A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (23 page)

“You simply have to give me your secret ingredient, Yolie,” Gaylie Girl insisted, as the two couples were sitting around the table, finishing up their cream of courage and salads. “Otherwise, when I try to make this on my own, it will lack that last little bit of zing. Not that I would ever expect it to be as good as yours.”

But Yolie was having none of it, tossing her head back saucily. “Just cain’t do it, I’m afraid. My mama swore me to secrecy. She was like that, you know. Her recipes were sacred. Especially the ones she called her comfort food. And this was her favorite one.”

Gaylie Girl kept savoring her last spoonful, working her mouth and lips in an attempt to guess at the last ingredient. “Is it fennel? I’m getting an almost licorice taste there at the end.”

Yolie shook her head with a mischievous smile.

“Basil, then?”

“You’ll never guess.”

“Gaylie Girl has been a whirling dervish at the stove ever since I gave her my mama’s recipe book,” Mr. Choppy put in from his seat at the head of the table. “And she’s become an excellent Southern cook, by the way.”

Gaylie Girl winked smartly, catching the gaze of both her guests. “Even if I am a Yankee from Lake Forest.” Then she put down her spoon and assumed a more serious demeanor. “But I’ve been bound and determined to blend in down here, learn the ways of Second Creek—that sort of thing. I had hoped my Caroling in The Square project would be the first mark I’d leave on the town. The first of many. But it doesn’t look like that’s going to work out.”

Quintus leaned in with a solicitous smile. “That’s really why Yolie and I wanted to come over here tonight. Miz Vergie told us you were takin’ that fire pretty hard, and nobody can blame you. Downtown looks even worse than it did right after the Tornado of 1953 came through, and I didn’t think I’d ever see anything more terrible than that as long as I lived.”

“It’s hard to see right now how it’s all gonna be built back, Quintus,” Mr. Choppy said, settling back in his chair with a sigh. “There’d be so many different owners involved. Would they want to rebuild the stores the way they were, down to the doorknobs? It might be easier and less expensive for some of ’em just to raze and try to sell their lots. I think what’s really gettin’ to me—and Gaylie Girl, too—is that The Square may never come close to bein’ the way it was, no matter what’s decided. I feel like I’ve lost a part of my soul, in a way.”

Mr. Choppy’s words seemed to energize the Reverend Quintus Payne in a very memorable way. He brought his hands together prayerfully and nodded gently at Mr. Choppy and Gaylie Girl in turn. “That’s why you need to use that cream of courage to fortify your faith that it will all work out. This is the season for miracles, for the victories, big and small. Keep believin’ that, and The Square will rise from the ashes. That’s what we came here to tell you both tonight.”

Mr. Choppy and Gaylie Girl caught each other’s gaze, and she was the first to answer the minisermon they had both just received. “Second Creek really is a remarkable place to have people such as yourself deeply involved the way you are.”

“And you’re just as involved in the right way—you and your husband both,” Quintus replied. “But not Mr. Floyce all those years he ran things. Everybody knew he was up to no good all the time. He was just in it for himself with all those deals he made under the table. Of course, nobody could prove it, but everybody knew it just the same. Maybe he’s found his end of the rainbow out there in Las Vegas, where he said he was movin’ to. But you two need to remember that you represent the best of Second Creek. And Second Creek’s gonna come through for you. Just wait and see.”

It was after Quintus and Yolie had left that Mr. Choppy reflected on the remarkable dinner they had just eaten. In one sense he could almost feel the effects of the cream of courage surging through his veins. Or was it more the good Reverend’s inspirational words?

“We can use all the help we can get with that mess in The Square,” he said, as he helped Gaylie Girl clear the table. “But let’s start with the little things that are much more doable.”

“Such as?”

They both headed toward the kitchen with their plates and silverware, and he said: “Lady Roth, for instance. We have that appointment with her tomorrow afternoon. I’ve just had a brilliant idea on how to handle her.”

Gaylie Girl was smiling as she stacked her dishes on the counter and then took his as well. “The inspiration from the Paynes is infectious, I see. I’m not sure when I’ve had a more surprising evening. So what’s your idea?”

He watched her scraping the plates as he patted his belly. “I think I’ll wait and tell you about it when we get to the office tomorrow. That’ll give me time to sleep on it, not to mention a few more hours for all this cream of courage and bread pudding to settle.”

The front doorbell rang insistently, startling them both.

“Who could that be?” Gaylie Girl said. “I wonder if the Paynes forgot something?” She surveyed the kitchen thoroughly and shrugged. “No, I’m positive they left here with that enormous thermos and all their trays. Would you go answer it, sweetheart? I’m right in the middle of this, and my hands are all wet.”

It did not take Mr. Choppy long to return with a worried-looking Novie in tow. “I tried to call you before coming over,” she began as Mr. Choppy helped her off with her coat. “But my cell phone’s been on the blink all evening. I’m always forgetting to charge it. Anyway, I wanted to tell you all about my first vigil at the hospital. A little too much excitement for my taste.”

“Oh, no bad news, I hope?” Gaylie Girl said, putting the dishes on hold and drying her hands quickly. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No to both questions. Especially to the coffee. I’ve had enough of that bad vending-machine variety as it is. I may never sleep again. I should take a tip from what I’m doing for Henry and make sure I get the proper food and drink myself.”

Then the three of them sat around the kitchen table, and Novie told them about the frightening apnea episode that baby Riley Jacob had endured in the neonatal intensive care unit. “Henry was so upset with me when he returned from eating that delicious dinner I fixed for him,” she continued. “At first, he said I’d let him down by not telling him about it immediately. But the nurse helped me calm him down a few minutes later. She backed me up that there was really nothing to be gained by telling him at that point, except to give him indigestion. Or get him so upset he wouldn’t eat at all. And that’s what the Vigil Aunties were trying to help him avoid, weren’t we?”

Gaylie Girl reached over to pat Novie’s hand gently. “Of course that’s what we’re trying to do. You did the right thing, and I’m glad Henry saw it your way eventually. How do things stand now? With the baby, I mean.”

“He’s still on the ventilator. They’re not going to try and wean him off for the time being. The thing is, as long as he’s on that ventilator, he’s definitely not out of the woods. The nurse said getting him to breathe on his own would be a huge step toward stabilizing him. She said there’s just no telling when that might happen. It’s touch and go. So there are still some anxious days and nights ahead for all of us.”

“But for now my godson-to-be is hangin’ in there, right?” Mr. Choppy said, the concern clearly evident in his tone.

“The nurse believes he still has every chance to get over the hump.”

“And how’s our Cherish doin’?”

Novie seemed suddenly guarded, taking her time answering, and Mr. Choppy was alarmed. “She hasn’t developed any complications, has she?”

“No, no. Not the way you mean. It’s just that this is hard on her emotionally, of course. It would be on any mother. At one point, she needed someone to lift her spirits, and I believe I came through for her. Perhaps the two of you could drop by when you can find a moment in your office routine tomorrow. I know it would help.”

Mr. Choppy’s response was immediate, with no lack of conviction. “We’ll make the time.”

Gaylie Girl rose from the table and moved with all deliberate speed to the refrigerator. “Meanwhile, Novie, you need a little something to lift your spirits the way Hale and I have just had ours lifted.” She opened the refrigerator, peered in, and retrieved a small plate wrapped in foil. “It just so happens that we have a little piece of unbelievably sinful bread pudding left over from our dinner tonight. They—well, the Reverend Quintus Payne and his charming wife, Yolie, that is—invited themselves over on the spur of the moment and served us a homemade dinner.”

Novie couldn’t have looked more perplexed, cocking her head while she made small quizzical gestures with her open palms. “They did what?”

Gaylie Girl quickly explained what had happened after the meeting with the choirmasters and the rest of the Nitwitts had adjourned, ending with the entertaining story from Yolie Payne about the history of cream of courage soup.

“I could have used a cup of that stuff at the hospital,” Novie quipped, craning her neck as Gaylie Girl removed the foil from the bread pudding and hovered near the stove with it.

“As for this, Novie, the kitchen is still open. Would you prefer it warmed or microwaved?”

“Oh, I’ve died and gone to heaven!” Novie exclaimed, ignoring the question. “That was the best bread pudding I’ve ever tasted the day you and Laurie and I drove out to that Marblestone Church in the Alley, or was it The Holy Church of Marblestones—oh, I forget what they call it. Whatever. I’ve been wishing there was a way I could have a piece of it again ever since then.”

Gaylie Girl pointed rather dramatically to the plate of bread pudding she was still holding. “Well, here’s your wish come true, Novie, dear. Now, which will it be—stove or microwave?”

“Let me at it. Microwave, please.”

It was only after Novie had begun to dig into her steaming treat with great relish that she came up for air long enough to ask for an update on the meeting with the choirmasters that she had missed.

“They took the cancellation reasonably well for the most part,” Gaylie Girl explained. “Oh, a few squawks here and there from Lawton Bead and Lincoln Headley, but that was to be expected. Basically, the choirs are going to sing for their congregations and open the caroling to the public in their own churches. Powell Hampton will write a press release to that effect for
The Citizen
. But as to the future of my Caroling in The Square idea—”

“It may not be possible this year,” Mr. Choppy interrupted, not wanting to let go of his inspirational feeling. “But we’ve got to find a way to make it happen for next Christmas. Because if we don’t, it will mean that The Square’s down for the count for good. We just can’t let that happen. Quintus Payne is right, you know. This is the season of miracles, and more important, this is Second Creek.”

I
ncendiary
was the best word to describe the exchange currently raging between Mr. Choppy and Lady Roth around two-fifteen Tuesday afternoon in his office. Sparks were definitely flying. The Star of Bethlehem simply would not be moved from her mission of light. Gaylie Girl sat off to one side taking notes as Mr. Choppy made repeated attempts to placate her.

“Back to the safety issue, Lady Roth,” Mr. Choppy was saying. “I’ll be receiving the final investigation report from my fire chief late this afternoon, but Mr. Braswell’s already told me there’s lots of soot and debris up on the widow’s walk. That’ll have to be cleaned up before anyone walks around up there.”

Lady Roth turned up her nose while adjusting her turban and remained an unmovable object. “How long will that take?”

Mr. Choppy leaned in from behind his desk, his face clearly showing signs of frustration. “It’s not somethin’ we’d want to rush. And, as I said before, we’d have to set up your spotlight on one of the balconies on the other side now. And I can’t emphasize enough, Lady Roth, there will be no caroling down below. It’d be just you by yourself up there in the whippin’ wind.”