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

by Joyce Magnin

"You remembered?"

  "Sure, Grizzy. I remembered."

  "Cliff had to cancel. He's flying to Binghamton. Work."

  "Oh, too bad," Zeb said. "I was getting ready to tell everyone that I married a pilot. She really does have her head in the clouds."

  "That's sweet. Well, maybe next month or maybe in the spring."

  "Spring gets my vote," Dot said. "Whooeeee, I was not looking forward to watching you get married with two broken legs or something. And maybe by spring you'da forgotten all about it."

  "I would not have crashed," I said. "I am a pretty good pilot, you know."

  "OK, OK, Miss Amelia Earhart," Zeb said. "What else are you going to do today?"

  "Not sure. I thought I'd check on Ruth. She's making Agnes's dress for the wedding, which reminds me, did you talk to Studebaker about—"

  "Yes. Stu said he'd be proud to be my best man. Wants to throw me a bachelor party."

  I laughed. "Sure. That sounds nice. I can see the two of you now."

  "Now hold on. I got more friends."

  "OK, OK, but after a couple of hours at Personal's Pub you'll all be asleep."

  "Don't you count on it. We can get wild."

  "Wild for you is putting food coloring in your meringue."

  "Or horseradish in the meatloaf," Dot said.

  Zeb kissed my cheek. "I got potatoes to fry."

  Dot wiped the counter next to me. "So Ruth is really making a dress for Agnes?"

  "Yep. I can't wait to see it."

  "Me neither."

  "Oh, Zeb, I almost plumb forgot. We have to go see the pastor Monday morning."

  "Milton Speedwell? How come?"

  "To talk about the ceremony and, I don't know, don't they always talk to the bride and groom before the hitching?"

  "Yes, I suppose, but we are not teenagers. We know what we're doing."

  "I know, but we still need to see him and we need to get a license. I think Boris can handle that."

  "Oh, yeah, I already talked to him. You need your birth certificate."

  "I do? I'm sitting right here. Do I really need to prove I was born?"

  "Yep. We can go down to the town hall Monday, too, and get the license."

  I finished my breakfast. Zeb was such a good cook but I had a feeling once we were married that I'd be doing the cooking at our house. I was a fair cook but nothing fancy. As long as he didn't expect much more than meat and potatoes and tuna salad we'd do fine.

  "By the way," Dot said. "Any news on that poor old woman that slipped her trolley?"

  "It was a tricycle," I said. "And, no. I also need to check on her today. I just wish we could find Leon Fontaine."

  Harriet Nurse, Filby Pruett, and the Tompkinses came into the cafe just as I was leaving.

  "Oh, Griselda," Edie said. "I haven't received my invitation, or am I not invited? I told Bill that, of course, we were invited. I'm sure it was just an oversight."

  I snapped my fingers. "Invitations. Edie, I never sent any out—to anyone. I just assumed you all, I mean everyone, knew you were invited."

  "Well, of course, dear but how can we know what time and where. I assume the church but—"

  "No, no. It's at Greenbrier. We're getting married in the gazebo."

  "The what?" Edie's voice smacked of incredulousness. "The gazebo? Where is that? I don't remember there ever being a gazebo out there."

  "It's new. You won't have any trouble finding it."

  "In the cold? What if it snows or ices or sleets?"

  "Don't worry, Edie. It will be fine. Just fine."

  I dashed out of the café. I had not even thought about invitations. Now what? There wasn't time. I jumped into the truck. She complained again but started. I headed to Ruth's. Fortunately, I saw Ivy Slocum walking Mickey Mantle.

  I parked the truck and then waved her down. She waited until Mickey Mantle finished watering some weeds and then headed in my direction.

  "Griselda, where have you been? I haven't seen you in days."

  "I know it. I have been busy with—well, with everything."

  "The wedding, I would imagine."

  "Yes, and today I found out that I plumb forgot invitations."

  "Do you need them? Just get the word out. You know how stories fly around here—quicker than flies on manure."

  "I know, but don't you think I need something more . . . formal. Fancy?"

  "How many do you need?" She pulled on Mickey Mantle's leash. "Come on boy. Just sit a minute."

  "I don't know, fifty or sixty?"

  "Um, it would be a stretch but how about if we buy some of them blank postcards and just handwrite them. And I guess Mickey Mantle and me and maybe Studebaker can pop them in everyone's mailbox—Pony Express."

  "Really? You think we could? I mean you'd do that?"

  "Sure. How hard can it be. Just write out the information."

  "You mean like Mr. and Mrs. So and So invite you to . . ."

  "Not that exactly, what with you and Zeb being adults and all."

  "OK, I'll write it down and drop it by your house. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

  "I have to walk Mickey Mantle anyway, easy enough to drop a card in the mailboxes. But I suspect most people already know, and well, you know Bright's Pond. They'll invite themselves."

  "I suppose but, boy, getting married is complicated."

  "No, it's just all the stuff around it. Keeping everyone happy. Weddings tend to bring out the best and the worst in people. Everybody wants a slice of the pie."

  "And I feel like a great big Full Moon Pie right now."

  "It will be over soon and you and Zeb will be happily married. Imagine that, Griselda Sewickey. Has a nice ring, don't you think?"

  "I suppose it does. I'm kind of partial to Sparrow, but Sewickey has a nice sound, too."

  "You'll get used to it. I'll head on down to the five-and-dime and buy the postcards and then get the stamps from the mailman next time he comes past."

  I hugged Ivy. "You're the best."

  As I walked to Ruth's house, I was struck with a sudden wave of melancholy. I missed my parents even though they died when I was just a youngster. Who would walk me down the aisle? There was no Mr. and Mrs. to invite anyone anywhere. I guess, even at my age, I wanted a daddy to give me away.

  I sighed deeply and pushed open Ruth's yellow door. "Yoohoo," I called. "Ruth?"

  "In here. The sewing room."

  I found her under a mountain of bright red satin and crinoline.

  She looked a fright, like she had been up all night. Her hair was mussed with two pencils sticking out of it, her glasses hung low on her nose like she was simultaneously trying to look over and through them. And she had kind of a wild look in her eyes.

  "Ruth, are you OK?"

  "Mm-hmm," she said with pins in her mouth.

  "Take the pins out before you swallow them."

  She poked seven pins into a small tomato-shaped pincushion with a little green stem coming out the top. "I'm trying to get this done so we can take it out there and fit it on her."

  "How much longer do you think?"

  "Oh, not long. What do you think?" She held out a long red skirt with fancy crinoline underneath. "I'm still sewing the elastic into the waistband.

  "It's gorgeous," I said. "I think you're going to make Agnes look very pretty."

  "Good. I still have to make the blouse and then assemble the hat. Don't forget to cut me some sprigs of holly. Griselda, do you realize you're getting married in three days?"

  "I know. It's a little scary."

  "Now tell me about your flowers."

  "Flowers?"

  "Of course. All brides carry a bouquet when they walk down the aisle. You need something to toss to the single women in the crowd."

  I sat with a thud onto an overstuffed chair. "Oh, criminy, Ruth. Flowers, invitations, music, dresses, license. This is getting out of hand."

  "Every bride deals with this. That's why you have a maid of honor. She can help yo
u with this stuff, unless, of course, your maid of honor is—well, you know."

  Oh, boy, was Ruth just telling me that making Agnes my maid of honor was a mistake? I knew I should have picked Ruth. She would be a much better help than Agnes. But I couldn't disappoint Agnes.

  "I've been thinking, Ruth," I said after the pregnant pause lifted. "Is it OK to have two maids of honor? Double maids? Comaids?"

  "Don't know." She continued to push material through her sewing machine. The rhythm was soothing. "Don't see why not."

  "Then Ruth, will you be my second maid of honor?"

  "I never thought you'd ask. Of course."

  "Good, you and Agnes can wear matching dresses."

  "Uh-oh, that means I'll need more fabric."

  I smiled. This idea was the first one that actually made me happy right down to my toes. Ruth was such a good friend and who cares if we were throwing convention out the window? Probably Agnes.

  23

  At around five o'clock Sunday evening I received an irritated phone call from Dot Handy. I was at home preparing to go to the Christmas pageant. My plan was to pick up Ruth and Ivy and we would meet Zeb later. He needed to close up the café and suggested he might not make the first part of the play. Then I would meet Mercy at the library.

  Best-laid plans are often interrupted, but I have never been interrupted by a runaway camel.

  "Griselda," Dot said into the phone "That camel broke off its leash and is running around out back of the church like a banshee."

  "Did you call the Fords?"

  "No answer. What am I gonna do? The kids will be arriving in fifteen minutes and I'm afraid someone is going to get hurt."

  "I'll call Mildred. Maybe she can do something."

  "Thank you—uh oh!" CRASH!

  "Dot," I said. "Dot?" No answer. So I hung up and headed outside in time to see Dot Handy racing down Filbert Street followed closely by a two-hump camel harboring some kind of grudge.

  "Oh, dear," I ran after her not knowing what I would do if I caught the camel. His leash was dragging behind him. It was metal and was creating sparks as he ran.

  "Stop! Stop!" But the camel ignored me and was heading for the center of town. Next thing I knew doors were flinging open and folks were coming out onto their porches. Fred Haskell took off after the camel.

  "Stop!" he hollered.

  I saw Dot duck onto Eugene Shrapnel's porch. Now that was a good decision. Eugene hated everyone and everything. I doubted a camel named Bruce would put a smile on his sour puss.

  It didn't take long for a stream of men to be chasing Bruce clear to the town hall. I passed Dot and waved. "You stay there."

  The poor animal got cornered by Mildred's cruiser and Studebaker's Cadillac and stopped running. But not for long because he leaped, or tried to leap, over the police car. Unfortunately, his leash got caught on the wheel and Bruce nearly choked.

  "Don't get close," Studebaker hollered to Mildred who was standing there with her hand on her gun. "And don't shoot him either."

  Studebaker inched closer.

  "Watch it," I called. "They spit. And bite."

  Stu waved his hand at me. "I know. I know. But if I can just grab onto his leash."

  "Wish I had a tranquilizing gun," Mildred said. "I'd take him down with one shot."

  "He's just scared," Stu said. "Something must have spooked him."

  That was when a pickup truck screeched to a halt about forty yards away from the police car. It was the Fords.

  "Bruce's owners are here," I said.

  "Good," Stu said and he started to back away. Meanwhile, the camel was tugging and pulling and choking and spitting. His eyes were so big they looked like something otherworldly. His lips were curled, and I could see his yellow, ugly teeth.

  "It's OK," John Ford called. "Everybody back away. Give him a minute to calm down."

  John crept slowly toward his camel. He managed to untangle the leash and get Bruce calmed down. "There, there, boy," he said. "It's OK now. Nobody's chasing you."

  Bruce allowed John to lead him slowly up the street toward the church. But that was when Dot started to get riled again. "I can't allow that wild animal to take part in the pageant," she said. "What if he breaks free and goes on a rampage with all the children around?"

  "He won't" John said. "As long as Debbie is with him."

  "Debbie?" Dot said. "Is that how come he got spooked? I had Debbie inside the church when all this started."

  "Oh, dear," John said. "Bruce needs to see Debbie all the time or he gets . . . upset."

  They started walking again. The camel stood about seven feet tall and walked with a swagger like John Wayne.

  "Still and all," Dot said. "Maybe we should forget about having live animals in the play."

  "Your call," John said.

  I caught up with Dot who was still catching her breath. "Are you all right? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

  "No, no but I have never been so scared in my life. I never had a camel bust out like that before you know. First time for everything. He just went crazy until he broke his chain and then started running."

  "He couldn't see Debbie."

  "That's crazy," Dot said. "So now what? I'm too nervous to allow the animals onstage. But everyone was so excited to have them."

  "Like the man said, it's your call."

  "I'll decide in a minute. Right now I got to get the stage set up and people in place. I'm sure the children are arriving."

  "Oh, I need to go get Mercy. I sure wish there was a way we could get her mother to come."

  "Ask her."

  "I think that would upset Mercy. She hasn't even told her mother she's in the play. Mama isn't fond of God."

  "Oh, dear," Dot said. "I can't help with that. But maybe you can come up with an idea."

  We reached the church, and I walked across the street and climbed into the truck. If only there was something that would lure her out of that shack. You'd think watching your daughter in a play would be enough but Mrs. Lincoln had some deep, deep hurts.

  Ruth was waiting on the porch. She held Mercy's costume.

  "Come on," I said. "Sorry I'm late, but I was chasing a renegade camel."

  "What?" Ruth said as she closed the truck door.

  I explained on the way to get Ivy. She also was sitting on her porch wearing blue jeans and a Christmas sweatshirt with a tree and holly and the words Merry Christmas embroidered underneath. Ivy was pretty much her own person, rarely swayed by what was going on around her.

  "Sorry. Runaway camel," Ruth said.

  "I heard. What a riot."

  We drove up to the library, but Mercy wasn't there. My heart sank. "Oh, dear, you don't suppose she changed her mind." I said.

  "Or her mother changed it for her," Ruth said.

  "I need to go check." I got out of the truck and leaned on the open window. "Maybe you guys should stay here."

  "Will you be OK?" Ruth asked.

  "Yeah. I'll be fine. But if you see her, grab her."

  I made my way through the woods to Mercy's home. Smoke poured from the chimney. I walked onto the porch and rapped lightly on the door. No answer. I knocked again. Louder. By now my heart pounded as I worried something was terribly wrong.

  The door opened. Mercy stood there.

  "Are you coming?" I said. "Tonight's your big night."

  Mercy glanced behind her into the one-room shack. "Mama said I can't go."

  "Really? Did she say why?"

  "Like I told you. She don't like God very much."

  "I'm glad you told her. Do you think she'd talk to me?"

  Mercy shook her head. "Don't know. Probably not."

  I pushed the door open a little more and got a clear view. Her mama was sitting in a rocking chair moving back and forth, back and forth.

  "Hello?" I called. "Mrs. Lincoln?"

  "Go away. Get on now. We don't need no visitors."

  "But Mercy is in the church play. She has to come. She's the star."


  I dared to take a step inside. Mercy moved aside. The cabin smelled from rotten wood and leaves and burning garbage. There was a worn and dirty couch pressed against a wall, the rocker Mrs. Lincoln was sitting in, a small table with two chairs and one lamp that looked so out of place it almost made me laugh. Mercy must have trash-picked it. It was brass with a figure of a cherub in the middle. A filthy lampshade with tassels hung crooked. A small fire burned and smoldered in a rickety woodstove.

  "Mrs. Lincoln, please."

  "Don't need no daughter of mine pretending to be the mother of God when God don't exist."

  Mrs. Lincoln pulled an oversized, orange sweater she wore around her thin frame. Her hair was matted and frizzy. She never looked at me.

  "But Mercy has to come. She has a responsibility and . . . and she won't get paid if she doesn't do her job."

  Mercy looked at me. "Paid? What's that Miz Griselda? You gonna pay me for play-acting?"

  "Yes." I lied through my teeth. But I hoped that if money was involved that her mother would allow her to come. I had no idea just then how. But it would be worth it even if I paid Mercy out of my own pocketbook.

  "Money?" Mrs. Lincoln said. "That's another story—long as it's work she's doin'."

  "Then I can do it?" Mercy said. She ran to her Mama and flung her arms around her. Charlamaine Lincoln pushed her away. "Just see to it you bring me that money—all of it. Every penny."

  "Yes, ma'am, I surely will." Mercy got to her feet.

  "Don't matter none. Just bring me the money."

  Mercy and I started through the woods. She slipped her hand in mine about halfway through.

  Mercy had to sit on Ivy's lap as we traveled back to the church.

  "Glad you could make it," Ruth said. "I got your costume all ready. You are going to be so pretty."

  "How much money they gonna pay me?" Mercy asked.

  I saw both Ruth and Ivy look at me. "Not sure, yet, honey," I said. "But you just pay attention to being Mary. You'll get paid after."

  I parked the truck in front of the house and we walked across the street together. Ivy went through the front but Ruth, Mercy, and I needed to go in the back. The children were gathering in the basement. People would make their way down the steps into the fellowship hall where rows of chairs were set up.