A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (13 page)

“I must confess I wouldn’t have seen the harm either,” Myrtis put in.

“Who would? But apparently this touched a hidden nerve of some kind. It seems all of them had originally wanted ‘O Holy Night’ in their repertoires but had agreed to let the Episcopalians have it. Probably due to Lawton Bead’s expert bullying. Now, the Presbyterians and the Baptists and the Church of Christ are all feuding over whose choir gets to sing it. They all say they’re willing to drop another carol to make room for it, so what’s the big deal? I just wonder if I have the energy to be Ecumenical Euterpe and sort this thing out. We’re trying to avoid repetition, as you know. If they all sang it, it wouldn’t be very special, but it may yet come to that.”

Just then Sarah appeared with a silver platter of Caesar salads, and Myrtis perked up in accomplished hostess fashion. “Ah, at last! Here’s our first course!”

“Who knew religion could be this much fun?” Petey observed just before digging into his salad. “Although I do recall that I raised more than a little hell back in my acolyte days.”

Euterpe sounded inconsolable. “
Hell
is the word that comes to mind right now. These choirmasters are unexpectedly wired over this. Who would have guessed? I understand their interest, but I really can’t fathom their intensity all of a sudden. Everyone was so compliant up until now. It’s become the sort of competition I could have sworn was beneath them all, but here it is upon me, nonetheless. For once, I just can’t seem to get my magic metronome ticking, and I feel as if I’m letting everyone down.”

Over the main course of grilled tilapia, saffron rice, and steamed zucchini squash, the group continued to plumb the depths of Euterpe’s problem. At the moment, Meta was holding forth. “I know this sounds terribly secular, but couldn’t you just have a simple drawing to see who gets to sing ‘O Holy Night’?”

Petey offered a conspiratorial snicker. “Or better yet—how about the proverbial coin toss?”

It was Myrtis, however, who rose above the jocularity with a serious suggestion. “Do I need to repeat the name twice, Euterpe? Laurie Hampton. We all have her on speed dial for just such occasions. After all, she
is
the 9-1-1 of the Nitwitts. I’ll give her a jingle as soon as we’ve finished our lunch. Oh, and Petey, I’ll bring your mother—otherwise known as Caroling Central—up to snuff as well.”

Petey leaned over and winked at Meta. “I think we’re going to like living down here, sweetheart.”

I
nside the municipal chambers on the second floor of the courthouse, an informal council was convening on a blustery Friday just ten days out from Christmas Eve. But Mayor Hale Dunbar Jr. and his councilmen were nowhere to be found. Instead, all of the Nitwitts were participating in a special session with the choirmasters of First Baptist, First Presbyterian, and the Second Creek Church of Christ. It was virtually unheard of for the average citizen to have such access to official municipal facilities, but then the average citizen did not have the advantage of marital bliss with the Mayor. The old truism about politics and strange bedfellows enjoyed a kinder, gentler interpretation in this instance.

“All I ask is that you give us a half hour or so one afternoon when you and the councilmen have nothing else on your agenda. And you can spare me, of course,” Gaylie Girl had suggested to Mr. Choppy in the office a few days earlier. “I don’t have to tell you how important this caroling project is to me and the rest of the girls. And ultimately to the well-being of The Square. As its Mayor and First Lady, we both need to take the long-range view of this and do everything we can to promote the uniqueness of Second Creek.”

His response had been pitch perfect. “Still workin’ on that Santa Fe feelin’ of yours for Second Creek, right?”

“Oh, how I love a man who really listens to a woman!”

Mr. Choppy had readily conceded her argument, checked his schedule and those of the councilmen, and penciled her in without fanfare. Gaylie Girl’s reasoning for the request had been that the three choirmasters would be more amenable to Laurie’s “O Holy Night” resolution once off their own particular religious plantations, and furthermore that it would add that genteel touch of authority to the presentation. Now the time had come for the reveal that the Nitwitts were praying would keep Caroling in The Square on Christmas Eve on track.

President Renza had officially opened the meeting with each of the other Nitwitts rising from “their” padded councilmen’s chairs as she introduced them to the choirmasters. Then she gestured for the men to rise together as she consulted her notes. “I’m well aware that some of you ladies already know these gentlemen, but let’s cover all bases anyway. To your left there in the front row is Choirmaster Kenneth Styles of First Presbyterian.”

Mr. Styles offered up an awkward little nod and hesitant smile. He was, in fact, an inordinately thin, shy man whose chronic stuttering only disappeared when he was singing. Therefore, his penchant for more choir practices than most of his charges thought necessary. It was perhaps the only part of his personality that could be considered tenacious and the likely reason he had allowed himself to become embroiled in the “O Holy Night” brouhaha.

“G-good, af-afternoon, ladies,” he managed as the Nitwitts acknowledged him politely.

“And standing next to him we have Choirmaster Walker Billings of First Baptist,” Renza continued.

The somewhat overfed Mr. Billings, who was the temperamental opposite of his Presbyterian counterpart, usually spoke up so loudly that it made most people cringe.

When informed to tone it down a bit by some of the church elders over the years, he always had the same reply: “I want to be sure every choir member can hear me—even the ones in the back row. Projecting is a big part of praising the Lord, you know.” Surprisingly, he settled for a simple and reasonably modulated “Hello, ladies!” this time out.

“And last but not least, we have Choirmaster Lincoln Headley of the Second Creek Church of Christ,” Renza concluded.

The homely Mr. Headley actually bowed to the Nitwitts sitting in a semicircle below him in the well of the chambers, and even though he had not yet uttered a syllable, the sarcasm of his gesture escaped no one. It was strengthened further by the words that followed: “I’m still wondering if all of this was really necessary, ladies. Couldn’t we have resolved this over the phone?”

It was Euterpe, absent her Pan, who replied as pleasantly as possible. “You will recall that I tried that, Mr. Headley. I spoke with all of you about this business several times. But there was a great deal of zigging and zagging among the three of you. Just when I thought I had all of you in agreement, someone would raise another objection of some kind or change course. I wanted to see if there was a way we could satisfy all of you, and I trust we’ve hit upon a solution.”

“Very well, then,” Mr. Headley replied, cutting his eyes to one side. “Let’s hear it. I’m sure we all have our choir practices to get to.”

Once the men had seated themselves, Renza turned the floor over to Laurie, who rose from her chair once again, this time with a thin stack of papers in her hand. “Gentlemen, these are handouts,” she began, displaying them briefly before setting them back down on the table. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll explain what they’re all about and then pass them out to each of you.”

The stage was now set. Laurie quickly glanced one final time at the note she’d made to herself atop the stack before taking the plunge. It consisted of five words:
international, spirit, close the deal
. She and Powell had worked on the presentation long and hard over the past couple of days, and she was certain that it would do the trick, as her schemes had done so often over the years.

“First, gentlemen, we’d like to suggest the idea of including an international carol in each of your repertoires. As you all know, the choir of St. Luke’s will be singing ‘Un flambeau, Jeannette, Isabelle,’ and we’re wondering if other selections like that might not lend just the right touch of diversity to our caroling event. People will be coming for miles around to hear our music in The Square. Why not give them a surprise or two? We’ve prepared a well-researched list of such international songs in these handouts, complete with lyrics. After you’ve looked them over, we’ll be happy to field any questions you may have.”

It was Mr. Headley who stepped up to distribute the lists, and he was also first up with a question after a hurried scanning. “Miz Hampton, there are two ways I can choose to look at this. Either this foreign-language carol business is really something you’re serious about, or it’s just a thinly veiled ploy to get us to give up singing ‘O Holy Night’ altogether.”

Laurie thought on her feet, striving for a bit of semantic humor. “Do you mean the one word
altogether
as in totally, or the two words
all together
as in the three of your choirs simultaneously?” She immediately saw Mr. Billings crack a smile, and Mr. Styles appeared to be mentally reviewing her question with a slight frown. But there was only a terse, deadpan response from Mr. Headley.

“Both, I suppose.”

“I assure you we’re serious about our suggestion,” Laurie continued. “Why, look at all the choices you have there! ‘Au Royaume Du Bonhomme Hiver’—that’s the French version of ‘Winter Wonderland,’ as you can see. Then there’s ‘El Santo Nino,’ the Puerto Rican version of ‘The Holy Child.’ And how about ‘Noel Blance’—‘White Christmas’? Or ‘Promenade en Traineau’? Everyone will be enchanted to hear ‘Sleigh Ride’ sung in French. And don’t forget the one at the bottom—”

“Yes, Miz Hampton, I see it. ‘Vive Le Vent’—which somehow translates into ‘Jingle Bells.’ ” His expression and tone remained dour. “What makes you think everyone in my choir can sing French off the bat? Or Spanish for that matter?”

“I don’t think it’ll be that difficult. The lyrics are all written out phonetically there,” Laurie replied. “It might be fun for your choir to give it a try. I’m sure they could master it in a few days, don’t you think?” Then Laurie’s knack for diplomacy kicked in. “There’s nothing they couldn’t accomplish under your patient direction, I’m quite certain.”

That seemed to settle Mr. Headley down at the exact moment the stentorian Mr. Billings chimed in. “What’s the story on this one with
Australia
and
New Zealand
in parenthesis next to it? ‘Down Under Santa Gets a Suntan’? Is that supposed to be a joke, or is that actually a song?”

Laurie allowed herself a restrained little giggle. “Oh, no worries. It’s an actual carol, all right. We just thought we’d include that one in case one of you might like to have a humorous number in your program. Apparently, they do sing it in those two countries. I’d put it in the ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’ category, myself. You see, gentlemen, we just wanted to show you that you have many more options than ‘O Holy Night.’ ”

“I’m c-confused,” Mr. Styles said. “What’s w-wrong with any of us s-singing ‘O H-Holy Night’?”

“Nothing, of course,” Laurie replied, pausing to further collect her thoughts. “We are not here to tell you that all three of your choirs cannot perform that song, if that’s the way you want to go when all is said and done. But gentlemen, I think you may have lost sight of the goal here. If this event is to be truly memorable and bring people back year after year the way the Miss Delta Floozie competition does, we have to inject an element of originality here. Already, one Nitwitt after another has done just that. First, our Gaylie Girl Dunbar came up with the concept of Caroling in The Square itself. Then Euterpe Simon thought outside the box and came up with performing on the balcony. I think we’ve all applauded that most creative setting.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Laurie saw Denver Lee’s hand shoot up, waving back and forth for attention. “Oh, yes, and our Denver Lee McQueen is still offering her taped organ accompaniments for the convenience of any and all of your programs, should you require them for your practices.”

Mr. Headley finally broke the awkward silence that ensued. “So you actually think these foreign-language carols will enhance our performances? You don’t think people will hear them and say to themselves, ‘What the heck was that?’—if you’ll please pardon my English?”

Laurie quickly glanced down at the second word in her note to herself—
spirit
—and regrouped. “Yes, I honestly think the crowds will be charmed and greatly entertained. And let us fervently hope and pray that we have crowds to entertain. But I’d like you gentlemen to consider something else as well. Although this is being staged as a tourist event, it will also be a genuine manifestation of the season. At this point, I have to say that I’m a bit disappointed that the three of you don’t seem to be approaching this with the Christmas spirit in mind. We are supposed to be celebrating a miraculous event instead of quibbling over petty details such as who gets to sing what. Your churches rely upon you to bring the musical traditions of the season to life. It’s not a part of your mission to fuss and fight with each other. So, I ask each of you to consider all of my points in that spirit.”