The Republican

By Dorothy Kilian

It was about eight o'clock on New Year's Eve when Jane Walters turned to stare out the kitchen window into the wintry darkness. She didn't want Don to see the tears in her eyes, but she hadn't been quick enough.

"It's a raw deal all right, honey," he said from the chair where he sat with one leg in a cast, propped up on a stool. "I take you away from all your city friends and bring you back to Brantville to live, and then what do I do? Break my stupid leg during our first holidays together and leave you high and dry without an escort for the New Year's Eve party."

"You couldn't help it, Don."

She tried to sound bright, but the truth was it did matter. She had found herself more homesick than ever with the coming of the holidays. This little town to which Don had come back as operator of the grain elevator was like a foreign country to her. And, with the furnace acting up, here they were sitting in the kitchen of all places on New Year's Eve.

Jane sighed and turned slowly away from the window. "What kind of a party will Grandma Jenner be having?"

Don chuckled. "Oh, it'll be corny, all right—no blaring trumpets. And yet, Janie," Don leaned forward and went on earnestly, "I really think you'd enjoy these people if you'd, well, kind of let yourself go."

"Maybe so, Don. But I just have the feeling that they consider me an outsider. I—did you hear that scuffling noise? Sounds like somebody's in our back yard."

There was a resounding thump on the back door. Jane opened it and stepped back, bewildered.

"Surprise, surprise!" a chorus of voices shouted, as a couple of dozen people trooped in, Grandma Jenner in the lead, swinging a huge granite coffee pot.

"You do look floored, my dear," she said, planting a peck briskly on Jane's cheek. "But it's an old custom around here—when you can't come to a party, the party comes to you. Look at Don there, he doesn't seem too surprised."

Don grinned. "I was kind of hoping this would happen," he said. "But Jane hasn't gotten too well acquainted yet."

"I know," Grandma said quickly. "And it's mostly our fault. To tell you the truth, honey,"—she turned to Jane—"We were kind of afraid of you, you seemed sort of distant. But when you phoned that you and Don couldn't make the party, I heard the tremble in your voice, I suddenly realized that you're just as human as the rest of us. So here we are. Now let's get on with the fun."

It seemed no time at all before Grandma called out, "We've just time for a spelling bee before midnight and refreshments. Get yourselves lined up folks while I put the coffee on to boil."

The crowd laughingly divided into two lines on either side of the big kitchen. As Jane hesitated, someone pulled her into position.

"Spell the words, Mac," Grandma said to the school principal. "You're used to this kind of thing."

Mr. MacRay began giving out words. Amid shouts of praise for the successful spellers and hoots of derision for those who stumbled over a word, the game progressed until only Jane and Mr. Nichols were left.

The caller cleared his throat and, turning towards Jane, pronounced the word, 'hospitable'.

Jane hesitated and looked slowly around the room. She saw Grandma Jenner hovering over the coffee pot at the stove, Mr. Appleton gently adjusting the cushion under Don's outstretched leg, and Mrs. Ames just coming in from the pantry with a tray of apple pies.

"Yes, I can spell 'hospitable'," she said. "B-R-A-N-T-V-I-L-L-E."

There was a moment of silence.

"Bravo!" several voices called out, and just then the kitchen clock began to strike twelve.

"Happy New Year!" Jane echoed with the rest as she looked around at her new friends and finally met the eyes of her beaming husband.

It was indeed going to be a good year.