A Piggly Wiggly Christmas Read Free

directors on their schedules and selections. And finally, myself, Laurie, and Gaylie Girl are to keep the actual appointments with all the local ministers, rectors, priests, and pastors. My, we have everything here in Second Creek but rabbis, don’t we? But I know we have several Jewish families. Just not enough for a synagogue. I think the Adlers and the Beekmans go up to Memphis for temple every Friday—”
    Laurie interrupted her with a pleasant smile. “Novie, you’re wandering in the desert, dear.”
    “Oh, sorry. Let’s see now—we’ve agreed to call on the Catholics, Episcopalians, Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, and, oh, yes, the Church of Christ.” She paused and let out a little giggle. “I wonder what you call people who go to the Church of Christ? Are they Church of Christians?”
    Renza quickly interrupted the polite titters that ensued. “Now, a while back you mentioned including a couple of black churches. Were you serious about that, Gaylie Girl?”
    “Oh, I think we must invite the black churches,” Gaylie Girl explained. “I see our event as not only ecumenical but also in the spirit of racial harmony. ’Tis the season, after all.”
    Renza’s cantankerous nature began bubbling up as usual. “I suppose you realize that these black choirs don’t sing the same way the white choirs do. It’s a completely different sound, and they always carry on so.”
    Gaylie Girl was about to offer a soothing and tactful retort when Myrtis took the floor forcefully. “Oh, for God’s sake, Renza, they aren’t going to be out there doing rock and roll and R & B numbers. This will be a respectful program of Christmas music. And so what if they add their unique flavor to it? My Raymond exposed me to all sorts of popular tunes over the years with his record shop, and I have to say, I enjoyed all the different sounds and am certainly the better for it.”
    “Yes, we know all about you sitting out on your back porch spinning creaky Frankie Valli and Motown forty-fives,” Renza replied. “You have to be the world’s oldest bobby-soxer in panty hose.”
    Gaylie Girl cleared her throat and plastered a generous smile across her face. “Be that as it may, we need to get started on this pretty soon. Coordinating all those choirs will take some doing. We need to exert every bit of our charm as Nitwitts in getting everybody aboard.”
    “I know we all voted for this without blinking an eye, but do you think we’ll actually be able to pull this off?” Renza posed. “People can be so touchy when it comes to religious matters. You’d be surprised what they think should be off-limits.”
    Gaylie Girl gave her a thoughtful stare and continued smiling. “Look at it this way. The Nitwitts took a stab at backing a political candidate and helped elect my Hale to the Mayor’s office with those wonderful radio spots. It seems to me that rounding up a few choirs to do some Christmas caroling should be something we can handle as well.”
    There were a few raised eyebrows among the group, but Gaylie Girl dismissed the gestures as nothing more than cautionary and certainly not an indication of anything unconquerable.

    Mr. Choppy came home late from the Mayor’s office that evening. After washing up, he plopped himself down at the beautifully set dining-room table and eyed his supper of pork tenderloin, cheese grits, and biscuits that Gaylie Girl had lovingly prepared. The crash course Mr. Choppy had given her over the past few months in whipping up his favorite Southern cuisine had paid off handsomely. He had even made her a gift of his mother’s weighty bound volume of family recipes to study in her spare time. Gladys Dunbar’s Goodies , it had been titled long ago. It was way past time to dust it off and put it to good use again. Nonetheless, he pushed his plate away ever so slightly and exhaled forcefully.
    “Not hungry tonight?” Gaylie Girl said, the worry clearly creeping into her face. “Or did something