A Piggly Wiggly Christmas

by Robert Dalby

  “You can bank on it,” Gaylie Girl said, leaning over to lightly rap her knuckles on Mrs. Holstrom’s desk. “Every one of us Nitwitts will be here for our Wittsie.”

  The nasty weather had finally cleared up, so the ride back to Second Creek was far less stressful for Gaylie Girl than the trip over. Few things annoyed her more than driving in the rain. She and Renza had remained unusually quiet so far, carefully sifting through all the information Mrs. Holstrom had given them. They were both lost in thought, in fact, when a muffled ringtone gave them a slight start.

  “Oh, that would be my cell phone,” Gaylie Girl explained, gesturing toward the backseat. “It’s in my purse. But let it ring, please. I never use or answer it while I’m driving. There ought to be a law against that, in my opinion. It’s the addiction of the millennium the way all these people run around in traffic yakking up a storm like they’re hosting talk shows. I simply refuse to do any of that. Besides, it’s probably just Hale checking to see when I’ll be getting home. And if it’s not, whoever it is will leave a message.”

  “Then would you mind if I check to see if there’s a message for you when it stops ringing?” Renza inquired. “Just in case it’s an emergency of some sort. After all, my hands are certainly free.”

  The ringtone finally ceased, and Gaylie Girl gave permission with a hasty nod, followed by a snicker. “I hope you can actually find it, though. I’ve got everything in there except last year’s tax return.”

  Renza retrieved the bulky handbag and opened it slowly, drawing back slightly as the contents came to light. “You weren’t kidding, were you? There’s an infomercial’s worth of cosmetics in here. But no sign of a cell phone.” Renza rummaged around further, making all sorts of mixing and clicking noises. “Ah, here it is! It was hidden by this little package of Kleenex you shamefully tore right through in Mrs. Holstrom’s office.”

  Gaylie Girl gave her a prolonged sideways glance. “Now don’t pretend for a moment that your eyes were exactly dry, Renza Belford. You are a big fake behind all that prickly bravado and horse apple expletives. I saw you turn away from me every time I tried to make eye contact. This whole business about Wittsie is getting harder and harder to take as we get closer to the end.”

  Renza shrugged and waved her off and then flipped the phone open, staring at the screen for a while. “Don’t worry. I think I can figure it out. I can tell it’s got a similar menu to mine.”

  Gaylie Girl alternated between keeping her eyes on the road and sneaking glances at Renza’s intricate maneuvers with her thumb. Finally, Renza put the phone to her ear and began to listen in eager anticipation. The first words out of her mouth were mundane enough: “Yes, it’s from Mr. Choppy—I mean, your Hale.”

  But Renza’s expression changed suddenly and drastically. The severest of frowns appeared first, followed by an audible intake of air. Then Renza paused to replay the message before closing the phone with a decided snap.

  Gaylie Girl felt an initial wave of panic moving through her. “For heaven’s sake! Don’t keep me in suspense! What is it? What did Hale say?”

  Renza took another deep breath and spoke slowly. “He wants you to meet him at the hospital right away. He says Henry Hempstead just called to say his wife had gone into premature labor, and they’re trying to save the baby right now with a C-section. That’s the secretary you’ve been filling in for, isn’t it? That sweet little Cherish Hempstead?”

  “Yes, it is,” Gaylie Girl said, but her emotions prevented her from commenting further. They were all caving in on her, reminding her of how fragile everything had suddenly become. First with Wittsie. Now with Cherish. This just couldn’t be happening to the Hempsteads again. They had been so careful this time around, taken such elaborate precautions, and Gaylie Girl had been an integral part of helping them implement their best-laid plans.

  “Do you want to go to the hospital with me? I’d really appreciate it if you would,” Gaylie Girl managed, once the initial shock had passed.

  Renza reached across and gently rubbed her shoulder. “I most certainly will. In-laws should make it easy on themselves and stick together.”

  Nine

  Vigil Aunties

  Henry Hempstead’s face looked drawn and haggard as he stood just inside the doorway of the Second Creek Baptist Hospital waiting room. Despite his recent emergency ordeal, he managed a somewhat presentable smile as Mr. Choppy, Gaylie Girl, and Renza came forward to offer him their further support. Their vigil had begun with their arrival some thirty minutes earlier, when they had discovered that it was a slow afternoon and they had the entire room to themselves. They had managed to keep their nervousness at bay by making small talk, swilling bad vending machine coffee and thumbing through worn, gossipy Hollywood magazines while Henry was being allowed his first visit to the neonatal intensive care unit. There he would be getting his first glimpse of his newborn child. In the interim, a rather plump surgical nurse sporting green scrubs and a flowered shower cap had ventured out and explained that Cherish was still in the recovery room after her traumatic but successful C-section. Now they were about to receive the prognosis for “baby boy Hempstead” from Henry himself.

  “Dr. Cameron says it’s just too early to tell how things’ll turn out. We’re just gonna have to wait and see. He also says the next twenty-four hours’ll be real crucial. After that, it still might be days before we’re completely outta the woods,” Henry explained, his voice catching. Then he moved his index fingers toward each other until they were nearly touching. “But I’ve never seen anything so tiny. I can’t get over it. My son is just barely three measly little pounds. Doctor says that’s not too bad for twenty-eight weeks old, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s nearly two months premature.”

  Now Henry’s eyes seemed to be searching the room for a place to focus as he rambled on about the predicament that was clearly threatening to overwhelm him. “I just never thought anything could be so tiny and still be human. I mean, it’s almost like he’s not real but some kinda doll. The nurse wouldn’t let me stay too long, and I had to put on a surgical mask just to enter the room. He’s hooked up to all these tubes, and there’s this ventilator thing to help him breathe. It looks so scary to me—”

  “Come over here and sit down, son,” Mr. Choppy interrupted, nudging him toward the sofa where they had all been biding their time. “You’ve been through a helluva lot over the last coupla hours. You need to catch your breath.”

  Ordinarily composed, not to mention sturdy of frame and jaw, Henry was too shaken to resist the suggestion, immediately doing as he was told while the others gathered around him solicitously.

  “One of us would offer to go and get you some coffee, Henry, but you really don’t want what they’re serving up in that machine out in the hallway, believe me. I may never get this nasty aftertaste out of my mouth,” Gaylie Girl said, patting his hand after settling in next to him. “Have you had anything to eat? I bet you’ve forgotten to. My first husband, Peter, lost at least ten pounds worrying about me both times I delivered our children. Oh, he’d come into my hospital room and tell me that he’d eaten, all right, but he was just plain lying about it. Maybe I could go and get you something from the cafeteria?”

  “That’s okay, Miz Dunbar. We ate our big Sunday dinner together after church as usual, and then about an hour or so later, Cherish started getting these pains in her stomach. We both thought it was indigestion at first, especially since it was too soon for the baby, you know. Cherish had some bad indigestion all durin’ the pregnancy.”

  Mr. Choppy was shaking his head now. “Well, I know for a fact that you and Cherish did everything you were told to do this time. All I ever got was good reports from the both of you. I know this is a big shock to you right now, Henry, but I got a feelin’ that your baby boy is gonna do just fine. I’m sure he’s a fighter just like his daddy is.”

  Henry suddenly leaned forward on his elbows, hanging his head between his legs before it snapped back up after
a brief interlude. “Whew! I felt kinda sick there for a second, Mr. Choppy. But it passed. Why do these things keep happenin’ to Cherish? Plus, I’m thinkin’ about too many things at once. Like my supervisory shift out at the catfish plant. It starts in a few more hours, and I’d really rather be here in case somethin’ happens. I’d—I’d want to be here for Cherish in case—” His voice broke off.

  Gaylie Girl was squeezing his hand now. “I’ll call up my Petey and tell him what’s happened. He’s still here in town, staying out at Evening Shadows with our Myrtis.” She managed the softest of chuckles. “Petey and Euterpe have become her permanent fixtures, it seems. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll be happy to appoint someone else to manage your shift so you can stick around and monitor things here.”

  Henry’s pleasant features brightened for the first time. “Oh, that’d be great, Miz Dunbar. I’d really appreciate it. And since I have the chance now, I’d like to tell you what a pleasure it’s been to have your son as my boss now. I think everyone here in Second Creek is so happy he bought the plant. He’s truly given Pond-Raised Catfish new life.”

  “I’ll pass all that along to him, and I’m sure he’ll enjoy hearing it. But meanwhile, you have to take care of yourself, young man. You’re a father now, and you have to keep up your strength for Cherish and your son. And that means you can’t get by with no food or rest or breaks,” Gaylie Girl continued. Then she turned toward Renza, who was sitting beside her. “I have an idea. Let’s you and I go to the ladies’ room together, shall we?”

  “But I just went a few minutes ago.”

  Gaylie Girl repeated part of what she’d just said with a pronounced emphasis. “I said—I . . . have . . . an . . . idea.”

  Renza got the message this time, so up and off they went, promising to return soon and leaving the two men alone together.

  Mr. Choppy wasn’t sure this was the right time to bring it up, but some instinct kept tugging at him to chance it; that it might be just the thing to give Henry the additional hope and strength he surely needed for whatever lay ahead. Still, two or three minutes of awkward silence passed before he actually broached the subject.

  “I don’t mean to pry into your personal business right now, Henry, but I was wonderin’ if you and Cherish—” For a brief moment, he lost his nerve but soon regained it as he kept his goal in mind. “Well, son, I’m confident this is gonna turn out just fine for the two of you, as I said. We’ll all watch that boy a’ yours grow up strong and healthy just like you are. So, here’s the thing I wanted to get to. Have you and Cherish thought about namin’ a godfather?”

  Henry turned his head dramatically, looking happily surprised. “Why, no, Mr. Choppy, we hadn’t thought about it at all yet. Maybe we would have if we’d known the baby was gonna come along so far ahead a’ schedule. Were you thinkin’ a’ runnin’ for that the way you did for Mayor?”

  Their laughter eased the tension a bit, and Mr. Choppy said: “Well, I was for a fact, son. I don’t mind tellin’ you that I’ve thought of your Cherish almost as a daughter since just after she came to work for me back in May. What a ray of sunshine she’s been for me since day one! No better secretary anywhere, although my wife’s not half bad either. I’d just be honored if you’d let me pay you back in such a special way.”

  “Hey, you’d get my vote for sure, Mr. Choppy. And when they finally let me go see Cherish, I’m bettin’ she’ll be thrilled to vote for ya, too.”

  Mr. Choppy quickly reflected, leaning back in his seat with a smile on his face. “My, my. I guess I’m blessed four times over then. Mayor, husband, stepfather, and now godfather all in the same year. How often d’ya think that happens in life?”

  “Not often, I expect, but I know this much. I couldn’t a’ named a nicer fellow for it all to happen to.”

  That triggered another question that no one had asked yet. “Speakin’ of names, had you and Cherish come up with any for the baby before all this happened?”

  Henry was nodding his head slowly. “Actually, we had. We went around and around the way most parents do, and we’d pretty much picked out two that we liked the best. Lauren Margaret if it was a girl, and Riley Jacob if it was a boy. Those really weren’t from either of our families, by the way. We just went down to the library and checked out one a’ those baby name books. 1001 Baby Names Your Child Can Live With Later, I believe it was. That nice Miz Grubbs just led us straight to it.”

  “Riley Jacob,” Mr. Choppy repeated slowly. “I like the sound of it, my boy, and I’ll be very proud to be his godfather.”

  That provided the two men a few minutes of what could have passed for peace of mind, but Henry’s worry soon got the better of him. “You think it’s bad luck for us to be jumpin’ the gun on this namin’ and godfather business?”

  Here, Mr. Choppy was in his element, gently resting his arm on Henry’s shoulder. “I most certainly do not. You need to go on the assumption that this son comin’ into your life is meant to be and never let go a’ that. I know what I’m talkin’ about when I tell you that you gotta hold on to the things that mean the world to you, no matter what. I finally got married to the only woman I’ve ever loved after fifty years of bein’ by myself. But I never gave up. Somewhere deep down in my soul, where I lived and breathed, I knew it was ordained for me somehow. Just you never stop believin’ when it comes to the life of your precious boy.”

  Henry was tearing up despite his best efforts to conceal it by rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers. Then he sniffled and cleared his throat for an encore. “Oh, man, Mr. Choppy, you’re gonna be one helluva godfather.”

  “If I have anything to say about it, I will. And I have one thing more to point out to you. I predict the only problem you and Cherish’ll have with young Riley Jacob is that he’ll complain to you every year about his birthday bein’ so close to Christmas. That is, if you try to combine the two. My mother, Gladys, had a cousin who was born on Christmas Eve, and she told me that Saundra Kaye always felt cheated when everything kinda got blended into one big celebration.”

  “I can’t see us doin’ that,” Henry observed. “I already know it’ll mean the world to us just to see our son’s first birthday come to pass. And then we’ll have Christmas to give thanks for that.”

  Not too long after their conversation had quietly wound down, another nurse—this one in her best starched whites—appeared in the doorway, and Henry immediately sprang up from his seat. “Mr. Hempstead, your wife has been transferred to her room now,” she told him. “She’s still a little groggy, but she’s doing just fine. You should be able to visit with her briefly in about thirty minutes or so.”

  “And my son? Any change?”

  “Not to worry. Still safely in the NICU and stable was the last report I received.”

  Henry sat back down slowly after the nurse left, allowing himself what for all intents and purposes was a deep, cleansing breath. It coincided exactly with the return of Gaylie Girl and Renza, who immediately bombarded the men with questions. Mr. Choppy gave them the latest update and then added: “What have you both been up to all this time? You didn’t really go to the ladies’ room, did you?”

  Gaylie Girl gently nudged Renza with her elbow, looking triumphantly smug. “We’ve been outside rounding up the girls on our cell phones, haven’t we?”

  “That, and probably catching pneumonia. A cold front’s moved through behind all that rain we had earlier in the day,” Renza added.

  Gaylie Girl was waving off her complaint. “Oh, nonsense. We were bundled up enough. Anyhow, Mr. Henry Hempstead, we have a very special Nitwitt proposition for you, and we trust you’ll be smart enough to take advantage of it.”

  Henry and Mr. Choppy exchanged perplexed glances before Mr. Choppy said: “Translate, please. I can’t wait to hear what this is about.”

  Both women resumed their seats, and Gaylie Girl began speaking in rehearsed fashion. “Very well. I believe I have this mostly committed to memory. It is hereby declared that one
Mr. Henry Hempstead of Second Creek, Mississippi, has imminently qualified for benevolent care and feeding from all the members of the Nitwitts. Now, let’s see—oh yes. They will in turn check in on him throughout the vigil ahead in specific shifts assigned to each one. Furthermore, they will make sure that he has not dwindled away to nothing, exposing him to sufficient food and drink, and forcing him to go home now and then to get some much-needed rest.” She quickly searched her memory before dredging up the finale. “And last but not least—each Nitwitt on duty, so to speak, will also spell him during certain periods and agree to notify him at once if there are any significant changes to report concerning either mother or child. That way, there is no possibility that anybody will miss anything.”

  Henry’s delight could not be contained, and his generous laughter allowed him to blow off steam. “You came up with all that just for me, Miz Dunbar?” he finally managed there at the end.

  “Just for you.”

  But Renza was wiggling her fingers in front of Gaylie Girl’s face. “The name. You forgot the part about the name. I think that’s the best part.”

  “Oh, yes. How in the world could I forget? For this particular Nitwitt project of ours, we’ve decided to refer to ourselves as your dear, sweet Vigil Aunties.” She spelled out the last two words as Henry and Mr. Choppy followed along in genuine amusement. “It sounds terribly corny, but wouldn’t you know? Laurie Hampton said it came to her in a flash as I was talking to her over the phone a few minutes ago. She’s just so good at these things. Of course, there was no way I could resist using it, and every one of the ladies has agreed to help you out until we’re over the hump. Well, all except our dear Wittsie Chadwick. So, what’s your verdict, Henry? Will you let us help you get through this without exhausting yourself? After all, ’tis the season.”