Eden Hill (6 page)

O
N
D
ECEMBER
24,
in spite of the snow and mud, a large truck carefully backed the pastel mobile home into its new location in Eden Hill. The electrician hooked up the wiring and turned on the lights, the propane man tied in the gas and lit the pilot, and the water and septic were connected. The driver had fitted a metal stairway up to the front door, and JoAnn hung a small wreath under the little round window.

“Well, JoAnn, we’re here by Christmas. Just as I promised.” Cornelius stuck the small evergreen he’d cut from the back fencerow into an abandoned flowerpot, and draped a single string of colored lights around its branches.

She threw her arms around him and gave him the closest thing to a bear hug that an expectant mother could manage,
and a grin sprang across his face. Moments like this made him want to promise her the world.

“Neil, it’s Christmas Eve. Let’s go to the Christmas pageant at the church next door? The sign out front said it starts at seven thirty.”

He broke their embrace and looked at the aging building next door with its sagging roof and crumbling front steps. Christmas pageant? Something inside balked at the idea. The only pageant he knew about was Miss America, and he certainly wasn’t up for Bert Parks. Or maybe it was his father’s distaste of anything religious, or his own stubbornness. Whatever the case, one look at his wife’s earnest eyes filled with longing, and all his aversion melted away.

“Yes, JoAnn, I think we can.”

“Hurry up, Vee,” Mavine called up the steps, wrapped in her coat and scarf. “We can’t be late for the Christmas pageant, and we want to see the Stacys’ decorations first.”

Virgil shook his head, hoping she wouldn’t see. He never quite saw the point of the outrageous display. For most folks in Eden Hill, Christmas looked pretty much like any other early winter day, only a little more festive. Gladys put candles in the windows of the Glamour Nook, and he’d put out the big sign with the life-size picture of Santa Claus holding an automobile battery
 
—
If your car isn’t ready to start, ask Santa for a Reddy-Start
 
—but most just put up a tree and a few ornaments and let it go at that.

Not so with the Stacys. The grocery sparkled with red-and-green tinsel garlands, strings of colored lights illuminated the checkout counter and the lunch meat case, and bells of silver paper dangled from the ceiling next to the flypaper. Their house was equally overdone.

On Christmas Eve the entire town liked to drive by to see the spectacle before attending the pageant at the First Evangelical Baptist Church; it gave them something to talk about while waiting for the piano music to change to “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” which was the cue to get quiet. Eden Hill’s own Christmas parade.

“Virgil T. Osgood Jr., it’s time to go!” The boy was stubborn, a trait he’d inherited from his father.

Vee finally sauntered down the steps, dragging an old Welgo shopping bag and looking despondent. Virgil checked his watch. “We’ve only got twenty minutes before you need to be there. Let’s move.”

There were several vehicles in line in front of the Stacys’ home, all familiar. Arlie and Lula Mae rode in their truck in the very front, with Welby and Alma following a couple of cars back. The show was as flashy as expected. Santa and his sleigh flew toward the chimney, held in place with thin wire fastened to nearby trees. Rudolph’s nose glowed red as a cherry, and the reindeer danced and swayed with every gust of wind. Dozens of brightly colored bulbs blinked on and off, while “O Holy Night” played through a small loudspeaker on the porch.

“What do you think of that, Vee?” Virgil turned to the back seat, where Vee looked glumly out the window on the other side.

“Neat. Can we go now?” Vee, it seemed, was unimpressed. Apparently something else he inherited from his father.

Welby and Alma were settled in their usual spot near the aisle when the Osgoods entered, Alma dressed in a red suit with her Christmas hat, and Welby in a crisp white shirt and a fashionable knit tie. In addition to her purse, Alma held a small leatherette case. Welby motioned to the Osgoods to join them.

“Alma brought her Brownie to get some snapshots of Vee.” Welby grinned. “He’s going to do a great job tonight!”

Mavine beamed. “Vee’s really looking forward to it.”

Virgil truly hoped his wife was right. But it seemed to him that Vee was most certainly
not
looking forward to it. He was dreading it, with fear and trembling. Their son would be playing Wise Man #2 this year and would have to carry a little filigreed jewelry box atop Mavine’s white embroidered couch pillow. His costume consisted of Virgil’s old flannel robe and a crown made out of shirt cardboard and gold wrapping paper. All these things had been stuffed into the paper bag along with a pair of squeaky brown flip-flops from Welgo. Vee would also have to sing “We Three Kings,” with the right words like in the hymnal, not the ones Mavine had caught him and Frank Prewitt singing about smoking on a loaded cigar. Besides, old Toler was keeping a sharp eye on the boys from his music stand near the choir loft.

In a way, Vee was lucky. Virgil had seen the script Vee
had brought home. Frank had been tapped to play Joseph opposite his younger sister Darlene’s Mary, and so would have to be the one holding Baby Jesus, played by Darlene’s Betsy Wetsy doll wrapped in swaddling clothes.

Reverend Caudill had arrived in time to pray with the children, whom he found ready and waiting in the vestibule. Surprisingly, they were all there.

And not surprisingly, he could hear them arguing by the time he took his seat at the side of the platform. He surveyed his congregation and sighed, content to see nearly his entire church family gathered together this holy night. And as he looked toward the entryway, where the costumed cast had convened, a bit of movement to one side caught his eye. A young couple, almost concealed by the shadow of the balcony, slipped in and found seats in the back row. He recognized neither of them. Visitors? But he had little time to ponder this, as the music began and all eyes were drawn to a slight commotion in the doorway to the vestibule.

“Stop poking me, Vee.”

“I’m not poking you, Frank. That’s your cue.”

Toler was waving his hands in time with the music. They were up to the part about the Virgin when Frank, as Joseph, finally came through the door with Darlene in tow. She had missed her cue as well
 
—probably flirting with Vee like she did on Sunday mornings. Fortunately, she’d remembered the baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes. Reverend Caudill’s eyes
were drawn to the young woman he’d seen come in; she wore an angelic smile and placed a hand over her midsection as she watched the holy family climb the steps to where the iconic Christmas scene awaited.

Mavine’s magazine rack served as an acceptable manger and was filled with Arlie’s straw. Mrs. Crutcher was complaining loudly from the front row that in
her
Bible, Mary wasn’t delivered of the child until
after
they reached the stable, and that Reverend Caudill should be more careful to avoid scriptural error. Joseph, clearly not concerned with such details, took the doll from its mother and placed it on his shoulder according to the script. The organist was well into “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks,” with the congregation following, when two adolescents wrapped in bathrobes joined the tableau.

“Whatcha got there, Frank?” Eddie, Shepherd #2, had observed the obvious.

“Shaddup,” Frank grumbled above the music.

“Looks like a baby doll, Frank.” Richard, Shepherd #1, was covering his mouth, equally sympathetic. The organist was slowing down even more for the final stanza, while Toler, in the choir loft, was watching the commotion and glaring.

“Shaddup. You didn’t have to hold a sheep!”

“Shhhhh, you’re going to get us in trouble.” Darlene glared at both boys.

Reverend Caudill scanned the congregation again, particularly noting the parents among them. Arlie and Lula Mae were about two-thirds back on his left, directly in front of Eddie’s parents. Welby, Alma, and the Osgoods were in
the front to his right. Everyone
 
—so far
 
—seemed pleased with the progress of the pageant. Except Toler and Madeline Crutcher, of course, who were never pleased with anything. And the young man who sat squirming under the balcony. The woman
 
—his wife?
 
—leaned her head onto his shoulder, but he shifted in his seat and divided his attention between his wristwatch and the church exit.

By now, two shepherds, one adoptive father, and one choir director were all grimacing, with the young virgin mother trying to restore order. As the last line of the carol echoed through the sanctuary, Frank looked straight at Eddie and said loudly, “Hold the baby.”

Before Reverend Caudill or anyone else could intervene, Frank slapped the bundle on Eddie’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Aw, man!”

Eddie froze for a moment, then fingered the damp splotch on his chest and shoved the doll into Richard’s arms, who handed it back to Frank, who, having run out of shepherds, gave it to a startled Darlene. Someone was heard to mumble, “I’ll get you,” under his breath.

“Shhhhh! Be quiet!” Darlene began to cry.

Reverend Caudill, who had up to now enjoyed a stellar day, began to lose a bit of his smile. Fortunately, the lights were dim where he was sitting, so hopefully no one would notice. He could be grateful for
that
. And for the Goody’s headache powder he kept in his office for afterward.

Just then, somebody plugged in the drop cord that powered the light bulb in the tin star hanging over the baptistery. Apparently this was the cue for the organist to launch
into “We Three Kings.” Toler, always more a follower than a leader, frowned some more and began waving his arms to the music. Wise Man #1 was by now halfway down the aisle with his bottle of green Kool-Aid, and Vee stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the vestibule.

Mrs. Crutcher was right on cue with her biblical insights. “The magi found the babe in a
house
, not a
stable
. Why isn’t there a house?”