A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (21 page)

Novie’s Vigil Auntie shift in the hospital waiting room started out uneventfully. First off, she asked Henry if there had been any change to report, and he answered calmly enough.

“Cherish is her usual angelic self, thank God. I’ve just been in to see her. If there was such a thing as an advertisement for the perfect hospital stay, she’d be it—all propped up in bed smilin’ and not so much as a hair outta place. But behind that pretty picture I can tell you Cherish is plenty worried because our Riley Jacob’s still on the ventilator. That’s the key, the doctor says. If they can just get him off it . . .”

Novie conjured up her most reassuring demeanor. “I’m sure they will soon, Henry. Now, it’s time for you to run on home and get something good and homemade to eat. You’ll find your plate on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Just zap it in the microwave for a minute or so. Not too long, though. About a minute should do the trick. You don’t want my wonderful cuisine nuked to a crisp!”

“Mind tellin’ me what’s on the menu?”

“Ah! Well, for your dining pleasure this evening I have lovingly prepared for you several slices of pork tenderloin with a light gravy, a generous helping of smashed red potatoes, and lots of buttered green beans with slivered toasted almonds. I always have that when Marc and Michael come over for dinner. They both rave about it. You know, it’s very satisfying for a woman to see the men in her life enjoying her cooking.”

Henry was beaming and rubbing his belly at the same time. “Man, you Nitwitts sure know how to treat a fella!”

Indeed, the details they had worked out for their Vigil Auntie shifts were far beyond the call of duty. In exchange for a copy of the key to Henry’s modest little bungalow in New Vista Acres, each Nitwitt would be dropping by before her watch to deliver a full home-cooked meal or at least a delicious little snack for him to enjoy on his much-needed breaks from the hospital. No fast-food or vending-machine indigestion for this young father with the weight of the world on his shoulders!

“As I explained, it’s no more than I’d do for my Marc,” Novie added, grasping his hand warmly. “Now, you run right along and take some downtime, young man. Vigil Auntie Novie’s orders. I’ll let you know immediately if anything changes.”

It was about five minutes after Henry’s departure that the NICU nurse on duty, a short plump woman with big hair, came shuffling out in search of him. “Has Mr. Hempstead left?” she said while looking around the room.

“Just a few minutes ago,” Novie answered with a hint of trepidation in her voice. “I’m his friend, Novie Mims, and I’m holding down the fort while he goes home to have a little bite to eat. Is something wrong?”

The nurse was smiling and shaking her head at the same time—a professional affectation she typically indulged with all her patients. “We think it’s under control now, but there have been a couple of episodes of apnea in the NICU.”

An alarm went off in Novie’s head. “Apnea? Isn’t that when someone stops breathing? Has the baby stopped breathing?”

“Relax, Ms. Mims. It’s under control. It can happen sometimes with babies this young who are being weaned off ventilators.”

“Should I call Mr. Hempstead and let him know? I promised to do that if anything came up.”

“Frankly, I’d let him go ahead and enjoy his dinner. As I said, the situation is under control, and there’s nothing he could do if he rushed back here. I just came out to keep him informed.”

Novie thought for a moment. “Does Mrs. Hempstead know about this? Perhaps he’d like to be here for her.”

“She knows. Actually, she was in the NICU watching the baby when it happened. Just her second visit, it seems, so it was quite distressing for her. But the doctor has given her something to calm her down. She’ll be all right, especially now that we’ve told her the baby’s apnea episode has passed.”

“Can she have visitors? Perhaps I could go in and be of some comfort to her.”

The nurse broadened what was already an understanding smile. “Not just yet. We’ll let her rest just a little while longer. Then I’ll come out and take you to her room for a nice little visit.”

Cherish couldn’t seem to get the image of her baby son not breathing out of her head. “It was so frightenin’, Miz Mims,” she was explaining some thirty minutes later from her recumbent position in the hospital bed. Novie was standing beside her holding her hand and gently smiling down at her. “How could I know it wasn’t . . . well, the end? I panicked for a while there. You watch those hospital shows on television and the equipment starts makin’ all those funny hectic noises, and you know good and well it means somethin’ is drastically wrong.”

“I know exactly what you mean, dear. Those shows are so dramatic. There’s a crisis around every corner of the hallways. Of course, they do it for the ratings.”

“I’m sure they do, but what I felt an hour or so ago was real. My heart just dropped to the soles of my feet. It was like bein’ on the roller-coaster ride at the state fair in Jackson.”

Novie loosened her grip and patted Cherish’s hand gently. “No need to dwell on it, though. I’ve been assured things are back to normal.”

“If bein’ on a ventilator and bein’ almost two months premature can be considered normal for a baby,” Cherish stated in a monotone, while averting her eyes.

Then she gave Novie an earnest glance. “Miz Mims, would you mind if I asked you somethin’?”

“Why, of course not.”

“Do you think it’s possible I’m not a good person?”

Novie drew back slightly, both surprised and perplexed. It was the last thing she expected to hear from a young woman that Gaylie Girl had once precisely described as eternally optimistic and relentlessly cheerful. “I—uh, don’t quite know what you mean, dear.”

Cherish was looking off to the side now, allowing herself a rueful little smile. “I was just thinkin’ about Christmas nearly bein’ here and all. Henry told me about the terrible fire in The Square last night and all the devastation, and that’s just made everything worse.”

“I’m still not following you.”

Cherish sat up a bit straighter against her pillows and sniffled. “Oh, I know I’m not makin’ much sense. But they say bad things happen to bad people, and I think everyone would agree that miscarriages and premature babies aren’t exactly good news. So the way things have gone for me, I sometimes wonder if I’m bein’ punished for somethin’. Do you think that’s possible?”

Novie grasped Cherish’s hand again, this time more firmly. “I most certainly do not, young lady. I don’t know why you would even get a notion like that into your head. This is a challenge you’ve been given for whatever reasons, and you and Henry will just have to be strong enough to work your way through it. Now, I’ve seen for myself how much you both love each other, and I have no doubt this whole thing will turn your way very soon.”

“So you don’t think everything is an omen? What about the fire in The Square? When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me that if I wasn’t good all year, I’d get ashes and switches for Christmas. I can’t help thinkin’ about all those ashes Henry says The Square is covered with now. He says it’s so ugly he can barely stand to go anywhere near it. I guess I keep waitin’ for the switches to show up.”

Novie’s voice stayed on the gentle side, but there was a hint of impatience about it. “My mother told me the same thing, Cherish, and I told my Marc when he was just a little boy. It’s not meant to be taken seriously. As for the fire, I spoke with Gaylie Girl Dunbar this morning, and she says they won’t know the likely cause for another couple of days. They’re investigating it right now. But whatever the case, you can rest assured it will be something scientific. There’ll be no mysterious omen to explain away. It’s just one of those things that happens from time to time.”

“I know I’m bein’ silly about it, Miz Mims. I guess I’m just depressed. Christmas is supposed to be such a joyous time to celebrate your beliefs and bein’ with your friends and family, and it seems like that’s not goin’ to happen this year in Second Creek.”

Novie took a deep breath and reflected. To a certain extent, Cherish was right. It wasn’t turning out to be the special Christmas they’d all been so judiciously planning the past few months.

“You’ll never guess who that was,” Gaylie Girl said to Mr. Choppy. He had sauntered into the kitchen just as she was hanging up the phone.

The emergency meeting she’d called had been over for twenty-five minutes now, and all the choirmasters and Nitwitts had long retreated to their homes. Of course, some of the Nitwitts had partaken of various spirituous concoctions for good measure. Now it was time for Gaylie Girl to think about getting dinner together, but the phone call promptly put that task on hold.

“I give up. Practically everybody we know was just here,” Mr. Choppy replied. “A telemarketer, perhaps?”

“You’re forgetting about Lady Roth, Hale.”

Mr. Choppy put the palm of his hand to his temple and sighed. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. She demands a meeting with both of us tomorrow at the office to discuss the status of her role as the Star of Bethlehem. She insists that she be allowed to depict it despite the fire. Oh, I knew this would happen!”

Mr. Choppy was now patiently massaging his temple with the tips of his fingers, his face a mask of stoicism. “What did you tell her?”

“That we’d see her around two. You know there’s no way around it. We’d have to face her sooner or later. What are you going to do—get a restraining order?”

The phone rang again, startling them both, and Gaylie Girl said: “I’m afraid to answer it. It’s brought us nothing but grief the past twenty-four hours.”

Nonetheless, she picked up the receiver gingerly, said hello, and listened. “Why, yes, how delightful to hear from you,” she began. “Your Mrs. Woods was just here and contributed quite a bit to our discussion. I think everyone agreed she had some positive ideas to contribute to a situation that was a bit depressing, to say the least.”

There followed a long period of silence in which Gaylie Girl did little more than nod and say things like “Uh-huh” and “She did?”

Mr. Choppy stood quietly at the counter, drumming his fingers and trying to figure out what was going on from Gaylie Girl’s end of the conversation. But to no avail.

Finally, she said: “Let me check with the Mayor. Please hold on a minute.” Then she covered the receiver, turned to him, and said: “We’ve just gotten the most offbeat dinner invitation I could ever imagine in a thousand years, and I think I’d like to accept.”

“Dinner? Where?”

“Here, if you can believe it. It’s Reverend Quintus Payne of the Marblestone Alley Church of Holiness. He says Mrs. Woods called him up and told him and his wife, Yolie, that we needed some cheering up immediately because of the damage to The Square and the cancellation of the caroling. He says we’re not to even consider fixing dinner tonight. They’ll be bringing some inspirational food for the four of us. The gist is they have something they think will help us move on. Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m positively intrigued by the boldness of it all. I say, ‘Let’s do this.’ ”

Mr. Choppy was rolling his eyes and licking his lips at the same time. “Is his wife the one who made that incredibly delicious bread pudding with the buttered-rum drizzle you brought home for me a coupla months ago? I’ve never had anything so tasty in my life.”

“One and the same.”

“Then by all means, don’t keep the man waitin’ any longer. Tell him we can’t wait to sink our teeth into whatever they’ve cooked up for us. Oh, and not to forget that bread pudding for dessert.”

Gaylie Girl promptly relayed all the instructions and hung up after the usual polite sign-off. Then she impishly wagged her brows. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to see how the rest of our evening is going to go.”