by Joyce Magnin
"Ha, that's funny. How'd she get that?"
"Boris gave it to her. Since she feeds the perps, he figured she should have it in case no one is there to let her in."
"That could be dangerous," I said.
"I know. I know. I took the key right away from her. She was madder than a wet cat, but I had to do my duty."
"Good work."
"I was heading to the children's pageant rehearsal. Let me know if you hear anything or find him."
"I will."
My next stop was the Full Moon to see Zeb. I kind of missed him after not seeing him for nearly a full day.
"Hey," I said with a wave. I saw his paper hat moving around in the kitchen.
He poked his head through the pick-up window. "Hey, yourself." He smiled wide.
"Just came by on account of I missed you," I said.
"That's good to hear."
Dot wiggled past me. "Oh, isn't that sweet?" she said in a baby voice. "Kissy, kissy." Then she laughed.
"Thanks," I said.
"Hey," Zeb said. "Don't forget I can fire you." He pointed his finger at Dot.
Dot waved her hand at him. "Oh, go on. You need me more than I need this job. I just do it for kicks. And I always look for a chance to say, Oh, kissy, kissy."
I sat on a counter stool. "I can't stay. I have to go get Mercy and then go to the play rehearsal."
"So Mercy is going to be Mary?" Zeb said.
"Yep."
"Ah," he said. "She is so cute."
Dot looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Sometimes the man surprises me. Wouldn't know it by looking at him that he could be so tenderhearted."
"You big softy," I said. "I better go get Mercy."
"See you later?" Zeb called.
"Sure."
Mercy was waiting on the library steps petting a calico cat so skinny I could see its ribs.
"Hey," I called. "You ready?"
Mercy ran toward the truck. "I surely am, Miz Griselda."
The cat looked dejected and then bolted into the bushes.
"She looked like a nice kitty," I said when Mercy climbed into the truck.
"Oh, she is. She comes around me a lot. I asked Mama if we can keep her, but she said she has 'nuf trouble feeding our two mouths; can't possibly add another."
"She knows what's right," I said.
"I reckon so, but I sure wouldn't mind having that soft kitty to play with."
We drove toward the church. It was cold and a little windy but no snow or rain. The sky had turned that gunmetal gray as the last of the sun disappeared behind the mountains.
"Are you excited about being in the play?" I asked.
"I thought it was called a pageant, I like the sound of that— it's royal, and yes, yes I am very excited. Imagine me, playacting Mary—Jesus' mother. Land o' Goshen!"
"You'll be perfect. Now Miss Ruth will be there to help with your costume. She might need to do some sewing on it to make it fit just right."
"Oh, that's fine. I'll stand real still for her."
I parked the truck out front of the church, and Mercy and I quickly found the other children and some parents in the basement. Dot Handy was already there with her clipboard. Dot always directed the play. She loved doing it and one time told me, in confidence, that she had wanted to be an actress when she was a young woman. I think she would have been very good. Dot had a kind of Bette Davis air about her.
"What's she doing here?" I heard one of the boys say. "There ain't no Negros in Bethlehem."
I saw the boy's mother grab him by his collar. "You shut your mouth, Kyle, we don't say Negro in polite society."
Then the other walked toward me. "Um, excuse me but, just why is that little girl here?"
"I'm Mary," Mercy said. "Mother of Jesus Christ himself, our Lord and Savior Almighty, Amen."
"What?" said Kyle's mother. "YOU are this year's Mary?"
"That's correct," Dot said. "Mercy Lincoln is our Mary this year. Jesus did die for all men, not just those of a certain color—now isn't that right?"
"But ain't she . . . from the backwoods?"
"She sure is," I said. "Isn't she just so sweet and pretty?" The mother moved quickly away. "Come on, Kyle. I don't think your daddy would approve of you being in this play anymore."
"But, Mommy, I want to be a shepherd. I'm shepherd number one. Number one!"
All we heard was the shuffling of feet and the basement door slam shut.
"That is such a pity," Dot said. "He was a good shepherd."
"Too bad his mama isn't," I said.
Mercy slipped her hand in mine. "Is it OK, Miz Griselda? Am I still Mary?"
"Of course you are."
Dot climbed onto the stage and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. There must have been at least twenty children, and I counted nine adults.
"Let's start from the beginning," she said, "with the angels singing their angel song, 'Away in the Manger.' "
Nine little girls climbed onstage and burst into song as Sheila Spiney played the piano. They did sound like angels as their voices lifted and swirled around the cold church basement.
"Beautiful," Dot said. "OK, I need Mary, Joseph, and the innkeeper onstage."
Mercy clung to my waist.
"Go on," I said. "That's you."
"Oh, but I don't know, Miz Griselda. I don't want to go upsetting the apple cart."
"You aren't upsetting anything. Go on. Miss Dot will tell you exactly what to do and say. You just listen to her, not any nasty children—or adults."
Mercy climbed the two small steps onto the stage. She stood close to Dot. I watched Dot instruct her and give her a sheet of paper with her lines. Rose and Nate had done another marvelous job with the scenery. It was like being in Bethlehem. Mary and Joseph stood out front of the inn—a house that reminded me of a gingerbread house without the decorations.
Joseph rapped on the door. The innkeeper, played by Brady William Trout, opened the door. "How can I help you?" he said.
I moved away and sat at a table and watched the rest of the rehearsal from there. Mercy caught on quickly, as I knew she would. But the highlight of the rehearsal was when we heard the sound of the basement door open and the bleating of a sheep. Then the grunts of a woman wearing denim overalls as she led a recalcitrant camel into the room.
The children went a little wild, laughing and pushing and falling all over each other to get to the animals.
"Lookee there," called Brady. "A horse with lumps."
Darlene Milligan punched his shoulder. "That ain't no horse with lumps. It's a camel. Ain't you ever been to the zoo?"
"No," Brady said. "I ain't never seen a camel, so how's I suppose to know?"
I helped Dot call the kids off, but they weren't listening very well until the man in the blue denim overalls spoke.
"They'll bite if you rile them up," he said in a booming voice.
The children backed away. Parents reached out for their young ones.
"Filby said you were having your dress rehearsal tonight," said the woman, "so we thought we'd bring Bruce and Debbie down so they could rehearse also."
"Oh, boy," said Hanky Frankel, "do I get to ride the camel? I am Balthazar. They rode camels, didn't they?"
"No, no," Dot said pulling Hanky away from the camel. "You can walk beside him, if it's safe."
"It's plenty safe," said the man. "By the way, my name is Ford, John Ford and this is my wife, Karen."
"Pleased to meet you," Karen said.
I decided to keep my distance and let whatever was about to happen, happen.
"Well, gee whiz," Dot said. "This is great, you bringing the animals down and all. Let's get them where they'll be during the play."
That was when Mercy jumped off the stage and threw her arms around Debbie the sheep. "Ain't she just the fluffiest thing you ever did see?"
"She'll be standing with the shepherds," Dot said. "Debbie, not Mercy. Over there." She pointed to the far right of the stage. "But not yet.
Not until the second act when the star appears and the angels tell the shepherds about the baby Jesus."
"OK," Karen said. "I'll just stand over here with her and wait until you call us."
"Fine, fine," Dot said.
I sat back and watched as Dot directed the children and the animals for a little over an hour. She was like a miracle worker, the way she got everyone organized and kept what had the potential to turn into play pandemonium to a peaceful time of telling the story of Jesus' birth.
Ruth arrived just as Dot had the children cleaning up for the night. The Fords gathered their animals and left by the basement door.
"That camel stinks," said one of the wise men, I forget which, it might have been Caspar. "I don't want to stand near no smelly camel."
"It's all right," Dot said. "It'll only be for a few minutes. Can you imagine what it must have been like for the real Joseph and Mary? Pretty stinky."
"I'm sorry I'm late," Ruth said, "but I got started on Agnes's dress and lost track of time. Is there still time to fit Mary, er, Mercy?"
I glanced at the clock. "It's only 8:30. I think you can work with Mercy."
"It won't take but a minute," she said.
"Mercy," I called. "Come on over here." She was still next to the cradle rocking it back and forth. The plastic baby doll representing Jesus was still there.
"Too bad we don't have a real live baby," she said.
"It's OK," I said. "As long as we have a real Mary. Now come on over here so Miss Ruth can fit your robes."
"OK. I'm coming." Mercy left the stage and joined us. Ruth slipped the robe over Mercy's head and then tied it around the waist with a wide and colorful sash. "Now don't you look darling? I don't think I have to do much, maybe a sixinch hem and a tuck at the shoulders."
"Oh, I like this costume just fine," Mercy said. "I'll wear it everywhere. Even to school."
"Oh, no, sorry," Ruth said. "You have to return the costume to me after the play. I'll save them for next year."
Mercy looked at me.
"That's right," I said. "They're just for the play."
"Ah, but I like wearing this robe. I wish we wore robes all the time."
Ruth inserted a pin here and a pin there. "OK, all done."
Mercy raised her arms and Ruth slipped the costume off.
"OK, everyone," Dot said still holding her clipboard like the Statue of Liberty holds her book. "It's time to go home. If you're waiting for a parent please stand by the basement door. Your parents were told to come to the back door." She looked at me and whispered, "I bet some of them still try to get in through the front door."
"Oh, well, human nature. It is what it is."
By 8:45, all the kids were gone and just Dot, Ruth, Mercy, and I remained to lock up.
"Can I give you a lift?" I asked Dot.
"No, I'll walk. It's not far. And to tell the truth, I can use the fresh air."
"That camel did stink to high heaven," Mercy said. "Worse than the outhouse in August."
We all laughed, and Dot locked the door.
"I can drive you home after I drop Mercy off," I told Ruth.
"Oh, that'll be fine."
The three of us climbed into the truck and I headed toward the library. "Mercy, I can't let you out at the library. You can't walk home through the woods in the dark and cold. I'm gonna have to go with you."
"Oh, but Miz Griselda," Mercy said, "you can't rightly drive this truck to my house. I can walk the woods at night. Done it a million times. I'll be all right. I got a flashlight."
"Oh, that's great, but I wouldn't feel right letting you walk this late at night."
"But I said I'll do OK. It's not far from the library. Honest. Not far at all."
"Still, I need to go with you."
I stopped the truck at the curb and we all got out. But first I grabbed my flashlight from the glove compartment.
"Now come, Mercy, you lead the way."
"Well, OK, but like I said, I can go by myself."
We walked into the woods and after just a few yards everything went so pitch black I couldn't see my hand in front of my face until Mercy clicked on the flashlight. "My house is just over there." She pointed the light through some sycamores.
"OK. Keep moving," Ruth said. "It's a little scary."
A few yards later, I smelled wood smoke and the unmistakable smell of burning trash. Mercy showed the light through the trees. "My house is right there. You can go back now."
"No, we'll see you to the door," I said.
I turned on my light and directed the beam in the direction Mercy pointed. It landed on a small shack with a slanty roof and a tiny porch. I saw a dim light through a small window.
"Is that your house, Mercy?" I asked.
Mercy stopped walking. I showed my light near her feet. "Is it?"
"I'm sorry, Miz Griselda."
"For what?"
"For lying to you. My Mama never told me it'd be OK to play-act Mary. I never told her. I told her I was going to the library just to do homework. She'll be awful sore if she finds out where I was. Mama said God is no God if he can let us live the way we do—eating canned beans one night and going without the next. Mama says God don't play fair. She said God would never give me such a bad daddy if he was a good God, and now we got nothing but what the Society ladies bring us from time to time."
"But, why, Mercy? Why did you lie?" I asked.
"On account of I just had to play-act Jesus' Mama. I thought that would make him happy, you know, and maybe he'd help us more if I did it real good, real sweet you know. I figured God would have to love me and Mama then."
I swallowed. At that moment I had no idea what to say. "It's OK. I won't tell her." I gave her a little nudge. "Now you go on but be sure and come back Sunday, five o'clock for the real thing. I won't tell," I said wondering if I was doing the right thing.
Ruth and I watched until Mercy was inside the ramshackle dwelling.
We walked silently with only the crunch of dead leaves underfoot, until we reached the truck. I think both Ruth and I held our breath the whole time. It was one scary walk even with the flashlight.
"Come on, come on," Ruth said. "Let's get out of here."
"We're safe."
"Now what?" Ruth said. "Are you gonna let Mercy do the play without permission?"
"I'll do it. Get permission, I mean."
The dark seemed a little darker that night, and I drove off a little quicker than usual and was thankful Bessie didn't complain.
"You know," Ruth said when we reached her house. "It's too bad that Leon Fontaine doesn't have some potion, some power of suggestion to give Mercy and her mama. Something that would make them rich."
"No, that's impossible. Leon is selling what amounts to a lie, even if he believes it with all his heart. What Mercy and her mama need is the truth."
"Best thing you can do is help the mama stop hating God. Find a way to show her that God loves her, even if her circumstances don't say so."
22
Saturday. My big day. Well, my second big day. I was supposed to meet Cliff Cardwell at Hector's Hill bright and early. We were scheduled to fly into Scranton where I would take my pilot's license test. I was a nervous Nellie. I couldn't eat and could barely get a cup of coffee down.
I pulled on a pair of blue jeans and a turtleneck sweater. Then I fed Arthur, who I believe thought I was crazy for going out on such a cold, cold day—only twenty-seven degrees that morning, cold even for Bright's Pond standards. I wondered if we could even take Matilda up in such conditions. I figured Cliff would let me know if we had to call off the test.
Old Bessie didn't want to start that morning. She complained three or four times and then started. "There you go," I said patting the dashboard. "Don't fail me now."
There wasn't a soul on the streets, but the Christmas lights that hung from the posts and the wires and hedges and trees still lit my way. I arrived at Hector's Hill and saw Cliff standing near Matilda.
"H
ey," I called.
He waved but from the look on his face I thought we might not be going.
"Everything all right?"
"Oh, Matilda's fine, but I'm not."
"What's up?"
"I have to fly into Binghamton, right now, first thing and pick up a sales rep for some rug company."
"Oh, no, so we can't—"
"Sorry, Griselda. How about next Saturday or one day during the week?"
"No, that won't work. We'll have to forget about it for now. I have so much to do to get ready for the wedding. It's in less than three days now. And the parade is Monday night, and we still have some details to figure out—"
Cliff twisted his mouth. "Looks like next year."
"I guess so. I was really looking forward to this."
"Me too," Cliff said. "But don't worry. Think of it this way: next year when you go for your license you can use your married name and you won't have to worry about switching it."
Seemed a miniscule consolation. "That's true."
I watched for a minute as he did his check, but the cold air got the best of me. "I'm gonna get going."
"I'm really sorry, but I need this job and—"
"I understand. Next year."
I started to walk away but then turned. "Hey, are you coming to the wedding? It's Christmas Eve, Tuesday at noon at Greenbrier. The gazebo."
"What about Zeb. Think he'll mind?"
"No. He'll be all right."
Frankly, I was a wee bit relieved that I didn't have to take a solo flight that day. My mind was not exactly on flying and flying alone to boot. I kept thinking about Mercy and Leon. One second I was worried about Mercy and the next I was thinking about Leon and trying to figure out where in the heck he could have run off to. And that made me think about Haddie Grace in the hospital, unconscious. Then my mind switched back to my wedding and I worried about the details and Ruth. My mind was spinning in a hundred directions.
I went to the café where Zeb prepared me breakfast—eggs and scrapple. I didn't tell him that my plans got canceled. I was banking on the notion that he had forgotten.
"Weren't you supposed to go to Scranton today?" he said as he placed a plate of food on the counter.
