Percy Bullock Sr poured a cup of punch and handed it to Luke. "I say, I'm awfully glad you decided to have Thanksgiving with us after all. What made you change your mind?"
Luke sipped the punch and thought about his answer. Neither he nor Mark had wanted to talk about his ordeal, but it had been the uppermost thought in both their minds for the past two weeks. It had taken a few days for them to get back to their normal routine but something had changed between them forever. They were no longer just father and son, or even partners in the ranch. In some indefinable way Mark had grown up during that dark day. Luke felt the loss of the boy, but he was overwhelmed by pride in the young man he had raised. They were friends in a way they had never been before and it was a comfort to the big man to know that his son was more than capable of carrying on once he was gone.
Bullock raised his eyebrows and Luke smiled. "I had a long day thinking about all I had to be thankful for and how differently I would do things if I had the chance. And one of the things I wished I could do was start celebrating Thanksgiving with friends, instead of by myself with Mark."
"And now here you are!" Bullock smiled back. "What did Izaak Walton say? God has two dwellings: one in heaven…" He paused expectantly.
Luke finished, "...and the other in a meek and thankful heart."
Bullock was delighted. "You never cease to amaze me."
Micah came in just in time to catch the end of the conversation. "That's my line."
"Marshal! So good of you to come!" Bullock hurried with a cup of punch.
"Thank you." Micah took a swallow. "Say, that's pretty good."
"I'm glad you approve." Bullock bowed his head. "Old family recipe, you know. The trick is to burn the sugar just right. You see, you soak the sugar loaf in rum first…"
The explanation was interrupted by Percy coming in from the kitchen. "Father, the turkey is almost ready to carve."
"Very well." Bullock beamed at his guests. "Shall we adjourn to the dining room?"
"Before we eat, Percy and me got a surprise." Mark went out to the porch and came back with his guitar. "Ready, Percy?"
The English boy held up a small silvery instrument. "Righto!"
"What is that?" asked Luke curiously.
"It's a Clarke tin whistle," said Percy. "They're all the rage in London." He blew a few notes, then sat next to Mark and began to play. The men listened, entranced, as the liquid notes of the flute and the soft strumming of the guitar laid down a gentle background to Mark's voice.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved.
How precious did that grace appear,
The hour I first believed.
They played on together for a few more notes, then stopped. Bullock clapped enthusiastically. "Boys, that was wonderful! I can't think of a more perfect way to start our Thanksgiving."
He went into the kitchen with his son and started bringing out food. Micah followed them, asking if there was anything he could do, leaving Mark and Luke alone.
Father and son gazed at each other for a long moment, then Luke said huskily, "I didn't think I would see this Thanksgiving and now there's so much to be thankful for I don't know where to start."
"Neither do I." Mark's voice was very low. "I feel like I can't even find the words."
Luke took his son's hand. "When you can't find the words, that's a good time to be silent." Mark smiled that smile his father loved to see and their hands tightened on each other, the warm clasp conveying everything that needed to be said.