Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (19 page)

I dressed and headed for the library in my truck. It was early enough for me to catch the
Rassie Harper Show
and see if Vera Krug had any more tidbits to share. I couldn't imagine that news of my engagement to Zeb would have spread that quickly, and why would Vera care? The better news was, of course, Leon Fontaine's disappearance from Mildred's jail, although I didn't suspect Mildred would have told anyone. It was a mystery how he managed to escape, but I had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with Harriet Nurse and her picnic basket.

The drive was short and I parked at the very top of the hill with a view of the town, the mountains, and of course, Matilda. The sun glinted off her wings as a frosty mist gathered on the ground giving the plane a romantic look, like something out of
Casablanca.
"Here's looking at you, kid," I said.

I tuned in the station and heard Rassie's voice. He was talking about football and then about Christmas. Rassie Harper was always complaining, and that morning he even found reason to complain about Christmas.

"It's too commercial," he was telling an on-air caller. "What happened to peace on earth? Not that I would balk if someone wanted to leave a gift of, say, a Harley Davidson under my tree—hint, hint, Harcum Motors. And speaking of which—"

Rassie went into a thirty-second advertisement for the largest "Harley Davidson dealer in the tri-state area."

"You are so full of it, Rassie," I said to the radio. "You complain about how commercial Christmas is and then sell motorcycles."

I listened to a couple more Rassie-styled rants before he introduced Vera. "And here she is, that winsome woman of the airwaves, your good neighbor and mine, Vera Krug." This time for some reason he added a cowbell to the end of the segue.

"Good morning," said Vera. "This is Vera Krug with all your Good Neighbor News for Wednesday, December 4. Not much to report today, except, of course, for the big sale down at Kiddie City in Shoops Borough. They got specials on all the favorite toys this season. So come on out all you mothers and dads. Save Santa some running around. If you get there before noon today, they have a sale on that Easy-Bake Oven all the little girls are gaga about."

I took a breath. "Come on, Vera, get to the good stuff."

"And now for the news of the day. From what I hear strange things are still happening up at the Greenbrier Nursing Home. Ninety-two-year-old Faith Graves and eighty-six-year-old Clive Dickens got themselves hitched the other day. Imagine that. Love senior-citizen style. Well, I wish them all the luck in the world. And speaking of weddings—"

Uh oh, I turned the volume up.

"I have it on good authority that another wedding in Bright's Pond is in the planning stages. It seems that Griselda Sparrow and Zeb Sewickey—owner of The Full Moon Café— are engaged. No word on a date yet, but I can't imagine those two will wait very long. Leastways they better not. From what I hear that relationship has had more ups and downs than the Wildcat Roller Coaster in Dorney Park."

Sheesh. How does she know this stuff? It must have come from Ruth. But Ruth always promises me that she never speaks to Vera. I guess it really didn't matter, except I hated having my personal business on the airwaves. And, as I looked at my pretty little ring, I felt proud. Why not? "Go ahead, Vera," I said. "Shout it from the rooftop. I am getting married."

"Hold on a second." Rassie Harper cut in. "Isn't she the sister to that fat woman up there? Agnes Sparrow. The supposed miracle maker?"

"One and the same," Vera said. "Looks like she's produced yet another miracle. Griselda ain't no spring chicken, and Zeb Sewickey was not what you would call the marrying type."

"Well, I want an invitation to that wedding," Rassie said. "I guess Agnes would be the maid of honor. Now how much satin and crinoline would it take to wrap that woman up?"

My stomach churned. The nerve that man had. He took every opportunity to deride people, and Agnes had been a standing target of his for a long time now.

"And, not only that," Vera said, "but there's news out of Paradise, that little trailer park they got up there, you know the one, don't you, Rassie?"

"I sure do, Vera. Didn't they just have some kind of thing up there?"

"Oh, you mean the Blessing of the Fountain. Now ain't that the strangest thing you ever did hear? It seems the fountain was rebuilt and turned on and that created the need for a clergy blessing on the waters, I suppose. But my sources tell me that all might not be kosher with the Paradise Fountain. It seems there might be some funny business afoot. I'll keep my eyes and ears open and report back as soon as I learn more."

One of these days I was going to find her sources. I couldn't imagine who in town was filling her head and her notebook with information. Ruth never liked Vera very much. It had to be someone else.

I turned off the radio and started down the hill but I only got a few hundred feet when I saw Cliff heading up. Probably going to the plane.

I stopped and waved. He waved back and picked up his pace toward me.

"Good morning," he said when he got close to the truck. He leaned on the opened window. "Congratulations. I hear you and Zeb have finally made it official."

"We did." I held up my hand and wiggled my ring finger.

"Well, look at that. I'm very happy for you." He kissed my cheek. "Zeb is a very lucky man."

"Thanks, Cliff. And thanks for understanding."

"Ah, look. The better man won. But say, this doesn't mean you're gonna give up flying, does it?"

"No way."

"You still need to test for your license."

"I know."

"How about this Saturday? We'll fly over to Scranton and get you tested and get your license."

"Saturday? I think that will be all right."

"Good. Meet me here around nine in the morning."

There were days when I hated my library routine. And this was one of those days. Maybe it was my engagement, but whatever it was I had to really argue with myself to stay and open the mail, restock books, et cetera. But as I went about my business, I found myself thinking differently than I ever had about the library. I mean I loved the place, the building, which was actually an old Queen Anne Victorian. I knew every angle, every nook and cranny, every floorboard that creaked, but for the first time I wondered if it was still the job for me.

I had been the librarian for twenty years, and now I was thinking it might be time to turn the job over to someone else. Maybe getting married would make it possible for me to quit working. Zeb and I never discussed it, but I actually liked the idea.

The SOAP women filed in around eleven o'clock. The Christmas season meant extra duty for them. They doubled and tripled their secret acts of charity. People usually gave more money at the Thanksgiving SOAP offering at church. Once a month they took a special offering but Thanksgiving was always the largest.

"How are you, Griselda?" asked Tohilda Best, president of SOAP. "I hear congratulations are in order."

I felt my face blush. "Yes. Thank you."

"He's a fine man," she said

"He is, Tohilda. Thanks."

"Well, we best be getting to our business. So much to do this time of year. So many needy folks. We're planning a toy drop for the backwoods kids in a couple of weeks. Studebaker Kowalski is going to be our Santa Claus."

"Oh, that's terrific. He'll make a good Santa."

"We could use all the help we can get for our wrapping party at the church if you'd like to help."

"Oh, maybe. But I'm so busy right now."

"Of course," she said, "You have a wedding to plan."

"But I was wondering if you ladies had Mercy Lincoln and her mother on your list of charitable giving. They really need some help."

"Yes, yes we do. But Griselda," Tohilda said. "I heard you were planning on asking the girl to play Mary this year."

"That's right. I'm hoping she comes today so I can discuss it with her."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? Some of them backwoods families have strict ideas about fraternizing with the town folks."

"I know, but her mother lets her come to school and the library. I thought it would be worth a shot. Babette is getting too old. Mercy will do a good job—if her Mama lets her."

"Don't be surprised if she doesn't," Tohilda said.

The SOAP ladies stayed for another hour. They made their Christmas giving decisions, mapped out the routes they would take through the woods, and then left in silence, as was the custom.

I closed up the library and headed to Greenbrier. I would need to discuss the whole maid-of-honor / where-to-have-thewedding conundrum with Agnes. She might have an idea or two. I just hoped she didn't get to feeling all sorry for herself and say something stupid like, "It's OK, Griselda. You can get married without me."

When I got on the main road to Greenbrier, my thoughts turned to Leon Fontaine. I still hadn't had the opportunity to track down Mildred and see if she figured out how he broke out of her jail. I figured it was probably something obvious. The man was after all a man and not really magical even if he did kind of fit the bill of having a bit of leprechaun in him. I suspected Harriet Nurse had something to do with his escape.

Agnes was in her room eating her lunch. It didn't look all that appetizing, and I couldn't blame her when she complained. "What I wouldn't do for a decent tuna sandwich," she said when I walked into the room. "I can't eat this slop, Griselda."

"I'm sorry, Agnes. But the doctors say your health depends on you losing weight. And don't you want to feel better and move better and look better?"

"I know, I know, but why should a diet be so . . . so not delicious? Please Griselda bring me a sandwich, even just the tuna salad with no bread. I need something to tickle my taste buds."

"Well, you just had all that Thanksgiving food."

"I know but . . . but geez, this is awful." She dipped her soup spoon into the bowl of broth and let it run off the spoon back into the bowl. "Dishwater."

"At least eat the peaches and the cottage cheese and the hamburger patty."

She snorted. "I got to eat, I know it, but really."

"Go on," I said. "Besides, enough about your food. I have news."

She perked up. "Oh, I hope it's good news. Did you all figure out what in tarnation is going on around here? The folks are going crazier and crazier. They got residents climbing trees and skating and staying up well past nine o'clock playing cards in the Sunshine Room."

"Is that so terrible?"

"No, I guess not when you think about it, but it ain't normal for Greenbrier."

"Well, no, I haven't any news about that but—" I held up my left hand. "Look."

"At what?"

"My hand."

"Yeah."

"My ring finger. Look."

She pulled my hand closer to her face. "Oh, oh, a ring. An engagement ring. Who's it from?"

"Agnes."

She laughed as she dug around in her cottage cheese like she was looking for a sausage. "Well, it could have been Cliff."

"Don't be ridiculous. Zeb gave it to me. It's been in his family for years and years. He gave it to me in a slice of Full Moon Pie."

"No. Really?"

"Yep. It was kind of sweet and romantic. He decorated the café with flowers and hung little twinkling lights from the ceiling like stars. Then he served me pie. I took a bite of it and found this."

"Ah, that is sweet. Sort of."

"It was. I wish you could have been there, Agnes. They had a party for us after he gave me the ring and we kissed and all. Everybody was there. It was so much fun."

"I'm sorry I missed it." She sounded sad.

"That's why you got to stick to the diet and lose weight. So you can participate in . . . in life again."

I moved to the window and saw the funny-looking gazebo. "Has Leon Fontaine been around?"

"Haven't seen him since yesterday. He's been visiting some of the folks—or so I hear. He hasn't been to see me."

"Yesterday? Yesterday afternoon?"

"Yeah. He was flitting around here like a butterfly. Why you so interested?"