by Donna Ball
“Ready for your big night?” I called.
“Mary and Joseph at your service,” she called back, toasting me with a French fry, and Jack, not to be outdone, added, “Hope they’ve got room for us at the inn.”
Ruth elbowed him in the ribs for the bad joke, and I was about to make an equally bad one back when I was distracted by a slight disturbance in the line in front of me. The guy in camouflage had reached the cashier and I was aware that this was the second time she had given him his total. He patted his pockets, looking for his wallet, and finally dug a bill out, frowning at it for a moment, before he turned it over to her. That was when I noticed he was wearing a buck knife in a leather sheath strapped to his belt, not something you see every day, even around here. He smelled of wild dead things and a couple of days without a shower, and I figured he must have been returning from an overnight hunting trip.
“Ten twenty- five,” Lucy, the cashier, repeated. A note of impatience was just starting to creep into her voice.
He muttered something to her I didn’t hear.
“A quarter,” she repeated. “I need a quarter.”
He dug into his pants pocket again and took out a couple of lint-covered antacids, a pocketknife, some washers, a crumpled receipt, and a gold wedding ring. He spread them out on the counter. He said, almost in disbelief, “That's it.”
Lucy looked over her shoulder for her supervisor, and I could feel the line behind me growing restless. I reached into my pocket one more time, scraped out a quarter, and reached around to hand it to Lucy. “Merry Christmas,” I said to the hunter.
He had greasy black hair and a full dark beard, and he looked at me with a stunned, uncomprehending expression. Abruptly, he muttered something I did not hear, swept the items on the counter back into his pocket, and shouldered past me and out the door.
I made a face of exaggerated question to Lucy, and she shrugged. “Weirdo,” she said, ringing up my order. “Did you see the blood on his jacket? Jeez, I wish these guys would clean up a little before they come in here. That’ll be a dollar three for the coffee.”
I managed to scrape another nickel out of my pocket. “Keep the change. Who was that guy anyway?”
She shrugged and dropped my two cents change into the Need a Penny,Take a Penny jar. “We get all kinds on Parade night.”
“Well, have a good Christmas. I hope you get a chance to see the parade.”
I turned to go and stepped on something hard. “Oh-oh.” I picked it up and held it out between thumb and forefinger to Lucy. “That guy dropped his wedding ring.” I held it up to the light and saw there was writing inside. Forever, Amy. “His wife is going to kill him.”
“I’ll keep it in the cash register.” Lucy took the ring and waved the next customer forward. “I hope he remembers where he lost it.”
But apparently he didn’t, or maybe he didn't think it was worth coming back for. Lucy tucked the ring under the cash tray and forgot about it, and neither one of us ever saw Camo Man again.
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FIVE
Dolly Amstead, parade master extraordinaire, made certain that the first drum sounded and the first baton twirled at precisely 6:00. Sonny arrived with Mystery at 6:10 and the sheep were marching down the ramp like little soldiers at 6:15. It really was something to see.
Maude and I had gone to battle with Dolly to leave fifteen feet between the last float, Reardon Real Estate’s “Home is Where the Heart Is” (which would probably win the Most Artistic award for its charming re-creation of an old- fashioned parlor with grandma snoozing in the rocker and Santa’s legs dangling from the fireplace), and the first animal walkers. She had compromised by putting the riding club between the real estate float with “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” blaring from its speakers and the humane society dogs. The riding club did look sharp in their white Stetsons, white vests, and white boots—all artistically decorated in red twinkling lights—astride their only slightly nervous steeds all decked out in white saddle blankets and saddles trimmed in matching red lights, with red lights twinkling on their hooves. By this time I was starting to wish I’d had the battery-operated twinkle lights concession for this parade, because they were certainly the most popular item of the evening.
Maude, who would never undermine the dignity of her dogs with costuming, was next, walking with River and Rune, who held a banner between them that read “Adopt a Pet”. They got roars from the crowd as they marched by, each dog holding a corner of the sign in his mouth. Following them, Aunt Mart walked proudly with Majesty, who wore a saddlebag sign that read “Spay or Neuter” on either side. I have to admit, the twinkling lights that were draped through Majesty’s flowing white collar did give her a certain flare. Behind them, barking and lunging and pulling their handlers from side to side, came the humane society dogs. I breathed a silent prayer of thanks that I hadn’t volunteered to be in charge of that part of the parade. If all of those dogs made it back to the transport van without escaping their handlers or knocking down someone’s toddler, it would be a miracle.
I was happy to let Mary and Joseph with the donkey go next, followed by the three wise men with their llamas. The sheep huddled together close to the trailer baaing and shuffling nervously, and Mystery was in her border-collie crouch, her eyes fixed on her herd, waiting for one of them to step out of line. Dolly stood on the back of one of the empty trailers with her director’s clipboard and her stop watch, half-glasses perched on her nose, her hand raised in readiness as she counted down the number of steps the llamas took. She began to fold down her fingers: Five four, three…
“Okay, Mystery,” I said, swallowing hard and trying not to be nervous. “I’m counting on you, girl. Show ‘em your stuff.”
This might be a good time to mention that Mystery had never had a herding lesson. Neither had I. It had sounded like such a good idea when we came up with it, since there was absolutely nothing that could give me more joy than showing off a beautiful working dog, and of course Sonny had all the confidence in the world in her pet. Dolly was an easy sell, because she believed with absolute certainty that there wasn’t a sheep in the world—or a dog—who would dare to spoil her perfectly choreographed parade by stepping out of line. I certainly hoped she was right, because it was beginning to occur to me for the first time that herding sheep in her own back yard and marching sheep down Main Street in the midst of a noisy parade with cheering crowds on either side were two very different things, even for a dog as gifted as Mystery.
Two, one…
“Mystery,” I said, “you’re on!”
For one truly endless moment, nothing happened. The sheep baaed; Mystery crouched. Then, in an act of desperation rather than inspiration, I poked the lead sheep in the butt with my crook. He gave an indignant bleat and lurched forward, and we were off.
It may be true that fortune favors the foolish, or maybe we had a guardian angel or two, because among six wild dogs, ten horses, two llamas, a donkey, three sheep and a border collie, there was not a single incident. No one bit or was bitten, no one was thrown or stampeded or trampled. And, looking back, perhaps the most amazing thing of all was that Mystery, who had never had a single herding lesson, managed to keep her three sheep in a straight line for six blocks, despite cheering crowds, barking dogs, flashing lights, and children throwing popcorn. At the time, of course, I wasn’t thinking about fortunes or angels. I was concentrating on watching every step the sheep took, counting each block, and promising myself I’d never volunteer for anything ever again.
Most people think of sheep as docile creatures, but I had seen them kick like mules and leap over the heads of full grown men. Logically I knew that Sonny’s sheep were more like pets than barn animals, that they were completely submissive to Mystery, and that if Sonny had not had complete faith in the plan she never would have signed up for it. But in my experience with events like this anything that could go wrong, would go wrong. That was why, when we reached the parade route end at town square
where the Nativity was set up and the giant tree was ready to be lit, I simply couldn’t believe it; everything had gone off without a hitch.
The plan was for Sonny to meet me at the town square and take over the role as shepherdess for the rest of the evening, and she was waiting as we had agreed. I gave her a big grin and a thumbs-up, still hardly believing we had pulled it off. There was a pen for the sheep toward the back of the crèche, and Sonny opened the gate as we approached, calling to Mystery. I heard a round of applause go up as Mystery herded the sheep into the pen and Sonny closed the gate. My grin broadened.
While Joseph helped Mary off the donkey and tethered the beast to a stake in the ground provided for that purpose, I quickly stepped out of the burlap caftan and helped Sonny into it. The transformation was complete before the wise men even got their llamas in place.
“Unbelievable,” I said, as the children’s choir began to sing “Silent Night”. “Who would have thought we could pull this off?”
“Why, my dear,” returned Sonny, “I never doubted Dolly for a moment.” And she added dryly, “No one was allowed to.”
I tried not to giggle. “Mystery is a rock star. She doesn’t need to take herding lessons. She needs to give them.”
“She knows.” Sonny smiled indulgently at her dog, who was lying at attention outside the sheep pen. “The problem is going to be trying to get her back in the car.”
“Not a single hitch,” I reiterated wonderingly. “Who would have believed it?”
We stood in a kind of awed self-congratulations as the choir finished “Silent Night” and then, right on cue, the great tree sprang to life with a thousand brilliant, multicolored lights. A cheer of delight went up from the crowd, and the choir broke into “Oh, Christmas Tree”. The air was cold and crisp, the sheep were bleating the background, children were singing in the foreground, and somewhere a dog barked. I stood bathed in the glow of the sparkling Christmas lights and thought that there had never been a more perfect Christmas moment.
And then Dolly arrived.
She was a stylish woman in black leggings and a short wool coat with a faux-fur collar. Her ankle boots had a stacked heel and she wore festive red-framed half-glasses and dangling Christmas-wreath earrings. She carried her clipboard and counted heads with her pen. “Okay, Wise Men, front and center. You’re supposed to be kneeling around the manger. Where’s your frankincense and myrrh?”
“I told you, Dolly, I have a bad knee,” Rob Adams complained. “Can’t I worship standing up?”
“Somebody should stay with the llamas,” added Burt Tompkins, who owned them. “They’re sensitive animals.”
Dolly opened her mouth to reply, and Sonny distracted her with, “Everything went beautifully, Dolly. Congratulations.”
“Well, of course it did,” replied Dolly, and she frowned a little. “Can’t you quiet down those sheep?”
The sheep were getting vocal, and one in particular was giving off a persistent bleat that could be heard above the singing. I glanced at the pen but couldn’t see anything that was disturbing them.
Dolly stared at me. “What are you still doing here? Weren’t you scheduled to walk only?”
I held up both hands in a peace-loving gesture. “On my way. I was just making sure the sheep were secure.”
“Well, hurry up. You’re spoiling the vignette. Mary, Joseph, at the manger, please. Mary, you’re sitting, and, Joseph, stand at her right side.”
“Should I be holding the baby or not?” Ruth Holloway inquired.
“Holding, holding,” Dolly said impatiently. “While on duty, the babe is in arms. When you leave at night, return him to the manger.”
Since no one had volunteered a real infant for the living Nativity, Dolly had been forced to compromise with a doll. It was supposed to be one of those life-like ones with pudgy little hands and dimples that made you look twice, but it was still a doll. I thought Dolly was a little put out by that.
“Better be careful about leaving it here at night,” I advised. “Buck said there’s been a rash of baby Jesus thefts.”
Everyone stared at me. “What?” For the first time that evening, Dolly actually seemed to miss a beat. “Did you say ‘baby Jesus thefts’?”
“No lie.”
And one of the wise men shook his head sadly. “What is this world coming to?”
The choir started singing “Here Comes Santa Claus”. The sheep bleated louder. Ruth bent forward to pick up the baby Jesus and then stopped, frozen. “Oh, my God.”
I think we all realized at the same time that the bleating we heard was not coming from the sheep pen, after all, but the manger. Everyone realized it, that is, except Kitty, who exclaimed indignantly, “Don’t tell me someone has stolen our baby Jesus. Don’t you dare tell me that!”
“Okay,” Ruth said softly. She bent forward and gently, wonderingly, lifted a bundle of living, bleating, fist-flailing infant from the manger. “I won’t.”
Dolly stared at the baby. We all stared at the baby. “That,” Dolly said flatly, “was not supposed to happen.”
Did I call it? There was no way this thing was going to go off without a hitch.
We all surged forward at once. The baby was wrapped in a pilled blue fleece blanket that looked as though it had come from an adult-sized bed, which is most likely what had kept the infant from freezing. Still, its little fists were shaking and its screams were growing hoarser. Ruth carefully peeled back some of the folds of the blanket to reveal a very tiny, completely naked, baby girl.
Dolly looked around the crowd imperiously and demanded, “Whose infant is this?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dolly, it’s clearly an abandoned newborn,” Sonny said.
“Probably only a few hours old.” Ruth rewrapped the baby in the blanket and held it close, trying to soothe it with a bouncing motion. “The umbilical stump isn’t even dry.”
“Oh, good heavens,” declared Dolly with an expression of the utmost displeasure. She snatched a walkie-talkie from her pocket and spoke into it. “We need a paramedic at the living Nativity. We have an unauthorized infant on the premises.”
Later, when I was telling the story to Maude and Aunt Mart, they made me repeat that part twice.
It is a testament to Dolly’s iron will and undisputed talent for controlling the uncontrollable that, even with most of the town gathered around, there was very little disruption in the ceremonies, and many people didn’t even know what had happened until they read about it in the weekly paper. Our one rescue unit was of course on-site, and it took the EMT about three minutes to walk to the scene with his emergency bag. By this time Dolly had shooed Ruth, who refused to relinquish the baby to anyone except the paramedic, outside the crèche and behind it. Of course her husband insisted upon going with her, which left our Nativity minus two rather important characters. But when everyone else in the scene started to trail after them curiously, Dolly was having none of it. She controlled her players like Mystery controlled her sheep – when the evil eye wasn’t strong enough, a sharp bark or a little nip always did the trick.
I scooted out of the way before I was drafted into playing Mary and hurried around to the back of our plywood stable where Mike Keller, the paramedic, was listening to the baby’s heartbeat with a stethoscope while Ruth held her. I waited until he removed the earpieces before I said, “What do you think, Mike?”
He took out a penlight and shone it in the baby’s eyes. The poor thing screamed harder. “She’s seems okay so far, all things considered.” He tore open a small plastic package and snapped out a silver space blanket. “This’ll warm her up a lot faster,” he told Ruth. He tucked the space blanket inside the folds of the big bed blanket and began to swaddle the baby. “We’ll take her to the hospital and have them check her out. Not more than a day old, I’d say.” And he gave a short shake of his head, his tone tight, “She could have frozen to death. All the mother had to do was drop her off at any hospital or fire station, no questions asked. We ne
ed a public awareness campaign on that.”
I glanced at Ruth and knew we were both thinking the same thing. “I don’t know, Mike,” I said. “In a town this small, ‘no questions asked’ doesn’t mean much.”
The children were singing “Frosty the Snowman”. A few people passed by and looked at us curiously.
Ruth relinquished the infant to Mike reluctantly, her expression uneasy. “What will happen to her? Do you really think she’ll be okay?”
Mike said, “The hospital will take good care of her, don’t you worry. After that, social services. The police will want to talk to everyone who was there when she was found, so y'all hang tight. A deputy will be up here shortly.”
“He’s got his work cut out for him,” I said. “There must’ve been five hundred people in the square when she was found, not to mention everybody who was in and out all day.”
“Well, the manger didn’t go up until four o’clock,” Jack Holloway pointed out. “I know, because I helped set it up.”
“That’s good,” Mike said. “At least we know she couldn’t have been out here more than a couple of hours.” The baby started to whimper again, and Ruth reached out a solicitous hand. “Let me get this little one in the ambulance where it’s warm,” Mike said. “You can call the hospital if you want to check on her.”
Jack put his arm around Ruth’s shoulders as Mike slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder and hurried away. I remembered what Ruth had told me in the classroom that afternoon about wanting to have a baby and hoping that their roles in the Nativity would bring them luck, and I could see a mixture of wonder, yearning and hope on her face as she watched them go. I couldn’t help but feel a little shiver of superstitious wonder myself.
Ruth said anxiously, “She’s so tiny.” She looked up at her husband. “Do you think we should go to the hospital with her? It doesn’t seem right that she should just be carted off like luggage or something. She should have someone to take care of her on the ride.”
