A Piggly Wiggly Christmas (26 page)

Next, the First Presbyterian Church choir entered en masse in their festive red-and-white robes, and Mrs. Holstrom rushed over to greet Press Phillips. There was some logistical turmoil as the choir members were directed to their proper places on the little makeshift stage the staff of Delta Sunset Village had painstakingly created especially for the occasion.

Mrs. Holstrom finally broke away and approached the Nitwitts, who were huddled together on the outskirts of the gathering crowd. “It’s going to be a bit hectic in here for a while,” she told them all at once. “I thought this might happen, so I’ve taken the liberty of reserving a small private room off the dining area so that Miz Wittsie can visit with all of you before the program starts. I’ll show you the way, and one of the orderlies will bring Miz Wittsie along shortly. I’ve already visited with her briefly, and I can tell you that she’s practically glowing today. She really seems to be rising to the occasion, so I’m sure you’ll all make the most of this. Of course, if there’s anything further you need, you’ll let me know.”

“My God, but that woman runs on,” Renza muttered to Gaylie Girl under her breath as everyone followed Mrs. Holstrom down the corridor. “She ought to run for office the way she can turn out speeches like that. And she seems super efficient. I’m sure she’d be an improvement on those slick, tired politicians we’ve got running things from Mississippi to Washington, D.C.”

“Second Creek excepted, of course,” Gaylie Girl answered, tactfully lowering her voice.

“Did you know my dream came to life last night?” Wittsie announced to all the Nitwitts gathered around the table.

Once they had all settled into the private room and finished commenting on the beautiful cranberry-red dress their beloved Wittsie was wearing, they began listening intently to everything she had to say.

Laurie, who was sitting next to her, took the first plunge. “What dream was that, sweetie?”

Wittsie took a little time, but when she spoke, her words were surprisingly clear and forceful. Her usual hesitation had disappeared, at least for the moment. “I saw this light. I looked out my window and there it was. I dreamed it, too.”

No one made a sound for a while. Then Laurie broke the silence. “Please, tell us. How did your dream come to life?”

“I dreamed there was a bright light before me . . . never seen anything so bright in my life. It took up all the space in my dream. Then I woke up and . . .”

“Yes?” Laurie put in with a hopeful expression on her face. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“And I went to the window . . . and the light was there. It had moved from my dream. It was there for me just like the fireflies were—outside my window this summer.”

Now it was Gaylie Girl’s turn to interact. “I’ll remember those fireflies as long as I live, Wittsie. I just know they came to give Hale and me a send-off for our honeymoon. They even followed us all the way up to Memphis. We thought it was the most marvelous sight we’d ever seen. I had goose bumps up until the time we boarded the plane for Santa Fe.”

“Those fireflies were spectacular,” Myrtis added. “There must have been hundreds of them. I don’t know—maybe even thousands. Everybody at the reception kept asking me how on earth I’d managed to arrange it all. They said they thought it was something I’d ordered up like the finger sandwiches and all the booze. In fact, somebody very drunk—and I forget now who it was since there were so many who were—came up to me and asked if I had found those fireflies online. But the truth is, I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“I think Wittsie sent them, didn’t you, dear?” Gaylie Girl said, her tone both pleasant and direct.

Wittsie seemed slightly unsure of herself but offered up an intriguing smile anyway. “Maybe.”

Wittsie changed the subject abruptly. “I received some wonderful news this mornin’ . . . my April called me . . . she’s comin’ down to spend Christmas Day with me right here . . . she and my little Meagan . . . my beautiful granddaughter . . . they’re comin’ to see me.”

Laurie clasped her hands together, and the others were tittering and buzzing as well. “Oh, that
is
wonderful news. We’re all so happy for you. Your Meagan is just adorable, and I loved having her as my maid of honor in my wedding at the Piggly Wiggly summer before last. I’ll bet she’s quite the grown-up little lady by now.”

“It was the light . . .” Wittsie resumed, completely ignoring Laurie’s train of thought. “I knew when I saw the light that somethin’ good was goin’ to happen . . . and it did . . . this very mornin’ . . .”

“And we’re all here for you as well,” Gaylie Girl added. “We’re here to sing Christmas carols and remember this Christmas with you forever.”

Wittsie laughed the sweetest little laugh and bobbed her head up and down.

“Wish I could carry a tune better.”

“Don’t worry, dear. You aren’t the only one who can’t warble,” Renza quipped, cutting her eyes at Denver Lee. “But the choir should cover all of us up nicely whether we have the gift or not.”

“By the way, Euterpe,” Laurie said, “do you know what the choir is going to sing this afternoon?”

“I do indeed. It’s the same program they would have sung from the balconies had everything gone as expected. They’ll be opening with ‘Adeste Fideles,’ which I think is very appropriate since all of us Nitwitt faithful are here. Then, ‘The Little Drummer Boy,’ which has always been one of my favorites, followed by ‘I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In,’ ‘Silver Bells,’ ‘Feliz Navidad’ for their international carol, and finally ‘We Three Kings of Orient Are.’ Unless Mr. Phillips has changed something up on me. Of course, he may have. I didn’t want to seem unyielding in all of this. It’s not like he was one of my pupils prepping for a recital and I was completely running the show.”

Wittsie was nodding with a certain reserve. “I like all those carols . . . but did I tell you . . . I get to spend Christmas with my daughter, April, and my granddaughter, Meagan?”

Laurie patted her hand gently and brushed right past the repetition. “That was a wonderful Christmas present for you, wasn’t it?”

Wittsie’s interest began to flicker. “It was . . . but April doesn’t come to see me very often . . . I don’t know why.”

“It’s probably because she can’t find a day one of us Nitwitts isn’t over here completely monopolizing you,” Laurie added, trying for levity. “Truth is, we want you all to ourselves. But what does that matter when your daughter and granddaughter will be with you this Christmas, as you say. That’s the most important thing this time of the year.”

Just then Mrs. Holstrom appeared in the doorway. “The choir will be starting in about ten minutes. Perhaps you’d all care to go out and take your seats. Just a heads-up, but we’re filling up fast. They’re practically having scooter races out there for the best spots. I think this could be standing room only.”

Several of the Nitwitts and Powell rose to their feet, and Gaylie Girl said: “Then by all means, let’s adjourn and head on out. We’ve been waiting for months to hear those angelic voices.”

From Gaylie Girl’s perspective, seated right next to her, it appeared that Wittsie’s voice was getting stronger with each carol that Press Phillips and his choir performed. She had been following along with no trouble, not missing a single word of any of the lyrics. The entire experience seemed to be transforming her into someone who was very much in the world and present in the moment.

“I thought you said you couldn’t carry a tune,” Gaylie Girl said, leaning over as the choir finished up “I Saw Three Ships.” “I wish I could sing half as well as you are right now.”

“She’s doing marvelously well, isn’t she?” Laurie added from her perch on the other side of Wittsie.

“Don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Wittsie answered them both, turning her head first one way and then the other. “But . . . maybe I do.”

“Have you been practicing up?” Gaylie Girl asked. She leaned back into the row behind her, where the rest of the Nitwitts were sitting. “Euterpe, I didn’t know you were offering voice lessons now. Have you been sneaking over here behind our backs?”

Euterpe snickered. “Nope. Can’t take credit, I’m afraid.”

“It was . . . the light,” Wittsie said, nodding emphatically.

Then Euterpe leaned forward and offered her insights. “I put great store in dreams, you know. I believe our Wittsie has had a vision. And what a wonderful time of the year to have it.”

Wittsie said nothing for a while. But shortly before the choir began singing “Silver Bells,” she turned to Gaylie Girl and said in her strongest voice yet: “Don’t worry. It will be restored.”

Gaylie Girl was puzzled but smiled anyway. “What will be restored, Wittsie?”

Wittsie closed her eyes briefly and said: “I know from the light. It will be restored.”

The choir began singing, and Wittsie joined in immediately, saying nothing further. She continued to sing along, her voice ringing out among the Nitwitts, even startling them with her power. This was a woman that none of them had ever seen or heard before, not even in the formative period of the Nitwitts’ existence. It was as if something had broken through the Alzheimer’s shell that had been hardening around her, and a brand-new Wittsie had emerged to rejoice a few days out from Christmas.

When the program had ended and the applause of the appreciative residents had finally died down—Wittsie being one of the last to desist—everyone moved to the refreshment tables that had been set up nearby. The Nitwitts homed in on their favorite nibbles and sweets but had to graciously resign themselves to unadulterated fruit punch and mulled cider to wash them down.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on such a lovely program, Mr. Phillips,” Mrs. Holstrom was saying as she circulated throughout the crowd. “Just the right length, too. Some of our residents do like their naptime, you know.”

“I understand perfectly,” Press Phillips replied, munching blissfully on a handful of cheese crackers. “Perhaps we can make this an annual event. I think all of us choirmasters aren’t going to pin our hopes on another Caroling in The Square on Christmas Eve considering all the damage done over there.”

“Yes, it does seem daunting, bordering on the impossible, that The Square could come back the way it was. Of course we’d be delighted to have you again next year, regardless.”

A kibitzing Gaylie Girl monitored their conversation with great interest. Something began resonating strongly with her. But this was not the time and place to discuss it. Not with the other Nitwitts and Powell, not with Mrs. Holstrom, not with anyone here. No, she would say good-bye to Wittsie, giving her a heartfelt hug and farewell. Then perhaps when she got home she would run all her suppositions past her husband. In the short time since her return, he had become her only true Second Creek touchstone.

She finally tracked Wittsie down just as one of the orderlies had shown up from the memory care unit. Though he was a tall, imposing man, he took Wittsie’s arm as if it belonged to a delicate little doll and spoke to her in a gentle, reassuring tone—even complimenting her on her dress.

“That has to be the prettiest red color I’ve ever seen on one of our residents, Miz Wittsie. Sure reminds me that it’s almost Christmas. But it’s time for you to go back to your room now. We don’t want you to tire yourself out before dinner later.”

Wittsie’s response was disheartening. “Dinner? Isn’t this dinner?” She was pointing to a small paper plate she had filled with crackers and grapes and a strawberry or two. But she had not taken a bite.

“No,” the orderly answered with a smile. “Dinner’s not for another couple of hours. This was just a snack Miz Holstrom and the staff put out for everybody after the choir sang.”

“The choir?”

Suddenly, Gaylie Girl realized that the old disoriented Wittsie had returned in full force. The fact that she was fading quickly was all there in her expression. Gone was the vigorous voice that had kept up with the choir note by note. Gone was the confidence she had exuded when relaying the details of her intriguing dream come to life. Whatever focus she had been generously granted earlier in the day had evidently been withdrawn now just as unexpectedly. Wittsie’s brief shining interlude was over.