Thanksgiving, 1947
Summary:
Nick & Carter Holiday #20
Thursday, November 27, 1947
It's Thanksgiving and Nick is cooking a veritable feast!
Roast turkey, sausage stuffing, mashed potatoes, an assortment of vegetables, and even Nick's first attempt at an apple pie are all on the menu.
Nick and Carter have been dating for just over three months and it's their first holiday together.
It's also an opportunity for Nick to introduce Carter to all his friends.
However...
Jeffery is out of town... Mack is in one of his moods... Janet isn't returning Nick's phone calls...
Oh, well...
At least Mike is available to join Carter and Henry for dinner at Nick's new apartment on Jones Street.
There's certainly plenty of food!
So, won't you join in on all the food, the fun, and the festivities?
What can go wrong when two new lovers bring their old flames to dinner and everyone gets a chance to meet?
More turkey, anyone?
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is the twentieth in a series of short stories and novellas all centered around specific holidays.
Each story is a vignette that stands on its own and takes place from the 1920s to 2008.
Nick Williams Mystery #29
Wednesday, November 24, 1965
It's the day before Thanksgiving and Nick and Carter have been in Paris for nearly a month when an early-morning call brings the news they've both been dreading for three years: Louis Jones Richardson, Carter's mother, has passed away in her sleep. The funeral will be on Monday in her hometown of Albany, Georgia.
With that, Nick is determined to find a way to get into Georgia since, in 1953, he and Carter signed an agreement they wouldn't enter the state without permission. And, in spite of the sad circumstances, neither the district attorney in Albany nor the state's attorney general are inclined to let them in.
Help comes in the form of two of their operatives: Tom Jarrell and Ronnie Grisham.
Meeting up in Miami on Thanksgiving Day, the four of them make the trek north and surreptitiously cross the Georgia-Florida state line in the early morning hours of Friday.
At Belle Terre, a plantation-style house nestled between cotton fields and the banks of the Flint River south of Albany, Nick and Carter begin to play hosts to friends and family who come by to pay their respects, since neither man will be able to safely show their faces on the day of the funeral.
But then something unexpected happens that turns a time for grieving into a devastating tragedy...
Original Review November 2022:
Yet another winner in the Nick and Carter Holiday series. I'm really loving this novella/short story series as it hits so many holidays not spoken of nearly enough in literature of any genre but especially LGBT stories. I do have to say that of all the shorts in this collection I've read, Thanksgiving, 1947 probably left me with the most blanks/gaps in character references and relationship elements having not read the original Nick and Carter series. Were these gaps wide enough to take away enjoying? Not at all. I was never lost, if anything it just furthered the steps up on my TBR list for the originals. Hopefully in 2023 the clock will allow me to jump into them.
Not going to spoil anything(like you didn't know that was coming) but once again a glimpse into the couple's early days together is lovely done and definitely leaves a smile on your face. I will say that two points that really stood out for me was Nick listening to The Guiding Light on the radio and him making sausage stuffing. My parents bought me a cassette of an episode of Fibber McGee & Molly for my 10th birthday and I fell in love with it and have collected hundreds of hours of Old Radio Shows over the years, even got a subscription to Sirius XM just to listen to the old radio shows network in the car so including listening to Guiding Light was a welcomed moment. As for the sausage stuffing? That's the only kind of stuffing we've ever had in our family and yet it is so rarely used in fiction. Honestly there are so many odd recipes out there for stuffing/dressing that are used more that I personally wouldn't want to even touch let alone taste so Nick going old school(and yes I know it's set in 1947 so of course it's going to be old school/old fashioned) for stuffing was another welcomed touch.
The Redemptive Rifleman
Original Review November 2024:
Once again I jumped ahead as I was in search of Turkey Day stories(and there aren't many of them in any genre but especially LGBTQ) and this time the jump was about 10 years or so. I wasn't lost by any means but there were a few characters and a few tidbits of info that had occurred in Nick and Carter's universe that I had not discovered yet but there was a scene where some backstory was given to a new-to-me couple who had not been aware of all the little facts that transpired over the years relating to Georgia. It was this scene that helped fill in a few blanks as well as refresh my mind on a few things I had experienced but overall it made me hungry to learn those missing years in 2025, always nice to have something to look forward to.
Onto The Redemptive Riflemen.
I would say(of those I've read) this one had less on the mystery front but it wasn't lacking in moments of danger for the men and their found family. I don't want to give anything away so this review will be shorter than most. Nick and Carter are just as in love as ever and their circle continues to grow but it has also lost a member as they are trying to find a way to give Carter's mom a proper goodbye when they aren't allowed back in Georgia. Never fear, their found family pulls together and finds a way, though not quite as involved as I'm sure the men would like to be in the final send off but sometimes being close and surrounded by loved ones is all that's needed. Just so much love all around that it can't help but make your heart warm and what better holiday than Thanksgiving to help them, and the reader, feel the love and thankfulness.
One little personal sidenote: As with the other entries(the one's I've read anyways) involving Carter's Georgia history, there is mention of the Klan. It made me think of how this spring after watching something on TV my dad mentioned how he remembers his dad telling stories of the Klan being around when he was younger. This is not in the South, we're Wisconsinites and have been for several generations so it really struck me how far reaching hatred and bigotry reached even in my grandparents generation. With Frank W Butterfield's Nick and Carter universe he helps to show just how far we've come, granted we have a long way to go(and unfortunately in this country recent events have shown we may be in for a bit of setback in the coming 4 years) but as heart-hurting as N&C's experiences are they do give one hope by showing the contrast of yesteryear to today, and more specifically how far we had come just within the timeframe of their journey. This may not have been something the author set out to do and not every reader may find it but Nick and Carter's journey brings a layer of comfort to me and for that I have to say a huge "thank you" to Mr. Butterfield.
Thanksgiving, 1947
550 Jones Street, Apartment 3-C
San Francisco, Cal.
Thursday, November 27, 1947
Just before 11 in the morning
Nick was listening to a conversation between Ned and Julie as they discussed the possibility of having a baby. The Guiding Light was on the radio.
"It ain't worth it, Julie," was his only comment as she began to tell Ned she was worried about how her mother would feel.
He was peeling and scoring a pound of Brussels sprouts in the kitchen when he heard someone knock on the door. Drying his wet hands on the towel resting on his shoulder, he walked through the living room, stopping to switch off the R.C.A. table radio.
He then opened the door to reveal Mike Robertson, his best friend and first lover, standing there with a couple of grocery bags in his arms.
"What's that?" asked Nick.
Mike looked into one of the bags. "The makings of fruit salad."
Nick rolled his eyes and sighed. "I thought I told you to make the stuff before you came over."
Being 6'5" and a cop, Mike ignored Nick and pushed his way inside. "I'm gonna make it here. I don't have a bowl to put it all in."
Shutting the door, Nick replied, "Well, neither do I. That's why I wanted you to make it before you came over."
Mike put the bags down on the dining table that was just outside the kitchen and then turned to take a look at the place. "So, this is your new home, huh?"
"Yeah. Whaddaya think?"
Crossing his arms, Mike nodded and offered Nick a friendly smile. "I like it. How much is the rent?"
"The landlord's a real ass, but I pay him eighty bucks a month."
"Eighty! You're being robbed." Mike walked over and got close. Looking down, he said, "You're a rotten landlord, Nick. You outta give the poor sucker who lives here a break. I wouldn't pay sixty-five bucks for a dump like this." He kissed Nick on the forehead and then made his way to the bay window. "And all you get is a view of Jones Street and that fleabag hotel across the street."
"Well, whatcha gonna do? Want some coffee?"
"Sounds good."
Nick walked into the kitchen, grabbed a cup from the little shelf on the wall, and poured some Joe out of the electric percolator that was sitting on top of the icebox.
"Fancy," said Mike as he took the cup from Nick.
"What?"
"All new furniture, from the looks of things. New stove, new icebox, and an electric percolator." He took a sip. "Must be nice to be the wealthiest guy in town. Not only do you own the building, you get all the newest appliances."
"There's an opening here if you want it."
"Nah. I like my place South of the Slot."
"Which I've never seen the inside of," said Nick as he went back to peeling and scoring his mound of Brussels sprouts.
"So, what's on the menu? Somethin' smells good."
"Before I tell you, don't forget what I said."
Mike put his fingers to his mouth and made a motion that looked like he was turning a key. "My lips are sealed. As far as I'm concerned, you're just a Navy vet who's an orderly at City Hospital who dumps out bedpans for a living." He grinned a little. "I promise not to mention you could buy City Hospital several times over if it ever caught your fancy."
"Mike..."
Holding up his hands in a motion of surrender. "Don't worry. I won't say a word." He took a sip of his coffee. "Now, what smells so good?"
"That's the turkey. Twelve pounds. I put it in the oven at 8:30. It should be ready by noon."
"What time are we eatin'?"
"As soon as Carter gets here, which should be about 12:45 or so. He gets off at noon and then he'll take a quick shower and then they'll head over. They only live a few blocks away."
Mike leaned against the doorframe. "They?"
"I told you. He lives with his ex-boyfriend, Henry. He's coming, too."
"So that makes four of us."
Nick nodded and finished with last of the sprouts. He put them all in the colander and then ran the water so he could rinse them off.
"What about Jeffery?"
"He's down in L.A. for the holiday weekend. Some guy he met."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. The guy—I think his name is Ralph." Nick thought for a moment. "Or maybe Ralph is the other one. This one, maybe, is Robert. Anyway, Ralph and/or Robert lives in Hollywood and works for Metro, according to Jeffery." He turned off the water and then looked over at Mike. "They met when the cops raided La Vie Parisian right before Halloween. Jeffery got his charges dropped along with all the others who were arrested."
Frowning (an act that turned his otherwise handsome face into something closer to the monster in Frankenstein), Mike crossed his arms. "Yeah. I managed to miss that one. But I did help Jeffery out as much as I could."
"He told me. How's your promotion to lieutenant coming along?"
Mike shrugged. "It could be next week, next month, next year... Who knows?"
He started smiling again and Nick melted just a little, like he had when they first met in the summer of '39.
"But La Vie seems to be a good place for love to bloom."
Nick laughed. "Yeah. Worked for Carter and me."
"What about Janet? Is she coming?"
"I think she's mad at me although I don't know why. I called to invite her, but she never answered."
"How's she doing?"
"Fine, as far as I know." Nick didn't really want to talk about his sister, to be honest. He hoped Mike got the hint.
After looking at the floor for a long moment, Mike turned and walked over to the table. "You have something I can use? These apples and bananas and fruit and say aren't gonna cut and peel themselves."
Nick pulled open a drawer and grabbed a knife. Then he stopped. "Well, wait a minute."
"What?" asked Mike as he unloaded smaller sacks out of the larger bags.
"Lemme think."
"Don't blow a fuse there."
"Ha, ha." Nick looked at the stove and then at all the things on the counter. "So, I've got deviled eggs that I made this morning. A pickle and olive tray that I'll put together after the turkey comes out of the oven. Then there's the stuffing that's cooking with the turkey along with come sliced carrots."
"What kind of stuffing?"
"Sausage." Nick realized he was still holding the knife, so he put it on the counter.
"Where from?"
"A new market I like. Kessler's, down Geary between Hyde and Larkin. Why?"
"Just curious. Now that you're a free man, I thought maybe you might have gone to whoever that gal who cooks for your old man might go to."
Nick snorted. "I'm not gonna get anywhere close to that big pile of rocks up on Nob Hill just for groceries and meat. And what, exactly, do you mean by me being a free man?"
"Free of Jeffery."
Nick sighed. "Yeah. I still feel a little bit bad about all that."
"Don't. I wish I would've never let him convince me to track you down at the Mark Hopkins last summer like I did."
"You seemed pretty convinced we should stay together when you tackled me to the floor that morning."
Mike rolled his eyes and glanced at the stove. "So, turkey, stuffing, carrots. What else?" "Mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts, creamed broccoli au gratin, and, of course, bread and butter."
"Not oleo?"
"You know I hate that stuff."
Mike laughed. "I do. What about dessert?"
Reaching behind the percolator, Nick pulled out a towel-covered tin tray. "I tried my hand at making an apple pie."
Mike jumped up and wandered over to inspect the finished product. He lifted the towel. "That looks almost too good to eat." He stared at Nick with his electric blue eyes. "Why didn't you ever make me a pie?"
"In that kitchen?" Nick put the pie back. "There was barely enough room to make a pot of beans."
"True," said Mike, sounding a little wistful.
"You miss those days?" asked Nick.
"Sometimes."
Looking up at his friend, Nick quietly asked, "You're gonna be nice to Carter, right?"
Mike pressed his lips together as he nodded. "I'll try."
Getting up on his toes, Nick kissed the big man on the cheek. "Thanks."
With a resigned sigh, Mike replied, "You're welcome."
The Redemptive Rifleman
6, rue Catherine la Grande
Paris, France
Wednesday, November 24, 1965
4:04 p.m.
"Nick?"
"Good morning, Dr. Sylvester." Dr. Ernest Sylvester was a psychoanalyst I'd been seeing and talking to over the phone since the summer of '60, nearly five and a half years.
"Good morning. Or should I say, 'Good afternoon'?"
I chuckled.
"What can I help you with? I think this may be our first Wednesday appointment."
"Yeah." I took a deep breath and looked around. I was sitting in the library of our house in Paris, right under the kitchen and right above the Turkish bath. I had pulled the big, black phone over to the love seat and was curled up on it, something I rarely did.
"Nick? What's happened?"
"Well, first things first. Thanks for meeting with me so early. I wasn't sure if you'd be able to do so at 7 in the morning. And I'm sorry they called and woke you up in the middle of the night."
"I'm at home and, of course, will be billing you for this phone call."
I laughed. "Of course."
There was a crackling silence over the phone. I could hear the echo of another conversation happening. The callers were speaking French and, as usual, I understood none of it. That reminded me of something important I had to say. "Before we start, I wanna remind you about Uncle Chester." That was our code word which meant that it was likely someone was listening in on the call, probably the C.I.A., but it could have been anyone. When I'd picked up the ringing phone, I'd heard a subtle click, followed by two more in rapid succession. As far as I could tell, that was the clue that there was at least one extra pair of ears on the line.
"Ah, yes, dear old Uncle Chester. One of these days, I'd like to have him on the couch." I knew he was specifically talking about J. Edgar Hoover, the long-time head of the F.B.I.
I laughed. "That would be interesting."
"At a dollar or more a minute, Nick..."
I sighed. "I know and I'm sorry." I took a deep breath and then said, "Louise passed away last night your time." Louise Jones Richardson was the mother of Carter Jones who was my tall, muscular, ex-fireman of a husband.
"I'm very sorry to hear that, Nick. How are you feeling?"
"To be honest, the main thing on my mind is that it seems like it was just a day or two ago when we first got the news she was sick."
"That was during your trial in 1962, correct?"
"It was a hearing, but, yeah." There was another long, crackling pause. The French couple were still at it. Finally, I said, "Ed called us at about 8 this morning, which was at 2, Eastern Time. Louise went to sleep and just stopped breathing."
"I am very sorry."
"She'd been doing so much better. She was here, you know. Just a couple of weeks ago."
"I remember your saying so."
"I feel hollow." That sounded like something I'd once read in a book, but it was also right on the money.
"That, of course, makes sense. You've suffered a loss. You feel the absence of Louise."
I sighed. "Yeah."
More crackling silence. The pair who'd been chatting in French hung up. I could hear the click. The crackling got a little louder and a hiss that I hadn't noticed started up.
"I sense there is something more you wish to tell me."
"Yeah. It's about Carter."
"How is he?"
"Pretty bad. He had already planned a day trip to Marseilles to check on a couple of his gyms down there. He decided to go and should be back in an hour or two, depending on traffic."
"And what have you done all day?"
"I've been out walking around. I popped into one of our hotels for lunch. But, mostly, I've been walking around."
"Where did you go?"
"Mostly up to Monkmarter. I love going up there. It reminds me of Uncle Paul and Joujou." My Great Uncle Paul Williams, who had passed away in 1932 and whom I had only met once when I was a kid, had spent a lot of time in the very house where I was sitting. That had been back during the Belle Époque. He had lived elsewhere and spent a goodly amount of time up on the hill above Paris.
"Monkmarter? Do you mean Montmartre?"
I laughed. "Yeah. You should know by now, doc, how bad my French is."
"I still believe that, if you tried..." He sighed. "I'm rather off the point, aren't I?" Before I could answer, he said, "My apologies. Please, go on."
"Before I had lunch, I called Carter at his gym in Marseilles. He could barely talk, he was crying so hard."
"That's quite understandable. How did you feel about that?"
"I don't know." I thought about that for a moment. "I think Carter is upset because he didn't get a chance to really say goodbye to his mother."
"How does that make you feel?"
I knew why he asked that question. Over and over and over again. It was a good question to ask. But, still, it irritated me. "Well, I'm ready to go any time, doc. You know because we've talked about it. There's no one in my life who doesn't know how I feel about them. I could pop off right now, and no one would be confused or surprised. Kenneth"—Kenneth Wilcox was our lawyer—"keeps my will in shape. I'm ready to die any time, doc."
"Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"Take a deep breath."
I did just that.
"Now, how does it make you feel that Carter is upset?"
I immediately knew the answer. It was the reason I'd begged Dr. Sylvester's answering service to call him at home. I took a deep breath and just said it, "I said goodbye to Louise when they were here earlier this month."
"Does Carter know that?"
"Yeah. I begged him to do the same thing and I think he tried, but I don't know."
"You don't know if he tried?"
"Right."
Dr. Sylvester paused and then asked, "What, if anything, do you think your job is here?"
That was a good question. "Well, I love Carter and I want him to know that and to feel that."
"You once told me about the first night you spent in that house. In the Turkish bath."
I grinned in spite of everything. "Yeah. That was quite a night."
"I believe you told me that was the only place in the house that was warm."
"Yeah."
"It seems to me, Nick, that Carter might respond to an action like that much better than to any words."
I nodded to myself, suddenly feeling like I had something I could do. "Thanks, doc. That's what I needed. Now I know what I can do."
"My pleasure, Nick. May I ask something?"
"Sure."
"Please don't offer to buy out the answering service the next time you need to reach me."
"Sorry about that."
"That's quite alright. Simply tell them you're a priority client. But use that word judiciously, Nick."
"I will. Thanks, doc."
"I have two more questions."
"Shoot."
"Where will the funeral service be?"
I took a deep breath. "Well, that's another part of what has Carter upset. It's gonna be in Albany, in Georgia, in his and his mother's hometown, on Monday."
"Does he wish to go?"
"It's hard to say. I think we should." I sighed. "We were both surprised that she wanted to be buried there instead of in Vermont. But, then again, maybe she was too much of a southerner to bear the thought of being buried with a bunch of Yankees."
I could hear Dr. Sylvester chuckle over the line.
I asked, "What was your second question?"
"Do you actually intend to buy the answering service?"
I laughed. "I will if you think I should. I know you're not supposed to tell me what to do as my analyst, but this is business."
He chuckled again. "I think you should. Margaret is getting on in years and could use the break. And the money, to be honest."
"It's a deal then."
"Good." He paused. "You know, of course, that means I'll have to hire another service."
"Why?"
"It's hardly fair to ask the girls who work there to say no to their boss."
I laughed. "You're right about that. Thanks, doc."
"You're welcome, Nick. Goodbye."
"Goodbye." I waited and listened as he hung up. Half a second later, there was a series of clicks. I put the receiver on the base and sighed deeply.
Nick Williams Mystery Series
In 1953, the richest homosexual in San Francisco is a private investigator.
Nick Williams lives in a modest bungalow with his fireman husband, a sweet fellow from Georgia by the name of Carter Jones.
Nick's gem of a secretary, Marnie Wilson, is worried that Nick isn't working enough. She knits a lot.
Jeffrey Klein, Esquire, is Nick's friend and lawyer. He represents the guys and gals who get caught in police raids in the Tenderloin.
Lt. Mike Robertson is Nick's first love and best friend. He's a good guy who's one hell of a cop.
The Unexpected Heiress is where their stories begin. Read along and fall in love with the City where cable cars climb halfway to the stars.
Long before the Summer of Love, pride parades down Market Street, and the fight for marriage equality, San Francisco was all about the Red Scare, F.B.I. investigations, yellow journalism run amok, and the ladies who play mahjong over tea.
Nick & Carter Holiday Series
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!
This is a series of short stories with each centered around a specific holiday.
From New Year's Day to Boxing Day, each story stands on its own and might occur in any year from the early 1920s to the first decade of the 21st Century.
Saturday Series Spotlights
Frank W Butterfield
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.
Thanksgiving, 1947
Nick Williams Mystery Series
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Nick & Carter Holiday Series
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