A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (17 page)

“Riley Jacob,” Mr. Choppy repeated slowly. “I like the sound of it, my boy, and I’ll be very proud to be his godfather.”

That provided the two men a few minutes of what could have passed for peace of mind, but Henry’s worry soon got the better of him. “You think it’s bad luck for us to be jumpin’ the gun on this namin’ and godfather business?”

Here, Mr. Choppy was in his element, gently resting his arm on Henry’s shoulder. “I most certainly do not. You need to go on the assumption that this son comin’ into your life is meant to be and never let go a’ that. I know what I’m talkin’ about when I tell you that you gotta hold on to the things that mean the world to you, no matter what. I finally got married to the only woman I’ve ever loved after fifty years of bein’ by myself. But I never gave up. Somewhere deep down in my soul, where I lived and breathed, I knew it was ordained for me somehow. Just you never stop believin’ when it comes to the life of your precious boy.”

Henry was tearing up despite his best efforts to conceal it by rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers. Then he sniffled and cleared his throat for an encore. “Oh, man, Mr. Choppy, you’re gonna be one helluva godfather.”

“If I have anything to say about it, I will. And I have one thing more to point out to you. I predict the only problem you and Cherish’ll have with young Riley Jacob is that he’ll complain to you every year about his birthday bein’ so close to Christmas. That is, if you try to combine the two. My mother, Gladys, had a cousin who was born on Christmas Eve, and she told me that Saundra Kaye always felt cheated when everything kinda got blended into one big celebration.”

“I can’t see us doin’ that,” Henry observed. “I already know it’ll mean the world to us just to see our son’s first birthday come to pass. And then we’ll have Christmas to give thanks for that.”

Not too long after their conversation had quietly wound down, another nurse—this one in her best starched whites—appeared in the doorway, and Henry immediately sprang up from his seat. “Mr. Hempstead, your wife has been transferred to her room now,” she told him. “She’s still a little groggy, but she’s doing just fine. You should be able to visit with her briefly in about thirty minutes or so.”

“And my son? Any change?”

“Not to worry. Still safely in the NICU and stable was the last report I received.”

Henry sat back down slowly after the nurse left, allowing himself what for all intents and purposes was a deep, cleansing breath. It coincided exactly with the return of Gaylie Girl and Renza, who immediately bombarded the men with questions. Mr. Choppy gave them the latest update and then added: “What have you both been up to all this time? You didn’t really go to the ladies’ room, did you?”

Gaylie Girl gently nudged Renza with her elbow, looking triumphantly smug. “We’ve been outside rounding up the girls on our cell phones, haven’t we?”

“That, and probably catching pneumonia. A cold front’s moved through behind all that rain we had earlier in the day,” Renza added.

Gaylie Girl was waving off her complaint. “Oh, nonsense. We were bundled up enough. Anyhow, Mr. Henry Hempstead, we have a very special Nitwitt proposition for you, and we trust you’ll be smart enough to take advantage of it.”

Henry and Mr. Choppy exchanged perplexed glances before Mr. Choppy said: “Translate, please. I can’t wait to hear what this is about.”

Both women resumed their seats, and Gaylie Girl began speaking in rehearsed fashion. “Very well. I believe I have this mostly committed to memory. It is hereby declared that one Mr. Henry Hempstead of Second Creek, Mississippi, has imminently qualified for benevolent care and feeding from all the members of the Nitwitts. Now, let’s see—oh yes. They will in turn check in on him throughout the vigil ahead in specific shifts assigned to each one. Furthermore, they will make sure that he has not dwindled away to nothing, exposing him to sufficient food and drink, and forcing him to go home now and then to get some much-needed rest.” She quickly searched her memory before dredging up the finale. “And last but not least—each Nitwitt on duty, so to speak, will also spell him during certain periods and agree to notify him at once if there are any significant changes to report concerning either mother or child. That way, there is no possibility that anybody will miss anything.”

Henry’s delight could not be contained, and his generous laughter allowed him to blow off steam. “You came up with all that just for me, Miz Dunbar?” he finally managed there at the end.

“Just for you.”

But Renza was wiggling her fingers in front of Gaylie Girl’s face. “The name. You forgot the part about the name. I think that’s the best part.”

“Oh, yes. How in the world could I forget? For this particular Nitwitt project of ours, we’ve decided to refer to ourselves as your dear, sweet Vigil Aunties.” She spelled out the last two words as Henry and Mr. Choppy followed along in genuine amusement. “It sounds terribly corny, but wouldn’t you know? Laurie Hampton said it came to her in a flash as I was talking to her over the phone a few minutes ago. She’s just so good at these things. Of course, there was no way I could resist using it, and every one of the ladies has agreed to help you out until we’re over the hump. Well, all except our dear Wittsie Chadwick. So, what’s your verdict, Henry? Will you let us help you get through this without exhausting yourself? After all, ’tis the season.”

Henry stood up and embraced Gaylie Girl and Renza in turn. “You bet I will. I’d be more than proud to have all you ladies as my sweet aunties for as long as you want me.”

“Your sweet Vigil Aunties,” Gaylie Girl reminded him, pulling back to hold him at arm’s length. “God, how I do love being a Nitwitt! And, of course, I’ll be taking the first watch this evening.” She reached over and grabbed Mr. Choppy by the sleeve. “Come on, Hale, let’s hurry home so I can whip up one of Gladys Dunbar’s best recipes for Henry.”

Gaylie Girl was amazed. No woman who had just endured an emergency C-section should be looking the way Cherish Hempstead looked. Propped up on several pillows, her long, blond hair falling to her shoulders, she was nothing short of a smiling angelic vision nestled in a hospital bed.

“It was so good of you to visit me, Miz Dunbar,” Cherish was saying as Gaylie Girl moved to her side to hold her hand. Henry stood on the other side, gazing down at his wife adoringly. “Henry’s told me all about your latest little Nitwitt project. It takes a load off my mind to know that you ladies will be takin’ care of him until I get back on my feet. Which I trust will be very soon. They tell me all my vital signs are pretty much normal considerin’ what I’ve just been through.”

She pointed to the screens beside the bed keeping digital tabs on her. “That little incision they made in my belly just needs to heal up, and they say I’m home free. I’ve been assured there won’t be much of a scar.” But her mood and expression suddenly darkened. “Our little Riley Jacob is another matter, though. I’ve haven’t even been able to see him yet because they don’t dare take him out of that neonatal intensive care unit. I don’t know why it is, but I seem to have had all sorts of trouble bringin’ new life into the world. I wonder if somebody’s tryin’ to tell me somethin’.”

Gaylie Girl gave her hand a brief but firm squeeze. “Don’t you even think that way. Maybe we’re not meant to be able to figure out everything that happens to us. That way we try harder and take things seriously. I had two C-sections with both my children, and back then, they cut you up pretty good to get the baby out, compared to the way they did it with you today. But from the very beginning I always felt my scars were worth it. Oh, yes, I missed the old figure and the way all my clothes used to fit me so well, but the important thing was I had my son and daughter in place by my side. The rest was now going to be up to me and my husband, Peter. So you and Henry just concentrate on how you’re going to raise little Riley Jacob, and it will all fall into place.”

“You and Mr. Dunbar have just been so nice to both of us,” Cherish replied, her spirits clearly lifted by Gaylie Girl’s subtle cheerleading. “You’ve been almost like parents, since both ours are gone, you know.”

“And what your son’s done for me, Miz Dunbar!” Henry added. “Givin’ me the next four days off with pay is really goin’ the extra mile. We’ve got our expenses comin’ up with what the insurance doesn’t cover.”

“It was Petey’s pleasure,” Gaylie Girl explained. “He told me from the beginning that he wanted to provide incentives for his key employees to produce the kind of leadership it takes to keep a company running successfully.” Then she reached into her coat pocket and drew out a piece of paper, handing it over to Cherish. “I wanted you and Henry to have a copy of this so you’d know exactly what to expect over the next few days. I’ve written out the schedule of all your Vigil Aunties. It’s not twenty-four hours a day, you understand, but I think it will help at this critical time.”

Cherish smiled brightly and began scanning it silently, but Henry requested that she read it out loud. So she started all over. “Sunday evenin’—6 to 9—Gaylie Girl Dunbar.” She stopped to acknowledge Gaylie Girl’s presence with a nod of her head. “And here you are. Then we have Monday mornin’—8 to 11—Laurie Hampton. Monday afternoon—1 to 4—Renza Belford. Monday evenin’—6 to 9—Novie Mims.” Cherish worked her way through the rest of the Aunties and their schedules with a discernible awe in her voice. “I can’t believe you’re all doin’ this for us. You Nitwitts really are the true spirit of Second Creek, what with your Caroling in The Square on Christmas Eve comin’ up this weekend, too. I’ve been lookin’ forward to it so, but I prob’ly won’t be allowed out to see it now.”

“There’ll be another one next year to go to,” Henry pointed out. “Assumin’ this first one’ll be the big success everyone thinks it’ll be.”

Gaylie Girl’s laugh was prolonged and thoroughly cavalier. It was clear that she felt she was at the top of her game. “I don’t see how it can help but be. Our choirs have been polishing up their selections every day and are just champing at the bit. We’re even going to have Lady Roth spotlighted on the widow’s walk of the courthouse roof and dressed up as the Star of Bethlehem. Won’t that be a sight to see?”

Henry leaned in and gave his wife a peck on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll take pictures for you, honey. Especially some of Lady Roth up there. I remember how much you enjoyed her as Susan B. Anthony during the election campaign.”

Cherish cocked her head, apparently reviewing those arresting, once-in-a-lifetime images and performances. “If Mr. Dunbar hadn’t been runnin’, I might’ve voted for her she was so convincin’. And now she’ll stand as a symbol for all who travel far and wide to Second Creek at Christmastime. She must be beside herself.”

“I often think that very thing about her,” Gaylie Girl added, not bothering to elaborate. “But no matter. Let’s just assume everything will go our way—from the choirs singing on the balconies to Lady Roth shining on the roof to your little Riley Jacob coming home soon. What a wonderful Christmas present all of that will be for us!”

G
aylie Girl realized she was in the midst of a dream, but she was nonetheless being royally entertained. As so often happens in such cases, the plot of her unconscious drama made sense one second and morphed into utter nonsense the next. Time and place had been deliriously jumbled, and people no longer alive popped in and out of the mise-en-scène at a moment’s notice. But it was all being staged in vivid color and was holding her attention every bit as effectively as a much-acclaimed movie in a first-run theater.

First, there had been that sequence in the manse at Lake Forest. She was seated at the grand piano in the drawing room, only there was a metronome beside her on the bench, ticking away noisily.

“See? I can play now,” she was telling her late husband, Peter Lyons, who was standing over her. There was the sense that he was eagerly anticipating her newly found skills. And then she began playing but could produce nothing more than a cacophonous din. As it turned out, she was literally banging on the keys with her fists, and he had started laughing.