by Robert Dalby
“Heavens, Euterpe!” Renza exclaimed. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You do have a way with words. You and Laurie both talk like psychologists or psychiatrists or diplomats all the time. Meanwhile, I sound like an over-the-hill sorority president at a blackballing session!”
Everyone laughed good-naturedly, including Renza herself.
“Oh, cut yourself some slack, Renza,” Laurie said. “We really wouldn’t have you any other way. And I say that to you in the spirit of Christmas. That means I’m thankful for your friendship, and I look forward to many more years of it. I know it’s a day early, but Merry Christmas, sweetie!”
Renza pointed toward Laurie and shrugged. “See what I mean? And Merry Christmas to you one day early, too.”
That set off a flurry of hugs, kisses, and gushing sentiment among the ladies, the likes of which Mr. Choppy and Powell Hampton had never witnessed in their long and involved association with the group. The two of them caught each other’s gaze as the Nitwitts moved to a new level of camaraderie and emotional display.
“Don’t look at me,” Powell said with a shrug and a smile. “I’m just the Go-to Guy.”
“And I thought I was runnin’ things as the Mayor,” Mr. Choppy added. “But the truth is, I’m just the husband of a Nitwitt.”
Sixteen
A Very Piggly Wiggly Christmas
There had been no mention of it in the forecast. Not in any paper, nor on any television or radio station that catered to Second Creek. Nonetheless, they were there in all their glory on Christmas morning. Snow flurries gently floating down. No wind-driven sound to disturb things. Flakes that did not stick at first. Flakes that were too wet falling onto ground that was still too warm.
Strangely, by the time the sun had come up, the temperature had fallen several degrees to just below freezing. It was the thick cloud cover that had done it. As a result, the snow began to stick. First one inch. Then half an inch more. It was the first white Christmas Second Creek had ever experienced in the recorded history of the community, and perhaps it had never been more needed. All around town people were muttering approximately the same thing: “Second Creek weather—consistently a law unto itself!”
Unlike the February ice storm that had ultimately affected the outcome of the election between Mr. Choppy and Mr. Floyce, however, this delicate snowfall presented no real obstacle for Second Creek drivers. For the most part, they still ventured out in their cars to Christmas services or to visit friends and family without incident. Some just wanted to gawk at the rarity of it all, taking photographs with their eyes as they drove by landmarks that had been transformed into something nearly unrecognizable by the pristine layer of white coating them.
This was especially true of The Square. It was as if the breath of winter had brought forth its most fanciful invention—the snowflake—to soften the ugly reality of the burned-out buildings below. A reality that continued to knife through the very hearts of Second Creekers every second those sad ruins remained standing. For the general public did not yet know about The Square Deal. They were taking their holiday spirit whenever and wherever they could find it, and this totally unexpected white Christmas was fitting the bill nicely for the time being.
Inside the residence of Mayor and Mrs. Hale Dunbar Jr. of North Bayou Avenue, a very eventful Christmas Day had been up and running for some time now. They’d had an early breakfast of grits, eggs, and toast around eight, and now the nine o’clock hour was fast approaching. Gaylie Girl briefly wondered if they would have time to make all their rounds. Then she put all doubt out of her mind. This was Christmas after all, and nothing was going to stop them from spreading as much cheer as they could.
“We’ve got to keep an eye on the time,” Gaylie Girl was saying, as she transferred side dishes into the Tupperware she had laid out on the kitchen counter. After they’d left the Evening Shadows’ announcement party, they’d attended Press Phillips’s caroling service at First Presbyterian. Then she’d spent the better part of the evening cooking up a storm at home. Mr. Choppy had pitched in and helped substantially, and they were still working as a team, though at different tasks.
“How are you coming with the wrapping in there?” she called out when she hadn’t heard so much as a peep from him in quite a while.
Mr. Choppy shouted back from the den, though there was a definite lack of confidence in his voice. “It’s comin’—I guess!”
What he failed to add was that he was struggling with what many considered to be a lost art. Actually, an art that had never really been found—that of well-meaning men trying their hand at gift-wrapping things for any occasion whatsoever. Gaylie Girl should have known better, but she was just too involved with spooning out corn bread dressing and yellow squash casserole and green beans with almonds to worry about it too much. Besides, she knew she could always undo at the last second whatever he had grievously done with the scissors, Scotch tape, all thumbs, and too little imagination.
“I can’t get this wrappin’ paper to fit right!” Mr. Choppy called out, sounding definitely stressed. “Somethin’s wrong!”
Gaylie Girl recognized the warning signs and put her work on hold. “Wait a minute. Let me come in there and see what you’re doing.”
She found him on his knees, mumbling incoherent things while waving the scissors at the paper like a weapon, but she tried to be as gentle as possible with her commentary. “You’re using too much paper, sweetheart. That’s why it looks all wrinkled like that. You’ve cut off enough to wrap the refrigerator.”
He got to his feet and handed her the scissors. “Could you do this one for me? I’ve never had to wrap a photograph album before. In fact, the only thing I’ve ever wrapped in my entire life was a cut of meat, and this isn’t exactly butcher’s paper and string.”
She gave him a peck on the cheek and went to work.
“Is there anything you’d like me to keep an eye on for you in the kitchen?” he offered in return, obviously grateful to be relieved of his gift-wrapping duties.
“Glad you reminded me. Yes. Go and check on the rolls, please. They should be just about ready. I don’t want to be like Laurie Hampton and burn them to a crisp.”
He headed for the kitchen but was back in no time. “Not quite done, I think. Maybe a coupla more minutes. Speakin’ of Laurie and Powell, are we still gonna try and make their open house?”
Gaylie Girl nodded while affixing tape to her nearly wrapped present. “If all goes well. The rest of the girls will be there for their Christmas nightcaps, I trust.”
“You ladies do have this Nitwitt thing down to a science, I have to admit,” Mr. Choppy quipped, feeling full of himself. “Always a toast to make somewhere.”
The Hempstead household in New Vista Acres was just a bottom-of-the-line ranch model like most of the others in the blue-collar development. But with a huge red bow tied to the doorknocker and blinking white lights adorning the little cedar tree in the front yard on this white Christmas Day, it took on a special, welcoming shine. And it was around eleven-thirty that Henry and Cherish Hempstead welcomed Hale and Gaylie Girl Dunbar into their home for Christmas dinner. Actually, it was Henry who greeted them at the door by himself, helping them first with their coats and then the containers of food they had brought in from the car. Next, he took the present that Gaylie Girl had spelled Mr. Choppy in wrapping presentably for them.
Henry stood in the middle of the tiny but efficient kitchen, obviously in awe. “You brought us a present on top of everything else? We just can’t thank you enough for fixin’ all this for us.” He was eyeing appreciatively the roasted turkey breast with all the trimmings in Tupperware the three of them had just laid out on the counter. “I can’t boil water, and Cherish was just not up to puttin’ somethin’ like this together yet. She’ll be out in a minute, by the way. She just wanted to make sure she was good and rested for your visit. She still gets tired pretty easy.”
“Oh, we enjoyed doing it for you,” Gaylie Gi
rl answered, waving him off. “What’s Christmas for if not to think up things like this to do for people? And don’t you and Cherish worry about a thing from here on out. Hale and I will run things into the warming oven for you and even put it all out on the table. All you have to do is say grace. Just consider this our Christmas present to the both of you. And little Riley Jacob in a way. Giving his parents a little time off will be just the ticket.”
Mr. Choppy put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Speakin’ of my godson, tell us the latest. You told us over the phone you’d be visitin’ the hospital around nine-thirty. Everything still lookin’ up on this fine Christmas mornin’?”
There was an undeniable element of relief in Henry’s expression and then in his voice. “Still off the ventilator, I’m happy to say. And the nurse said he’s been real sensitive to light up until this mornin’, but it seems to be wearin’ off. She said he was makin’ good progress, all things considered. And really, that’s all Cherish and I wanted for Christmas. Just his health. Just to have him with us. Couldn’t ask for a greater present than that.”
Cherish appeared in the kitchen doorway at that very moment, looking fresh-scrubbed if a bit tired in a pale blue housecoat and fuzzy blue slippers. “Merry Christmas, everybody. Please excuse the way I’m dressed, though. I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t see any reason to put on airs. I’ve heard of women who try to put on makeup right after they’ve been wheeled out of the operatin’ room. Well, I know I’m exaggeratin’ a bit, but gettin’ all dolled up seems like a pretty low priority to me right now. I think I’d rather let all that snow outside do the sparkling. By the way, has it finally let up? I just poked my head out the door earlier today, but I haven’t ventured any further. Henry keeps sayin’ he’s gonna make a snowman for us before it melts.”
Mr. Choppy returned a very cordial “Merry Christmas to ya!” while Gaylie Girl moved forward and embraced Cherish warmly. “Merry Christmas, and no, I think the snow’s done for the day. The sun’s even popped out. And don’t you worry about your appearance. You look just beautiful, sweetie. You’re just as fresh and natural as you can be. And I was just telling Henry, both of you are to relax and let us take over. It’s your home, but you’ll be the guests and we’ll be the hosts.”
About a half hour later, the two couples had just started in on the marinated portobellos Gaylie Girl had fixed for appetizers when Cherish brought up the subject of her maternity leave. “I feel awkward about askin’ for more time off, but I realize after everything I’ve been through with Riley Jacob that I really need to be home with him—” She trailed off, putting down her fork and taking a deep breath. It was almost like she was daring herself to say the words. “When he comes home, that is.”
Gaylie Girl reached over and gently rubbed Cherish on the arm. “I’m sure he’ll be coming home sooner than you think. And when he does, you can be a stay-at-home mom as long as you like. I have lots of work ahead of me as Hale’s special projects secretary now. So I have no intention of quitting anytime soon. Oh, here we’ve been so intent on getting dinner on the table that we forget to share the big news with you. Hale, why don’t you tell them?”
Mr. Choppy took a swallow of his sweet tea and explained the gist of The Square Deal to them. “How’s that for a great big Christmas present?” he concluded.
Both Henry and Cherish sat in openmouthed amazement, but Henry finally managed to speak. “Six million dollars? Miz Dunbar, you and your family have to be the most generous people I’ve ever known. We were all wonderin’ what would happen to Second Creek and The Square with the terrible fire and all. I guess it really does seem like Christmas after all, huh?”
“A very merry one,” Mr. Choppy added. He seemed to be enjoying a private joke as he chuckled to himself a little longer than was necessary. “I was thinkin’ about my daddy just now. How he always found a way outta bad times here in Second Creek. It was all built around his complete devotion to our family business—the Piggly Wiggly, of course. He always came through for the community, and no matter what kinda ordeal we had to endure over the years, Second Creek always survived. So in a way you could even call this a very Piggly Wiggly Christmas.”
“Sure could,” Henry said, his face as bright as the patch of sun now streaming through the dining-room window and falling at the foot of the nearby little Christmas tree.
It was after the dessert of pumpkin pie with whipped cream that Henry and Cherish opened the present that Gaylie Girl and Mr. Choppy had brought them.
“This is just too much,” Cherish said, admiring the beautifully wrapped gift after she’d lifted it from its spot on the red Christmas skirt. “I know it sounds like a cliché, but you really didn’t have to. Not with everything else you’ve done. I almost hate to open it, it’s so pretty.”
Gaylie Girl shot Mr. Choppy a deliberate and mischievous glance. “Isn’t it, though? Hale wrapped it himself.”
Mr. Choppy let the comment ride with a big, wide-eyed grin, looking exactly like a little boy who’d just received an increase in his allowance.
Cherish finally stopped her admiring and unwrapped it, revealing a handsome, leather-bound photograph album. She had barely gotten the first little gasp out when Gaylie Girl began what seemed for all the world like a carefully rehearsed spiel. “This is Riley Jacob’s first album. The first of many to come, I’m sure, though this one should last you for a long time. You’ll fill it up proudly with the proof of his growth and health. And then one day you’ll turn around and there he’ll be—a grown man as big and strapping as his father is right now.”
The two women embraced, and Henry offered Mr. Choppy a firm handshake. “I guess there’s only one thing we have to say. And that’s—would you consider bein’ Riley Jacob’s godmother, Miz Dunbar?”
Gaylie Girl appeared startled at first but recovered quickly with her usual gracious smile. “Why, I’d be very proud to be, Henry. And it’ll be a nice little refresher course for me, since I’m hoping that Petey and Meta will be giving me more grandchildren soon. Got to get back into the habit of spoiling the little ones, you know.”
“I’m so glad you said yes, since Henry and I didn’t get you a formal present,” Cherish pointed out, hanging her head ever so slightly.
But Mr. Choppy was having none of it, stepping up and speaking firmly. “Nonsense. You’ve given us both the opportunity to be godparents, and that’s a gift that’ll last all of us for many years to come.”
“Are we reasonably on schedule?” Mr. Choppy said, as they drove away from New Vista Acres back toward town. “My watch says almost two-thirty.”
“We’re doing just fine. Renza said they’d probably be through with their dinner about now, and we could join them for cordials or coffee anytime after that. Strictly open house. So why don’t we run home, freshen up, and swing by around three-thirty or so?”
He nodded while keeping his eyes peeled for dangerous puddles. The sun was melting the snow faster now, already relegating the upstart white Christmas to a fading memory. Soon enough, however, he was revisiting the conversation at the Hempsteads.
“Have you actually talked to Petey or Meta about the prospects of grandchildren yet?”
Gaylie Girl seemed caught off guard. “Oh, well, no I haven’t. I really don’t know if Petey wants to start a family right now. Maybe that was just a Christmas wish on my part. So much seems to be falling into place right now, though. I thought I’d go ahead and wish anyway. Renza seems to think that Meta’s going to continue to be very involved in her art gallery as soon as they can get it up and running. When you come right down to it, I’d settle for a happy marriage for them and leave it at that, considering Petey’s track record.”
“Good thinkin’. But you know, I have a feelin’ you won’t be disappointed. Anyone with as big a heart as Petey has will eventually want to pass it on to another generation. Maybe this time next year, you and I will be grandparents. That is, if you’ll let me remove the ‘step’ so I can qualify.”
“Petey already thinks of you as a father. He certainly respects you. I’m not sure we’ll have to qualify anything.”
Mr. Choppy let the good feelings sink in as they drove on in contented silence all the way to the city limits. At the last second, instead of making the turn that would take them home to North Bayou Avenue, he headed for The Square.
“I’d like to get a quick look at it now so I can visualize what’s to come. We’ve got a little time to spare, and I don’t wanna rush around anyway. Petey told me last night that he and Meta will reconstruct that buildin’ exactly the way it was, from top to bottom. Minus the bad wirin’, of course. He says Miz Novie has access to all the historical photographs and even some of the old blueprints they keep down at Springtime Tour Headquarters that she’s in charge of now.”
Mr. Choppy paused with a farsighted expression on his face. “Imagine that. They’ll be buildin’ it back better than it was. And with the funds y’all are providin’ to the others, they’ll prob’ly do the same. I’ve never been a big believer in that blessin’-in-disguise concept, but this fire looks like it’s turnin’ out to be just that. We did have a few empty, dilapidated stores among the ones that went up in smoke. They won’t be missed, but what takes their place could do us up proud.”
The car turned into Courthouse Street South, where the hideous view of the charred ruins loomed at the other end, partly and perhaps thankfully obscured by the white walls and terra-cotta slate roof of the imposing courthouse halfway between the two. Mr. Choppy shut off the engine, and they stared at the devastation for a while. There was almost nothing left of the morning snowfall, so the full effect of the ashes, blackened bricks, and beams was in evidence once again.
“I was thinking about Santa Fe just now,” Gaylie Girl finally observed. “The way I wanted to bring the feeling I had for it here to Second Creek. But I’ve come to a surprising realization. My feeling for Second Creek has grown much stronger than anything I ever felt for Santa Fe. It’s been a trial by fire, Hale. I mean that literally.