A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (4 page)

Gaylie Girl gently nudged Laurie and deferred. “Why don’t you handle this one?”

Laurie cleared her throat and offered one of her typical diplomatic smiles. “Mr. Bead, I’m sure you’ve heard of Euterpe Simon, our Mistress of the Scales. All of us Nitwitts are making remarkable progress taking piano from her. She really has a wonderful gift.”

Mr. Bead appeared unmoved. “Yes, I’ve driven past her school many times. Didn’t it used to be the Piggly Wiggly? I shopped there now and then for odds and ends.”

“It did, indeed. Then it was Mr. Choppy Dunbar’s campaign headquarters during the mayoral election, and now he’s leasing it to Euterpe as a music studio. She’s doing quite well, and we couldn’t be happier for her.”

“And the point of this is?” Mr. Bead offered, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

“Just that Euterpe Simon will be coordinating the appearances of all the choirs and keeping an eye on the time. And she has suggested that it might be a good idea to work with all of you choirmasters in making sure the selections don’t overlap. We’d like each church’s contribution to be unique,” Laurie continued. “Euterpe’s awfully good with people.”

Not a muscle twitched in Mr. Bead’s long, narrow face. “You mean someone else will determine our musical program?”

“No, of course not, Mr. Bead. You’ll determine that for the most part. We just thought it might be more effective not to have all the choirs singing ‘Joy to the World,’ for instance. The audience might get a bit weary. After all, there are so many delightful carols to choose from.”

“But if people show up at different times during the event, how will they know what the previous choirs have sung? Wouldn’t they have to remain for the entire two hours for a point of comparison?”

It was at this point that Reverend Somerby stepped in to defuse the growing tension. “Lawton, I met Mrs. Simon at a recent social gathering and she’s perfectly charming. I’m sure you’ll enjoy working with her on this project. And I’m equally sure she’ll value your opinion, as talented as you are.”

“Oh, yes,” Gaylie Girl added quickly. “Euterpe is the ultimate listener. She makes you feel like you’ve known her for ages the instant she walks into a room. Even if you are likely to do a double take when you see that pet poodle of hers at her shoulder like a sleeping baby.”

“Well, that’s quite a recommendation from the lot of you,” Mr. Bead said, his demeanor softening somewhat. “I suppose we can work things out amicably.”

Gaylie Girl turned to Novie, gently wagging her index finger. “We’ll set up a meeting for the two of them soon, won’t we?”

Novie nodded and made another note. “It’s as good as done.”

“I do have one other suggestion,” Mr. Bead continued, his tone at its most solemn once again. “We need to take into consideration the hour of the caroling. You’ve suggested early evening, but I believe early afternoon would be better. That way it won’t interfere with our regular Christmas Eve services or anyone else’s. People can attend both, and I know we wouldn’t want them to have to choose on a holy day of obligation.”

Reverend Somerby spoke up with authority, stroking his beard all the while. “Excellent point, Lawton. I wholeheartedly agree.”

“One to three o’clock Christmas Eve afternoon instead of six to eight in the evening, then?” Gaylie Girl inquired. “Only the Ten Commandments are written in stone.”

The unexpected bit of humor actually brought a smile to Mr. Bead’s lips. “I have to admit that’s rather clever.”

With that, the revised hours quickly met with everyone’s approval, and the Nitwitts brought the first foray of their angelic mission to a successful close.

The Second Creek United Methodist Church was an easy two blocks away, so Novie was unable to get up to a speed fast enough to wreak any havoc upon her two passengers in the back of the van. Easier still was the personality of Choirmaster Press Phillips—a welcome contrast to the high-maintenance Lawton Bead. A short, plump man with an incessant smile on his ruddy face, Mr. Phillips immediately embraced the Nitwitts’ unique proposal after they had all settled around his office.

“What a delightful quest—to be in search of angelic voices for the citizens of Second Creek! Of course, this will take a little extra planning for my group,” he explained as he picked up another butter cookie from the plate he had passed around to his guests. “We have two members who are deathly afraid of looking down from heights, even something as innocuous as the second-story balconies around The Square. I know this because I chaperoned a church bus trip to the Smokies a couple of summers ago, and we did a good deal of hiking and climbing. That turned out to be anathema to the Biddle sisters, Larissa and Camilla, who have devoted their entire lives to the sweet music of the church. Such heavenly sounds, such an inner beauty. True angels, the both of them. Unfortunately, they have a not-so-beautiful inner ear problem and just can’t look down from any sort of height at all.” He paused to indulge a curious little snort as he finished off his cookie.

“I personally have long suspected it’s an earwax buildup problem that they could relieve over the counter, but they insist otherwise. At any rate, I couldn’t ask them to take up a position anywhere on those balconies. But I’ll gladly have them below in The Square as I conduct the others. They’ll relish the spotlight. I can picture it now—one on either side of me, lifting up those voices worthy of coloraturas at the Met.”

“Yes, of course,” Gaylie Girl said, absentmindedly fingering the cookie she had taken out of politeness with no intention of eating. “We wouldn’t want to leave anyone out of the proceedings. Christmas is hardly the time for that.”

“Never fear. A touch of vertigo never kept a good Methodist from a potluck supper or choir practice.”

“Excellent. And what side of The Square would your choir prefer?”

After brief consideration, Mr. Phillips lit up. “North, I believe. In honor of the North Pole. Just a whimsical touch for all the children we have dedicated this year and whom we hope will come to listen to us with their parents.”

Novie made yet another note and said: “That’s two votes for north and counting.”

In rapid succession, the affable choirmasters of the Second Creek Church of Christ, First Presbyterian, First Baptist, and St. Thomas Aquinas Roman Catholic Church were all persuaded to participate in Second Creek’s first Caroling in The Square on Christmas Eve. All except the Baptists, who opted for the west balconies, chose to stage their appearance on the north side of The Square. Fortunately, Gaylie Girl and Laurie were none the worse for wear in the back of the van after they both ganged up on Novie and told her she would have to slow down or they would go on foot the rest of the way.

Novie had briefly protested as she glanced at the speedometer. “Why, I’m doing the limit—no more!”

Gaylie Girl in particular was having none of it. “It’s not your speed so much as all the potholes downtown. You’ve managed to hit every one of them without fail. Hale insists he’s going to do something about it even if we have to have a special election to repave every street around The Square. It seems Mr. Floyce preferred to concentrate on paving the rural roads to assure the outlying vote. But until Hale takes care of business—please slow down. Laurie and I don’t wear black and blue very well!”

And Novie had acquiesced as they set out on what they surmised might be the more difficult part of their mission: soliciting the participation of a few of the community’s black churches. Feeling somewhat out of their element, they did not know what to expect but had vowed to be as evenhanded as possible in the matter.

“I got as much information as I could out of Hale when he gave me a pep talk last night,” Gaylie Girl explained to Laurie as they rode along Lower Winchester Road toward Hanging Grapes A.M.E. Church for their appointment with Brother Willyus V. Thompson. “Hale actually visited with Brother Thompson during his campaign even though Hanging Grapes was always firmly in the Floyce Hammontree camp. The scuttlebutt was that all sorts of favors were being done for the church under the table by Mr. Floyce. So it could be that Brother Thompson will still be a bit peeved at losing his influence with the Mayor’s office and might not be too pleased to see me coming. But perhaps he’ll let bygones be bygones and rise above it all in the spirit of Christmas.”

Laurie looked perplexed and shrugged. “That really would be holding a grudge in my book.”

“Nevertheless, a grudge never stood in the way of a Nitwitt, right?”

“Right.”

But the clever confidence that Gaylie Girl and Laurie had carried with them into the newly expanded Hanging Grapes Hall of Fellowship ten minutes later soon faded when Brother Thompson met their proposal with a profound shaking of his head.

“I see you ladies have no sense of history,” he began, avoiding their eyes as he spoke with obvious reserve, his shiny bald pate lifted skyward.

The Nitwitts were all seated directly across from him at one of the enormous dining tables used for church socials, so it was particularly disturbing to Gaylie Girl that he continued to avert his gaze as if she and her companions weren’t even in the room.

“I don’t understand what you mean, Brother Thompson,” Gaylie Girl said, forcing a smile to the forefront. “Would you be good enough to explain what a sense of history has to do with our Caroling in The Square proposal? Other than the fact that I’ve been assured it’s never been done before. We offer this to your choir as a chance to make local history.”

Brother Thompson continued with a demeanor that was nothing if not well above the fray. “I’m speakin’ of our state’s not-so-glorious past, Miz Dunbar. I and many members of my congregation can remember a time when us black folk were forced to sit in the balconies of all the movin’ picture theaters. And if we wanted to attend the weddings of the white folks many of us worked for, we had to sit way up in the balcony. We weren’t good enough to sit on the ground floor. I’m afraid balconies leave a very bad taste in our mouths.”

A feeling of panic exploded somewhere behind Gaylie Girl’s sternum, and she realized that she needed immediate help. After all, she had only recently come to the Deep South to live and was not prepared to address its historic burdens on the spur of the moment. She quickly searched the faces of her companions and came to rest on Laurie’s reassuring gaze. “Perhaps Mrs. Hampton here could discuss this with you more effectively, Brother Thompson.”

Laurie stepped in with her usual diplomacy, her tone both even and friendly. “Mrs. Dunbar is not from Mississippi, Brother Thompson. She’s lived almost her entire life in Chicago, but I’m sure she’s sympathetic with your perspective, as we all are. No one could possibly deny the past difficulties that black people have endured here in the South. But it was our intention as a social club to make sure that black churches were included in this event from the get-go. I can assure you that using the balconies has nothing to do with the discriminatory policies of the past. Instead, we thought of the balconies as an almost angelic prop. Second Creek is unique in having such beautiful and historic structures available for our caroling concept, and we come to you today only in search of angels.”

Brother Thompson finally came down to eye level and said: “I believe what you say, Miz Hampton, but I cain’t speak for everybody in my choir. Some a’ them still got bad memories of the stores and restaurants in The Square and all that. I can run it past my choirmaster and my people and see what they want to do, but I cain’t promise you anything right now.”

Gaylie Girl resumed the exchange at that point. “Well, that’s all we ask, Brother Thompson. We want your participation in this event and hope you will see it as an opportunity to promote your church in a positive and charming way. Surely there can be no harm in that.”

“Like I say, I’ll run it past my choir. I just cain’t promise. I’ll get you an answer tomorrow, though, one way or another.”