Arthur gently lifted Chloe down from his lap, took his heavy walking stick—more of a gentleman’s accessory now than a necessity—and walked slowly over to the head of the twelve-foot table.
He didn’t sit in the lonely corner.
He sat at the head of his table, with Eleanor at his right hand and Chloe at his left.
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Before him sat three empty plates.
Not empty because of poverty.
Empty because they were about to be filled with the richest, most glorious feast in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.
Chloe reached into the pocket of her green dress, pulled out a small, flat object wrapped in brown paper, and laid it beside Arthur’s plate.
“I made this for you, Grandfather Arthur,” Chloe whispered, her hazel eyes wide, bright, and shining with an ancient, pure devotion that cannot be faked.
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“For Christmas Eve. Because you came to the ditch.”
