The Mezzo Wore Mink (33 page)

While we all prepare our food.

Relishing the growing table,

As we give our thanks to God.

Pumpkin pie and apple cobbler,

Collard greens and cob of corn,

Celebrate the Living Gobbler,

With thy blessings to adorn.

Yea, we sit and share thy bounty,

Ma and Pa and Junior, too.

There’s Ramelle from out the county,

With her husband, Elmer Sue.

Little Bubba—what a squabbler!

And the twins, Brandine and Clyde,

Celebrate the Living Gobbler,

In our stomachs to reside.

Father Lemming modulated up a step for the last stanza. I winced.

As we stand here, looking perky,

Let us not our sins forget

Ere we gorge on deep fried turkey

While the sun begins to set.

All our woes and worries probbler-

-matic that our lives destroy

Vanish with the Living Gobbler

Dinner for us to enjoy.

“
Good,” said Fiona. “That will work just fine.”

“
Really?” I said, but she’d already singled out Muffy and Varmit to work on the staging of their duet. Marjorie walked up to me shaking her head.

“
Kind of forcing that last rhyme, weren’t you?” she said, under her breath. “Probbler-matic? I mean,
really
.”

“
It was a joke,” I whispered. “I thought she’d toss it out immediately.”

“
Apparently, you don’t know the Lemmings as well as you thought.”

“
So you’re in the show?”

“
Oh, yes,” said Marjorie. “I’ll be playing Hiawatha’s mother, Nokomis.”

I looked at her with my mouth hanging open.

“
Don’t look so shocked. I’m quite good. Fiona Lemming has suggested I perform several verses of
The Song of Hiawatha
just before your wedding vows. I shall accompany the verse with appropriate sign language.” Marjorie demonstrated.

By the shores of Gitche Gumee,

By the shining Big-Sea-Water,

Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,

Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.

Dark behind it rose the forest,

Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,

Rose the firs with cones upon them;

Bright before it beat the water,

Beat the clear and sunny water,

Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.

Marjorie was getting into the part. She was using some semblance of sign language that wouldn’t be understood by either the deaf or the Indians, but might work for deaf Indians if some could be found.

“
Okay,” I said, quietly. “I get it. You can stop.”

Then the gentle Chibiabos

Sang in accents sweet and tender,

Sang in tones of deep emotion,

Songs of love and songs of longing;

Muffy and Varmit had stopped their staging rehearsal and were now watching Marjorie. In fact, everyone in the church, including the two Lemmings, was watching Marjorie. She gesticulated wildly as her voice rose, sing-songy, her hands painting pictures in the air. Her eyes were closed and she was in a world of her own.

Thou the wild-flower of the forest!

Thou the wild-bird of the prairie!

Thou with eyes so soft and fawn-like!

If thou only lookest at me,

I am happy, I am happy,

As the lilies of the prairie,

When they feel the dew upon them!

“
Marjorie!” yelped Fiona. “Button it up, will you? We’re trying to rehearse!”

“
Oh. Sorry.”

“
Amateurs,” muttered Fiona under her breath, but loud enough for all the amateurs to hear.

“
Do me a favor,” I whispered to Marjorie. “Don’t tell Meg about this.”

“
It was her idea,” said Marjorie. “
The Song of Hiawatha
is Ruby’s favorite poem. Hey, did you see that dog?”

I nodded. “The mother was a Rottweiler and the father was a Dachshund.”

“
He has a crazed look in his eye,” said Marjorie. “His mother was a Rottweiler, eh? His father must have been one tough little wiener dog.”

“
He’s a vegan.”

“
The Rott-wiener’s a vegan? No meat?”

“
No meat, no cheese, no eggs. He eats doggie tofu.”

“
No wonder he looks mean.”

•••

“
Six more Minques today,” announced Dave. “Six that I heard of, anyway. But that still leaves more than a hundred.”

“
Well, some have probably vamoosed,” I said. “They’ll be way up in the mountains by now. The rest will turn up. The good thing is, they can’t reproduce.”

“
Are you guys doing anything for Halloween?” Nancy asked.

“
Well,” I answered, “choir practice is cancelled due to Trick or Treating, so I’m thinking of a quiet night at home.”

“
You don’t get the Trick or Treaters?” said Nancy.

I shook my head. “I’m too far out and besides, everyone knows I don’t have any candy. The last kid that bothered to come to the house got a can of soup.”

“
I’ll bet I have six hundred kids come to the door. I have forty-five pounds of candy this year and I’ll still probably run out. Dave’s coming over to help me hand it out.” Nancy looked pointedly in his direction. “Right, Dave?”

Dave nodded enthusiastically.

Chapter 21

“
You can’t wear that hat,” said Noylene. “Not during the wedding.”

Sit down, pal. Breathe quietly, keep your voice down, and remember that a wedding coordinator is to a bridegroom what Toscanini is to an organ grinder’s monkey.

I took the hat off. “I wasn’t going to wear it during the wedding,” I said. “Anyway, I have to be in a Pilgrim outfit.”

“
I’d like you to wear the hat,” said Meg.

“
No,” said Noylene, decisively. “No hat. He can wear it during the reception.”

“
What reception?” I asked.

“
There’s no reception,” said Meg.

Noylene sat down at our table, the coffee pot still in her hand. “Look,” she said. “This here’s the wedding of the year. You have to have a reception.”

“
No, thanks,” I said. “We’ll have a big party later on.”

Noylene sighed. “Okay. What about bridesmaids?”

“
I don’t need any bridesmaids,” said Meg. “Bev’s going to be my Indian Maid of Honor.”

“
Honey, you’re
having
bridesmaids. Noylene Fabergé-Dupont does not put on a wedding without bridesmaids. Not only that, but as my wedding gift, I’m going to give all eight of them…”

“
All eight of them?” I said.

“
All
eight
of them,” continued Noylene, “coupons to the Dip-n-Tan so they can look good for the ceremony.”

“
Two,” said Meg. “Two bridesmaids.”

“
Seven,” countered Noylene.

“
Three?” Meg was losing ground quickly.

“
Six.”

“
Four,” agreed Meg. “That’s it. I’ll try to pare my list of potential bridesmaids down to four.”

“
Okay, four,” said Noylene.

Meg sighed. “Okay.”

“
I’ll be a bridesmaid, if you need one.”

All three of us turned to see Collette standing behind us.

“
Hell, no, Collette,” said Noylene. “You’re crazier than Tammy Faye’s housecat. Meg can find four bridesmaids easy enough.”

“
Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith—Proverbs 15:17.” Collette spun on her heel and stomped off.

“
That girl just ain’t right,” said Noylene.

•••

“
Hyacinth Turnipseed’s out of the hospital,” Nancy announced. “Cynthia said she was going back to work even though she’s in a wheelchair.”

“
We should stop by the bookstore,” I said. “Things are pretty slow.”

“
If they were any slower, I’d have to molest Dave in the back room just to keep things interesting,” said Nancy. Dave, typing away at his keyboard, perked up.

“
Down, boy. Just kidding.”

“
Aw, jeeze,” said Dave, gesturing with a nod toward the window overlooking Sterling Park. “There she is again.”

We all looked out and saw Collette, about thirty yards away, standing under a sugar maple afire with reds and oranges. She was wearing her waitress smock and apron, an open Bible in both hands and was staring right back at us.

“
She does this every time she gets a break,” said Dave. “Walks out of the Slab, stands under that tree, opens up a Bible and stares at me. I tell you, it’s starting to creep me out.”

“
I think it’s about time I had a talk with Collette,” said Nancy.

“
No, I’ll do it,” said Dave. “I feel bad for her.”

“
Let’s go to the bookstore,” I said to Nancy. She grunted.

“
I could shoot her, if you want me to, Snookie-Pie,” said Nancy.

“
Please don’t,” Dave said. “And if you call me Snookie-Pie again, you’ll be the one who gets shot.”

I waved at Collette as we exited the police station. She didn’t return the gesture, but glared at Nancy without a word. Nancy glared back.

“
Maybe I’ll just arrest her,” said Nancy. “Then shoot her later when she tries to escape.”

Eden Books was doing a good business. Hyacinth Turnipseed had hired a college student to come over from Appalachian State three mornings a week, and Wynette Winslow had been helping out while Hyacinth was in the hospital. Nancy and I walked into the little shop and were pleasantly surprised at the number of books that were now lining the shelves. Wynette was busily placing greeting cards in a rack and the college student, a young man identified by his nameplate as Tracy, was helping several customers with their purchases. There were Christmas decorations hanging throughout the store and several holiday book displays prominently crowding the narrow aisles. Hyacinth was in a wheelchair—a narrow, hand-operated model—one leg in a cast sticking straight out, perpendicular to the back, and resting on a pillow supported by a metal shelf. She looked drawn and significantly less jolly than the last time we’d seen her, not counting when she was lying on the sidewalk, one leg pointing south and the other northeast. Her white hair was still tied in a loose bun, but the shine was gone and her blue eyes were sunken. She smiled when she saw us, though, and gave a wave and we walked over to see her.