Queenie Baby: Pass the Eggnog

by Christina A. Burke

  Kyle and I glanced at each other. I shrugged and said, "Babs told us he's in town somewhere and that he's dying. She wants my mom to reunite with him before it's too late."

  My reference to my dead grandmother didn't seem to faze her. Jeez, had everyone gone Sixth Sense on me? "Ya don't say," whispered Mabel. "Don't that just beat all. Well ya never know when the dead are gonna make themselves known."

  "Do you have any idea where my grandfather might go if he were back in town? Did he keep in touch with any friends?" I asked.

  "If he has, he hasn't been mailing under his own name. I'd have picked up on that in a second." She thought for a few moments. "Back when we were all goin' to school together, he an' some boys used to have a hideout up near Chances Point. Not many folks up there this time of year."

  Kyle whistled. "That's five miles straight up. Barely a path, and right now it's under three feet of snow. No way an old man could've made his way up there."

  "Maybe he had help," I said. "Is there someone he could've hired to take him up there and bring him supplies."

  Kyle laughed. "Yeah, me."

  "No," I said, thinking it through, "he would've recognized your name. Is there someone else? A competitor?"

  "There's Sprague Tours outta Jim Thorpe."

  Mabel snapped her fingers. "Saw that Sprague truck three times this month. Struck me as strange since you do most the tours around here."

  "Can we get up to Chance Point today?" I asked.

  Kyle frowned. "I don't know about we, Diana. It's not an easy trip. I'd need to go back to my shop and get some heavy gear. Let me call Sprague and feel him out."

  "No! He might tip off my grandfather."

  "He's not going anywhere on his own. I can guarantee you that. It would be better if Sprague contacted him. Maybe he'd take us up there," Kyle reasoned.

  "Okay," I relented, "but if he gives us the runaround, you've got to take me up there. It's Christmas, and my grandfather belongs with his family. Not dying alone in the wilderness." I'm not sure where all that came from. I guess my Christmas spirit had been dimmed but not extinguished.

  CHAPTER SIX

  "Truth be told, I'm glad you called," said Bill Sprague. "I hadn't felt right about leaving an old man up on the mountain in the first place."

  "I can't believe we found him," I said again as Bill's outback Jeep climbed the snowy path up the mountain.

  "Like I said on the phone, I think he's in pretty bad shape. He looks like a tough old bugger," he paused, adding, "but the way he talked sounded like he didn't have much time left."

  Kyle gave me a sympathetic look.

  "Did he give a reason for coming back?" I asked.

  "Didn't say much other than he wanted to be left in peace. Just paid me to take him up there an' to bring him supplies."

  "My mom would be devastated if she found out her father was so close and she didn't get to see him before he died. Thank you for doing this."

  Bill nodded.

  The Jeep started to bog down as the path disappeared. Bill turned off the engine, saying, "We walk from here. 'Bout a mile."

  Bill passed out snowshoes and poles. He had also brought a sled of sorts so we could transport my grandfather back to the Jeep. The snow picked up intensity the farther up the mountain we climbed. There was white as far as I could see, and it was so quiet. Like it was a thousand years ago, and we were the first humans to pass this way.

  "You doin' okay?" Kyle asked.

  I nodded.

  "Not exactly what I was thinkin' when I invited you on a tour. I pictured a walk in the snow, followed by some hot chocolate in front of a cozy fireplace. Just the two of us," he added, with a smile.

  "Yeah, this is some first date," I joked. "But it's beautiful."

  Kyle looked a little startled, but then warmed to the idea. "I guess you're right. It is our first date."

  I was kicking myself for that offhand comment. I really didn't want him thinking of this as a first date. "Let's just think of this as a friend helping out another friend instead of a date."

  "Yeah, this isn't much of a date. But while we're on the topic, I'd like to ask you on a real date." Before I could remind him that I was already dating someone else, I noticed a column of smoke rising in the distance. "Look," I said pointing to the smoke and side-stepping the date question. "There it is."

  Bill nodded. "Good sign to see the chimney smoke. I been worried this whole way we'd find he'd already passed."

  The tiny cabin came into full view a few minutes later. A stack of wood sat next to the front door. The snow was pristine around the outside of the cabin, indicating its occupant hadn't been out yet this morning.

  I started feeling nervous about seeing my grandfather for the first time. What if he didn't want to come with us? Maybe I should've brought my mom. Indecision weighed down what should have been a happy moment.

  The sound of a lock turning cracked through the quiet. The door flew open and the barrel of rifle appeared. The unmistakable click of a bullet entering a chamber stopped us in our tracks.

  Bill held up his hands. "Mr. Wilson, it's me, Bill Sprague."

  "Whatcha doin' up here? I didn't call you!" The gun was unwavering. The voice surprisingly strong for a dying man.

  "I've brought your granddaughter," Bill called. "She wants to take you back to your daughter for Christmas."

  I stepped forward. "I'm Brandy's daughter, Diana. I just want to talk to you."

  The gun wavered. "Who's that big fella with you?" he asked suspiciously.

  "It's Kyle Johnson from the Johnson farm," I called back.

  He lowered his gun and motioned us in. His eyes were blue and sharp; his hair was white and thick. And he didn't move like an old man.

  "It's not very nice to put a gun on a visitor," I chided as I stamped my boots off on the doorstep.

  "It is when you're not expectin' a visitor." He turned to Bill. "What part of wanting peace and quiet did you not understand?"

  Bill shrugged. "I haven't been feelin' right about this, Mr. Wilson."

  We all shuffled into the snug cabin. Kyle shut the door behind us.

  My grandfather indicated we should sit at the old wooden table and then said, "State your business and go. I want to finish my breakfast."

  I looked longingly at the coffee pot on the big wood stove in one corner of the room.

  My grandfather followed my gaze. "Guess you'll be wantin' some coffee."

  I nodded and gave him my best smile. He grumbled and set the pot on the table with three chipped mugs. Kyle poured me a steaming cup. I grabbed it eagerly and took a sip. Not bad and definitely hot.

  I glanced around the room. Pretty sparse. No sign of medical equipment, though. If he really was dying of something, it didn't look like he was receiving any treatment. In the corner sat an old acoustical guitar. Immediately drawn to it, I walked over to get a better look. It was an old Gibson—probably 1930s by the look of it—but it had been well-cared-for, and the strings looked fresh. It wasn't as ornate as a lot of guitars from that era, but if it was what I thought it was, it was way more valuable.

  "Is this really a D-28?" I asked, touching the neck lightly.

  "It sure is—you play?" he asked in surprise.

  I nodded. Wow, a Gibson D-28 was the stuff of legends. This thing was worth more than my condo. I ran my fingers over the strings.

  He looked up at me. "What kind of music do you play?"

  I shrugged. "Contemporary, pop, rock. I've written quite a few of my own songs. I've been a full-time musician for the last five years."

  "Well, pick it up," my grandfather said irritably. "Ain't gonna play itself."

  "Really?" I asked in surprise. He nodded. I picked up the guitar reverently. It felt warm to the touch; almost alive. I strummed it lightly, honeyed notes oozed from the strings. Beautiful. It felt sacrilegious to play a contemporary song; the guitar begged for some vintage country. I searched my brain for something upbeat and, more importantly, something I rem
embered. Almost with a will of their own, my fingers picked out notes and a voice in my head whispered, "San Antonio Rose."

  The melody came easily; the words not so much. As I stumbled over the second verse, I heard my grandfather's voice join mine. He rose from his chair and came to stand beside me. I smiled over at him. His hands were watching my fingers.

  We finished with a flourish. Bill and Kyle clapped.

  "You are great, Diana!" Kyle said with enthusiasm.

  "You two should take that act on the road." Bill smiled and toasted us with his cup of coffee.

  "Where'd you learn to pick a guitar like that?" my grandfather asked, taking the guitar from me.

  "I'm self-taught. Spent a lot of time watching others and reading books." He set the guitar back on its stand. "Only thing my daddy ever gave me was that guitar. If he knew what it was worth today, he'd rise outta the grave and take it back. Story goes he won it in a card game in 1938. Guy that he cheated had nothin' in the world but that guitar, so he paid his debt with it. He claimed he'd paid a $100 for it, but my daddy didn't believe a guitar could be worth that much. And he didn't have much use for a guitar, so he left it under the tree for me that Christmas. Not too long after that he went to seek his fortune on the West Coast, but all he found was a bullet waitin' for him. Guess they didn't take to card cheats so well out there." He sat back down in his chair and turned to me.

  "I'd love to hear you play something," I said, breaking the spell.

  His laugh turned into a harsh cough. "There's the irony," he said with a smile. "I polish it, change the strings, keep it in tune, but I never learned to play it. Never had time. Always working some angle or another trying to make more money than I knew what to do with. Came up here to spend what's left of my life in peace. Thought maybe I'd pass the time learning to play. I bought some books, but it's not been goin' so well." His expression was wry.

  "Let me teach you," I said excitedly.

  He sighed and gave me a sad look.

  He seemed to think about it for a minute, and then said, "I was at the Grand Ole Opry in 1962." He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. "Got to see Loretta Lynn live. She didn't have nothin' on you." He pointed a gnarled finger at me.

  I felt my eyes tear up. "Please, come back with us."

  He stared out the window. "I never paid much mind to church teachins' in my youth. Too busy drinkin' and runnin' round with women to care. But when you're pushing eighty-three, you start thinkin' about the afterlife. Looking for signs and such," he waved his hand around. He took a ragged breath. We waited for him to continue.

  "So I'm sitting here in one of the few places in this country where a man can find peace and quiet, and you show up." He looked at me.

  "I'm so sorry—" I began.

  He held up a hand to stop me. "Let me finish. My granddaughter knocks on my front door, walks inside, picks up the guitar I've been worshipin' for more than seventy years and plays the song my mamma played every night after my daddy left her. You know that song was released in 1938 as an instrumental only; didn't have words until 1940. Mamma preferred the instrumental, wore that record out. She used to make up her own lyrics depending on her mood."

  "I can see how this could be overwhelming." I nodded sympathetically. I was a little creeped out to find out how much the song meant to him. Had I actually heard a voice whisper to me?

  He stood up abruptly. He went over to the guitar and laid it in its case. Next he looked under his bed and dug out a suitcase.

  "Well don't just stand there," he said, "help me pack. I ain't sittin' here waiting for lighting to strike me. No, this was sign enough for me."

  I jumped up and gave him a hug. "You are going to love it—" I paused, adding, "I'm not sure what to call you."

  He returned my hug awkwardly. "Suppose you could call me Granddad."

  "Perfect! We're stay at the Bickling house, Granddad." I smiled, liking the way it rolled off my tongue.

  He looked surprised. "Can't believe that place's still in the family."

  I nodded. "Aunt Pearl's son, Jake, lives there with his wife, Victoria."

  "Uh, Pearl's still alive?" he asked.

  "Very much."

  "Don't think she's going to be too happy to see me." He grimaced.

  "It's been over fifty years. I'm sure she'll be happy to see you. I know my mom will be."

  He looked worried. "This ain't going to be easy for Brandy. I've got a lot to make up for." His ragged cough ricocheted off the log walls. "Darn cold!" he added. "Been fightin' it for days now."

  Bill and Kyle exchanged worried looks. Oh, God, don't let him have lung cancer, I prayed.

  "Let's just take it a step at time," I said and started pulling clothes out of the dresser drawer.

  Bill and Kyle carried out the guitar and a few other personal items. Granddad turned to me. "By the way, how'd you find me?"

  I debated how much to tell him. I didn't want to completely freak him out. However, he'd be meeting The Grands soon enough, so I might as well get it over with. "Babs told my Mammaw that we needed to find you before it was too late. She said you'd be joining her for happy hour soon."

  He stared at me blankly for a few seconds. "Babs always did love happy hour. Huh—who'd a thought it?" he asked almost to himself.

  "What's that, Granddad?" I asked, shutting his suitcase.

  "That there'd be a happy hour in heaven."

  I thought about it for a second. Funny, I would've thought happy hours in heaven were a given.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Granddad insisted on walking to the car. He may not have been fast, but he was surefooted. I wish I could say the same. I'd face-planted twice in the snow. One of those times, I'd taken Kyle down with me. One minute he was helping tighten my snow shoe, and the next we were flapping around in three feet of snow.

  We arrived at the house a few minutes before two. Hungry, wet, cold and tired, but victorious nonetheless. Bill Sprague promised to collect the rest of Granddad's things and drop them off later in the week. Granddad gave him an unsure look but didn't argue.

  "I haven't set foot in that house in over fifty years," Granddad said, staring out the window. "It looks pretty good for its age. Kinda eerie, like it's been frozen in time."

  I could see that. "It'll be okay," I assured him.

  "What's your mom like?"

  Hmmm… "Wonderful, wacky, dramatic, caring," I ticked off.

  He nodded. "Sounds just like Babs."

  "Why didn't you ever come back?" I asked bluntly.

  Without missing a beat, he said, "Because I was drunk and selfish most my life. I woke up sober, old and lonely; figured it was my penance and didn't want to burden my daughter with my presence. Maybe I was wrong."

  I patted his hand. "Well, let's make it right, c'mon."

  Kyle gave me a smile as he opened the door and helped me down.

  As we approached the walkway, the front door opened. A shrill voice called, "Take one more step Dub Wilson, and I'll put a bullet in your head."

  We all looked up to see Aunt Pearl balancing a shot gun on the edge of her walker. She was leaning heavily against the walker, but her hands were steady.

  "Put that down, Aunt Pearl," I gasped.

  "Nothin' doin'," she yelled. "I'm going to do what I shoulda done a long time ago."

  My mom appeared at the door behind Aunt Pearl. "Pearl what are doing with that gun?" she cried. She looked out at us.

  "What's going on, Diana?" she asked. "Who's that with you?" Granddad let out a gasp. "It's her voice. She sounds just like Babs."

  "Mom," I began, "maybe we should go in and sit down. Aunt Pearl put the gun down before there's an accident."

  Without even a glance at Aunt Pearl, my mom whipped the gun right out of her hands. "Who's that, Diana?" she asked more warily this time.

  "It's your father, Mom," I said, taking a step forward. Granddad started to follow me.

  My mom let out a primal growl and brought the gun up. "I sh
ould've let Pearl shoot you!" she hissed at Granddad.

  "Mom, put the gun down!" I cried. The door opened behind her and The Parents and The Grands filtered out. They uttered a collective gasp when they took in the standoff.

  My stepfather walked up and wrenched the gun from my mother's grasp.

  "What happened to the caring part?" Granddad said out of the corner of his mouth.

  "Give her time," I replied, watching my mom collapse into Dave's arms. "Remember, you've got a lot of making up to do."

  * * * * *

  It took an hour and spiked eggnog all round for everyone to calm down and come to terms with the long-lost Dub Wilson appearing on the doorstep. The Grands, with the exception of Aunt Pearl, welcomed him the way kids on a playground welcomed the new kid. A little abrasive at first, but excited to have a new person to tell all their old stories to. The Parents, with the exception of my mom, warmed up after hearing Granddad's story and his heartfelt desire to make things right.

  I went into the kitchen to get another round of drinks and found Ashley with a half empty bottle of wine on the counter. She raised her glass to me.

  "What's up with you?" I asked.

  She rolled her eyes. "Once again you ruined my plans," she hissed. "All I wanted was a nice family Christmas. To watch movies, bake cookies, and put on a Christmas play. But noooo, Diana wasn't having it."

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. "How did I ruin your Christmas? I've done nothing!"

  She waved her wine glass towards the living room. "You just had to go bringing home long-lost Granddad out there! For what?" she asked. "To upset Mom? To give us yet another Grand to take care of?"

  Wow, that was cold even for Ashley. "One more Grand to take care of? Are you kidding? That's our grandfather out there, and he's sick! I know Mom's upset, but you have to see this as a good thing for her."

  Ashley shook her head. "I really don't, and he looks pretty spry to me. But you think bringing the man who abandoned her as a child and left her with Aunt Pearl after her mother died is a great idea? Wrong! He's a bad person. Why should we want him in our lives?"