Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (30 page)

Christmas Eve arrived in not so much the same way as in years past. When Agnes and I still lived together, I always had something planned for the day—usually some last-minute shopping, cookie delivery, and gift-wrapping. Agnes liked to have folks come by so she could hand out gifts and catch up on what she called her end-of-the-year prayers.

Some folks obliged with a list of wants and desires and left behind packages for Agnes to open later. Sometimes the packages held foods and candies but often the gifts were a little more sensible, at least for Agnes, and consisted of pretty sachets for her drawers, picture frames with images of the town in them, or even a book.

But this Christmas Eve arrived quietly. I sat in the kitchen sipping coffee and looking over the list I had made for the wedding. It seemed everything had been taken care of and now it was just a matter of getting through the day. It seemed impossible to wait five hours.

My stomach was queasy but I figured that was nerves. I wasn't hungry at all but knew if I didn't eat and my blood sugar dropped I would be a mess. So I decided to scramble a couple of eggs and butter a slice of toast. The eggs went down like I was eating wood chips, and the toast never made it off the plate.

Suddenly, the house seemed emptier than it ever had. Even Arthur was subdued and hung around by my feet, purring and pawing like he knew something was up. He didn't ask for anything, just an occasional scratch behind the ears. I went from room to room, thinking and praying, thinking and praying, and saying good-bye to one life while waiting for another to begin.

I had done this three other times in my life. Once a few weeks after our parents died. I was only nine years old. I remember I walked from one room to another, lingered a moment in each, and tried to believe that nothing had changed. As long as the rooms stayed the same, then so did my life. The second time was when Agnes decided she wasn't ever leaving the house again and I was forced to turn the viewing room into her bedroom and moved most all of her belongings there. It became the room where we spent all our time even though the house had ten other rooms.

I went from room to room in the big Victorian and tried to remember what they were like when our parents were still alive, when I was young and Agnes was young and we still played with friends. When she slept in a room at the front of the house overlooking Filbert Street. You could see the mountains from her room and I had always been envious. My room was in the back. It had a nice view of the pond, but to me, back then, it was boring. Agnes's room looked out on adventure.

I did it a third time when Agnes checked herself into the nursing home. That time I went from room to room feeling as though I was lost and searching for a friend. And now this time, I would be saying good-bye, preparing for a change that would make the house no longer my own, a place where two would become one in that mysterious way God had designed, where I would not be alone, yet I worried if the only home I ever knew would not feel like home once Zeb made it his.

Would we sleep in my parents' bedroom? It made sense as it was the largest room on the second floor. But it seemed an intrusion. And so I went into each room, each bathroom, the kitchen and den, imagining how it would be with Zeb.

Later I distracted myself with dishes and laundry trying to make the place clean and inviting for Zeb, even though I knew it wouldn't have mattered that much to him. I rearranged ornaments on the Christmas tree and hung some garland on the fireplace mantel. At nine o'clock the doorbell rang. I was never so glad to hear that doorbell ring. I thought it was Ruth come to help me get ready.

It was Cliff.

I stood in the doorway staring at him trying to decide if I was glad to see him or upset that he intruded on this day.

"Cliff. What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Griselda, now don't get upset. I just . . . just wanted to ask you something."

"Do you want to come in?"

"Would it be OK?"

I stepped aside and let Cliff into the house.

"I wanted to ask you if you were sure," he said. "One hundred percent sure that Zeb is the one."

It was like my heart had stopped beating for a second. Stopped like the clock that hung on the hallway wall for years and never ticked for reasons I never knew.

"Cliff, I told you I'm marrying Zeb. I told you I wasn't in love with you."

"I know. You were in love with my plane. But I . . . I don't want you to make a mistake. Griselda, you love to fly. You love the adventure. Can Zeb give you that? Can he take you into the clouds?"

My eyebrows arched. "OK, Cliff. Maybe it would be best if you left. I love Zeb. I don't need to soar through the clouds to be happy."

He stared into my eyes for a long second. "Are you sure?"

My heart pounded now. "I'm sure."

"OK. I'll leave." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small package wrapped in Christmas paper. "Merry Christmas. Just don't open it until later."

"Oh, Cliff, this isn't necessary." I wanted him to take it back.

"No. Take it. It's not much. A token, really."

"Thank you."

I turned the doorknob and pushed open the door. A rush of cold air hit me.

"Zeb's a lucky man," Cliff said. He hiked his collar around his neck and stepped through the threshold.

I watched Cliff until I couldn't see him anymore and had the strange feeling I would never see him again. It was only slightly difficult to resist the urge to open the gift. But I set it on the mantel for later.

At 9:45, I took my wedding dress from the closet, packed shoes and a few other things I would need into a suitcase and said good-bye to Arthur. I had planned to drive into Shoops and get my hair and makeup done. But on Christmas Eve? I didn't want to bother the beauty shop people. Zeb would have to take me pretty much as I was.

I picked up Ruth who was ready with her dress and stuff. She smelled faintly of lilacs.

"Are you nervous?" she asked as she climbed into the truck.

"No, I don't think so. I think I just want to get it over with."

"Now you sound like a bride. OK, let's go get you married."

We drove down Filbert Street past The Full Moon Café. I thought I might see Zeb. If I knew him well, and I think I did, he'd be inside cooking breakfast. He worked when he felt nervous. At least, I figured he was nervous. But I didn't see him, and the café appeared closed. And that was when I saw a sign on the door.

"Look, Ruth. It says, 'Closed—Getting Married.' "

"Ah," she said. "He is one happy fella."

"Yeah, I guess he is."

The town hall, adorned in its Christmas best, looked stunning against the steel-gray sky. The large evergreen wreath that hung over the doors was gorgeous as in years past. Carols still drifted from the loudspeaker and would for two more days. It was good to know nothing else had changed.

I didn't tell Ruth about Cliff's visit. There wasn't any need. I was over any infatuation I might have had, and for some reason, I wanted to keep the visit my own. Cliff represented a part of me and my life that I would cherish forever whether I got my wings or not. Cliff helped me cross the mountains I saw every day—the mountains I had longed to cross since I was a child. But that was my business.

The nursing home came into view and my heart started to pound.

"Oh, dear, Ruth," I said. "Why am I suddenly so nervous?"

"It's marriage, dear. Forever, or until death."

"Is that it? Or is it something else?"

I parked the car near the front looking for Studebaker's blue Cadillac. It was early and I hadn't really expected Zeb to arrive more than a minute or two before necessary.

"Come on," Ruth said. "We have to get you dressed and ready."

"In a minute. I want to go out to the gazebo first."

"Sure."

We walked the long path around the building, and what I saw pretty much knocked the wind out of my lungs.

The gazebo was wonderful. It had been transformed into a princess palace with twinkling lights all over it, nearly every inch. The lights shone bright against the dark, overcast day as even more bottom-heavy snow clouds rolled overhead. Greens had been hung in swags around the railing. The crooked roof had even been strung with lights, large red and green bulbs and a large sprig of mistletoe hung down from the center of the roof on a braided gold cord.

A white carpet had been laid on the path leading from a side exit of Agnes's building. Wooden folding chairs were set out in neat rows. Each chair with a small red bow, save the aisle chairs that had large white bows and sprigs of holly attached.

"Oh, my," I said catching my breath. "Who did this?"

Ruth appeared stunned. "I don't know. But it's absolutely wonderful."

Avoiding the white carpet I made my way around the gazebo. The backside was as pretty as the front. Not a space was left undecorated. There was nothing else I could do but stand there looking, admiring, and feeling absolutely mystified over who would have—who could have—turned a crooked gazebo into a wonderland.

All of a sudden I heard a noise, a rustling in the woods behind me. It was too loud for a possum or even a deer. I turned in time to see a red and white flash disappear into the trees.

"Ruth," I called. "Did you see that?"

"What?"

"In the woods."

"I didn't see anything."

"Ah, I guess it was nothing. But I could swear I just saw—"

"We need to get you and Agnes and me dressed," Ruth said.

"OK." My nerves and spirit were at peace.

Agnes was, as usual, sitting in her wheelchair. She was wearing her usual housedress, but I saw her maid-of-honor skirt and blouse laid out on the bed with her lovely hat.

"I've been sitting here all day waiting," she said as we stepped foot into her room. "The aides never came to get me dressed."

"Oh, that's OK, I guess. Ruth and I will get you dressed for the ceremony," I said.

"Sure," Ruth said. "No problem."

I placed my own dress next to hers on the bed. "We have about an hour and a half before guests begin arriving. I don't know how she did it, but Ivy Slocum managed to get invitations to just about everyone in town."

"Ivy's a good egg," Agnes said.

"She is," I said. "People didn't have time to RSVP, but at least everyone in town knows when and where."

"Christmas Eve," Agnes said. "I hope that doesn't upset people too much. And what about the Christmas Eve service at church?"

"There will be plenty of time. Zeb and I will be married by one o'clock and then we're just having a small reception. People will be back to town by three or four."

Agnes looked out the window. "Those flurries are getting heavier. And it sure looks cold outside. Whoever you had dress up the gazebo did a spectacular job. I didn't know they made light bulbs so tiny, so to make them look like stars."

I moved toward the window and looked out.

"That's just it," Ruth said. "Griselda doesn't know who decorated the gazebo."

"Did you see anyone out there?" I asked Agnes.

Agnes shook her head and slapped her knee. "No. I woke up. They got me dressed, to the bathroom, and into my chair. Fed me my breakfast and that was when I saw it. All lit up like some kind of enchanted castle."

"So you didn't see anyone?" I said. "Not a single person out there all morning."

"Nope. It's like magic."

Ruth laughed. "She thinks it was Santa Claus."

"Oh, I do not . . . not really."

"Well, speaking of Santa Claus, did Mildred ever catch Leon Fontaine? I sure wish she would, people around here are turning back to their old ways, walking all hunched over, crabby at each other. Mr. Spearmint lost his teeth and got into a quarrel with one of the nurses. He said she tossed them in with the laundry on account of they came out when she pulled his shirt over his head."

"I got to admit," I said, "that the feeling around here is not very bright, even for Christmas Eve."

"Well, some folks have been picked up by family. And the rest of us are just waiting around."