Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (25 page)

"I love going to the Dry Goods," Ruth said. "All that fabric and sewing notions. It's like a wonderland to me."

"Not me," I said. "You're looking at the girl who sewed the zipper into the
armpit
of the dress she was making for home ec."

Ruth laughed. "You have other gifts."

We walked into the store and Ruth swooned. "Nothing like the smell of fresh fabric."

To me it was nothing more than miles of bolts of fabric. The Christmas material was up front. "How do you decide which one?" I asked.

"Oh, that's simple. The satin is over there. And maybe some netting for underneath or a crinoline."

An hour later, we left with fabric, enough elastic to make a circuit around the Bright's Pond pond, pins, thread, and three copies of the same McCall's skirt and blouse pattern.

"I don't think we should waste any more time here. I want to get right directly on this."

"That's fine. I'll get you home as long as you're sure there's nothing else you need."

"Nope, got everything," Ruth said as she rolled down the window. "It's almost warm out today."

"It's nice. Sunny."

The corn-stubbled fields looked so barren as we drove past. Hard to believe anything would ever grow on them again. But it would. The fields needed the cold, the rest, before the spring planting season.

I pulled up to Ruth's house. "Now you let me know if you need anything. But not tonight. The children's pageant rehearsal is tonight and I need to make sure Mercy gets there."

"Oh, dear me, that's right. I have to be there also. I need to fit the costumes."

"Maybe I can help with that."

"Um, I don't know. Look, I'll just do the best I can but if I don't get Agnes a dress by Tuesday, you'll just have to understand."

"I know, and I will. We'll wrap the fabric around her and be done with it."

"Did you just tell me Mercy is playing Mary?"

"Yep. She told me her mama said it would be OK."

"She's just a little thing. I can get her Mary outfit done in two shakes of lamb's tail."

"You're a good friend," I said.

That evening, before heading to the library to pick up Mercy, I stopped at the town hall looking for Mildred. She was in her office poring over stacks of papers.

"Is there that much paperwork?" I said instead of a customary, "Hey."

She looked up. "Reports, Griselda. I have to fill out reports on everything. Even jaywalking. They all get sent to Harrisburg, and if one is missing or incomplete, I'll hear about it."

"Don't suppose you found Leon."

"Nope. And it's really starting to make me angry. I've searched everywhere. I suspect he left town and only the Good Lord knows where he is."

"Well, the Good Lord can bring him back if he's meant to talk to Haddie Grace."

"That's true. That's true."

"Did you ever figure out how he escaped? I'm just curious." She looked at me, embarrassed. "I sure did. It was Harriet Nurse. Did you know that woman has a spare key to the jail?"

"Ha, that's funny. How'd she get that?"

"Boris gave it to her. Since she feeds the perps, he figured she should have it in case no one is there to let her in."

"That could be dangerous," I said.

"I know. I know. I took the key right away from her. She was madder than a wet cat, but I had to do my duty."

"Good work."

"I was heading to the children's pageant rehearsal. Let me know if you hear anything or find him."

"I will."

My next stop was the Full Moon to see Zeb. I kind of missed him after not seeing him for nearly a full day.

"Hey," I said with a wave. I saw his paper hat moving around in the kitchen.

He poked his head through the pick-up window. "Hey, yourself." He smiled wide.

"Just came by on account of I missed you," I said.

"That's good to hear."

Dot wiggled past me. "Oh, isn't that sweet?" she said in a baby voice. "Kissy, kissy." Then she laughed.

"Thanks," I said.

"Hey," Zeb said. "Don't forget I can fire you." He pointed his finger at Dot.

Dot waved her hand at him. "Oh, go on. You need me more than I need this job. I just do it for kicks. And I always look for a chance to say,
Oh, kissy, kissy."

I sat on a counter stool. "I can't stay. I have to go get Mercy and then go to the play rehearsal."

"So Mercy is going to be Mary?" Zeb said.

"Yep."

"Ah," he said. "She is so cute."

Dot looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Sometimes the man surprises me. Wouldn't know it by looking at him that he could be so tenderhearted."

"You big softy," I said. "I better go get Mercy."

"See you later?" Zeb called.

"Sure."

Mercy was waiting on the library steps petting a calico cat so skinny I could see its ribs.

"Hey," I called. "You ready?"

Mercy ran toward the truck. "I surely am, Miz Griselda."

The cat looked dejected and then bolted into the bushes.

"She looked like a nice kitty," I said when Mercy climbed into the truck.

"Oh, she is. She comes around me a lot. I asked Mama if we can keep her, but she said she has 'nuf trouble feeding our two mouths; can't possibly add another."

"She knows what's right," I said.

"I reckon so, but I sure wouldn't mind having that soft kitty to play with."

We drove toward the church. It was cold and a little windy but no snow or rain. The sky had turned that gunmetal gray as the last of the sun disappeared behind the mountains.

"Are you excited about being in the play?" I asked.

"I thought it was called a pageant, I like the sound of that— it's royal, and yes, yes I am very excited. Imagine me, playacting Mary—Jesus' mother. Land o' Goshen!"

"You'll be perfect. Now Miss Ruth will be there to help with your costume. She might need to do some sewing on it to make it fit just right."

"Oh, that's fine. I'll stand real still for her."

I parked the truck out front of the church, and Mercy and I quickly found the other children and some parents in the basement. Dot Handy was already there with her clipboard. Dot always directed the play. She loved doing it and one time told me, in confidence, that she had wanted to be an actress when she was a young woman. I think she would have been very good. Dot had a kind of Bette Davis air about her.

"What's she doing here?" I heard one of the boys say. "There ain't no Negros in Bethlehem."

I saw the boy's mother grab him by his collar. "You shut your mouth, Kyle, we don't say Negro in polite society."

Then the other walked toward me. "Um, excuse me but, just why is that little girl here?"

"I'm Mary," Mercy said. "Mother of Jesus Christ himself, our Lord and Savior Almighty, Amen."

"What?" said Kyle's mother. "YOU are this year's Mary?"

"That's correct," Dot said. "Mercy Lincoln is our Mary this year. Jesus did die for all men, not just those of a certain color—now isn't that right?"

"But ain't she . . . from the backwoods?"

"She sure is," I said. "Isn't she just so sweet and pretty?" The mother moved quickly away. "Come on, Kyle. I don't think your daddy would approve of you being in this play anymore."

"But, Mommy, I want to be a shepherd. I'm shepherd number one. Number
one!"

All we heard was the shuffling of feet and the basement door slam shut.

"That is such a pity," Dot said. "He was a good shepherd."

"Too bad his mama isn't," I said.

Mercy slipped her hand in mine. "Is it OK, Miz Griselda? Am I still Mary?"

"Of course you are."

Dot climbed onto the stage and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. There must have been at least twenty children, and I counted nine adults.

"Let's start from the beginning," she said, "with the angels singing their angel song, 'Away in the Manger.' "

Nine little girls climbed onstage and burst into song as Sheila Spiney played the piano. They did sound like angels as their voices lifted and swirled around the cold church basement.

"Beautiful," Dot said. "OK, I need Mary, Joseph, and the innkeeper onstage."

Mercy clung to my waist.

"Go on," I said. "That's you."

"Oh, but I don't know, Miz Griselda. I don't want to go upsetting the apple cart."

"You aren't upsetting anything. Go on. Miss Dot will tell you exactly what to do and say. You just listen to her, not any nasty children—or adults."

Mercy climbed the two small steps onto the stage. She stood close to Dot. I watched Dot instruct her and give her a sheet of paper with her lines. Rose and Nate had done another marvelous job with the scenery. It was like being in Bethlehem. Mary and Joseph stood out front of the inn—a house that reminded me of a gingerbread house without the decorations.

Joseph rapped on the door. The innkeeper, played by Brady William Trout, opened the door. "How can I help you?" he said.

I moved away and sat at a table and watched the rest of the rehearsal from there. Mercy caught on quickly, as I knew she would. But the highlight of the rehearsal was when we heard the sound of the basement door open and the bleating of a sheep. Then the grunts of a woman wearing denim overalls as she led a recalcitrant camel into the room.

The children went a little wild, laughing and pushing and falling all over each other to get to the animals.

"Lookee there," called Brady. "A horse with lumps."

Darlene Milligan punched his shoulder. "That ain't no horse with lumps. It's a camel. Ain't you ever been to the zoo?"

"No," Brady said. "I ain't never seen a camel, so how's I suppose to know?"

I helped Dot call the kids off, but they weren't listening very well until the man in the blue denim overalls spoke.

"They'll bite if you rile them up," he said in a booming voice.

The children backed away. Parents reached out for their young ones.

"Filby said you were having your dress rehearsal tonight," said the woman, "so we thought we'd bring Bruce and Debbie down so they could rehearse also."

"Oh, boy," said Hanky Frankel, "do I get to ride the camel? I am Balthazar. They rode camels, didn't they?"

"No, no," Dot said pulling Hanky away from the camel. "You can walk beside him, if it's safe."

"It's plenty safe," said the man. "By the way, my name is Ford, John Ford and this is my wife, Karen."

"Pleased to meet you," Karen said.

I decided to keep my distance and let whatever was about to happen, happen.

"Well, gee whiz," Dot said. "This is great, you bringing the animals down and all. Let's get them where they'll be during the play."

That was when Mercy jumped off the stage and threw her arms around Debbie the sheep. "Ain't she just the fluffiest thing you ever did see?"

"She'll be standing with the shepherds," Dot said. "Debbie, not Mercy. Over there." She pointed to the far right of the stage. "But not yet. Not until the second act when the star appears and the angels tell the shepherds about the baby Jesus."

"OK," Karen said. "I'll just stand over here with her and wait until you call us."

"Fine, fine," Dot said.

I sat back and watched as Dot directed the children and the animals for a little over an hour. She was like a miracle worker, the way she got everyone organized and kept what had the potential to turn into play pandemonium to a peaceful time of telling the story of Jesus' birth.

Ruth arrived just as Dot had the children cleaning up for the night. The Fords gathered their animals and left by the basement door.

"That camel stinks," said one of the wise men, I forget which, it might have been Caspar. "I don't want to stand near no smelly camel."

"It's all right," Dot said. "It'll only be for a few minutes. Can you imagine what it must have been like for the real Joseph and Mary? Pretty stinky."

"I'm sorry I'm late," Ruth said, "but I got started on Agnes's dress and lost track of time. Is there still time to fit Mary, er, Mercy?"

I glanced at the clock. "It's only 8:30. I think you can work with Mercy."

"It won't take but a minute," she said.

"Mercy," I called. "Come on over here." She was still next to the cradle rocking it back and forth. The plastic baby doll representing Jesus was still there.

"Too bad we don't have a real live baby," she said.

"It's OK," I said. "As long as we have a real Mary. Now come on over here so Miss Ruth can fit your robes."

"OK. I'm coming." Mercy left the stage and joined us. Ruth slipped the robe over Mercy's head and then tied it around the waist with a wide and colorful sash. "Now don't you look darling? I don't think I have to do much, maybe a sixinch hem and a tuck at the shoulders."

"Oh, I like this costume just fine," Mercy said. "I'll wear it everywhere. Even to school."

"Oh, no, sorry," Ruth said. "You have to return the costume to me after the play. I'll save them for next year."

Mercy looked at me.

"That's right," I said. "They're just for the play."

"Ah, but I like wearing this robe. I wish we wore robes all the time."

Ruth inserted a pin here and a pin there. "OK, all done."

Mercy raised her arms and Ruth slipped the costume off.

"OK, everyone," Dot said still holding her clipboard like the Statue of Liberty holds her book. "It's time to go home. If you're waiting for a parent please stand by the basement door. Your parents were told to come to the back door." She looked at me and whispered, "I bet some of them still try to get in through the front door."

"Oh, well, human nature. It is what it is."

By 8:45, all the kids were gone and just Dot, Ruth, Mercy, and I remained to lock up.

"Can I give you a lift?" I asked Dot.

"No, I'll walk. It's not far. And to tell the truth, I can use the fresh air."

"That camel did stink to high heaven," Mercy said. "Worse than the outhouse in August."

We all laughed, and Dot locked the door.

"I can drive you home after I drop Mercy off," I told Ruth.

"Oh, that'll be fine."

The three of us climbed into the truck and I headed toward the library. "Mercy, I can't let you out at the library. You can't walk home through the woods in the dark and cold. I'm gonna have to go with you."

"Oh, but Miz Griselda," Mercy said, "you can't rightly drive this truck to my house. I can walk the woods at night. Done it a million times. I'll be all right. I got a flashlight."

"Oh, that's great, but I wouldn't feel right letting you walk this late at night."

"But I said I'll do OK. It's not far from the library. Honest. Not far at all."

"Still, I need to go with you."

I stopped the truck at the curb and we all got out. But first I grabbed my flashlight from the glove compartment.

"Now come, Mercy, you lead the way."

"Well, OK, but like I said, I can go by myself."

We walked into the woods and after just a few yards everything went so pitch black I couldn't see my hand in front of my face until Mercy clicked on the flashlight. "My house is just over there." She pointed the light through some sycamores.

"OK. Keep moving," Ruth said. "It's a little scary."

A few yards later, I smelled wood smoke and the unmistakable smell of burning trash. Mercy showed the light through the trees. "My house is right there. You can go back now."