Caro, wearing a peacocklike blue and green bejeweled robe with a high collar, brought up the rear.
“Beyond regal!” Richard whispered, then gave himself a fake slap in the face when George shot him a look that could kill.
“And they marveled all,” Blaine whispered, and winked at George.
The Three Wise Women took their places on chairs strategically placed to the side of the manger near the piano.
Before Vivi had had a chance to straighten her wig, the Three Wise Men began. They had been warned and warned and warned. It was the last warning that made them do it. The three boys broke into song:
“We three Kings of Oriadore
Tried to smoke a rubber cigar
It was loaded, it exploded…”
Necie cleared her throat loudly and hit a particularly scary chord on the Steinway at the same time that Vivi said in a frightfully loud stage whisper: “Cut that out, or I’ll demote yall from Wise Men to cows in a split second!” The boys switched to the original verses. By this time, Shep had called out, “Way to go, boys!” Baylor had taken out his starched white handkerchief and was laughing into it.
After they finished singing one verse, the Wise Men (or “wise asses,” as Shep later proudly called them) laid their offerings down in front of the manger and went to stand as far away from the Ya-Yas as they could. Caro had a cane, and she’d threatened to poke them with it.
Francis, who had been keeping things organized backstage, had slipped into the audience to watch as unobtrusively as a six-foot-tall drummer boy can.
Softly playing “Silent Night” to accompany herself, Necie ended the official pageant.
“But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.”
When the song was finished, everyone started clapping and cheering. The three wise Ya-Yas all stood and performed deep, elaborate curtsies that would have been envied by Sarah Bernhardt. Necie gestured to the children, who all bowed, then ran offstage, tripping over their costumes and each other. Necie gave a brief nod of acknowledgment to the audience, then began to play “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen” as all the angels, animals, shepherds, Mary and Joseph, and the Angel of the Lord came running back into the massive living room for a rehearsed curtain call. Jeff ’s fangs were back in, and prominently displayed with his big smile. John Blaine’s bike helmet was askew, as were most of the angels’ halos and the Wise Men’s Quaker Oats crowns. Only Lee-Lee was in total command of her exit. At the door to the back of the house, she stopped and did a full pirouette.
Rosalyn could restrain herself no longer. She wiggled out of Joanie’s arms and ran to Lee-Lee’s side. “Me too!” she said. “Me too!” Lee-Lee took off her halo and put it on Rosalyn, and Rosalyn copied Lee-Lee’s pirouette. Then she ran backstage with the rest of the children.
It all happened so fast that Joanie’s arms forgot to ache. Joanie forgot to be afraid of blinking, lest something happen to her daughter. Baylor had been right: all eyes were on Rosalyn, and she was safe. Tears came to Joanie’s eyes. And as if he could hear the tears, her father raised his head and witnessed the moment.
Yea, George thought, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also. Then came other words to his mind: To give light to them that sit in darkness. He looked at his daughter until she felt his eyes on her, and she turned to look at him. The look that passed from father to daughter was so tender that the rest of the group could feel it. Then, before you could indeed blink, the cast of thousands was back on the stage. Necie stopped playing and joined hands with the other Ya-Yas, who joined hands with the children, who all joined hands with each other. Lee-Lee, and thus Rosalyn, managed to be front and center, and Joanie threw kisses like flowers at her daughter’s feet.
All the little holy families, Baylor thought.
The children could not get enough of the clapping, but Francis was already leading them backstage, acutely aware that too much of a good thing can spoil a show. The Ya-Yas exited as well, this time Vivi holding on to Necie’s arm. “Damnit,” she muttered. “I’m jerking these contact lenses out! I don’t know how Liz does it.”
He should have known better, but he did it anyway. “Encore!” Baylor shouted, and the call was taken up by Shep and Big Shep.
To no one’s surprise, Francis bounded back into the living room, doing a grand jeté in the process. Pulling it off was quite a feat—especially considering that he was wearing a toy drum around his neck. He hadn’t rehearsed such a move since his sisters went to ballet class years ago, not that he hadn’t wanted to.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you very much. We are delighted that you enjoyed our little trifle. As a matter of fact, we do have a couple of encore numbers lined up for your viewing pleasure. Please allow me to introduce”—and with this, he extended his arm dramatically in the direction of the door and began a drum roll—“the Très Petits Duck Call Caroling Chorus!”
At that, the Three Wise Men came center stage. They waited for the other children to come out and take their places in the audience. Then, with a look of seriousness on their faces, they took up their duck calls and began to honk out “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen.”
Necie pounded the piano keys as loudly as she could to make it sound like a melody was actually somewhere in the room, but the sound of the duck calls overpowered her efforts.
“All right!” Shep hollered out, lifting his hand to conduct.
“Way to go!” Big Shep said.
Watching her son’s performance, Kane whispered, “I wish these duck callers were anonymous.”
The crowd screamed with laughter. No one had ever heard a Christmas carol on duck calls before. Turner was standing up, holding his side with laughter. Jacques was saying, “Only in Louisiana.”
The Duck Call Caroling Chorus finished to wild applause, which they took in stride, even though they betrayed themselves by slapping each other’s hands and nodding their heads. “Cool, man. Way cool,” Kurt said.
Francis leapt up again. “Boys, what you have done tonight is unforgettable.”
“Unforgivable is what it is,” George said, but not without a certain degree of wryness. Rosalyn had climbed into his lap, and he was aglow with happiness.
“Last, dear family and friends, but certainly not least, we have for your pleasure on this cold winter’s night the Four Original Ya-Yas sharing the stage with a trio of young singers who will soon be breaking out of Thornton and heading out on their world tour of life. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Deux Generational Ya-Ya Noël Songbirds!”
As he was speaking, the Ya-Yas were assembling center stage. Vivi and Teensy gestured for Necie to leave the piano and join them as Francis pulled Caro’s chair up next to them and made sure she was settled, her oxygen tank by her side. Then all four Ya-Yas threw their arms out to welcome Caitlin, Dorey, and Alise. Each young girl had added a tiara to her costume, and Vivi, Teensy, and Caro were busy doing the same.
Necie blew on a small pitch pipe, and the seven of them began to sing. The voices of the four aging Ya-Yas melded with the high, pure little girl voices, and what resulted was a vocal gumbo of richness and texture that melted the hardest Christmas-hating heart. Together they sang:
“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Let your heart be light.
From now on our troubles will be out of sight.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Make the yuletide gay.
From now on our troubles will be miles away.
Here we are as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore.
Faithful friends who are dear to us,
Gather near to us, once more.
Through the years we all will be together,
If the fates allow.
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.”
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Baylor smiled and clapped, and then smiled and clapped some more. The three little girls curtsied, then, in unison, gestured to the Ya-Yas, who majestically bowed and gave royal waves.
The pageant was over. And that holy thing which shall be born was coming closer.
Baylor watched Rosalyn as she sat in her grandfather George’s lap. She gave him a big surprise kiss on the cheek, which knocked off the crown he had worn.
“Sorry!” she said.
He gazed with love at his granddaughter, whose arms were wrapped tightly around him, and said, “Who needs to be a wise man when you’ve got an angel in your lap?”
Then, squirming, Rosalyn looked puzzled. She patted her hand underneath her grandfather’s arm and said, “Grump got bump!” A look of terror and sadness passed through George’s face, but it happened so quickly that Baylor was the only one who caught it. George put Rosalyn down, upon which both Lee-Lee and Joanie took one of Rosalyn’s hands.
Lee-Lee looked up at Joanie and said, “Excuse me, please, Miz Joanie, we want to play.”
Joanie hesitated for a moment, then let go of her daughter’s hand. She took a deep breath, then turned to help the others with bringing out the cornucopia of Louisiana food.
The children’s tables were being set with macaroni and cheese, small slices of ham, and a few green beans. Also, there was blue Jell-O with small pieces of fruit in it—Kane’s contribution. “I don’t know why,” she claimed, “but that color blue just wins them over. They stick their fingers in it, then eat it up.”
Kurt opened the glass doors that led out to the patio, where the BBQ pit had been set up, and Big Shep called out, “Ta-daaa!” as he brought in the pork tenderloin, warm, sliced on a platter to be put in rolls. Shep followed his father with a smoked beef ribeye, cooked medium rare. The living room was filled with the good garlic smell the ribeye was cooked with, and people oohed and aahed at the progression of the men’s cooking.
Melissa brought out mirlitons—vegetable pears—stuffed with shrimp dressing, and dirty rice with chicken livers and gizzards.
“Mais oui!” Chick called out, “the dirtier the better!”
Once the rest of the food had made its way from the kitchen to the dining room, the table groaned with the fruits of the Louisiana earth.
“Enough to feed 84,000 armies!” Vivi said as she surveyed the table. “Thank God I had the good sense to pop out those damn contact lenses and put on my trifocals. Now I can actually see what I’m eating.”
The moms gathered the children to their tables, and the grown-ups began filling their plates and sitting on the sofas, love seats, and chairs that filled Baylor and Melissa’s living room. The aroma of good cooking was everywhere.
“I love it,” Melanie said. “Enough for all of us not to have to cook for days.”
They looked around for George, who usually insisted on saying the blessing, but when no one saw him, Big Shep took over.
“Old Padnah, thank you for this good eating and these good friends and family. We bless this food and wish everyone had as much. Rubadubdub please pass the grub.”
The children loved that a grown-up would say such a grace and giggled as they began picking on their food. The rest of the crowd ate happily, not missing a beat of conversation. It was one contented bunch.
On the ruse of getting something out of the kitchen, Baylor began searching for George. He stood in front of the kitchen sink and looked out at the sky. It was growing more and more gray. It could really snow, he thought to himself, not without some excitement.
George had not stepped outside. Where was he? Baylor walked in the direction of his large study. His perfectly designed study, with French doors opening to the long back patio. The custom-built bookshelves with glass doors. The perfect brown leather gentleman’s chairs. His retreat, his inner sanctum. Everything in its place. The antique globe with the light angled just right on it. The kids were not allowed in there. It was his private place, where he came to think, to write, to call Sidda.
He knew he would find him there. George stood leaning over, bracing himself against Baylor’s desk, his body shaking. For a moment, Baylor was afraid the older man was having a heart attack. He waited for a beat before stepping closer, then realized that George was sobbing. George the Judge was sobbing his heart out in Baylor’s office.
Baylor stepped to the small wet bar in his study and got George a glass of water. He handed it to the older man, along with a fresh handkerchief, which he took out of one of the desk drawers. He stepped back and waited for George to pull himself together.
When George continued to sob, Baylor took him gently by the elbow and led him to one of the leather club chairs.
“Sit down, Judge,” he said. “Take a load off.”
Then Baylor turned on the switch for the gas fireplace. A rosy glow filled the room. “Have a few sips of water.”
George sipped the water. Then he looked up at Baylor, tears still in his eyes. “Sorry, son. Sorry.” Then he started to sob again.
“It’s okay,” Baylor said. “I’ve done some crying myself recently in this study.”
George glanced around the study. So handsome. So organized. Almost compulsively so. “Fine study you’ve got here. Everything in its place.”
“But it’s hard to keep everything in its place, isn’t it, Judge?”
George looked at him. “Please don’t call me Judge anymore. I’m tired of being a judge.”
“All right. Mister Ogden.”
“No, call me George. I was a fool for making yall call me Mister Ogden when all the kids called everyone else by their first name or ‘Uncle.’ I wanted to be the big man. I wanted respect. I was the big man.”
Baylor crossed to close the door of his study. It was down a long hall, so they had privacy. When Baylor had added on the study, he had it soundproofed so that no noise from other parts of the house could get in. The two men were, for the moment, insulated from the party.
“Got to tell you something, George,” Baylor said, softly. He studied the man in front of him. He realized how much that generation had aged. He looked at George’s eyes, red, scared, unspeakably sad. “You’ve got a firearm on your body. I noticed the bulge in your suit jacket when you arrived. Well disguised with that tailor-made suit, but I spotted it.”
Baylor waited for a moment for this to sink in.
“George, I don’t allow firearms in my home. You are either going to have to leave it out in your car or give it to me to put in the safe.”
A sob came up from deep within George, but he stifled it. He looked out the windows. In a tired voice, he began to speak.
“I’ve been wearing this thing everywhere since Rosalyn got kidnapped. Necie and I fight about it. I had new suit jackets made so it wouldn’t show. Somebody’s got to protect these children.”
“I know,” Baylor said, softly. “I know.”
“I can’t take this thing off. I’d feel naked.”
“Who’ve you been praying to, sir?”
“To Jesus, Mary, Saint Joseph, Saint Jude, all of them. I’ve been praying every minute since Rosalyn disappeared.”
“And do you think that God doesn’t protect Rosalyn? Do you think her guardian angel doesn’t protect her? Or Saint Joseph? Or Saint Jude? Or Saint Rose? George, you’ve been a Catholic for what—”
“Almost seventy years. Since I was baptized when I was two weeks old.”
“And you think your God doesn’t look out for the little ones most of all?”
George was silent. His head hung down. He let out a painful-sounding sigh. “I used to believe. I don’t know what happened.”
“You got tired, George. You got pushed. But think about it. You know the Bible better than me. Man, I’m a half-ass agnostic, but I’ll tell you this: If there is a God, then He’s the one who takes care of them. He’s the one who said, Let the little ones come unto me.”
George’s hands unconsciously assumed the position of prayer.
“I
want you to hand me the gun, George.”
George’s hands went under his arms. He glared at Baylor. “Are you telling me what to do, son?”
“No sir, I am making a request. You hand me the gun, and I’ll lock it in my safe. We’ll go back into the party, and you drop a load that has been weighing you down. You go back in there with me and participate in our crazy families’ crazy Christmas party. You give it up, George.”
“I can’t. You don’t understand.”
Baylor stood. “I am a father, too! You are not the only one who was scared shitless by that kidnapping.”
Baylor pressed a hidden button, and a wooden panel slid open, revealing a high-tech safe. He punched in the code and opened the steel door.
“You see this safe? It has no gun in it. But it almost did. A thousand times I thought about buying a revolver, even though I’ve given every hunting rifle I’ve ever owned to my brother. Protecting my children was all I could think about.”
Baylor was sounding angry, not so much at George, but at his own difficulty at containing his emotions.
“I almost lost my mind. I imagined over and over again shooting any son of a bitch who touched my children straight through the heart. I could have lost my family to my own fear. That is the thing, that is the only thing, when it comes to protecting children, sir: not to kill them with our own fear.
“George, you know the Saint Joseph Altar at Divine Compassion?”
“I know it well, Baylor.”
“Well, not well enough. Saint Joseph is what masculine love is about. It is not about power. It is not about judging. It is about a quiet calm, a quiet love that is the only defense from loss. I don’t want to be a knight. I don’t want to ride on a white stallion with a spear and a shield. I want to hold my children in my arms. I want my hugs to be their protection. You do what you must, sir, but do not tell me I don’t understand. I am not a boy anymore. I am a father. I’m a man. And your own son is a man, even if you don’t like his leotards. If you don’t hand me that gun in the next moment, I will have to ask you to leave.”