Beta Fiction: A Thanksgiving Tale

[DoctorThursday]

A Thanksgiving Tale
by a Beta who is grateful.

Dedication:
For Maria...
Oh to be at an airport at night,
The sharpness of the sheer delight:
For there I see those lights of blue
At Heaven's Gate - and think of you.

It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. All the brothers of the Howell College Chapter, the Omicron Alpha of Beta Theta Pi, had left for the last break of the semester. Mike Rogers, the president of the chapter, smiled as he drove down the highway in the bright sun of late afternoon. Two of the brothers were going to spend Thanksgiving with him and his family. Dave Wheaton, a tall, athletic junior, was riding "shotgun" - Dave's budget wouldn't permit a flight home so close to Christmas. Besides, Dave had heard Mike talk about their amazing Thanksgiving dinners, and for two years he had been hoping for an invitation.
In the back seat, with eyes nearly closed, was Bill Grosjean. Bill had no real family, and his guardian expected him to stay at school during the semester. But since Bill had joined Beta, one or another of the brothers had always arranged for him to go home with them for the shorter breaks.
Bill was unusual. He was younger than most freshmen - but most people thought he was a junior. Mike's guess was that he was working on a doctorate - probably his second - and he was always interesting to talk to, so Mike was looking forward to having Bill meet his parents.
While they had been on the highways, they had been discussing the three late pledges they had acquired, but now that they had left the divided roads, the scenery induced a pleasant silence. The road they were travelling was the typical country road, winding through hills still covered with autumn colors, past fields now harvested of their crops. Mike glanced over at Dave; he was probably taking a nap. In the rear-view mirror, he saw Bill looking out the window, his normally half-closed eyes open, examining every passing detail.
"Nice colors, huh, Bill?"
"Yes, but this is late. I think the winter will be a hard one."
Mike smirked. "Planning on competing with Aunt Mary for house meteorologist?" Aunt Mary was their house mother and cook.
Bill continued to look out the window. "No; actually it's her own prediction. Others are saying it will be a mild winter, but she thinks we will have a snowy winter - and it will make travel very difficult."
"Well, speaking of travel, we're nearly home."
Dave yawned and said, "Great. What's for dinner?"
"What do you want? We probably have it."
Dave smiled in anticipation. "Hmm. Let me think." He was the champion eater in the chapter.
Bill nodded. "That's right, your father runs the hotel, and your mother runs the restaurant - so we could have almost anything for tonight's dinner."
"Just about anything - in the restaurant. Our family traditionally has something very simple, though - hot dogs, or something easy to make, and easy to clean up. But tomorrow - well, Dave, we're going to see whether you really are bottomless, as most of us think."
Dave leaned back, eyes closed. "Mmmm. Turkey, sweet potatoes, stuffing. Or should it be ham? Or roast beef?"
"Why limit yourself? Wait until you see the selection," Mike laughed. Bill was silent, but he smiled as he looked at the hills ranging higher and higher. Then he saw that the road began to be lined with houses.
"Here's the outskirts of Cedar Heights." A few moments later, Mike made a turn, pulled into a parking lot, and announced, "Here we are!"
Cedar Inn was a large, old-fashioned building, nestled by the side of the hill, nearly surrounded by woods. Beside it was a large restaurant; a sign bore the name "The Two Trees." They went past the restaurant and the main entrance of the hotel, then past an ornamental garden. A private road wound around the back of the hotel. Mike parked the car, and they went inside.

* * *

Mike introduced Dave and Bill to his father, who told them Mike's mother was busy in the restaurant, helping with dinner, and going over last-minute details for tomorrow's feast. Mike's twin sisters were out on dates, and his two younger brothers were working in the restaurant. His father stirred a big pot of chili. He smiled at his son and said, "No, I did not make this. Your mother did, so I guarantee it will be edible. You can't get this kind of chili even at that fancy 'Two Trees' place she likes so much." The four laughed. Dave caught Bill's eye and winked: Mike looked so much like his father.

* * *

Mike, Dave, and Bill were up in Mike's room listening to music, laughing at his yearbooks (how much one changes, even in six years!) and talking. The Rogers family lived in a private wing of the hotel, and Mike's room was on the highest floor in the building. There were three other rooms on that floor, which were used for storage or for family guests. Mike's room faced the wooded hill - the darkest side of the hotel - "That's so I can look at the stars," he explained. Bill's and Dave's looked out over the parking lot: one could see the town of Cedar Heights and the lights of the airport in the distance. When Bill saw the flash of the airport tower light, he wanted a better look, so they lugged Mike's telescope over to his room.
After Mike focussed it, Bill peered into the eyepiece. "I can see those little blue lights along the runways. Wow, there's a plane landing!"

* * *

The plane from Atlanta had landed, and a tall man of about forty stood waiting for his luggage. Richard Evanston had just gone through the most difficult Wednesday in years. Last night he had received word of his father's death; the funeral was to be Friday. His teen-age son was sick with pneumonia. That morning his car had had a flat tire, and he was almost late for an important staff meeting, which ended up to be the most boring three hours he had ever experienced - though at the end of it, the president of the company praised his hard work. This was an almost unheard-of compliment, and several of his co-workers congratulated him, knowing how much it took to please the boss. But all Richard could think of was how long it would take to get to the airport and catch the only flight with an open seat until Saturday. After an awful flight he only wanted to take a shower, have dinner, and call his wife to check on his son.
Thanksgiving had turned into one of the busiest travel seasons of the year. The only available rental car was a compact model - at least they had one. Richard threw his bags into the trunk, and pulled out a map. His father had grown up in Cedar Heights, but had moved to Atlanta when he got married. Richard had grown up and now worked there. But Richard's father had gone back to Cedar Heights when his father died, to take care of Richard's grandmother. She had died two years ago, but afterwards Richard's father just didn't want to go back to Atlanta.
And now he was dead. Richard folded up the map and squeezed into the car. Cedar Inn was on the other side of the town, but it was close to the church and cemetery. He shook his head. With the pre-planned funeral arrangements his father had made, and the heavy holiday travel, everything was so rushed. Death was rarely expected, but he had thought his wife and son would have been with him. There were no closer relations, but there were others - friends - who had not been called. Now there was no time. He started the car. It was strange to be alone.

Richard sat in the restaurant looking over the menu. Soup, a big salad, a steak. After he ate and checked in, he would call his wife. He was starving. He hadn't had lunch, and he couldn't eat on airplanes. After he gave his order, he took his glasses off to clean them. He put his hand into his pockets, looking for a handkerchief - he found one, but there was something else there. A little box was in the pocket of his suit jacket. He thought back to last evening, when his wife had helped him pack. She must have put it in when he wasn't looking.
He opened the box and removed its contents. It had been his dad's, and his granddad's. He remembered when his father had given it to him. He turned it over and over, and sat it on the table. It gleamed there on the white tablecloth. He sighed and felt the smooth linen. At least this place didn't have those tacky paper placemats. He wiped his glasses and looked around. The restaurant was actually pleasant to be in. It was elegantly but curiously decorated; he couldn't give a name to the decor. Then his soup came, and a basket of bread. He pulled the bread close, admiring its homemade odor and texture, anticipating its taste. Unconsciously he put the box back into his pocket. The object from the box stood gleaming behind the basket of bread.

* * *

Later, in his room, he called his wife. "How's Ben?"
"He's asleep. He didn't seem quite so bad today. Darling, did you find what I put in your pocket?"
"Yes, I did. Thanks. I'll wear it at the funeral. I wish there had been time to call some of the others..."
"Are any of them still alive?"
"I think there are a few. But to come at Thanksgiving... it's a lot to ask. They all have families too."
"I'm torn, darling; I didn't want you to go by yourself, but I couldn't leave Ben."
"I know. I could barely stand to leave... This place is nice, though - you'd like the restaurant here."
There was a noise of some kind - a stifled sob, perhaps.
"It's ok, dear. Keep your eyes on Ben, and I'll see you late Saturday. Bye."
He climbed into bed, gazing over at the box as he turned off the light.

* * *

Down in the restaurant, in the office off the kitchen, Mrs. Rogers was putting some files away. One of the dining area staff knocked at the door.
"Mrs. Rogers, I found this on table 18. I thought I saw you wearing it once before." She held out a gleaming object.
"Thanks, Joan, just put it on the desk. See you tomorrow."
"No; Rebecca is subbing for me - I'm helping my mom tomorrow."
"Oh, that's nice. Well, have a nice Thanksgiving, and see you Saturday."
Mrs. Rogers finished with the files, and went over to the desk. She glanced at her watch: it was after midnight. She picked up the object and looked at it. It wasn't her son's... Then she remembered that he had friends visiting from school - it must belong to one of them. Maybe Mike wanted to show off the restaurant - or maybe they didn't like chili. She would wear it tomorrow at dinner and see what they said.

* * *

Richard couldn't fall asleep. Thoughts kept running through his head. Maybe a breath of fresh air would help. He got up, changed, and went out to the parking lot. The temperature had plummeted. He walked down the parking lot. Then he saw the garden, and heard the rush of a little brook. There was a little bridge across the brook, and he stood there, looking up at the sky.

* * *

Mike and Dave had gone to bed a while ago, but Bill was still awake. He was fascinated by the view. Through the telescope he had watched several planes taking off and landing. He yawned and looked down at the parking lot - someone was walking slowly away from the hotel, but not towards a car. Then he went into the garden and stood on the little bridge, looking at the sky. Bill shrugged and got into bed. The lights from the parking lot made interesting patterns on the ceiling, and Bill stared at them, thinking.

* * *

In the cold quiet, Richard lit a cigarette. The brook chattered on. He looked up, the stars looked down. He thought of his mother and brother, long dead, his grandparents, his father. He thought of his friends of long ago, scattered across the world. Last week he had e-mail from his old roommate, now in Kuwait... He thought of his wife and son. Thank God he was getting better. Then he remembered, it was Thanksgiving. He felt a little better now, honestly tired; so he went back in and he slept peacefully.

* * *

Thanksgiving morning was clear but much colder than Wednesday. Mike's family always went to church on Thanksgiving, and Dave and Bill went with them. Afterwards, the three walked through the woods, up to the top of the hill behind the hotel. The view was even better from there. By the time they started down, it was almost time for dinner.
As they came to the bottom of the hill, Mike explained how things worked. "My mom does a big spread for Thanksgiving, and lots of people come to the restaurant to escape cooking. Most of my relatives come here too: because they like the selection, and it's easier for a restaurant to cook in quantity. My mom likes to show off new recipes, too."
Dave nodded. "If the rest of your mom's cooking is as good as that chili last night, I can see why they would come. I'd love to have my family come here, too, if it wasn't so far to go."
Mike was looking at the cars in their private lot. "Most of my family live nearby. I see my some of my uncles and aunts are here, and my cousin from Michigan and his wife. He's a Beta, too. But I wonder whose motorcycle this is."
"Nice looking bike," Dave said.
Bill peered at it. "Looks like a Beta from Georgia, by the plate and the coat of arms."
"Maybe my cousin invited him... Well, we'll find out soon enough. There's one whole section reserved for us in the restaurant - but let's go around the front. There's something I want you to see."

Inside the main entrance of the restaurant, on either side of the hallway, were living trees of some dwarf variety. One was covered with tiny yellow lights, and the other with white ones. Around them were pools of water, lighted indirectly with the same colors. As Dave and Bill watched, more lights on the golden tree were lighting up.
Mike put his hands out. "My mom and her sister are Tolkien fanatics. These are the two trees of Valinor. That's why the restaurant is called 'The Two Trees'."
Bill nodded, his eyes wide in amazement. Dave was looking at the two inner doors. "My dad is a woodworker, and I know a lot about wood, but I never saw that kind of wood - or that kind of carving - before."
Mike nodded. "It's amazing, isn't it? This was all done by my Aunt Barbara - my mom's oldest sister. She has a whole workshop in the basement. You can ask her about the wood at dinner."

Mike's father had offered a prayer of thanks, and an opening toast to his wife as chief cook. Then the feast began. The Rogers clan, with children, friends, and associates, was nearly a hundred, and the talk and laughter was echoed by the paying guests in the main part of the restaurant.
Between courses, Dave looked around at the intricate carvings, the strangely but beautifully illuminated pictures, the exotic lampstands. It wasn't like any place he had seen, even in imagination. But the meal was not imaginary, and it was as excellent as the woodwork. Bill could hardly concentrate on his dinner. He would take a bite, then glance around, nodding, as if he was verifying each item against Tolkien's books of lore.
Mike's mother had finished eating - she was needed in the kitchen. She walked along the table, talking to her guests. When she came to Bill and Dave, she stopped and smiled at them. "I'm Bernadette Rogers.
Dave struggled to get up. "You're a great cook, Mrs. Rogers."
"Thanks, Dave. Don't hold back, there's plenty more."
Bill looked at her intently. Mike had her eyes. "Thanks for the dinner, Mrs. Rogers. Like Sherlock Holmes said, art in the blood makes itself known. Your food, your sister's art... Wonderful."
Mrs. Rogers laughed. "I'm like Sherlock? I'm too short, but I know how to say 'Elementary.' That's my sister Barbara, over there..."
Mike was staring at his mother. "Say Mom, where did you get that beacon?"
"What?"
"That badge with the monster diamond."
"Oh, this little thing? I thought maybe you left it lying around here."
"Me? Where would I get such a rock?"
"It's not yours? or Bill's or Dave's?"
"No. Where did you get it?"
"One of the staff found it in the restaurant last night."
"Did you look at the back?"
"No. Why?"
"The owner's name is on the back. Usually."
She took it off and handed it to him. "Oh, goodness, look at the time. I'll have to go. Let me know what you find."

Mike looked at the badge. The diamond was immense, and there were tiny pearls around the border. He turned it over, and read the inscription. "Alan Evanston. 1919. P.A."
Dave raised his eyebrows. "From the Penn chapter? Old Phi?"
Bill murmured, "Let me see it, please." He squinted at it, then shook his head. "That's Rho Alpha. It's the old chapter at McKee College, defunct for years." He turned the badge over and looked at the jewels. "Like Hampden-Sydney, they returned their charter rather than succumb to the declining quality of that once-great institution."
Mike looked at Bill. "Alan Evanston. Why does that name sound familiar?"
Bill handed him the badge, eyes nearly shut. "Because you heard it this morning in church. They announced the funeral of one Alan Evanston, Junior, tomorrow morning, and asked for prayers for him and his family."
Dave stared at Bill, amazed. The conversations crashed around the three. Mike scratched his head. "How did this badge end up in the restaurant?"
"Maybe you should see if there's a relative staying here," Dave said.
"I'll ask Dad. He'll check the register. We have to return this immediately."
"But that's not all we have to do," Bill said, eyes closed.
"No, you're right. We have to go to the funeral tomorrow."
"And we need to find out if this Alan Junior was a Beta."
"Oh. That's right. We can use Dad's computer in the office to check the rolls. And I'll have to talk with my cousin."

* * *

Richard Evanston woke very late, feeling physically refreshed, but emotionally drained. He ordered a pot of coffee and some toast. He turned on the TV and watched for a while, but it bored him. He drank some coffee, but he had no appetite for food. Thinking of the brisk night air, he decided to go out for a long walk. Perhaps he could attempt an honest Thanksgiving meal later.
Five minutes after he left, the phone rang in his empty room.
After a dozen rings, Mr. Rogers turned to his son. "He must have gone out. We'll try again later. I don't want to leave him a message. It's a little delicate."
Mike looked at him and nodded. "We ought to get it back to him today if possible. But in any case, we're going to the funeral tomorrow."
"Perhaps he would prefer some privacy," Mike's father said.
"Dad, he's our brother." He waved a piece of paper, printed via the Internet from the rolls of Rho Alpha. "His father, whose funeral is tomorrow, was our brother. We're not intruding. We're family, even if he doesn't know us." Mike paused for a moment, then he said, "I bet he's here alone, Dad, isn't he?"
"Yes; he made a reservation for one from Atlanta yesterday morning."
Bill looked up; he was reading the newspaper. "Anyone else make reservations since Tuesday night?"
"No."
"The death was rather sudden, and with the holiday, it would have been hard for anyone else to get here quickly. He must have had some difficulty getting a flight here."
Mr. Rogers nodded. "Thanksgiving travel has gotten difficult."

Dave went out of the office, and found some of Mike's cousins in the hotel lounge watching football on a big-screen TV. There were all kinds of snacks around, so he found an empty sofa and made himself comfortable.

Mike had explained the situation to his Beta cousin from Michigan, and his cousin's Beta friend from Georgia, and both were willing to go to the funeral. Then he went to help his mother in the kitchen.

Bill had gone up to his room to rest. (Whenever he could, his preference was to sleep during the daytime.) After a short nap, he got up and looked out the windows. He looked again, then moved the telescope to the other window, the one which looked out over the hill. After he adjusted the focus to its minimum, he looked again, and sighed with satisfaction, murmuring "I was wondering where we might find some..." Then he grabbed his jacket and went down the stairs.

* * *

Richard had walked for miles. The cold air felt good. He had found a sports bar near the airport. He called his wife and found his son's condition slightly improved. He sampled a variety of munchies while pretending a degree of interest in the game. He found the occasional activity on the runways more interesting. It was nearly dark when he started back to the hotel, feeling exhilarated from the walk, and ready for a decent meal.

* * *

Mike's father didn't get to try calling Evanston again. A toilet had overflowed; two rooms of guests had to be relocated, and a plumber called in. Other events got in the way, and the matter of the lost badge got pushed into the background.
Mike was busy in the kitchen. His mother was glad he was around. There was a long line of people waiting to get into the restaurant.
Dave had fallen asleep, and when he woke up another game had begun. For a moment he wondered how the score had gone down, then he saw it was two different teams.
After a short time outside, Bill had come in. He wandered through the hotel and the restaurant until he found Mike's Aunt Barbara out in the restaurant lobby, sitting at the hostess' desk.
"You're one of Mike's friends, aren't you?" she said to Bill, her eyes sparkling. "It's such a pleasant place here. I love to watch people's expressions when they see the two trees."
Bill bowed to her. "It is amazing. You must have lived in Middle Earth for years."
She giggled. "You knew! Of course I've moved since then."
Bill's eyes went nearly closed. "I have a favor to ask...

* * *

Richard went into his room. He ordered a Thanksgiving meal from room service. He had seen the long line at the restaurant, and besides he wanted to watch a good movie while he ate.

The plates were empty. The movie had ended. He decided to go out for another walk in the cold air - maybe his day's exercise and the good food would give him a good night's sleep. He went down the main road for a mile. But after he had returned and crossed the parking lot, he stood looking at the garden and his emotions surged up. He went to the bridge. There was no one there. He leaned on the railing, looking at the water. The brook chattered on in the silence. It was cold. "Dad!" he whispered.

* * *

Bill turned away from the window. He nodded. He moved the telescope back to the other window, and focused it on the airport. The blue lights were glowing. For just a moment or two he had a doubt about his plans. But Mike had been busy, and he was too tired to talk when he finally came up to his room.
"Don't worry, Bill, it will be fine. My mom called a couple of her friends from church, and some of my relatives will go, too." He yawned. "Hey, we're family. You know that. See you tomorrow." The door closed.
Bill waited a little while, then he went back downstairs. He found Barbara busy in her workshop.
"Very easy," she sang, bent over her work. "Your fraternity has elegance. I can tell from its symbols."
Bill's eyes were nearly closed. He sniffed the fragrant smell of wood chips. "You sing while you work?"
"Yes," she chanted, "it is part of the art."
Bill heard the faint sound of a chisel against wood, then she turned and stared at him, intoning, "Don't you also sing while you work?"
Bill was silent, his eyes suddenly wide open. How much did she know? He bowed and left her, a haunting melody following him up the stairs.

* * *

It was Friday morning. The alarm went off, and Richard struggled to identify the sound. He sat up; he must have slept well. He got out of bed, ordered some breakfast, and began preparing to go... out. He was going out. He wouldn't think further than that just now.
He ate slowly, got dressed and went out to his car, then shook his head. The church was not far, and the cemetery was behind the church, so he wouldn't need to drive. Suddenly he wondered - where would he find pallbearers. But he shrugged. His father had arranged everything some years ago; probably the funeral parlor took care of it. He walked out of the parking lot. Several cars went past him; probably people going home after staying the night.
Barbara had worked all night; her hours were nearly as skewed as Bill's. She had gotten to the church just after the casket arrived. No one from the hotel was there. She went up to the casket and positioned her work at its foot. She put her hand on the casket, and stood there for a moment with her eyes closed. Then she went into a back pew and sat down. Soon afterwards, Mike, Dave and Bill came in. They stared at Barbara's work.
Mike whispered to Bill, "I see you were busy last night, weren't you?" Bill nodded, and pointed to Mike's aunt. Then they went into a pew close to the front of the church. Bill looked around the church. He saw two racks of candles; some were in blue glass, some in red. He got up and took one of the blue ones and put it on the floor beside Barbara's creation. Then he went back and sat down with the others.
People were beginning to come into the church. Mike's cousin from Michigan and his wife came, followed a few moments later by the other Beta from Georgia.
Richard came to the church. He saw people going in; he knew some of his father's old co-workers still lived in the area, and he had been a good friend to many people in Cedar Heights. He went inside.
Just inside the door he saw the priest. He went over and introduced himself. "My son is ill - too ill to travel - and my wife is caring for him, that's why I am alone."
"You are not alone," the priest smiled. "Your father was well-known here," the priest said. "He was a good friend to many; even young people."
"From the church?" Richard asked, rather dazed.
"I recognize some of them. There are a few near the front I do not know; perhaps you know them?"
Richard shrugged; "I'd have to see them. I don't know any young people around here."
The priest gestured. "We'll be ready to start soon. We begin in the back of the church, and you can follow the casket after I bless it. Why not go in - it's warmer inside." He held the door open.
"Very well." Richard went inside. Then he saw the casket, and the thing sitting in front of it.
"What is this?" he whispered to the priest.
The priest said, "I understood it to be a tribute from close friends."
It was a wooden tablet, shaped like an open book. Around it was an intricate wire frame, into which had been placed the last pink roses from Mrs. Rogers' garden - roses Bill had picked yesterday. On the finely carved wooden tablet was engraved a cross, a tiny Beta badge, his father's name and roll number. Beneath this was the Greek motto of his chapter, words which begin with Rho and Alpha, and are translated "We defend the rose." Beside this was a little candle in a blue glass. Richard stared at it. He looked at the priest; he couldn't speak.
The priest nodded slowly. "Oh, good. Someone brought a candle in a blue glass. Good. That was the one request he had made. If you would wait here for a moment, we shall begin shortly." He went over to an alcove and picked up a book.
Richard looked at the memorial. It reminded him of something he had seen recently; he couldn't think what it was. It was beautiful. He touched the delicate carving. He could smell the wood scent, and the faint odor of roses. He looked around. Someone here must be a Beta. He reached into his pocket for the little box, but it wasn't there. Then he remembered: he had left it on the dresser in the hotel room. There wasn't time to go back for it now. Maybe he would find out later who was responsible for this work of art.
The priest came back to him, hand outstretched. "I was asked to return this to you; you left it in the restaurant."
It was his badge - the badge which had been his father's and his grandfather's. He put it on his chest and nodded to the priest. "I'm ready."
The priest gave a signal. Overhead a bell began to ring.

As Richard followed the casket up the aisle, he tried to keep his eyes downcast, but he kept looking around. Who were all these people? Then he got to the front, where there were three empty pews. In the fourth stood five young men in suits; next to the last one stood a young woman, holding his hand. They didn't look up, but he could hardly keep silent, for the jacket of the nearest one was open and there he saw a golden gleam. He looked again. There were five standing there, and he would be the sixth. He went into the first pew and bowed his head.

* * *

The six carried the casket out of the church, and into the cemetery. Mike's aunt carried the memorial, and the young woman carried the blue glass candle. The sky was overcast, and a flake or two dusted down. At the grave, the youngest of the six pallbearers pulled six roses out of his pocket, handing one to each of his brothers.
Standing in a circle they placed their roses on the casket, one by one.
"Michael, of Omicron Alpha."
"William, of Omicron Alpha."
"Brandon, of Epsilon Gamma."
"Edward, of Delta Kappa."
"David, of Omicron Alpha."
"Richard, of Rho Alpha. We bid farewell to our brother, Alan, of Rho Alpha, my father."
There was silence for a moment, the wind whispering of snow - then the priest and the others joined the circle.

* * *

The wind had increased. Richard picked up the memorial and the candle. They walked quickly back to the hotel, anxious for some warmth. Mike had explained about the finding of the badge. Richard marvelled over the fine artistry of the carving, and recognized the similarity to the carvings in the restaurant.
"You have been very kind - all of you."
Mike shook his head, smiling. "My parents are providing a buffet at the restaurant. We hope you will come and meet some of your friends at Cedar Heights."
"Amazing. You and your friends... I mean, my brothers." He nodded to himself, putting a hand to his eyes. "I'm especially grateful to get this badge back. I remember taking it out in the restaurant; I was so hungry I must have forgotten to put it back. It was my father's and his father's."
Mike looked at his Beta cousin and winked. The young woman holding his cousin's hand said, "Do you have a son?"
"Yes; he had been quite ill, but he is now recovering. My wife is caring for him." Richard sighed. "He's a sophomore in high school. When he was born, my father gave him a full scholarship to McKee - and I had always hoped he would be a Beta too, but there is no longer a chapter there."
"Ah, but perhaps it is time to start one again," said the Beta from Georgia. "I know an undergraduate who is interested in starting a chapter; maybe he'd like to transfer to McKee." Richard smiled as he heard a voice from the "sunny southland."
Bill nodded. "That's how they always started chapters, back in the ancient days. Someone would transfer, and look for friends."
"I forgot to look for friends here," Richard said quietly. "Now I see I have found many."

The seven went in to the restaurant. The two trees were shining brightly. In their glow, on the inner doors Bill saw engraved the seven stars of the High Elves, the crown and the hammer and anvil of Durin, King of the Dwarves. Above them he saw the runes gleaming, and he translated them.
"Speak, friend, and enter."
Bill bowed and held the door open.
Richard put out his hand. "Thanks, friend."

* * *

Note: this and the "Ghost Story", posted elsewhere on this Forum, is part of a much larger work, still in development.
--Dr. Thursday.