by Robert Dalby
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
One - That Santa Fe Feeling
Two - In Search of Angels
Three - Gaylie Girl Friday
Four - Blame It on the Bossa Nova
Five - O Broadway Star of Bethlehem
Six - Getting Wired
Seven - The Go-to Couple
Eight - The Best-Laid Plans
Nine - Vigil Aunties
Ten - A Wailing of Sirens, a Gnashing of Teeth
Eleven - Ashes and Switches
Twelve - A Little Cream of Courage
Thirteen - Sparks and Other Heat Sources
Fourteen - All Ye Faithful
Fifteen - The Square Deal
Sixteen - A Very Piggly Wiggly Christmas
Acknowledgements
ALSO BY ROBERT DALBY
A Piggly Wiggly Wedding
Kissing Babies at the Piggly Wiggly
Waltzing at the Piggly Wiggly
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
PUBLISHERS SINCE 1838
Published by the Penguin Group
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Copyright © 2010 by Robert Dalby
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Dalby, Rob.
A piggly wiggly Christmas / Robert Dalby. p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-44536-5
1. City and town life—Mississippi—Fiction. 2. Christmas stories. I. Title.
PS3554.A4148P
813’.54—dc22
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers and Internet addresses at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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In loving memory of my father, who made possible my ongoing journey as a writer
One
That Santa Fe Feeling
Gaylie Girl Dunbar wanted her Santa Fe honeymoon to go on forever. But, alas, it flew by within the short space of a week. It wasn’t just the romance that made it an especially memorable day and night in the cozy vacation home she had inherited from her first husband, Peter Lyons. It was the reaction of her new husband that put her in mind of a schoolboy on his first field trip. The affectionately nicknamed Mr. Choppy Dunbar was overflowing with earnest questions, wherever they went, whatever they saw, and it endeared him to her more than ever.
“Is that buildin’ over there real adobe or that fauxdobe stuff you told me about?” he asked her that first sun-splashed, clear blue afternoon when they had strolled the busy Plaza hand in hand.
“I can’t say for certain,” she had answered. “It all started after the Palace of the Governors was restored, but you’d have to live here year-round to tell the difference.”
Mr. and Mrs. Hale Dunbar Jr. of Second Creek, Mississippi, had left no rose-colored stone unturned in their exploration of “The City Different,” taking in everything from the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum to all the quirky galleries along Canyon Road; from the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Francis of Assisi to the breathtaking sight of the yellow-tinged aspens ranged above the city in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
“It really is a totally different world out here,” Mr. Choppy said on their last evening walk together. “Back home, we’re so darn flat. A part of me never wants to leave all this rugged scenery. Maybe we could somehow take it with us.”
Gaylie Girl agreed with the sentiment but struggled against expressing it out loud. After all, they had another life waiting for them in Second Creek. He had his mayoral duties, and now she was his First Lady. Her prevailing thought as their honeymoon wound down, however, was that she wanted above all to preserve that “Santa Fe feeling” upon returning to the Mississippi Delta. It was a feeling borne of control and confidence, knowing Santa Fe the way she did and having embraced it so enthusiastically in her first marriage. She needed to be in that kind of comfort zone now that she was going to be living permanently in the Deep South.
“The first thing I’m going to do when we get home is to make a list of civic projects I’d like to support,” she said to Mr. Choppy, as he was driving their rental to the Santa Fe airport. “I want to make my mark.”
He turned and gave her a knowing smile. “And you’ll no doubt get the Nitwitts behind whatever strikes your fancy.”
She raised her eyebrows slyly. “Naturally. Nothing gets done in Second Creek without the Nitwitts. Especially now that I’m a full-fledged member.”
Indeed, many people gave that enterprising group of wealthy women of a certain age their fair share of credit for helping elect Mr. Choppy over the thoroughly corrupt incumbent, Mr. Floyce Hammontree, back in February. Gaylie Girl felt sure that she could win them all over to any pet project she proposed.
“Do you have any specific ideas yet?” Mr. Choppy asked.
“I was thinking mainly about Christmas. This is September, so we have a few months to dream up something built around that.”
Mr. Choppy looked intrigued. “Such as?”
“Well, Christmas caroling first came to mind. The Square is so picturesque, I was thinking that maybe some sort of choir activity involving lots of the local churches might be something to explore.”
Mr. Choppy tilted his head first one way and then the other as he considered her vision. “I don’t think Second Creek has ever done anything like that. But you’re right—The Square kinda lends itself to the idea, now that I think about it. Hey, we already use it every June for the Miss Delta Floozie Contest, and everyone flocks to that to see the ladies in their feather boas and costume jewelry. Why not this?”
“So you approve?”
“It sounds real doable to me.”
“Then I’m calling a meeting of the Nitwitts, and we’ll put on our thinking caps.”
Gaylie Girl bore down and continued working out the details in her head as they flew home high above the mountainous grandeur of New Mexico sprawling beneath.
Second Creek in mid- to late September was always a time of transition for the town’s celebrated weather patterns. Rarely violent, as was the case in the winter and spring, they were usually a
n appealing combination of summer and autumn. Days remained long and might be spiked with heat, but the nights no longer breathed fire. Here and there, ceiling fans were turned to a lower speed and light blankets were thrown on beds in anticipation of the chill certain to come. That much the town had in common with most other areas of the country.
For many Second Creekers, however, there was something more. It was a matter of fine-tuning their dispositions, maintaining a healthy respect for the meteorological mysteries they could never take for granted. Not considering all the destruction and consequent rebuilding they had endured over the years. Or peculiar manifestations like the mass disappearance and sudden return of so many fireflies that had occurred over the recent summer months.
It had been nearly three weeks since the Nitwitts had assembled for an honest-to-goodness meeting, and Gaylie Girl thought she was never going to be able to get to the business at hand. All the girls wanted to hear about was her honeymoon with Mr. Choppy. She didn’t much blame them, though. What widowed woman in her sixties and beyond wouldn’t want to hear about such romantic details? Especially from an attractive and trendsetting newly married woman in her seventies.
Among the Nitwitts gathered at Gaylie Girl’s freshly renovated Victorian fixer-upper on North Bayou Avenue for a light luncheon shortly after her return, current president Renza Belford was perhaps the most persistent of the lot. “You’ve told us oodles and oodles about the buildings you all toured. I can’t believe the honeymoon was mainly about architecture. I mean, I’ve never heard so much carrying-on about doorways in my life. I’m more interested in what went on behind them, dear.”
Novie Mims, still the group’s world traveler and purveyor of impossibly dull slide shows, momentarily delayed the inevitable. “Oh, but a doorway in Santa Fe is not your average entrance. I was absolutely enchanted on my visit out there. Such attention to detail—the vigas and canales and all the flat roofs. Just mesmerizing—almost otherworldly.”
Myrtis Troy, the fashionable owner of the town’s most elegant bed-and-breakfast, Evening Shadows, quickly added her testimony. “Everyone should tour Santa Fe once in their lives. It’s cultured and laid-back at the same time.”
Despite the interruptions, Gaylie Girl surveyed the expectant faces of her friends and saw that they were all still pretty much on Renza’s side. “Well,” she began, after taking a sip of the sweet tea she had served to the group, “I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that Hale is no slouch in the affection department. But I have to say that the Santa Fe mountain air had a very salubrious effect on his ardor. We carried on the way we did in that Romeo and Juliet suite at the Peabody Hotel when we were courting on the sly up in Memphis last year. It was, shall we say, a classic honeymoon with all the delicious trimmings.”
Renza toyed with her tomato aspic for a few seconds. Then she emphatically set her fork down on the edge of her plate and sighed dramatically. “I’m not quite sure I know what salubrious means, Gaylie Girl, but I’m envious anyway.”
“Same here,” Denver Lee McQueen chimed in. “I do miss romance with my dear departed Eustice. It’s prob’ly the main reason I’ve had so much trouble with my weight and developed this infernal diabetes. I read magazine articles all the time about food bein’ a substitute for a good session of you-know-what.”
Laurie Hampton, who enjoyed president emeritus status among the group and always took the high road in any conversation, put in her two cents’ worth. “I’m thrilled it all went so well for you, Gaylie Girl. And I’m eager to hear all about your new civic project idea.”
Gaylie Girl had to restrain herself from jumping up and going over to give Laurie a heartfelt hug. Leave it to the inveterate diplomat of the group to give her a much-needed opening. And she lost no time in explaining her concept of Christmas Caroling in The Square.
The newest Nitwitt member, Euterpe Simon, piano teacher extraordinaire to each of the others, waxed eloquent at once. “I think it’s an inspiring idea, Gaylie Girl. And I have a suggestion for you. So many of the buildings around The Square have those charming lacework balconies. Why not have the choir members stationed on the balconies while the citizens mill about below? It will create a delightful seasonal effect. You know—angels we have heard on high—and also looking down upon the flock for good measure.”
“Oh, I think that’s an absolutely marvelous addition to my concept,” Gaylie Girl replied, winking smartly at Euterpe. “You’ve fine-tuned it beautifully. What do the rest of you girls think?”
There were many affirmative murmurs as well as a general nodding of heads around the table, and Gaylie Girl knew that the next official Nitwitt project was well on its way to fruition. After they had finished their lunch of aspic and chicken gumbo, they would take a vote and divvy up the duties, and that would be that.
It was, in fact, after the official unanimous vote had been taken, and tasks assigned and then recorded by secretary Novie, that the subject of their ailing member and founder, Wittsie Chadwick, emerged. Now safely ensconced in a memory care unit at Delta Sunset Village in nearby Greenwood for her rapidly progressing Alzheimer’s, Wittsie was never very far from the minds of her good friends. They all still continued to visit her throughout the week, each one dutifully showing up for lunch on a different day to keep the connections alive as best they could in the face of her irreversibly declining faculties.
“Is there a way we could get her over here to see this when the time comes?” Gaylie Girl posed. But she did not wait for a response. “I know that Dr. Milburne wouldn’t let her come to my wedding week before last. Said it would be too disorienting for her, as I recall, and I’m sure we can all understand that.”
The group went silent, looking stumped at first, but then Laurie, always the successful schemer among them, straightened up in her chair. “Let’s talk to the doctor and see if he’ll agree to an excursion this one time. I think his concern about your wedding was the sheer number of people she would have to contend with, not to mention the noise and confusion of the reception afterward. But listening to choir music is in a different category altogether. Maybe he’d agree to allow us to shepherd her about, considering the spirit of the season.”
“Heavens, Laurie!” Renza interjected. “I’ve said it a thousand times, but it’s still worth repeating. You always find just the right words for every occasion. I just wish I had your gift.”
Gaylie Girl nodded with relish. “Yes. I think that’s our next move.” Then, sensing that Renza might be getting a tad bit restless having control momentarily wrested from her, Gaylie Girl wisely deferred. “But what does our president think—officially, I mean?”
Renza’s face was a mixture of surprise and delight as she adjusted the fox furs that always adorned her shoulders. “Oh . . . well, yes, I see no harm in approaching the doctor about this. As I said, Laurie’s suggestion is spot-on. We do want to do everything we can for our dear Wittsie. By the way, girls, my visit with her yesterday was less than satisfactory, to say the least. She was having one of her blanker days. She just sat there and squinted at the food for the longest time as if it were an eye chart instead of something to eat. I was very distressed by it all.”
“Well, of course, she’s not going to get any better,” Denver Lee added. “Not that I should talk with the way I’m managing my diabetes. What I really need is one of those round-the-clock sitters to slap my hand when I sneak things out of the fridge. Or someone to go with me to the grocery store and wag a finger at me when I grab something off the shelf that I shouldn’t have in the first place. But, yes, I’m afraid we’re all in for some sad times with our dear Wittsie.”
Gaylie Girl surveyed all the long faces around the table and decided to lighten the mood. “Let’s get started next week on our visits to the churches, shall we? Novie, read back all our assignments again, if you will.”
Novie zeroed in on her scrawl and said: “I’ve written down here that Denver Lee, Renza, and Myrtis will be in charge of publicity—contacting The Citiz
en and radio stations and out-of-town churches and such. And I have a circled sentence here that says we shouldn’t hesitate to call on Powell Hampton to help us with any copy for the ads just the way he did with all those radio spots—”
“Don’t hesitate to do that,” Laurie interrupted. “You all know the crackerjack job my Powell will do for us. He guided us through Mr. Choppy’s election campaign beautifully.”
Novie resumed after an enthusiastic nod. “And then it says here that Euterpe will work with the choir directors on their schedules and selections. And finally, myself, Laurie, and Gaylie Girl are to keep the actual appointments with all the local ministers, rectors, priests, and pastors. My, we have everything here in Second Creek but rabbis, don’t we? But I know we have several Jewish families. Just not enough for a synagogue. I think the Adlers and the Beekmans go up to Memphis for temple every Friday—”
Laurie interrupted her with a pleasant smile. “Novie, you’re wandering in the desert, dear.”
“Oh, sorry. Let’s see now—we’ve agreed to call on the Catholics, Episcopalians, Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, and, oh, yes, the Church of Christ.” She paused and let out a little giggle. “I wonder what you call people who go to the Church of Christ? Are they Church of Christians?”
Renza quickly interrupted the polite titters that ensued. “Now, a while back you mentioned including a couple of black churches. Were you serious about that, Gaylie Girl?”
“Oh, I think we must invite the black churches,” Gaylie Girl explained. “I see our event as not only ecumenical but also in the spirit of racial harmony. ’Tis the season, after all.”
Renza’s cantankerous nature began bubbling up as usual. “I suppose you realize that these black choirs don’t sing the same way the white choirs do. It’s a completely different sound, and they always carry on so.”