Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (10 page)

"We'll get this under control in plenty of time. Now why don't you just take it easy. Make the things you know how to make and don't worry about getting too fancy."

"Maybe," Ruth said. "But I'm still planning on making my special dessert. It's going to be spectacular. Something that will just about knock the socks off of everyone."

"Oh, Ruth, don't get too ambitious."

"I need to do something extra special. Something no one will expect. Something that will set this Thanksgiving apart from all the rest—not that Thanksgiving at your house wasn't always good. It was. The best but—"

"I can't wait," I said. "Now I need to be going."

"Where you off to? Maybe see Cliff?"

"Ruth, you know better than that. No. I actually was thinking it's a nice day for a walk in the woods with Zeb."

I passed Ivy's house on my way to the Full Moon. She was on the porch with Mickey Mantle.

"How's it going?" she called. "I saw Ruth running past here a while ago. I thought she'd been shot."

"Cranberry sauce," I said.

Ivy laughed. "That woman is a pip. Where you headed?"

I looked into the clear blue sky. "Oh, it's such a nice day, I might see if I can talk Zeb into taking a walk in the woods."

"Ohhh, sounds romantic."

"Maybe. That's up to Zeb."

Ivy stood up. "What's wrong, Griselda? Zeb giving you a hard time again?"

"Not really. Well, no more than usual. It's me this time. Have you ever been in love Ivy?"

Ivy looked at me for a long minute. "Me? Well, I never told no one, but yeah, I was in love, long time ago."

"How do you know?"

Ivy let air escape her nose. Mickey Mantle sidled up next to her. "As much as I hate saying this, the answer is . . . you just do. It's a feeling, but it's more than a feeling. It's like an allergic reaction."

"Do you lose your appetite and feel all scatterbrained?"

"Yep. Is that what Zeb does for you?"

"Used to. Not so much anymore. Zeb and I have been going together for so long the feelings are more like the feeling of slipping on a pair of old, comfy sneakers. You know how they fit you just right."

"That's love," Ivy said.

"But am I IN LOVE?"

"Then who is making you feel all squishy and lose your appetite?"

I didn't say anything. I just looked into her eyes until she saw the truth.

"Cliff Cardwell. Why Griselda Sparrow, you have fallen head over heels in love with that aviator fella."

"I'm not so sure." I patted Mickey Mantle's head.

"Sounds like he got your engines started."

"That's just it. Maybe I'm love with the aviator, the flying, not the person."

"You better figure this one out. And with Christmas coming? Whee doggies, Griselda, Christmas is way too romantic and wonderful to spend it with the wrong fella."

"I know."

I gave Mickey Mantle one final pat. "I'll see you later."

The air felt crisp and turned steadily chillier the closer I got to the Full Moon. It was after the lunch rush, so Zeb should have a little time. I had no clue what I was going to say to him. I just wanted to see him and hoped with all my heart that nothing would interrupt us this time.

I was right; Zeb was sitting at a booth eating a sandwich. It wasn't too often I saw Zeb eating any of his food.

"Hey, Zeb," I said.

"Grizzy, join me. Hungry?"

"No, not really. I just wanted to stop by and say hi. I just came from Ruth's. She had exploding cranberry sauce."

Zeb laughed. "Exploding cranberry sauce. I'm not even going to ask."

"Ah, she's just so excited about Thanksgiving. She's trying all these crazy recipes."

"Oh, boy. It should be interesting."

"You're coming, right?"

Zeb took a bite of his sandwich. Swallowed and looked me square in the eyes. "That depends. Is Cliff coming?"

"I don't know. And . . . and why should it matter?"

"It just does."

Dot passed by. "Coffee, Griselda?"

"Maybe just water."

"Suit yourself."

"Zeb," I said. "I want to be honest with you. I think I'm feeling confused or something. I like Cliff, I'm not going to lie about that, but not in the way you think, at least I don't think so. He just makes me feel different."

"Different?"

"It might just be the flying. I really love to fly that airplane."

Zeb finished chewing his sandwich and then gulped down a glass of milk. "Are you in love with him. Just tell me. I can't stand being on the outs like this."

My eyes closed for a breath. Then I looked at him and then I looked away. Dot placed my water in front of me.

"I'm not sure," I said. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Zeb tossed his napkin into his plate and stood. "Then I guess I won't be coming to Thanksgiving."

My heart started to race. "I'm sorry, Zeb. I just want to be sure."

"I doubt you'll be sure by Thursday."

I went to church that Sunday but my heart wasn't in it. Pastor Speedwell was talking forgiveness in such a way that I think he made everyone in the room feel guilty. Even me. Mostly I felt guilty about Zeb and Cliff. I sat in the pew and prayed through pretty much the entire service. I asked the Good Lord to help me figure out my feelings. I prayed that God would make my choice so clear that I couldn't possibly be wrong.

Ruth, who was sitting next to me, grabbed onto my hand. Sometimes I think the woman had a sixth sense. She held on tight and whispered in my ear. "You'll get it figured out." We held hands for almost five minutes, and I appreciated the comfort it brought.

After the service, Ruth and I headed up to the Paradise Trailer Park for the Blessing of the Fountain. I had not been in Paradise since Ruth and I went up there to watch one of the Angels softball games. Charlotte Figg was not only a tremendous pie baker, but she was also the Angels coach and nearly coached the team to a championship. From what I understood, she had moved to Paradise after her husband died. She started the team because she didn't think there was enough community spirit in the trailer park. Apparently it worked because ever since then everything I hear about Paradise is positive and sweet.

I couldn't help smiling when I drove under the Paradise Trailer Park sign. There was something totally endearing about the place. I enjoyed seeing all the colors of the trailers— everything from bland gray to turquoise. Now I don't mean no disrespect but trailer parks do seem to attract a different kind of people. They are their own culture. And Paradise was, of course, no different. But I suppose the strangest thing in the park was the giant concrete hand that Rose Tattoo had in her front yard. It was there that she and some of the other residents went to pray—safe in God's hand.

Studebaker told me that he and his cousin Asa rescued it from a defunct amusement park. They hauled it back to Paradise, and Rose immediately set it up in her front yard. Then, Stu says, she proceeded to paint the names of every individual in the park on the hand. Stu said it was a physical manifestation of the Scripture that tells us we are all safe in God's hand and that our names are written on his palm and nothing and no one can pluck us from it.

I've seen the hand only the one time, but I will admit that that day I wondered if maybe some time in God's giant palm might help me think through my quandary.

"Maybe I'll do it," I said.

"Do what?" asked Ruth.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm thinking out loud. Maybe I'll sit in that giant hand they got here and pray about Cliff and Zeb."

"Couldn't hurt," Ruth said. "And while you're up there, Pray for my Thanksgiving."

We drove a little farther down the road. People were walking toward the center of the park carrying lawn chairs and blankets and covered dishes.

"Looks like they're gearing up for the festivities," I said.

I parked the truck against a curb between a black Oldsmobile and a yellow Duster. I haven't seen such a gathering since the night Studebaker unveiled the welcome sign to honor Agnes Sparrow and the supposed miracles she was performing. The sign was wrong in many ways from spelling to purpose and the festive feeling failed. Now that was the debacle to end all debacles and in my opinion was far greater than what was happening at Greenbrier. I caught a glimpse of Asa making his way to the front of the crowd.

Asa was himself quite a character. He was missing his right arm. The story goes that he blew it off playing with dynamite when he was teenager. I saw children carrying American flags. And every so often a firecracker would go off. Studebaker said Asa had gotten his hands—or I should say hand—on some real fireworks, and they were planning on setting them off after dark.

I sailed a silent prayer that when the fountain was revealed, nothing would go wrong.

The Paradise folk gathered in a small crowd near the fountain. From where Ruth and I were it was hard to get a good look unless we could stand on something. But I didn't see anything that would accommodate us.

"Come on," I said grabbing her hand. "Let's get closer."

I saw Rose Tattoo standing next to Ginger Rodgers, the little person who played shortstop on the Angels softball team. I never met her before, but I watched her play in a couple of games. She could run like greased lightning. Next to her was a tall woman, skinny as a rail with long hair tied in a ponytail that hung down her back and reached to her waist. I didn't recognize her. But next to her was Charlotte Figg holding what had to be a pie.

"Let's go stand with Charlotte and her friends."

"You think it's going to be all right?" Ruth asked. "I wouldn't want to intrude. It is their fountain."

"Oh, don't be silly, they won't mind. Come on."

"Hi, Griselda," Charlotte said. "I'm glad you could make it. Do you know my friends?"

"Of course she does," Ruth said. "I told her all about them. This here is Rose, the woman with all the tattoos."

I shook Rose's hand and noticed green, scraggly tattooed vines encircling her wrist and one finger. I tried not to pay it any attention. But she smiled into my eyes like she knew the best secret in town.

"Nice to meet you," she said. "We've heard a lot about the Sparrow sisters."

"And this is Ginger Rodgers. She's a Little Person. They don't like being called midgets."

"Nice to meet you too," I said to Ginger.

She shook my hand seemingly unaffected by Ruth's remark. I will admit it was a little like taking the hand of a child.

Ruth swallowed about a dozen times trying to get her bearings. A tattooed woman and a little person might have been a little much for her to introduce all at once. She became a bit rattled and starter to sputter her words. She was like an outboard motor having trouble getting started. Or she fibbed and has been sucking down coffee like wild again.

"This is my friend Ruth Knickerbocker," I said. "I don't believe you and Charlotte have met."

"Ruth," Rose said. "Are you Vera Krug's sister? The woman on the radio?"

"In-law. Sister-in-law."

"Oh, well, anyhoo, I saw her earlier. She's probably gonna report about the blessing on tomorrow's show."

"Dandy," Ruth said.

One of those silent, awkward pauses passed through our little group until Ruth blurted out, "I'm just so excited that you're all coming to Thanksgiving dinner."

"I was meaning to ask," Rose said. "Would it be all right if Asa came along? Otherwise he'd just be here by himself."

Ruth's table was going to need another leaf, or we were gonna have to rent out the town hall to get everyone accommodated.

"Absolutely. I just hope my turkey is big enough," she said looking at Ginger Rodgers. "But I don't suppose you eat much now—"

I elbowed her spleen.

"Don't let my size fool you," Ginger said. "I can eat like a lumberjack."

"How . . . delightful," Ruth said.

The crowd continued to grow and then all of a sudden music blared through the PA system. "The Stars and Stripes Forever." Some folks clapped but most grew quiet. I noticed a few men take off their hats, placing them over their hearts in a silent meditation.

The music faded off and so did the noise from the crowd. Asa stood on a homemade podium that seemed a skosh crooked to me. "Leon must have made it," I whispered to Ruth.

Asa spoke into a microphone and his voice was transmitted over the speaker system. I figured they could hear him clear to Scranton.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to the Blessing of the Paradise Fountain."

A cheer went up through the crowd.

"Some have said that the fountain would never flow again. But they were wrong."

Another cheer, but smaller and shorter.

"Thanks to our new friend, Leon Fontaine, the waters flow again." He indicated for Leon to join him on the podium. Leon had been sitting up front in one of the wooden folding chairs arranged for the VIPs. I saw Pastor Speedwell and Boris Lender also.

Leon, a little troll of a man with a long crooked nose, long curly hair, and a chin the size of a Granny Smith Apple, stood to a resounding round of applause and cheers. Then he sat back down.

"He must be shy," Ruth said.

"Leon didn't want to speak today," Asa said. "We are all so appreciative of his great effort and skill. Thank you, Leon Fontaine."

Leon stood and took a deep bow, swiping the ground with his hand.

Another cheer and then Boris Lender stood near the huge tarp that hid the fountain from view.

"It is with great honor and excitement that I now ask First Selectman Boris Lender to unveil our Paradise Fountain."

"Thank you," hollered Boris. And he gave a great yank on a cord and . . . nothing happened. He pulled a second time and still the tarp held fast.

"Oh, dear," Asa said. "Just a moment, folks." Asa ducked behind the tarp and we heard some rustling and cursing until he popped back out. "Now, Mr. Lender, drop that tarp."

BAM! The tarp fell; the cheers rose to the heavens and then stopped as all eyes gazed upon the wonder that was the Paradise Fountain. A peach-colored brick wall, six courses high encircled the area. Inside that wall was another square red-brick enclosure with small gargoyles perched on each corner. The gargoyles looked handcarved from chunks of granite. They were skinny and weird with arched backs and wings. But not too unfriendly.