Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (21 page)

A Yuletide Committee meeting had been called for that evening. A final decision had to be made about the Shoops Moose and about Mary. It wasn't important to me if the Moose marched in the parade but allowing Mercy Lincoln to be our Mary this year was.

So I hung my wedding dress in my closet and went to the library. School would be letting out soon, and I needed to open the library anyway just in case some of the kids needed to do research or check out a reading book.

On the way, I saw Charlotte near her new store and it was at that moment that I remembered we still needed some kind of wedding cake. There needed to be something traditional about my wedding.

"Charlotte," I called. "Can I talk to you?"

"Oh, sure," she said. "I was waiting for that plumber fella to come by. Supposed to help me with the appliances and such, not to mention the toilet in there. It's a mess."

"I guess you heard by now that Zeb and I are getting married around Christmas."

"Yes, I did hear. Rose Tattoo told me. A Christmas wedding does sound nice. You can do so much—themewise. And as long as you're certain."

I thought a moment. "I'm sure. I think all that confusion over Cliff and Zeb had more to do with me wanting to feel a little freedom for a while. I'd been stuck in the house with my sister for years and years. It felt nice to be on my own."

"Sure it did, Griselda. I remember feeling a similar way when Herman died. Oh, I was sad and all but after a while I started to enjoy being on my own."

Charlotte turned her key in the shop door lock. "Have you been inside?"

"No."

"Come on, I'll show you around. Not much to see yet, but I have designs in my mind."

The shop was nothing more than a few broken down stoves and a big empty space with wires hanging from the ceiling and pipes sticking up through the black and white checkerboard floor.

"I know it looks a fright but the inspectors have insured me that it's basically sound."

"From what I know of Bill Tompkins and Claude Hastings the plumber they won't steer you wrong. This place will be churning out pies by the new year."

"I hope so. I am kind of looking forward to opening day. Think we could have a blessing of the pies?"

"Absolutely. And speaking of which I have a little predicament I thought you might help me with."

"Me? Sure. What's up?"

"Zeb and I want to be married around Christmas—which day exactly I don't know—but . . . well, we need a cake and—"

"Oh, I don't make cakes. I wouldn't know how to make a wedding cake. I could make a wedding pie but—"

"Uhm, that's OK. There must be a bakery in Shoops that can do it."

Charlotte brushed dust off a narrow counter with her palm. "You know, Griselda, does it have to be cake?"

"Well, I kind of wanted—but what are you thinking?"

"I could probably construct some sort of wedding pie, you know with tiers that go out like this." She spread her arms about three feet wide. "And then stack them in layers to form a kind of cake-shape and we could decorate the pies with Christmasy flowers and ornaments, make kind of a Christmas Pie Tree Wedding Cake."

I took a breath and let it out slowly. Thinking. Imagining. I had no idea if the picture in my mind matched the image in Charlotte's, but I said, "OK. Why not? But can you make something like that in your trailer?"

Charlotte looked a bit dumbstruck. "Uh-huh. I sure can. Leave it to me—except what flavors?"

"Cherry, of course, and apple."

"Maybe a coconut cream to represent the snow on the ground. Oh, my, my, Griselda, that's it. I'll make a tier of coconut cream and then start stacking pies like this and like that—" she moved her hands from side to side. "I'm sure Asa can build me a pie stand that would work."

"Sounds good to me as long as you think you can. Course I don't like coconut but don't worry about that. I like the idea of it."

"As long as you're sure . . . and oh, I just had a thought. We'll top it all off with one of Zeb's Full Moon Pies."

"Sounds good. Thank you, Charlotte."

The shop door opened.

"Oh," I said. "There's Claude. I need to get to the library anyway."

"Hey, Claude," I said.

"Congratulations, Griselda," Claude said.

"OK, Griselda," Charlotte called as I walked out the door. "We'll talk."

By the time I made it to the library a small group of students were waiting on steps.

"Hey, Miss Griselda," called one of the boys. "We thought you weren't gonna open."

"I'm sorry. I got tied up in town. Just need a minute to get the place open."

I unlocked the door and flipped on the lights and the kids piled in and then scattered like roaches all over the library. I kept my eyes open for Mercy. She usually moseyed in toward closing time. It was important that she went home to help her mama after school. I remembered I needed to ask if Doc made it back there to check on Charlamaine Lincoln. She had been sick, according to Mercy.

After restocking a couple of books and laying out the latest copies of
Scientific American
and
Hunters Digest,
I sat behind the counter waiting for the kids to clear out for home and supper.

Mercy showed up about ten minutes before closing.

"You got any books about the Civil War, Miz Griselda?" she asked. "I need to do a report on Robert E. Lee."

"Sure, Mercy. Right over here."

I showed her three books and then decided to pop the question. "Mercy," I said. "Have you ever come to the Sunday school Christmas pageant?"

She shook her head. "No, Ma'am, I never."

"Well, you do know the story of baby Jesus, don't you?"

"Oh, sure. Everybody knows about the baby Jesus being born on Christmas Day and all. I read me the story straight from that Bible you got over there."

"Good. Good, well, every year the children at the Bright's Pond Church put on a play about that day. They have shepherds and Joseph and Mary and the innkeeper and angels and sheep."

"That sounds nice. I never seen anything like that in all my born days."

"This year they are looking for a little girl to play Mary, and I thought you might like to do it."

"Me, Miz Griselda?" She pointed to her heart. "You want me to play-act Jesus' mama? Well, I can't do that. She's awful holy and all and I'm . . . not holy. No way. I mean I like Jesus and all but pretendin' to be his mama?" She shook her head.

"I think you would make a perfect Mary. And God won't mind you doing it. In fact, you'll make him proud. "

She looked around the library. "I'll need to ask my Mama, first."

"Good. You do that. But do it tonight. You'll need to be at the church Thursday at seven o'clock."

"Will you be there?"

"I sure will."

"I'll go straightaway home and ask Mama. Imagine that, me play-acting Jesus' mama."

"OK, so you'll come to the church then, Thursday. You know the way?"

"I do. I can get there all by myself."

I closed up the library and headed down to the café. The committee meeting was scheduled, but first, I was hungry and I kind of wanted to see Zeb, tell him about the dress and the Christmas Tree Pie Wedding Cake.

Dot Handy greeted me first. "Hey, Griselda, how's tricks?"

"OK, Dot. But I am hungry. What's good tonight?"

"Oh, you know it's all good. Zeb is a fine cook."

"Yeah, makes me wonder who will do the cooking in the family."

"Oh, this is strictly business. Believe me, you'll be the chief chef."

"OK, well, how about a burger tonight with fries."

Zeb stuck his head through the pick-up window. "Hey."

I smiled. "Hey, yourself. Make me a good burger."

"Let me see it," he said.

"See what?"

He held up his hand.

"Oh, oh, the ring. Right here. Right where you left it."

He smiled and went back to cooking and singing "Jingle Bells."

"I don't know when it was worse," Dot said. "When you two were on the outs or now. He's like a child back there. Never seen him so happy."

"He is cute."

Dot poured coffee in my cup.

"Are you coming to the meeting tonight?"

"Yep. Zeb is closing up early so we can have the place to ourselves."

"Good. Then I'll just stay here until everyone arrives."

Dot worked the counter and waited tables. She had gotten pretty good at handling the job. I could never do it. I would have everything so messed up and confused.

"I don't know how you do it." I said, as she placed a turkey platter in front of a customer.

"Do what?"

"Keep it all straight."

"Oh, you mean waitressing? Ah, it's nothing."

"I couldn't do it."

"Yeah, but I couldn't fly a plane. We all have our specialties."

Zeb's rendition of "Jingle Bells" came to a stop. "Plane?" he said. "Did you go flying with Cliff today?"

"No, not today, but I'm planning on flying to Scranton with him Saturday. Going to take my pilot's test."

"You still need to do that?" Zeb asked with his head and practically his whole body through the window.

"Yes. I told you. I'm getting my pilot's license."

"Uh-oh," Dot said. "Here we go again."

"No, no, Dot," I said. "It's all right. Isn't it, Zeb?"

Zeb was silent.

"Isn't it?" I said louder.

"Yeah, yeah. It's just fine."

Then all of sudden Zeb was standing in front of me. "I just worry about you—up there. It's dangerous."

"Cliff says it's safer than driving a car or truck."

"But you can survive a car crash."

"Don't fret. I'll be fine. We're getting married. God isn't going to take me home this close to my wedding day."

"You don't know that," he said.

"And speaking of days. What day are we getting married?"

Zeb grew quiet, as did the whole café.

"Yeah," called Harriet Nurse. "When is the big day? And are we all invited?"

"Sure, the whole town is invited. And how about it, Zeb? Want to make it a real Christmas wedding and get hitched on Christmas Eve?"

"Awwww," Dot said. "That's nice."

"I bought my dress today and arranged for a cake—well, sort of a cake, more like a Christmas surprise."

Zeb shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "Gee, Griselda, I hadn't thought about the exact date."

"You getting cold feet now?" Dot said.

"No. Fine. Christmas Eve it is. At the church. One o'clock in the afternoon."

I didn't say anything. If I did he'd just get all bothered that once again Agnes was getting between us. But I knew I had to tell him that we should probably have the ceremony at the nursing home.

Zeb went back to his kitchen and resumed singing.

Dot leaned close to me. "You know I was thinking. What about Agnes? How in the heck are you gonna get her to the church. Can't expect them to knock a wall down again to get Nate Kincaid's forklift through."

"I know," I whispered. "I have a plan, but he's not going to like it."

"And what do you mean by 'sort of a cake' ?" he called.

Zeb had all the customers served and out the door by six o'clock—all but the members of the committee who had come in for dinner. We waited for Nate and Boris to arrive. Mildred would be late as usual. But Ruth was there. She brought her sewing along.

"I finished all the shepherds and Joseph, but I have two more angels to finish—my goodness but them girls shot up like weeds this year—and of course, Mary, but I can't do Mary until I know who's playing her."

I sat at the booth Ruth was at. "I'm hoping it will be Mercy Lincoln. I asked her today and she got really excited about doing it, a little dumbstruck at the notion of playing Jesus' mother. But she said she'd talk to her mama."

"Mercy Lincoln would be a great Mary," Dot said. "And I say we let her have the part in spite of Nate's protests. The old blowhard."

"OK," I said. "Now I know this is Boris's job ordinarily, but I think there are enough of us here to make a quorum. So with a show of hands, all in favor of Mercy Lincoln taking the role of Mary."

It was unanimous. Now I just had to pray that Charlamaine Lincoln would approve.

Boris and Nate arrived. They squeezed next to Studebaker. We only had to wait on Mildred.

"I sure hope she has news from Paradise about what's going on," Boris said. "I'd hate to lose the Shoops Moose. They provide a lot of revenue for us with advertising."

"While we wait," Nate said, "maybe we can move on to other business. I just want you to know I finished building the manger set. It's a doozy this year. And yes, Griselda, I got the inn finished also. It looks great. Stella helped me nail it all together."

"Boy, I haven't seen Stella in a while," I said. "How's she doing?"

"She's doing good, Griselda. She's been spending time with her brother. He's taking us to Bermuda this Christmas."

"Didn't you just go there for Thanksgiving?"

Nate nodded. "Yep, but we want to go back. It's fabulous. I might just move there some day."

Dot and I shared a knowing glance. That ended the possibility of Agnes getting forklifted into town. Nate was the only person in town who owned a forklift.

"And just so you know, Griselda," Nate said. "Stella and I brought the scenery out to Paradise for that woman to paint."

"Thank you, Nate," I said. "That's great."

"Honey," Zeb said. "Hold up your hand and show everyone."

"Oh, the ring. Yes, isn't it pretty?" I let everyone get a look at my diamond.

"It's very nice," Stu said. "A little small but . . . nice."

"Been in the family for generations."

"Congratulations," Boris said. "When's the big day?"

"Christmas Eve," Zeb said. "At the chapel."

Dot elbowed me. "You better say something," she whispered.

"Later," I said.

Fortunately Mildred came in. "Sorry I'm late, everyone. But I was out at Greenbrier interviewing the residents."

"Did you learn anything," Boris asked. "Is it drugs?"

Mildred grabbed one of the lose chairs and pulled it close to the meeting. "No. Not drugs. Not exactly."

"Now what in jumpin' blue heck does that mean?" Boris asked. "We have to get this mystery solved."

"OK, OK," Mildred reached into her jacket pocket. "I found five or six of these in Haddie Grace's room." She placed a bottle on the table.

"What is it?" Boris asked. "A bottle?"

"Oh, it's more than a bottle. It's the Fountain of Youth."

"What?" Nate said.

"I don't understand, Mildred," Boris said.

"It's simple. That kooky Leon Fontaine thinks he discovered the Fountain of Youth up in Paradise."

Dot Handy cracked up. "That's hysterical."

"Hysterical?" Boris said. "It's criminal. Is he selling the water to those poor people."

"Nope," Mildred said. "He just gives it to them."

"And they believe him?" Studebaker said.

"Well, if you'd ever talked to Leon Fontaine you'd understand why," I said. "He fancies himself a kind of Don Quixote, defending the poor, doing good deeds. He thinks he's a kind of modern-day knight in shining armor."

"Then he's crazy," Boris said.

"Maybe," Mildred said. "He's certainly delusional. But I just don't know what to do with him."

"Did you talk to Doctor Silver?" I asked.

"Not yet. Going up there in the morning."

Boris looked both pensive and aghast. His big round eyes became slits. "I don't know if this will satisfy the Moose. They're pretty clear on what they condone and what they don't."

"It's water," Zeb said. "Plain, old-fashioned water."

"Leon just convinced some of the people out there that it'll make them younger," I said. "And they believe him."

"Power of suggestion," Dot said. "My, my, but it's powerful. I heard of cases where doctors gave sugar pills to people and cured them of their ills—all because the patient believed it."

"Mind control?" Boris said. "You're talking about some kind of mind control. I don't know what's worse—drugs or mind control."

"No, no," Mildred said. "Leon isn't doing anything but telling people that they can be younger if they drink his special water. They believe it and voila!"

"Voila!" Stu said.

"You should go see for yourself. It's quite a sight."

"Trouble is," Mildred said. "I'm not sure what to do about it."

"Arrest him on fraud charges," Boris said.

"Oh, stop it Boris," I said. "The man is harmless. I say we let Doctor Silver decide. He's the medical director out there."

"OK, OK. I'll inform the Moose Lodge of your findings, Mildred, and hopefully they'll agree to be in the parade. Silly little moose antlers and all."

"So it's all settled then," I said. "We have our Mary, and the mystery of Greenbrier has been solved."

"Floats are ready, scenery painted," Nate said. "Mary? You mean that Negro girl?"

"Yes," I said.

Nate took in the glares that were sent his way. "OK, OK. Just asking."

"My goodness," Ruth said. "I don't remember a time when we were more prepared for a Christmas Festival."

"It is in good shape this year."

"And don't forget about the camel and sheep," Ruth said,

"Hold on a second," Boris said. "Camel? Sheep?"

"Yep, we're getting live animals for the pageant. Isn't that just so wonderful?" Ruth said. "And maybe they can march in the parade too."

"We can't have live animals in the church," Stu said. "They'll . . . they'll mess all over the place."

"Oh, don't be such a fussbudget, Stu," Ruth said. "They'll walk on, stand there while the children say their lines, and then walk off. Filby said his friends will take care of the whole thing."

"Well, they better," Boris said. "And they better not bite any of the children. Our insurance doesn't cover camel bites."

"Don't worry, none of the children will get hurt. In fact, they are really excited about it."

Boris banged his gavel. "All right, all right. If there is no other business then I move that the meeting be adjourned and we meet at the Kincaid Farm next Saturday at 6:00 a.m. to kick off the Bright's Pond Christmas Parade."

We all cheered. As much trouble as it was to carry off, the parade was the highlight of our year. I think the whole town came out for it and maybe even a few folks from Shoops. They had their own parade, but there was just something special about a Bright's Pond Christmas Parade. It brought cheer to all and ignited the Christmas spirit.

Everyone got up to leave. Zeb grabbed my hand. "It's early yet. Want to go for a walk or sit by the fire at your place—soon to be our place?"

"Sounds nice," I said.

"Ah, you two are so cute together," Dot said.

Zeb turned off the lights and pulled the café door closed. He locked it and checked the handle twice. "OK, let's go."

"Zeb," I said. "We have to talk."

"What now, Grizzy? Don't tell me you changed your mind again."

"Not about us. But—and I know you're gonna get angry— but it's about Agnes."

"Agnes. I knew she'd get in the middle again." We walked a few steps holding hands. "Maybe I'll explain after you get the fire going."

A little while later the fire was blazing, and I made warm cider for Zeb and me.

I kissed him and then I said, "There's no way we can get married in the chapel."

"Ah, Griselda, I told you it was important to me to get married in church."

"There's no way to get Agnes there. I can't get married without her."

"Why? Don't you think she'd understand? You dedicated your whole life to her. It's her turn to give up something for you."

"Zeb, I understand. But she's all the family I have. I keep thinking about what it would be like to know that I got married without my sister looking on, without her being there with me. I . . . I don't think I can live with that."

"But what about what I want? I don't have any family, since my mother died. I guess it's the town, Bright's Pond is family, my customers, the regulars who I know more about than their doctors."

"I understand that, too, but I know that if you think Agnes's presence comes between us a lot, well, I'm afraid what this absence could do."

Zeb poked at the fire. "Then what do you suggest, the nursing home? I don't want to get married in a smelly old nursing home surrounded by sick people and—"

"How about at the nursing home, but outside? In the gazebo."

"That crazy monstrosity that loony Leon Fountain—"

"Fontaine."

"—built?"

"Yep. We can wheel Agnes out in her chair. She can sit right at the foot of the little steps. It could be so romantic. You and me and Pastor Speedwell in the gazebo with—say, who is your best man?"

Zeb looked at me with a funny grin. "Oh, I hadn't even thought about it."

"You need a best man."

He poked at the embers and a giant spark jumped onto the hearth. He stamped the tiny molten pool with his boot. "Like I said, I never gave it a thought."

"What about Studebaker?"

"Stu? Maybe. I'd say Nate but he'll be in Bermuda."

"Boris?"

"For criminy's sake, no! He'd insist on wearing that ugly gray suit and that striped tie and probably want a cigar in his lapel.

"There must be someone."

"Do I really need a best man?"

"Someone has to hold the rings."

"OK, Grizzy, I guess it'll have to be Stu."

"Stu it is. But you better tell him soon. Or I should say ask him soon."

"We should have just eloped," Zeb said.

"Oh, Zeb, no, I want a wedding. It will all work out. You'll see . . . I hope."

"Could be pretty cold outside on Christmas Eve," Zeb said. "Not like we can wear overcoats on top of our wedding clothes."

"That's doesn't matter. Our hearts will be warm."

"Oh, Griselda, that's—"

"A little much?"

Zeb pulled me close and kissed me. "I wish we were already married."

I sighed. "Me too. But soon."