Angel's Peak (Virgin River #10)(86)

For the past couple of months Jack and Preacher had had a jar on the bar with a sign on it that said Donations for Thanksgiving Baskets. They had collected more than enough money to buy nonperishable canned turkey and ham and some apples and oranges. In this, the first year of their project, they estimated they would deliver fifteen boxes of food to needy individuals and families. Noah Kincaid and Mel Sheridan had managed to come up with a list of folks who could use some help. If they had surplus after arranging these boxes of food, Mel would have no trouble coming up with more names; she was the one with the most experience in outreach.

Jack was supervising the stocking of the boxes—cans of vegetables, powdered milk, instant potatoes and rice, gravy mix, boxed stuffing, even canned cranberries. There were things that didn’t really fit on the Thanksgiving menu that people would be happy to have if their budgets were tight—fruit cocktail, canned pork and beans, chili mix, lentils, black-eyed peas, chicken soup. “Cocktail weenies?” he asked, holding up a little can. “Who gives cocktail weenies to a needy family?”

“I mighta done that,” said Hope McCrea, pushing her big black glasses up on her nose.

“The can is bulging,” Jack said.

“Been a while since I had a yen for cocktail weenies,” Hope replied, unrepentant.

Jack pitched the can in the trash. “Sorry, Hope. Can’t take a chance on killing anyone our first try at this.” He pulled out a bag from the Dollar Store that was filled with little can openers. He passed them out to his wife, Noah and Ellie, Preacher and Paige, Mike and Brie. George Davenport was on hand to help, of course. “Make sure one of these goes in every box. Mel, are you taking care of the boxes for families with babies? We’ve got diapers, formula and baby food.”

“I’m on it,” she said. “The neediest people Noah and I see are either families with small children or the elderly. Right, Noah?”

“Right,” he affirmed.

“There’s more than fifteen families who need help, huh,” Jack said, and it wasn’t a question. “We should’ve been doing this for years. Preacher, why didn’t we ever do this before?” he asked.

“Because we do everything else,” Preacher said. And this was true—wherever help was needed, they tried to pitch in. It wasn’t unusual to see Jack and Preacher under the hoods of cars and trucks, or picking up groceries for widows and young mothers while they bought their bar stock. They helped Mel and Cameron at the clinic when asked, and of course they were on hand for any kind of search and rescue around the mountains. Last winter a school bus slid off the road and down the mountainside and all the men from town were there instantly, ready to assist emergency responders. Jack was the first one on the scene and Preacher was the second.

Noah laughed at Preacher’s remark. “From all I can see, people in this town do a fine job of lending a hand wherever they can. My house is almost habitable, thanks to the neighbors. We might not be able to cook a turkey in it this year, but we’ll be in there for Christmas. The kids are going to have Santa in their own house.” He looked around the bar. “Who’s on board to deliver these boxes of food?”

Every hand went up and Noah laughed again. “Then I guess the job gets done fast and easy! Just don’t leave anything on a doorstep—you have to put it in the hands of an adult, otherwise wildlife could get into it. If there’s no adult, we’ll go back a second time. I know it’s not Thanksgiving till Thursday, but I think it’s practical to distribute now. Those who are able might try to save this for a holiday dinner they wouldn’t otherwise have and those who are not able…” He paused. “Are not able to wait,” he finally said.

“I’m a little embarrassed it took some city-boy preacher to get a project like this going in our own town,” Jack said. “We should’ve been on this. We start for Christmas right away. And then we get going on holiday baskets for next year in July. And, Hope, don’t be throwing any of your old weenies in the basket.”

“You never know who’s in the mood for a weenie,” she said with a sparkle in her eye.

“I would give anything to see the inside of that mausoleum you live in,” Jack muttered.

“It’s filled to the ceiling with little cans of cocktail weenies,” she said.

The door to the bar opened and Dan Brady and Cheryl Creighton came in. Dan was carrying a large box and Cheryl held on to two bags. “Are we too late to add to the Thanksgiving baskets?” Dan asked. “We meant to get this done sooner…”

“You’re in time, no problem. In fact, if we figured right, you might be bringing us surplus, which means we can add a couple of families to our list,” Jack said. He looked in the box Dan held and pulled out a jar of dark liquid. “Prune juice?” he said.

“I am not drinking that stuff. Ever,” Dan said.

“Jack,” Noah said with laughter in his voice. He put a hand on Jack’s shoulder and gave a little shake. “Really, you can’t be judging people’s contributions.” But he laughed some more.

“It’s icky, but it’s nutritious,” Cheryl said. “Lotta vitamins in it. And I stopped in at the truck stop diner I used to work in and talked the owner out of some bulk-size canned goods—they’re out in Dan’s truck. You can probably figure out a way to use them in your food drive.”