Boo Humbug

by Rene Gutteridge

  “Isn’t what delightful?” Wolfe asked, after dropping the vampire teeth out of his mouth.

  “This!” Alfred said, gesturing toward the stage. “It’s going to be a smashing success!”

  “It’s crushing, I’ll give it that.”

  Alfred cut his gaze sideways. “Oh, now, Wolfe, don’t be such a Scrooge.”

  “Funny.” Wolfe turned to him and lowered his voice. “How can you approve of this whole thing?”

  “You haven’t been to New York in a long time, Wolfe. Things are irreverently portrayed at every stop on Broadway. The more irreverent, the better. Though I must admit, I’ve seen nudity, but I’ve not seen garlic.”

  “You’re a purist, Alfred. Ever since I’ve known you.”

  “Yes, well, who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, Wolfe? I’ve learned to embrace Skary, Indiana, so why not embrace its unconventional portrayal of the classics too? In case you haven’t noticed, this sort of ‘fits.’ ”

  “But there’s a twinkle in your eye, and I’m willing to bet it’s not because you’re going on a sleigh ride.”

  Alfred laughed. “True, but don’t let that get out. There’s a rumor spreading that I might’ve co-written ‘Jingle Bells,’ and let’s just say it’s only helping my cause.”

  “What cause?”

  “You haven’t heard? People are coming in droves to see this play.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tour buses, senior citizen centers, families of fifteen. We may run out of seats! All because I,” he said, gesturing grandly toward himself, “can market anything. Don’t look so surprised. Someone had to sell you to the editorial board all those years ago. I remember several who thought you didn’t have a strong enough writing style and that you couldn’t carry off a metaphor if your life depended on it. I sold you then, and I’ve sold this now. People are coming, simply because I said they should.”

  Wolfe folded his arms and scowled at Garth plugging his nostrils with each index finger as he tried to deliver his lines.

  “You’re in a sour mood,” Alfred observed with a wry smile. “Is it because your eye fell out of its socket?”

  “I have reason to be. More than one reason to be.”

  “Ainsley?”

  “How do you know that?”

  Alfred held up his hands. “I don’t want to butt in. Besides, this is my night to be cheerful. I am going to be cashing in on this production without having to take responsibility for it. What better place can a man be in?”

  The lights went down, and the actors scuttled offstage. Wolfe noticed Oliver and tried to give him a reassuring smile, but instead, Oliver tucked his chin into his shoulder and scooted between him and Alfred without a word. This wasn’t the first time tonight Wolfe noticed Oliver avoiding him. He followed Oliver into the dressing room, hoping to give him some encouragement. He figured his own negativity was affecting Oliver, and perhaps he felt badly about his performance. But the truth be told, Oliver was the only thing saving this show. He’d really come into his own and grasped the character of Scrooge and his government conspiracies.

  “You’ve really surprised me, Oliver,” he said from the doorway as Oliver adjusted his top hat. “You’ve obviously put a lot of thought into what you’ve done.”

  Oliver turned, his eyes wide.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to—”

  “Don’t judge me! You don’t know what it’s been like!”

  “Oliver, I’m not judging you. I know this has been difficult. I’m sorry I gave you that impression.” He sighed and entered the dressing room. “Apparently, I’m the only one with the problem.”

  Relief overcame Oliver’s face. “You should tell her that. It would mean a lot.”

  “Trust me, Oliver. She won’t listen.”

  “That’s what I thought, but then I talked to her, and we got on the same page.”

  “Yeah, well, she thinks I’m intentionally trying to be difficult, that I’m questioning her because I want to assert my expertise into the situation.”

  “No. You’ve got it all wrong. She thinks you’re doing the play because you don’t want to be around her and Abigail.”

  A long, strained silence passed between them, and with each second, Oliver’s eyes grew wider, until a string of words came tumbling out of his mouth. “I, um, I mean … what’s wrong … not wrong but you should … no, I should … it’s just that …” Oliver sucked in a breath. “What were we talking about?”

  “I was talking about Lois and the play.” Wolfe crossed his arms and spread his feet into a stance. “What were you talking about?”

  “Same thing.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “No, you weren’t. You were talking about Ainsley and Abigail.”

  Oliver gave a pathetic shrug and a heavy sigh as he gazed at the floor. “I went back to Melb.”

  “What? I thought we agreed we were going to stand our ground!”

  “You agreed to that, Wolfe. But I couldn’t hang on. I felt terrible about what I did.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I had no idea, but it must’ve been something terrible.” Oliver glanced up at him. “And it was.” He bit his lip. “Dustin inadvertently spilled the beans to them. He’d heard us talking about why we were doing this play—to get out of the house. They took it really personally, like we didn’t want to be around them. I tried to explain that it wasn’t that we didn’t want to be around them. We just didn’t want to be around baby poop.”

  Wolfe slowly sank onto the bench near the door. “Ainsley thinks I don’t want to be around her? And the baby?”

  “I tried as best I could to convince her otherwise, Wolfe. But I sort of had my hands full with Melb. She took me back in, and I can only be thankful. I begged and pleaded and promised to do whatever it took to get her back.” Oliver gulped. “Let’s just say she took me up on that offer. But at least I’m back home and with my family.”

  “How can she think that?” Wolfe asked. “That I don’t want to be with her and Abigail?”

  “They can’t separate the poop like we can. To them, the diaper and the baby are one.” Oliver stepped closer to Wolfe and put his hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be honest with you, friend. Ainsley is desperately upset. It didn’t help matters that I came groveling back before you did. You’re going to have to think long and hard about what you can say to convince her to come home.” He went to the door. “I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger. But at the end of the day, I just wanted my family back. I couldn’t go another day without them.”

  He left. Wolfe stood, walked to the sink, and looked in the mirror. He was hardly recognizable with the dangling eye and the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. But he suspected that even without the makeup, he’d have a hard time recognizing who he’d become over the last few days. Pride had swallowed his compassion. If he’d just gone to talk to Ainsley the first night, it could’ve all been resolved. But now it had become something bigger, and he knew he’d really hurt his wife.

  “Wolfe!” Lois’s voice screeched through the backstage. “Wolfe?”

  Wolfe emerged from the dressing room and stepped right in front of Lois, who stopped and planted her fists atop her hips. “What are you doing? Where are your vampire teeth? And why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

  Wolfe glanced away. “Just getting into character.”

  Lois paused. “I like it. An overly emotional ghost. Yeah, keep it, but don’t go overboard. We can’t have your makeup smearing. Now, get onstage! It’s your cue!”

  Luckily, he didn’t have any lines, because the only words going through his head were the ones he hoped would win his wife and daughter back.

  CHAPTER 18

  The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.

  “The house is yonder,” Scrooge exclaimed.

  “Why do you point away?”

  The inexo
rable finger underwent no change.

  WITH A STABBING HEADACHE and a tired body, Wolfe rose out of bed, skipped a breakfast of what would’ve just been toast, took the dogs for a quick walk, and then headed for Oliver and Melb’s house. He’d spent most of the night and into the early morning trying to figure out how to explain everything to Ainsley. It wasn’t quite as simple as a misunderstanding, because he had indeed taken the role to get some time out of the house. But how could he make her understand that it didn’t mean that he didn’t love her or want to be around Abigail?

  The words and the explanation weren’t coming easily, so he decided to get a couple of hours sleep—he did, after all, have a play to perform tonight—and then go talk to her. He rang the doorbell at the Stepaphanolopolises’ house, hoping little Ollie wasn’t asleep.

  Oliver answered with a plate full of breakfast items, including sausage. Something bulged in his cheek. “Woof?” He quickly chewed and swallowed. “Wolfe, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to Ainsley.”

  Suddenly Melb was at the door, not looking happy. “What are you doing here?”

  “He came to talk to Ainsley,” Oliver said, stuffing bacon into his mouth. “Hey, why don’t you come in? We’ve got a ton of breakfast left over. You could—”

  “I don’t think so,” Melb said, stepping in front of Oliver. “You’re a little late.”

  “Look, I’m not here to eat breakfast. I want to talk to Ainsley.”

  “That’s what I said. You’re a little late. She’s not here.”

  “Then where can I find her?”

  Melb’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know, Wolfe. Don’t you think it’s a little late to be coming back now?”

  “Oliver came back just yesterday.”

  “No. Oliver crawled back and begged for mercy.” Oliver sheepishly chewed his food and glanced away. “You don’t look like you’re crawling.”

  “Melb, with all due respect, I think this is between me and Ainsley. Now, please step aside. I would like to talk to her.”

  “You can’t. She’s not here. When Oliver came back she felt like she was intruding. I tried to convince her to stay, but she wouldn’t. She took Abigail and left this morning.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t say.”

  A desperate urgency climbed through his body as he tried to think it through.

  “Try her dads house,” Melb said. The eagerness in her eyes betrayed the flat tone of her voice. She gave a small, encouraging smile and then shut the door.

  Wolfe lingered on the porch, sniffing the smell of bacon.

  Back in New York, Alfred was accustomed to rising at 6:00 a.m. He often worked sixteen-hour days and most of the time didn’t mind it. The energy of the city revived him when he got tired.

  In Skary, however, he found himself sleeping in until ten many mornings. Most of the stores didn’t even open until then, with the exception of the coffeehouse, thankfully. He had often tried to stay on a respectable schedule, but sleep found a way of drowning out all the regrets and failures he had to face when awake.

  This morning, however, he rose before six, made himself a big breakfast, then opened his laptop and read the New York Times, the New Yorker, and the Boston Globe. It was going to be a good day! Hordes of people would be filtering into Skary by late afternoon. Alfred guessed it might be standing room only. Perhaps they would even have to turn people away. Whatever the case, it was sure to be a success.

  As he sipped some orange juice, he noticed a strange sound outside. At first, he just thought it was the wind, but as he listened more carefully, he realized it was one of the strangest sounds he’d ever heard. He set his orange juice down and went to his front door, pressing his ear against it.

  “What is that?”

  He didn’t have a peephole, but he did have a small front window. Still, he couldn’t see his porch very well. But then something moved, and he barely caught sight of it. It looked gray. He hurried back to his door and listened again. It was something … alive. He could hear it breathing, or maybe it was his own breathing, which had grown increasingly panicked.

  It sounded like …

  Alfred swung open the door, yelped and jumped back, drawing his hands toward his face to cover up the awful smell that lurched toward him.

  “A donkey?” Alfred muttered. The beast stood perfectly still, peacefully blinking every so often and flicking its tail. “A donkey?” How in the world had a donkey come to his front door?

  He noticed a man walking with a cane down the sidewalk. He was almost out of sight, but Alfred saw a rope hanging from his arm. The donkey nearly blocked the entire doorway, but Alfred managed to squeeze by it and chase after the man. “Hey! Hey! You! Stop right there! Stop!”

  The man turned and waited. Alfred suddenly noticed he still wore his pajamas and house slippers. Thankfully he had a robe on too, which he abruptly tightened around himself. Catching his breath, he asked, “Did you just leave a donkey on my doorstep?”

  Wrinkles crisscrossed the man’s skin like the top of a peanut butter cookie. He was nearly bald and couldn’t stand up straight. But his eyes, youthful and sparkling, told a different story. “Yes sir, I did.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re Alfred Tennison, are you not?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, sir, you’ve got a noble cause going, and I wanted to help. It’s just a small thing, you know. I don’t have much. But I know the good Lord can take the smallest of things and use them to His glory.”

  Alfred wasn’t sure what to say because he wasn’t following the conversation very well.

  “What am I supposed to do with a donkey?”

  “It’s for your play.”

  “First of all, it’s not my play. Secondly, why would I need a donkey?”

  The old man lifted his gaze toward Alfred’s house where the donkey still stood. “His name is Isaiah. I’ve had him for many years. He’s been a good friend. But he’s getting old now, just like me. His last days could be used for something wonderful.”

  Alfred realized the old man must be suffering from dementia. He put a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder and tried a calmer voice. “As much as I appreciate your thoughtfulness, to be honest, sir, we’re not using any animals.”

  “Not using any animals? How can that be? Everyone is talking about what a big production this is going to be, something we’ll never, ever forget.”

  Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Well, um, sure. It’s definitely going to be … unforgettable. But there are no animals in this story.”

  The man managed to stand more upright as he pushed on his cane. “Well, how do they get to Bethlehem? And what, exactly, is going to be in the stable?”

  “The stable?”

  “You’re not having a stable either? Well, at least tell me there’s going to be wise men.”

  A cold fear froze all the words on Alfred’s tongue.

  The old man shook his head. “I just thought perhaps he could carry Mary. Or at the very least be near the manger. He’s been a good old donkey, I tell you. What a way for him to go out, you know?”

  “Sir, are you certain we are talking about the same thing? This is Skary, and we’re producing a play tonight, but it’s not a Christmas pageant.”

  The man’s eyes went wide. “Of course it is. People have been talking nonstop about this. Nobody has performed a Christmas pageant around here in years. We’re all looking forward to it. My entire family is coming. That is twenty-five people, sir, including three great-grandchildren.”

  “But … but there’s been a … It’s not … but it’s …”

  “Yes?”

  Alfred desperately looked around, as if help might be nearby. How could this have happened? “How many people, would you say, are expecting the pageant?”

  “Everyone!”

  A small yelp escaped, even as Alfred tried to compose himself. How could he not have seen this coming? Sure, new
s traveled fast in this part of the country, but he’d forgotten to factor in how quickly and often the facts get lost en route. A curse word slid to the front of the line and jumped out of his mouth before he could stop it. “I … I, uh … I need to …”

  The man stopped him. “Son, listen to me. I’m no expert on theatrical productions, but I can tell you, stick with the story. Don’t try to be innovative and leave out the stable. It will ruin the whole thing. Tell it like it’s supposed to be told. It’s rich and beautiful, and there’s no need to tamper with it. Now, I must go.” He looked at Isaiah, still at Alfred’s doorstep. “He’ll be a good donkey for you. He’s as gentle as they come and hardly has a stubborn bone in his body, which is unusual for a donkey. He’ll do fine for you.”

  The old man turned and walked off. But Alfred couldn’t move. The donkey, still swishing its tail from side to side, seemed the perfect visual for Alfred’s predicament. In fact, not too long from now, he imagined people would be seeing him as a donkey, as well.

  Wolfe stood with his hands clasped in front of him as the sheriff’s unhappy expression greeted him. “Wolfe.”

  “Look, I just wanted to—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Wolfe. You’re making her an emotional wreck, causing her to doubt everything. I realize that you’re meaning no harm, but this is her life, Wolfe. It means so much to her, and to have you dismiss it like it’s a joke—”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt, sir, but I have to tell you that it’s really just been a big misunderstanding. Yes, I did decide to do the play so I could have time out of the house. But that hasn’t changed my commitment. I promise.”

  “I think you should tell her that. It would mean a lot.”

  “Is she here?”

  “Here? No, she’s at the theater.”

  “The theater? She’s probably looking for me, isn’t she?”

  “Not that I know of. But I think it would be a good move to go and reassure her now, while you can. Tonight is going to get very busy, as you know. She could use some encouragement.”