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22
THE warm kitchen smelled gently of Thanksgiving. It was an enticing odor, nostalgic and indefinable, and Janet Ryder, coming in with Ruth Ann and Ellen, stopped in the middle of the floor and sniffed delightedly.
"What is it?" she said. "What is it about Thanksgiving that makes it smell like itself and not like any other time? It can't be the turkey — we have turkey for Christmas. It can't be just the cranberries. It — it's something special, something — "
Ellen walked over to the table that held the four covered pans. She raised the spotless dish towel * and pursed her lips. "I don't know," she said as if she had no time for such philosophizing, "but I do know that if these rolls aren't ready for baking, Thanksgiving dinner's going to be late."
Ruth Ann came and stood beside her. "They look fine. Risen just enough, Ellen." Then she smiled warmly at her sister. "I'll take the cranberries out of the molds, dear, if you'll see about the table."
Janet smiled back. Ruth Ann always understood. She would be willing to bet that Ellen had been worrying about those, rolls at intervals all morning, as they, had driven into church and back. As if Ellen's rolls weren't always practically perfect!
Janet went on into the diningroom with its long table already set; all that remained was to arrange the autumn i leases in the center. Mentally she' counted off the places: Dr. Bob at the head, Ruth Ann his wife at the foot, Ellen, the four children, her husband, Sam, and herself up and down the sides. A big family, she thought happily. Now if she put the biggest