Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond (8 page)

"I can't," I called. "I need to get over to see Agnes."

"OK, maybe another night."

"Count on it," I said.

I found Agnes smack-dab in the middle of another altercation of sorts. It seems this time Clive Dickens and Faith Graves have decided to tie the knot but their family members are making a stink. Over money. It's always over money. Who cares if these two young, I mean old, people are in love?

Agnes, still the go-to person for anyone's troubles, was in between Clive Dickens and his son, Wilfred. It looked a little strange to see the two of them on either side of Agnes's chair. But I figured it was the chair that was keeping them from each other's throats the way they were squabbling and pointing fingers at each other.

"Now, Wilfred," Agnes said. "Don't you want your daddy happy?"

"Happy shmappy," the tall, gangly—and I must say, ugly— man said. His face was so chiseled and pockmarked from acne scars it looked as though he was wearing a plastic mask. He wore Levi's jeans and a striped button-down shirt. Pink and green stripes—thin as thread.

"I can't let you marry that woman, Daddy," Wilfred said. "We'll lose our inheritance to her and her family."

Money, I thought. Why is it always about money?

"But you don't understand," Clive said. "If you'd only listen and care more about us than yourself you'd know, she's got no family left, Willy. She outlived all five of her children. You'd be her kin."

Wilfred backed away and looked out the window.

"Imagine that," Agnes said. "She outlived all her children. Five. I can't even begin to know that pain. And now all she wants to do is get married and maybe have a family again, even for a little while."

"Ah, Daddy, I'm sorry."

"You should be, you dumb-dumb. And I'll have you know that woman, your future mother, is worth more money than three of me."

Wilfred turned around just as his wife sauntered into the room.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Your husband is being very selfish," Agnes said.

"Wilfred Dickens," the woman said. "What did you do now? If you did anything to lose our mon—" She stopped talking.

"That does it," Clive said. "I have decided to bequeath all our money, mine and Faith's, to Greenbrier and the poor folk in the backwoods."

"But, Daddy. You can't do that," Wilfred said.

His wife grabbed his ear. "Course he can. Why you go shootin' off your mouth? I told you to keep that yap of your's shut. Now we lost everything."

"Well, you didn't exactly help the situation, Irene, now did you?" Clive said. "After the way you been acting. I'm happy the money is going to where it can be best used."

"Sounds like a good idea," Agnes said. "Lord knows the backwoods families can use the aid."

Irene, who never let go of Wilfred's ear, dragged him out of the room. "Wilfred P. Dickens if you ain't the sorriest excuse for a husband."

Agnes slapped her knee. "He's a pip."

"Sure is," Clive said. "I can't figure how that boy got that way. I guess I just made his life too easy for him. Well now, he'll have to learn to stand on his own two feet and work."

"Good for you," I said. "He'll be OK. I have a feeling Irene will see to that."

Clive fell quiet a moment and then said, "Now, Agnes, who do you suppose we could get to perform the ceremony?"

"Boris Lender can do it," I said. "He hasn't performed a wedding in Bright's Pond in quite some time—leastways that I know, but I'm sure he'd be happy to tie the knot for you."

"Whee doggies," Clive said.

Wilfred and Irene came back into the room with their heads hung low.

"Daddy," Wilfred said. "Irene and me been talking. We are terrible sorry for saying what we said. And we understand if you want to give all the money to . . ." He gulped. "Charity. But . . . well—"

"What he's trying not to say," said Irene, "is we would still like to come to yer weddin' and it would be an honor to accept Faith into the fold."

"That's better," Clive said. "Shoulda said that before. But you still ain't getting any money."

I tried not to laugh, but Agnes and I couldn't help ourselves.

Faith shuffled into the room. She stood, all smiles. "Clive, you old dickens."

Everyone laughed at her play on words, which I imagined she used more times than Clive wanted.

"Faith," Clive said. "I want you to meet my son Willy and his wife, Irene. They come for the wedding."

Wilfred glared at Clive and then at Irene.

"Go on now, son," Clive said. "Help your new mama to a chair."

I pushed the visitor chair toward Faith.

Wilfred took Faith by the arm and helped her into the vinyl seat. She was such a sprite of a little thing with translucent skin and gobs of long white hair—not gray, snow white—that cascaded over her shoulders like a twenty-year-old. She wore a robin's-egg-blue housecoat and yellow slippers.

"So," I said, "is everyone OK here?"

Faith grasped Wilfred's hand and then reached for Clive's hand, which she pulled toward her chest. "I'm just fine. Just fine. I got me a family."

That was when Irene burst into several verses of "Oh, Promise Me," and I will admit I needed to hold back from slugging the woman. I knew it was nothing more than a ploy to get her mitts on Faith's money.

I looked at Clive and Faith, and their love for each other was palpable. It seemed some people found love so easily and had no question they had found the right person. But me, I was still floundering around with my feelings like a fish on dry ground, no matter what I told Zeb. The truth was I still wasn't sure I even wanted to marry him—now or ever.

Once Irene finished singing, the Dickens family left. "Thank you, Agnes," Clive said.

Agnes nodded. "I didn't do anything. But I'm glad you found peace."

"So when's the big day?" I asked once they were all safely making their way down the hall.

"I think Saturday. As long as Boris is free, and I can't imagine that man ever missing an opportunity to be in the spotlight."

Agnes pushed herself toward her tray table and poured her own glass of water. I sighed. It was the first time in a long time that she didn't ask me to do it for her.

"You know," she said. "This is quite an occasion here at Greenbrier. I bet that Dabs Lemon would love to do a human interest piece on this."

"Dabs? Really? I suppose. But do you really think he should be coming here with . . . with all the other stuff going on?"

Agnes smiled. That was indeed her plan.

"Sure," she said. "Maybe he can learn a few things about the others. The situation is getting worse. Just this morning Nurse Sally told me she found—"

The sound of a bike bell interrupted her.

"There goes Haddie," I said. "I see she's back to her rounds."

"Yep. I hope Doc Silver gets to the bottom of it, but like I was beginning to say, this morning Nurse Sally found two more residents chasing each other down the hall and three others in the break room listening to that music the kids listen to. She said they were dancing the hootchy-kootchy or something she called disco. Matter of fact, one them requested Greenbrier install something called a disco ball."

I laughed. "No kidding. That's pretty funny, Agnes. This whole place is going crazy."

"But what's the cause?" Agnes said.

I glanced out the window at the gorgeous fall colors. Faith and Clive were in the gazebo smooching. "Look at those two. I think what they have is the real thing and not some druginduced or hypnotic state. They love each other."

"Maybe Clive and Faith are not related to what else is going on around here."

"Agnes, can I tell you something?" I was going to tell her about Charlotte researching the Fountain of Youth and all but it could wait, especially just after the previous episode of the Greenbrier Soap Opera.

"Sure, you know you can."

"It's about Cliff Cardwell."

Agnes slapped her knee. "I was wondering when you were gonna get around to this. It's about time you faced the truth."

"He makes my stomach wobble whenever I see him. I think about him almost constantly—well, him and Matilda and—"

"Oh, Griselda, my dear sister. I think you have fallen in love with Cliff Cardwell and you don't even know it."

For the third time that week my knees turned to mush. Me? In love with Cliff Cardwell?

"No, I don't think so. How can I be? I love Zeb."

"Uh-huh," Agnes straightened her heavy knee, and I heard a loud pop.

"What was that?"

"Oh, it's been doing that sometimes. Doc says it's nothing to worry about. My bones are creaky, that's all."

"Maybe I should take you for a walk around the nursing home. I can push a little while."

"Oh, no, you don't. You can't weasel out of this conversation. I want to hear more about you and Cliff."

I sat on Agnes's bed. "There's nothing to tell, really, except, oh, Agnes we went flying again and this time I flew over the mountain. The same mountain I've been looking at from our kitchen window all these years. It was spectacular. I've never seen anything like it. God's gorgeous creation from on high. It's . . . it's different and wonderful and . . . better. The world is better from way up there."

"Is it creation or Cliff?" Agnes said. "You sure Cliff isn't making you feel so wonderful?"

I couldn't answer her, not then, not directly. "And I told him to schedule my pilot's license test. That's all. That's all that happened."

"You're avoiding my question. Then how come you feel the way you do?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure. I mean that. I'm really confused."

A nurse carried Agnes's supper tray into the room. "One of these days, Agnes," she said, "you're gonna need to start going down to the day room with everyone else. Can't be eatin' every single meal alone."

"I'm not alone," Agnes said. "My sister's here."

"But not for every meal."

The nurse set her food out and opened some containers.

"Go on, eat," I said. "I think I might be getting back to town."

"Not so fast. Tell me more."

"There is no more. I just wish sometimes that Cliff never landed in Bright's Pond. Maybe all this would be easier."

Agnes cut into her hamburger patty. "Maybe you need to go out with him once or twice. You know. Just to see. Otherwise you might spend the rest of your life wondering."

"That would be awful. But what about Zeb?"

"You're broken up again, right?"

"No. He kissed me again and well, the same thing. I get all nervous inside and I think I love him."

Agnes shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Sister, you need help. You got to decide if you want Cliff or Zeb or neither one."

"I know. I know. I will. I'll figure this out."

"Speaking of figuring things out. Has Mildred gotten anywhere with her investigation into the strange things around here? Honest to goodness, Griselda. This place is going loony. I saw Jasper York riding a broom down the hall like it was stick horse. And if that weren't enough, one of the other men, I don't know his name, had to be pulled out of the creek behind building four. He nearly drowned."

"I don't think she's learned anything new. But did you hear about the fountain up at Paradise?"

Agnes swallowed a bite of her burger. "Paradise? Nope."

"That fella, Leon Fontaine, who built the gazebo, refurbished the fountain, and they're having a Blessing of the Fountain Day—Sunday. I hear Pastor Speedwell is trekking out there and all to pray a prayer and give some kind of sermon about living water and such. The Dixieland Band is going to be there. They're making it a big deal."

"No kidding. Are you going?"

"Sure. I told that Charlotte Figg I would go. She's real nice, Agnes. She came by the library to do some research on the Fountain of Youth."

"The Fountain of Youth." Agnes dropped her fork in her creamed corn. "Why in tarnation would anyone need to do research on that? Unless it was a schoolkid."

"She wouldn't say exactly but I wonder if she's thinking the Fountain of Youth, the new Paradise Fountain, and Leon Fontaine might have something in common."

Agnes slapped her knee. She retrieved her fork and stirred around in her corn before taking a mouthful. "That's just strange, and it can't be true. There's no such thing."

"I know, but sometimes when you have a hunch, you go with it."

"I suppose, but this is laughable."

"It is," I said. "I'm sorry you can't be at the Blessing though. It should be a blast."

"Well, you have fun and maybe you can sneak me a treat. I can't imagine an affair like that taking place without food— and plenty of it."

"I bet Charlotte will have pies. Oh, I told her to take a look at that empty store in town. Maybe she'll open a pie shop."

"Now that's a good idea. But won't Zeb mind?"

"Ah, I'm tired of everything revolving around Zeb Sewickey. He'll still sell enough Full Moon Pie."

Agnes pushed her peas around on her plate. "They never cook them enough. I hate hard peas."

I looked at the clock. It was nearly six. "I should be going."

"OK, Griselda. But think about what I said. Talk to Cliff; figure this out."

The ride home felt lonely even with a billion stars in the sky for company. I rolled the window down and let the cool air filter into the cab. I would never stop loving the mountains or the stars. Yet, I wanted to see more of the world. As I followed the stars home I thought what it would be like to fly up there, at night, with the stars. How close would I come to reaching out and feeling their heat? I knew it was impossible, yet I wanted to know how close I could come to reaching eternity.

I parked Old Bessie in front of the funeral home. I sat for a minute and then took a deep breath, my hands still gripping the wheel. I closed my eyes and imagined I was in the plane, soaring high about Bright's Pond, heading over the mountains. It was a feeling that was all my own—a feeling even Agnes could not imagine. For the first time in my life I had something grand, something that took my breath away.

I climbed out of the cab and started for the house.

"Nice night," I heard from the porch. I recognized Cliff's voice.

"It is." I walked up the porch steps and stopped until Cliff came out of the shadows.

"I was waiting for you. I . . . I needed to see you."

"Is this about the license?" I fiddled with the door key.

"No, no. It's about . . . about—ah, heck, Griselda."

The next thing I knew Cliff had me around the waist. He pulled me near and kissed me long and deep and my knees buckled and my heart pounded. I pushed him away.

"Cliff. What are you doing?"

"Don't you feel it too, Griselda? There's something between us." He took a step back into the shadows. "More than flying lessons. More than friendship."

"You're wrong," I said. "I . . . I love Zeb and—"

"Do you really?"

I took a breath and stepped near the door. Cliff took the key from my hand and held it in his fist. "I have to know if I have a chance."

My heart still pounded. My palms grew sweaty. "Cliff, I . . . I don't know. I can't answer this now. I'm confused. I don't know for sure. I've been with Zeb since high school."

"And where has it gotten you? You haven't married him. That must mean something."

I shook my head. "I don't know what to say. Let me go."

He grasped my upper arm and turned me toward him.

"OK. But you can't tell me that when you looked into all those stars tonight that you didn't wonder what it would be like to fly among them."

"You're . . . wrong. I never gave them a thought."

He relaxed his hand. "OK. But, please. I need to know. I love you, Griselda."

Cliff slid the key into the lock and turned it. He pushed the door open, removed the key, and handed it to me. "It's up to you."

I locked the door behind me and waited a few minutes. Then I pushed the curtain aside to see if he was still there. He wasn't. I had never felt anything like this before. Zeb was comfortable. Cliff was something altogether different. Adventure. Stars.

Arthur meowed and looked at me like I had just robbed a bank. I picked him up and rubbed his soft fur against my cheek. "You don't know how lucky you are to be a cat. It's . . . uncomplicated."

The next morning took forever to arrive. I was actually thankful when Ruth Knickerbocker telephoned at 6:00 a.m.

"Griselda, I just don't know if I have everything right. Can you come over here and see my decorations. I keep thinking I'm missing something. But I can't figure out what."

"Don't worry. It's only Saturday. You have until Thursday."

"Oh, it will come faster than you know. Can you come over and go over everything with me?"

"Right now?"

"Unless you got something better to do. But I don't think you have. Now please. Can you? I got coffee."

"OK, OK. Give me a minute to get dressed and I'll be there."

It only took a few minutes to pull on jeans and sneakers and a sweatshirt. I dumped half a can of wet cat food—Seafood Banquet—into Arthur's bowl and left.

"It is so cold," I said when Ruth opened the door. I had chosen to walk the few blocks. My truck would never have warmed up in that short of a distance so it didn't make much difference.

"Come on in and have some coffee. I got a Danish ring also if you want some of that."

"Thanks. Coffee first."

I walked into Ruth's dining room and saw the mess. Bags and bags of luau decorations, grass skirts hanging over the chairs, pineapple flowerpots, fake flower leis piled like colorful snakes on the sideboard. I saw tiki torches and tribal masks. Ruth had managed to assemble every Hawaiian item she could find in the tri-state area—I was certain of it.

"You got enough stuff here to open a store," I said.

"Now why would I want to do that?" Ruth handed me a cup of coffee. She always used cups with saucers and as I stood there, I couldn't figure out what to do with the saucer. Every square inch of the dining room table was taken up by something for the Great American Hawaiian Thanksgiving Day Celebration.

I pulled out a chair and sat. "What's the problem? It looks like you have everything. Except the turkey, of course, and we're getting that Tuesday."

Ruth snapped her fingers. "The turkey. I almost forgot. You won't let me forget, now will you?"

"Nope."

"Let's see," Ruth said. She started opening bags and looking inside. "I got after-dinner mints in here, you know those Andes mints everyone likes, and look—" she pulled out little tiny paper umbrellas. "I thought it would be fun to stick one of these in everyone's drinks. I'm making Hawaiian Punch—not that stuff that comes in the can, you know from the commercial? How would you like a nice Hawaiian punch? And then the guy punches someone."

"I know, slow down. How much coffee have you had?"

"Two—pots."

"Oh, Ruth you know you can't take caffeine. Not like a human anyway. It makes you crazy like you are right now. Promise me no more coffee, especially Thursday."

She ignored me and grabbed another bag. "I found this darling turkey platter." She showed me a platter shaped like a large Tom Turkey. "I thought I'd arrange a lei or two around the plate and set the turkey down on a bed of green grass— fake of course. What do you think?"

"Sure, Ruth. That will be fun."

And so it went for the better part of an hour. Ruth opened every shopping bag and showed me all the items she got for the holiday. I could appreciate her nervousness and I didn't want to make her feel bad so I complimented each item even though deep inside I worried that something was going to go terribly wrong with this Thanksgiving.

"The decorations are special," I said. "But make sure you have everything you need for the dinner—the actual meal— and let me know. We'll get it Tuesday when I drive you into Shoops for the turkey—you did order it?"

"Of course. I did a lot of shopping by bus and the driver kept looking at me like I was a nut job when a bag broke and all those leis dumped out on the bus floor and then the Tiki torches got caught on the stop buzzer wire and it rang for like three minutes and then I accidentally knocked off some woman's wig with the turkey platter on account of it being so big."

I laughed. "You're not a nut job. Just a little enthusiastic and the woman with the wig is probably better off."