*~Synopsis~*
The Last Supper Catering Company tells the story of B. Thankful Childe-Lucknow. Turned out with red
corkscrew hair, one eye brown, the other green, and gifted with the power to
hear the voices of the departed, B. Thankful is cast aside by the town as the
devil’s child and lives an isolated upbringing in the woods.
Tragedy, followed by the discovery of a long-forgotten
paint-by-number picture of the Last Supper, thrusts B. Thankful from the safety
of everything she has ever known.
Beyond the boundary
of her sheltered life, B. Thankful discovers the world’s hard edges as well as
its beauty. More importantly, with the
help of a cast of quirky and tenderhearted souls, she discovers why God made
her special
*~First
Chapter~*
My momma died on a hot August afternoon in 1950, right before
I was born. My grandma, Little G, was
out picking blackberries for pie making, and my momma-to-be was out hanging
sheets on the line, when Little G heard a scream from across the yard. She looked up from her bucket of berries just
in time to watch Momma begin a lazy fall, as if overcome by some long held
tiredness. The wooden clothespins flew from Momma’s hands, snapping at the air
on the way down, looking for something to hold onto. Momma was dead by the time she hit the
ground, her head resting on the damp pillowcase in her hand, her why
questioning eyes looking up to God.
Little G said I could probably see daylight when Momma squatted
down–that’s how close to being born I was.
So, despite her motherly anguish at the sight of her dead daughter lying
in the tinder dry grass, Little G reached into her baby girl’s womb and pulled
me into this life. Little G swore she
heard a thousand voices follow me into the world, but not a single one was able
to comfort her that day.
I listened to Little G tell of that day so many times her
words became the marrow of my bones. And
I always took delight when she turned boldly dramatic in acting out the part
where she held me upside down and slapped my behind again and again, not
because she was angry with me, but because she needed me to live.
“Be thankful for
life! Be thankful for life!” she called
out then and with every retelling.
When I let out my first baby cry, Little G cut the cord
connecting me to Momma’s tragedy, wrapped me in a pillowcase, and clutched me
to her old woman breasts. What with life
coming and going in the same moment, Little G’s tears were no doubt confused as
to why they were called upon.
Poor Little G had no time to consider the why of it all, for
the sun was so white hot it made the air too lazy to move, and my dead momma
was beginning to sunburn. For the life
of me, I could not imagine Little G holding me in one arm as she dragged her broken
daughter into the shade of the old red oak.
To add to her troubles, I was longing loud for a breast to suckle. Like those old clothespins, I, too, was
looking for something to hold onto.
Though it might sound a bit more than strange to some, I believe
every mother will understand why Little G did what she did next. Sitting with her back against the old red
oak, she took her daughter into her arms, Momma’s head resting childlike in the
crook of Little G’s elbow. One-by-one,
she unbuttoned her baby girl’s pink rosebud blouse, pulled back Momma’s
brassiere, and laid me to her milk filled breasts.
“Pretty Childe, this is your daughter, B. Thankful
Childe. B. Thankful, this is your momma,
Pretty Childe.”
There she stayed, rocking her baby girl and me until the sun
set and Tyler Lucknow came calling, as he did most every night to make sure
everything was right and in its place.
According to Little G,
Momma walked with an empty spot on her right shoulder where her guardian angel
should have been. Without a guardian
angel to protect her, and blind to the love of the one who truly cared for her,
Pretty Childe fell into the arms of every junkyard dog of a man. When the dark water washed away what goodness
lay deep within Momma and sent her lost soul wandering, looking for some kind
of hurtful love for the night, Tyler would come along and find her banged up
body outside some booze joint. Setting
the threats to his own life aside, he’d take her home, where Little G cleaned
her up and put her daughter to bed.
Shotgun in hand, and Tyler by her side, Little G would stand watch on
the porch until the morning light rose over the hills, and the threat of
no-account cowards who slithered in the night, passed.
After I heard Little G tell that story, I was certain Momma
did have a guardian angel watching out for her.
And that angel’s name was Tyler Lucknow.
The day after Momma died, Tyler dug her grave out in the back
forty where all who had gone before were waiting. No one but baby me, Little G, Big G (my
great grandma), and Tyler were there to say goodbye.
My Little G’s refusal to see the world in black or white,
preferring to embrace all the colors God created, set tongues to waggin’ when
she placed Tyler Lucknow’s name on my birth certificate in the box where a
daddy’s name would show up proud. It was
such a nice thing for him to allow, trying to save me from being looked upon as
a bastard. But to town folk, having Tyler
Lucknow’s name on my birth certificate made being born a bastard appear saint-like.
Years later, but still with nothing better to do, those
graceless folks made sure their hurtful stories traveled all the way down our
road. One day, Little G found me down
by the river, my tears bubbling up and over onto the latest spiteful notes I
found nailed to our mail box post.
Little G took my face into her calloused hands, wiped away my tears, and
brushed back my unruly hair.
“B. Thankful, you are a blessing from God that just happened
to ride in on a cursed highway. Those
fools are just jealous because God brought you into this world to do Him a big
favor one day.”
Whenever I tugged on
Little G’s patience with my questions around what that favor might be, she
would name a chore to be done and send me on my way. While I waited for God to call upon me and
ask His favor, I lived an isolated childhood in the woods between Beauty and
the land of Majestic with three of His finest.
To
learn more about B. Thankful Childe-Lucknow and Michaelene McElroy check out
these links!
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