Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (7 page)

I watched as Ruth walked down the tree-lined street, fallen autumn leaves crunching under her feet as she carried her illconceived recipe home—appropriately hidden under a white dish towel with a turkey appliqué.

The walk to the library was lovely. Crisp fall air with a hint of wood smoke tickled my nose. I passed piles of unburned leaves pushed to the curb and greeted neighbors already outside raking their lawns unveiling that autumn green of the grass just before the first real snowfall. The sun shone bright while wispy clouds like torn lace floated overhead.

"Morning, Griselda, nice day," said Bill Tompkins.

Babette Sturgis was running down the street carrying an armful of books. "Hey, Miss Griselda. I got to catch the bus."

I waved and thought how blessed I was to live in Bright's Pond even though I still nursed a place in my heart that longed for something more, something that I knew was just beyond my reach. Something that started to become attainable when Cliff Cardwell took me up in his plane that first time and I knew with every ounce of my being that I wanted to fly.

The library stood like a grand old lady on a hill just a little ways off the street. She was a fully dressed Queen Anne Victorian with rows of courses and miles of gingerbread, a wide wraparound porch perfect for sitting in the spring and summer and on warm fall days to read and chat. It made me a little sad that more people didn't come to the library to escape into a story now and again. Emily Dickinson said, "There is no frigate like a book, to take us lands away." She was so right.

I turned the key in the ancient lock and pushed open the library door. A breath of cool, bookish air blew out. As usual I set about turning on lights, straightening magazine and newspaper racks all the time wondering if I would see any faces that day. Every time I opened the library I felt the same way, like I was preparing a place of solitude where I felt more in touch with my soul than anywhere, even perhaps, than in Cliff's plane.

After the mail, I always returned books to the stacks with an eye out for misplaced volumes. The students were notorious for shoving books back wherever they wanted even though I told them a hundred times it would be better if they returned the books to the checkout counter. And I was right. I found a copy of
How the West Was Won
tucked on the end of the Microbiology section.

I heard the little bell over the door ring—the bell was new. I asked Studebaker to install it for me so I could hear folks come in no matter where I was in the building. Not that I didn't trust anyone, I was just often in the back rooms or lost among the stacks, and people had been thinking I wasn't there and turning and leaving.

It was Charlotte Figg from the trailer park. I liked the look of her. She wore a dress covered with purple flowers and she carried a small orange purse. Her hair was short, but not too short, manageable I suppose and mostly brown, the color of old oak with strands of gray here and there.

"Can I help you?" I called from the Science section.

She stood close to the door for second and then ventured farther inside.

"You're Charlotte Figg, right?" I asked. I offered my hand. "I'm Griselda Sparrow."

"Nice to meet you, Griselda." She shook my hand. "Ever play softball?"

"In high school, a little. I liked it."

"Well, the Paradise Angels are always looking for players if you want to come out next spring."

"Maybe," I said. "I heard about your team. I think it's pretty neat, you putting the team together and all."

"Ah, they really put themselves together, but thanks. Anyway, my friend Rose—"

"The woman with all the tattoos?"

She nodded and looked at me as if to say, "You don't get many visitors, do you?"

I thought I should back off and let her be. But she kept talking, "That's right, the woman with all the tattoos. Boy, word travels fast in this town. But that's not the issue. Rose said you might be able to help me find some information on . . . " she whispered, "the Fountain of Youth."

"Sure." It was a bit of an odd subject for someone in Bright's Pond.

"I think you can start with the
Encyclopedia Britannica.
It will give you some info. May I ask what exactly you're looking for?"

"Oh, I don't think I know for certain. It's just a hunch, really. Something sparked my imagination," Charlotte said. "I wanted some info on that explorer fellow they claim found it in Florida—Ponce de León."

"Oh, no problem. I'm sure you'll find out all about him in here." I grabbed the book from the shelf. "And if you need more information, there's a whole section on world history over there, lots of books about the explorers."

She took the thick volume and sat at one of the long tables.

"I just wanted to tell you," I said, "that I have heard so much about your pies. Folks are even saying you should open a shop in town."

Charlotte smiled and flipped to the page she needed. "I do like to make pies, and everyone keeps telling me to open a shop—even my mother."

"Maybe you should. There's that empty store down on Filbert Street—across from the town hall and The Full Moon Café."

"There is?"

"Sure. I think it will make the perfect spot."

"Maybe I'll take a look—someday. Maybe next year."

Charlotte looked at the book, and a few minutes later as I passed by again she said, "It says here that Ponce de León never found the fountain. But most people, historians even, claim it's in Florida. Do you think it's possible?"

I shook my head. "What? That the Fountain of Youth is more than a legend, a fairy tale? That water can make you younger?"

"Yes." She was dead serious.

At that moment I looked clear through Charlotte and saw Haddie Grace whizzing down the hallways of Greenbrier and didn't know how to answer her. "How come you're so interested in this?"

"Oh, I'm just thinking, that's all. Folks up at Paradise have been talking about it ever since that Leon Fontaine moved in and started rebuilding the trailer park fountain. Have you seen it? It's pretty near finished and really quite beautiful—in a crooked kind of way."

I smiled. "Leon Fontaine? He's the man who built the gazebo over at the nursing home. It's a little on the crooked side also. But really nice."

"That's him. Weird little man, but I've come to accept weird as normal around here."

I laughed. "Charlotte, I think we're going to be good friends."

Then I remembered. "Say, Ruth told me you and Rose Tattoo are coming to Thanksgiving dinner. I hope you're bringing pie."

"Yes. I mean yes, we're invited and, yes, I am bringing pie."

"Hope it's pumpkin and cherry. Ruth is planning all kinds of tropical stuff."

Charlotte laughed. "I heard. She told me she has a big surprise for dessert."

"Me too, but please, pumpkin pie will be a most welcome sight, I'm sure."

Charlotte patted my hand. "Don't worry. I'm bringing pumpkin and apple and maybe a cherry, since you mentioned it."

That was when I heard the doorbell ring. Mercy Lincoln was standing there holding the copy of
Heidi
she had checked out just a few days previous.

"Mercy," I said. "Did school let out already?"

Mercy Lincoln was one of the backwoods children that came into town for school. She was poor as dirt, usually filthy but always managed to brighten my day. I loved her love for books and stories.

"No, not yet, I reckon. I didn't go to school today."

I ushered her farther into the library. "How come? Not like you to miss a day."

"It was Mama. She weren't feelin' real well this morning and asked me to stay with her."

"How is she now?" I took the book from her hands.

"She's better. That's why I come by, to return that book and get another if I may."

"Of course. You have a look."

I went back to Charlotte who was still reading. "I don't want to interrupt, but do you have a library card? I'll get one ready if you want."

"Oh, that would be so sweet of you. I need a card."

I went back to the checkout counter and wrote out a card for Charlotte Figg. I just put Paradise Trailer Park for her address. I didn't need much more than that.

Charlotte looked through books for another thirty-five minutes or so before she came to the counter. Meanwhile, Mercy had gotten lost among the bookshelves. "I guess I got the info I needed but I think I will check out this book—it's a recipe book on pastries. I think I might make some little tartlets. You know tiny pies, individual pies."

"You could sell them by the dozens if you had a shop."

"Now don't pressure me. I said I'm thinking about it. I got some money, but it's gotta cost a lot more than I got to run a pie shop."

"If you're serious at all, you might want to talk with Boris Lender. He knows about that kind of stuff. He'll help where he can."

"Thank you, I'll keep him in mind."

I checked out her book—
Pies, Tarts, and Filled Pastries.
"Actually that empty store I mentioned used to be a bakery— years ago. It might still have some equipment inside."

Charlotte's eyes grew wide. "Really? In that case, maybe I will take a gander."

Before she reached the door I said, "See you next week."

Charlotte turned. "Aren't you coming to the blessing?"

"Blessing?"

"Of the fountain. Asa Kowalski is planning a big old ceremony when they turn on the fountain Sunday. They're calling it the Blessing of the Fountain Day."

I contained a chuckle. "Oh, good grief. The people in this town will use any excuse to have a blessing or parade. Maybe I will. Can I bring a friend or two?"

"Bring three or more. Heck, bring everyone."

Mercy popped up next to me. "This one looks good."

"Oh,
Sherlock Holmes.
I guess you're ready for it. You like mysteries? Crime stuff?"

"I like figuring stuff out, and it sounds like that's what Mr. Sherlock Holmes is good at."

"Elementary, my Dear Watson."

She looked at me.

"You'll see. I hope your mama is feeling better."

"She will. It's the third time this week she been sick in the morning."

It wasn't until after Charlotte and Mercy left that I started to put two and two together and wonder if the new Paradise Fountain, Leon Fontaine, and what was happening at Greenbrier had any connection. It didn't seem possible, but one thing I learned by hanging around Mildred Blessing is that you never let any hunch go unheeded. I dialed Mildred's number hoping she was in her office.

"Chief of Police, Mildred Blessing."

"Oh, good, you're there," I said.

"Who is this? Griselda?"

"Yes. Mildred, I might have some info about that Leon fellow and Greenbrier."

"Really? Because I talked with Nurse Sally and she said that man is just as sweet as can be and claims he doesn't know anything about why the residents might be acting so strange— including Haddie Grace. She said he just came every day, did his work on the gazebo, and left."

"Uh-huh, that may be so, but let me come and tell you what I just thought about."

"OK, meet me at the Full Moon."

That was the last place I wanted to go that morning. I wasn't in any mood to deal with Zeb, but I agreed.

After locking up the library, I went and found Mildred at the café talking with Dot Handy and Studebaker Kowalski. Studebaker and Asa were cousins. I'm sure they might have been discussing the upcoming Blessing of the Fountain. I looked for Zeb out of the corner of my eye and saw his paper hat bobbing around in the kitchen.

"Hey, Mildred," I called with a wave.

"Hey, Griselda," Stu said. "We were just talking about the Blessing of the Fountain. Cousin Asa is pretty excited."

"I figured as much. I just learned about it," I said. "Charlotte Figg came into the library looking for some information, and she told me. I think it's pretty neat they got that old fountain going."

Dot Handy offered me coffee.

"No thanks, Dot. I had enough today. But I would like a glass of water."

"Water?" Mildred said. "Everybody is asking for water today. Must have something to do with that fountain."

"That's right," I said. "That's what I wanted to tell you."

I squeezed into the booth seat. "Charlotte Figg came looking for information on—now get this—the Fountain of Youth."

"Really?" Mildred's eyebrows rose. "You don't say." She took out her trusty black notebook and scribbled in it. Fountain of Youth. Then she drew a great big question mark next to it. "It doesn't exist," she said. "But I wrote it down anyway. A clue is a clue even when it isn't really a clue."

"Everybody knows it doesn't really exist, that's it's just a story," I said.

Dot placed a glass of water in front of me. "Want anything else, Griselda?"

"No, thank you."

"Of course not," Stu said. "Charlotte is just as wacky as the rest of them up there."

"That's not nice," I said. "I think she's very sweet and is really concerned about things. But get this. Isn't it weird that this man, Leon comes to town, rebuilds a fountain and the gazebo and now the people at Greenbrier are all acting so young and—"

"Wait, wait, just a doggone minute," Mildred said. "Are you implying that the Fountain of Youth is in the Paradise Trailer Park?"

I sipped my water. "I guess it does sound stupid. But it seemed uncanny to me that he should get the fountain going and be visiting Greenbrier and now the people are riding tricycles and kissing and skipping and stuff like that."

"Look," Mildred said. "I'll go talk to Leon but I don't think he's got anything to do with Greenbrier. How could he? There is no such thing as water that makes people young or gives them new life."

"I don't know. Just thought I should mention it."

"Anyway," Studebaker said, "are you all coming to the blessing? It should be a lot of fun."

"I haven't been up to Paradise in a long, long time," Dot said. "I'll go."

"Me too," Mildred said.

That was when Zeb came out of the kitchen. "Hey, Hey, everybody." He looked at me. "Hi, Grizzy."

"Hi, Zeb. How are you?"

"Just fine. Just fine."

The tension between us fell like a thick, wool blanket over the café. Everyone felt it. I could tell just by looking at their faces.

"Are you going?" I asked Zeb. "To the blessing?"

"Maybe. Are you?"

"Sure, it sounds like a blast."

"How are you getting there?" Zeb asked. "Flying?"

I looked daggers at him. Every chance he could he said something to jab at Cliff Cardwell.

"No, I'll drive my truck."

"Fine," Zeb said. And he went back to his kitchen.

Studebaker shook his head. "You two really need to work this out. Either get married or break up for good."

"Hear, hear," Dot said. "Make a decision."

My head started to ache. "I just came by to give you that info, Mildred. Do with it what you want. I better get back to the library before school lets out."

I got outside and Zeb was waiting near my truck. He was looking a little guilty.

"I'm sorry, Grizzy," he said. "For making that remark about flying to Paradise. I just get so jealous."

"You shouldn't. I keep telling you that there is nothing between Cliff and me except flying lessons."

We stood toe to toe. He lifted my chin with his fingertips and kissed me. My toes curled as I felt one leg lift off the ground. When he pulled away. A deep sigh bubbled like a fountain from my chest. "Oh, Zeb. Why do we fight?"

"Then you'll marry me?"

I took a step back. "I didn't say that—not yet."

"Then when? I'm going nuts."

"I don't know. Maybe if you just take the pressure off, and we can go on dates and spend time together without all this jealous stuff, and . . . Zeb, I really want to try and get my pilot's license before the marriage license. I know you don't understand, but I need to do this."

"OK, I guess I understand—sort of. And I promise: no more jealousy."

"And no more complaints when I need to see Agnes. I know I run off on you sometimes—" I leaned against the truck. "But how often do you run to the café to check on something or take care of a problem? How many times have you left me at the movie because you needed to check the café?"

"I know, I know. But it's different. The Full Moon is my livelihood. Hopefully one day it will be ours."

I glared at him. "So what you're saying is your problems are more important that mine? I've been taking care of Agnes for years, practically my whole life. I can't just stop."

Zeb kicked at a pebble. "No. Not exactly, but you got to admit that my café is important. And Agnes has other people to take care of her now." He pulled me close to him. "You need to let her go. I can't let the Full Moon go. We can't."

"And Agnes is my sister—" I kissed his cheek. "And if we get married, she'll be our sister."

Zeb backed away. "OK, Griselda. I get it. I guess I can wait, but you got to know how hard it is for me now. I've made up my mind. I'm ready to be married. Really ready."

"I know. I'm almost ready."

"OK. I'll see you later. Right now, I have baloney to fry."

I watched him go back inside the Full Moon before getting into the truck.

"Too much pressure," I said to myself as I turned the ignition. "Why does he have to put so much pressure on me?"

"Who's putting pressure on you?"

It was Cliff standing near the truck. "Is it Zeb? Is he still upset that I'm giving you flying lessons?"

I nodded. "Yeah, he gets so jealous and thinks if I wear his wedding ring I'll stop living or something and that I won't need to fly. But it worries me that even after we're married, he will still be jealous and I'll still want to fly."

Cliff grinned. "I would reckon so."

"I need to get to the library."

"How about later?"

"Later?" I said. "What about later?"

"Go flying. You said you wanted some more flights before your test."

I looked at the café and saw Zeb at the window. "Good idea. I can meet you on the Hill a little after three."

Cliff tapped the car door. "Sounds good."

Then he smiled, my stomach went wobbly and suddenly all I wanted to do was sit next to Cliff in the plane and fly through the clouds.

I wrapped up work at the library just before 3:30. There was only one student who needed a book. I couldn't wait for him to leave and practically shoved him out the door. I headed straight for Hector's Hill. The thought of going flying was the most exhilarating thing I ever experienced.

Cliff waited near Matilda.

"Did you already do the preflight?" I asked.

He nodded. He wore his leather bomber jacket, the one that made him look like he just walked off a 1940s movie sound stage. He had a day's worth of stumble on his face but that only made him more attractive.

"Yep. I did. But I want you to do it also. All part of the test."

I took the clipboard and went through the list. Everything checked out, except I thought the air pressure in the nose tire was a little high.

"What about that tire?" I said.

He smiled. "Good call. An overinflated tire can be just as dangerous as an underinflated one. Let some air out."

I grabbed the tire gauge from the toolbox and let some air hiss out until the pressure was where it should be. "There we go. All set."

Cliff and I went through the check inside the cockpit and all was well. I buckled my seatbelt and planned a course, this time away from Bright's Pond. Away from Greenbrier. I would have flown clear to Peru if I could have that day.

I don't think I will ever get used to or stop enjoying the feeling when the plane first leaves the ground. I leveled her off and set my cruising altitude and speed and headed straight for the Blue Mountains.

"I want to fly over them today, Cliff. Am I ready?"

"You're ready."

It didn't take long for the mountains to come into view. Gee, they were gorgeous in their autumn colors. Brown and rust, purple and gold and green. It was like flying into a needlework sampler. The closer I got, the clearer the scene—the leaves and trees.

"Pull back," Cliff said. "You'll need more altitude."

I pulled back the stick and Matilda climbed like a goose until we were directly above the mountain. I leveled her off.

"This is incredible," I said. "What city is that down there?" I could see an expanse of buildings spread out on a plain. Rows of houses, dotted with taller buildings and spires.

"That's Allentown," he said. "The Lehigh Valley. Isn't she pretty?"

"From up here, yeah. I guess most things are better looking at a distance."

"I agree. Perspective makes all the difference some time. Parts of that town are not so pretty close up. It's only when you get above it that you can see the potential and even see how it fits with the rest of the town."

"Look at you being all philosophical," I said.

"It's true, isn't it? Sometimes it's all about how you look at something. Like Zeb. He sees you wanting to fly as a threat for some reason."

"But if he could see it how I see it. If he could understand why I love it so much, maybe he'd see he didn't need to be jealous or worried."

Cliff and I flew until he told me to take Matilda back. "You better bring her back around and head for home. It'll be dark soon."

I brought her in for a landing with only a slight skip and jump and then stopped with her nose pointing out over Hector's Hill.

"Good job," Cliff said. "Now about that test."

I looked at him and smiled. "Schedule it."

After securing Matilda, Cliff and I walked back to my truck.

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

"Sure. Back to the Kincaids. I promised Nate I'd help him with that tractor again."

"I don't know why he just doesn't buy a new one."

Cliff climbed into the cab and closed the door. "Oh, I suspect a man's tractor is a little like a man's airplane. He'll keep it going until she quits for the last time. It's comfortable. Got the seat just where he wants it."

I pulled up to the Kincaid's house. "Are you going to the Blessing of the Fountain?" I asked.

"The what?" Cliff said. "Blessing of the Fountain?"

"Yes, up at Paradise. Some guy named Leon Fontaine, he just moved into a trailer, rebuilt the fountain, and got it running again. They're having a blessing."

"Oh, boy, it sounds . . . boring."

"No, no. It'll be great. Bet there will be some great food and it could be kind of fun."

Cliff jumped out of the truck and closed the door. He leaned into the window. "Oh, I was meaning to ask you since you seem to know everything that goes on around here. Is there any truth to the latest rumor?"

"The one about Greenbrier?"

"Yeah, Stella said the talk is that the residents are getting drugged and acting weird. Nobody really knows what's going on."

"More likely somebody found the Fountain of Youth," I said. "But seriously, yeah, something is going up there. It's weird, Cliff. They do seem to have been bitten by a bug of some sort."

Cliff waved. "Now I've heard everything. The Fountain of Youth in Bright's Pond. Ponce de León is rolling over in his grave."

That was when I saw Stella on the porch. She wore a pair of blue sweat pants and a floppy flannel shirt. She waved. "Stay for supper."