Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (14 page)

The doorbell rang. "That must be Ivy," I said.

Sure enough, Ivy was here wearing a perfectly hideous Thanksgiving sweatshirt with a giant cornucopia on the front. But that was Ivy for you. She held Mickey Mantle's leash. He was sitting like a reasonable gentleman.

"Hey, should I take Mickey Mantle out back?" Ivy asked.

"That's probably best."

"OK, I'll see you inside in a minute or two."

I rejoined the festivities.

"Excuse me," Ruth said coming into the living room. "But, Griselda, could you help me get food on the table, please? Dinner is almost ready."

"Oh, boy," Studebaker said. "I am hungrier than a bear in spring." He rubbed his belly. And then he playfully rubbed Boris's belly. "But you, my friend, could live off the fat of the land for a while."

Boris pushed his hand away. "Just try and keep me from that turkey and the mashed potatoes—my favorite."

Ruth and I placed all the various foods Ruth had prepared on the table. Her table looked wonderful with the bird of paradise centerpiece and little paper umbrellas in all the drinks and in the yams and potatoes. Everything was in place except the turkey, which I imagined she wanted to carry in after everyone was seated. And speaking of seats, I said, "Ruth, you're missing two chairs."

"Oh, oh, would you ask Zeb or Boris to run up to the attic and get two folding chairs."

"Sure."

"I'll go," Asa said.

"No problem," said Zeb.

I went back into the kitchen just in time to catch the gravy just before it boiled over onto the stove. I poured it into a white gravy boat and placed it on the table near Boris's seat.

Finally, everything was ready, and Ruth called the guests to the table.

She stood at the end, closest to the kitchen. It took her a moment to regain her composure. Her face was red, her hair a mess with streaks of flour and glop I couldn't recognize. She took a deep, shaky breath. "Welcome," she said as a tear ripped down her cheek. "Now for the star of the show."

I watched as everyone looked around the table at the fancy dishes Ruth had prepared. Asa turned his nose up at the Ambrosia. You'd think he was looking at a pile of horse manure the way he stared at it.

"Now I don't know if I ever seen a dish like that," he said. "What do you call it?"

"Ambrosia," I said. "It's got coconut, which I don't care for, and pecans and whipped cream and other things. Ambrosia is the food of the gods."

"Not for me," he said. "I hate coconut."

"Oh, boy," Ivy said. "I love Ambrosia. Anything with coconut."

Boris, who looked uncomfortable in his lei, teetered his burned-out cigar on the edge of his bread plate. An act that caused Ginger Rodgers to come painfully close to biting his leg. "Get that off a there. Where did your mama raise you?"

Boris snatched the stogie and dropped it into his suit pocket. "Didn't mean to upset you."

Charlotte finally reappeared from the kitchen carrying a large serving bowl of mashed potatoes. They were piled high like a mountain.

"Ohhh," Rose said. "My favorite. I could eat mashed potatoes every single day of my life."

Then Ruth carried out the turkey on the large turkeyshaped platter she purchased at Kresge. She had stuck little tiny paper umbrellas all over him, he wore a lei and little pink paper booties on his legs. Everyone cheered as she placed him on the table.

"Now that," Studebaker said, "is the happiest roasted turkey I ever did see."

"My, my," Asa said. "That's what I call an excellent bird." And for a second or two I tried to envision Asa carving the holiday bird with just his one arm.

"Let's join hands," Ruth said. She took a breath. "And Rose will you pray for us?"

Rose smiled. "Dear Lord, We thank and praise you for this day. I never imagined I would be part of such a festive Thanksgiving Day meal. Thank you for this, thank you for everyone around this table and for Ruth who so lovingly prepared it all and for those who came alongside to help. We ask you to bless each one here, and remember those who are far from us this day. We ask your blessing on this food and that our time and talk bring glory to you, for you, Lord, are worthy of our praise and thanksgiving."

Everyone said, "Amen."

Zeb continued to hold my hand or maybe I continued to hold his. It was hard to tell but I think we were both imagining a Thanksgiving celebration in our own home someday. Then the thought made me so angry I dropped his hand. Why did he have to be acting like such a big jealous jerk? I sailed my own silent prayer. Help me figure out my feelings, Lord.

Ruth took the big carving knife and the big fork and stood. She stared at the bird who looked more like the Big Kahuna than Tom Turkey. "Zeb," she said. "Would you come and do the honors?"

Zeb squeezed my hand. "I certainly will."

"Carve him good," Ivy said. "And I got dibs on the gizzard."

While Zeb carved, the food was passed around the table. I watched as folks bit into their first bites of the tropical surprise food. I think Ruth sneaked a little bit of the islands into each dish. Charlotte surreptitiously pulled a piece of mango out of her mouth that she had found in her three-bean salad. She looked at it and tucked it on the side of her plate.

Boris was confused by the little white nuts in the stuffing.

"What in the heck are these little white ball things in here, Ruth? Are we supposed to eat them?"

"Sure, they're macadamia nuts express from Hawaii. I got them at Madam Zola's shop in Shoops."

The sky outside grew dark as night fell over Bright's Pond but the spirit inside was bright and cheerful. Ruth turned on teeny lights she had strung from the ceiling that reminded us all of stars. She lit candles that cast dancing, wondrous shadows on the walls and table as Don Ho sang "Tiny Bubbles." Ruth Knickerbocker had pulled off her tropical Thanksgiving dinner.

But it was the final course that stole the show. After we had gathered dishes and brought most of the food bowls and what was left of the Big Kahuna into the kitchen, Ruth unveiled her pineapple, mango, passion fruit and raisin, pineapple upsidedown cake. The four-layer cake sat on a large silver platter with plastic lei flowers tucked all around it. I think the dessert must have weighed thirty pounds.

"Oh, Ruth," I said. "It looks—amazing."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet." She squeezed lemon juice into a small cup of what smelled like brandy. She sprinkled it onto the cake.

"Ruth," I said, "what are you planning?"

"Just watch. Help me get this to the table."

It took the two of us to carry it and hoist it onto the table.

Everyone cheered, even if they did appear somewhat dismayed—or scared.

Then Ruth pulled a book of matches from her apron pocket. "Are you ready? Here goes."

She struck the match and touched it to the cake and WHOOOOSH! Flames shot straight up as everyone recoiled and cheered at the same time. I made sure I knew where the phone was just in case I had to call the fire department. The cake burned for a few more seconds as the flame turned to a pretty, almost purple glow.

"Now they say you should cut into it while it is still flambéing," Ruth said. "So here goes."

The cake cut nicely and soon everyone had a small piece of Ruth's dessert flaming in front of them.

"This is so much fun," Charlotte said. "I never ever thought to flambé one of my pies. But you've inspired me, Ruth."

Ruth blushed. "Thank you, Charlotte."

"As a matter in fact," Charlotte said after a few bites of the odd cake. "This is so tasty I am going to include it on the menu at my pie shop. It would be a special order but—"

"Really?" Rose said. "You didn't tell me. You're definitely opening the shop?"

"That's exactly so," Boris said. "She signed the lease yesterday."

Ruth sunk back into her seat as though the wind had been knocked out of her sails. I know Charlotte didn't mean to steal her thunder and she was actually paying Ruth a huge compliment but still, I understood what if felt like to be suddenly overshadowed by someone else's greatness.

The party broke up at seven o'clock. A little later than I had hoped but I couldn't very well tell people to stop having fun on account of Agnes. It seemed I had done too much of that. But I finally had to say something.

"Listen, everybody. I promised Agnes I would bring her a plate of food and some of Ruth's now famous flaming pineapple upside-down surprise. I know she would love it if you all came along."

Boris leaned back in the recliner and patted his bulging belly. He had already loosened his belt. "Oh, not me, Griselda. I'm bushed."

Studebaker joined Boris's sentiments as did Asa and Rose and Ginger, who I think really wanted to come, but she declined too. Not so much out of tiredness, but embarrassment, perhaps. It surprised me. I watched her shake her head toward Rose when the offer went out. Rose grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "Don't worry," I heard Rose say.

Charlotte said she was anxious to get into the shop the next day and get started on some cleanup. "The place is a mess. But I've had some experience cleaning up messes." She smiled at Rose and Asa.

But Zeb surprised me. "I'll come."

Ruth touched my arm. "The man loves you. He's making an effort."

"That would be great, Zeb. I just need to pack a plate for her and—"

"I'll help," he said.

Ruth conspicuously left us alone in the kitchen. Zeb sliced turkey for Agnes as I packed bowls with potatoes and vegetables and ambrosia. I cut her an extra-large piece of Ruth's surprise cake.

"Now I need to be sure and bring whatever it was that made that cake catch fire. I think Agnes will like it," I said.

"You think that's a good idea?" Zeb asked.

"Sure, it'll just be a little flambé. A small flame and then she'll blow it out—like a birthday candle."

Zeb shook his head. "I hope you know what you're doing."

I assembled everything into a picnic basket. After I closed it, Zeb put his hands on my shoulders. I turned and we stood nose to nose. He said nothing, but held my chin with the tips of his fingers and kissed me and that time my toes curled and my knees buckled. I was all caught up in the moment, feeling full and happy and maybe even a little struck by the magic of the little white star lights and electric tiki torches that shone around the table.

"Let's stop playing games, Griselda. Tell me you'll marry me."

I took a step back and felt my racing heart. Maybe it was the moment or the holiday. I could have blamed it on many things, but I followed my heart. "I will, Zeb."

But apparently nothing in Bright's Pond is very private and just as I said the words the crowd cheered, especially Ruth.

"I knew it," she said. "I knew she'd say yes."

"Wait," I said. "You knew Zeb was going to ask me again tonight?"

Ruth looked at her feet. "Sorry, Griselda."

"How in the world did you keep that secret? You are a lousy secret keeper."

"Oh, gee, it was hard," Ruth said. "I just had to keep myself busy the whole time. I wanted to tell you that Zeb told me he was coming and that he was gonna get you to say yes this time. But I held my tongue. I let him surprise you."

"That he did." I looked in Zeb's quiet eyes. "That he did."

"Let's set a date," Rose said. "I love weddings."

"Me too," Ginger said. "I can be the flower girl."

Everyone laughed except Charlotte. It was like this kind of news didn't faze her at all. "Tread softly," she had told me. "Tread softly."

Needless to say, the evening ended with quite a bit of fanfare and excitement. Asa even had some firecrackers left over from the Fountain Blessing, which he exploded in Ruth's backyard in honor of Zeb and me. Unfortunately, Mickey Mantle was tied up against the fence and started barking and howling louder and louder with each explosion. And that brought nasty Eugene Shrapnel out of his lair. Eugene was, of course, the town curmudgeon. Every town has one.

Eugene, who somehow knew everybody's business, came banging on Ruth's door around seven o'clock.

"What's all that racket?" he said, the instant Boris opened the door.

Eugene was surprised to see Boris. "What are you doing mixed up in this kind of tomfoolery?" Eugene asked.

Boris laughed. "It's Thanksgiving, Eugene, and Zeb and Griselda just got engaged. We're celebrating."

That was when Ruth pulled the door open farther. "Come on in, Eugene, have some pie. Charlotte made it."

Eugene was short with a crooked back that necessitated he walk with a cane. He had a bulbous nose with icky purple veins running through it and smelled like a combination of Lysol and wet wool.

"I . . . I can't," he said.

"Oh, come on," everyone else called. "There's plenty." Eugene sheepishly stepped into Ruth's house, and for the first time, I saw something other than derision on Eugene's face. "Thank you. I can't stay long."

"However long is long," Asa said. "I got more fireworks in the truck."

It was the twinkle in the old rooster's eyes that told Asa to go get them and before we knew it Eugene had struck the final match that set off the final colorful explosion that blasted from the canister on the ground into red and green screamers and hot streamers in the sky.

Zeb and I stood arm in arm. Eugene and Ivy stood closer together than ever and I smiled when I saw Eugene scratch Mickey Mantle behind his ear. The others watched, and it was Ruth who burst into a spontaneous version of "The Star Spangled Banner." Everyone joined in. It had been a spectacular ending to the best Thanksgiving ever in Bright's Pond.

Zeb placed the picnic basket into the truck after we said good-bye to everyone. Ruth stood on the curb looking like she had just been hit by a train.

"You all right?" I asked.

"Sure, sure, but if you don't mind I think I'd like to not come to see Agnes. I know I said I would, but I am just plumb tuckered out. And there is just so much cleanup yet to do."

"Don't you worry about that. I'll be by tomorrow to help clean up. Maybe you should just go to bed. You do look bushed."

"Griselda's right, Ruth. You take it easy for the rest of the night."

Zeb climbed into the driver's seat, which I will admit caught me a little off guard, not that he never drove before but I guess I was expecting to that night. I got into the passenger side.

"I hope she's not thinking we forgot about her," I said. "I was expecting to be at Greenbrier two hours ago."

Zeb pulled away from the curb. "She's OK. I'm sure they have stuff going on up there to help pass the time."

"But still, I can't imagine a worse place than a nursing home on Thanksgiving—or any holiday."

Zeb reached his arm out for me to snuggle close to him as we drove the short distance to Greenbrier.

"Ruth did a great job," I said.

"She sure did. But next year, Grizzy, it's you and me. We'll be hosting Thanksgiving in
our
home."

I pushed my head into his shoulder and felt his warmth tingle through my body. "It will be nice."

The nursing home was all lit up when we got there. It looked like every light in the place was on. The parking lot was still pretty full so we had to park a little ways away from the building.

"I'm glad so many people at least visit their loved ones."

Zeb grabbed the picnic basket, and we headed for the front door. The wind had kicked up like it usually did that time of day. Breezes seemed to blow down from the mountains as night fell. The sky was dotted with stars as a half-moon shone with a halo around it.

"Doesn't a halo mean rain?" I asked.

Zeb looked to the sky. "You mean around the moon? I think that's what they say. Maybe rain tomorrow."

Zeb pulled open the door.

"Have you ever been to Agnes's room?"

"Nope. First time here."

And well, I suppose Zeb couldn't have chosen a worse time to get a first impression of Greenbrier because just as we walked a few steps down the hall, Haddie Grace came whizzing down the hallway on her tricycle, ringing her bell and laughing as Nurse Sally gave chase.

"What in tarnation?" Zeb said, jumping out of Haddie's path.

"Haven't you heard about what's been happening here?"

"I heard some talk, but I didn't pay it much attention."

After Haddie came a woman I didn't recognize until she got closer. It was nasty Eula Spitwell on skates. She whizzed by with a great big, "Hellooooo."

"Oh, dear," I said. "I think it's getting worse."

"What is?"

"It seems the residents are acting strange. Like children many of them, others like teenagers and young lovers."

"Young lovers?"

"Yep, Faith Graves who is ninety years old is fixing to marry Clive Dickens this Saturday—he's just eighty-six. Boris is officiating."

"No way."

"Yep. It's true. That why Mildred has been spending so much time up here. She thinks that fella, Leon Fontaine, has something to do with what's going on."

"Leon? The fountain fella. The guy who built the gazebo?"

"Agnes told me they call it Lover's Hideaway," I said. "On account of that's where the folks go to make out and stuff."

"Eww," Zeb said. "That's not right."

"I know. I know. But until somebody figures out what in tarnation is going on, there's not much anyone can do except keep them safe."

"I bet. Should old people be on roller skates?"

"Probably not. But you can't stop them. Doctor Silver has already treated two broken hips and one heart attack."

Zeb shook his head.

"Come on," I said. "Agnes is down the hall."

We passed the common area where families were visiting residents. I saw some folks holding hands with visitors whispering, laughing. Others were crying. And one small group looked to be praying off in a corner.

"I really hate this place," I said. "All these lives coming to an end together. And then others in various states of limbo. They're too sick or disabled to do anything except sit around here and—"

Zeb stopped me. "Shhh, let's just enjoy the day."

We found Agnes sitting in her room. She was peering out the window toward the gazebo that had been lit up with what looked like a thousand small light bulbs. It looked magical.

"Agnes," I said. "Happy Thanksgiving."

She turned her chair. "Griselda. You finally made it."

"Sorry. I had a little trouble getting away from Ruth's."

Zeb put the picnic basket on Agnes's tray table. "Happy Thanksgiving, Agnes."

She merely harrumphed at him.

"I thought Ruth was coming. And the others. You said you'd bring the party."

"I know, I'm sorry. Everyone got tired and full. You know how it is after a turkey dinner."

"I suppose," Agnes said, eyeing the picnic basket. "What did you bring me?"

"Oh, boy, lots and lots of goodies. Turkey, vegetables, mashed potatoes, gravy, pie. Everything."

"Good-o," I am starving. "If you coulda seen that meal that they tried to pass off as Thanksgiving dinner! It was awful. Gravy should never have lumps like that or other gelatinous goo floating around in it. And the potatoes tasted like wallpaper paste. I think they coulda been used to glue just about anything."

I set out the food and Agnes ate, happily making yummy noises with nearly every bite.

"So," I said. "It seems the folks around here are still acting weird."

"Oh, Griselda, it's getting worse. Every time I turn around something else is happening. People on skates, bikes. Two of the men built a teeter-totter outside with two rain barrels and the bench seat. One of them went flying and is in the hospital." She chewed her turkey leg. "Someone better figure this out— and soon."

Zeb tugged my sweater sleeve. "Tell her our news."

"Oh, yeah, sure. Agnes, Zeb and I are getting married."

She dropped her turkey into her plate. "Really? Just like that? Wow."

"Not just like that," Zeb said. "We've been talking about it for a long time."

"I know," Agnes said. "Well, when did you decide this?"

"Tonight, after dinner. Right in Ruth Knickerbocker's kitchen," Zeb said.

Agnes mixed peas into her mashed potatoes. "Well, I guess congratulations are in order." But she wasn't pleased. It was hard not to hear the confusion in her voice.

"Aren't you happy for us?" Zeb said.

"Sure, I am. It's just that I know you two have had your ups and downs and—"

"It's only up from here," Zeb said. "I'm going to make your sister very happy."

"I hope so. The two of you have had more breakups than a box of Mrs. Stumpnagle's Peanut Brittle."

Then all of a sudden, we heard a mighty crash and yelling and screaming.

"What was that?" I said.

Agnes, who seemed unmoved and not even a little bit startled by the sound, said through chews, "Haddie Grace probably had another accident. From the sound of it, I'd say she slammed into a medicine cart."

"Oh, dear," Zeb said. He went out to investigate.

"Griselda," Agnes said once Zeb was out of the room. "What are you doing? Are you really fixing to marry that man? Are you sure?"

I looked at my feet. "It happened so fast. We were all happy and Don Ho was singing "Tiny Bubbles" and then we flamed the cake and then he asked me. Well, actually he told me. He said we should stop playing games, and I think he's right. It's time to settle."

Agnes swallowed whatever she was chewing hard. "Games. He's the only one who was playing games."

"I know, Agnes, but what can I do now? I already said—"

"Said what?" Zeb came back into the room.

"Said Ruth's dessert was amazing and I can't wait for Agnes to try it."

"You were right. That crazy old woman took a spill and slid right into the cart. Nothing happened. The nurse took her back to her room."

Zeb and I watched Agnes finish her Thanksgiving meal. She and Zeb barely made eye contact, and I could tell Zeb was nervous. He sat in the visitor's chair and twiddled his thumbs.

"Never took you for a twiddler," Agnes said finally.

Zeb looked up. "What?"

"A twiddler," Agnes repeated. "Your thumbs."

Zeb looked down and saw that his fingers were intertwined and his thumbs were rolling around each other like root beer barrels in a gumball machine.

"And speaking of dessert," I said.

"We weren't," Agnes said.

"We are now. Are you ready for something spectacular?"

I took Agnes's slice of Ruth's surprise from the wicker basket. "I need a match, Zeb."

Zeb reached into his pocket and handed me the book of matches. I set the plate on Agnes's table. "You might want to lean back as far as you can."

I doused the cake with some of the Brandy lemon juice mixture and then struck the match, touched it to the surface and the cake went up in flames.

"Yee ha!" Agnes said. "That's wonderful. Look at it go. How do I eat it?"

"You can blow out the flames," I said.

"I hate to do that, it's so pretty."

But at that moment I heard someone in the hall holler FIRE! FIRE! And then we heard people scrambling and running. "Oh, dear," I said. "I better go tell them—" It was too late. The next thing I heard was the fire alarm. And once the alarm had sounded there was no stopping an evacuation.

I ran to the hallway and tried to find someone in charge. I saw Nurse Sally. She was issuing orders to the orderlies and nurses. "Get everyone outside. Outside."

"No, no," I called. "It's a false alarm."

No one paid me any attention. I tried to make my way to Sally but my path was blocked as an orderly pushed two people in wheelchairs toward the doors. "Sally," I called over the confusion. "It's OK."

By the time I had gotten to her, I saw Zeb pushing Agnes down the hall. "What are you doing?" I hollered.

"They made me do it," Zeb said.

Agnes was laughing so hard I thought she'd split a gut. It was clear by then that I couldn't do anything else, and so I joined the group outside. There we all stood waiting in the cold autumn air for nothing. Waiting for the fire company to arrive.

"It was just cake," I whispered to Sally. "I brought Agnes a slice of pineapple surprise cake and, well, we flamed it. You know, flambé?" I gave a little sweep of my hand. Sally looked daggers at me. "You what? This is a false alarm?"

"See any flames? Smell any smoke?"

"No, but, but now we are obliged to wait for the fire company to get here. The fire marshal must give the all clear before I can get all these cold, tired, and soon to be angry people back indoors."

"I am so sorry." I suppressed a smile. "But you gotta admit it is an exciting way to finish off the evening."

Sally grinned. "It was pretty exciting."

"Too bad Asa isn't here with his fireworks," Zeb said.

"Oh, please, that's all we need," Sally said. "These people are already pretending to be nine years old. Can you imagine—" She stopped talking and hollered, "Jasper York, you get down from that tree this instant!"

But when the fire truck arrived with screaming sirens and flashing lights, the "children" in the crowd rushed toward it. I heard Jasper York holler, "I want to ring the bell. Can I ring the bell?"

The firefighters made their way into the building as Sally and me and whoever else we could enlist snagged people off the truck and attempted to keep everyone quiet.

Fortunately, the firefighters didn't take long to complete their inspection. One of the officers came out of the building carrying the jar of the flammable liquid I brought. He was walking toward Sally.

"Are you in charge here?" the officer asked.

Sally cracked up. "Yes, yes, sir, I am. I mean for tonight. Doctor Silver is the medical director."