Chapter Forty-Seven

WHY CELIA VOLUNTEERED to run the Christmas pageant was beyond me. Why she volunteered my services to help when she knew I didn’t even attend church was beyond the pale and truly presumptuous. But the truth was that I’d always thought I’d like to be involved in a Christmas pageant—a thing not done at the church I was raised in and in fact frowned upon, as was anything theatrical.

I had no experience to offer and didn’t want to take a moment of glory from Celia, who floated over the moon in her excitement. Still, I couldn’t resist listening in on the auditions she ran in the children’s library room the Saturday before Thanksgiving.

I stayed in the next room but heard the bell over the front door jingle time and again as several sets of boots stomped through. That went on to the tune of Celia’s “Over there. Leave your boots by the door. You don’t want to be stomping snow and dripping all over the library floor!” Next was “Come, sit down by the fire—in a line, that’s right. We’ll get to the auditions soon enough.”

I heard some earnest grunts and then Celia say, “See there. Harvey knows to raise his hand to speak. What is it, Harvey?”

“My ma said I can use Grandpa’s bathrobe if you want me to be a shepherd. She has an old broomstick would make a good staff.”

“All right, Harvey. I’ll write that down. We’re gonna need lots of costumes. That sounds like a good one. Anybody else have bathrobes for shepherds or something fancier for kings—like maybe your mama has one of those kimonos or something? Any mopheads for beards? Not too dirty, but if they are, we can bleach.”

It went on like this for some time and I marveled at Celia’s creative efficiency and the enthusiastic offerings of the children. I guessed they’d done this every year, but the cooperation was wonderful. Until it came to the main roles.

“Now, of course, the main parts are Joseph and Mary and baby Jesus. The narrator does most of the reading from the Bible, and the angel of the Lord does the speaking. But for Mary we need someone gentle and mild, and we need a light-blue robe—all solid, no prints. I don’t think they did flowers and checks in those days. And a white head covering. That’s what Mary wears in all the pictures.”

“My mama has a solid pink bathrobe,” Emily Cruthers offered. “Maybe she’d let us dye it blue.”

“She would never,” her brother, Leroy, piped up. “She loves that thing. She said Daddy gave it to her on their wedding day. Anyway, it’s see-through. Won’t do.”

“My mother can make the costumes for Mary and Joseph.” Janice Richards spoke loud and clear, prim and proper. “She’s got plenty of new fabric stashed away. I saw a piece of pale blue with silver threads running through it. I’m pretty sure there’d be enough for a robe. That would catch the candle glow and really sparkle. She also has brown corduroy and burlap—everything she’d need to make Joseph’s. And my aunt Jane is coming to visit with her new baby, a month old—perfect for the baby Jesus.”

A long moment of silence followed. I guessed that Celia was as shocked by Janice’s offer as I was.

“You think she’d let her baby do it? A real, live baby?”

“Sure. If I ask her. If I’m the one holding the baby.”

Oh, dear. Does Celia understand what Janice is saying?

“And you’re sure your mother will make both costumes?” Celia asked, clearly skeptical.

“I said it . . . as long as I’m Mary and Coltrane is Joseph.”

I knew Celia had her heart set on playing Mary. If Janice was Mary, that left no major female role, unless Celia took the angel of the Lord, which I was pretty sure Celia saw as a lesser role than Mary.

“Well, that can’t be decided until the auditions.” Celia kept her director’s voice.

“It can if you want my mother to make the costumes. You don’t think she’ll do all that work or donate all that new fabric for somebody else to be Mary and Joseph, do you? You don’t think Aunt Jane would let anybody but me hold her baby! Get serious, Celia Percy.” Janice nearly spat Celia’s name.

“Anybody got a donkey they can bring in?” Chester asked, breaking the tension. I loved him for it.

“Got no donkey, but my uncle’s got a jackass he’d likely bring. Lives just beyond the ridge and down a way. I’ll ask him . . . if you want,” Hayford Bell offered.

“Our granddaddy runs the zoo in Charlotte.” Janice’s voice came again, smooth as butter. “It has a real live camel.”

“Janice!” Coltrane sounded like he’d choked on his tongue.

“I’m just saying, Coltrane. It’s better than a donkey—or a jackass.”

“So what?” Hayford countered. “A jackass here is better than a camel there!”

“The thing is, I’m sure, if I ask him, that he’ll ship that camel here by train for the program. The zoo has special railcars for animals, you know—like they do for the circus. They send animals out on exhibition all the time. How do you think they get elephants from town to town?”

I had no idea, so I doubted any of the children did either. There was a long silence. I wanted in the worst way to caution Celia. This all sounded too good to be true.

“I reckon a real camel would be a sight better than a jackass.” Hayford’s voice fell.

“Would he give us camel rides?” a voice I didn’t recognize piped up, hope thrilling through the room.

“Well, maybe,” Janice considered.

“Janice—” Coltrane broke in.

“Shut up, Coltrane! I said maybe; I didn’t say yes. I’ll have to write and ask him. Then I can confirm it with you, Celia.”

“But—” Coltrane broke in again.

“I said, shut up! Maybe I can write him tonight and get the letter in the mail right away. There’s not much time.”

“That’ll be swell, Janice. Thanks.” Celia’s conflicted enthusiasm waned. “Okay, let’s audition for roles. Shepherds? Angels? Kings?”

“I’ll show you how to do Mary.” Janice Richards again. I was tempted to peek but made myself stay put in the next room. There was a long pause, and I could imagine Janice’s portrayal—serene and smug smile, arms cradling an invisible baby, eyes daring anyone to challenge her. I pitied Celia.

“Okay, anybody else want to audition for Mary?” Celia offered, quieter now.

“Not if you care about costumes, they don’t,” Janice countered boldly. “Coltrane, I think it’s time we went home. This is all over anyhow. Let’s get our coats.”

“It’s not over, Janice,” Celia nearly whined. “We still have to finish auditions, and Mama made cookies.”

“Auditions for the minor roles. We don’t need to stay for that. Besides, we have cake at our house. Just be sure to give us plenty of lines. I don’t want to be one of those Marys that never says anything—and lines for Coltrane, too.”

“What about rehearsals?” Chester asked, seconds before the bell jingled over the front door, signaling the departure of Janice and Coltrane.

“I’ll post the schedule at the general store. We’ll rehearse Thursday afternoons—after school at the church—once Thanksgiving’s past.” Celia’s words might have reached Janice’s ears before the door closed, but I wondered. Clearly Celia tried to maintain order after that inauspicious departure, but the wind had been stolen from her sails. The rest, all but the cookies, was an uphill climb.