The Christmas Pearl Read online

  I felt perfectly rested, so I must’ve slept more soundly than I thought. Something told me I was going to need extra stamina to get through the day.

  I crept out from under my covers and gasped as I looked out through the window, astounded. The air was so thick with fog it was as though a stew had rolled in across the harbor. I had not seen such a dense fog cover in the entirety of my days. If it had not been Christmas Eve, it would have been the perfect occasion to crawl right back into bed and sleep the day away. Not that I had ever done that.

  I was confused. Very confused. I tried to focus on what there was to be done. I had to help Barbara produce a successful holiday. Maybe then Pearl, wherever she was, would forgive my sloth. I could not fail Barbara!

  As quickly as I could, I dressed for Christmas Eve in my favorite red knit dress and jacket and attached the same pin I had worn yesterday to the lapel. As I swallowed the arsenal of pills I took each day to keep my wheels turning, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. I decided that I could pass for eighty any day of the week. Not bad. Just as I was descending the center-hall stairs, the doorbell rang. Barbara answered before I could reach it.

  “You must be Jewel! Thank you for coming! Come in! Come in!”

  Barbara stepped aside to let this great shadowy figure of a woman carrying a small suitcase pass.

  It was Pearl.

  Part Two

  CHRISTMAS EVE

  It was Pearl all right. I began to shake.

  She stepped through the blankets of wet heavy mist and squarely onto the black-and-white checkerboard floor of our entrance hall. She scanned her surroundings for a few moments to reacquaint herself with the house she had known so well decades ago. In slow motion, she lowered her old-fashioned, weathered brown leather valise to rest by her feet. She removed her black knit gloves finger by finger, laid one on top of the other, putting them neatly in her handbag. Next, she slipped out of her red wool coat and folded it over her arm. She smiled, giving Barbara a head-to-toe assessment and filling the foyer with loving warmth. She was glad to be back, to see who my daughter was. Step one of her mission had begun.

  There had never been a life force more powerful than the energy Pearl exuded when she was on a mission. Now she had a Christmas mission, her favorite kind.

  Barbara shrank back, realizing she was in the presence of an extremely formidable woman. She began to babble, something she did when nervous.

  “Merry Christmas—well, almost! This is some weather, isn’t it? Some fog! Just crazy!” She said, “Thank you for coming! Can I—I mean, do you, uh, is there anything I can do to help you get comfortable? I mean, may I show you, you know, around?”

  “No’m. Best if I just get to work.”

  “Yes. Of course! You’re right, of course. There’s so much to do today…” Barbara said. “Christmas Eve and all…”

  “Yes’m. We’ll have a nice dinner around one, cocktails at seven, and supper at eight.”

  “We usually have supper at six…” Barbara’s voice trailed off to nothingness as Pearl cut her an eye. “But eight’s just fine…just fine…”

  “Good. Then that’s settled. I’ll holler if I need anything.”

  “Oh! Yes, of course! By all means! I’ll be in and out all day, even in this fog…last minute errands, you know…I have to…Christmas Eve?”

  “Yes’m.”

  Barbara hurried toward me, passing me on the stairs, and whispered, “Whew! She’s something, isn’t she?”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, trembling all over. Something like a living, breathing, flesh-and-blood ghost.

  Pearl swung a glance to her right at the Christmas tree and harrumphed loudly. Finally, she looked up at me standing on the landing as if to say, Well, well! Who’s this little old lady? Is this my Theodora? I must admit that I was still in a frightful state of shock to see her, and I hung on to the rail with both hands so my wobbling legs wouldn’t give out from under me. I wondered, was I seeing things? Did she recognize me? Then she smiled from ear to ear.

  When she grinned at me, I knew that she did. Undeterred by the fact that a dead person was standing right there as plain as day was day, I grinned right back at her. Mine was an unstable nervous grin, to be sure.

  She picked up her suitcase and headed for the kitchen. I took another deep breath to steady myself, then another, and slowly, slowly, I followed her. Gracious! For all I had learned in my years, I was very unfamiliar with dealing with the living dead. What in the world would I do?

  By the time I got to the kitchen, as my pace was not as brisk as hers, she was coming out of the spare room with a small bathroom that had historically been reserved for emergency sleepover help or storage. Well, we certainly had reached the point of a spiritual emergency, so I assumed that she would be staying there—if dead people showered or slept, that is.

  She was tying a crisp white cotton apron around her neck and waist as though she had never left.

  Was she really Pearl? I was almost one hundred percent certain that she was. Still, I had to ask. Knowing that Pearl had never been one to pussyfoot around, I decided there and then to just speak my mind. If I was wrong, she would just think I was a half-witted old lady, I’d go live in the attic, and we would be done with it. I prayed I would be wrong, but knew the outcome before I said a word.

  “I know who you are,” I said, with a profound warble in my voice.

  “I know who you are, too! Good to lay eyes on you again, but Lawsamercy! How old are you? Time’s flying, ain’t it?”

  Without missing a beat, I said, “Hmmph!” We always hmmphed each other, even when I was a young child. “Well! If your clock hadn’t stopped ticking, I think you’d be right around one hundred and thirty-three years old. So who’s calling who old? Hmm?”

  Pearl threw back her head and laughed. Her laugh was so hearty that the sound of its music made me laugh, too. I had missed her mightily and wanted to throw my arms around her. Suspicion held me in my place. After all, this still might have been a hallucination! Old people my age had all sorts of dementia and this could have been some sort of psychological episode.

  She began opening cabinets, the refrigerator and the freezer, taking inventory.

  “Well, I see you can still do your math in your head.”

  I found myself talking to her despite my strong suspicions. “Useless skill these days…with computers, calculators, and all that…” Then I wanted so badly to believe that help had arrived in the form of the finest—albeit dead—woman I had ever known that my heart gave in to the impossibility of it all. I accepted that it was indeed her. “Oh, goodness! It’s so grand to see you, Pearl.”

  “What? You think I wasn’t coming? What’s going on around ’eah?”

  When she looked back at me her eyebrows were drawn together in disappointment, or perhaps bewilderment. I wasn’t quite sure why.

  “Well, who knew if you could? Anyway, I can hardly believe my eyes!” I took a handkerchief from my pocket, removed my glasses, and wiped my eyes, which, yes, were tearing. “How did you do this—I mean, get here? Golly! My heart is still pounding like mad! Tell me! How is my Fred? Have you seen him?”

  “I got ’eah on the Mercy Train and don’t ask me no questions. It’s breaking the rules.”

  “Not even about Gordie? Oh, please, Pearl! My poor brother? My parents? Please tell me they are all right!”

  “They are all right. All right? Now, that’s all. We gots to get to work!”

  She wasn’t budging an inch, and I knew it was wrong to ask her to break the rules and cost her a pair of wings, although I had to chuckle a little at the thought of Pearl as an angel or as an emissary of one. Anyway, what was the difference? If she was here there had to be others there, wherever and whatever there was. Evidently, this was all the consolation and information I was to receive. To tell the truth, it was all I needed, and given the messy predicament we were in, it was probably more than I deserved.

  “Well,” I said, my heartbeat finally ret
urning to almost normal, “I thought I might come give you a hand. You didn’t have convection ovens or microwaves in your day, or food processors and so forth.”

  “Ms. Theodora? No disrespect? Iffin I can get myself down ’eah in the flesh, I reckon I can figure—”

  “Sorry! Of course you can! What was I thinking? Would you like some hot tea? I mean, do you eat and drink?”

  “Why not?” She continued opening cabinets and canisters and shaking her head.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Pearl exhaled for a long enough stretch to launch a cruise ship and send it straight to the docks in Hamilton, Bermuda.

  She said, “Where’s the fruitcake?”

  “Fruitcake?”

  “Yes’m, the fruitcake. And nut cake, rum balls, sands, fondant…no cookies?”

  “Well, over the years fruitcake has gained a bad reputation, and all those other things are considered unhealthy, you know, loaded with trans fats and refined sugar?” I filled the kettle with water and put it on the burner to boil. My hands were still trembling.

  “Hmmph! Like we all didn’t live long lives eating what we darn well felt like eating! It’s about moderation! And what’s the matter with that Christmas tree out there, and where is the manger scene?”

  “Horrible, isn’t it? This year’s tree seems to be an absolute triumph of bad taste over tradition and decorum. Heavens! Don’t say I said that. Do you mean the crèche set or the manger scene?”

  “Both!”

  “Oh, me. I’m sorry to say that people don’t care about that kind of thing anymore, Pearl. It’s so sad. No one seems to want to carry on the old traditions. Well, some do, but not this family.”

  “Hmmph.” She put her hands on her hips. “Is there any blackberry brandy in this ’eah house?”

  “Yes, look in the pantry next to the Marsala wine. Why? What are you making?”

  Pearl looked at me and smiled so wide it sent a chill up my spine.

  “I’m making Pearl feel better, and then you and I are making a plan.”

  Pearl poured herself a small glass of brandy, and I knew at once why she had always smelled like blackberries. Old Pearl liked a little nip.

  “This ’eah is the only one thing I miss from this earth.”

  “Well, help yourself! I’ll see to it that there’s an endless supply for you!”

  “Oh no! Just a little taste is all I want. I hope this ain’t breaking the rules.”

  “Rules against a little glass of something to warm the bones?”

  “Hmmph! They rules got rules! ’Sides, I cain’t be ’eah too long. Just two days.”

  “Two days!” I got gooseflesh. “Why only two days?”

  “Hmmph. I’m lucky to get two! They only give Cinderella a few hours, ’eah?”

  ’Eah is a wonderfully versatile old Gullah word that means so many things. It could mean “you hear me?” Or “you come now or else!” Or “isn’t it true?”

  “Two days? Oh, mercy, Pearl! How will we get them on the right road in such short order?”

  “Ms. Theodora? Where’s your faith in Pearl?”

  I sipped my tea, still not quite believing she was there. There was no denying it; it was my Pearl, the same glorious woman who had steered me through the shoals of my childhood. She was the Eighth Wonder of the World, come back to educate my daughter and the generations that had followed. In her own way, she would reveal to them a thing or two about what really mattered in life. She would succeed where I had failed. I looked at my wristwatch.

  “Mercy! Pearl! We’ve hired someone to come and help. A woman named Jewel! What are we to do when she shows up?”

  “Don’t fret. She ain’t coming ’eah. I done seen to that. She forgot. Now you got a pencil and some paper? We need to be making a list. I’ll get that ham in the refrigerator going and a pot of red rice. There’s what I need for biscuits and I saw some greens soaking…”

  I had taken a pad and pencil from the drawer and put it in front of her. “The collards?”

  “Yeah, I reckon Eliza who works ’eah…”

  “Eliza? Oh, I haven’t told you this…I’m so worried about her! Her daughter…”

  “My darlin’? Don’t pay that no never mind! I know all about that situation and it’s well in hand. They’s fine.”

  “Praise the Lord!”

  “Amen. So, I need a few things from the store, and wait! Where’s everybody? How come they ain’t in ’eah to see what’s going on? Where’s the Christmas spirit? And that manger scene your daddy had built? He musta spent a fortune on that. They gots to get that out and set up!”

  “You know what? You’re right! I’ll handle this!”

  “Good luck!”

  “Watch me!” I said. “I’ll switch them good if they give me any trouble!”

  Pearl laughed and shook her head at my sudden initiative.

  I was going to help!

  I found Cleland and George, and I can tell you they were not very happy with my request. They stammered and sputtered all around like old Demosthenes, their mouths filled with pebbles. Finally they agreed to do as I had asked. It was not as though I had requested either of them to serve as a living organ donor, after all.

  By the time I returned to the kitchen, the ham was miraculously in the oven and the rest of dinner simmered on the stove. The mysteries of Pearl filled the air, as did the mouthwatering aroma of brown sugar crystallizing with mustard and cloves.

  I could hear George and Cleland complaining all the way from where I sat. They grumbled and struggled under the weight and proportions of the plywood pieces of the outdoor manger scene as they carried them down the front-hall stairs. Pearl and I looked at each other and snickered. I got up and left the kitchen for a moment to take a peek. They had located the three sides and the roof of the stable, the figures, and the manger. George and Cleland were leaning against the table in the front hall as though this little bit of effort had completely worn them out.

  I felt much worse for the manger itself. The whole shebang had been cooped up in the cynicism of the attic forever and was filthy dirty from doing nothing except getting dustier by the year and growing sticky cobwebs. I quickly closed the door and hoped they hadn’t seen me.

  “Who you hiding from?” Pearl said.

  “Cleland and George.”

  “How come?”

  “They have very bad tempers.”

  “Hmmph,” she said, indicating she thought that was absurd. “That ain’t no concern of mine! Shouldn’t be no concern of yours neither!”

  A minute or two later, Cleland and George appeared in the kitchen to deliver a condition report and the fact that there was no Baby Jesus to be found.

  “I don’t think it’s gonna be worth the effort,” Cleland said. “That thing’s pretty disgusting. Besides, it’s so foggy outside, no one’s going to see it.”

  “Yeah,” George said, “what’s the point? Christmas is tomorrow. Seems like a lot of effort for just one day. ’Sides, there ain’t no Jesus.”

  Pearl narrowed her eyes at them as though George had made the statement as a religious conviction. With a dour, and I mean dour, expression, she reached in the pantry closet, handed them two rolls of paper towels and two bottles of a spray cleaner.

  “Ain’t got no baby ’cause He ain’t come yet. So, iffin y’all think this ’eah job is too hard, or that it ain’t worth the trouble, just let me know.”

  They skulked away in a combination of anger and unfamiliar mortification, saying something about assigning the cleaning job to Andrew to help him lose some baby fat.

  “He could use the exercise,” Cleland said with a snort.

  “I gots plans for Andrew!” Pearl said.

  George, unaccustomed to being bossed around, especially by a woman, opened his ugly mouth. “We’ll send him skirt side when he gets home. He’s gone shopping at the mall with his granny and his mommy.”

  George’s high-pitched nasal tone implied that Andrew was a sissy. I didn’t like
it one bit.

  “He’s just a little boy,” I said, empowered by Pearl’s presence to register my discontent.

  Pearl arched her eyebrow in disapproval. They saw it.

  “He’s probably going to shake them down for some candy. Or a last-minute toy.”

  Holy cow! Cleland had made a halfhearted attempt to render an awkward moment less tense.

  “Probably,” George conceded.

  Pearl looked George up and down with what we used to call the hairy eyeball and I could sense George’s discomfort.

  “That’s how you speak of your only nephew on Christmas Eve? Or on any eve for that matter? That’s not nice.”

  “Oh, I was just kidding,” George said. “Can’t you take a joke?”

  “Hmmph. You call that a joke? Whatever you say. Anyway, they went shopping for me for y’all’s supper, too. When they come back, send that child in ’eah to me, and his cousin Teddie, too! And Camille!”

  In the span of one morning, the arrival of Pearl had put sarcasm and laziness on a short leash. Verbally spanked and without any further objection, the men went to set up the manger in the front yard.

  Pearl took out a large mixing bowl. She snapped her fingers and it was filled with fruitcake batter. What? I couldn’t believe it! I took off my glasses, rubbed my eyes once again, and stared hard at the batter in the bowl. It was there, all right. There was simply no explaining it.

  “What you think? I ain’t got all day to be chopping nuts and messing with all this sticky fruit,” she said. “We gots bigger heads to knock!”

  My eyes were about to grow wider.

  She took out a smaller mixing bowl and snapped her fingers again. In an instant it was filled with the mixture for sands.