A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (20 page)

“Any surprises?” she said, collapsing into one of the armchairs across from him as he put down the stapled papers and sighed.

“No. Business as usual. It was first called in at 2:14. Police car patrolling The Square caught the first glimpse. Braswell’s company was the first to arrive three minutes later. It took an hour and fifty-one minutes to get it under control. Too soon to determine area of origin or heat source or any of the rest a’ that. There’s gonna be plenty a’ damage with at least a dozen buildings affected—in the millions, I’m afraid. Only upside is no injuries or fatalities, which is to be expected considerin’ the hour. Thank God it didn’t happen in the middle of the day with The Square up and runnin’ full blast. And then Garvin’s note he’s clipped on here says it’ll take a coupla days to do a complete investigation into the cause. Can’t imagine it would be arson, but stranger things’ve happened.”

Gaylie Girl caught his gaze intently. He knew exactly what she was going to say, and it made him squirm in his seat for an instant or two. “Give me a bottom line here, Hale. Is Caroling in The Square officially kaput?”

“Sweetheart, we just can’t have people wanderin’ around out there anywhere near that mess, I can tell you that right now. I’m just as sorry as I can be to have to say it, but The Square isn’t gonna belong to the public for a while now. We’ll need a staging area for the demolition crews, so this’ll hurt the businesses that weren’t even damaged. No, I think you’d better make some other arrangements for those choirs now that this has happened. Oh, and break it to Lady Roth gently that we’re not gonna have her up on top of the courthouse roof now. We gotta check out every structure around The Square anyway. That’ll be just as good an excuse as any to use.”

Gaylie Girl was touching her eyelids with the tips of her fingers and shaking her head slowly. “You’re right to remind me about her. She’s just as likely as not to insist on appearing as the Star of Bethlehem anyway. Knowing her, she’ll view the fire as a plot to throw a wrench in her illustrious career. We’ll be making her give up the role of a lifetime.”

“Yeah, she probably won’t go quietly, but if she gives you too much trouble, you just tell her to come to me,” Mr. Choppy added, allowing himself a brief smirk. Then he leaned in and assumed a more stoic attitude. “You’re just gonna have to postpone that ‘Santa Fe’ feelin’ for a while longer. I don’t know why either of us thought Second Creek would change its spots when we got into office. Just when you think you’ve got this town tamed and purrin’, it likes to bare its claws, doesn’t it?” He made a sudden sour face. “Hey, what am I sayin’ here? Second Creek’s no alley cat. I’ve got no business puttin’ that kinda face on this gentle place I love so much. It’s just that it’s smudged with all that soot today.”

But Gaylie Girl chose not to answer. Instead, she seemed to be adding things up in her head with a restless fervor, cutting her eyes this way and that as she moved her index finger back and forth in midair. At some point, the hint of a smile crept into the corners of her mouth.

“I’m doing a diagram of The Square in my head,” she finally explained. “All of the choirs chose the north and west balconies for their caroling, and those are now mostly gone. Couldn’t we try to move everything to the south and east sides? I know there aren’t nearly as many balconies along those blocks, and there’s some cleanup over there, too. So it would all be more difficult logistically. We’d have to okay it with those merchants here at the last minute and get all the choirs on board, but maybe you’d let the Nitwitts give it the old college try?”

Mr. Choppy conjured up a polite smile, but his tone was unyielding. In that respect, he was granting his wife no special quarter. “It’s my responsibility to make judgment calls for the safety and well-bein’ of all Second Creekers as well as the tourists that come here, Gaylie Girl. I just can’t in good conscience let people mill around out there as if it was our everyday, charmin’ little Square with souvenirs aplenty available. And I hate to say it, but human nature bein’ what it is and all, I betcha you’d have more people showin’ up to gawk at all the damage than there’d be payin’ attention to any carols within a five-mile radius.”

“Oh, I know you’re probably right,” Gaylie Girl said, sounding completely resigned. “I was just hoping against hope for a reprieve of some kind.”

“My daddy once told me that you can always find more people wantin’ to look at car wrecks out on the highway than at new cars in the showroom. I’ve gotta err here on the side a’ prudence. If anything happened to anybody as a result of my decidin’ to let this go on, I couldn’t live with myself. Not to mention that the city would probably be liable. I don’t have to tell you that folks run to trial lawyers these days when somebody sneezes on ’em and they come down with a cold.”

“So it’s a big fat definite ‘no’?”

“Afraid so, sweetie.”

Gaylie Girl rose from her chair without saying anything further, heading back to the reception desk. Mr. Choppy watched her glacial pace from afar and winced, her usual boundless energy and confidence substantially drained from her body.

“Then I guess I’d better get started discussing this with Laurie and Euterpe pronto,” she muttered, not bothering to turn her head as she spoke. “We’ll have to contact all the choirmasters and decide what to do next. They’re all going to be horribly disappointed, of course.”

An emergency meeting of everyone involved in Caroling in The Square on Christmas Eve had been hastily called for six o’clock that evening in Gaylie Girl’s immaculately kept drawing room on North Bayou Avenue, and it was now under way. It had required a monumental effort, but she, Laurie, and Euterpe had managed to round up the rest of the Nitwitts, their newly appointed Go-to Guy, Powell Hampton, and all the choirmasters for the brainstorming session. Only Novie had been unable to attend, since her Vigil Auntie shift for Cherish, Henry, and baby Riley Jacob at the hospital would begin at six and end at nine. Meanwhile, Mr. Choppy had asked to sit in to offer the mayoral viewpoint on any proposals that arose. His would be the final word regarding anything involving activity in The Square.

With less than a half hour to prepare after rushing home from her secretarial duties, Gaylie Girl had just enough time to put out a store-bought spinach-artichoke dip and several bowls of crackers, pretzels, and nuts around the room. She had thought better of making a big to-do of the usual elaborate Nitwitt libations in deference to certain denominational viewpoints on the subject of alcohol that would be entering her house. Instead, she offered only bottled water and soft drinks. Not surprisingly, there were a few disgruntled expressions among the ladies, but she did not let that faze her. After the meeting, she reasoned, any of the Nitwitts having extreme withdrawal symptoms from the lack of Bloody Marys, mimosas, or something straight up and stronger flowing through their veins could throw one or two or three together at the wet bar and go home happy.

“So, Mayor Dunbar,” Lawton Bead of St. Luke’s Episcopal was saying from his corner armchair, “let me get this straight. You remain unalterably opposed to letting us switch any of our performances to other balconies farther away from the fire? You don’t think we can salvage something here?”

Mr. Choppy, who was standing in the doorway in a kibitzing mode and sipping a ginger ale, drew himself up and cleared his throat. “I would dearly love to, Mr. Bead. I, above anyone else, know how much plannin’ and rehearsal this has taken, since my wife here was the spirit behind it from the start. But I just don’t think the city of Second Creek should take the risk. I think we’d all readily agree that the venue has been drastically altered overnight anyway. It’s pretty much an eyesore right now.” He nodded in Powell’s general direction. “So, if you’ll put together one of your state-of-the-art press releases for the ladies on the official cancellation and get it to
The Citizen
tomorrow mornin’, it’d be much appreciated, Mr. Hampton.”

“Will do. After all, I’m Mr. Go-to now.”

“So that’s the end of it?” Mr. Bead continued, thrusting out his jaw in a combination of defiance and disgust. “Do we just blow off everything we’ve done just like that?”

Interestingly, it was the amenable Press Phillips of Second Creek United Methodist who quickly stepped into the fray just after grabbing his second generous handful of cashews. He’d been noshing ever since entering the room. “Well, I just wanted to say that things haven’t changed at all for our choir. Not where it matters. We still intend to go over to Delta Sunset Village in Greenwood and perform for the residents on Thursday afternoon. And I’ve discussed the aftermath of the fire with our pastor, and he thinks we should perform our caroling selections for our own congregation at the church on Christmas Eve. We already have the program well rehearsed, so even if we can’t sing it in The Square as we all originally intended, we can still sing it there. And we can get the word out to the general public that they’re perfectly welcome to attend. There’s still time for another press release for
The Citizen
’s ‘Community Doings’ column. Why don’t we all consider what I’ve just said? It’s seems very simple to me.”

“And very much like a letdown to me,” Lincoln Headley of the Second Creek Church of Christ added. “We’re all splintering into a lot of separate little events which may or may not be well attended. And what about the bus tours? Are those going to be canceled, too?”

This time, Gaylie Girl took the floor, rising from her sofa in the center of her friends. “I managed to get in touch with all the out-of-town churches this afternoon, and I told them about the Mayor’s decision to cancel the event. They were pretty definite about several things. First, they wanted to pass along their sincerest regrets about the fire. Some of them had no idea, since everything happened in the middle of the night and there was next to no news coverage. They also said they intend to keep us in their prayers for a timely recovery. And unfortunately, they regretted to say that they don’t think the interest will be there any longer for the bus trips now that the balconies around The Square won’t be the focus of the caroling. I know for a fact that that’s what attracted them in the first place.”

“And surely Lady Roth shining down on them from above,” said Renza, frowning into her Perrier and lemon.

“Well, Press’s idea is about the best we can do at this point,” added Walker Billings of First Baptist in his booming voice. “I just wanted to make sure there was no chance we could pull off this balcony business, as we’ve all come to call it. Hey, Press, maybe our choir could come over with yours to that retirement home?”

But it was Gaylie Girl who addressed the suggestion. “Oh, I can tell you there wouldn’t be enough room, Mr. Billings. Every bit of space in the Delta Sunset Village lobby will be taken up by the Methodist choir and the seating for the residents.” She paused to give him the politest of smiles. “But what a nice gesture. Certainly in the spirit of the season.”

Mr. Billings shrugged. “Hey, you do what you can!”

Gaylie Girl impulsively decided to inject a positive note. “Maybe we should all keep in mind that there’s always next year. I trust The Square will have been restored to its former glory by then.”

Mrs. Vergie Woods of the Marblestone Alley Church of Holiness spoke up next.

Gaylie Girl noted that she was dressed once again from head to toe in purple, as she had been the first time the two of them had met at her church. Perhaps it was her signature color. “Miz Dunbar, I just wanted to say that maybe we should be talkin’ ’bout how we can help that former glory thing get here a little bit sooner. There’s not a’ one of our churches that can’t hold a bake sale to raise money for a good cause. Why, we do it all the time at Marblestone Alley Church of Holiness.”

“I think that’s a marvelous idea,” Gaylie Girl said. “What do you think about it, Hale?”

Mr. Choppy gripped his glass of ginger ale a little tighter and managed a tense little laugh. “I think it’s gonna be a long, hard road back for The Square. It’ll take loads of money and plannin’ and maybe even a guardian angel or two to get us to where we once were. There’s a part of me that wonders if we’ll ever get there. But, by all means, let’s try anything—bake sales, concerts, raffles—anything we can think of to make The Square a desirable destination again.”

On this, there was unanimous agreement, and the spirits of the group seemed to lift ever so slightly. “It’s at least something to work toward,” Press Phillips offered, tossing back the last of his cashews. “Even if it doesn’t feel much like Christmas right now.”