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Preston Garvey sighed before adjusting his duster to fend off more of the cold.
Why his wife felt it necessary to hunt down wild animals at 6.00 in the morning during November he would never know. The actual daylight hours worked just as well for slaughtering untold numbers of Radstag. You know, the hours where the sun’s rays would heat the frigid air to something that resembled faint warmth?
“I got us another four!” His wife, Nora Garvey, nee Winter shouted with a manic grin from a yard of two across the wasteland between Abernathy farm the Ranger Cabin (now an outpost for the Minutemen)
Preston waved his understanding at the claret-red haired, kelly-green eyed survivor of Vault 111. The second-in-command tugged the reins of the brahmin to lead the cart-drawing pack animal over to his huntress and her prey.
“Mind me asking why we need-” Preston paused to count the dead beasts that were loading onto the cart “15 radstag?”
Nora grinned up at him, a smudge of gunpowder highlighting her bright expression.
“You’ll see”
-----
Preston Garvey tightened his grip on his gun, glancing over at Nick and Cait to make sure the coast was clear for them as well.
They were currently on their way to what was once Quincy. (The shiver Preston felt every time he remembered the fall of the town was very unpleasant to say the least.) The town was currently being rebuilt by a new batch of settlers, this time armed with a better, more prepared platoon of Minutemen (handpicked by Nora herself.)
Nora popped her head out of the backroom of the boarded up shop they were in, humming long forgotten song.
“Okay, I got the spices I needed, we can continue onto the Peabody house now.” Preston didn’t bother asking why she needed 200+ year-old spices, and just nodded his consent for triple checking for trouble outside.
----
“Hey, Pres, any idea why Blue was in Diamond city earlier this week looking for someone to make tables?” Preston glanced up from where he was feeding Scruples the cat bits of his dinner. Standing in front of him, dusty from the stage coach trip from Diamond City, was Piper Wright, news reporter and trusted friend of his wife.
“Nope. This is my wife we’re talking about. The woman who thought it a good idea to bring home a baby deathclaw and name it Mr. Squiggles.” Piper froze for a moment before shaking her head.
“You know, I don’t even want to know. Seriously though, Riley made her the tables and chairs. He and Hawthorne are going to bring them up this weekend when Hawthorne goes to see Lucy Abernathy. I was told to ask if you guys could spare Strong to help carry them.”
Preston nodded his understanding.
“You’ll have to ask him yourself, but we’ve got nothing planned for this weekend, just a trip over to the Castle on Thursday and Friday to check on the newest recruits.”
“Thanks Pres! Don’t know how you put up with Blue like you do!” She waved her goodbyes as the ravenette went to find Strong the Super Mutant.
“Neither do I Piper, neither do I.”
---
Preston Garvey woke on Wednesday morning of the third week of November to smell of baking.
The dark-skinned man followed his nose to the kitchen (after relieving himself in their working bathroom). He was greeted to the sight of his wife dressed in a patched green apron over her pajamas (a silky dress of royal blue, sewn for her by a grateful Carol Peabody after the return of her son after 200 hundred years.)
Preston learned against the refurbished kitchen counter to watch his comely wife seemingly dance around the wooden floor, whipping together a cream of some sort in time with the crooning voice of Betty Hutton drifting from the radio in the living room.
“Morning love.” Preston moved to press a kiss against his shorter wife’s lips when she reached a semi-stopping point, “what are you making?”
Nora beamed up him before placing the bowl of now fluffy white stiffened cream.
“Pumpkin pie. Remember the seeds I picked up from the Institute? Well, I was right that some of them were pumpkin. And now I can bake pies! And I found the nutmeg at that shop down in Quincy, so they finally taste right! Stick that in the fridge for me, will you? I have to take the pies out now. Pies, Pres, pies, like my Mom made. It’ll be perfect.” The woman gushed ecstatically before spinning to grab the oven mittens from their designated place on the wall beside the oven.
Preston, with widened eyes from surprise, made sure to place the large bowl of what he now realized must be whipped cream (from earlier conversations with his wife during one of their long, arduous journeys about what she missed most about her pre-war life) gently and reverently inside their blue fridge. He softly shut the door and turned to see a sight he had never seen before in his life. Eight rounded tins sat on the counter with steam wafting from their orangey-brown fillings, with surfaces as smooth as his belt buckle, and a crust so golden brown it could rival the setting of the glimmer of the Minutemen uniforms at peak condition. And the smell, oh God, the smell; it was as if happiness and the autumn sun had been poured together and baked with a dash of his wife’s love and home. Nothing in the wasteland could compare.
He looked to his now slightly crying, but still smiling Nora in awe. Those hands of her, the same hands that carried the Minutemen to their salvation, slaughtered countless wasteland monsters, and brought ruin to raiders, hands that could destroy those that stood in their path, had created something so glorious, and so full of life and love. It was nearly unbelievable.
---
Thursday arrived, and with it, the most confusing instructions left by Nora, who had commandeered multiple people and roped them into following her explicit directions in her kitchen and driveway turned outdoor kitchen, and as such, had not been seen since early that morning.
Preston glanced at the 6 tables placed in the road to Nora’s precise specifications, with the garbage can fires periodically spaced to keep the area comfortably warmed. The tables were covered in white tablecloths (sewn by Nora on rainy days) and set with enough spaces that every resident of Sanctuary, and every visitor to the growing settlement had a place to set.
The 7th and 8th tables were set up on the sidewalk in front of his and Nora’s home, where Shaun, with the assistance of Danse, set out enough drinks to water the Capital Wasteland for a year, ranging from wines and coffee to what Nora called “sweet tea”.
The opening of his front door drew Preston’s attention from his adopted son to his wife, who held in her hand a steaming platter laden with baked radstag.
Her blue and white dress swayed with every step she took to place the serving tray on the empty table beside the one covered in beverages. Behind her, her helpers streamed out of the house, each bearing some sort of dish to place on the long table. They even made multiple trips, all under the watchful eye of Preston’s wife. Preston thought the table might break under the weight of all the food brought forth.
Nora stepped to the head of the tables bearing the place settings, dragging her husband to stand beside her, his face containing the confusion shared by all but the General herself.
“In 1620, Pilgrims arrived to this land aboard a ship called the Mayflower. They were settlers from a foreign land know as England, a kingdom with developed cities and agriculture. When the Pilgrims arrived, they faced a harsh land, a wilderness very unlike their old home. They had come seeking freedom, and instead found pain, for they did not know how to survive in this new and frightful land,” Her she paused but a moment, one long enough for Preston to grasp the similarities in her strange story, to her very own personal story. He gripped her hand tighter in companionship.
“But not all hope was lost, for in this new world that the Pilgrims faced, there lived a native people, who not only survived in the world, but thrived. These people took the Pilgrims and taught them how to survive. In honor and these native, the Pilgrims hosted a feast with their first harvest.” Once more she paused, before squaring her shoulders and standing tall.
“I awoke to a world completely unlike the one I fell asleep in. A world that was very frightful, and very harsh. But you all showed me not only how to survive, but to thrive in this world. In honor, I wish to bring back the sacred tradition that history put into place. A time of giving thanks for all that we do have. Thanksgiving.
"So" ,Nora practically glowed as she smiled at the people standing around the table.
“Happy Thanksgiving!”