He took a bite of meatloaf sandwich, a rebellious look on his face.
Calista rolled her eyes at him, then continued. “He just said they wanted to be in the parade for the children. That’s why most people do it, I guess. Well, and because it’s just fun and festive. The entrants didn’t really have to give a reason. The more the merrier.” She tilted her head, drew her eyebrows together in a questioning expression.
“It’s just, C. C. didn’t have a connection here—no family, no history,” I said. “He’d never spent any time here at all. Why dress up and join the Christmas parade?”
“I guess he was just in the holiday spirit,” said Calista. She looked at Darius, squinted. He appeared to be staring down at something on the bench of the booth. We both watched as he turned the page of a book.
“Darius, what is that? Are you reading?” asked Calista.
He turned away from whatever it was and picked up his sandwich. “It’s nothing.”
“What were you looking at?” asked Calista.
He bit into his sandwich, shook his head with a face that said, it’s nothing.
“Let me see.” Calista held out her hand.
He looked at it, chewed his sandwich.
She raised an eyebrow.
He closed his eyes, sighed dramatically, then handed her the book across the table.
It was a Stella Maris High School yearbook from 1998, the year I’d graduated. Darius had been four years ahead of me.
I felt my face scrunch in that expression Mamma is forever warning me causes wrinkles. “Why are you looking at that?”
He shrugged. “Just thought it was interesting. They have them all at the library. Maybe you should check out the collection. Is there some kinda law says I can’t be nostalgic?”
“Not at all.” It was just the teensiest bit weird he was nostalgic for a time when he’d already left town for Hollywood.
Calista glanced at the yearbook, laid it on the table, then scrutinized Darius. “Do you know anyone in this yearbook?”
“Sure I do.” Darius gestured at me. “Liz is in there. Real nice senior photo.”
“Who else do you know?” asked Calista.
“Lots of people,” said Darius. “I’m just getting reacquainted with the town. I represent some of those people, you know. I’m doing my civic duty.”
“Whatever you say.” Calista gave him a look that put him on notice she was nobody’s fool and he’d better not be trying to make one of her. She turned to me. “Was there anything else? About the parade?”
“Can you think of anything unusual that happened? Either during registration or during the parade?” I asked.
She thought for a minute. “I can’t recall anything. If I think of something, I’ll be sure to call you. And I’ll get you that list.”
Moon Unit approached the table. “Can I get y’all anything else?”
“I’d like two ham biscuits to go, please,” said Darius.
The breath whooshed right out of my lungs.
I gaped at him. “What did you say?”
Moon Unit drew her eyebrows together, looked at Darius, then at me. “Any for you today?”
“No, thanks.” Every time we’d been to The Cracked Pot together since she’d mastered materializing so she could eat, Colleen had asked me to order her two ham biscuits to go.
“Coming right up.” Moon Unit turned and was gone.
Darius stood, pulled a handful of money out of his wallet and threw it on the table, then pulled out his car keys and laid them beside the money. “I need a walk.” He kissed Calista on the forehead. “I’ll see you back at your house in a bit, okay?”
And he was gone.
“I guess I’ll take those ham biscuits home and put them in the refrigerator,” said Calista.
Darius bolted out the door in a jangle of bells. Seconds later, he hustled back in and made his way through the crowd to the counter. He waited there for his biscuits and talked, seemingly to himself.
I picked up the yearbook and flipped to the double page tribute to Colleen, who should’ve graduated with me, but didn’t.
Sweet baby Moses in a basket.
Colleen was still in Stella Maris.
Darius was her new point of contact.
A massive weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying lifted. I thought I might burst with pure joy. Colleen was still our guardian spirit. She hadn’t had to leave home again. I grabbed Calista, hugged her tight, felt the tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Liz,” said Calista. “Are you all right? Please tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m just so grateful.”
“For what?” She hugged me, patted me lightly on the back.
“For everything. For everyone. Merry Christmas.”
SIX
Nate picked me up at home just in time to get to Mamma and Daddy’s house. Mamma had something going on at church which had necessitated a switch to Sunday dinner in the evening as opposed to our customary early afternoon meal. We were supposed to be there by five for dinner at six. On the way, I told Nate about Darius, the yearbook, and the ham biscuits.
He processed what I’d told him for a few moments, then said, “You’re thinking Darius is Colleen’s new point of contact?”
“Of course that’s what I’m thinking. Aren’t you? He’s on the town council. He’s unyieldingly opposed to ocean front development.”
“It does make sense—and it’s great news, by all means. But think about it. When you, and then later you and I, were her points of contact, we had to keep that quiet. No doubt Darius has been read the riot act about keeping his new friend to himself. Shouldn’t we play dumb? Pretend like you didn’t pick up on anything? Colleen’s very likely on probation—or whatever program applies. I just don’t want to get her into any more trouble.”
I noodled that over. “I think Colleen’s superiors are privy to our thoughts—not just what we say.”
Nate winced. “Be that as it may, I think it’d be better all around if we were just happy she’s still with us and left well enough alone. We can’t go trying to contact her or anything.”
“No, of course not,” I said. “I’m just so relieved.” The thing I couldn’t help but think—but was trying not to think—was that Colleen had asked Darius to order her some ham biscuits in front of me on purpose, so I’d figure out she was still here—with him. If she did, that would very likely get her into more trouble.
Then we turned down Mamma and Daddy’s driveway and I gasped with delight. “She’s added to her Christmas decorations! See the angels?”
Mamma started decorating the day after Thanksgiving, placing dusk-to-dawn candles in each window. Since then, she’d added something—or asked one of the guys to put something up—every few days. Mamma’s halls were well and truly decked.
White lights twinkled from the porch roof. Garlands of lit greenery draped the railing, punctuated with sand dollars and starfish, with a red bow every few feet. There were lights on the bushes and on the steps. Over-sized hurricane lanterns with white candles lined the steps and accented either side of the front door, which was draped in still more greenery, with a large lit wreath in the center featuring shells, sand dollars, and starfish. Large topiaries covered in white lights stood behind the hurricane lanterns flanking the front door. Three angels fashioned from rattan and covered in white lights stood in the front yard near the porch blowing their horns. The entire display glittered like it was covered in diamonds.
“Place looks like a giant animated Christmas card,” said Nate. “It’s a vast improvement over what your daddy did with the place for Halloween, I’ll say that. Yet, in its own way, it’s every bit as much over the top.”
“Don’t even mention that garish mess,” I said. “Hopefully in time the memory will fade and Mamma will think it was just a nightmare.”
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“I still don’t understand why she went to all this trouble when we’re leaving town before Christmas,” said Nate.
“Because we celebrate Christmas from the moment we get up from the Thanksgiving table until after New Year’s Day, and you well know this.”
“I just hoped your mother would take it easy this year,” said Nate.
“And that was thoughtful of you,” I said. “But you must’ve known better.”
He sighed. “I guess we’d best go inside.”
Motion on my right caused me to turn. “Oh, no.”
Claude sauntered up to the angels. Still in his red, bell-studded sash, he looked like he might be part of the decorations. Apparently, he hadn’t been apprehended the night before after all.
Nate tilted his head, closed his eyes, gave his head a little shake. “I hope your mamma doesn’t kill your daddy before we leave. It would put a serious damper on the holidays.”
“I better see if I can restrain Claude. Will you run tell Daddy to call his buddy at the petting zoo?”
“Slugger, you can’t be serious. You’re not a deer herder, and neither am I. Let’s just try not to startle him.”
What he didn’t say, but I could hear him thinking it loud and clear, was that my daddy had made this mess, and we ought to let him clean it up all by himself. I seriously didn’t think Claude was dangerous. “All right, fine.”
We eased out of the Navigator and glided down the sidewalk and up the steps to the front porch. Claude chewed on a magnolia leaf and watched our promenade with interest. Then he gave his signature loud snuffle noise, dismissing us.
“Daddy?” I called as we walked through the door. Christmas music and a medley of holiday scents—balsam, cinnamon, something baking—greeted us.
“In the den,” he called. “Y’all come on in.”
Chumley woofed a welcome.
“Did you know Claude’s in the front yard?” I asked as we entered the room. The angel atop the Christmas tree in the corner touched the ten-foot ceiling.
“He is?” Daddy scrambled out of his recliner. “Why didn’t you grab ahold of him?”
“Because he’s a wild animal who weighs about five hundred pounds,” said Nate. “Let’s let the petting zoo guy get him. He’s a professional.”
“Claude’ll run off before he can get here,” said Daddy.
“So you want the children to stand out in the yard in the cold and hang onto that animal for the hour it will take his owner to arrive?” Mamma stood in the doorway.
“Of course not,” said Daddy. “I’ll put him in the garage.”
“And have him destroy it by trying to ram his way out?” asked Mamma. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, Carolyn, what do you suggest?” asked Daddy.
“Call the zookeeper,” said Mamma. “If he was foolish enough to go along with your outlandish nonsense, as far as I’m concerned, Claude is his problem.” Mamma loved animals, truly she did. But she’d had a few bad experiences with non-traditional pets lately that left her a bit defensive on the subject.
Daddy shook his head like maybe Mamma was being unreasonable, and he was long-suffering.
Mamma gave him a look that said the matter was settled and went back into the kitchen.
I followed her. “Mamma, the house is simply stunning—you’ve outdone yourself. It’s as pretty inside as it is out. I love the garland on the staircase and over the doors. How many poinsettias are in this house? Is that chicken and dumplings I smell?” I had a particular fondness for Mamma’s chicken and dumplings, which by tradition, we had on Christmas Eve.
“We won’t be here Christmas Eve, so I figured we should have them tonight,” said Mamma. “I’ll make my traditional Christmas dinner Saturday night.”
“Mamma, the point of Nate planning Christmas was for you to not go to so much trouble for once,” I said.
“You don’t like my dumplings?” Mamma feigned a hurt look.
“I would kill for one of your dumplings, and you’re well aware of that,” I said.
“Then I don’t understand the problem,” she said.
I sighed. “There’s not a problem, Mamma. What can I do to help?”
“Everything’s done,” she said. “You can taste the dumplings and tell me if you think they need anything.”
“All they need is a spoon.” I went to the sink and commenced scrubbing my hands. After I’d dried them and slathered on some hand sanitizer, I dipped myself a spoonful of chicken and dumplings into a small bowl and inhaled the aroma. Bliss.
I had the spoon halfway to my mouth when Mamma said, “Where is everyone else at? It’s after five.”
I closed my eyes in appreciation of the perfect combination of flour, butter, cream, chicken, and who knew what-all else. “This is sinful.”
“E-liz-a-beth. Tell Merry and Blake supper’s getting cold.”
There was no use in mentioning we weren’t meant to eat until six. I texted Merry: Where are y’all?
She responded: Your brother-in-law lassoed Claude. Be in shortly.
Oh no. “Mamma, I’ll be right back.”
“Are the dumplings all right?” she asked.
“They’re divine. Hang on just a minute.” I stuck my head into the doorway of the den. Chumley, the only occupant, woofed.
Nothing good was going on outside.
I hurried down the hall and out the front door. Merry and Poppy watched from the porch. Daddy, Nate, and Blake stood on the sidewalk, a ways back from the action. Joe, it appeared, had in fact secured Claude with a rope. He tugged the reluctant reindeer in the general direction of a live oak tree. Claude sat.
“Did you call the guy at the petting zoo?” I asked Daddy.
“He said he’d be here quick as he could,” said Daddy. “He was going to try to catch the five-thirty ferry.
“Won’t that rope hurt his neck?” asked Poppy.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” said Merry. “Joe, loosen the rope. It’s too tight.”
“Let me get him tied up first.” Joe was red-faced. I hated I’d missed the lassoing portion of the program.
“On, Claude!” called Daddy.
Joe tugged on the rope.
Claude made a deep-throated noise that sounded like a honk.
“Joe,” hollered Merry. “You’re hurting him.”
“No, I’m not.” A mixture of frustration and aggravation crept into Joe’s voice.
Merry strode across the porch and down the steps.
“Merry,” said Joe, “please stay on the porch.”
“I’m just going to loosen the rope a little.” Merry approached Claude.
“Esmerelda.” Daddy’s voice was sharp. “What are you doing? Stay back from there. I don’t think he’d hurt you on purpose, but he is awfully big, idn’t he?”
Merry ignored them both and approached Claude, cooing and petting him. “Oh my goodness,” she spoke in a baby-talk voice. “Is this thing hurting your neck? Let me fix it for you.”
She picked at the knot as she continued to sweet-talk Claude.
“You’re about to let him loose,” said Joe.
“No, I’m not,” said Merry. “Oh, no I’m not, am I Claude? He’s the sweetest boy—”
The sweetest boy stood abruptly and backed away at a trot, tugging on the rope.
“Whoa, boy.” Merry held on, stepping quickly to keep up with the retreating reindeer. “Claude—” Merry wasn’t talking baby-talk anymore. Her voice sounded alarmed.
“Merry!” I called.
Poppy grabbed my arm.
Blake, Daddy, and Nate all jumped towards the reindeer.
Joe dropped the rope and took several long strides and scooped up my sister. “Let go.”
Merry released Claude, put her arms around Joe’s neck, and held tigh
t.
Claude jerked back and bolted across the yard, bells jingling.
“You know what?” said Joe, “I think we’re going to leave Claude for his handlers.”
“That’s the best idea, idn’t it?” Daddy nodded, like that had been his suggestion all along, and why had we ignored his sage advice?
Nate and Blake exchanged a look.
“Are you all right?” Blake asked Merry.
“I’m fine.” Her voice was unsteady.
Joe gently put her down. He looked a bit worried. “That thing is five times your size. You can’t grab ahold of it like that. It’s a wonder you weren’t trampled.”
“Y’all, supper’s ready,” I said. “Mamma’s made chicken and dumplings.”
And with that, everyone headed inside. I glanced over at Claude, who munched on the Spanish moss trailing from the live oak he’d nearly been tied to. He made another honking noise.
Even after all the excitement, we gathered in the dining room thirty minutes early. The table looked lovely, with a centerpiece of ivory pillar candles of varying heights on heavy silver candle holders arranged with holly, magnolias, and Frasier fir branches. Mamma had the Christmas china and linens out, along with Grandmamma Moore’s silver flatware. Crystal wine decanters on each end of the table held a deep velvety red. Soft piano music—George Winston’s December album—played from the ceiling speakers throughout the downstairs.
Blake said, “It looks like Christmas exploded in this house. Mom, seriously, I think we’re going overboard here, maybe over-compensating for not being here on Christmas Day? You worked so hard on all this, and then in January, it’s going to take you a whole month to put it all away.”
“Everything’s lovely, Carolyn,” said Nate. “You’ve no doubt exhausted yourself.”
Mamma gave Blake a level look, then shared it with Nate. “Decorating our home for Christmas is not a chore. I look forward to it every year.”
And that was the last word on that.
Many cooks consider chicken and dumplings a meal unto itself, seeing side dishes as superfluous. My mamma does not subscribe to that notion. In addition to the massive soup tureen of the rich, creamy stew so thick she served it on plates, she’d prepared Pernil (a marinated, slow-roasted pork shoulder that Blake calls Christmas Pig because that’s the only time Mamma makes it and he loves it so), butter peas, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, baked apples, cream cheese and olive deviled eggs, cranberry salad, and cranberry sauce. This evening, all the food was on the sideboard so as not to detract from Mamma’s holiday table.
LOWCOUNTRY BOUGHS OF HOLLY Page 6