A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (29 page)

“I wish there was some way Wittsie could have been here with us this afternoon. She had such fun when the First Presbyterian choir went over to Delta Sunset Village on Thursday.”

“But she
was
here, Denver Lee,” Gaylie Girl pointed out, gazing down into her mug of Kahlúa-laced coffee. “She’s been here among us as a moving spirit these last few days when we put all this together. ‘It will be restored,’ she said to me, just as loud and clear in between carols. She said she knew it because of her dream. And what she knew and what she was telling us in no uncertain terms was that The Square would be restored. Take it for what it’s worth. But it’s my understanding that this sort of thing happens all the time here in Second Creek.”

“That’s the truth of it,” Mr. Choppy added. “No need to wonder how or why. It’s enough that she was right. Second Creek now has an excellent chance to recapture its charm, thanks to The Square Deal.” He turned to Gaylie Girl and gave her a gentle nudge. “By the way, who came up with the name? I think it’s brilliant.”

“Oh, that was Petey’s brainstorm. I stayed out of that part completely and let the children work it out. He said he and Amanda were kicking around names over the phone once they agreed to do this, but he didn’t much like what she came up with. She wanted to call it The Second Creek Phoenix Fund. You know, as in a phoenix rising from the ashes. Very mythological, of course. She even wanted to try her hand at designing the logo since she’s been taking art classes lately.”

Powell Hampton was enjoying a good laugh. “That sounds like some kind of 401(k) investment.”

“Exactly,” Gaylie Girl said, managing a little giggle herself. “But Petey said his name had a solid ring to it. As in square meal. The Square Deal sounded like something you could believe in and would want to contribute to.”

“Well, there’s a part of me that still can’t believe this is actually happening,” Mr. Choppy added. “Everything seemed to be goin’ against us big-time. We were all sayin’ that it didn’t feel much like Christmas around here, and we had the burned-out Square as an ugly reminder of that feelin’ every day. Hey, all I had to do was look out my office window and grimace. Funny how things can turn around so fast.”

“O ye of little faith,” Euterpe put in. “I still say you can put great store in dreams. They give us insights we don’t know we have, and I think it’s easier for someone in Wittsie’s position to recognize them. Her regrettable struggle is portrayed as a diminution, but there’s another way of looking at it. Perhaps it clears the decks of all the routine stuff that clogs our brains so that only the most remarkable things get through toward the end. Even things that we can’t explain in logical terms.”

“Heavens, Euterpe!” Renza exclaimed. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You do have a way with words. You and Laurie both talk like psychologists or psychiatrists or diplomats all the time. Meanwhile, I sound like an over-the-hill sorority president at a blackballing session!”

Everyone laughed good-naturedly, including Renza herself.

“Oh, cut yourself some slack, Renza,” Laurie said. “We really wouldn’t have you any other way. And I say that to you in the spirit of Christmas. That means I’m thankful for your friendship, and I look forward to many more years of it. I know it’s a day early, but Merry Christmas, sweetie!”

Renza pointed toward Laurie and shrugged. “See what I mean? And Merry Christmas to you one day early, too.”

That set off a flurry of hugs, kisses, and gushing sentiment among the ladies, the likes of which Mr. Choppy and Powell Hampton had never witnessed in their long and involved association with the group. The two of them caught each other’s gaze as the Nitwitts moved to a new level of camaraderie and emotional display.

“Don’t look at me,” Powell said with a shrug and a smile. “I’m just the Go-to Guy.”

“And I thought I was runnin’ things as the Mayor,” Mr. Choppy added. “But the truth is, I’m just the husband of a Nitwitt.”

T
here had been no mention of it in the forecast. Not in any paper, nor on any television or radio station that catered to Second Creek. Nonetheless, they were there in all their glory on Christmas morning. Snow flurries gently floating down. No wind-driven sound to disturb things. Flakes that did not stick at first. Flakes that were too wet falling onto ground that was still too warm.

Strangely, by the time the sun had come up, the temperature had fallen several degrees to just below freezing. It was the thick cloud cover that had done it. As a result, the snow began to stick. First one inch. Then half an inch more. It was the first white Christmas Second Creek had ever experienced in the recorded history of the community, and perhaps it had never been more needed. All around town people were muttering approximately the same thing: “Second Creek weather—consistently a law unto itself!”

Unlike the February ice storm that had ultimately affected the outcome of the election between Mr. Choppy and Mr. Floyce, however, this delicate snowfall presented no real obstacle for Second Creek drivers. For the most part, they still ventured out in their cars to Christmas services or to visit friends and family without incident. Some just wanted to gawk at the rarity of it all, taking photographs with their eyes as they drove by landmarks that had been transformed into something nearly unrecognizable by the pristine layer of white coating them.

This was especially true of The Square. It was as if the breath of winter had brought forth its most fanciful invention—the snowflake—to soften the ugly reality of the burned-out buildings below. A reality that continued to knife through the very hearts of Second Creekers every second those sad ruins remained standing. For the general public did not yet know about The Square Deal. They were taking their holiday spirit whenever and wherever they could find it, and this totally unexpected white Christmas was fitting the bill nicely for the time being.

Inside the residence of Mayor and Mrs. Hale Dunbar Jr. of North Bayou Avenue, a very eventful Christmas Day had been up and running for some time now. They’d had an early breakfast of grits, eggs, and toast around eight, and now the nine o’clock hour was fast approaching. Gaylie Girl briefly wondered if they would have time to make all their rounds. Then she put all doubt out of her mind. This was Christmas after all, and nothing was going to stop them from spreading as much cheer as they could.

“We’ve got to keep an eye on the time,” Gaylie Girl was saying, as she transferred side dishes into the Tupperware she had laid out on the kitchen counter. After they’d left the Evening Shadows’ announcement party, they’d attended Press Phillips’s caroling service at First Presbyterian. Then she’d spent the better part of the evening cooking up a storm at home. Mr. Choppy had pitched in and helped substantially, and they were still working as a team, though at different tasks.

“How are you coming with the wrapping in there?” she called out when she hadn’t heard so much as a peep from him in quite a while.

Mr. Choppy shouted back from the den, though there was a definite lack of confidence in his voice. “It’s comin’—I guess!”

What he failed to add was that he was struggling with what many considered to be a lost art. Actually, an art that had never really been found—that of well-meaning men trying their hand at gift-wrapping things for any occasion whatsoever. Gaylie Girl should have known better, but she was just too involved with spooning out corn bread dressing and yellow squash casserole and green beans with almonds to worry about it too much. Besides, she knew she could always undo at the last second whatever he had grievously done with the scissors, Scotch tape, all thumbs, and too little imagination.

“I can’t get this wrappin’ paper to fit right!” Mr. Choppy called out, sounding definitely stressed. “Somethin’s wrong!”

Gaylie Girl recognized the warning signs and put her work on hold. “Wait a minute. Let me come in there and see what you’re doing.”

She found him on his knees, mumbling incoherent things while waving the scissors at the paper like a weapon, but she tried to be as gentle as possible with her commentary. “You’re using too much paper, sweetheart. That’s why it looks all wrinkled like that. You’ve cut off enough to wrap the refrigerator.”

He got to his feet and handed her the scissors. “Could you do this one for me? I’ve never had to wrap a photograph album before. In fact, the only thing I’ve ever wrapped in my entire life was a cut of meat, and this isn’t exactly butcher’s paper and string.”

She gave him a peck on the cheek and went to work.

“Is there anything you’d like me to keep an eye on for you in the kitchen?” he offered in return, obviously grateful to be relieved of his gift-wrapping duties.

“Glad you reminded me. Yes. Go and check on the rolls, please. They should be just about ready. I don’t want to be like Laurie Hampton and burn them to a crisp.”

He headed for the kitchen but was back in no time. “Not quite done, I think. Maybe a coupla more minutes. Speakin’ of Laurie and Powell, are we still gonna try and make their open house?”

Gaylie Girl nodded while affixing tape to her nearly wrapped present. “If all goes well. The rest of the girls will be there for their Christmas nightcaps, I trust.”

“You ladies do have this Nitwitt thing down to a science, I have to admit,” Mr. Choppy quipped, feeling full of himself. “Always a toast to make somewhere.”

The Hempstead household in New Vista Acres was just a bottom-of-the-line ranch model like most of the others in the blue-collar development. But with a huge red bow tied to the doorknocker and blinking white lights adorning the little cedar tree in the front yard on this white Christmas Day, it took on a special, welcoming shine. And it was around eleven-thirty that Henry and Cherish Hempstead welcomed Hale and Gaylie Girl Dunbar into their home for Christmas dinner. Actually, it was Henry who greeted them at the door by himself, helping them first with their coats and then the containers of food they had brought in from the car. Next, he took the present that Gaylie Girl had spelled Mr. Choppy in wrapping presentably for them.

Henry stood in the middle of the tiny but efficient kitchen, obviously in awe. “You brought us a present on top of everything else? We just can’t thank you enough for fixin’ all this for us.” He was eyeing appreciatively the roasted turkey breast with all the trimmings in Tupperware the three of them had just laid out on the counter. “I can’t boil water, and Cherish was just not up to puttin’ somethin’ like this together yet. She’ll be out in a minute, by the way. She just wanted to make sure she was good and rested for your visit. She still gets tired pretty easy.”

“Oh, we enjoyed doing it for you,” Gaylie Girl answered, waving him off. “What’s Christmas for if not to think up things like this to do for people? And don’t you and Cherish worry about a thing from here on out. Hale and I will run things into the warming oven for you and even put it all out on the table. All you have to do is say grace. Just consider this our Christmas present to the both of you. And little Riley Jacob in a way. Giving his parents a little time off will be just the ticket.”

Mr. Choppy put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Speakin’ of my godson, tell us the latest. You told us over the phone you’d be visitin’ the hospital around nine-thirty. Everything still lookin’ up on this fine Christmas mornin’?”

There was an undeniable element of relief in Henry’s expression and then in his voice. “Still off the ventilator, I’m happy to say. And the nurse said he’s been real sensitive to light up until this mornin’, but it seems to be wearin’ off. She said he was makin’ good progress, all things considered. And really, that’s all Cherish and I wanted for Christmas. Just his health. Just to have him with us. Couldn’t ask for a greater present than that.”

Cherish appeared in the kitchen doorway at that very moment, looking fresh-scrubbed if a bit tired in a pale blue housecoat and fuzzy blue slippers. “Merry Christmas, everybody. Please excuse the way I’m dressed, though. I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t see any reason to put on airs. I’ve heard of women who try to put on makeup right after they’ve been wheeled out of the operatin’ room. Well, I know I’m exaggeratin’ a bit, but gettin’ all dolled up seems like a pretty low priority to me right now. I think I’d rather let all that snow outside do the sparkling. By the way, has it finally let up? I just poked my head out the door earlier today, but I haven’t ventured any further. Henry keeps sayin’ he’s gonna make a snowman for us before it melts.”