A Piggly Wiggly Christmas

by Robert Dalby

  “Just that Euterpe Simon will be coordinating the appearances of all the choirs and keeping an eye on the time. And she has suggested that it might be a good idea to work with all of you choirmasters in making sure the selections don’t overlap. We’d like each church’s contribution to be unique,” Laurie continued. “Euterpe’s awfully good with people.”

  Not a muscle twitched in Mr. Bead’s long, narrow face. “You mean someone else will determine our musical program?”

  “No, of course not, Mr. Bead. You’ll determine that for the most part. We just thought it might be more effective not to have all the choirs singing ‘Joy to the World,’ for instance. The audience might get a bit weary. After all, there are so many delightful carols to choose from.”

  “But if people show up at different times during the event, how will they know what the previous choirs have sung? Wouldn’t they have to remain for the entire two hours for a point of comparison?”

  It was at this point that Reverend Somerby stepped in to defuse the growing tension. “Lawton, I met Mrs. Simon at a recent social gathering and she’s perfectly charming. I’m sure you’ll enjoy working with her on this project. And I’m equally sure she’ll value your opinion, as talented as you are.”

  “Oh, yes,” Gaylie Girl added quickly. “Euterpe is the ultimate listener. She makes you feel like you’ve known her for ages the instant she walks into a room. Even if you are likely to do a double take when you see that pet poodle of hers at her shoulder like a sleeping baby.”

  “Well, that’s quite a recommendation from the lot of you,” Mr. Bead said, his demeanor softening somewhat. “I suppose we can work things out amicably.”

  Gaylie Girl turned to Novie, gently wagging her index finger. “We’ll set up a meeting for the two of them soon, won’t we?”

  Novie nodded and made another note. “It’s as good as done.”

  “I do have one other suggestion,” Mr. Bead continued, his tone at its most solemn once again. “We need to take into consideration the hour of the caroling. You’ve suggested early evening, but I believe early afternoon would be better. That way it won’t interfere with our regular Christmas Eve services or anyone else’s. People can attend both, and I know we wouldn’t want them to have to choose on a holy day of obligation.”

  Reverend Somerby spoke up with authority, stroking his beard all the while. “Excellent point, Lawton. I wholeheartedly agree.”

  “One to three o’clock Christmas Eve afternoon instead of six to eight in the evening, then?” Gaylie Girl inquired. “Only the Ten Commandments are written in stone.”

  The unexpected bit of humor actually brought a smile to Mr. Bead’s lips. “I have to admit that’s rather clever.”

  With that, the revised hours quickly met with everyone’s approval, and the Nitwitts brought the first foray of their angelic mission to a successful close.

  The Second Creek United Methodist Church was an easy two blocks away, so Novie was unable to get up to a speed fast enough to wreak any havoc upon her two passengers in the back of the van. Easier still was the personality of Choirmaster Press Phillips—a welcome contrast to the high-maintenance Lawton Bead. A short, plump man with an incessant smile on his ruddy face, Mr. Phillips immediately embraced the Nitwitts’ unique proposal after they had all settled around his office.

  “What a delightful quest—to be in search of angelic voices for the citizens of Second Creek! Of course, this will take a little extra planning for my group,” he explained as he picked up another butter cookie from the plate he had passed around to his guests. “We have two members who are deathly afraid of looking down from heights, even something as innocuous as the second-story balconies around The Square. I know this because I chaperoned a church bus trip to the Smokies a couple of summers ago, and we did a good deal of hiking and climbing. That turned out to be anathema to the Biddle sisters, Larissa and Camilla, who have devoted their entire lives to the sweet music of the church. Such heavenly sounds, such an inner beauty. True angels, the both of them. Unfortunately, they have a not-so-beautiful inner ear problem and just can’t look down from any sort of height at all.” He paused to indulge a curious little snort as he finished off his cookie.

  “I personally have long suspected it’s an earwax buildup problem that they could relieve over the counter, but they insist otherwise. At any rate, I couldn’t ask them to take up a position anywhere on those balconies. But I’ll gladly have them below in The Square as I conduct the others. They’ll relish the spotlight. I can picture it now—one on either side of me, lifting up those voices worthy of coloraturas at the Met.”

  “Yes, of course,” Gaylie Girl said, absentmindedly fingering the cookie she had taken out of politeness with no intention of eating. “We wouldn’t want to leave anyone out of the proceedings. Christmas is hardly the time for that.”

  “Never fear. A touch of vertigo never kept a good Methodist from a potluck supper or choir practice.”

  “Excellent. And what side of The Square would your choir prefer?”

  After brief consideration, Mr. Phillips lit up. “North, I believe. In honor of the North Pole. Just a whimsical touch for all the children we have dedicated this year and whom we hope will come to listen to us with their parents.”

  Novie made yet another note and said: “That’s two votes for north and counting.”

  In rapid succession, the affable choirmasters of the Second Creek Church of Christ, First Presbyterian, First Baptist, and St. Thomas Aquinas Roman Catholic Church were all persuaded to participate in Second Creek’s first Caroling in The Square on Christmas Eve. All except the Baptists, who opted for the west balconies, chose to stage their appearance on the north side of The Square. Fortunately, Gaylie Girl and Laurie were none the worse for wear in the back of the van after they both ganged up on Novie and told her she would have to slow down or they would go on foot the rest of the way.

  Novie had briefly protested as she glanced at the speedometer. “Why, I’m doing the limit—no more!”

  Gaylie Girl in particular was having none of it. “It’s not your speed so much as all the potholes downtown. You’ve managed to hit every one of them without fail. Hale insists he’s going to do something about it even if we have to have a special election to repave every street around The Square. It seems Mr. Floyce preferred to concentrate on paving the rural roads to assure the outlying vote. But until Hale takes care of business—please slow down. Laurie and I don’t wear black and blue very well!”

  And Novie had acquiesced as they set out on what they surmised might be the more difficult part of their mission: soliciting the participation of a few of the community’s black churches. Feeling somewhat out of their element, they did not know what to expect but had vowed to be as evenhanded as possible in the matter.

  “I got as much information as I could out of Hale when he gave me a pep talk last night,” Gaylie Girl explained to Laurie as they rode along Lower Winchester Road toward Hanging Grapes A.M.E. Church for their appointment with Brother Willyus V. Thompson. “Hale actually visited with Brother Thompson during his campaign even though Hanging Grapes was always firmly in the Floyce Hammontree camp. The scuttlebutt was that all sorts of favors were being done for the church under the table by Mr. Floyce. So it could be that Brother Thompson will still be a bit peeved at losing his influence with the Mayor’s office and might not be too pleased to see me coming. But perhaps he’ll let bygones be bygones and rise above it all in the spirit of Christmas.”

  Laurie looked perplexed and shrugged. “That really would be holding a grudge in my book.”

  “Nevertheless, a grudge never stood in the way of a Nitwitt, right?”

  “Right.”

  But the clever confidence that Gaylie Girl and Laurie had carried with them into the newly expanded Hanging Grapes Hall of Fellowship ten minutes later soon faded when Brother Thompson met their proposal with a profound shaking of his head.

  “I see you ladies have no sense of history,”
he began, avoiding their eyes as he spoke with obvious reserve, his shiny bald pate lifted skyward.

  The Nitwitts were all seated directly across from him at one of the enormous dining tables used for church socials, so it was particularly disturbing to Gaylie Girl that he continued to avert his gaze as if she and her companions weren’t even in the room.

  “I don’t understand what you mean, Brother Thompson,” Gaylie Girl said, forcing a smile to the forefront. “Would you be good enough to explain what a sense of history has to do with our Caroling in The Square proposal? Other than the fact that I’ve been assured it’s never been done before. We offer this to your choir as a chance to make local history.”

  Brother Thompson continued with a demeanor that was nothing if not well above the fray. “I’m speakin’ of our state’s not-so-glorious past, Miz Dunbar. I and many members of my congregation can remember a time when us black folk were forced to sit in the balconies of all the movin’ picture theaters. And if we wanted to attend the weddings of the white folks many of us worked for, we had to sit way up in the balcony. We weren’t good enough to sit on the ground floor. I’m afraid balconies leave a very bad taste in our mouths.”

  A feeling of panic exploded somewhere behind Gaylie Girl’s sternum, and she realized that she needed immediate help. After all, she had only recently come to the Deep South to live and was not prepared to address its historic burdens on the spur of the moment. She quickly searched the faces of her companions and came to rest on Laurie’s reassuring gaze. “Perhaps Mrs. Hampton here could discuss this with you more effectively, Brother Thompson.”

  Laurie stepped in with her usual diplomacy, her tone both even and friendly. “Mrs. Dunbar is not from Mississippi, Brother Thompson. She’s lived almost her entire life in Chicago, but I’m sure she’s sympathetic with your perspective, as we all are. No one could possibly deny the past difficulties that black people have endured here in the South. But it was our intention as a social club to make sure that black churches were included in this event from the get-go. I can assure you that using the balconies has nothing to do with the discriminatory policies of the past. Instead, we thought of the balconies as an almost angelic prop. Second Creek is unique in having such beautiful and historic structures available for our caroling concept, and we come to you today only in search of angels.”

  Brother Thompson finally came down to eye level and said: “I believe what you say, Miz Hampton, but I cain’t speak for everybody in my choir. Some a’ them still got bad memories of the stores and restaurants in The Square and all that. I can run it past my choirmaster and my people and see what they want to do, but I cain’t promise you anything right now.”

  Gaylie Girl resumed the exchange at that point. “Well, that’s all we ask, Brother Thompson. We want your participation in this event and hope you will see it as an opportunity to promote your church in a positive and charming way. Surely there can be no harm in that.”

  “Like I say, I’ll run it past my choir. I just cain’t promise. I’ll get you an answer tomorrow, though, one way or another.”

  On the way back into town, Gaylie Girl was having trouble letting go of what appeared to be their first setback, reviewing the entire conversation with Brother Thompson in her head. “I can’t see that we did anything to warrant his negative reaction, do you, girls?”

  Novie answered first from the driver’s seat, revving up her voice a notch to be heard. “Don’t even think of blaming yourself, Gaylie Girl. He’s the one with the problem!”

  “I agree,” Laurie continued. “I was obviously wrong about the grudge thing. Looks like he still resents Mr. Choppy’s victory over Mr. Floyce.”

  Gaylie Girl’s sigh was tinged with defiance. “I can tell you that Hale has no intention of buying off the people of Second Creek the way Mr. Floyce did. He campaigned and won on an ethical approach to the office, and he intends to stick to it.”

  “That’s why we all voted for him,” Laurie added. “It’s way more than a stretch that anyone, black or white, would take offense at singing Christmas carols from a balcony because of the Jim Crow laws of the past. That’s probably the weakest excuse for saying no that I’ve ever heard. I think it’s playing the civil rights card in a way that’s an insult to the civil rights movement. From what you’ve told me, Brother Thompson just didn’t want to come right out and tell you the real reason. Fact is, he knows good and well that our Mr. Choppy cooked the goose that laid the golden egg.”

  “Well, let’s not dwell on it any longer. Because all is not lost,” Gaylie Girl said with a renewed energy. “Hale told me last night that we were quite likely to have success with the Reverend Quintus Payne of the Marblestone Alley Church of Holiness, who supported him enthusiastically in the election. I can’t imagine that Reverend Payne won’t want to have his choir raising their voices to heaven on Christmas Eve.”

  “Then let’s head on out, Novie!” Laurie proclaimed. “But please, dear, no pedal to the metal!”

  The reception the Nitwitts encountered at the quaint Marblestone Alley Church of Holiness across town could not have been more cordial. Reverend Quintus Payne greeted the three ladies at the door of Holiness Hall with all the gentlemanly ardor his lanky frame could muster. Once inside the white-clapboard and green-shuttered building, they were escorted to a dining room full of tempting aromas and what looked like a welcoming committee.

  “Ladies,” Reverend Payne began, “I’d like you to meet our choirmistress, Mrs. Vergie Woods, our organist, Miss Saleesha Patton, and my assistant pastor, Reverend Thaddeus Jefferson.”

  It took a minute or two for the completion of all the handshakes and perfunctory smiles that normally accompany introductions, but soon everyone was sitting around one of the tables discussing the details of Caroling in The Square. It was Mrs. Woods, a voluptuous vision in purple from head to toe, who quickly offered the most dramatic response.

  “I think y’all must’ve read my mind. Why, over the summer I believe I went to Reverend Payne here and told him I’d been prayin’ we could come up with some sorta Christmas event in The Square to get people downtown and in the spirit of the season, didn’t I, Reverend?”

  “You did for a fact, Vergie. That’s why I wanted all y’all to hear out Miz Dunbar and the rest of these ladies today, since it seems like your prayers’ve been answered. But you know, that’s not unusual for Second Creek. I think many of us who live here are in tune with each other, no matter what our different backgrounds are.”

  Gaylie Girl matched Mrs. Woods’s enthusiasm with her own. “My husband has told me before about your Second Creek solutions, and he also said we’d likely find an audience here for our project. I’m also supposed to remind you again how much he appreciated having the support of so many of your church members in the recent election.”

  “Mayor Dunbar’s a good man,” Reverend Payne added, puffing himself up. “For true, I did endorse him from the pulpit, which I rarely do. But I see I wasn’t mistaken in my judgment. He’s already done some good things in the short time he’s been in office. We needed new blood to run this town, and we got it now. As for this caroling event, Miz Dunbar, Miz Woods will cooperate with y’all in any way you need. We intend to have the Marblestone Alley Church of Holiness well represented on Christmas Eve.”

  “You and our secretary must huddle before we leave, Mrs. Woods,” Gaylie Girl said, gesturing toward Novie. “But meanwhile, I just have to ask someone or I’ll explode from curiosity. What is that heavenly aroma that’s been filling this room from the moment we walked in?”

  Reverend Payne chuckled richly and pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “That’s my wife, Yolie, back there makin’ her famous bread pudding for a bake sale we’re havin’ tonight. Matter a’ fact, I think I can arrange to get you a little taste, and if you like it, you can take some back to the Mayor with our compliments.”

  Gaylie Girl demurred without thinking. “Oh, you must let me pay you. I’d like to contribute to the bake sale.”


  “Nonsense. My Yolie always makes plenty extra. Let’s get y’all on back there for some samplin’ and see what you think.”

  Yolie Payne, who was as tall and gracious as her husband, lost no time in making them all feel at home as soon as they entered her culinary territory. “I just finished up a batch, ladies. This is the best time to sneak you a little taste while it’s still warm from the oven.”

  Despite their faint protestations, all three Nitwitts ended up carting home generous complimentary servings of the most delicious bread pudding they’d ever put in their mouths. It was not too heavy, as bread pudding can sometimes be. Instead, it was custardy with a hint of eggnog flavor, a dusting of nutmeg, and chock-full of plump raisins. Then the gregarious Yolie Payne had generously drizzled it with a sinfully rich, buttery rum sauce of her own invention. Gaylie Girl couldn’t wait to spring it on her Hale as a surprise dessert that evening. It would be the exclamation point on a mission well accomplished to all of the churches they had set out to impress—with one notable exception.

  As he had promised, Brother Willyus V. Thompson called Gaylie Girl the next day and officially notified her that Hanging Grapes A.M.E. Church would not be participating in the Christmas Eve caroling event. “We voted to sit this one out,” he told her. “But we appreciate you askin’ us.”

  Gaylie Girl was not disappointed in the least, having made a good faith effort to win him over. As she hung up the phone, she even said it out loud with great optimism in her voice: “Mark my words: The Nitwitts will have you singing on those balconies next year, Brother Thompson.”

  Three

  Gaylie Girl Friday

  There was no question in Gaylie Girl’s mind that Cherish Hempstead had started to show. Somewhere in the middle of her second trimester, Mayor Hale Dunbar’s trusty little secretary was making no attempt to disguise the little bump in her belly and had stoutly refused to switch over to maternity clothes.