her hometown hero heading out west.
Very out west.
Very north out west.
And oh my, wasn't it cold during the winters.
And beautiful.
With the mountains and the clearest mirror blue lakes one ever did hope to see.
George loved it. She loved it.
And they loved . . .
"Oh George, it's absolute heaven, that's what it is!"
. . . each other.
And fly fishing.
Well, that's what George liked.
She never could get the hang of it.
The fish just didn't seem to be around whatever part of the river she was on.
She wasn't sure why.
"-type of tree did you say that was again, George? I really need to start writing these things down, do you have a pen and paper on you-"
At any rate, George loved the outdoors and the forests and the fly fishing.
And Rosemary Thayer . . .
"Oh, Samuel Hart, you just are the world's best carpenter, have I told you that, why if I wasn't already married to George, you know, I might just be sitting next to you at church on Sundays, tell me, how is Margaret-"
. . . loved making her home in her new town.
It was even Biblical.
Eden.
Big Eden.
As if it was all part of The Plan.
Except for the "Big" part.
Big it was not.
Tiny is what it was.
More a community than a town.
She was pretty sure it wasn't even incorporated.
What a dream.
An unincorporated Biblical hamlet out in the Treasure Land Montana boonies.
With George's fly fishing and Rosemary's church and the community school.
And even . . .
". . . mail here, you know, somebody needs to start a town library is what they need to do, what do you think-"
. . . a general store across the way.
Run by a big, tall, dour Indian.
Dexter, she thought his name was.
John Dexter.
Daughter run off to California with a boyfriend or some such thing.
Rosemary didn't know, she wasn't one to spread gossip.
And John Dexter just didn't talk that much so she couldn't find out.
So Rosemary Thayer set up house and set to having babies and set to cooking the food her mother always cooked for her.
And even some new fancy Betty Crocker dishes she'd discovered in the new cookbooks everyone seemed to be talking about in those days.
The amount of gelatin she went through in a week, my Lord-
She set up house and set to having children.
And set to setting to.
And it was wonderful.
She was very actively involved in the lives of her children, guiding them with a strong hand and a lifetime's worth of experience and guidance and clarity.
She raised them well, big, strapping boys all.
The four of them.
George Jr. Freddie. Glen.
And her youngest, Puddin'.
Well, not really his name, of course.
Alan.
Mayor Alan Thackery Thayer, that was.
Well, former Mayor.
All big good boys who called home for Mother's Day and sent nice gifts for Christmas.
Except for Puddin' who lived close enough that she didn't even have to make, uh, remind, uh, wait for him to write home.
If she could only get him off the river.
Just like his father.
As for the rest, she had postcards and pictures from each of their towns and travels.
She was so proud of them, each and every one.
It was just so hard to get everyone to come home for the holidays, especially now that George had passed on.
But she supposed that was the way of it.
Children grew up and moved out and moved on with their lives.
She had ten grandchildren, girls and boys each.
She sent them dollar bills in their birthday cards if they were good.
And knitted sweaters and socks for their Christmas presents as well.
And stayed busy just all the time what with the Rotary Club and the Book Club and The Big Eden Ladies Club that for some reason Grace Cornwell just refused to join, helped out at the church any time she ever caught wind of something that needed to be done.
And she loved, loved, loved cooking . . .
". . . chicken and biscuits and gravy, a family recipe, you know . . ."
. . . and introducing . . .
". . . some of the ladies in town, Henry . . ."
. . . new friends.
If only . . .
"Well, I just thought for sure he'd be interested in Eloise Dawson. You know, her mother was a Little Miss Montana contestant back in 1955 . . ."
. . . he weren't so . . .
". . . and I told her at the time, I said, that child has the smile of an angel, even if her eyes are just a little bit crossed . . ."
. . . picky.
Well, here is the culmination of an evening's efforts, a verbal teacup overflow of the backstory of Widow Thayer.
And good lord, I know this woman. Bless her, she's part of my family.
Only so much more warm and loving and accepting and actually Christian.
Just the way she (they/we) should be.
If a little chatty. ;)
And I'd hug her if I could.
Anyway, thanks for reading!
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