by Joyce Magnin
"Is that tomorrow, already?"
"Yes, tomorrow is Sunday. It will be fun. Good for you to get away from the Thanksgiving festivities." I repeated it in case she didn't hear me.
"I guess, Griselda. What time is the Blessing?"
"After church. We'll just drive on up right after the service. I think the actual blessing is scheduled for one."
"Speedwell doing the blessing?"
"Uh-huh. In a way it's kind of nice that they got that old fountain flowing again."
"I guess. But why does a trailer park need a fountain?"
"Why does a turkey need a lei?"
Ruth smiled. "Thanks for coming over."
"Now look, tomorrow is your day off. Tuesday we get the turkey. I'll come over Wednesday and help you get everything under control and even help you cook and stuff Thursday."
"Thank you, Griselda. Thank you so much."
I hugged my friend and held her an extra second. Her heart beat like the Dixieland Band. I had never seen her so nervous over something that should be so simple. It was just dinner.
After I left Ruth it occurred to me that Ruth's anxiety was actually a blessing. I had not thought about Cliff or Zeb the whole time I was with her. It wasn't until I passed the town hall that I realized I was standing at a crossroads. One way leads to the café, the other toward the Kincaid farm and Cliff. At that moment, I didn't want to see either one of them. But when Studebaker happened by all in a tizzy, the decision was made for me.
"Griselda," he called. "I was just up at your place. We have to have an emergency Yuletide Committee meeting."
"What's going on?"
"It's about the parade. The marching band from Roosevelt High can't come and neither can the Shoops Moose Lodge, and they come every year. We have a huge hole to fill or Santa will arrive too soon and—"
"Slow down, did you find everyone else?"
"Just have to get Ruth. I was on my way to her place."
"You know what? Let's leave Ruth out this time. She's got her plate pretty full right now."
"Whatever you say."
"It was one thing to be short one marching band but to have the Shoops Moose Lodge not show up—that was different." Every year the Moose, which was an organization dedicated to helping children with disabilities, collecting old eyeglasses and books, presented Boris Lender with a check that went a long way to keeping the parade afloat and buying new books for the library.
As usual for Saturday, the café was crowded. Folks were waiting outside for booths. But Studebaker made it sound like it was a matter of national security that the Yuletide Committee got a table. This did not make a couple of truckers very happy and I thought the situation might come to blows before Boris arrived with the key to the town hall. I was extremely gratified. I would not have to see Zeb unless he moseyed over to the meeting, which was doubtful on a busy Saturday morning.
It didn't take long for the entire committee, minus Ruth, to assemble. Even Nate Kincaid, who wasn't known for attending every meeting, made an appearance. We sat at a long rectangular table with so many dings and dents and scuffmarks it was hard to imagine what it once looked like. But that was OK. I liked all the wear and tear on it. I wondered for a second, as I waited for Boris to bring the meeting to order, how many decisions were made around that hunk of wood.
"OK, OK," Boris said. "Let's get started. Now what seems to be the trouble?"
Dot Handy had her trusty legal pad out and pencil poised to start taking minutes.
"The Shoops Moose Lodge has pulled out of the parade," Studebaker said.
Gasps filtered around the table.
A quizzical look fell over Boris's face. "Did they give a reason? Did they make a formal petition to be released from their contract? They can't just do this. There's legalities involved in this."
"It's just a Christmas parade," I said. "How serious can it be?"
Studebaker pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "It says here that the Shoops Moose—or is the Mooses, Moos-i— will not participate because," he took a breath "because of the nefarious doings at the Greenbrier Nursing Home, and since Greenbrier is technically within the town limits of Bright's Pond they cannot associate with us until the matter is cleared up. It's a matter of morality, and they will not have their good name besmirched."
"Besmirched?" I said. "Who's besmirching their name?"
"Matter?" Boris said. "What's the 'matter' they're talking about? Somebody better clue me in on this. Here I am the First Selectman and I don't have a single clue about what in jumpin' blue heck is happening."
Mildred Blessing stood. "I can tell you, Boris. And it's not very pretty but for right now anyway it looks like . . . drug activity, or so it seems."
I thought Boris Lender was going to have a stroke right on the spot. His eyes bugged out like two Ping-Pong balls. He swallowed so hard he could have swallowed his teeth. "Drugs? In Bright's Pond? That's not possible."
"Can someone please tell me what is happening?" Studebaker said. "Where is this drug activity supposedly taking place? At the high school?"
I put my hand up in hopes to quiet the table down. "Not at the high school," I said. "At Greenbrier Nursing Home."
It took a minute or two after that but they simmered down and I explained everything I knew.
"And so you see," I said, "with the residents acting so strange, it's no wonder some people think there is something going on. If you all could have seen Haddie Grace and even Jasper York, you'd think they were children again."
Dot Handy was busily taking everything down while she made noises and clicked her tongue in both derision and surprise.
Boris banged his gavel on the table. "This is just the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Why would the residents take drugs and where would they get them?"
"That's the issue," Mildred said just taking her seat. "Sorry I'm late I was up at Paradise."
"Paradise?" I said. "Did you speak with that Leon Fontaine?"
Mildred nodded. Boris slumped back in his chair. Studebaker put his head in his hands, and I watched Dot draw a picture of a cube.
"Paradise?" Boris said. "What in jumpin' blue heck does the trailer park got to do with Greenbrier and who is Leon Fontaine?" He looked at Dot. "Make a note, Dot, that from now on I am to be made privy, part and parcel, to everything that is going on in this town. I will not be brought in on the tail end anymore."
Dot busily scribed on her legal pad.
"Leon Fontaine. Isn't he the fella that rebuilt the fountains and the gazebo?" Stu asked.
"I remember him now," Boris said. "I wrote out construction permits for him. Didn't think nothing of it at the time. He had all his licenses and everything in order."
"That's right," Mildred said. "Did a beautiful job too. The gazebo is a might crooked but it's still very nice."
"So you think he's giving the Greenbrier residents drugs?" Studebaker said.
"I never said that," I said.
"No, no. Doesn't seem like it." Mildred pulled out her trusty black notebook and flipped through the pages. "I can't find anything to hold him on, nothing suspicious. Course I haven't talked to him yet. Can't seem to get a hold of him. He's slipperier than an eel. Every time I get to where he's supposed to be someone tells me he just that minute left."
"Well, did you run a background check on him?" Boris asked.
"Clean as the day is long," Mildred said. "Not even a speeding ticket on account of there's no record of him ever having a driver's license, leastways not in Pennsylvania. It takes a little time to hear from the federal agencies. They got other problems to tend to. Our little town don't matter much, but I got to say, Fontaine made me feel kind of odd. Like he was hiding something."
Boris nodded along with everyone else. If there was one thing for certain about Mildred Blessing, she had good instincts.
"I guess you better keep your ears and eyes open, Mildred," Boris said.
"Oh, I plan to," Mildred said, "and I'm asking all of
you to do the same. Something is afoot up at the nursing home."
"We must get to the bottom of it," Boris said. "We can't afford to upset the Shoops Moose—Moosesses."
The group grew quiet for a minute until the door swung open. It was Ruth Knickerbocker. She stood in the doorway and cried. She was dripping from head to foot with what smelled and looked like cranberries.
"Ruth," I said. "What happened?"
"Oh, Griselda, I was practicing one of my recipes for Thanksgiving dinner: cranberry guava passion fruit kiwi sauce. I had it all in the blender and then—" she made a noise like an explosion, "cranberries, guava, passion fruit, kiwi— everywhere. The lid popped off for some reason and . . . and my kitchen is a mess." She sobbed harder.
"Come on," I said. "Let's get you home and cleaned up and see what we can do."
I looked at the Yuletide Committee sitting there with their mouths open and eyes wide. Ruth did look a sight. Her hair was dripping with goo. It ran down her face and off the tip of her nose. She had managed to clean two small circles on her glasses so she could see.
"I will say this," I said. "It smells really, really good."
Ruth attempted a chuckle. "Thank you. But that's hardly the point. I didn't come for you to have a taste test. And I promise you, I cut back on my coffee intake just like you said."
I directed my attention to the committee. "You all figure this out. I mean we can't make the Moose Lodge march in the parade but maybe if we solve the mystery soon, they'll reconsider."
"I agree," Boris said with a tap of his gavel. "Make this your number one priority, Chief Blessing."
"Yes, sir," she said. "I think I'll head back to the nursing home and do some more snooping, ask a few questions, keep my eye out."
Studebaker stood. "Hold on a second. I know everyone is concerned about Greenbrier but we have a Christmas Fest to plan. It's less than a month away and this year's Santa Claus has not been decided, the parade route I would assume will be the same as always. Nate is taking care of the floats, and we need to purchase the candy canes and—"
"You do it," Dot Handy said.
"Me?" Stu said. "Do what? Buy the candy canes?"
"No, play Santa. It's your turn."
"Dot's right," Boris said. "I'd do it but I have to ride with the grand marshal."
"And that's another thing," Stu said. "Who is this year's grand marshal?"
"I thought somebody asked Cliff Cardwell," Nate said. "He seems to think he's grand marshal."
"Good choice," Boris said. "He's as close to an actual hero as we got."
"I am not big enough to play Santa," Stu said. "It should be Frank Sturgis—especially this year. Have you all seen the belly he has now? He's just gone to pieces."
"Then you ask him," I said. "I got to go with Ruth."
"Fine," Studebaker said. "But we really need to have another meeting, and soon."
Studebaker loved the Christmas Fest more than anything in Bright's Pond. The man loved Christmas and would do pretty much anything to make the annual parade and pageant a success.
"Let's meet Monday," Boris said.
Ruth started to cry. "Please, Griselda, I got to get home. It's such—" she sucked back a sob, "a mess."
"Let's plan on Monday for a lunch meeting at the Full Moon," I said. And with that everyone got up. I was, of course, first out the door followed quickly by Mildred, who practically jumped into her squad car and took off for Greenbrier with a fresh priority assignment.
"Where's she going?" Ruth asked.
"Oh, Ruth, you won't believe it when I tell you."
I wiped red sauce from her cheek. "But let's get this mess fixed first."
It didn't take as long as I thought it would to wipe down the counters and mop the floor. Ruth scrubbed the stove and took a quick shower.
"You shoulda seen it," she said.
"Seen what?" I asked.
"The tub, it ran red with all the sauce coming out of my hair and off my body. I scared myself a little. It made me think of that movie Psycho."
I shuttered. "Oh, Ruth, don't even kid. That was the scariest movie I ever saw."
"I'm sorry, but it's true. You shoulda seen my tub."
I moved toward the door. "Tomorrow should be a good day. You are still going to the Blessing of the Fountain, aren't you?"
"It's right after church, isn't it?" she said.
"Yep. Just like I told you. And I hear they're having food and everything up there."
"Sounds good. I just hope some of this red is gone by tomorrow."
"Me too, Ruth. But even if it isn't, so what?"
Ruth looked at me with that squirrely look she could get from time to time. "I'll never try that again. Do you think folks would mind if I just opened cans of cranberry sauce?"
"Not at all."
I looked around the kitchen and dining room. It still looked like a hurricane had blown through, especially the way the plastic palm trees lay on their sides.
"We'll get this under control in plenty of time. Now why don't you just take it easy. Make the things you know how to make and don't worry about getting too fancy."
"Maybe," Ruth said. "But I'm still planning on making my special dessert. It's going to be spectacular. Something that will just about knock the socks off of everyone."
"Oh, Ruth, don't get too ambitious."
"I need to do something extra special. Something no one will expect. Something that will set this Thanksgiving apart from all the rest—not that Thanksgiving at your house wasn't always good. It was. The best but—"
"I can't wait," I said. "Now I need to be going."
"Where you off to? Maybe see Cliff?"
"Ruth, you know better than that. No. I actually was thinking it's a nice day for a walk in the woods with Zeb."
8
I passed Ivy's house on my way to the Full Moon. She was on the porch with Mickey Mantle.
"How's it going?" she called. "I saw Ruth running past here a while ago. I thought she'd been shot."
"Cranberry sauce," I said.
Ivy laughed. "That woman is a pip. Where you headed?"
I looked into the clear blue sky. "Oh, it's such a nice day, I might see if I can talk Zeb into taking a walk in the woods."
"Ohhh, sounds romantic."
"Maybe. That's up to Zeb."
Ivy stood up. "What's wrong, Griselda? Zeb giving you a hard time again?"
"Not really. Well, no more than usual. It's me this time. Have you ever been in love Ivy?"
Ivy looked at me for a long minute. "Me? Well, I never told no one, but yeah, I was in love, long time ago."
"How do you know?"
Ivy let air escape her nose. Mickey Mantle sidled up next to her. "As much as I hate saying this, the answer is . . . you just do. It's a feeling, but it's more than a feeling. It's like an allergic reaction."
"Do you lose your appetite and feel all scatterbrained?"
"Yep. Is that what Zeb does for you?"
"Used to. Not so much anymore. Zeb and I have been going together for so long the feelings are more like the feeling of slipping on a pair of old, comfy sneakers. You know how they fit you just right."
"That's love," Ivy said.
"But am I IN LOVE?"
"Then who is making you feel all squishy and lose your appetite?"
I didn't say anything. I just looked into her eyes until she saw the truth.
"Cliff Cardwell. Why Griselda Sparrow, you have fallen head over heels in love with that aviator fella."
"I'm not so sure." I patted Mickey Mantle's head.
"Sounds like he got your engines started."
"That's just it. Maybe I'm love with the aviator, the flying, not the person."
"You better figure this one out. And with Christmas coming? Whee doggies, Griselda, Christmas is way too romantic and wonderful to spend it with the wrong fella."
"I know."
I gave Mickey Mantle one final pat. "I'll see you later."
The air felt cris
p and turned steadily chillier the closer I got to the Full Moon. It was after the lunch rush, so Zeb should have a little time. I had no clue what I was going to say to him. I just wanted to see him and hoped with all my heart that nothing would interrupt us this time.
I was right; Zeb was sitting at a booth eating a sandwich. It wasn't too often I saw Zeb eating any of his food.
"Hey, Zeb," I said.
"Grizzy, join me. Hungry?"
"No, not really. I just wanted to stop by and say hi. I just came from Ruth's. She had exploding cranberry sauce."
Zeb laughed. "Exploding cranberry sauce. I'm not even going to ask."
"Ah, she's just so excited about Thanksgiving. She's trying all these crazy recipes."
"Oh, boy. It should be interesting."
"You're coming, right?"
Zeb took a bite of his sandwich. Swallowed and looked me square in the eyes. "That depends. Is Cliff coming?"
"I don't know. And . . . and why should it matter?"
"It just does."
Dot passed by. "Coffee, Griselda?"
"Maybe just water."
"Suit yourself."
"Zeb," I said. "I want to be honest with you. I think I'm feeling confused or something. I like Cliff, I'm not going to lie about that, but not in the way you think, at least I don't think so. He just makes me feel different."
"Different?"
"It might just be the flying. I really love to fly that airplane."
Zeb finished chewing his sandwich and then gulped down a glass of milk. "Are you in love with him. Just tell me. I can't stand being on the outs like this."
My eyes closed for a breath. Then I looked at him and then I looked away. Dot placed my water in front of me.
"I'm not sure," I said. "Maybe. Maybe not."
Zeb tossed his napkin into his plate and stood. "Then I guess I won't be coming to Thanksgiving."
My heart started to race. "I'm sorry, Zeb. I just want to be sure."
"I doubt you'll be sure by Thursday."
I went to church that Sunday but my heart wasn't in it. Pastor Speedwell was talking forgiveness in such a way that I think he made everyone in the room feel guilty. Even me. Mostly I felt guilty about Zeb and Cliff. I sat in the pew and prayed through pretty much the entire service. I asked the Good Lord to help me figure out my feelings. I prayed that God would make my choice so clear that I couldn't possibly be wrong.