Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (27 page)

At around five o'clock Sunday evening I received an irritated phone call from Dot Handy. I was at home preparing to go to the Christmas pageant. My plan was to pick up Ruth and Ivy and we would meet Zeb later. He needed to close up the café and suggested he might not make the first part of the play. Then I would meet Mercy at the library.

Best-laid plans are often interrupted, but I have never been interrupted by a runaway camel.

"Griselda," Dot said into the phone "That camel broke off its leash and is running around out back of the church like a banshee."

"Did you call the Fords?"

"No answer. What am I gonna do? The kids will be arriving in fifteen minutes and I'm afraid someone is going to get hurt."

"I'll call Mildred. Maybe she can do something."

"Thank you—uh oh!" CRASH!

"Dot," I said. "Dot?" No answer. So I hung up and headed outside in time to see Dot Handy racing down Filbert Street followed closely by a two-hump camel harboring some kind of grudge.

"Oh, dear," I ran after her not knowing what I would do if I caught the camel. His leash was dragging behind him. It was metal and was creating sparks as he ran.

"Stop! Stop!" But the camel ignored me and was heading for the center of town. Next thing I knew doors were flinging open and folks were coming out onto their porches. Fred Haskell took off after the camel.

"Stop!" he hollered.

I saw Dot duck onto Eugene Shrapnel's porch. Now that was a good decision. Eugene hated everyone and everything. I doubted a camel named Bruce would put a smile on his sour puss.

It didn't take long for a stream of men to be chasing Bruce clear to the town hall. I passed Dot and waved. "You stay there."

The poor animal got cornered by Mildred's cruiser and Studebaker's Cadillac and stopped running. But not for long because he leaped, or tried to leap, over the police car. Unfortunately, his leash got caught on the wheel and Bruce nearly choked.

"Don't get close," Studebaker hollered to Mildred who was standing there with her hand on her gun. "And don't shoot him either."

Studebaker inched closer.

"Watch it," I called. "They spit. And bite."

Stu waved his hand at me. "I know. I know. But if I can just grab onto his leash."

"Wish I had a tranquilizing gun," Mildred said. "I'd take him down with one shot."

"He's just scared," Stu said. "Something must have spooked him."

That was when a pickup truck screeched to a halt about forty yards away from the police car. It was the Fords.

"Bruce's owners are here," I said.

"Good," Stu said and he started to back away. Meanwhile, the camel was tugging and pulling and choking and spitting. His eyes were so big they looked like something otherworldly. His lips were curled, and I could see his yellow, ugly teeth.

"It's OK," John Ford called. "Everybody back away. Give him a minute to calm down."

John crept slowly toward his camel. He managed to untangle the leash and get Bruce calmed down. "There, there, boy," he said. "It's OK now. Nobody's chasing you."

Bruce allowed John to lead him slowly up the street toward the church. But that was when Dot started to get riled again. "I can't allow that wild animal to take part in the pageant," she said. "What if he breaks free and goes on a rampage with all the children around?"

"He won't" John said. "As long as Debbie is with him."

"Debbie?" Dot said. "Is that how come he got spooked? I had Debbie inside the church when all this started."

"Oh, dear," John said. "Bruce needs to see Debbie all the time or he gets . . . upset."

They started walking again. The camel stood about seven feet tall and walked with a swagger like John Wayne.

"Still and all," Dot said. "Maybe we should forget about having live animals in the play."

"Your call," John said.

I caught up with Dot who was still catching her breath. "Are you all right? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, no but I have never been so scared in my life. I never had a camel bust out like that before you know. First time for everything. He just went crazy until he broke his chain and then started running."

"He couldn't see Debbie."

"That's crazy," Dot said. "So now what? I'm too nervous to allow the animals onstage. But everyone was so excited to have them."

"Like the man said, it's your call."

"I'll decide in a minute. Right now I got to get the stage set up and people in place. I'm sure the children are arriving."

"Oh, I need to go get Mercy. I sure wish there was a way we could get her mother to come."

"Ask her."

"I think that would upset Mercy. She hasn't even told her mother she's in the play. Mama isn't fond of God."

"Oh, dear," Dot said. "I can't help with that. But maybe you can come up with an idea."

We reached the church, and I walked across the street and climbed into the truck. If only there was something that would lure her out of that shack. You'd think watching your daughter in a play would be enough but Mrs. Lincoln had some deep, deep hurts.

Ruth was waiting on the porch. She held Mercy's costume.

"Come on," I said. "Sorry I'm late, but I was chasing a renegade camel."

"What?" Ruth said as she closed the truck door.

I explained on the way to get Ivy. She also was sitting on her porch wearing blue jeans and a Christmas sweatshirt with a tree and holly and the words Merry Christmas embroidered underneath. Ivy was pretty much her own person, rarely swayed by what was going on around her.

"Sorry. Runaway camel," Ruth said.

"I heard. What a riot."

We drove up to the library, but Mercy wasn't there. My heart sank. "Oh, dear, you don't suppose she changed her mind." I said.

"Or her mother changed it for her," Ruth said.

"I need to go check." I got out of the truck and leaned on the open window. "Maybe you guys should stay here."

"Will you be OK?" Ruth asked.

"Yeah. I'll be fine. But if you see her, grab her."

I made my way through the woods to Mercy's home. Smoke poured from the chimney. I walked onto the porch and rapped lightly on the door. No answer. I knocked again. Louder. By now my heart pounded as I worried something was terribly wrong.

The door opened. Mercy stood there.

"Are you coming?" I said. "Tonight's your big night."

Mercy glanced behind her into the one-room shack. "Mama said I can't go."

"Really? Did she say why?"

"Like I told you. She don't like God very much."

"I'm glad you told her. Do you think she'd talk to me?"

Mercy shook her head. "Don't know. Probably not."

I pushed the door open a little more and got a clear view. Her mama was sitting in a rocking chair moving back and forth, back and forth.

"Hello?" I called. "Mrs. Lincoln?"

"Go away. Get on now. We don't need no visitors."

"But Mercy is in the church play. She has to come. She's the star."

I dared to take a step inside. Mercy moved aside. The cabin smelled from rotten wood and leaves and burning garbage. There was a worn and dirty couch pressed against a wall, the rocker Mrs. Lincoln was sitting in, a small table with two chairs and one lamp that looked so out of place it almost made me laugh. Mercy must have trash-picked it. It was brass with a figure of a cherub in the middle. A filthy lampshade with tassels hung crooked. A small fire burned and smoldered in a rickety woodstove.

"Mrs. Lincoln, please."

"Don't need no daughter of mine pretending to be the mother of God when God don't exist."

Mrs. Lincoln pulled an oversized, orange sweater she wore around her thin frame. Her hair was matted and frizzy. She never looked at me.

"But Mercy has to come. She has a responsibility and . . . and she won't get paid if she doesn't do her job."

Mercy looked at me. "Paid? What's that Miz Griselda? You gonna pay me for play-acting?"

"Yes." I lied through my teeth. But I hoped that if money was involved that her mother would allow her to come. I had no idea just then how. But it would be worth it even if I paid Mercy out of my own pocketbook.

"Money?" Mrs. Lincoln said. "That's another story—long as it's work she's doin'."

"Then I can do it?" Mercy said. She ran to her Mama and flung her arms around her. Charlamaine Lincoln pushed her away. "Just see to it you bring me that money—all of it. Every penny."

"Yes, ma'am, I surely will." Mercy got to her feet.

"Don't matter none. Just bring me the money."

Mercy and I started through the woods. She slipped her hand in mine about halfway through.

Mercy had to sit on Ivy's lap as we traveled back to the church.

"Glad you could make it," Ruth said. "I got your costume all ready. You are going to be so pretty."

"How much money they gonna pay me?" Mercy asked.

I saw both Ruth and Ivy look at me. "Not sure, yet, honey," I said. "But you just pay attention to being Mary. You'll get paid after."

I parked the truck in front of the house and we walked across the street together. Ivy went through the front but Ruth, Mercy, and I needed to go in the back. The children were gathering in the basement. People would make their way down the steps into the fellowship hall where rows of chairs were set up.

"There you are," Dot said. "I was beginning to get concerned."

"I'll explain later."

"Come on, Mercy," Ruth said. "Let me get you into your robe."

Sheila Spiney, Edie Tompkins, and Harriet Nurse were also on hand to help.

"I need to go speak with Pastor Speedwell," I said. "But I'll be in the front row, Mercy."

On my way through the room, I saw Debbie and Bruce chained together on stage. The camel looked calm enough chewing his cud. But the smell, well, that was a different story. Some folks had already gathered and were sitting waiting for the show to begin.

Pastor was in the sanctuary lobby instructing people to make their way to the basement. I had no idea if it would help but I needed to ask him.

"Pastor," I said. "Can I speak with you privately?"

"Of course, Griselda. Of course." He shook one more hand and excused himself. "Just make your way to fellowship hall," he said as he led me into the sanctuary. I explained to him what happened with Mercy and her mother hoping he would have a solution.

"I'll pay her myself," I said. "But I was hoping the church might be able—"

"You are the church," he said.

"Right, OK. Soooo—"

"Don't worry, Griselda. Mercy and her mother will be provided for."

Several minutes later the fellowship hall was packed with proud parents, cousins, and neighbors and enough afterpageant treats to feed the entire backwoods' population for a month. Lemon squares were always a huge hit as were brownies and chocolate chip cookies. I saw the usual Lime Jell-O Macaroni Surprise that Darcy Speedwell always contributed. Even in a pretty red and green Christmas bowl it looked unappetizing. The hall smelled like Christmas with butter cookies and pinecones.

I found seats up front that Dot had reserved for Ruth and me. Ivy sat in the back, but that was fine with her. She never liked to sit up front.

Pastor Speedwell stood at the front. "Welcome. Welcome. Let us begin our pageant night with a song. 'Hark! the Herald Angels Sing' as the children make their entrance."

Sheila began playing and everyone stood on cue. Voices lifted high and seemed to bounce off the walls. The children in their costumes walked by twos down the center aisle and onto the stage to the admiring oohs and ahs of the audience. The sheep, always the littlest children, toddlers, bleated and baaed their way onstage. One of them veered off course when he saw his mommy and daddy. They were followed by John Ford who led Bruce and Debbie down the aisle and onto the stage. Bruce wore a lovely jeweled halter-type collar that wrapped around his snout—I was happy to see that. The animals were met with slightly more rambunctious appreciation. John needed to pull on Bruce's chain a couple of times to keep him controlled.

The song ended and all the children and animals were behind the stage curtain. I heard some rustling of papers and moving of props. One long baaa from Debbie but all in all the procession went smoothly. I sailed a silent prayer that Bruce would behave himself.