A Piggly Wiggly Christmas

by Robert Dalby

  “We can use all the help we can get with that mess in The Square,” he said, as he helped Gaylie Girl clear the table. “But let’s start with the little things that are much more doable.”

  “Such as?”

  They both headed toward the kitchen with their plates and silverware, and he said: “Lady Roth, for instance. We have that appointment with her tomorrow afternoon. I’ve just had a brilliant idea on how to handle her.”

  Gaylie Girl was smiling as she stacked her dishes on the counter and then took his as well. “The inspiration from the Paynes is infectious, I see. I’m not sure when I’ve had a more surprising evening. So what’s your idea?”

  He watched her scraping the plates as he patted his belly. “I think I’ll wait and tell you about it when we get to the office tomorrow. That’ll give me time to sleep on it, not to mention a few more hours for all this cream of courage and bread pudding to settle.”

  The front doorbell rang insistently, startling them both.

  “Who could that be?” Gaylie Girl said. “I wonder if the Paynes forgot something?” She surveyed the kitchen thoroughly and shrugged. “No, I’m positive they left here with that enormous thermos and all their trays. Would you go answer it, sweetheart? I’m right in the middle of this, and my hands are all wet.”

  It did not take Mr. Choppy long to return with a worried-looking Novie in tow. “I tried to call you before coming over,” she began as Mr. Choppy helped her off with her coat. “But my cell phone’s been on the blink all evening. I’m always forgetting to charge it. Anyway, I wanted to tell you all about my first vigil at the hospital. A little too much excitement for my taste.”

  “Oh, no bad news, I hope?” Gaylie Girl said, putting the dishes on hold and drying her hands quickly. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No to both questions. Especially to the coffee. I’ve had enough of that bad vending-machine variety as it is. I may never sleep again. I should take a tip from what I’m doing for Henry and make sure I get the proper food and drink myself.”

  Then the three of them sat around the kitchen table, and Novie told them about the frightening apnea episode that baby Riley Jacob had endured in the neonatal intensive care unit. “Henry was so upset with me when he returned from eating that delicious dinner I fixed for him,” she continued. “At first, he said I’d let him down by not telling him about it immediately. But the nurse helped me calm him down a few minutes later. She backed me up that there was really nothing to be gained by telling him at that point, except to give him indigestion. Or get him so upset he wouldn’t eat at all. And that’s what the Vigil Aunties were trying to help him avoid, weren’t we?”

  Gaylie Girl reached over to pat Novie’s hand gently. “Of course that’s what we’re trying to do. You did the right thing, and I’m glad Henry saw it your way eventually. How do things stand now? With the baby, I mean.”

  “He’s still on the ventilator. They’re not going to try and wean him off for the time being. The thing is, as long as he’s on that ventilator, he’s definitely not out of the woods. The nurse said getting him to breathe on his own would be a huge step toward stabilizing him. She said there’s just no telling when that might happen. It’s touch and go. So there are still some anxious days and nights ahead for all of us.”

  “But for now my godson-to-be is hangin’ in there, right?” Mr. Choppy said, the concern clearly evident in his tone.

  “The nurse believes he still has every chance to get over the hump.”

  “And how’s our Cherish doin’?”

  Novie seemed suddenly guarded, taking her time answering, and Mr. Choppy was alarmed. “She hasn’t developed any complications, has she?”

  “No, no. Not the way you mean. It’s just that this is hard on her emotionally, of course. It would be on any mother. At one point, she needed someone to lift her spirits, and I believe I came through for her. Perhaps the two of you could drop by when you can find a moment in your office routine tomorrow. I know it would help.”

  Mr. Choppy’s response was immediate, with no lack of conviction. “We’ll make the time.”

  Gaylie Girl rose from the table and moved with all deliberate speed to the refrigerator. “Meanwhile, Novie, you need a little something to lift your spirits the way Hale and I have just had ours lifted.” She opened the refrigerator, peered in, and retrieved a small plate wrapped in foil. “It just so happens that we have a little piece of unbelievably sinful bread pudding left over from our dinner tonight. They—well, the Reverend Quintus Payne and his charming wife, Yolie, that is—invited themselves over on the spur of the moment and served us a homemade dinner.”

  Novie couldn’t have looked more perplexed, cocking her head while she made small quizzical gestures with her open palms. “They did what?”

  Gaylie Girl quickly explained what had happened after the meeting with the choirmasters and the rest of the Nitwitts had adjourned, ending with the entertaining story from Yolie Payne about the history of cream of courage soup.

  “I could have used a cup of that stuff at the hospital,” Novie quipped, craning her neck as Gaylie Girl removed the foil from the bread pudding and hovered near the stove with it.

  “As for this, Novie, the kitchen is still open. Would you prefer it warmed or microwaved?”

  “Oh, I’ve died and gone to heaven!” Novie exclaimed, ignoring the question. “That was the best bread pudding I’ve ever tasted the day you and Laurie and I drove out to that Marblestone Church in the Alley, or was it The Holy Church of Marblestones—oh, I forget what they call it. Whatever. I’ve been wishing there was a way I could have a piece of it again ever since then.”

  Gaylie Girl pointed rather dramatically to the plate of bread pudding she was still holding. “Well, here’s your wish come true, Novie, dear. Now, which will it be—stove or microwave?”

  “Let me at it. Microwave, please.”

  It was only after Novie had begun to dig into her steaming treat with great relish that she came up for air long enough to ask for an update on the meeting with the choirmasters that she had missed.

  “They took the cancellation reasonably well for the most part,” Gaylie Girl explained. “Oh, a few squawks here and there from Lawton Bead and Lincoln Headley, but that was to be expected. Basically, the choirs are going to sing for their congregations and open the caroling to the public in their own churches. Powell Hampton will write a press release to that effect for The Citizen. But as to the future of my Caroling in The Square idea—”

  “It may not be possible this year,” Mr. Choppy interrupted, not wanting to let go of his inspirational feeling. “But we’ve got to find a way to make it happen for next Christmas. Because if we don’t, it will mean that The Square’s down for the count for good. We just can’t let that happen. Quintus Payne is right, you know. This is the season of miracles, and more important, this is Second Creek.”

  Thirteen

  Sparks and Other Heat Sources

  Incendiary was the best word to describe the exchange currently raging between Mr. Choppy and Lady Roth around two-fifteen Tuesday afternoon in his office. Sparks were definitely flying. The Star of Bethlehem simply would not be moved from her mission of light. Gaylie Girl sat off to one side taking notes as Mr. Choppy made repeated attempts to placate her.

  “Back to the safety issue, Lady Roth,” Mr. Choppy was saying. “I’ll be receiving the final investigation report from my fire chief late this afternoon, but Mr. Braswell’s already told me there’s lots of soot and debris up on the widow’s walk. That’ll have to be cleaned up before anyone walks around up there.”

  Lady Roth turned up her nose while adjusting her turban and remained an unmovable object. “How long will that take?”

  Mr. Choppy leaned in from behind his desk, his face clearly showing signs of frustration. “It’s not somethin’ we’d want to rush. And, as I said before, we’d have to set up your spotlight on one of the balconies on the other side now. And I can’t emphasize enough, L
ady Roth, there will be no caroling down below. It’d be just you by yourself up there in the whippin’ wind.”

  “How do you know it will be windy? Have you seen an extended forecast yet?”

  Gaylie Girl glanced down at her notes with a subtle shake of her head. Mr. Choppy’s “brilliant” idea for dealing with Lady Roth that he’d slept on had fallen on deaf ears. Her scribble was a gossipy testament: Hale asks L.R. to consider portraying The Star at the various churches instead of on C-house roof . . . L.R. cops usual histrionic attitude . . . says out of question . . . no dramatic effect in that, no spotlight in that . . . Hale smiles that smile when he’s had enough of something or somebody, only they don’t know what it means like I do . . . trouble ahead . . . Hale tells L.R. not safe up there on widow’s walk . . . must err on side of caution . . . why doesn’t somebody just tell L.R. the truth once in a while . . . she’s a royal (term used loosely here) pain . . . this could go on all morning . . . oh, my God, this reads like a teenager’s diary . . . poor Hale! . . . L.R. won’t let this go . . . uh, oh, something’s up . . . I’ve seen that look on Hale’s face before . . . when he chewed out workman who pasted drawing room wallpaper on crooked in our new house . . . must stop now . . . this could get good . . .

  Mr. Choppy drew himself up and began speaking the way Powell Hampton had taught him for all his election campaign speeches. Every syllable was evenly paced and projected with great force. “Lady Roth, I am making an executive decision here. This is the way it is going to be. You will not be allowed to portray the Star of Bethlehem atop the courthouse on Christmas Eve. Period.”

  Gaylie Girl watched with bated breath during the awkward silence that ensued. She could not move a muscle, even to lift her pen to record her ongoing reactions as she’d been doing all morning for her amusement.

  Finally, Lady Roth leaned forward in her chair and intently caught Mr. Choppy’s gaze. Amazingly, it was with a smile. “I knew my vote was not wasted on you, Mr. Choppy. I knew you had the best interests of Second Creek at heart, or I would not have agreed to portray Susan B. Anthony on your behalf during the campaign. And I want you to know that you are the first person since my parents arranged my marriage to Heath Vanderlith Roth who has taken a firm stand with me. I say it’s about time. It’s amused me no end to watch people kowtow to me all these years.”

  Mr. Choppy and Gaylie Girl exchanged flabbergasted glances, and then he allowed a genuine smile to light up his face. “Well, Lady Roth, this is a true revelation, I must say. Almost as revealin’ as the time you first told me about your actress ambitions.”

  Lady Roth was laughing now. Not anything forced, not even anything ladylike. It was a hearty laugh that sounded like it might be decades in coming. “Isn’t it, though? The truth is, I started making all these demands of mine just to see what would happen. And when people started giving me exactly what I wanted all the time, I saw no reason to stop. The entire town of Second Creek has been enabling me all these years. How refreshing to actually have someone stand up to me!”

  “Then you agree that your standin’ up there in the widow’s walk with nothin’ else goin’ on down below is an idea whose time has not come, right?”

  “Oh, heavens, yes! I wasn’t even looking forward to it when Caroling in The Square was on. I just like to see how far I can take things. It’s the ultimate revenge against my parents for planning my life the way they did.”

  Gaylie Girl was finally able to move her pen again and wrote: Unbelievable stuff . . . like a scene from a Georges Feydeau farce . . . wonder if Hale knows what that is . . . bet L.R. does . . . bet she would have given her eyeteeth to star in Hotel Paradiso under that hokey stage name of hers . . . Vocifera P. Forest, if I recall correctly . . .

  Lady Roth then rose from her chair and winked at both Mr. Choppy and Gaylie Girl. “This will just be our little secret, Mayor and Mrs. Dunbar. I think I’d enjoy continuing to play my greatest role to the hilt until I croak.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Choppy said, reaching across to shake her hand. “You’ve taken me into your confidence before, and I’ve respected that.”

  Gaylie Girl stood up and offered her hand, too. “The same goes for me. And my offer still stands for you coming into town so the two of us can go out to lunch from time to time at the Tea Room or someplace else.”

  “I shall definitely take you up on that. And now, I must bid you adieu. I have a thousand errands to run around town, including many an unwary salesman to terrify.”

  Gaylie Girl showed Lady Roth to the outer office, tacked on another good-bye, and returned quickly. “Well, that made my day. It was almost spooky, though. There I was busily taking stream-of-consciousness notes all morning and wishing you would just shut down all her foolishness, and that’s exactly what you did. I’m very proud of you, Hale. You took a big risk because we both know she could have made lots and lots of trouble for you.”

  “I think I’m still very much in the cream-of-courage mode from last night,” he explained, shrugging his shoulders. “I wouldn’t exactly call what just happened a miracle, but it’s a good starting point considerin’ what’s ahead of us.”

  Two hours later Mr. Choppy had just finished reading the fire investigation report that Garvin Braswell had laid on his desk a few minutes earlier. He looked up from the document and called Gaylie Girl into his office. Then he handed it over to her.

  “Read it first. Then you can tell me what you think we ought to say to Petey and Meta.”

  Gaylie Girl began scanning quickly, focusing in on the gist. . . . And it appears that the fire probably started in the center of the block known as Courthouse Street North . . . remains of space heater found in burned-out building . . . tax records show building as 18 Courthouse Square North . . . winter and space heaters go together to make fires . . . not conclusive, but possible heat source . . . no evidence of arson found, however . . . could have been combustible material near space heater left running as the culprit . . .

  Gaylie Girl came up for air and said what they were both thinking. “Petey says they were still working on the wiring up until the day of the fire. I remember that Renza and I looked through the window once and saw that same space heater the workmen were gathered around. Who could blame them? It’s been such a frigid December. Petey’s hinted to me in a couple of conversations that he’s been suspicious all along the fire could have started in their building. And Petey said poor Meta started blaming herself as soon as he called her up and told her about it. You see how easily this sort of thing can get out of hand.”

  “Then maybe we shouldn’t tell them about the report. No one’s been cited as bein’ at fault here.”

  Gaylie Girl reflected a moment and said: “I don’t know. Petey’s a big boy. It might be better to pin this down definitely for him rather than have him wondering forever. As for Meta, he’ll just have to remind her that the building was insured, and they still have plenty of options.”

  “I can understand why she’d be upset, though,” Mr. Choppy added. “Some of the other building owners may not have so many options. The future of The Square is on the line here.”

  Petey came down from his suite to join Myrtis and Euterpe for dinner around eight o’clock that evening at Evening Shadows. The house was festively decorated from bar to banister, and there were scores of scented candles tucked away in every nook and cranny. Here, the aroma of apples and cinnamon prevailed. There, a hint of vanilla tantalized. Even the Waterford crystal chandelier above the dining-room table was part of the show, sporting several sprigs of mistletoe and holly for that extra holiday touch.

  Petey’s mood, however, was solemn and withdrawn, as it had been generally since he had received news of the loss of his building. But this time there was something even more drastic reflected in his expression, and Myrtis in particular picked up on it.

  “Now that has to be the saddest face I’ve seen in a long time. What do you think of it, Euterpe? Is it one for the ages? Quick. Haul out the charcoals and let�
�s have a sketch of it for posterity.”

  “In musical terms, I’d have to call it a funeral dirge face.”

  Both women laughed gently, and Petey himself cracked a smile. “Am I that transparent tonight?”

  “I’m afraid so, dear boy. You haven’t rented my Mimosa Suite all this time and not given me an advanced course on your body language. But it’s nothing that can’t be remedied with some of my gourmet food and sparkling conversation,” Myrtis explained. “Sarah’s outdone herself again tonight. She’s serving a corn bread-stuffed chicken breast with a hot cranberry-and-pear compote. But until that arrives, wouldn’t you care to lighten your load? As you surely know by now, Euterpe and I are marvelous listeners, aren’t we, dear?”

  Euterpe offered up one of her silvery chuckles. “I’m never tone-deaf when it comes to empathy.”

  Petey picked up his glass of Delta Lady sweet muscadine wine and took a sip, finally managing a shrug. “It’s the same old song. Just a new verse. Mother just phoned about an hour ago and said the fire investigation report showed that it could have started in Meta’s art gallery. Or at least what was supposed to be her art gallery. It makes me feel responsible for what happened, even though there was no definite conclusion. But the workmen were rewiring the building, after all.”

  Myrtis’s vigilant ear had picked up on the out for him, however. “If I heard you correctly, the report said that it could have started in the gallery and there was no definite conclusion. Is that not right?”

  “Yes. Of course, I didn’t actually see the report myself. I’m only going by what Mom said.”

  Myrtis continued to put the best face on the situation, something her trained hostess instincts handled with customary aplomb. “Then my advice is to let it go. And don’t tell Meta about it either. You’ve got her flying into Memphis tomorrow, and I’m sure she feels bad enough about everything as it is. You need to make every effort to have the merriest Christmas you can in spite of what’s happened. You go up there and meet her plane with a new plan in mind. You find the spark you need to bravely forge ahead. Really, we all need to do that, considering what’s happened to our beloved Square.”