Blame It On The Mistletoe - A Novel of Bright's Pond

by Joyce Magnin

  "Ah, let him go. I really don't think he's doing anything. Did you ask him straight out about selling water?"

  "Claims he isn't selling it."

  "Did you ask if he was giving it to them?"

  "That was when he started that double-talk gibberish. I even checked up on him. Called Dabs Lemon, the reporter fella and asked him to do some checking. Waiting to hear."

  "So why are you keeping him?"

  "Mostly, Griselda, because he's annoying. And it isn't like he's being treated like a prisoner. Heavens to Betsy, Harriet brought him a basket of food, and he's had three bathroom breaks already. He's having a good time."

  "How did Harriet know you were holding him?"

  "I have to tell her. Boris makes me tell the jail committee whenever I lock anyone up so they can see that the prisoner is properly attended to. Boris is always on the lookout for a possible legal situation. And besides, Harriet likes to bring them a basket, like he's a prisoner of war and the rules of the Geneva Convention apply." She yawned and stretched. "I just put up with it."

  "Leon hasn't committed any crime. Come on. Let him go home. You might get more information if you kinda followed him around, staked out his trailer or something."

  "Oh, all right."

  Mildred opened the door. "What in jumpin' blue heck?" she said. "That's not possible."

  "What?" I looked in the room and giggled. Leon Fontaine had flown the coop.

  "What the—" Mildred said. "Where is he? This is impossible. The door has been locked the whole time. I only left for a few minutes to call Dabs. I only brought him to the latrine and Harriet Nurse was his only visitor."

  "He figured out a way," I said. "Seems to me that Leon Fontaine is not only part Don Quixote but maybe he's also a little bit of Houdini."

  "That tears it," Mildred said. "Leon Fontaine is guilty and I'm gonna get him. Mildred Blessing always gets her man."

  I laughed. I had a feeling Mildred might have met her match in Leon Fontaine.

  15

  That evening, Zeb came by my house around six. We had made plans earlier to go to dinner in Shoops. Nothing fancy, we decided just a burger and then maybe we would take in a movie.

  "Arthur," I said as I was getting dressed. "I really wish I hadn't told Zeb I would marry him."

  Arthur mewed loudly.

  "I don't know why I did. I just got all caught up in the moment."

  Never one for fashion, I wore a simple, brown wrap skirt and a striped blouse. I tied my hair in a ponytail and this time secured it with a ribbon instead of just a rubber band like usual. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I thought maybe, just maybe, I could learn to like the woman I saw, but I couldn't expect Zeb to make that possible. I needed to like me for me.

  "Maybe that's the problem," I said, scratching Arthur behind the ears. "Maybe I'm blaming Zeb's jealousy for what could really be my problem." I looked out the bedroom window and I could see the nearly frozen-over pond in the distance. The old fishing boat was lying upside down on the grass, and I remembered my father and how he would take me out to catch fish. It wasn't the fish that mattered. It was time we spent on the water. My father always made me feel secure even when the boat rocked a little. I remembered how he would put his hand over mine and help me reel the fish in and land him.

  "That's a good one, Griselda," he used to say. "He's a keeper."

  As I looked out the window I could still see my father out on the water in his little boat. He always said he felt closest to God on the water fishing and knowing which ones to keep and which ones to throw back.

  I had my answer.

  The doorbell rang. "That's him. Wish me luck."

  Arthur meowed.

  I opened the front door, and Zeb was standing there with a bouquet of yellow roses and a funny grin on his face.

  "Come on in. I just need to get my coat." I took the flowers. "I'll put these in water first."

  Zeb waited in the viewing room while I went to the kitchen and found a vase. I arranged the roses and carried them into the viewing room and set the vase on the coffee table. "They're beautiful," I said. "Thank you. Yellow roses are my favorite. I just need to get my coat."

  "Grizzy," he said. "Before you put on your coat I got something to say."

  "Oh, is everything all right?"

  "Yes." Zeb got down on one knee. He took both my hands in his and looked up at me. "I don't think I did this proper before so here goes. Been practicing all day. Dot helped me—"

  "Zeb, I—"

  "Shhh. I got to get this out. Griselda, I love you. I've loved you for a very long time. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you—" he swallowed—"marry me?"

  A tear trickled down my cheek.

  "Zeb, I—"

  "Oh, Griselda, don't say no. You can't. You already said yes. I just wanted to make it proper."

  Oh, dear, here was my chance to back out. I could say, "No, I changed my mind." But all my doubts had melted away and disappeared like wood smoke as I gazed into his eyes. My heart pounded, my palms went sweaty, and I said, "Yes, I'll marry you." I had been fighting my feelings and the truth. Zeb was the man I had been meant to marry. I could see it in Zeb's eyes, and I could see it through my father's eyes.

  Zeb stood and kissed me as my heart pounded. I melted into him like a big pat of butter on warm toast.

  "I really do love you," he said.

  "I love you, too."

  He kissed me again.

  "Now look," he said. "About dinner, I . . . I have some place special in mind."

  "Aren't we going for burgers in Shoops?"

  "Nope." He took my hand. "Come on, but promise me you won't laugh or say anything for at least five minutes after we get there."

  "OK. I promise, but—"

  "Nope. Just come with me. I borrowed Studebaker's Caddy."

  Zeb often borrowed Stu's car for special occasions like funerals. He never bought a car of his own.

  "How about that burger joint on the Boulevard, Zips or Zaps?" I said.

  "I said I have a place."

  "OK, I'm sorry."

  We drove toward the center of town. Oh, no, he was taking me to the Full Moon. Of all the places we could have gone that night, he had to go to the Full Moon. But I had promised him I wouldn't say anything.

  He parked the Caddy. There were no cars in the lot and all the lights were off in the café except the large neon moon that hung over the roof. Zeb ran around the car and opened the door for me.

  "Now you promised. Not a word."

  "OK, but it's dark."

  He took my hand and led me up the steps and pushed open the café door. He flipped the light switch and a thousand tiny lights went on. They looked like stars. The only other light was the neon clock that glowed against the wall above the pick-up window. It was dark but light enough to see.

  "Have a seat," Zeb said. "In the first booth."

  I followed his instructions and squeezed in. He sat across from me.

  A Full Moon Pie sat in the center of the table next to two plates, two forks, and two napkins.

  "Is this dinner?" I said.

  "No rule about having dessert first," Zeb said.

  He cut into the pie with a triangular server and gently placed a large slice on my plate. Then he did the same for himself.

  "Go on, eat some. What better way to celebrate our engagement than with a Full Moon Pie?"

  To be honest, lemon meringue was the last thing I wanted that evening. I had my taste buds all set for a juicy cheeseburger and fries and maybe a chocolate milkshake.

  I bit into the slice, chewed, and swallowed. Zeb looked at me like he was waiting for me to explode or something.

  "Go on, have some more." OK, now I was suspicious. I cut off another bite and put it in my mouth. That time I felt something strange, hard, and rough.

  "What's this?" I said trying to pull the offending object from my mouth in a ladylike fashion. But yeah, I was surprised when I uncovered a diamond ring.
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br />   "Zeb. You . . . this . . . wow!" I sounded like an idiot. I wiped it off with my napkin. "It's beautiful."

  "It's been in my family for generations."

  He gently took it from me, dipped it into a glass of water he had waiting nearby, dried it with a napkin, and slipped it on my finger. "I hope it fits. I would have gotten it to you sooner, but I needed to have it sized."

  "It fits perfectly."

  "Really? That's amazing. It really was meant for you." Then he leaned across the table and kissed me and as he did the jukebox turned on and the bright café lights burst on and I heard cheers from outside.

  "What the—" I said.

  "I planned it, Grizzy. It's a celebration. Everybody's here. It's a party—for you. For us."

  I needed to swipe more tears. Zeb opened the door and friends piled in. Ivy, Bill and Edie Tompkins, the Sturgises, even Eugene Shrapnel came out to celebrate. Ruth arrived laughing.

  "You knew about this?" I said to her.

  "Uh-huh, the whole town knew Zeb's plan."

  "And believe me," Edie said, "It was not easy to keep the secret."

  "I can't believe you all managed to keep it under wraps. This has got to be a first in this town."

  "Zeb said he'd stop making sandwiches and move the Full Moon to Canada if we told," hollered Dot from the back of the café.

  I had never been so happy in my life. And the best part? I didn't even miss Agnes. I thought about her, but I pushed the thought aside. This was my night, mine and Zeb's.

  Zeb, of course, did the only thing he could do that night that seemed appropriate. He fired up the grill and started turning out burgers and fries and fried baloney sandwiches. Everyone ate and everyone smiled. It had been the best night of my life.

  I never did get a chance to finish a burger that evening, but that was OK. Afterward, Zeb and I went back to my house and for the first time in a long time were able to spend an evening alone, without interruption.

  "So should we set a date?" I asked.

  "Sure, I was thinking around Christmas." Zeb and I were sitting on the red velvet sofa watching the fire in the fireplace.

  "This Christmas?" I said. "That's just in a couple of weeks."

  "I know. Why not? We don't need a big wedding or anything fancy, do we? Why should we wait? It's not like we're kids."

  I looked into the dancing flames. "No, I suppose not. But we'll need to do some planning. Invite guests and have a cake and all."

  "Well, yeah, but I thought we'd get married in the chapel and have a small reception in the town hall. It's been used for weddings before."

  "We could do that but—"

  "What, Grizzy? But what?" His voice took on a different tone. Annoyed?

  "No, it's not that big a deal, I don't think. But what about Agnes?"

  "What about her?"

  "How will she get to the chapel?"

  Zeb was quiet a few moments. "I don't know. The forklift again?"

  I shook my head. "I can't ask my sister to be carried into town on a forklift. Not again."

  "Then what do you suggest? Maybe we should just elope. Go see the justice of the peace in Shoops and get it over with. That way we can tell Agnes that nobody was invited."

  That idea didn't help. Not really.

  "I'm sorry. But how can I get married without Agnes? She's my only family."

  Zeb got up and poked at the fire. He tossed on another log. "I'll get more wood in a few minutes."

  "Not sure how much is left," I said. "I need to split some more."

  He sat next to me again. "Just think, Grizzy, now I'll be chopping your wood."

  I smiled. "I can't wait."

  He pulled me close, and we avoided any talk about Agnes for the rest of the night—at least until he was about to leave. We stood near the front door saying goodnight. My thumb kept nervously fidgeting with my engagement ring. It would take some time to get used to.

  Zeb held my hand. "Don't worry about Agnes. We'll figure something out. I want you to be happy."

  I lay in bed thinking, not sleeping even though I was more tired than I had felt in a while. I thought it was mostly emotional exhaustion. Getting a surprise engagement party was tiring. I kept holding my pretty little ring up to the light on the bedside table, admiring its beauty and clarity, looking at all the facets. I thought for a minute about the other women who had worn it. I knew that I would now forever be connected to them through this ring. I only actually knew Zeb's mother, Mabel. She was a good woman with a good heart. Little did I know when Zeb and I were children running in and out of her house—eating the delicious pies she baked and getting told countless times to wipe our feet and wash our hands—that I would one day wear her ring. But God knew. And for the first time in my life that night I felt part of his plan.

  The next day arrived cold and typically gray for late autumn in the mountains. The air smelled clean with hints of wood smoke from the many chimneys in town. I made my way to the kitchen, fed Arthur, and plugged the percolator in. I would need to go to the library, but I also wanted to get out to Greenbrier and show Agnes my ring. My thumb continued to fidget with it like it was a missing tooth.

  I was engaged to be married—and in just a couple of weeks. Zeb wanted a Christmas wedding. I sat at the kitchen table thinking about this. A Christmas wedding would be nice. But where? The church would be the obvious place but how in tarnation would I get Agnes down the aisle? I wanted her to be my maid of honor, as unpractical as that might have been.

  But I didn't daydream very long. I was not one of those little girls who dreamed of my wedding day. Maybe Zeb had the right idea. A quick drive into Shoops; visit the justice of the peace; let him say a few words; and sign the license. Just a quick one-two-three wedding. Then I wouldn't have to worry about Agnes. I would just tell her after the fact.

  Arthur mewed as though reading my mind again. "I know, I know. She'd be terribly upset, but she'll get over it and I won't have to finagle some way to get her to the church."

  It seemed my sister was always in my life's path.

  I dressed and headed for the library in my truck. It was early enough for me to catch the Rassie Harper Show and see if Vera Krug had any more tidbits to share. I couldn't imagine that news of my engagement to Zeb would have spread that quickly, and why would Vera care? The better news was, of course, Leon Fontaine's disappearance from Mildred's jail, although I didn't suspect Mildred would have told anyone. It was a mystery how he managed to escape, but I had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with Harriet Nurse and her picnic basket.

  The drive was short and I parked at the very top of the hill with a view of the town, the mountains, and of course, Matilda. The sun glinted off her wings as a frosty mist gathered on the ground giving the plane a romantic look, like something out of Casablanca. "Here's looking at you, kid," I said.

  I tuned in the station and heard Rassie's voice. He was talking about football and then about Christmas. Rassie Harper was always complaining, and that morning he even found reason to complain about Christmas.

  "It's too commercial," he was telling an on-air caller. "What happened to peace on earth? Not that I would balk if someone wanted to leave a gift of, say, a Harley Davidson under my tree—hint, hint, Harcum Motors. And speaking of which—"

  Rassie went into a thirty-second advertisement for the largest "Harley Davidson dealer in the tri-state area."

  "You are so full of it, Rassie," I said to the radio. "You complain about how commercial Christmas is and then sell motorcycles."

  I listened to a couple more Rassie-styled rants before he introduced Vera. "And here she is, that winsome woman of the airwaves, your good neighbor and mine, Vera Krug." This time for some reason he added a cowbell to the end of the segue.

  "Good morning," said Vera. "This is Vera Krug with all your Good Neighbor News for Wednesday, December 4. Not much to report today, except, of course, for the big sale down at Kiddie City in Shoops Borough. They got specials on all the favorite t
oys this season. So come on out all you mothers and dads. Save Santa some running around. If you get there before noon today, they have a sale on that Easy-Bake Oven all the little girls are gaga about."

  I took a breath. "Come on, Vera, get to the good stuff."

  "And now for the news of the day. From what I hear strange things are still happening up at the Greenbrier Nursing Home. Ninety-two-year-old Faith Graves and eighty-six-year-old Clive Dickens got themselves hitched the other day. Imagine that. Love senior-citizen style. Well, I wish them all the luck in the world. And speaking of weddings—"

  Uh oh, I turned the volume up.

  "I have it on good authority that another wedding in Bright's Pond is in the planning stages. It seems that Griselda Sparrow and Zeb Sewickey—owner of The Full Moon Café— are engaged. No word on a date yet, but I can't imagine those two will wait very long. Leastways they better not. From what I hear that relationship has had more ups and downs than the Wildcat Roller Coaster in Dorney Park."

  Sheesh. How does she know this stuff? It must have come from Ruth. But Ruth always promises me that she never speaks to Vera. I guess it really didn't matter, except I hated having my personal business on the airwaves. And, as I looked at my pretty little ring, I felt proud. Why not? "Go ahead, Vera," I said. "Shout it from the rooftop. I am getting married."

  "Hold on a second." Rassie Harper cut in. "Isn't she the sister to that fat woman up there? Agnes Sparrow. The supposed miracle maker?"

  "One and the same," Vera said. "Looks like she's produced yet another miracle. Griselda ain't no spring chicken, and Zeb Sewickey was not what you would call the marrying type."

  "Well, I want an invitation to that wedding," Rassie said. "I guess Agnes would be the maid of honor. Now how much satin and crinoline would it take to wrap that woman up?"

  My stomach churned. The nerve that man had. He took every opportunity to deride people, and Agnes had been a standing target of his for a long time now.