by Sosie Frost
“You named it?” I screeched.
Varius gave her a bit of space. “She’s our alpaca.”
“Shut up.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“You might if that Lovecraftian testicle possessed your mind!” I slapped his shoulder. “And you led it right to us!”
Quint armed himself with a fallen tree branch. “I told you, V.”
“She’s an alpaca,” Varius said. “We’ll use her in the Nativity scene.”
“So she can devour the messiah?” I clutched Lulu tighter as the alpaca surveyed the parking lot for lost souls. “I would have remembered the part of the story where a gargoyle was present at Jesus’s birth.”
Varius gestured to Alicia and accidentally angered the creature. He leapt before me and Lulu in case she charged. “You wanted a camel.”
Oh, hell no. He wasn’t blaming this one on me.
“That’s not a pachyderm.” I covered Lulu’s ears. “That’s a penis.”
“She’s not that bad.”
Quint disagreed. “She’s worse.”
“Camels are expensive,” Varius said. “I got you the next best thing, free of charge, direct from our farm.”
“You’re a man of God, V. You can’t bring an abomination like that into your church.”
“Alicia has a condition.”
“Alicia is the condition.” I stared at five-feet, two hundred pounds of flab and loose skin. Alicia was in dire need of a girdle, but I wasn’t one to shame a new mother. A second alpaca emerged from the trailer—smaller, quieter, but just as naked as its momma. “Oh, Jesus. It’s breeding.”
The cast and crew abandoned all hope and scattered to the church. Varius called after them.
“It’s not like we planned it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She came to the farm pregnant.”
I snorted. “Now, there is your Christmas miracle.”
Varius ignored my negativity. Also ignored the little drops of coal Alicia left in the parking lot. Not anything I’d want stuffed in my stocking.
“Quint’s working on a prosthetic hump,” he said.
I glanced to his brother. “You’re what?”
“Humping.” He winked. “Believe me, I’m pretty good at it.”
Varius frowned, and Quint silenced. “We’ll strap the hump to her, and she’ll be camel enough to take part in the Nativity. She might also make for a passable reindeer if we keep her toward the back of the sleigh.”
“Are you crazy?” I asked. “We can’t put an animal like that on the stage. She’ll fry under the lights. We won’t have a camel—we’ll make alpaca bacon!”
Lulu mimicked me and wagged a sassy finger at Varius. He grabbed her tiny hand and kissed, earning her giggle. Quint nearly had a coronary. He stared at his brother in shock.
Varius didn’t notice.
The rest of the church did.
And the gossip immediately spread up the stairs and into the chapel.
“Look, we’ll knit her one of your ugly Christmas sweaters.” Varius grinned. This only prompted more whispers. “The lights won’t hurt her under all that irony. Problem solved. She’ll be the star of the pageant.”
Right.
Well, his star was so eager to begin the rehearsal that she stampeded away from Tidus as he attempted to leash her. She bolted and clashed up the church’s stairs, nearly taking the tenors and a soprano with her. The choir members dove into the bushes as she aimed for the front door.
The alpaca didn’t burst into flames, but the prayers screamed from within didn’t bode well.
Varius groaned. “Quint, come on. Help me get her out of there.”
Quint stood his ground. “Fuck no. You’re out of your mind. I’m not going near that thing.”
I plunked down next to him, Lulu in my lap. “You get that monster off my stage or I’m going back to Ironfield.”
Another scream.
Quint and I claimed the curb. Varius glanced to his other brother. Tidus simply tossed him the leash.
“You realize there’s a special circle in Hell for betrayers,” Varius said.
Quint laughed. “Yeah. And Alicia is guarding it.”
Varius didn’t often swear. Before the tornado, he probably would have prayed for patience, guidance, or a lightning bolt to strike his brothers. But without his faith and his profanity, all he had was a leash in his hand and an alpaca on the rampage. He threatened Tidus with the leash, but, as Alicia bullied the pulpit and threatened to knock over the manger scene, he left his brothers and rushed inside.
Surprisingly, the spawn of Satan wasn’t the worst delay to the Christmas Pageant. Joseph used the additional time to sober up, the organist attempted to tune a piano stuffed with tinsel, and the women’s group picked the moldy spots out of the bread intended for the scene in the Last Supper.
The baby alpaca paced nervously outside the church for his momma. Tidus easily bridled him and beckoned me close with Lulu.
“This is Albert,” he said. “He’s got better manners than his mom.”
“Albert and Alicia?”
“The albino alpacas with alopecia.”
Lulu giggled as she stroked the soft ears of the ugliest son of a bitch to strut this planet. Her nose scrunched.
“Love!” Her expression turned dire. She pointed at her chest. “Mine.”
“Oh, no, no.” I hadn’t gotten my daughter a puppy yet, let alone a creature that’d probably consume her innocent soul. “I think Pastor V wants to keep his…thing.”
Tidus raised his eyebrows. “Ten bucks or your best offer.”
Not a hard decision. “Pass.”
“Easier than taking them back to the farm.”
Something about the tattoo’d bad boy wrapped in a leather jacket didn’t make me think Green Acres. Especially since he looked more like the sort of man who frequented my club.
“I can’t imagine you on a farm,” I said.
Tidus smirked. “They usually toss me in the barn with the animals.”
“And V?”
“Hard to tell where he goes sometimes.”
That I understood. “I bet.”
“Hell…he didn’t even come home last night.” Tidus had the same green eyes as his brother, but his cut through the bullshit. “Wonder where he went.”
Did he wonder?
Or did he know?
I played it cool. “He must’ve stayed at the church.”
“Yeah, he’s real…dedicated like that.”
“Extremely.”
Tidus nodded. “Especially lately. Seems like he’s got a reason to come back here.”
“Oh?”
“A real tempting reason.”
I laughed. “Don’t tell me an upstanding gentleman such as yourself heeds such scandalous gossip.”
“Who needs rumors? I have eyes.”
I knelt, avoiding Tidus’s gaze that, apparently, saw far more than Varius and I would have liked. Lulu reached for the baby alpaca and hugged his neck. Albert seemed surprisingly tolerant.
I kept my voice low. “Varius belongs in this church.”
“We know that,” Tidus agreed. “You know that. It’s V who can’t figure it out.”
Worse—it was like he didn’t want to try. “The tornado…what did it do to him?”
“Same thing it did to everyone—fucked us up.”
Tidus apologized for swearing in front of the baby, but it seemed strained. I doubted he often apologized for anything.
And he especially wasn’t used to forgiveness.
He wrapped the leash a little tighter in his hands, but the alpaca only cuddled against his legs for warmth. “The difference between the rest of Butterpond and V was that we understood freak accidents. V couldn’t fathom it. Didn’t know where it fit into the…grand plan.” He gestured upward, offered the Heavens a middle finger, and earned a scowl from a couple of cast members. “V didn’t get over it. Couldn’t figure out who to blame—and it screwed him up more once he figure
d it out.”
“God?” I asked.
“For a while, before he quit the church.”
It didn’t make sense. “How does a man who lost his soul have so much faith?”
“Ask him.”
“He won’t answer it.”
“’Course he won’t. There’s only one thing in this world that’ll heal V…” He glanced over me. “Maybe two.”
I warned him with an arched eyebrow. “And what would that be?”
“The church, for one.”
I stood, peeking through the church’s open doors as a herd of shepherds, wise men, and snowflakes attempted to extract a Bible from between Alicia’s teeth.
“You know, this pageant is a nightmare,” I said.
“Might be marginally worse than other years.”
I sighed. “But V seems so different when he’s in the chapel. He’s this calm presence. Less pain and guilt, and more…” No sense hiding a portion of the truth. “I met V at his worst. But when he’s in the church, it’s like he’s the man he used to be.”
“V’s nothing like how he was before.”
“Nothing stopping him from changing back. Maybe once the pageant is over, he’ll realize what he’s been missing.”
Tidus didn’t share my optimism. “You guys must not talk much…though I can’t say I blame him. Varius isn’t returning to the church.”
Lulu plunked onto the cement. The alpaca followed, lying beside her. For a leathery little beast, the critter didn’t mind my toddler’s cuddles. Then again, no one could resist those pudgy cheeks or her little ballerina bun. Even Varius had succumbed to the cuteness.
“He doesn’t know what he wants…yet,” I said. “It might take some convincing, but I am a very persuasive woman.”
Tidus knew better than to disagree. He did it anyway. “Not talking about prying open a wallet.”
“If you think I waste my talents on a crinkled twenty-dollar bill, then you’re not the sort of man I thought you were.”
“And you’re definitely not the sort of lady who usually lures men into a church.”
“A girl has her secrets.”
“And so does V.” Tidus dropped the smirk. “V’s not coming back—that’s why he’s doing the pageant.”
“Who the hell would put themselves through the-show-that-Heaven-rejected if they weren’t serious about the congregation?”
“A couple of weeks ago, the diocese told him they’re closing the church. No money for a replacement preacher. They gave him an ultimatum—either he takes the pulpit, or they’re shutting the doors.”
“You’re not serious.”
“V doesn’t joke about the church.”
My stomach dropped. I nearly plunked onto the cement with it. “So…what’s he doing?”
Tidus loved it—either the misery, the irony, or the utter chaos. “You know what he’s doing. He’s working the pageant, trying to turn it into the money-maker Pastor Miley promised.” He laughed. “He thinks it’ll earn enough to cover the costs of a new minister.”
Oh no.
No, no, no.
The pageant had twenty-five different acts, musical numbers, skits, dances, and monologues. None of them were yet memorized, in tune, or completely clear of any implied blasphemy.
It wasn’t going to make money.
It didn’t even make sense.
My head pounded, and the alpaca wasn’t even out of the church yet. “So…the only reason Varius is helping this pageant is to make enough money that he can absolve himself of any responsibility for the church?”
“Clever bastard, isn’t he?”
More like hopelessly and utterly lost. “The man’s not supposed to have any faith…why does he think this will make money?”
“It’s not faith. It’s desperation.”
And now it clawed at my heart. “You…don’t realize how terrible the pageant is.”
“Oh, yeah I do.” Tidus grinned. Might have been a cute smile if it weren’t at everyone’s expense. “Already bought my tickets.”
“You’re the only one.”
“Let me give you a little advice,” he said. “As long as you’re in Butterpond? The lower your expectations…the less it’ll hurt.”
That’s where he was wrong.
Too much was at stake, and everything already hurt. My head. My heart. My soul.
It ached for Varius. And mine wasn’t the only one. So many people in this town adored the man. If only he saw it. Understood how important he was to the community.
A shame it would take a bankrupted church and failed pageant for Varius to realize where he belonged. He’d never be happy without the church. But, by the time he got it, it’d be gone.
But maybe that was the push he needed.
“Tidus…” I said. The idea was deliciously evil, a plan devised in Hell to send a man back to Heaven. “You seem like a guy with no morals or ethical dilemmas.”
“No one’s ever accused me of being a good man.”
Perfect. “What if Varius wasn’t given a choice about his return? This pageant is already bad…but it can be made terrible.”
“Sweetheart, it’s already terrible.”
Visions of torched sugar plums, missing messiahs, and burlesqued beatitudes danced in my head.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” I said. “All it needs is a little shove and the show will fail. Then the church won’t get a new minister, and Varius will be forced back into the congregation.”
“I don’t think you realize how stubborn V can be.”
“But I know how much he loves this community,” I said. “And I know he’ll do anything for it, even if it ruins him.”
“Got news for you, Glory. He’s already ruined. There’s nothing left for you to fix.”
“I don’t think you realize how stubborn I can be.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s the only way you’ll survive him.”
I searched the parking lot for the cast and crew. Enough of them milled around, waiting for the all-clear from inside. It’d give me just enough time to…spice up the production.
“Quint!” I waved him over. “You still want to be the Sugar Plum Fairy?”
His grin would charm the tights off of any ballerina. “Think you can handle it?”
No. And that was the point. “You got it. You’re going to go on after the hand-bell choir.” I called to one of the crew members, attempting in vain to re-organize a program with two intermissions, three opening songs, and no ending yet. “Call the Alzheimer’s Awareness Society. Tell them they got their song.” I cackled. “You know what? Tell them they have two songs. The Twelve days of Christmas and whatever else they want to play.”
Tidus snickered. “They only know one song.”
“Then they can play it twice!” I grabbed Lulu before she attempted to ride the alpaca, and I urged everybody into the church. “Let’s go, guys. We have a lot of work to do.”
Quint frowned. “Work for what?”
I grinned. “We’re going to put on the most terrible production Butterpond has ever seen. No song in tune, no wise man sober, no baby Jesus birthing scene too graphic.”
“Why?”
Because it was the only way Varius would return to where he belonged.
“We’ll have the worst Christmas pageant ever,” I said. “So this town can get back it’s rightful minister.”
13
Varius
It was like Glory was trying to ruin the pageant.
Or maybe she just wanted to give me an aneurysm.
Butterpond Community Church held certain traditions sacred. Yes, the few inconvenient holidays were observed, and the requisite prayers muttered, but a few rituals were more revered than others.
Bingo on Tuesday nights.
The Memorial Day Line-Dance, Hoe-Down, and Hootenanny.
And the time-honored spaghetti dinner fundraiser for all church events.
Unfortunately, Glory had decided spaghetti was done to death and
instead organized an ice-cream social in the middle of December to fundraise for the pageant.
They would burn her at the stake for heresy.
Didn’t matter what sort of magic she could wield with a can of whipped cream and a devilish imagination. Unless she planned to lick hot fudge off the entire town, she’d never convince them this was a good idea.
The schism had already begun.
And, somehow, she’d pitted both factions of the church against each other.
Practically overnight, the pageant had become a battle royal between two groups, The League of Women Missionaries and the Daughters of Charity. Both organizations were simultaneously thrilled to be asked to host the fundraiser and utterly insulted Glory had asked the opposing club to help. Old wounds ran deep. While neither side had forgotten the soup kitchen disaster of 2014, it was Butterpond who had suffered, forced to forge uneasy alliances over pots of chicken noodle soup or lobster bisque.
Pastor Miley had devised a lottery system to determine which group hosted which event, and a fragile peace blessed the church. Unfortunately, with one little impromptu event, Glory had torn the fabric of the church asunder.
Traditions weren’t honored to follow past practices. They prevented congregations from ripping out each other’s blessed hearts during a stressful holiday season.
And it seemed like Glory intended to undo every single Butterpond institution.
If she didn’t melt us first.
The temperature in the social hall had raised another five degrees, taking it from an elderly grandmother’s house to a stifling inferno. Probably a preview of my eternal punishment for volunteering to help with the pageant.
“Maybe if we’d gotten here three hours ago like I suggested…” Marianne Bickley, president of the Daughters of Charity, had as many suggestions for the church as she had freckles. “But the League didn’t want to waste rehearsal time and opted to get here too late to fix the furnace.”
She punctuated her criticism with a sip of lemonade. Her face instantly pinched, and she nearly spilled her drink.
“Now what’s wrong?” Susan Miller, chairwoman for the League of Women Missionaries, pursed her vibrant lips. She’d chosen lavender for tonight’s event. Matched her hair. “It’s too hot. We’re too late. Now we can’t even drink lemonade.”
