Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners

by Gretchen Anthony

  “No Rhonda?”

  “She’s in the car. Threatened to fly back to New York tonight but she couldn’t get a flight. Now she’s madly searching the internet for a hotel room.”

  “That mad, huh?” Not that it surprised him, considering the greeting she’d received back at the Baumgartners’, but still. Wasn’t Kyle’s fault Violet had gone full-blown Looney Tunes.

  “How’s Mom? That’s why I stopped by. To check.”

  “She’ll be fine.”

  Kyle nodded. He knew. The kid had been here before, too. Still, Richard couldn’t let the moment pass without trying to save his son from an evening as dour as his own.

  “Don’t let Rhonda go to a hotel tonight. You do that and you’ll magnify this whole mess. Apologize. Suck it up. Settle this before you go to bed.”

  Kyle shrugged.

  Richard looked at his deflated son. “None of this is your fault, you know. That group of crazies was loaded for bear before we even walked in the door.”

  The kid chuckled like he couldn’t help himself. A good sign. “God, I should have known as soon as I saw Donny Davies there. Do you remember him? He was the one who streaked the homecoming football game my senior year. Ran up and down the field naked and doing the chicken dance. The cops hauled him away but he was back at school on Monday saying his brother paid him a hundred bucks to do it.”

  Now Richard was laughing. “Christ, if I’d known that, I’d have paid him double—no, triple—to repeat his performance tonight.” The picture of naked Donny Davies squawking and strutting across the Baumgartner dining room took hold of his brain and wouldn’t let go. Before he knew it, he was clutching his stomach and laughing so hard tears streamed down his cheeks.

  Didn’t take more than a few seconds for Kyle to catch the fever. “And we think Mrs. Baumgartner was mad at Rhonda. Can you imagine what she would have done with those chops if she’d come after a naked Donny?”

  “Lamb chop laxative.”

  “Mint jelly jailbreak.”

  “Full moon fillet.”

  Richard put up a hand, begging for surrender and a chance to catch his breath.

  Kyle laughed himself out on the couch, then stood and reached for his dad’s drink. He took a deep pull and handed the glass back. “You’re gonna be at the baptism in the morning, right?”

  Richard nodded. “I’ll get a few aspirins in your mom before we go to bed.” He looked at his watch. “Barely past ten o’clock. Plenty of time between now and then.”

  He stood up, wanting to accomplish at least one thing tonight. He reached out and pulled his son in for a hug. “You’re a good man, Kyle. I’m proud of you. Remember that. No matter what.”

  He gave him a strong one-two on the back. He knew Kyle knew he was talking about more than just tonight’s tragedies. But there were no words to add, nothing helpful he could say about anything other than this moment, the one right in front of them. He gave Kyle one more squeeze and released him.

  “Thanks, Dad.” Kyle turned for the door, but stopped. “There is one thing I’m responsible for, though. I think it’s pretty obvious after tonight.”

  Richard nodded and waved the implication away. “It’s just a china cabinet. Don’t worry about it.”

  Adam Hesse Baumgartner

  Baptized this day

  June 10, 2018

  Faithful Redeemer

  Lutheran Church

  “For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.”

  1 Corinthians: 12-13

  40

  Richard

  AMAZINGLY ENOUGH, THE next morning, there they all were, the whole lot of them lined up like schoolkids in the front pew. Violet posed on the end like the Queen of England. A ridiculous circle of a hat no bigger than a Ritz cracker atop that lopsided pouf of hair. A sullen and ibuprofen-quelled Eldris beside her, with Richard sitting on Eldris’s other side.

  Then came Ed, and Cerise holding the baby, and Barb and Kyle and Rhonda and Barb’s alien parents.

  Boy, those two. Poor Ed; forty years married to Violet and now this.

  No sign of the two saps from Kyle’s high school. Richard wasn’t surprised they didn’t show—couldn’t blame them, really. Still, the wicked schoolboy in him couldn’t help but hope Donny Davies would decide to pop in for a naked chicken dance before the morning was over.

  But as for now, there they were, and not a single one of them had looked at each other all morning. They’d gone nearly the whole service without passing hymnals or bulletins or even the baby, who squirmed and fussed in Cerise’s arms. The tension wasn’t just palpable—it had assumed physical form, a gray judgmental haze clinging to every surface.

  All they had to do was play nice for five more minutes.

  Pastor Norblad stood and called the baptismal party to the font. “Will the parents and sponsors please join me?”

  He’d said, parents and sponsors, which to Richard’s count meant four people plus the baby: Cerise, Barb, Kyle and Rhonda. Heck, maybe even just three, since he wasn’t sure Rhonda had been asked to serve as the baby’s godmother. Was godmother-in-law even a thing? He didn’t know.

  Instead, an entire pew’s worth of people herded their way to the front of the church, every one of them stepping over and squeezing past Richard and Eldris as they went. Violet and her tiny hat went first, followed by Ed, who looked ready to burst from his shrunken suit. Then Cerise and Barb and Kyle and Rhonda and Barb’s dad, Elliott. Last came Barb’s mom, Amanda, who, grabbing the back of the pew with every step, looked more post-Saturday night than Sunday-morning fresh.

  By the time the hoard of them congregated at the baptismal font, Pastor Norblad looked like he’d just been invaded. He cleared his throat and raised his hymnal.

  “In baptism,” he read in his booming pastor voice, “our heavenly Father frees us from sin and death by joining us to the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Quarters were tight, and Pastor Norblad had to elbow his way in past Elliott, who’d positioned himself at the helm—if one could call it that—of the proceedings.

  Elliott grunted. “Watch the jewels, Father.”

  Pastor shot him a look, but ultimately ignored the warning and picked up a large earthenware pitcher and began to pour its contents into the font’s basin. “By water and the Holy Spirit we are born again as children of God and made members of the church, the body of Christ.”

  The baby startled audibly at the boom of the pastor’s voice and the congregation responded with an enamored giggle. They were used to Pastor Norblad waking sleeping babies. Even the babies who slept through his thundering soliloquy inevitably woke screaming to his cold-water dousing. But as Cerise bounced and shushed and rocked, Adam calmed.

  Across the font, Amanda Hesse began to sway and hum.

  Eldris leaned in to Richard’s ear. “Is she trying to calm the baby? Or is that an evangelical thing?”

  “Neither.” He, too, had been watching her. “Looks solidly pharmaceutical to me.” The dopey smile, the weaving in and out of sight. No one was ever that moved by emotion during a baptism. “She’s high as a kite.”

  “Nooo, couldn’t be. We’re in church, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Eldris, don’t be daft. You saw her. Practically had to drag herself out of the pew. She’s out of her head.”

  She swatted him quiet and began furiously scooting her behind to the end of the pew closest to the goings-on.

  “Pssst.” She raised her hands to her face and wiggled her fingers. “Kyyyy-le.”

  Richard, too, edged his way down the end of the pew and grabbed her hand, shoving it into her lap.

  “What do you expect him to do about it?”

  Eldris grunted her disapproval but relented.

 
“Parents and sponsors, together today we offer this child in the ceremony of Holy Baptism.”

  Richard watched as Amanda’s head wove figure eights atop her shoulders.

  “If they’re not careful up there she’s gonna end up playing motorboat in the baptismal waters.”

  Richard made to stand but Eldris nicked the corner of his suit coat and pulled him back down.

  “You’re being ridiculous. Don’t make a scene.”

  “Oh, so I’m the one making a scene even though you’re the one yoo-hooing our son from twenty feet.”

  He made to stand again, just as Amanda lost her balance, catching herself mere inches from landing face-first in the pastor’s hymnal.

  “Pardon me, Padre,” she said, as the acoustics of the sanctuary carried her words to each of its four corners.

  The congregation, now alerted to the fact that all was not well, began to twitter and chirp like waking birds at dawn.

  “Back pills,” she said dreamily. “I think I may have taken one too many.”

  “Maybe it was the vodka you washed them down with.” Elliott reached for his wife’s elbow and pulled her sharply to him. Her head snapped from side to side, a rag doll to his touch. “Suck it up for two more goddamn minutes, would you please?”

  The congregation sounded suddenly and fully awake.

  Pastor Norblad cleared his throat. “Would you like a minute?”

  “No, Padre,” she cooed. “He’s always been like this. Hands-y. It makes him feel like a man.” She gave her husband a droopy smile, visibly, drunkenly thrilled at her bravado. Then she wiggled her pinkie finger in his face—a tiny, pink wriggling worm, full of accusation and innuendo. “Doesn’t it, darling? Makes you feel manly in at least one important way.”

  All sound in the sanctuary ceased, swallowed whole by the congregation’s collective hush.

  Everyone except twelve-year-old Pete Olson, who piped up to clarify for his younger brother. “She’s talking about his dick.”

  Richard laughed out loud. Couldn’t help it. Hell yeah! He’d known within five minutes of meeting that son of a bitch Elliott last night. He deserved everything his wife dished out—and more.

  Eldris swatted and shhh’d him. Like he was the only one laughing. The entire sanctuary had begun to hum with it. Without even turning around Richard could identify stifled laughs coming from Bob Olson, Ned Jacobs and Andrew Johns.

  There was another sound, too.

  “Oooooooh!”

  “Is that Violet?” Eldris was making to stand now, but Richard pulled her back down.

  “Of course that’s Violet.” On top of the howling, she’d begun swatting indiscriminately at the air around her as if under attack by a swarm. “What the devil is she up to? She sounds like a cow about to calf.”

  “Ooooooooh!”

  Eldris picked up again with the twiddling fingers and the Kyyyyy-le’s.

  “Oooooooh!” continued Violet. “Bees, Edward. The bees!”

  Ed Baumgartner now, helping to wave away the imaginary swarm attacking his wife, made pleading eyes at the pastor. “Perhaps—” he started.

  But Amanda was only gathering steam. She began twisting her hips and shoulders in opposite directions, as if trying to hula-hoop herself free of her husband’s grasp.

  “Quit trying to hold me back,” she hissed. Then, clearly singing, though incapable in her altered state of any particular pitch or tune, bellowed, “I am a lady, hear me roar!”

  Elliott grabbed her by the waist so swiftly it made her yelp.

  “Amanda, so help me God.”

  “Ooooooooh!”

  “Pastor?”

  “Parents.” Pastor Norblad again, his voice a battering ram against the disintegrating scene.

  The group, the congregation and even the baby suddenly quieted, obedient.

  Aw, hell. Richard couldn’t help but be disappointed that the best circus he’d seen in years was suddenly over. And it was just getting good. Leave it to a pastor to kill a joke.

  “Do you desire to have this child baptized into Christ? If so, please answer, we do.”

  All Barb and Cerise had to do was to say “I do” and they could all get out of there. Go home. Get out of the monkey suits. Finally enjoy some peace and quiet and get on with their own lives. Two simple words from the child’s two very female parents. Only there wasn’t a single person in that whole blessed mess of a sanctuary who didn’t recognize the voices of the three people who answered: Cerise and Barb and Kyle.

  Goddamn, thought Richard. He knew he’d seen that baby’s nose somewhere before.

  Nah, couldn’t be.

  After all those chances the kid hadn’t taken in high school.

  Cerise was gay, anyhow. Hell, practically married.

  And he was cool with that.

  So what the hell did Kyle have to—

  Oh.

  Right.

  Of course.

  Mr. Nonprofit had made a donation of his own.

  It didn’t take Richard more than a nanosecond to put it all together, but by the time he did, Kyle was desperately trying to walk the moment back.

  “I, uh,” he said.

  The kid was never any damn good at lying, all freckles and splotches and sweat at the mere hint of indiscretion. “Go ahead, Pastor Norblad. I...uh...just lost my place.”

  Richard himself didn’t even know where to look anymore—one look at his poor kid, stuck in a corner of his own making, made him want to cry, but to look at poor Pastor Norblad, who never in a million years could have foreseen the rise of the vaudevillian farce now taking control of this most blessed of ceremonial rites, made him think he might actually piss himself laughing.

  Well, wasn’t this just one helluva day?

  And then...

  “Was it intercourse?”

  Richard snapped to. So did everyone else. There was no mistaking that voice. And there was no mishearing what she’d just asked.

  “Violet!”

  “Mother!”

  “Mrs. Baumgartner!”

  Ha! So Richard hadn’t been the only one putting the pieces together. Queen Violet had just ID’d Kyle’s baby makers, too.

  “I would like to know the truth.” She was practically shouting now.

  Then again with the outrage. “Violet!”

  “Mother!”

  “Mrs. Baumgartner!”

  “Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Amanda sounded as gleeful as a witch headed for Oz. “It’s obviously obvious. Kyle gave the juice for this child.” She ran a finger down the baby’s cheek and clucked like a mother hen. “We’re merely curious if it happened naturally or by way of Federal Express.”

  Elliott. “So help me God, Amanda! We’re going home by way of Betty Ford.”

  Then Ed. “Actually, Hazelden is closer.”

  And finally, like the canary in the coal mine, Rhonda the weather girl dropped the curtain on the whole charade.

  SLAP!

  The sound reverberated throughout the sanctuary.

  “How DARE you?” Rhonda screamed. She lunged at Amanda, apparently ready to keep hitting her until she’d slapped the words back into her face, but Kyle grabbed Rhonda by the elbow, stopping her short.

  Amanda, however, simply grinned and dabbed gingerly at her swelling cheek. “Dearie,” she cooed. “The sooner you accept reality, the better.” She swayed and steadied herself on the font. “There isn’t a goddamn man in the world who can keep his pecker in his pants.” She laughed. “Adam may not even be Kyle’s first.”

  What happened next, Richard wasn’t exactly sure, though he laid it out as best he could during his later statement to the police.

  He knew Barb hadn’t reacted well and had quickly stormed out the side door. Cerise followed, practically smothering the baby as
she shielded him from the unfolding chaos.

  He knew, too, that Ed must have grown some balls in the midst of it all because Richard heard him laugh. Not a ha-ha, but a literal guttural explosion, the kind of release he seemed to have been waiting a lifetime for.

  And he knew Kyle hadn’t thrown the first punch.

  No, if he’d had to put money on who threw that first punch, his money would be on Elliott Hesse. Sure, Rhonda had started with the slapping, but Elliott had escalated.

  “What other son of a bitch would throw a punch in church?” He must have said as much to three different cops. Only, since he hadn’t seen Hesse do it, they didn’t much care to believe him.

  “I’m telling you, if Kyle threw a punch, I didn’t see it. And if Ed Baumgartner got a punch off in all this mess, well he goddamn deserved to.”

  Problem was, the only person headed to the hospital was Pastor Norblad—and his nose hadn’t been his greatest blessing even before someone broke it.

  Part Three

  CEDAR-ISLES NORTH STAR SAILOR

  FEBRUARY 18, 1988

  Edward and Violet Baumgartner of Cedar-Isles baptized their daughter, Cerise Applewhite, on Sunday, February 14, at Faithful Redeemer Lutheran Church in Minneapolis. The infant became the fourth generation to wear the heirloom baptismal gown, whose lace was hand-crocheted by Edward Baumgartner’s great-grandmother in 1879.

  CEDAR-ISLES NORTH STAR SAILOR

  OCTOBER 31, 1996

  Cerise Baumgartner, daughter of Edward and Violet Baumgartner of Cedar-Isles, celebrated her First Communion at Faithful Redeemer Lutheran Church in Minneapolis on Sunday, October 27.

  Says her mother, “Cerise chose to wear the same white gloves that I also wore at my First Communion in 1959. I was quite humbled to be so honored.”

  CEDAR-ISLES NORTH STAR SAILOR

  MAY 11, 2000

  Cerise Baumgartner, daughter of Edward and Violet Baumgartner of Cedar-Isles, was confirmed on Sunday, May 7, at Faithful Redeemer Lutheran Church in Minneapolis. With her she carried the handkerchief with which she’d been baptized at the same church in 1988. “Tradition is very important to our family,” said her mother, Violet.