A Piggly Wiggly Christmas

by Robert Dalby

  There followed a long period of silence in which Gaylie Girl did little more than nod and say things like “Uh-huh” and “She did?”

  Mr. Choppy stood quietly at the counter, drumming his fingers and trying to figure out what was going on from Gaylie Girl’s end of the conversation. But to no avail.

  Finally, she said: “Let me check with the Mayor. Please hold on a minute.” Then she covered the receiver, turned to him, and said: “We’ve just gotten the most offbeat dinner invitation I could ever imagine in a thousand years, and I think I’d like to accept.”

  “Dinner? Where?”

  “Here, if you can believe it. It’s Reverend Quintus Payne of the Marblestone Alley Church of Holiness. He says Mrs. Woods called him up and told him and his wife, Yolie, that we needed some cheering up immediately because of the damage to The Square and the cancellation of the caroling. He says we’re not to even consider fixing dinner tonight. They’ll be bringing some inspirational food for the four of us. The gist is they have something they think will help us move on. Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m positively intrigued by the boldness of it all. I say, ‘Let’s do this.’ ”

  Mr. Choppy was rolling his eyes and licking his lips at the same time. “Is his wife the one who made that incredibly delicious bread pudding with the buttered-rum drizzle you brought home for me a coupla months ago? I’ve never had anything so tasty in my life.”

  “One and the same.”

  “Then by all means, don’t keep the man waitin’ any longer. Tell him we can’t wait to sink our teeth into whatever they’ve cooked up for us. Oh, and not to forget that bread pudding for dessert.”

  Gaylie Girl promptly relayed all the instructions and hung up after the usual polite sign-off. Then she impishly wagged her brows. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to see how the rest of our evening is going to go.”

  Twelve

  A Little Cream of Courage

  Gaylie Girl had not remembered Yolie Payne being this stylish and striking on her visit to the Marblestone Alley Church of Holiness a few months back. Oh, she had noticed that the woman was tall with a model-thin figure easily enough. She seemed the perfect match for her equally lanky and lean husband. But the large apron Yolie was wearing that afternoon while turning out pans of her superlative bread pudding had inadvertently prevented Gaylie Girl from making any sort of definitive judgment on the woman’s taste in clothes.

  Now, with this spur-of-the-moment but convivial dinner engagement for a backdrop, there was nothing to stand in the way of such a fashion appraisal, and Gaylie Girl’s verdict as Yolie Payne entered her foyer was that her ensemble was stunning. It wasn’t just the dress, either, though the alternating bands of crimson and muted gold with matching accessories were breathtaking to behold. Gaylie Girl was certain the last time she had encountered this sophisticated an outfit on anyone other than herself was on a visit to Evening Shadows to have a cocktail with those two elegants Myrtis and Euterpe. Either or both of them might have something like this—perhaps several like this—hanging in their extensive closets.

  But neither of them could match Yolie Payne’s flawless, ginger-colored skin, full, bright red lips, and coiffure of luxuriant, relaxed curls. Altogether, the woman was a feast for the eyes, and it flashed into Gaylie Girl’s head that someone ought to do a portrait of her while she remained in full bloom this way.

  “You’re probably wonderin’ about all these things we’re bringin’ up in here,” Yolie said, after all the perfunctory greetings. “Let me put you in the loop then. This industrial-strength thermos I have here is our main course, and Quintus has my yeast rolls all wrapped up in foil there in his right hand, and the bread pudding the Mayor requested in his left. And that’s what we’re all havin’ for dinner.”

  “Please. Mayor seems a little too formal. Just call us Hale and Gaylie Girl,” Mr. Choppy said.

  “And you just call us Yolie and Quintus. He gets tired of the Reverend title all the time, even though that’s his business, and that’s who he truly is.” Yolie turned to Gaylie Girl, handing over the large thermos while taking the rolls and bread pudding from her husband. “Let’s head on back to your kitchen, and I’ll show you what we got in here. Meanwhile, I hope y’all are hungry ‘cause I know we are.”

  “Hungry and intrigued,” Gaylie Girl said. “I don’t know when I’ve looked forward so much to having dinner. And what wife wouldn’t like to have a night off from cooking? Hale, you’ll offer Quintus something to drink from the bar, won’t you? And what about you, Yolie?”

  “I think I’ll wait until we eat, if you don’t mind. I always like a little wine with my dinner.”

  Then the women left the men to their own devices in the drawing room and headed to the kitchen. Halfway there, Yolie said: “I can imagine you were plenty surprised to get our phone call. I know I would be in your shoes. After all, we did invite ourselves over without a care in the world, and that’s not the way you’re supposed to do things. But our Miz Vergie just insisted we could do some good here tonight, and we intend to prove her right.”

  Once in the kitchen Gaylie Girl retrieved a large sauce-pan from one of the overhead cabinets and poured out the contents of the thermos, admiring the aroma and appearance of the thick, creamy concoction that emerged. “This looks absolutely heavenly. I can tell it has to be homemade. Don’t tell me—a treasured family recipe, right?”

  Yolie looked thoroughly amused as Gaylie Girl began stirring with a big slotted spoon. “It is, as a matter of fact. I was a Hazlip from over in Indianola, you see, and my family all called this their cream of courage soup.”

  “Oh, I love the sound of that. I can’t wait to hear what’s in it. Meanwhile, I think I’ll throw together a little romaine and tomato salad with croutons for all of us while you talk about your recipe,” Gaylie Girl added, momentarily abandoning the burner to pop the yeast rolls into the oven to warm.

  Yolie took over the stirring duties from her and began explaining with great enthusiasm while Gaylie Girl retrieved her produce from the refrigerator. “It’s not so much what’s in my cream of courage as the story behind it. Now, as far as the ingredients are concerned, I could rattle ’em off in my sleep. You got your cut-up chicken breast, half-and-half, butter, mushrooms, carrots, peas, potatoes, a dash of celery salt, and a secret ingredient I won’t tell you about. I never had to write any of it down, though—I just watched my mama makin’ it at the stove, just hummin’ away and havin’ herself a good time. Originally, it was handed down by my grandmama and she just called it her chicken pot pie soup. But that name got thrown out because of somethin’ that happened when I was growin’ up.”

  Gaylie Girl leaned against the granite marble counter with the biggest smile on her face. No two ways about it—she was hooked, putting her hunger on the back burner as Yolie’s story continued to unfold.

  “You see, I had these two pitiful fools for older brothers. They couldn’t stop fussin’ and fightin’ with each other. I cain’t tell you the number of times they got punished for it. Anyway, one Christmas mornin’ they both got BB guns under the tree, and do you know what those two fools up and did? They went out in the backyard and stood up in front of each other and one of ’em said, ‘I’m gonna shoot you!’ And the other one said, ‘Not if I don’t shoot you first!’ And then they both aimed those guns and shot each other in the arm like a scene from Gunsmoke or somethin’. Nothin’ serious, you know what I’m sayin’. Silly flesh wounds. But all the same, it was still two fools talkin’ trash to each other and swappin’ BBs.”

  Gaylie Girl was trying her best to suppress her laughter, but she couldn’t quite manage it.

  “Oh, go ahead and laugh, girl. It’s funny when you look back on it now, but my mama didn’t think it was so funny back then. She lit into my daddy, sayin’, ‘What the hell was you thinkin’ about givin’ those boys those guns for presents, Joseph?’ Oh, she went on and on about how somebody was gonna get an eye put out one of these days if t
his family didn’t straighten up and fly right. She’d had her fill of foolishness and let everybody know it.”

  “What did she do next?”

  “Well, she got all the family together and sat us all down around the dinner table. Then she came out and ladled her latest batch of chicken pot pie soup to everybody. But she wouldn’t let us touch a drop until she’d said her piece. ‘You boys are gonna be the death of me yet the way you carry on so. Now, I been prayin’ to God to give me the strength to deal with you two. But I think he musta gone deaf, or you wouldn’t’ve shot each other with those sorry guns. So now I’m servin’ up this recipe that the women of this family been fixin’ generation after generation, but I’m callin’ it my cream of courage from now on. I need every bit of strength I can put in my body to keep me from takin’ those guns to you boys myself. Now, I’m not gonna waste my breath with anymore warnin’s. Y’all eat my cream of courage soup and give me somethin’ to be proud of, you hear me? Otherwise, I’m gonna have to just give up and turn both y’all out into the street!”

  Gaylie Girl was enjoying the story so much, she almost felt like clapping as Yolie came to the end. Instead, she pursued her natural curiosity. “So you think Hale and I could use a little cream of courage at this point, do you?”

  Yolie looked up from her stirring and winked. “Couldn’t hurt. Because I mean to say those two brothers of mine did straighten up after that. I believe it was somethin’ in my mama’s tone of voice—she put the fear of God in ’em. They could tell she was at the end of her rope. And Miz Vergie told us she thought you and your husband might be gettin’ there with everything goin’ wrong the way it has. ‘Go serve ’em up some of your cream of courage, Yolie!’ she said to me. So here I am, and here it is just about ready to serve.”

  Out in the drawing room, Mr. Choppy and Quintus Payne sat at either end of Gaylie Girl’s pristine Belter sofa, sipping Delta Lady dry muscadine wine and discussing the distant past. It was the good Reverend, in fact, who had led them down that particular path.

  “I never told you this when you came to my church seekin’ my support for your campaign earlier this year, Hale, but you had me in your back pocket even if you’d never shown up. Or even if young Kenyatta Warner hadn’t spoken so highly of the way you helped him out all that time he was baggin’ groceries and stockin’ the shelves for you at the Piggly Wiggly.”

  Mr. Choppy took another swig of his wine and offered up an almost fatherly grin. “Ah, yes—Kenyatta Warner. I got a little note from him just the other day tellin’ me that he’s still enrolled at Delta State. Hasn’t decided on his major yet, though. I think he was halfway expectin’ me to come up with some suggestions the way I always did when he had a problem at the store. He’s a good kid.”

  “Never missed church, I can tell you that. Anyhow, it didn’t surprise me that he looked up to you so much. So many folks in this town do.”

  Mr. Choppy seemed to be blushing now. “Enough to vote me into office, at least. Well, I’m sure you know I’d never take anybody or anything for granted. That’s not the way I operate.”

  “No, sir, you wouldn’t. And neither did your daddy. You see, my family owes your family a debt of gratitude goin’ all the way back to the Tornado of 1953. I was just a little boy back then, but we were hard-hit by the storm. Our little house out on Lower Winchester Road was directly in the path, and there was nothin’ left of it but a pile of bricks after it passed over. I mean, we lost everything from toys to weddin’ pictures to all our clothes ’cept what we had on our backs. My mama and daddy and sisters and myself moved into the church to have a place to stay. Had to sleep on cots in the social hall for quite a spell there. That’s when I first became interested in the ministry. The way Marblestone Alley Church of Holiness took us in made me want to give somethin’ back. And that’s what I hope I’ve done.”

  Mr. Choppy nodded thoughtfully, lost in his memories of the destructive event that had torn off and carried away part of the steeple of First Presbyterian Church. The very same finger pointing to heaven he had somehow managed to hunt down, retrieve, and showcase in the backyard of his new home. “I’ll never forget all the misery that storm brought to Second Creek. I was twenty-two or twenty-three at the time. Daddy couldn’t bear the thought of people goin’ hungry or not havin’ anything to drink in the aftermath, so he handed out free staples and soft drinks to as many as he could during those first few days.”

  The Reverend hoisted his wineglass as if getting ready to make a toast. “That’s the debt I’m talkin’ ’bout. Between the church and your daddy, we got by until we could get back on our feet. But it was goin’ downtown to the Piggly Wiggly with my mama and my sisters that I remember most.” He settled back even more comfortably in his chair, his gaze almost worshipful.

  “Your daddy had a way of smilin’ at people the minute they stepped into his Piggly Wiggly. He acted like it was his home, and everybody who came to shop was his guest of honor. My mama, she never did stop talkin’ about him on the way back to the church carryin’ her paper bag full of Vienna sausages and pork and beans he’d handed out to us. ‘That man is a child of God,’ she would say to all of us over and over. ‘I want you chirren to be just like him when you grow up.’ ” He leaned forward a bit, downing the last of his wine as he capped off his tribute. “And I like to think I am just like him, Hale. I like to think I am.”

  Mr. Choppy was struggling with his emotions but ultimately opted not to hide the fact that he was tearing up. “Oh, my,” he began, sniffling a couple of times. “You’ll have to forgive me. Thinkin’ about my daddy’s kindness gets to me every now and then. He sure was special. You’d think I’d never forget it, but sometimes you just get too caught up in the moment.”

  Just then Gaylie Girl and Yolie appeared together in the doorway. “Time to eat, gentlemen. Shall we adjourn to the dining room? We’re having cream of courage,” Gaylie Girl announced.

  Mr. Choppy looked puzzled but smiled big anyway. “Uh . . . bring it on. Whatever it is.”

  “You simply have to give me your secret ingredient, Yolie,” Gaylie Girl insisted, as the two couples were sitting around the table, finishing up their cream of courage and salads. “Otherwise, when I try to make this on my own, it will lack that last little bit of zing. Not that I would ever expect it to be as good as yours.”

  But Yolie was having none of it, tossing her head back saucily. “Just cain’t do it, I’m afraid. My mama swore me to secrecy. She was like that, you know. Her recipes were sacred. Especially the ones she called her comfort food. And this was her favorite one.”

  Gaylie Girl kept savoring her last spoonful, working her mouth and lips in an attempt to guess at the last ingredient. “Is it fennel? I’m getting an almost licorice taste there at the end.”

  Yolie shook her head with a mischievous smile.

  “Basil, then?”

  “You’ll never guess.”

  “Gaylie Girl has been a whirling dervish at the stove ever since I gave her my mama’s recipe book,” Mr. Choppy put in from his seat at the head of the table. “And she’s become an excellent Southern cook, by the way.”

  Gaylie Girl winked smartly, catching the gaze of both her guests. “Even if I am a Yankee from Lake Forest.” Then she put down her spoon and assumed a more serious demeanor. “But I’ve been bound and determined to blend in down here, learn the ways of Second Creek—that sort of thing. I had hoped my Caroling in The Square project would be the first mark I’d leave on the town. The first of many. But it doesn’t look like that’s going to work out.”

  Quintus leaned in with a solicitous smile. “That’s really why Yolie and I wanted to come over here tonight. Miz Vergie told us you were takin’ that fire pretty hard, and nobody can blame you. Downtown looks even worse than it did right after the Tornado of 1953 came through, and I didn’t think I’d ever see anything more terrible than that as long as I lived.”

  “It’s hard to see right now how it’s all gonna be built back, Quintus,�
�� Mr. Choppy said, settling back in his chair with a sigh. “There’d be so many different owners involved. Would they want to rebuild the stores the way they were, down to the doorknobs? It might be easier and less expensive for some of ’em just to raze and try to sell their lots. I think what’s really gettin’ to me—and Gaylie Girl, too—is that The Square may never come close to bein’ the way it was, no matter what’s decided. I feel like I’ve lost a part of my soul, in a way.”

  Mr. Choppy’s words seemed to energize the Reverend Quintus Payne in a very memorable way. He brought his hands together prayerfully and nodded gently at Mr. Choppy and Gaylie Girl in turn. “That’s why you need to use that cream of courage to fortify your faith that it will all work out. This is the season for miracles, for the victories, big and small. Keep believin’ that, and The Square will rise from the ashes. That’s what we came here to tell you both tonight.”

  Mr. Choppy and Gaylie Girl caught each other’s gaze, and she was the first to answer the minisermon they had both just received. “Second Creek really is a remarkable place to have people such as yourself deeply involved the way you are.”

  “And you’re just as involved in the right way—you and your husband both,” Quintus replied. “But not Mr. Floyce all those years he ran things. Everybody knew he was up to no good all the time. He was just in it for himself with all those deals he made under the table. Of course, nobody could prove it, but everybody knew it just the same. Maybe he’s found his end of the rainbow out there in Las Vegas, where he said he was movin’ to. But you two need to remember that you represent the best of Second Creek. And Second Creek’s gonna come through for you. Just wait and see.”

  It was after Quintus and Yolie had left that Mr. Choppy reflected on the remarkable dinner they had just eaten. In one sense he could almost feel the effects of the cream of courage surging through his veins. Or was it more the good Reverend’s inspirational words?